#girl has perfect eyebrows and curls done clearly with curling iron

[eliounora]

I can't believe they already have a break-up scene with sad swelling music and everything in the second episode. how often is this going to happen

[thelastpilot]

‘On GOD We Are Going to Get You a Girlfriend’- A Lovesquare Story as suffered by Nino

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless. 

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you. 

It was twilight in Paris, the tail end of sunset slipping away as people all across campus engaged in extremely varied states of productivity. That is to say, at most 20% of the campus’ live-in population was actually getting any work done, while the rest of them were either limping along or had already given up.

It was midterms week, clearly.

In the dim space of a reasonable apartment accommodation were well -intentioned study implements of every kind. The completely average couch and carpet were covered with just enough of a layer of highlighters, pens, and printed pages to give a really studious impression at a glance, but whatever vibe it might have managed was thoroughly ruined by a young man laying face down on the floor, a game console nearly tumbling from his hands. Another, separate, but equally as unfocused young man had his back to plain white wall against which they had been meaning to put like… a chair or something at least for most of the semester now, staring idly out of the sliding glass door to his left that offered only a sliver of a view from his current position. At most he could see two lovely, but neglected, potted plants and a shoddy balcony looking off towards the main body of their college campus.

He watched the small patch of sky he could see succumb to a light coverage of clouds, and as he considered the possibility of rain, he sighed.

“Nino?” he finally spoke, looking away from his strip of sky. He waited for a response for a second or two, before reaching out with his foot and gently prodding his friend’s side to check he was alive, smirking slightly when he received a grunt for his efforts.

“Mm,” Nino answered from his curled up position, the glasses on his face a perfect reflection of his Pokemon team’s stats, which was ironic considering that Stats was exactly the thing Nino was avoiding at the minute. After a beat too long, he realized his friend was still waiting on his response. He lifted his head slightly, his hat falling free to the ground as he said, “Mm? Yeah?” He blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrien smiled down at him, chuckling a little before tossing aside a textbook he had been pretending to take notes from for the last hour. When his lap was free he leaned forward and rolled to the ground, mimicking Nino’s exact positioning on the ground a small distance away from him, sighing again (louder this time).

“What?” Nino repeated himself, laughing when Adrien leveled him with a sour look. He rolled his eyes but dutifully paused his game, shutting his Switch off and putting it on the ground out of their eyeline. “Go for it dude, what’s up.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it a girl thing?” Nino asked flatly, raising an eyebrow when all Adrien managed was a sheepish smile. “Dude.”

“Come on! You’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated. Look don’t make fun of me just help okay; I’m really stuck now.” Adrien pleaded with him, bringing his hands in front of him to cartoonishly beg for his grace. He got another eye roll for his trouble but Nino hadn’t gotten up and left yet so that was a good sign.

It wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to help him, its just that… well.

Adrien always had some kind of girl problem, pretty much off and on for the past five years. He knew it got hard to listen to and Nino had put in way more than his fair share of time into this. Especially since he had made essentially no progress whatsoever in all that time, but boy was he almost on to something here.

Nino said nothing else, making a vague hand gesture for him to continue and Adrien did as he always did.

He hesitated, carefully considering how to phrase something.

“So um, there is this girl. That uh, girl, I always talk about. The one you don’t know. And then there is another girl, one who you do know.”

“Do we HAVE to be so vague man? We’re in our own place, there is no one around. Can’t you just say it? I get so confused when we do it like this.”

Adrien tensed slightly, discomfort crawling up his back. “I uh, I can’t. Just- just listen okay? I can’t explain it.”

“We’re in our house,” Nino complained again. But Adrien ignored him, because he always ignored him when he said that.

“Just listen okay?”

Nino looked at him squarely, or at least as squarely as he could manage while laying on the ground. When Adrien patiently waited for a response Nino finally sighed, rolling on his stomach and laying his face sideways on the floor to match him, nodding stiffly for him to continue.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to a head. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I have never ONCE in my entire LIFE gotten the timing right Nino, I’m dead serious.” Adrien rolled around a little gripping his hair with both hands. “I get the timing wrong EVERY TIME. I have never been where I’m supposed to be! I’ve never made a move at the right time I have never done it right. I get close with one girl but she doesn’t reciprocate or she tells me to wait or she says that its complicated, then I get close to the other girl but I feel GUILTY because I still care about the first girl. But she says it isn’t right so I work on it I let go but then the other girl is gone or moves on or life gets in the way. I have been in the wrong place EVERY TIME-,”

 Adrien’s ranting continues, rolling around on their carpet as he incredibly vaguely and very stupidly details a problem that he has had for many, many years. Nino can feel himself retreating into his own thoughts, more focused on Adrien’s animated rolling than his actual words. He reaches out once to save a stack of notes from getting creased and ruined, but other than that remains completely still and lets his friend do his thing.

This happened maybe once a week or so, maybe a little less often or more often depending on the status of the girls.

The fact that Adrien literally REFUSED to say their names made this completely incoherent, but where in his love life he was inconsistent, when it came to never talking about work Adrien was true to form.

Nino blinked blearily as Adrien continued, pouring over the reasons he cared so deeply for them both and why that made him feel like a bad person. It left Nino to stew, wondering much like always why they did it like this.

The two of them were superheroes. Spoilers if you didn’t know. He didn’t feel like much of a superhero when he was sprawled out on his shared apartment floor suffering the long run up to failing his Stats midterm like any other student. But the fact remained that he was one, and so was Adrien. The problem was that Adrien was serious about keeping life and work separate. It was pretty much only hard and fast rule about this gig that Nino had picked up on when he first joined. Never talk about work as a civilian, under any circumstances. You only get to talk about work when you’re suited up, and you’re only allowed to talk about life in plain clothes.

Honestly, it was so hard to do it that way, but the rules were clear, not that anyone had actually stopped to explain them to him. Adrien froze up whenever he even so much as mentioned an akuma attack or asked about an injury. Don’t talk about work, but…

They lived together now, this was the first semester where they had done so and Nino was so hyped about it. Like FINALLY, our kwamis can relax and we can be ourselves. He had been so excited about it, but to his profound disappointment Adrien refused to relent on his rule. Their kwamis were never even out in the open except for in their rooms, like he knew Adrien was strict but surely he wasn’t that committed.

Nino understood that it was probably Ladybug’s rule but still, it’s not like she was here. He wouldn’t advocate for disobeying her but… come on man. His brain hurt.

He KNEW Adrien was talking about Ladybug/Marinette. He knew that for a fact, but Adrien would never say her name out loud, because that overlaps with work (even though they hang out with her in person like every single day.) Maybe Nino didn’t know who the heck this second girl he was talking about was, but at the very least he could be clear about one of them.

Whoever the second girl actually was sounded a lot like Marinette, so the for-sure thing was that he had a type. Honestly though he had stopped trying to figure it out years ago. If he wasn’t so exhausted from not studying he would humor him like he always did, but today… man he was kind of tired.

He waited until Adrien was done talking, undoubtably ending by asking for advice as per the usual. Then, like always, Nino said what he always did.

“You need to communicate. If you are not crystal clear with these girls about what they want and what you want nothing with ever happen. You need to bite the bullet and TELL them, at least ONE of them, what you’re thinking.”

And like always, Adrien groaned and covered his face and said, “It’s not that easy!”

They both grumbled dejectedly into the carpet, repeating their years old platitudes until they gave up on each other. Nino usually did this a lot better but he reserved the right to tap out and Adrien usually seemed to accept that.

The only different thing Adrien actually said was when he was standing. He mumbled, “I know, I know. You’re right, as usual but… I’m maybe gonna ask someone else. See what they think.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Adrien sighed, offering a hand to help him off the ground. He smiled gently, but his eyes were sad. Enough of a gesture to explain that he wasn’t actually mad at Nino’s dismissiveness. He had a right to refrain.

 They spent an idle few minutes cleaning up their mess, consolidating their notes and books into two loose piles and neither saying much. It was only about thirty or so minutes later when Adrien announced vaguely, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Yeah man,” Nino answered, knowing by heart Adrien’s codeword for ‘patrol’. Didn’t know why he didn’t just say it, but that was a dead horse long beaten.

 Adrien left within a minute or two but Nino stood blearily for awhile in the living room, staring at nothing as he debated just going to bed for the day.

He was just about to head to his room to ask if Wayzz was ready for dinner when the kwami in question came flying into the room, confidently out in the open space now that Adrien was gone.

“You’re getting a call!” Wayzz piped up importantly, waving his little flippers a bit to sell the point. “It’s Cat Noir!”

“I- what?” Nino sputtered, glancing towards the apartment door in confusion. “He literally just- ugh.” Nino groaned as loudly as possible, Wayzz shaking his head a little. “Why is he LIKE THIS, he could have just TOLD ME TO COME.”

“I know he’s odd about it, but he must have his reasons. You should go, he must need you for patrol.”

Nino demanded a few more moments of frustration, which Wayzz indulged, before grabbing his keys and unlocking a window in case he didn’t feel like using them. It was Adrien’s turn tonight but okay whatever.  

 It only took him a minute or two to transform and get out onto their building’s roof, stretching a bit before raising his wrist. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remind himself of the rules while he returned Adrien’s call.

Through the hazy, green, holographic screen he saw the face of Cat Noir answer on the first ring, the feline superhero sighing in relief and smiling widely.

“There you are! I was hoping you were out. Hey, I know this is kind of sudden but… um I was wondering if you were willing to meet up with me. I want to ask you about something.”

He allowed himself to hang his head in frustration just out of the video feeds eyeline, pulling a sharp breath through his teeth before answering, “Yeah bud. Lets meet up.”

“Great!” Cat Noir answered enthusiastically, genuinely happy that he had agreed for whatever reason. “Meet me here when you get a second,” and he sent over his current location. Sure enough he was literally like, one block over.

He hung up without a goodbye, dragging his feet as he started to head that way. He was slow about it sine it was at most five seconds away for him. Adrien was so INTENSE about this charade some days it just drove him completely crazy. But rules are rules.

He waited for about a minute to distance their patterns, then with a short jump and a few corner’s turned he found Cat Noir crouched on top of the Linguistics building.

“Hey, you got here fast,” Cat greeted him happily, a little nervous looking actually. ‘Carapace’ as he was really had to resist the eye roll there, deciding instead to nod.

He went over and sat somewhat heavily, not pretending with an greeting at all and just watching him flatly. For whatever reason this made Cat Noir hesitate a little, but he quickly got over it, pushing through the weirdness and folding his hands in his lap.

“Well, listen I won’t waste your time much. I know we don’t really do this, we only ever talk about work and that’s the safe thing, I get how it is.” Cat Noir looked away, his gaze fixated on the possibility of rain, before he finally sighed.

“I just… I was wondering if I could get some… girl advice?”

Cat Noir looked to his ally, scanning his face and getting even more nervous as he more or less saw a brick wall of an expression on Carapace’s face.

Carapace blinked, saying nothing as Cat Noir began to talk unprompted, persevering despite the lack of reciprocation.

“So um, there is a girl, and you know that.  I always talk about her, and there is another girl, one that you don’t know.”

Carapace blinked.

He softly let out a “Bro…” but Cat Noir was hyping himself up now and he started rolling.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to this point where like, I-,”

He kept going, looking down at his gloved hands and missing Carapace’s slowly warping expression. He started rambling, about how he always got the timing wrong, about how he cared about both these girls so much and he just didn’t know what to do. He started and he didn’t stop, completely unaware of Carapace starting to lose touch with reality.

Finally Carapace interrupted, stammering slightly in a tone that was wildly like…

Disbelief?

“Dude I- stop, hang on. Dude I just- I know?” He waited for a beat, watching Cat Noir blink in confusion. He scanned his face, looking for just- literally anything. After another moment that was way too long, he finally braved it. “We- we already, we already talked about this.”

Cat straightened, throwing his head back in exasperation and groaning loudly, “Okay I know I talk about girls sometimes but I honestly never bother you with this much can you humor me please?”

“No I-,” Carapace paused, his voice getting quieter. “We just… literally we-,”.

“Please man I- UGH I’m really having trouble!” He nearly shouted it, looking so genuinely unheard that Carapace was reeling. “You’re one of my only close guy friends I NEED a second opinion, I’m begging now. I already asked my other friend but he always says the exact same thing and he’s RIGHT but I need someone to say something else!” Cat suddenly mimicked his voice saying, “”You need to communicate.” That’s what he says, he’s RIGHT obviously but I just-,”

He kept talking, briefly glossing over how this ‘friend of his’ wasn’t particularly helpful with this line of questioning, so Cat Noir had chosen to seek HIM out instead.

And as he went on with his rant, Carapace slowly brought his hands to his face in intense contemplation.

Suddenly, in the middle of Cat Noir’s over the top love ranting Carapace decided to interrupt him.

“Hold up- hold on now. I need to clarify something, just cause I need to double check alright, just checkin’ something.”

Cat Noir paused, looking to him and slowly saying, “…okay?”

“You KNOW I know you’re Adrien Agreste right?”

 Silence. Cat abruptly went rigid, but Carapace just splayed his hands wide, rapidly searching his face for confirmation of the impossible.

“Like dawg you KNOW that right? You’re aware? You know that right?”

Cat Noir was frozen, holding as still as possible like Carapace was a T-Rex and if he didn’t move this problem was just gonna go away. But Carapace pressed further, getting louder as he said “DUDE you know who I AM RIGHT?!”

The feline superheroes breathing was starting to pick up, his eyes blown wide as he REALLY looked at his friend, before he nearly inaudibly squeaked, “…no?”

“ADRIEN-,”

“Shhh!” Cat Noir leapt forward, trying to grapple him as he went into full panic mode, “Wait shut up shut up!”

“IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS!”

“SHUT UP!”

They started to wrestle, Cat Noir violently shushing his companion as he had a full melt down, saying things like “All this time-!” and “You’re an idiot!” and “I thought you were just- oh my god!”

“Please!!! This is terrible Carapace shut up!! I don’t know how you found out my identity but I-,”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL-!?”

“Lower your voice!”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL”

“What do you mean?!”

Carapace gripped him hard by the shoulders and threw them both until Cat Noir was flat on his back with a harsh thump against the roof tiles. The turtle hero held him tight and shook his shoulders, his eyes crazed with years of realization colliding together at once. “Who is the second girl in your ridiculous life, what’s her name?!”

Cat Noir looked wild and frightened, finally becoming so flustered that he just hissed in a whisper, “It’s Marinette okay!?”

“And?”

“And WHAT!?”

“AND?” Carapace reiterated, shaking him harder.

“And LADYBUG you MORON!” he hissed as quietly as he possibly could.

Instantly Carapace stopped, holding him in a vice like grip just above the tiles. After an incredibly still moment, he dropped him, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face.

Cat Noir was flat on his back, panting heavily and staring up at him freaked out, but it was like Carapace had been struck by lightning and he was just sitting there, completely still.

 “Oh,” was all he finally said, curling in on himself slightly. Before suddenly, he pitched to the side and just lay there on the roof tiles, rolling onto his stomach.

“…oh?!” Cat eventually managed, twisting onto his side to look at him just laying there. “That’s all you have to say?! Of COURSE it’s Ladybug! I talk about her EVERY. DAY.”  

“This… explains… so much,” Carapace muttered, not even listening to him. With a huff Cat crawled onto all four and went over to him, his heart racing in what was nearly a panic attack at this point. But all of Carapace’s energy had been spent, and he just mumbled dejectedly with his face smooshed against the tiles.

Cat Noir’s ears twisted forward, trying to make out the words, before he just lost his patience and hissed “What are you saying?!”

“I said YOU’RE STUPID!” the turtle barked out, turning his face back into the filthy roof.

“Why am I- UGH forget it! Just forget it we have a way bigger problem here- If Ladybug finds out my identity has been compromised she’s going to-,”

“Is SHE stupid too!?” Carapace interjected, twisting just enough to look up at him incredulously. “Is everyone stupid but ME?”

“What the hell are you talking about?! Dude there is RULES! No one is allowed to know anyone elses identity!”

Carapace just gaped at him, before his eyes unfocused and he just went limp. He whispered it when he said, “So she IS stupid…”

He waited a beat, and wretchedly mumbled to himself, “Oh god you’re both so stupid.”

 Cat Noir was at a loss, looking all around him like he was desperately trying to make sense of it all, stopping only to try and sort of Carapace’s miserable breakdown.

He was about to give up and just drag Carapace to a lockable room somewhere before his friend propped himself up all at once with the most exasperated expression he had ever seen on a human person.

“So help me- someone has to do some shit about this, listen to me-,” Carapace got to his knees and lunged forward to grab him by the bell. He pulled him forward, and with all the determination of a war general he proclaimed, “On GOD I am going to get you a girlfriend, do you hear me? I am going to make this happen because I can not STAND another DAY of this. Got it?!”

“I- Carapace I-!?”

“GOT IT?!”

  Cat Noir dangled helplessly in his grip, and with his last wits he sputtered out, “Okay, okay!!! I’ll do whatever you say!”

[sabraeal]

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

[secretshinigami]

A First Time For Everything

Author: @complicatedmerary

For: @misora-massacre

Pairings/Characters: Halle Lidner/Naomi Misora; Naomi Misora, Halle Lidner, and I suppose Raye Penber is there, too, I guess :p

Rating/Warnings: General; brief alcohol mention

Prompt: Halle and Naomi go on a blind date

Author’s notes: Hello, hello! After writing Naomi on the other fic I gave you, I got inspired to continue writing her, especially with this intriguing prompt. I had my eyes set on a regular dinner date, but it was so boring, I had to think outside the box. How about the gentle appeal of a wlw romance of what-ifs and cherished memories? Now that is more like it! You deserve a good time after the stress of the BB fic, so, hopefully you will enjoy this! Also, the friends’ names? Totally intentional. :)

-----------

“What do you think about sunsets, Naomi?”

“Hmm?” Naomi shook off her tiring trance. It had become the standard for Naomi to be absentminded every single time Raye wanted to have a party. In this case, he expressed desire to show off to the whole city that him, Raye Penber, had finally gotten brave enough to propose to his girlfriend, Naomi Misora. It was cute, really, Naomi thought, but a single text and some phone calls would have sufficed. She was not a big fan of crowds; he should know that already. Right?

“I said, what do you think about sunsets?” Raye embraced Naomi from the side and kissed her cheek.

She smiled. “I think they are nice, very romantic. With the right person, that is.” Especially on a nice balcony overlooking the city, as the crowd is engrossed in their own little world. Thin fingers wrap around hers, her thumb gently rubbing on the underside of her hand. Naomi looked intently at their hands and her heart skipped a beat as a rush of fluttering feelings vibrated in her stomach. Was that what they meant when they say you have “butterflies” inside you? She did not seem to mind at all, like she was used to the effect she caused because of her beauty and enthralling disposition. How many girls were they before her? Why did she care? It was not as if she was ever going to see her again. Perhaps she should give her number, make sure she never forgot about her.

“You seem deep in thought.” Her blonde hair was gently blown from the crisp breeze, it was almost too perfect.

“Hmm?” A distraction from her ramblings inside her head, but not quite. Naomi was more transfixed by her amber eyes than anything else. How can a woman be this beautiful?

Raye’s watch beeped loudly, the recreation of her memory evaporating like water. “Whoops, it’s almost time. You would not mind helping me with the drinks, would you? You are such a good mixer; our guests would appreciate it.”

He clearly meant his guests with maybe two of her friends. “Right, no problem.”

At this rate, a drink was not such a bad idea.

God, she needed a drink.

She could not believe she was looking forward to this. Cathy was so vague about this Hal guy, but what was said intrigued her. All she knew was that his name was Hal Bullook, he had blond hair, brown eyes, and he was at least over five feet and ten inches. Also, he was a CIA agent. A total dreamboat, Cathy promised. Hal has heard plenty about you, she also said. She gulped. Cathy had no filter; if she told him some embarrassing facts (like the milk slipping accident from work), then she would be mortified. Then again, maybe it will make her endearing and cute in his eyes, there was nothing wrong with that.

Today was a gathering between members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Central Intelligence Agency, and other local governmental organizations; it was not for business, this was a regular party to get everyone together for a job well done. Plenty of fun to spread in one evening, it was bound to be unforgettable.

This was the most obnoxious party Naomi has ever been to and Raye had finally beaten his own record.

Maybe she was the one who did not understand how parties worked, but if this was an engagement party, then why was there a group of guys watching sports on her television, in her living room? And where were Cathy and Shoko? Did they miss their invitations, or did they ditch her for something else?

“Raye,” Naomi hissed, snatching him away from the group and setting him aside.

“Naomi, what was that all about? You can’t just barge in when someone is having a conversation.” Raye shook his head in disappointment.

“This is out of control! I thought the whole point of this party was to share the news. I was asked to bring snacks into the living room as if I was servant and not the main co-host. Do you realize how humiliating this is?”

“Oh, Naomi, I’m sorry, no one should treat you like this. Tell me who did it so I can tell them to leave.”

Naomi sighed. Raye could be dense sometimes, but gosh, he was too sweet. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll get bored soon. By the way, have you heard from either Cathy or Shoko? You did invite them, right?”

“No, I have not heard from them, but they should be coming soon. Cathy is always late, remember?”

That was true, but that did not explain Shoko’s absence. Unless … “If they decided to arrive together, then that would explain everything.”

“Are you sure you are okay, Naomi?” Raye placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry if my friends had other plans, but I promise we will make the announcement together. Just … give it some time until the mood has been set, okay?”

“Fine,” Naomi mumbled. “You did promise.”

“Thank you,” Raye pecked her lips. “Excuse me for one second.”

The doorbell rang and Naomi perked up. In an instant, both Raye and Naomi gathered by the door and let it swing open. The sight made her smile. Speak of the devil; Cathy and Shoko were just late after all.

“Wow, girl, look at you,” Cathy giggled. “You are an absolute knockout.”

And indeed, she was. Naomi was wearing a silky, black dress, her legs accentuated tastefully by the knee length and the six-inch black heels. Her long hair had been waved with a curling iron and her makeup was subtle yet elegant. Caramel lips and a brown smoky eyeshadow, she looked flawless.

“Hopefully, I did not overdo it,” Naomi shrugged.

“Nonsense, you look perfect, if you don’t make heads turn, then they are missing out.”

Naomi gave a small twirl. “I hope Hal likes me.”

“Yeah, Hal …” Cathy fiddled with her bracelet, looking to the side. “Come on, let’s go, we can’t be late.”

“You do realize you are late, right?” Naomi teased Cathy.

“Yeah, yeah, that was bad.” Cathy blushed. “But I have a good excuse this time. Traffic was a nightmare.”

“You say that every time.” Naomi drank from her glass.

“It’s true, though!” She widened her brown eyes to appear more innocent. “I know I have concealed the truth from you before, but I’m not lying right now. I have bad luck, that’s all.”

“Fine,” Naomi could not be bothered to continue this discussion. “I forgive you.”

“And that’s why you are a great friend, you are willing to look past my flaws.” Cathy giggled.

At approximately 4:30, Naomi and Cathy arrived at the gathering, prepared to have the greatest time possible. Naomi was transfixed by the amount of silver decorations the room had all over. It was as if there was plenty of money invested to make it look pretty. And from the corner of her eyes, she saw the type of food that was set on the table. It was a banquet full of delicacies that range from a fancy ham and an elaborated fruit salad.

At least she felt better about her dress code.

“Wow,” Cathy gasped.

“I know,” Naomi replied. However, there were more concerning issues. If she could find Hal, perhaps they could crack a joke about how this gathering’s budget was blown for appearances. Then again, there was the possibility that he could have a terrible sense of humor. She had to thread lightly. Now, where he could be among this sea of professionals? Funnily enough, she did not catch a lot of men that were at least taller than five feet and ten inches, so perhaps Hal was in the bathroom.

She stood there in her spot, darting around for a sign of a tall blond.

Well, she did see a tall blonde woman among the crowd, but that was definitely not Hal. Their eyes aligned and she waved at her, smiling. Naomi waved back. She must be a coworker she had never notice before, it would have looked bad if she ignored her.

However, where was he?

“What are you doing?” Cathy took her arm and dragged her in the middle of the room. “That is your date, come say hi to Halle. Hey, Halle, here she is!”

Halle? What was Cathy talking about? No, she must have been confused, Hal was somewhere around here, this had to be a joke—

Hold on a second.

This was a joke. Blonde hair, brown eyes, she seemed taller than five feet and ten inches, especially with those high heels …

Did she miss something? Did Cathy set her up with a woman all along?

“Who is Shoko’s friend?” Naomi pointed towards a young-looking man standing next to Shoko.

“Oh, that’s her new boyfriend,” Cathy shrugged. “I barely know him, he is new in town.”

“Huh,” That was all Naomi could say. Shoko’s dating habits were … unusual to say the least. That was not a negative thing, she reassured herself, Shoko was an attractive woman. With her sleek, dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and slender figure, she attracted men like honey. If Cathy can call herself unlucky, Shoko was the opposite. It was hypnotizing, really, how Shoko threw her head back with laughter and remain poised. Her boyfriend was cute and all, but he could not hold a candle to Shoko. He almost looked … average next to her.

“Wow, could you stare any harder?”

“Hmm?” Naomi was shaken from her train of thoughts.

Cathy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms against her chest. “If I did not know any better, you still like girls. Does Shoko know that you have a crush on her?”

“Shh, Cathy, that’s enough,” Naomi set her aside. “No, I don’t have a crush on Shoko. Also, can you keep it down?”

“Wait, Raye does not know about you and Halle, does he?”

“Shh!” She raised a finger over her mouth. “No, and I would like to keep it that way. That part of my life is done for.”

“You literally stared at Shoko like you wanted to kiss her.”

“Cathy, can you drop this?” Naomi backed away. “I’m with Raye and that’s all there is to it—" When she turned around, she bumped into a guest and her glass spilled on her white blouse. The sound attracted lurking heads to witness the disaster, including Shoko’s.

“Naomi!” Raye came to the rescue with a paper towel. “Don’t worry, I can fix this.”

Humiliating tears sprung from her eyes, her shame hot against her cheeks. She waved Raye from her sight and ran towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Forget about the ruined blouse, why couldn’t Cathy mind her own business? Sure, it led to something wonderful once, but that was in the past.

Was it?

“Is she gorgeous or what?” Cathy smirked at Halle. “Naomi was looking forward to this day.”

Naomi wanted to cry from the humiliation. What did she do to deserve this?

“That makes the two of us,” Halle laughed, it sounded so warm and clear. “Thank you for helping me out, Cathy.”

“Could you excuse us for a minute?” Naomi flashed a pained smile as she set Cathy aside away from Halle, into the women’s bathroom.

“You lied to me!” Naomi whispered in anger.

“I’m sorry, okay? I met Halle in a case, and she told me that it was hard getting dates when you are a lesbian and one thing led to another and we started talking about you.”

“What. Did. You. Tell. Her?”

Cathy sighed in defeat. “That you were single and that you were totally a lesbian, too.”

“What?” Naomi was flabbergasted. “When have I ever given the impression that I was into women?”

“I mean,” Cathy waved her hands to Naomi’s sides as if her mere presence was the logical explanation. “You love to wear leather, I have never seen you in a skirt, and you ride the sturdiest motorcycle I have ever seen. Can you blame me?”

“What is wrong with you?” Naomi snapped. “I am appalled that you would do something like this. You made me believe I was meeting a guy named Hal … Oh, my God, Halle, Hal … You mispronounced the name on purpose because you knew deep down that I was never going to be okay with this.”

“I did this because I thought you knew that you were a lesbian all along and I was trying to keep it undercover for your sake!” And now Cathy was crying with tears rolling down her face. “You have to realize that I did not do this with bad intentions, I care about you, you are my best friend, I was trying to help.”

Naomi merely shook her head and sneered. “Don’t ever speak to me ever again.” And with that, she stormed from the bathroom.

“Wait, please!” Cathy collapsed on the marble floor and continued crying on her knees.

Crying was useless and a waste of time, she needed to get over herself. Naomi washed her face and wiped water with a towel, taking a deep breath to take some control back to her senses. She was going to pretend that the issue was the stained blouse and move on.

Fortunately for her, the focus was on that stupid sports game, and she was able to sneak to the bedroom and change her blouse into a regular long-sleeved, black turtleneck. She breathed out a sigh of relief. There, it was as if nothing happened.

She was not going to let this train wreck ruin her chance to have a good time, but she needed some time alone. The balcony was impressive, and it gave her the space necessary to come back to the party when she was ready. She looked ahead to the horizon and thought back to what Cathy said. Could there be some truth to her words? Sure, she did struggle getting dates with men, but surely that had nothing to do with her being into women, right? Her mind dwelled on Halle’s face and she groaned. Poor Halle, she was involved in this mess whether she liked it or not and she did not know to properly apologize to her. “I’m sorry my friend told you I was a lesbian?” Yes, that would go over well.

“If I didn’t know any better, it seems that I was not who you expected.” A familiar voice rang in Naomi’s ears.

She turned around and released a pained sigh. There she was, standing tall, unfazed that there was drama in the first place because of her. She was so put together; Naomi was almost jealous that Halle had better control of her emotions than she had.

Those CIA agents must be operating on a league like no other.

Naomi cleared her throat. “Oh, no, that’s the problem, you were described perfectly.” With an excluding factor, that is.

“Listen, I understand that blind dates can be weird, but I was willing to take a chance because it’s not every day that I get to know someone who is in the same line of work who is also into women.” Halle shrugged. “Does that make sense?”

Oh, how was she going to break it to her that she was probably not a lesbian? And yet, those words never exited from her mouth.

“It does make sense,” Naomi nodded her head, smiling. “I’m sorry about before, you are right, blind dates are weird. It could have been way worse.”

Halle chuckled. “What, like dating a serial killer?”

Naomi burst in laughter. “Oh, God, can you imagine? What are the chances of that happening in real life?”

“Believe it or not, it is way more common than you think. Thankfully, both of us are safe.”

She had to admit, Halle was funny. At least she could check off “sense of humor” off her list.

Huh. Hm.

“Just out of curiosity,” Naomi said breezily. “Did Cathy tell you anything interesting about me?”

“You mean like the ‘Milk Slipping Accident’? Yes, if that is true, you are hilarious.”

It was not surprising Cathy told her that story, she was expecting nothing less.

“It would be better if you heard my version of the story, I was the main instigator, after all.” She beckoned Halle to stand beside her. “Come on, I bet Cathy left off some important details.”

~

Whatever was going on inside did not matter when the woman in front of you also shared interesting stories of her own. One thing that Naomi learned from this fiasco was that perhaps the reason why dating men never worked out for her was because the spark was simply not there. With Halle, however, once the awkwardness went away, it just made sense. A part of her was still struggling with this newfound source of self-discovery, but once she allowed to just let herself be, it was comforting. She already admitted that she never dated another woman before today (which made Halle laugh, oddly enough), perhaps Halle would make this journey easier for her with no judgment.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but I’m just noticing that the sun is about to finally set.” Halle remarked.

“Do you like sunsets?”

“I think they can be romantic with the right person. Other than that, they are just nice.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Watched the sunset with someone else? Not romantically, no, but I always wanted to.”

“Well,” Naomi offered her hand. “There is always a first time for everything.”

~

Fast forwarding to the once evaporated memory from Naomi’s mind, after a tentative silence from both women, Naomi and Halle shared a kiss, the first of many that were set to come after Naomi insisted to at least see each other one more time. Unbeknownst to her, Cathy caught them in that embrace and never spoke one word to Naomi about it to avoid confrontation.

The following week, Halle organized a picnic date near a hill to enjoy the serenity of the lack of crowds. Naomi enjoyed herself on the mat despite the cold weather. She did not mind because she could just ask Halle to give her a jacket.

The less they talked about their eventual separation to get back to their normal, working lives, the better. If there was one thing Naomi learned from this experience is to just allow herself to be at peace with the present.

“Naomi?” Raye knocked on the door, the interruption of her thoughts never stopping her peace.

It seemed that Naomi was staring at the wall all this time. “Yes?”

He opened the door and sheepishly peered from the view. “I think it’s time.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I kicked out the rowdy people out of here, we shouldn’t encounter any more disasters.”

Naomi chuckled, embracing Raye’s neck. “They should have been kicked out way earlier, but I forgive you.”

“Oh, you forgive me?” Raye mused out loud. “You are right, I should have listened to you all along.”

She gave him a firm kiss. “At least you are learning.”

~

A loud clink could be echoed across the living room, striking attention from every angle.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Raye began. “I know my parties are bound to be entertaining, and for good reason, but we have an announcement to make, and after this, we can properly celebrate.”

Naomi raised her right hand, allowing the sparkle of the diamond ring to bling bright. “We are engaged!”

Shoko was the first to voice her excitement and soon everyone else follow with cheers and claps.

Raye squeezed her from the side and beamed with pride to finally give up this announcement. Naomi felt celebratory for a moment, but her smile faded slowly as her mind decided to ignore the noise until it turned into a blur. She somehow felt … empty.

~

“Look, Halle, the sun is setting,” Naomi pointed at the sky.

“Crap, we have to go back,” Halle began to stand up from the mat.

“Are you kidding? I have never seen a sunset from a hill, let’s not end the fun just yet.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, I suppose we can stay longer.” Halle went back to the mat and embraced Naomi from behind, allowing her to settle against her.

Even when the sun set into dusk, none of them were willing to leave each other’s arms.

[nelllraiser]

cat burglar | sasha & nell

LOCATION: a warehouse in the bend. PARTIES: @sasha-r-blog​ & @nelllraiser.  SUMMARY: sasha takes it upon herself to stop a break in, and nell is on the wrong end of the matters.  CONTAINS: gun use, gun violence

Another day another dollar was all the witch could think of as Nell lurked outside of an oversized warehouse in The Bend. The human bounties were especially boring to go after seeing as they lacked any upper hand in comparison to magic. At least when she was on the tail of someone supernatural she knew there was an element of surprise- or at least something to keep her on her toes. But money was money, and she still enjoyed bringing in the assholes who skipped out on their bail. Tonight was no different as she peered into one of the windows that paneled the outside of the building, just barely clearing the edge of it so that she might duck down if her quarry glanced her way. Thankfully, he seemed far too busy with counting the pallets that littered the place, scratching his head every now and then while he jotted numbers down in a notebook. All it would take was a simple sleeping spell and he’d be out like a light. But first she needed to get closer, perhaps get a better idea of what exactly it was he was doing in this shitty warehouse. If he were up to no good once again and repeating his criminal past, she wanted to know it about it. Carefully, she pushed her palm against the glass of the window before uttering a quiet spell, and in a moment it had melted away like water, pooling in a puddle on the ground beneath her. While the liquid glass settled, she hooked a leg over the frame of the window as gently as she could, being careful not to make a sound as she made her entrance.

The Bend seemed like the perfect place to look for crime, or at least Sasha assumed it was. In all the movies she’d watched it was usually run down places like where all the criminal stuff happened. So with her makeshift costume on and her change of clothes tucked neatly into her backpack, she made her way there. It didn’t take long to find a good place to perch and keep a lookout. There was a tall, flat roofed brick building at the corner of the block that seemed abandoned. And with a few well placed jumps and some careful footwork she found herself alone at the top, with a good amount of the Bend visible to her. So that was a good start to the night. Unfortunately, it seemed like the promising vantage point wasn’t leading to much. The neighborhood was surprisingly quiet. Sasha did spot a few people, some teenagers meeting up before heading into an alley. But upon closer inspection they were just making out, and Sasha decided to keep her lunch rather than continuing to watch to make sure some murderer didn’t jump out at them. They were probably fine.

It wasn’t until an hour or two later that another bit of movement caught Sasha’s eye. Across the street, next to a large warehouse, was a woman. Sasha moved to the edge of the roof, watching as the woman peaked through the window. Okay, that was suspicious. There were plenty of buildings here that from a quick glance seemed abandoned. But this one, despite seeming run down, at least had intact windows. So probably still in use? Maybe Sasha should have done some research before coming here. But either way, the way the woman was glancing in was clearly suspicious. If it was just some abandoned building to sneak into, why all the weird snooping? Sasha was about to lower herself onto the fire escape for a better view, when she felt a buzzing against her back. Shit. Fumbling with her backpack, Sasha quickly grabbed her phone and turned it to silent. 

Stupid rookie mistake, she should have just left her phone at home. When she turned back toward the woman, the glass in the window was gone, and the suspicious woman was lifting herself into the frame. Cool, good to know that the phone had distracted Sasha so much she completely missed the woman breaking the glass and almost getting inside. That could have been useful info. What if the woman had a crowbar on her to break the glass? Or a gun? Okay, Sasha was pretty sure she would have heard a gun go off even while distracted, but still. She took a deep breath and steadied herself before heading down the fire escape. When she was half way down she took another deep breath, and vaulted over the edge onto the street below, trying her best to land just as she practiced. Classic superhero landing pose, though more Spider Man than Iron Man, she wasn’t about to fist bump the pavement and break her only weapon. 

Despite Sasha’s strangely quiet landing, her clearing throat as she held the pose was likely audible. 

Nell couldn’t help but be paranoid as the hairs of her neck prickled directly before the clearing of a throat sounded behind her. The sound made her jump, though it wasn’t out of fear so much as a gut reaction of defense, head whipping around to look at whatever it was that had disturbed her. In the same movement, she drew a knife from it’s concealed hiding place on her body, brandishing it in front of her and placing it between herself and...what the fuck? Was there some sort of convention in town that she didn’t know about? That was the first thought in the witch’s mind as she took in the rag-tag ensemble before her, eyes not even sure where to land first on the strange mixture of clothing choice. Raking her gaze over the overflow of tiger printed spandex and fake leather, somehow the most confusing thing about the get-up were the razor-sharp teeth that were printed where the person’s mouth should be, stretched over the features that they hid. Where even to begin? “You know if you need some more quality cosplay my dad has an Etsy and worked the professional costume circuit in Vegas for years,” was the only thing she could think to whisper in the direction of this newly appeared enigma. Nevermind that she wasn’t exactly speaking to her father at the moment. 

The rustling of the man moving inside the warehouse was what pulled Nell’s attention away from the knock-off cat-man that had spawned from seemingly nowhere, and she was quickly reminded of why she was here. “Look- can you go play somewhere else?” she hissed under her breath towards the newcomer, not particularly keen on having her bounty disturbed. The words weren’t meant to be demeaning, as Nell truly and simply had no idea what to do with the train wreck that had stuck their nose into her business. What a cosplayer was doing in the middle of the Bend, she hadn’t the faintest idea— but she wasn’t going to let them get in her way. “I’m kinda busy.”

As the woman turned around to look at her Sasha began to rise to her feet and- oh shit, she had a knife! Sasha froze up at the sight of the suddenly brandished weapon. But it was fine, it was cool. Sasha had her own set of knives too. Or rather, The Claw did. 

The woman’s whispering sounded loud and clear in Sasha’s sensitive ears and made her stop right before making her heroic declarations to put down the knife. “I-I’m not a cosplayer and this isn’t some sort of game...”

That sounded cooler in her head, but Sasha continued to stare down the woman. If she was randomly pointing a knife at her that had to mean she was a criminal. Sasha put one of her hands out to the side, fingers curled, ready to summon her claws at any moment. Come on, you can do this.

“I’m The Claw, and I’m here to put a stop to your break in! What’s in there? Money, valuebles, a stockpile of illegal weapons? Whatever it is, you better make your peace with never getting your hands on them.”

Yeah... yeah! I’ve got this! She’s gotta be scared now. 

The somewhat puzzled yet exasperated expression on Nell’s features only grew more scrunched as the mysterious figure spoke. It was a girl. That much she could initially tell from the voice. She’d already parted her lips to ask what exactly the masked interloper was doing here when the knock-off Catwoman spoke again, and the witch’s eyebrows shot skyward in disbelief. “The Claw?” she echoed, a hint of unshared delight entering Nell’s tone. Who the hell ran around in spandex calling them themselves the Claw? She couldn’t stop the quiet chuckle that pressed past her lips as the rest of the girl’s words sank in. “I’m not breaking in. Well- I am breaking in, but I’m not the shitty person here. Make my- make my peace?” Nell sputtered in her continued amusement. “Babe- I hate to be the one to tell you this- actually I don’t really hate it, but-” Her sentence wouldn’t find it’s end as another voice rang out, Nell’s target apparently having overheard enough of their shared noises to finally take notice of the two young woman loitering in his warehouse window.

“Hey!” He called out, already taking angry strides in their direction. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded, reaching for some unseen weapon that resided in the inner pocket of his jacket.

The woman was...laughing... at The Claw. Sasha's heart sank, but she tried to replace the feeling with annoyance. The Claw wouldn’t get upset, so Sasha wouldn’t either. She would prove this woman wrong. This woman who apparently didn’t know what a superhero was. This woman who also just admitted to breaking in, as matter of fact! So yeah, even if she laughed at her that wasn’t going to stop Sasha from stopping this criminal. 

Sasha opened her mouth to speak, to cut off whatever excuse or taunt the stranger planned to throw at her, only for another voice to cut both of them off. In the window frame appeared a man, mid 30ss, not exactly friendly looking. Okay so that guy didn’t seem super happy but he also probably just didn’t get that Sasha was trying to help.

“Don’t worry!” She said, putting out a hand, her words faltering slightly when she saw him reaching for something in his jacket. “I’m here to stop this robber from breaking in. I’ve got it under control.”

Truly, Nell hadn’t intended to laugh in a malicious manner, but it was simply too bizarre to witness a self-proclaimed ‘hero’ running around White Crest, fighting crime and toting names such as ‘The Claw.’ She supposed in concept it wasn’t too bizarre. After all White Crest was in desperate need of as much help as it could get. But a masked do-gooder was a far cry from those she usually cleaned up the messes around this town. After all it wasn't as if hunters were running around in capes and hoods. Or...herself for that matter. Of course she’d never consider herself a hero in any sense of the word. She was fairly certain the people that Sasha was trying to emulate didn’t go around torturing sacrifices to bring their loved ones back from the dead. 

Nell’s head whipped around as Sasha and the man’s eyes met, and a frown was quick to turn her lips southwards as she saw him reaching for whatever he was concealing beneath his jacket. While Sasha spoke, Nell did her best to stay between the bounty and The Claw, a threatening and far more serious tone coming from her lips. “Don’t,” she commanded, the words meant both for the criminal and the attempted hero. 

“Or you’ll what?” The grungy man replied with a rough tone as he pulled a gun from its hiding place, training it on both the girls- dipping back and forth between them. “What are two little girls gonna do about it?” 

Nell kept her eyes trained on the man before saying, “Or I’ll start with breaking every finger in your hand, and then see if I wanna start on your other one.” As for The Claw… “You’ve got it wrong- he’s the piece of shit. I’m here to collect his bounty.”

Sasha froze at the sight of the gun, and just as quickly as it was pointed at them the woman moved between her and the man. It took too long for her to process, she should be quick on her feet, she knew that. What hero let someone come between them and a bullet?

“Bounty?” Sasha hated the way her voice squeaked up an octave, but to be fair, this was the first time she had seen a gun in real life and they were about two seconds from getting a much closer look if things kept up. “But you-”

Sasha may have misinterpreted things here. Were bounty hunters even legal? She guessed they weren’t any more illegal than a vigilante. She didn’t really have a good concept of them outside of action movies, and things were getting pretty actiony right now. 

She had barely heard the man speak, barely processed what the woman said either. But suddenly the man moved his hand again, a glint of metal catching in Sasha’s eyes. In hindsight, maybe it was just another threatening motion to get them to back off. But in a panic Sasha felt herself rushing past the woman. She wasn’t thinking. Maybe she should have. The next thing she knew one of her clawed hands was digging into the forearm of the man, the jacket sleeve torn and likely the skin under it as well. She didn’t hear the man's reaction, just an ear shattering bang as the gun hit the ground and misfired into the sidewalk. Sasha could only hear high pitched ringing after that, but she could see the man shout in pain and her grip on his arm tightened reflexively, as if he might pick up the gun somehow or draw another. 

“No!” Nell yelled as The Claw darted towards the man, eyes wide as she watched the girl make her attack, certain she was going to hear a gunshot pop off at any moment. And then a matching red would bloom on The Claw’s costume, staining the stripes as they seeped the girl’s life away. But no such thing happened. There was a bang, and Nell flinched as the bullet ricocheted to god knew where, and then it seemed The Claw was firmly latched onto the man’s gunarm. Had the girl brought hidden knives as well? But Nell hadn’t seen her draw them. The speed and high stakes of the situation didn’t allow for a closer look before she too was moving in on the man, fast and controlled in her approach as she kicked the man’s legs out from under him while he was distracted by The Claw. He landed hard on the warehouse floor, a grunt of pain falling from his as Nell planted a firm kick in his side once he was down. “I said, don’t!”

In the next moment, Nell tugged at her magic, using it to bend the man’s fingers into unnatural angles and making good on her promise of breaking them. While his yell filled the concrete walls, she grabbed at his wrists, taking special care to press down on the digits she’d just snapped, drawing a pair of handcuffs from a pocket and clicking them soundly around him. “Alright- okay,” she began, turning towards The Claw with a frown now that the man was no longer a threat. “Do you believe me now?” Gone was any of Nell’s previous amusement. 

Sasha only had her claws dug into the dude’s arm for a moment before the woman kicked his feet out from under him. Sasha didn’t try to keep her grip. She watched him fall and felt the sticky blood coating her hands. Oh god, gross. Her first instinct was to try to wipe the stuff off on her pants, but she really only had one of these costumes. So instead she held her clawed hand away from herself awkwardly as the woman kicked and cuffed the man.

Wait, how had she broken his fingers? Sasha blink, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe like the bang had messed with her ears, the flash of the fallen gun had messed with her vision. It looked like they had just snapped by themselves. But she didn’t have much time to think about it. When the woman turned and spoke it sounded as if her voice was coming through water, but Sasha could still make out the words. 

“I-I didn’t realize there were bounty hunters here. I just saw you trying to break in and I thought...” Sasha's heart was beating hard in her chest, but as the adrenaline faded she started to feel anxiety creeping in, past the normal confidence that she tried to show as The Claw. “I didn’t realize.” 

For a moment Nell simply watched Sasha in vaguely concerned confusion, taking in the way she was holding her hand away from herself, apparently not all that accustomed to the blood she’d drawn. Another look towards the girl, and the witch could see something like shock beginning to grip The Claw’s body. It had been a couple of months since Nell had been reminded that not everyone was as accustomed to spilling blood and facing guns down, but as she looked at the costumed crusader— it was hard to miss the way her voice had changed, and Nell’s frustrated demeanour switched into something more sincere. “Hey- are you...alright? You can sit down or something if you need to. I have some water,” she said before turning to rummage in the bag she’d been carrying on her back, offering a water bottle soon after she located it. “You’re not hurt, right?” She hadn’t seen the man land a mark on the young woman, but what if that stray bullet hadn’t been all that stray, and Nell had missed it? WIth a quick and cursory glance over The Claw, Nell did her best to try and identify if she was bleeding anywhere. 

“Aren’t there bounty hunters everywhere?” Nell wasn’t entirely looking for an actual answer as she glanced once again toward the man they’d downed together. When he tried to open his mouth to speak, she granted him a warning growl before kicking one of his broken hands. Earning another howl of pain from the criminal. “Sorry- hold on,” she sighed at the girl before bending down to tug off the man’s beanie and stick it into his mouth as a makeshift gag. “There- now he won’t bother us, at least.” Taking some pity on the girl, she offered her name, hoping that might help set The Claw a little more at ease. “I’m Nell.” 

“I’m alright. I’m fine.” Sasha was fine. Mostly fine. She wasn’t hurt at least and the real bad guy had been taken down. But staring down a gun was a lot. Sasha took the water bottle, but realized she couldn’t risk taking off her mask to drink. Instead she poured a bit of it over her hand to clean it of blood, retracting her claws once they were no longer covered. 

“I’m not hurt I-” She stopped mid sentence as Nell roughly silenced the man. That was fine, all of this was fine. He was a bad guy after all. “I’m The Claw.” Wait, she had already told her that. “I um, thanks for the help. I’m sorry I thought you were trying the break in. I mean, you were, but you weren’t robbing anyone.”

She glanced down at the dude again. She didn’t exactly feel bad for him, not after threatening her and Nell. But at the same time she worried about how much she may have hurt him. “Do you do this a lot? Bounty hunting? I should probably know so I don’t mistake you for doing something bad when I’m out patrolling.” 

Nell didn’t intend to purse her lips at The Claw’s answer, but couldn’t help it as the other girl maintained that she was fine. The witch had heard that particular phrase more than once when it came to people reacting to the concerning outcomes of questionable experiences. If she were being entirely honest, she herself had used it on numerous occasions when she didn’t want to admit that something may not have been fine. But she wasn’t going to push the girl. “Alright.” At least she wasn’t hurt. Nell couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered on The Claw’s...well...claws as the girl poured water over them and her hand. So that had been how the damage was done? “That’s pretty neat,” she offered in a tone that she hoped was casual, nodding towards the girl’s hand. Was she a werewolf or something? What else had claws, but appeared to be human?

“Yeah, I remember,” Nell said with a tease in her voice, hoping to bring back at least a little levity to the situation. “The Claw. Pretty fitting I guess, isn’t it? Though...if you have more than one claw- shouldn’t you be The Claws?” A shrug later, and Nell was speaking again. “You helped, too. I mean you got the first hit on him.” Even though The Claw had successfully drawn blood and proven herself capable, Nell couldn't help the worry that was pooling in her stomach as she continued to watch the girl and listen to her mention attempted robbery. “You know...it’s pretty dangerous out here in White Crest. Also just in general. So what are you doing out here trying to stop supposed attempted robberies and shit?” Saving people in White Crest was an endless job, and more often than not you got hurt in the process. It was no surprise that Nell wasn’t keen on the thought of a spandexed and starry-eyed crusader making their way through the town’s problems. “But yeah- it’s my main source of income, so I’m generally sneaking around.” The word ‘patrolling’ only made Nell’s frown dip lower, concern continuing to grow in magnitude.

“It’s part of my powers,” Sasha said as she followed Nell’s gaze back towards her hand. “The Claws doesn’t roll off the tongue as much, I think my title is just fine.” Sasha couldn’t tell if Nell was making another jab at her, or just trying to lighten the mood, but at least the woman didn’t seem annoyed anymore. And that fact let Sasha relax slightly. 

“It’s my job. I’m here to protect White Crest.” Had Nell never heard of a superhero before? Even her reaction to seeing Sasha’s claws was weirdly nonchalant. “Not for money, not that there's anything wrong with helping for money. It is just my responsibility. I want to make sure the town is safe and those doing wrong are punished.” 

She tried to stand a bit taller, get back into the headspace of a hero. Like Nell said, she had just helped to take down a criminal. Maybe all the blood and guns was a bit unexpected but she had done it all the same. “I know White Crest is dangerous but I can handle it.” 

“Your powers…” Nell echoed as her gaze lingered on The Claw’s hands once more. It wasn’t exactly the word she would have used as she generally referred to the gifts of the supernatural community as ‘abilities’. Though she supposed it made sense for the girl to think of them as ‘powers’ if she was determined to run around playing superhero. “Are you...a werewolf?” Nell asked point-blank, seeing no other way around the question. She didn’t particularly feel like dancing around the subject, and they were the only humanoid creature she could think of in that moment that might employ their claws in such a way. 

“Your job?” Nell continued to question, not entirely sold on that description. “What do you mean by that? Why’s it your responsibility?” She could sympathize with wanting to make sure people were as safe as possible in White Crest, but she certainly didn’t consider it to be her job. It was just...something she was good at, and something she felt obligated to do. So where was this sense of duty coming from where it concerned The Claw? “Do you know?” Nell challenged, not entirely convinced. She couldn’t help but feel like she was somehow responsible for making sure this girl knew what she was truly getting into— the pain and heartbreak that lay down the line if she decided to take the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I know you wanna help- but it’s not always happy endings or whatever. Things go to shit. A lot.” And then years have passed and you don’t even know how you got here, but it’s too late to stop now. You can’t turn your back on people that need help. If Nell could spare someone the disillusionment she’d experienced over the last few years, and the bone-deep tiredness she felt half the time these days...she’d take that chance.

“I’m...no I’m not a werewolf.” Okay, Nell was clearly making fun of her now. “This isn’t some joke or silly halloween costume. It is my job. My responsibility. I have powers and I have to help people with them.” Sasha felt her face heat up. She wasn’t used to getting angry enough to raise her voice, and already she felt self conscious at it, clearing her throat and glancing back down at the cuffed man to avoid Nell’s questioning gaze.

“I know this town is dangerous. I can handle it. You don’t need to-” Treat me like a child. Act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Sasha clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to argue. Nell had helped, but Sasha wasn’t going to try to explain this to her. 

“Are you taking him to the police?” Sasha motioned to the man. “Or wherever bounties go. I need to get back to my patrol.” It was a lie. Sasha was pretty sure she was going to head directly back to her dorm the moment she left Nell and sleep until she forgot about her annoyance and the gun going off and the feeling of blood between her fingers.

“I didn’t say it was any of that stuff,” Nell defended with a gut reaction, realizing she’d made a wrong step somewhere along the way. Certainly Nell had thought it to be a game at the beginning of their meeting, mistaking the girl for cosplay, but now she knew better. But if The Claw wasn’t a werewolf...what was she? Unless she simply didn’t know she was a werewolf. Maybe that was also a possibility. If that were the case, it would only fan the flames of Nell’s concern. How could the girl hope to save a world she didn’t have all the pieces of, and not get hurt in the process? “But you don’t,” Nell replied simply. “You don’t have to. Not if it gets to be too much or anything like that.” 

Nell recognized a stubbornness in the girl that was most likely mirrored in herself while The Claw defended her choices, and that only worried Nell more. But she also knew there was no sense fighting it if they were, indeed, alike in that trait. Any opposition would only be met with a stronger fight back. So if Nell couldn’t prevent the girl from taking a path that was rife with hardship, maybe she could at least help. “Fine,” was her short answer. “But if you have any questions— how can people contact you, anyway? Is there like a ‘The Claw’ twitter or something that you work off of?” If The Claw wouldn’t listen to her, then she’d simply have to settle for trying to keep an eye on the girl. 

The dismissal was obvious in the girl’s words, and Nell had no interest in overstaying her welcome at the moment. Besides, she did need to get this man back to the bail bonds agency. “I’m taking him,” Nell answered with her arms folded over her chest, not yet moving an inch. She usually utilized magic to get her bounties back to her employers, and though she’d already technically used magic in front of The Claw, she wasn’t about to do so again so openly when it seemed the other girl hadn’t noticed. “Good luck on your patrol.” She’d have to wait for The Claw to leave in order to finish her business here. 

But you were thinking it. You were thinking that I’m a joke. And you think that I can’t handle things either. But Sasha didn’t voice it. She didn’t want to get angrier at Nell, or vice versa, but it was already getting to that point. So she ignored the bounty hunter’s statement about what she knew she had to do or whatever, biting back a retort. Even the question about contacting her made Sasha irritated in the moment. She knew it was dumb, but it hadn’t been something she figured out yet since saving Connor and him asking her the same thing. Being reminded again that she had no easy way to contact someone without revealing who she was only made her worried that it would now come off as unprofessional to the bounty hunter. 

“I’m setting something up. Why don’t you give me your contact info and I’ll reach out to you if I need it.” A burner phone or some side account on something wouldn’t be hard, she just had to make sure it didn’t trace back to her. And behind the current annoyance and Nell, Sasha knew it would be smart to know how to contact her. Not that Sasha would need the help, but she didn’t want some weird bounty mix up to happen again. 

“Thanks.” Sasha said, unsure if Nell meant what she said about her patrol. At least she hadn’t detected any sarcasm in that, even if she seemed to want Sasha to get out of her hair soon.

Nell didn’t offer any more words as The Claw gave her a short answer, knowing that the peace between them was hanging by a thread. Instead she tucked a hand into her jacket pocket, magically summoning a piece of paper and pen from back home into her hand before bringing them back into sight. On the paper she wrote both her phone number, and the name ‘Penelope Vural’ before handing it over to the girl. “You can text me or find me on the town forum. Whatever works for you.” Friendship wasn’t on Nell’s mind as she offered the contact information, and instead she was hoping that she might be able to keep some sort of eye on the strange crusader. “Let me know if you ever need anything or whatever. Or have questions about who I’m after. Sometimes jobs take more than two hands...or claws, and I’m always down for action.” That was the best she felt she could do in making sure The Claw didn’t get herself killed, and without adding flame to the fire the witch had inadvertently built between them. 

Nell turned away from the self-made heroine, unable to bite her tongue any longer when the rock of dread was solidifying in her gut. She didn’t want to watch another person get hurt by White Crest, but she wasn’t about to stand by and let it happen either. When she turned to look over her shoulder, the other girl was already gone, and Nell hadn’t even gotten to give a well wishing of safety before the night air swallowed up The Claw. All she could think was that hopefully the town wouldn’t swallow the girl whole as well. 

[visndcaitswhore]

Ephemeral|| FRED WEASLEY

Summary: Starting his first year at Hogwarts Hades Lestrange thought it was going to be peaceful and he would keep a low profile. But peaceful and low profile isn't in the twins' vocabulary, apparently.

                                                           TWO

The Slytherin dorms where quiet, which made sense since it was the middle of the night and every student after eating to their hearts content had quickly retired for the night. Yet, in the dark and suprisingly warm room- of course, there is no way the wealthy parents would allow their kids to freeze under the lake- a sigh sounded through the quiet of the room.

Hades shifted for the hundreth time that night, sleep wasn't his friend that night. Laying on his side he pushed the dark green curtains of the bed aside slightly to peek at the clock that was resting on the bed side table. He squinted at the clock which told him that it was almost 4 in the morning.

He closed the curtains with a groan.

Whatever, he thought, time is relevant.

Fuck, he needed sleep.

He closed his eyes trying to fool himself into thinking that he is asleep but that did not seem to work because of the unexplained uneasiness he felt. Well, not exactly unexplainable, he knew it was because of the red headed twin storms and their friendship that lasted for almost three hours or so.

It was stupid to think about them so much, of course it wouldn't last. He knew that. But he lost himself, he was happy and he laughed so much he forgot to take in account their worn out shirts, their baggy clothes that obviously weren't originally bought for them but for someone taller, propably a sibling. No signs of wealth anywhere, he couldn't associate himself with them even if they were sorted in slytherin.

Which they would not want, who would seat in a table full of back stabbing snakes?

Assholes, mother fucking, horses ars-

There was a loud snore from one of the boys that broke the silence out of nowhere, causing Hades to fall off his bed with a loud thud, becoming a tangled mess with his covers. Struggling, he managed to push his upper body glaring at the boy,

"Sorry, Lestrange" he mumbled sleepisly before turning to his side and falling asleep.

The dark haired boy just growled at him as he considered attacking his fellow slytherin but he decided to let it go as something dawned to him.

He was a Lestrange- rich, spoiled and entitled. He didn't know what that meant in its entirety but what he did know was the fact that he absolutely should not be bothered by irrelevant Gryffindors who were quite clearly prejudiced against him for his house while ironically calling Slytherins prejudiced.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

"What a joke..."

And everything went quite again, and stillness conquered.

Then a very loud snore shook the bedroom, again.

"For fucks" Hades grabbed the pillow from underneath the snoring boy, before attacking,

Hades walked the halls of Hogwarts like a zombie on his first day. His dark curls were all over the place, his tie was made up the wrong way and he would glare at anyone that dared talk to him this early.

Any activities before 12 should be forbidden by human rights, he scowled.

But does that mean that he would have a quite day?

No, because the universe had another obstacle for him that morning. And it had purple hair.

"Hey, Hadie, wait up!"

Hades did not respond to the name Hadie so he chose to ignore the female voice but the girl just moved to walk beside him.

"You are Hades Lestrange, right?" Asked the purple ball of energy and loudness.

"No. I'm Miguel"

The purple haired girl threw her head back with an obnoxious laugh, almost falling causing her to grab onto the dark haired boy.

As she laughed Hades kept glaring at her hand located on his arm, then at her face. Glare at her hand, then glare at her face. He continued to do that as she came down from her high, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes

"You are funny, mini Lestrange "

Salazar, give me strength to not slap this bitch.

"I'm not that small" he sounded pretty offended. Which he was. He knew he was pretty small for his age but he still had room to grow, or that's what his uncle told him one day when he was giving him the cold shoulder for calling him short.

"Aww, of course you are. You are cute and small, with really cute cheeks. Perfect for squeeezing" she 'complimented' while squeezing his cheek really hard giving him a mischievous smile.

Hades slapped her hand away, suddenly thankful that there were only a few students at the hall.

"Rude" she gasped "Is this how you treat your cousin?"

"No cousin of mine has purple hair, I can assure you" Of that he was pretty sure, purple hair just didn't fit with the dark and brooding death eaters of  his family.  It wasn't angsty enough.

"Well, now you do. I'm Tonks" she extended her hand for a handshake with a huge smile.

"Your first name is Tonks? Your parents dont really like you" he furrowed his eyebrows

Another obnoxious laugh.

He didn't know, or even like this girl, but she sure knew how to laugh.

"You are good, mini Lestrange"

"Meh"

"Dora!" a male voice cut their conversation off giving Hades the opportunity to try and bold as Tonks was looking at the by that called her. Only for her to grab his cloak without even looking.

The red headed boy walked closer to the two with a smile ignoring the pouting and glaring Hades, held captive by Tonks.

"Dora, you need to stop skipping classes. Sprout is looking for you"

"Well, I'm sure that she can excuse me this time. It's a family reunion!" she put a hand around Hades shoulders when he tried to wiggle his cloak out of her hold "Charlie, meet my cousin. Hades, Charlie Weasley"

The dark haired boy stopped struggling, pushing his dark curls back, looking at Charlie in pure shock.

Charlie was a very handsome young man, that much was clear. With red hair reaching past his ears, with shining blue eyes that were slightly screwed as he smiled down at Hades kindly. The boy bit down on his cheek as he could feel the blood rushing through his cheeks, quite a contrast on his pale skin. He wasn't sure if he was blushing because Charlie was handsome or because his last name was Weasley, reminding him of the twins he so wanted to strangle now.

A bit of both.

Charlie moved for a handshake when Hades made a sound of realization. With his mouth agape he pointed at Tonks accusingly "Tonks, Andromeda's new surname after marrying a muggle born." he paused "So, your first name isn't Tonks"

"Nope," she said playfully "but you can just call me Tonks"

Charlie, saw an opportunity and took it "Her name is Nymphadora"

There was a glint in the cousins' eyes.

"Don't call me Nymphadora" said the girl with a dangerous glint in her eyes as her hair turned red.

Meanwhile, Hades and Charlie smirked at each other. The glint in Hades' eyes screamed mischief. And here he thought he would get bored without annoying Draco for a whole year, little did he know the next victim would offer herself over to him. Cousins are a blessing.

"Anyways!" Hades interrupted their bickering "I have to go to my potions class. See you later," he pinched Dora's cheek affectionately with a shit eatting grin "Nymphadora"

Hades turned on his heels, suddenly very jolly as he skipped away with an evil laugh.

So, Hades was set on one thing. His potions teacher is an insecure asshole who likes to bully kids, propably because he finds no real joy in his life. And to top it all off, he was the head of his house.

And to add to that, the asshole kept calling on Hades even when his hand wasn't raised. Obviously because his last name, Lestrange, meant that he knew every single answer. Which he did, but thats besides the point. The point was that Hades' anxiety had reached its peak, and he thought he would propably have a cardiac arrest,

Not to mention he was obviously biased towards his house and he didn't even hide it as he took points from the Gryffindor's mercilessly for every stupid reason he could find, usually undeservingly. The only instance that was excused was when the twins made tampered with another students potion making it explode in his face as they died of laughter. Hades almost smiled.

If the potion had exploded in Snapes face he would have laughed not caring about the consequences.

But that small prank costed 20 points from Gryffindor and Snape seperating the twins, so thats how Hades ended up trying to scoot as far away from Fred as possible. Thankfully, Fred respected his boundaries as they both worked on their seperate assignments while stealing glances at each other from time to time.

As they stole glances at eah other their eyes met, and they held eye contact for a few seconds before the redness spread from their neck to their whole face and they looked away, wide eyed.

Hades cleared his throat, continuing with the potion but not before slapping Fred's hand away as he tried to sneak something into his cauldron.

"Touche" whined Fred rubbing his hand

"I thought we were the snakes that went behind people's backs?" Hades asked not even bothering to look up from his cauldron as he threw in the last incredients.

"I never-" tried Fred, touching Hades' wrist but he was quick to raise his hand

"Professor, I'm done"

The head of his house made his way towards him to check his work. As he examined his cauldron, Hades and Fred examined his face wondering what he felt since his expression continued to be sour and his eyes basically dead. The two first years ex changed looks, then looked back at their teacher in curiosity.

"Very well done, Mr. Lestrange. 10 points to Slytherin." Then his eyes fell on Fred's unfinished project "Mr. Weasley, why don't you follow Mr. Lestrange's," he trailed off as he saw that Fred still had his hand on Hades wrist, the slytherin not bothered in the slightest. Honestly, they had forgotten about it but now they noticed and quickly pulled their hands away ", example" Snape then walked away with a confused expression, not really wanting to know the details.

"Yeah, follow my example, Weasley" Hades smirked.

Fred puffed his chest , clasping his hands behind his back, sticking his nose high in the air "It's Mr. Weasley to you, young man" he shook his head disapprovingly "Kids these days"

Hades just smiled "Well, you should propably get used to following my example."

Fred's smile fell as he instead narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy whose smile widened. Snape dismissed

"Finally," Hades sighed "Now you can go back to your non- backstabbing Gryffindors, and I can finally be rid of your horrible excuse to a humor, yeah?" and with that he grabbed his books and walked out of the classroom.

Fred watched his back before George snapped him out of his daze and they walked out of the classroom with Lee as Fred explained to them their next plan.

[xathia-89]

A Kimono as a work of art

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ because it’s Yoshimoto. And @thequeenshuntress​ because she proofed for me. NSFW. 

The castle was brimming with life. Maids were everywhere, and merchants had been bringing goods to the kitchens all day as I helped one of the girls to carry a crate of sake out to the hall. Kenshin had declared an enormous banquet to take place, though he refused even to tell Sasuke what the reasoning behind it was. Everyone was getting excited since all of the servants and staff were invited to this one. Some retainers had grumbled initially at the revelation until the sharp end of Kenshin’s sword convinced them otherwise as all of the girls around the kitchens were giggling and gossiping about what to wear. 

“Lady Natsuki!” One of the maids came rushing over with the biggest smile on her face. “Lord Yoshimoto has sent you a present, and it’s waiting in your room. He said you would be needing private use of the baths before tonight and would need assistance to get ready,” the young girl was gushing, clearly enamoured with the beautiful man. She wasn’t even waiting for my response, grabbing me by the hand the second the crate was placed on the floor and dragging me out to the privacy of the bathing area. 

I hadn’t had a chance to stop and think for a few days, not that I had minded very much when it was evident how much the rest of the castle was looking forward to the grandness of tonight. I was shoved into the bathing area without a lot of grace, grinning to myself as I took the opportunity to have a bath without Shingen trying to ‘help’ for once. 

It was peaceful, the faint sounds of the bustling castle in the background as I let my muscles begin to relax under the heated water. I hadn’t realised how much of a sweat I had worked up today, and it was more than a little refreshing to wash the chores away before I decided to clamber out. One of Yoshimoto’s bathing robes had been left out for my use before I recalled the instruction to return to our chambers afterwards. 

What I hadn’t been expecting was the most beautiful kimono that I had ever seen in the middle of our room. It was exquisite, and perfect in every way possible, and there was not any chance in hell that I would do it justice. I was searching through all of our storage areas where my clothing was kept, only to find it all devoid of any other options.

“Lady Natsuki?” One of the maids stuck her head in and had plenty of things with her to deal with my hair as well. “Oh my,” she admired, “Lord Yoshimoto has beautiful taste,” she complimented before turning to me with a smile. “I wondered why all of your kimonos were in the servant’s quarters,” she laughed. 

“I can’t do that kimono justice!” I weakly argued before I found the young woman whistling for the attention of two others who were nearby, and found myself forcibly dressed in the luxurious material. 

My arguing had meant everything was delayed, of course, and the banquet had started without me. The boys were already tucking into sake and platters of food before the maids insisted on making a fuss of me to enter. I was flushing red as the whole hall was gazing at me after the doors were slid open, and noticed that even Yukimura was more than a little slack-jawed to see me in such finery. 

Shingen beat Yoshimoto to greet me, much to the annoyance of the Imagawa Lord. He looked prepared to go to war with his own family as Takeda was ungracefully shoved to the side for him to affectionately kiss the back of my hand in greeting. 

“You look beautiful,” Yoshimoto smiled. 

“You had all of my clothing removed,” I retorted, trying to keep the smile off my face as he was regarding me like a piece of art. I was failing miserably of course as Yoshimoto spun me around for a look. 

“I know you,” he shrugged, before sitting down and patting the seat next to him. 

Everyone was in high spirits, the sake flowing freely, and the food circulating well. The staff were able to taste more than just their own fruits of labour, as Kenshin had made it more than a little apparent that status made no difference at the banquet. For which, he was gathering many female admirers as he would pour for anyone able to stop his blade or convince him with words that there were more dangerous things about. I also didn’t realise how popular Sasuke and Yukimura were, especially when the two of them together it became quite apparent there was little in the way of natural charm and they both needed a female touch to their lives from the way the girls were fawning over them. 

Then I seemed to have Shingen’s attention. 

Yoshimoto had to leave me to assist with surgically removing Kenshin from his sword against his retainer, which the resident flirt took as an opening to chat me up. 

“You are a goddess among men tonight, we are not worthy of your presence,” he smiled as I sipped at my sake, raising an eyebrow in question at the man. Yoshimoto was usually stopping him before there was the slightest of chances, but here I was fending for myself as I decided to see what he would do if I didn’t reply. He inched closer, leaning forward to take advantage of the fact that the room was mostly looking the other way. “An angel that requires the touch to make her sing maybe?” He chuckled. “I’m sure I could make your singing more than a little heavenly,” he offered as I refilled my cup. “Your blushing cheeks say more than your silence, princess,” he shuffled closer. “You make that kimono look like a work of art, but I am willing to bet that you are at your most beautiful without any material.” 

There was no warning. A rib iron fan was stabbed into the mats and physically separating Shingen from me, a heated glare from molten eyes before my wrist was grabbed. I was hauled to my feet; the weapon yanked back before I found myself being escorted out of the hall. 

“I told you to rebuke him,” Yoshimoto was boiling, throwing his arms around my waist before kissing me heatedly. It was easy to forget everything when his lips were involved, including that we weren’t in private yet. His fingers were nearly as magical, already pulling on the collar of my kimono to merely touch me as my knees were already threatening to buckle under me. A moan escaped before I could stop it as his lips were tasting my throat, my body arching into his touches before the warlord abruptly pulled back. “Not here, you deserve to be worshipped in private,” he was telling himself off as he adjusted the fabrics to ensure nothing was showing to anyone who didn’t deserve to look. 

I was struggling to keep my body working. I was sure it wasn’t usually this far to our room from the hall, but then again I had recently taken to sake drinking competitions with Kenshin and would generally be passing out in the lobby before Yoshimoto would carry me back to our room with complications arising commonly. But all I could feel was the heat from the path his lips had been taking over my skin. The fabric had been feeling like silk against my skin until his touch had made everything I was wearing unbearable. The air around us would be too much as we finally came to our room. 

Kenshin had given us quarters far enough away from everyone else, apparently, we were frequently disturbing him when it came to Yoshimoto’s thorough explorations as the door shut behind us. His touch was burning me up; I needed to feel his as Yoshimoto refused to rush anything. He was an expert in undoing clothing, though he always managed to make it look too sexy and beautiful to be anything aside from art as he nipped at my lower lip in reprimand. He knew when I was going to object to his slow pace, my obi sash falling like a waterfall of silks to the floor. It was my main line of defence against him gone before I was already pulling on his clothing to remove the offensive materials between us. 

His slender fingers were cradling the back of my head, keeping me close as I could feel his skin heating against mine. One large hand slowly making its way down my spine. His tongue was making sure I was lost to his touch, playing me like his musical instrument before lowering me onto our shared futon. He refused to allow me any shame, covering up at the moment was a reflex habit of mine, embarrassed to be studied akin to artwork as his fingers glided from my back to my stomach. Any distance between us was too much as he reluctantly pulled back from my lips. 

I was already a hot mess, a whine escaping my throat at the loss of contact before his expression told me to be quiet. He was studying me, admiring me in a way that I could only describe as primal. 

“Such beauty,” he murmured, tracing a finger down my stomach before his glassy gaze locked into my eyes. A crafty smile, lowering his lips to my skin as he traced over my folds with the tips of his fingers. “I will ensure that even that horrendous crude of a flirt knows you are mine with your cries tonight,” he promised before his tongue found one of my nipples. My body was on fire; his other hand was caressing and teasing my breast that wasn’t under attack by his tongue, while his fingers curled in me deeply. Every breath he took was like watching an artist create, his devotion to his movements like a parent teaching a child as I felt my body coiling tighter around his ministrations. 

“Yoshimoto,” I breathed, barely able to do anything except grinding my hips into his hand as his mouth and fingers swapped sides. 

“I want to hear you,” he murmured, rolling my nipple between his teeth as his fingers began to thrust faster into me. “Sing for me, my beautiful bird,” he continued, a heavy-lidded gaze the only thing missing as my first orgasm was already wreaking havoc. 

I didn’t know where the sheets went as the night passed into dawn. I had spotted the texts that Shingen was ‘helpfully’ leaving strewn about, and I knew most of what we had done wasn’t covered in those books. Even after a night of exertion hadn’t put a hair out of place on Yoshimoto, and I wasn’t allowed to leave his arms as I was coming down from my latest high. He had cum in me more than a few times; the man had plenty of stamina as he barely needed any recovery time. His lips were lazily kissing at my bared shoulders and neck, and the only thing I was allowed to wear was him. His arms were firmly around my waist, keeping me where he wanted as the song of the dawn breaking the silence of the outside world. I was pretty sure that there had been a few times when I would have been heard throughout the castle grounds, and even though Yoshimoto was usually not feeling like he should ‘marr my skin’, he had also seen fit to leave some territorial love bites on my neck that would be seen regardless of what kimono I wore. 

“We should sleep,” I couldn’t help but shuffle, turning around in his arms to try and get comfortable for the task. 

“I suppose it would be rude to keep you up after all your hard work,” Yoshimoto smirk was tempting, and irresistible as I kissed him softly. “Stay there, I’m only getting the sheets because your naked body is for my gaze alone,” he frowned, realising the same thing I had. 

He made swans look ungraceful and clumsy as I watched him from our bed. He knew exactly where to look for what he wanted, before returning swiftly to his spot before the futon had time to cool. The clean sheet had been thrown over me, before he pulled it tightly behind him, not giving me a chance to pull away from his body. His arms were snuggly around my waist again, keeping me flush against him before his lips brushed against my forehead. 

“I love you,” my eyes were getting too heavy to fight and keep them open. 

“I love you too,” he nuzzled, sleep pulling us both under. 

[hannahmcne]

Tag, You’re It - A Descendants Fic

He hears about it long before he actually gets to see it.

The rumor mill starts turning, people start passing notes and whispers and then Fairy Godmother is coming over with a tight-lipped expression to confirm what everyone is saying, what 'That Girl' has done to their school lockers. By the time he's led to the site of the problem, he's heard the descriptions in so much detail that the only surprise he feels upon seeing the graffiti on the wall is in relation to the one detail everyone conveniently forgot to mention.

It is amazing. The details are smooth and crisp. He has no idea how the daughter of Maleficent is so unbelievably talented with a spray can, but boy, is she ever! Fairy Godmother leads him right up to Mal's locker and then stands to wring her hands as he takes in the image of her mother with the motto 'Long Live Evil' engraved into the design. He runs his hand over the paint and discovers it's all in one sheet – it'll probably just pull right off. He hums as he examines the clean ut of Maleficent's horns and then turns back to the Fairy Godmother, who is looking irate and stressed.

"We ought to get her into Art Classes, and then we could actually compete with Corona's Art Department," He decides.

Fairy Godmother stands in shock for a few seconds and then relaxes a little as she considers this. "Well, there's talent, no denying that, but… on our school lockers?" She frowns in disapproval.

"It looks like it'll peel right off," Ben hums, furrowing his brow. He could go and talk to Mal, ask her if she'd be willing to not spray paint the lockers, but he doubts she'll listen to him. If they have someone clean it off, then there's a chance she might just… expand her canvas. At least like this, it's contained. Ben runs his fingertips down his chin and a little smile crosses his face. "Fairy Godmother, I know this isn't the solution you want to hear, but is there any chance we can just… leave it up?"

Fairy Godmother's face twists up and her eyes water in pain at the idea of having graffiti depicting Maleficent up in the school. Ben hurries to back himself up. "Just temporarily! I'm going to try and get into her graces. Maybe I can convince her to take it into Art Class, or at least see if she'll depict something other than 'Long Live Evil'." He runs his hand down the locker door. "Besides, I don't think it's that much of a problem, to be honest. If I can't convince her to take it down, we can leave it up for a few months and clean it off before we leave for summer break. I'll pay for any damage that the paint causes, if any."

Fairy Godmother is still regretful, but Ben implores her and with the assurance that the palace will make sure the locker is restored by the end of the year, she agrees to let the matter slide. So, Ben moves on to phase 2 of both his Isle Transferee plan and his Get-Mal-Into-Art-Class plan. He has to talk to the mini dragon and convince her to take it down.

He sees his chance when he's walking out of class with Chad and Audrey one day. Audrey is mid-sigh, laughing at one of Chad's jokes, when Chad hits Ben's arm lightly and a scowl darkens his expression. He points down the hall, past the passing students, to the defaced locker that is currently open with a pair of spray-paint covered leggings poking out underneath the door. Behind Mal, Evie's locker is open, and she's checking her eyebrows, which are immaculate as usual. "Those kids are trouble," Chad hisses.

Ben pulls his pen out from behind his ear and puts it into his pocket, looking down the hall as Evie shuts her door and bids Mal farewell. In his pocket is a black permanent marker, which he must have put there earlier and forgot about. "Come on, Chad," He implores. "Give them a chance."

Audrey lets out a little sigh and steps forward to give him a lecture, but he is barely listening because Mal glances past her locker door and down the hall, which is starting to clear, and he knows as sure as he knows his name that she can hear them, somehow.

"I think you're wrong about them," He declares when he hears Audrey fall silent. She sighs in exasperation and then turns and walks away. Chad casts another distrustful look towards the girl down the hall, and then he turns to follow her off down the hall. Ben heads in the opposite direction – towards the purple-haired fairy hiding behind her locker. She closes it when she hears him approaching and turns as if she's going to walk past him. He leans into the lockers, blocking her path, and smiles. "Hey," He greets.

Mal blinks a little as if she's surprised that he's dared to speak to her. "Hey," She returns.

"How was your first day?" He wants to know, glancing at the books she's clutching in her arms. One of them, unfortunately, looks like her mother's spellbook. She can't be the only villain kid to receive a gift from their parent. Maybe he should have paid a little more attention to the cracked mirror Evie was using to examine herself earlier.

"Super," Mal hums, pressing her lips together in a way that makes the pink tones grow a little lighter for a few seconds.

Pleasantries aside, now is the time to strike. Ben nods his head towards her paint-covered locker. "You should really think about taking this talent off the locker and into Art Class. I could, uh, sign you up?"

Mal examines his gaze with a little squint and keeps her lips pressed together. "Hmm," She hums as if she's considering it. "Way to take all the fun out of it." Then she squints her eyes at him a little more, turns in a smooth motion, and walks away without another word.

"Huh," He hums, leaning back into the locker next to hers and then staring at the graffiti as student pass by in front of him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and feels the cap of the sharpie that had somehow ended up there.

And immediately, an idea comes to mind.

He pulls the sharpie out of his pocket – it's black, he should invest in a set of purple or blue – and then turns to examine Mal's artwork. He knows he can't draw for crap, but his handwriting is pretty and elegant and… kinglike. It'll do nicely. Ben locates an area on the right side of Maleficent's wing and, on top of the green, scribbles: Art Club meets after school, in room 36. Go check it out. Then he caps the sharpie and walks off in the other direction. There isn't much fault in putting graffiti over someone else's graffiti, he thinks.

______________________________________________________________

Mal, it would seem, does not agree with his reasoning.

He knows the moment she enters the room because the temperature drops and kids fall silent. Chad takes a deep breath of frustration, and he turns nonchalantly over his left shoulder to watch the Core Four enter the room. It's not at all surprising that they're here, but it should

definitely be noted that they look like they're walking into battle. Each one stands with a stance of iron, frigid gazes sweeping over the crowd and hands clenched into fists. Mal's eyes are bright green and she looks so, so pissed. Evie spots him first and puts a hand on Mal's shoulder. Quickly, everyone else's gazes drift to Ben, who looks at them for a few seconds with mounting amusement as their jaws all set into place and then turns around to return to his lunch.

There's heavy footsteps echoing off the walls and all in perfect synchrony, just like the standing army of Auradon. He listens to them get closer and closer and fiddles with the marker in his pocket before someone slams something down into the table in front of her. He glances up briefly at the maths book before Mal plants her hands on the table and glares down at him. He pulls the marker from his pocket and does his absolute best not to laugh, picturing every undesirable thing he can conjure up on the spot to aid him, as he puts the permanent marker behind his ear.

"Yes?" He askes in a conversational tone.

"You defaced my locker," Mal sneers.

Ben snorts, loudly, and a sound that has all the Auradon kids around him exchanging looks. "You defaced your own locker," He reminds her. "It was a note, princess, so you might as well put the battle squad away." He gestures to the way Evie, Jay, and Carlos are all braced behind her in perfect, solid formation, clearly ready to jump him and beat him into a pulp. Still, he doesn't back down. Mal is Isle, and the Isle respects strength. He has a feeling that if he stands his ground, she'll back off before she orders her gang to attack the future King of Auradon. This way, he shows strength and, hopefully, earns the Auradon kids some respect.

"Princess?" Mal repeats, looking disgusted. She sneers and Ben swears he sees lightning flash inside her eyes, like there's a tiny storm brewing in her pupils. It's absolutely amazing.

"Royalty of the Isle of the Lost?" Ben asks, spooning a bit of fruit salad as he looks back down at his tray. "Or, well, I guess Princess would be Evie. And I know that this is weird coming from the King of Auradon, but does the title 'Queen' do you a bit more justice?"

He raises the spoon to his mouth and Mal slaps it out of his grasp. Little bits of colorful cottage cheese go splattering across his suit and the table. He sticks out a lower lip. "That's mean. I was going to eat that," He sighs and reaches for a napkin. "Perhaps you'd like to be referred to as 'Dragon', instead?"

"Don't touch my locker again," Mal hisses, pointing a finger in his face. He looks down and notices pencil lead stains on the tips of her fingertips. Paint is underneath her nails. How interesting.

Ben doesn't say anything. He just calmly finishes mopping up the last of his lost fruit salad. An idea pops into her head. "Mal," He has to pause to keep from laughing. "Go eat. You're not yourself when you're hungry."

Chad starts coughing beside him at the reference to the popular online meme. A look of confusion passes over Evie, Jay, and Carlos's faces. Mal's lip curls, and then she abruptly shoves herself back up and takes her book off the table. She heads off with her associates following her. Ben gets up, finds his spoon, and sits back down again. Lonnie leans over the table with a little smile spreading across her face. "You're not going to quit, are you?" She asks in a whisper, tracking the four villain kids with her eyes as they head over to the lunchline.

"No," Ben shakes his head with a snort. "She's asking for it now. Game on."

______________________________________________________________

Mal fixed his last message and unintentionally left him a wide, blank canvas. He fishes his marker out of his pocket and uncaps it. On Maleficent's left side, he makes a little row of four stick figures, all holding hands, above Mal's Mom's arm. Then, he adds little lines, like the group is casting a glow, and sets about to decorate the stick figures as best as he can. Mal, the shortest stick person, gets three wavy lines for hair and a deep frowny face. Evie gets a skirt and a jacket, and lots of pretty squiggles for hair. Jay gets a hat and a vest with no sleeves, and Carlos gets some curly hair and headphones. On the right side, he writes: 'Let me know if you want help signing up for Art Classes. Art Club is still available after school.'

The stick figures are a little wobbly and Mal's frown is bigger than her face, but the additions look overall pretty neat. He puts his marker in a pocket with a satisfied expression and walks off.

Later in the day, he walks into class and Doug, Chad, and Audrey immediately flag him down. Doug plants his hands on his desk and leans forward as Ben puts his backpack in his chair.

"Did you tag Mal's locker?" Doug demands as Audrey puts a photo down of the scribbles.

"Yeah," Ben affirms with a smile crossing his face. None of the VK's have come to glare at him, so he assumes they haven't heard yet or they're planning. Well, plotting, as they prefer to call it.

"Dude, she's pissed," Doug gapes, staring at him in shock. "She stormed past me in the halls with Evie – her hair was steaming!"

Ben frowns. "Oh," He mourns. "I wish I'd gotten a photo of it."

Chad begins to laugh. "Nerves of steel, Ben, way to go! Show those Villain Kids who's boss!"

Ben shakes his head. "I'm just trying to convince Mal to join Art Classes. She's talented."

"Talented?" Audrey repeats, lips curling into a sneer that reminds Ben of Mal. "She made graffiti of her mother, and you're calling it talent?"

"Yeah," Ben agrees. "Did you see the detailing? She did that with a spray can. Can you do that with a spray can?"

Audrey stays silent because, of course, she cannot do that with a spray can. Ben shrugs and pulls his books out of his bag. "She won't be mad, anyways," He shrugs. "It's not like she can do much to get back at me."

______________________________________________________________

"Oh my goodness," Audrey gasps as they walk up to his locker. Ben stays silent as he examines the long, ugly word splattered across his locker door. 'No', she has written, in black eerie paint. Part of it is still fresh, and the air smells like aerosol. He brings a hand up to his chin as he examines her work – all contained to his locker, thankfully. He glances down the hall to her locker and discovers that it's been stripped clean. There's not even any paint left in the hinge. No way she could have done that that quickly. She must have a spell for it, he realizes with amusement.

"This is… vandalism!" Audrey shrieks. "Ben, look at it, it's hideous!"

"It'll come off," Ben rolls his eyes. He opens his locker and puts his books carefully before he feels in his pocket for his permanent marker. He locks his door, heads over to Mal's locker, and then in big, bold letters writes: "Please?" Then, because he feels like the question merits a drawing, he begins another shaky stick figure of Mal with crossed arms and a frown dropping off her face like an overgrown mustache. Audrey watches him, shaking her head.

"She's just going to keep going!" She warns him with narrowed eyes.

Ben nods in agreement. "Probably," He affirms. "It's nice to know I've got her goose though."

As he puts the marker away, he spots a flash of orange leather out of the corner of his eye. He turns and sees Jay stop in the entrance to the hallway, cross his arms, and examine Ben's new handiwork. Then, Ben watches Mal's friend raise a hand to cover his mouth as he tries his hardest to stop a laugh.

Ben raises a patronizing hand. "Don't laugh," He demands with as straight of a face as he can procure. "Not all of us are blessed with art skills."

Jay says nothing as Ben and Audrey walk away from the scene of the attack. Ben is pretty sure he hears Jay start to laugh as soon as they're a fair distance away.

______________________________________________________________

Ben bumps into Jay the next day – literally – because the hallway is crowded and doesn't think anything of it until he reaches his locker and discovers his trusty permanent marker is gone. Jay must have snatched it from him when they slammed into each other, Ben realizes with a sigh. And it's a shame, too, because Mal has defaced her locker again, but this time with a black design that resembles her and her squad. Ben traces the outlines in Carlos's curly hair and smiles to see Evie's mirror in hand and Jay's beanie expertly slouched on his forehead.

Then, he glances down the hall at his locker and finds that the large, ugly word has been cleaned off. Instead, a mockery of the royal crest is atop his locker door. The beast in the crest is sticking his tongue out and one eye is slashed through. It's in the proper golden colors, and what amuses Ben the most about it is the fact she knows how to draw the royal crest.

He doesn't have a marker on hand, but he does know where to get one. There are several options: borrow from someone else, borrow from the art room, or…

During lunch that day, Ben makes a point of walking in late with a grocery bag slung over his arm. Mal and her friends are already sitting down at their table when he comes up behind Chad and Audrey and puts a hand on Audrey's shoulder as he puts the grocery sack on the table. "Sorry, I'm late!" He announces, loud enough for his voice to carry. "I, uh, had to go pick up some things."

He glances over to Mal's table and watches Jay and Carlos turn around at his proclamation. His permanent marker is behind Jay's ear, but it doesn't matter as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a new pack of sharpie markers. He displays them in his arms as if he's just showing Chad and Audrey, but they're in clear sight for the villain kids to see as well. Jay, Evie, and Carlos's mouths all fall open and they turn to stare dumbfounded at Mal as the angry dragoness curls her nails into the lunchroom table.

Chad and Audrey take in the sight of the markers and then turn to look over at the villain kids, who have effectively been duped. A snap comes as Mal accidentally breaks one of her long nails off her finger. Evie gasps in concern as Ben and Mal lock eyes from twenty feet away; her in barely-contained rage and him in scarcely-suppressed amusement. Because this is a declaration of war.

In his hands, he holds a full set of pretty purple markers, just a few shades off of her hair.

He spikes an eyebrow at Mal as a bright, gleeful smile spreads across his mouth. Evie starts to laugh, and Jay doesn't look like he's far behind as Mal's hands shake. He puts the markers away and sits down at his table, feeling very successful as Chad and Audrey exchange bewildered looks.

In retaliation for his stunt in the lunchroom, Mal wipes his locker clean of the crest and leaves it blank and white. He guesses it's because she doesn't think he deserves her artwork. Of course, that won't do, so he covers his locker himself.

Which is a mistake.

Because, if you'd forgotten…

Ben can't draw.

His locker is covered with an unintelligible mess that Ben is honestly embarrassed about. He tried to draw his family crest himself, and it looks about as much like the beast as a fly looks like a dragon. He tried to do a tree because he figured something like that was a good place to start, but now there's a jumble of squiggly lines that he can't even admit was supposed to be a tree for fear of bringing shame and dishonor on him, his family, and his cow. Lastly, he tried to do a heart because he figured that was simple enough, but his arm slipped on the second side and now he has a very odd cane shape. He can't even remember how he managed to do the stick figures at this point.

Ben gives up on his own locker and, feeling a little disheartened, heads over to Mal's locker, where she and her friends still stare down at everyone who passes. He scribbles underneath the portraits: 'Art Club is still after school. Have you checked it out yet?'

He's just barely put the marker back into his pocket when Mal and Evie appear in the hallway and stop upon seeing him there. Evie bites her lip and looks to the ground while Mal's face goes white upon seeing his message. Ben smiles and waves to the two. "Hey!" He greets. "How are you guys today?"

"I'd be a whole lot better if you'd quit messing with my art!" Mal snaps, stomping up to him.

Ben nods, pinching his lips together in amusement. "I see how that would be frustrating," He hums. "I, too, am suffering from minor annoyances. There's a certain girl who should be displaying her talents on canvases in hallways everywhere and proving to everyone she's the best artist around, yet she lowers herself to defacing my locker with cream paint." He sticks a thumb out to his locker and watches Mal's eyes flick towards it once, then back to him. Suddenly, she processes what she just saw and leans to the far right, mouth falling open, to stare at his locker.

Ben remembers too late the awful squiggles covering his locker door.

"What did you do?" Mal wails, covering her mouth in absolute horror at the awful atrocities covering his door.

"I'm… making your artwork look even better than it did before," Ben declares, trying to fight the pink tones as they surface in his cheeks. And he's not wrong. With his abominable locker being just down the hall from Mal's masterpiece, it looks way more impressive than before.

"What even is this mess?" Mal whimpers, looking like she's in physical pain as she examines Ben's failed heart attempt. And it is a mess.

"Well, see, this right here is a… well, a," He falters, trying to come up with a good cover story. "It's a drawing of some of… Bigfoot's hair?" He chokes. "And this is a cracked candy cane and this right here is a mythical creature you hope to never meet outside your worst nightmares." He turns to watch Mal shrink into despair at his horrific artwork plus dazzling cover story.

"You're horrible!" She declares, looking and sounding like someone had just fed her entire soul through a grinder.

"Is that a compliment from the Isle of the Lost?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Evie laughs as Mal braces her hands at her sides. She shakes her head. "I'm not touching that atrocity," She tells him. "You created it, so you can stare at it." She forces herself to turn and walk back to her locker, and a brilliant idea strikes Ben. If she's so embarrassed by his drawings when it has nothing to do with her, then…

Later that day, the words 'The artist who did this also did the locker down the hall' appears underneath Ben's invitation to Mal on her Locker door. Then, on his locker, he puts 'By the Daughter of Maleficent – Don't Mess With Her!'.

And then he waits.

______________________________________________________________

His purple markers start disappearing whenever he's near Jay or Carlos. He kind of just lets them go; it means Mal is still invested in this battle.

His declaration that Mal had done the lines on his locker had produced the desired effect of Mal freaking out over her artist reputation being ruined. She'd cleaned his locker – and hers – clean before covering his with angry scaled beasts in dark shadows with hideous limbs and features. Meanwhile, on her locker, she creates a mighty dragon breathing fire down onto a tiny person.

The rumor mill is churning. Most people think that the person the dragon is burning is Ben, but Ben personally agrees with Audrey when his girlfriend proclaims that it looks a little like her. He has to figure out a way to get Mal to remove or change the new graffiti before something bad happens.

Fortunately, he knows a fairly easy way to do that.

He uses his third-to-last purple permanent marker to doodle a little dog in the fire with tiny Audrey-lookalike. He doesn't have to try to make it bad. The dog's belly is deformed, one eye covers a third of the face, one leg is about three times the length of another, and the tail is a floppy squiggle line. Then, he makes a broken mirror around the dragon's fiery breath and adds tiny flecks falling as if the dragon had broken through the mirror. He needs something for Mal, so he does a rough drawing of her mother's spellbook on the bottom of the locker before announcing in capital letters across the top of her locker: Tourney Game on Saturday – Look for Number 8, Scoring the Winning Goal.

And then, underneath, in smaller letters: 'Art Club after school and Art Classes still open for enrollment.'

During third hour, the entire school hears a shriek of rage that echoes off the walls and makes a windowpane in Fairy Godmother's office break. "Ben!" Mal can be heard cursing his name across the entire school.

Ben's class all turns around to stare at him. "Is that Mal?" Lonnie demands as the teacher pauses class with wide eyes.

Ben shrugs. "Probably," He affirms.

"What did you do?" Audrey asks with a deep frown. "She sounds pissed."

"She probably is," Ben laughs. "I drew over her new artwork on her locker."

One of the other kids in the class sighs dramatically, sinking back into their chair. "Dude, can you just ask her out the normal way?" He demands. "Isn't the paint a little excessive?"

Ben's mouth goes a little dry as Audrey's mouth drops indignantly. "I, erm, am not trying to ask her out. I'm trying to get her to sign up for art. And, before anyone else asks, it's going pretty well. Her friends all think it's hilarious and I think she's growing more attached to the idea than she realizes."

"She's going to kill you," Jane gasps in horror.

"Are you sure you're not trying to ask her out?" Someone else asks suspiciously.

Ben presents Audrey at his side. "Girlfriend," He introduces sarcastically. "I'm not asking Mal out."

One of their classmates blinks in surprise. "You're still together?" They ask. "I thought you broke up ages ago!" Audrey's face contorts in hurt.

Huh. The rumor mill has been a lot more active than he realized.

______________________________________________________________

Mal changes her art to a detailed exhibition of some wicked green flames, but Ben's nasty depictions of brutal beasts stay up. Ben uses his last purple marker to scribble Mal and her friends with him a little ways away, all in stick-figure perspective. Above Mal', he puts a downwards-facing arrow and makes her at least an inch shorter than all her peers.

Mal responds with a cutting portrait of his corpse in a coffin, which she takes down the next day without any prompting from him or Fairy Godmother at all. Even the daughter of Maleficent has her reservations and depicting the dead crown prince is one of them. Ben is touched, even though the locker art turns back into dragons in the wake of his body.

His locker art hasn't been touched in some time, so he scribbles over it with a new golden permanent marker, from a pack of five-hundred that he'd opened in front of Mal and her friends, and the next day there's a picture of his dad with Auradon behind him, standing on the dirty Isle of the Lost.

It is one of the most stunning things he's ever seen.

Of course, it is grotesque, as is Mal's usual style, but it's also intense and impressive. The lines and shadows in his dad's face are detailed and structured, and the Isle is hideous and demeaning in a way that only a citizen could express. Meanwhile, Auradon is bright and flashy and a completely different sort of repulsive to Ben. It's prideful and antagonizing.

It's done with actual paint and brushes, not just spray cans. A different sort of art that she really put her heart into.

He's staring at it after class one day when Audrey walks by and her face twists into a sneer of rage so powerful that Ben doubts Mal and her friends – 'his villain kids', as people have been calling them – could rival it if they tried.

"You need to stop this!" She demands, dropping her purse on the floor and sticking out her lower lip to show how serious she is.

Ben blinks in surprise as he tears his eyes off of the painting and stares at his girlfriend. "Stop what?" He asks.

"This!" She yells, gesturing furiously to the portrait. "With the VK's and the spray paint and Mal!"

"It's Acrylic paint, this time." Ben corrects, brushing his fingers along the details. "See the brush strokes?"

"Ben!" Audrey snaps, glaring at him even more now.

"I don't see the problem, Audrey," Ben huffs. "It's not hurting anything."

"It's hurting us!" Audrey disagrees with her eyes filling up with tears. She waves her finger back and forth between him and her. "You and I! You've been focusing all your time on what's the next big thing that Mal's going to draw and every single date has been about 'I'm going to do this to see Mal's reaction' and 'Mal is going to hate me for this'. I'm sick of it, Ben! You need to stop this right now!" She balls her fists up into tiny balls that probably couldn't even snap a pencil if they tried.

"Audrey, it's just a joke. We have our little jokes between you, Chad, Lonnie and I. It's just something I'm doing for fun. What's so bad about that?" Ben crosses his arms in defense.

"What's wrong with it is that you're going off in the deep end for a villain kid instead of me, and I don't know if you've forgotten this, but I'm the one you're dating, not Mal!" Audrey snaps, with angry, stressed tears streaming down her face. She must have been thinking about this for a while.

"Audrey, you need to calm down!" Ben holds up his hands. "Listen, I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you or anything. I'm just trying to make them feel more welcome and help them start more friendships. If you want, you and I can do something special later this week. Would that make you feel better?"

Audrey wipes her eyes a little and picks up her purse. The argument seems almost over. Ben hadn't even realized when he'd stopped paying attention to Audrey – it just sort of happened. He glances back to the stunning portrait and that's when Audrey snaps.

"If you don't quit this painting nonsense, I'm breaking up with you, Ben," Audrey tells him with clenched fists. Ben's mouth drops open. Over a joke? For real?

Well, there was one thing Ben knows, and it was that he was not going to let Audrey's temper outburst break up the lead he had with the VK's. "Well, then maybe we should take a break," He frowns. "I don't like you trying to manipulate me with our relationship. That's not the kind of person I want to be with."

Audrey's mouth drops open. "You're breaking up with me?" She asks.

"I think you're breaking up with me," Ben corrects. "You said that if I didn't quit the painting stuff, we were done, and I'm not quitting the painting stuff. So, we're done." He turns back to the portrait, away from Audrey, opens his locker, and takes out a white permanent marker. Audrey stands still, in shock, as Ben goes over to Mal's locker and writes, in the bottom right-hand corner, 'Thank You'. He listens to Audrey breathing hard in rage and then hears her spin around and walk away. Ben continues his little note. 'The portrait is exquisite, and I love it so much. Do you have a name for it?'

"You could just ask me that in real life," A voice comes from behind him.

Ben looks over his shoulder and spots the purple-haired girl standing over his shoulder, examining the note as he writes it. She shakes her head. "How can someone with such beautiful handwriting be so bad at drawing?" She asks.

"How can someone who spent all her time learning to be a villain have so much talent?" He replies. "Your drawings are just… flawless."

Mal makes a sound of acknowledgment in the back of her throat and twiddles her thumbs a little as she gazes at the dragons on her locker. "Are you, uh, okay about Audrey?"

"Oh yeah, fine," Ben nods, examining the dragon on her locker and then reaching up to write her name in his most beautiful cursive. "As I said, I don't want to be in a relationship with someone who uses that relationship against me. And besides, Audrey hasn't been acting like someone I would want to make a queen since she got here."

Mal hums, quietly watching her name appear in the beautiful, official-looking font on her locker, and then turns and walks away.

______________________________________________________________

Ben wakes up a little late and doesn't have time to run to his locker before breakfast. When he walks in, the room goes a little quiet, and the Fairy Godmother appears, gesturing to him frantically. As a precaution, he seeks out the villain kids to make sure that he isn't being summoned for Jay stealing something or for Mal destroying someone's property, but they're all present and don't look like they're into more trouble than usual. Jay is wearing his tourney shirt and Evie is fixing her makeup while Mal watches him over the pages of her spellbook.

He grabs a raspberry Danish and then the Fairy Godmother leads him through the halls to where his and Mal's lockers are. Ben gasps when he sees what the new development is. Stretching across Mal's locker in place of the dragon is a very realistic painting of Gaston, his father's attempted murderer, shaking hands with Audrey, his ex-girlfriend. As always, it was very detailed and immaculate, but the sinister tones implied in the painting make Ben shiver.

"This is going a bit far, Ben," Fairy Godmother tells him. "We didn't say anything when she depicted you dead, but this is just… too much. If Audrey complains to her parents, we'll have to stop this whole escapade, no matter how funny it has been for the whole school.

"I'll ask Mal to change it," Ben nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket and backing up a few steps to photograph the painting. "Look at this detail! How does she put so much into such a small space?"

"It is amazing," The Fairy Godmother agrees. She folds her hands. "So, is the rumor mill true? Are you planning on asking the daughter of Maleficent out?"

"Since when are you one to get involved in student relationships?" Ben asks, raising an eyebrow. "And no, I'm not. I'm just trying to convince her to sign up for art."

"Ah," Fairy Godmother nods. "I was asking because Carlos and my Jane will be going to a movie on Friday evening, and Doug and Evie are doing an 'independent study group'. Jay, of course, has tourney, and Mal has an ongoing art war with the Crown Prince of Auradon."

"War is a strong word," Ben hums, even though it had been him to first declare war with the markers. "It's more like… an argument. Or a strongly-pictured discussion with depictions of my dad and ex-girlfriend involved."

"A war," Fairy Godmother nods. "Well, I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," Ben nods, going to his locker, opening it, and pulling out a blue permanent marker. Jay and Carlos are still stealing his markers. He's running out of good colors and has a feeling Mal will return to being a little annoyed if he writes on her locker in hot pink. Under Fairy Godmother's watchful eye, he scribbles on her locker door, right beside the lock: 'Who else can you do? Suggestions: Evie, Jay, Carlos, Yourself. Art Club after school, will you be there?'

"You should just ask her out," Fairy Godmother hums. "You would be cute together."

Ben rolls his eyes. "I'm just going to stick to getting her into art class." He laughs.

The next morning, Jay and Carlos stand outside of his door when he unlocks it. He supposes that at this point he should just assume the villain kids will never become predictable to him and he should just expect them to pop up, but their dramatic appearance still shocks him.

"Sup!" Jay exclaims, crossing his arms and nodding sharply to the ceiling.

"Have you seen Mal's locker yet?" Carlos asks.

"I just barely woke up," Ben laughs. "But let's walk down and see it."

"Well, it's your locker, and her locker," Jay corrects. "And, um, you may want to wait till later. There's a crowd outside of the area."

"A crowd?" Ben frowns.

"Admirers," Carlos nods. "Students and Fairy Godmother and some people from the National Art Association. But when you do get the chance to see it, just know she stayed up till the sunrise finishing everything."

"Sunrise?" Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "Does she even sleep?"

"Not anymore," Jay shakes his head. "She's been staying up to finish these portraits because you like them so much."

"Huh," Ben furrowed his brow. He hasn't even considered when Mal is making all her masterpieces, and now he feels rather guilty. "Where is she now?"

"I think she told Evie she was missing her first class and then she'd go to the rest," Jay explains. "But anyway, we came to warn you about your locker, and also to return a few things." He pulled a fistful of markers out of his pockets, and Carlos did the same. Ben laughed and held out his hands to take them back. His smile faded slightly as he examined them. There was the sparkly gold and the dark blue and all of the purples and the white one, but not all of the colors had been returned.

"Why are you only returning a couple?" Ben asks with a frown.

"Well, about that…" Jay trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We've grown rather fond of some of the colors," Carlos declares, turning his head a little so Ben could see the headset around his neck and the sharpie design that now cover the side of the earpiece.

"Wow!" Ben's mouth drops open as he leans forward and examines the design. "Did Mal do that one too?" It features two crossed bones and several different shades of red, grey, and black.

"She did," Carlos affirms. "But anyway, we're keeping the colors we like and returning Mal's favorites."

Ben frowns again. "Why would you return Mal's favorite colors? I mean, if she wants to use them, them-"

"No, not her favorites to use," Jay shakes his head. "Because we're keeping all the greens and some purple too. But these are the favorite ones that she likes to see on her locker. She says if you start using hot pink then she'll paint someone she hates naked on your locker in retaliation. Just a warning."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ben shudders. "I doubt anyone would enjoy that very much."

"Yeah, she'd probably get annoyed with it and take it down herself after a while," Carlos agrees. "That's what happened with that one where you were dead. She got herself all upset painting it and then couldn't keep it up after that. She got really into this whole thing. It's like, the most important thing to her now."

"I love it," Ben confesses. "I didn't mean for it to go in this direction, but I think the whole school is enjoying it at this point."

"Everyone is saying you're going to ask her out," Jay reminds Ben, sticking his hands into the front of his athletic jacket. "That true?"

Ben shakes his head. "I'm not planning on it," He explains. "Though lots of people have been asking me lately."

"Oh," Carlos's face furrows up. "Okay, cool. Hey, if you ever do, you, me, her, and Jane should all see about doing a double thing."

"Oh yeah, I heard you and Jane were going around," Ben nods. "Jane is super nice. We grew up together."

"Yeah, she's great," Carlos smiles. He glances at his watch. "Hey, Jay, we've got to get to class. It was great talking to you, Ben."

"Nice talking to you too! Thanks for tipping me off about everything," Ben raises his hand to wave to the two boys as they salute him and start walking away. He can't believe that Mal has people from NAA looking at her artwork, much less that she's stayed up all night working on a project. He wonders what she'd drawn this time.

______________________________________________________________

A figure in purple is slumped over at a picnic table in the shade. Ben has to keep from laughing as he walks over, examining her hair, slung forward onto the table, and her fallen backpack beside her. He sets his gift down in front of her and carefully announces his presence. "Hey, Mal!"

Mal stirs and opens an eye. She flips her hair back into place over her head and Ben stifles a chuckle at the way half of her hair settles back into place on her head and the other hair remains spoofed from the angle she was lying at. She blinks several times and then yawns as she raises a hand towards him. "Hey, Ben," She mumbles, leaning against her hand.

"Jay and Carlos told me you were up late," Ben begins, then pauses as Mal begins to nod as her eyes drift closed. "So, I brought you some Iced Black Coffee with no milk and no sweetener and also I know it's not as good as anything you can do, but I asked the barista to draw a little dragon on the side of the cup." Ben turns the cup around to show off the dragon as Mal's eyes fly open and she examines the drink suspiciously.

"That's my order," She frowns. "How did you know that?"

"I'm in charge of you guys while you're in Auradon. I know everything about your lives." Ben explains as he took a seat.

"Did Evie tell you?" Mal asks through a yawn as she reaches for the cup and examines the dragon. A little smile spreads across her mouth.

"Evie did tell me," Ben affirms with a nod. "You'd better try it and make sure I got everything right, though, otherwise I'll have to run back and get a second."

Mal snorts and takes a sip, closing her eyes as she does. Ben drums his fingers a little and watches her sigh in relief. "I'm tempted to say it's wrong so you can run and get me another, but it's perfect. Thanks."

"No problem," Ben laughs. "I'm sorry it didn't occur to me that you were staying up to paint."

Mal nods. "It's the detailing that takes the longest. My locker was being the troublesome one last night. I couldn't get my eyes to look right."

"Your eyes?" Ben asks, perking up a little. Had she drawn herself?

"Have you seen it yet?" Mal asked with a frown.

Ben shook his head. "Jay and Carlos tipped me off that you had National Art Associates at our lockers today, so I've been avoiding the area while it clears out."

Mal furrows her brow a little in disappointment. She reaches down and picks up her backpack before she gets to her feet. "Come on," She invites him, nodding her head to the school.

They walk through the halls in silence, shoulder to shoulder as Mal sips her coffee. She leads him to the hall with their lockers. It is still relatively crowded with people who are gaping in amazement at the paintings. Mal steps through everyone and the area clears for the creator. Ben's breath catches as he looks over Mal's locker. On it are the portraits of her, Evie, Jay, and Carlos. Their hair is sleek, shiny and lifelike. Mal is holding a sword and staring straight ahead with a dark purple leather suit covering her. Evie is turned slightly to the side, looking over her shoulder, and Jay and Carlos pose with their shoulders back in firm positions. If not for the size comparisons, Ben would swear he was looking at the actual Core Four.

"This is amazing!" He sputters, waving his hands a little in a complete inability to express his meaning. "This is… this is! How do you do all of this in one night?" He leans in, searching for the tiny brushstrokes covering the locker. "Do you use magic?" He gasps.

"No," Mal shakes her head. "Using magic would take the fun out of painting. And to be honest, I like yours a lot better." She points down the hall to where Ben's locker is. Ben tears his gaze away to look towards his own space and his entire expression falls slack at what he saw. He leaves Mal's locker and walks down the hall to brush his fingertips down his very own portrait. It is completely unlike any portrait he's ever seen of himself. He has his hands clasped underneath his chin and is wearing a simple yellow button-up shirt. In this, he appears to be sitting at one of the outdoor lunch tables, and he's looking up at the sky and to the right a little bit as he laughs. She's caught him mid-laugh. It's so natural and lifelike that he almost expects to catch himself breathing. Even the grass behind him looks real. Bordering the painting is a solid gold frame with the beast crest – the proper one, this time – set in the center of the painting. The shading behind the frame is so realistic that you can only tell it's a painting if you're looking at it from the side.

"How are you so talented?" He gasps. "I haven't met palace personnel or anyone who can draw as well as you can. This is such raw talent…" He turns to stare at her in utter amazement. A little blush creeps across her cheeks.

"This is amazing," He tells her. "It's like I'm looking through a window. Just absolutely crazy." Ben stares at Mal, eyes tracing her jawline and eyes. "Why won't you sign up with the art department?" He asks.

Mal wrinkles up her nose a little and her shoulders slump a bit. "I, um…" She trails off. "I don't want to waste my time having people tell me things I already know."

"But think of all the people you could help!" Ben protests. "And just imagine all the things you could learn about the business. This would be so good for you!" He puts a hand on her shoulder and looks straight into that electric-green gaze of hers. "Mal, you should do it."

"Well…" Mal trails off, looking a bit confused. "It's not that easy," She sighs.

"Why not?" Ben asks. "What have you got to lose? You could make so many friends and have lots of art supplies and get to make tons of new friends! Plus, I'd stop pestering you to join."

Mal moves away from his grip with a downcast expression. "I don't want to join," She sighs. "I just… I'll talk to you later." She turns around with another sigh and a shake of her head, and Ben watches her part the crowd like the red sea before she's gone.

______________________________________________________________

The artwork stays for two more days, and then it's all gone. Back to clean lockers and no paint. Ben can't understand where he went wrong. He feels like he almost had her. She had been so close to agreeing and then… something had happened. He lays awake at night, thinking about the downcast, almost regretful manner in which she'd said 'I don't want to join." Clearly, she thought it would be cool. Clearly, she had talent. What was holding her back?

During lunch, as he sits with Chad, Doug, and Lonnie, watching the villain kids from a distance, he notices Mal picking at her plate and mumbling to Evie, Jay, and Carlos. Something is wrong. Something that is starting to feel a lot like it's his fault.

Doug leans across the table. "Did Fairy Godmother shut down you and Mal?" He asks.

Ben shakes his head. "She approved of the whole thing. Mal just told me she didn't want to join and now the locker art has just… died." He sighs, slumping back into his chair. "I'm really… disappointed, but I don't know what went wrong."

Doug pulls out his phone with a sigh. "How about I text Evie and ask if she has any clues?" He offers, unlocking the screen and going straight into the messaging system. Ben sighs and doesn't say anything as Doug types out a lengthy message and then sends it to Evie. The group turns as one to glance at the VK table as Evie reaches into her purse, pulls out her phone, and glances at them. As one, they all return their attentions to their plates while Evie answers Doug.

After about a minute, Doug's phone dings. He holds up the screen to read the text's contents and then clears his throat. "Tell Ben to meet Jay, Carlos and I by the tourney field at two." He relays and then shuts off the screen.

Ben sighs and nods. This is something that requires a face-to-face discussion. He only hopes he's prepared for it.

______________________________________________________________

Evie, Jay, and Carlos are all sitting in the lower section of the bleachers when he walks up. They watch him approach with forlorn expressions. Ben swallows as he took a seat facing them and Evie twisted a black book in her hands. It's filled with loose leaflets. She puts it down on the bleachers and gestures at him to pick it up. Ben does as she commands and pops the seal off on the book.

"Mal's been having a rough last few days," Evie whispers. "She's pretty bummed about the locker stuff."

"I am too," Ben sighs. He opens the book and is greeted to a welcome, familiar sight. It's the original 'Long Live Evil' graffiti he first noticed on her locker. A smile spreads across his face at the memory. He flips the page and discovers the other artworks she's done. Demons and dragons and everything she's put on their lockers. His dead body is missing, but that was okay because he isn't been particularly attached to it. He reaches the end with the portraits of them and then keeps going. There are things from the Isle and from Auradon Prep and from a land he assumes is entirely Mal's creation.

Near the back of the booklet, he starts seeing himself more and more predominately. In class, in the halls, standing by his locker, and everywhere in-between.

"She got really into this," Carlos mumbles from behind Ben. "We think it's because she got really into you."

"She only kept up with the locker thing because she saw and heard how impressed you were," Jay explains.

"And then she realized that if she started taking Art Classes, it'd stop. All the little notes and you asking her things and her getting to tag your locker with graffiti… and then she couldn't even though she started to kind of want to." Evie sighs, running her hands through her hair. "Now, she's just kind of in a 'blah' phase. She doesn't want to work on anything because she's sad."

Ben traces one of his portraits with his fingertips and a quiet smile. Then he swallows. "I think I might have an idea," he announces slowly. "Can you send Mal to our lockers? Just send her a text and I'll meet her there."

______________________________________________________________

He can hear Mal's boots hitting the floor as she walks closer and closer to him, so he turns and begins to doodle a tiny crown on her locker. He hears her stop in the doorway of the hall and mentally prepares himself for Mini-Maleficent before he heard boots stepping towards him and turns to watch her forlorn, blank expression as she walks towards him.

"Your drawing is still horrible," She mumbles. "You're defiling my locker."

"Another Isle compliment?" He asks, and then drops the white sharpie and recaps it. "It was supposed to be a crown."

"It looks more like a chewed-up sunflower seed." Mal laughs.

"Yeah, I can't draw," Ben agrees with a chuckle. "I can write, but I can't draw. Maybe I could, though, if I had a good teacher." He glances over at her and their gazes lock in something in something incredibly powerful that he can't quite fathom yet.

"A teacher?" She clarifies. "Is there a question in there?"

Ben jerks his head back to where his locker is. He turns and together, they walk down to his locker. Ben's locker is open, hiding the backplate from view. Ben shuts it with a flick and then stands back as Mal examines the locker. On it is a letter, written first in gold and then in white. A tiny, enchanted smile crosses Mal's face as she reads it.

'Mal,' it reads, 'Art Club is still after school and Art Classes are in need of a leader. My class schedule is full, but I still need a tutor to help me with my drawing skills. Why don't we sign up together and call it a date?'

"I thought Jay and Carlos said you weren't planning on asking me out?" Mal asks with a tiny, breathless gasp.

"Well, I changed my mind," Ben smiles. "The truth is, I missed much more than just your artwork. I missed the conversation and the connection. I need someone like you, artistic and funny and beautiful, in my life. So, what do you say, should we sign up together?"

Mal smiles with a little nod and then chuckles. "Lead the way to the registry, Beast Boy."

Ben laughs as he puts an arm around her, and they head off to the Art Room to announce the two latest members of the after-school club.

[you-guys--are-losers]

Promptsmas Day Three: Shopping!

//Thanks to @spiderman-homecomeme for this lovely challenge! Hope y’all enjoy this one. ;) 

“-And I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I went through my dad’s email to look for shipping confirmations, and guess who’s getting the Ghostbusters Firehouse Lego set this year?” 

Peter knows the answer to Ned’s question, but he takes his sweet time giving it. As they walk down the street, the snow crunches beneath their feet and lights blink from where they are wrapped around the poles of streetlamps. Ned and Peter make sure to stay beneath the awnings of nearby shops as they walk, each clutching at least two bags as they walk. 

The cold breeze forces color into Peter’s cheeks, but he soaks it in as he responds to Ned’s question. “That’s awesome, man! No way we get that done in less than two weeks.” 

A grin stretches across his face at the idea of sitting on his living room floor with energy drinks and May’s slightly charred cookies. There will be no worries about patrol or villains-- just a task and a set of specific goals to complete it, something Peter can control.  

“Yeah, that’s why I’m excited,” Ned speaks up, interrupting Peter’s daydream. “That’s a ton of sleepovers and binge-watching, which is half the fun. We might get done faster with MJ, though.” 

The mention of their best friend causes an unfamiliar tingling sensation in Peter’s stomach. This is true, and Peter knows it... So why does he feel like this? it is only after a few seconds that he realizes that he has forgotten to respond entirely and manages a hasty, “Oh, yeah! Right.” 

They pause for a moment by a snowy pole as Peter brushes past Ned, quickly punching the button in order to activate the sign across the crosswalk. Peter hopes that this gesture is enough to change the subject, but Ned does not give up as easily as Peter had hoped. 

“Did you buy her anything yet?” his best friend prompts, peering at Peter from over a scarf that is a gift from the topic of their conversation-- it has the opening crawl from Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back printed on it. Ned pulls this scarf, his favorite, tighter around his neck as he waits for Peter’s reply. 

The reply isn’t coming. 

Peter finds that he can’t answer Ned’s question. He knows that he hasn’t found anything for her. His bag contains a soft, new robe for May and a tacky tie that is patterned with mini Iron-Men for Mr. Stark. A new case for Ned’s laptop is already wrapped beneath his bed at home, meaning that Peter has 75% of his Christmas shopping done. He was supposed to complete it today, but there is one gift conspicuously missing. 

There is nothing in the bag for their tall, brunette friend, and they both know it. 

Peter has had plenty of chances over the course of the day; he could have grabbed her some tea from her favorite shop or maybe one of the new books on her reading list. He almost bought her a new set of calligraphy pens, but that didn’t feel right, either. Peter is at a loss for what to buy MJ, and deep down he knows why.  

Peter doesn’t know what to buy her because his feelings for MJ are confusing. How can he pick the perfect gift for her if he doesn’t even know how he feels? 

Peter’s silence seems to be enough for Ned for a moment, because as they cross the street, the taller boy remains silent. Finally, after a few minutes of this, Ned speaks up. 

“You know it’s fine, right?” 

The words are plain and simple, as if Ned is asking Peter something as simple as the day of the week. Peter’s head turns to face Ned so quickly that he nearly gets whiplash, and his eyes are wide as he struggles to come up with a response to this. 

“What?” 

“You guys. I’m okay with it,” Ned responds firmly, clearly not intending to let Peter get out of this one. 

For a moment, Peter’s mind is a fumbling mess of excuses, and he settles with one of the worst ones. “I don’t know what you’re-” 

“I’m not dumb, man,” Ned interrupts, clearly done with Peter’s attempt to deflect. he is not upset, exactly, but he is far more serious than Peter has seen him for a long time. “I’ve seen it coming for a while. But if I’m gonna have to third-wheel anyone, I’d rather it was her. At least she won’t let you get a big head.” 

A strange relief accompanies those words, and Peter lets out a sigh as he turns to focus his gaze on the path ahead. He is relieved, at the very least, that Ned understands... He is even okay with this. But then, what is ‘this?’ Peter’s head spins as he struggles to define it. 

“I don’t even know, Ned,” he admits, running a hand through his hair to brush the flakes clear of the messy curls. “I have no idea how I feel about any of it, and if I don’t know, she probably doesn’t know either-- and that’s if she likes me at all, which isn’t likely-” 

“Are you an idiot?” Ned’s voice is incredulous as he stops where he is standing, which causes Peter to slowly idle to a halt as well. Peter hesitates, knowing that his face is bright red. He isn’t sure how to handle it as a grin of disbelief stretches across Ned’s face.

“I...” Peter doesn’t know where he’s going, only that Ned somehow seems to know something he doesn’t. Peter clutches the bag in his hand more tightly, which Ned notices. 

“Hey, hey, sorry, man,” he finally says, gently bumping Peter’s side with his arm as they continue on. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything, it’s just--” 

“Just what?” Peter asks. His heart is hammering in his chest for no reason again, and he isn’t sure exactly what is causing him to feel like he is frozen in anticipation. 

“Just...” Ned seems to process how to say it, his eyes flickering upwards in the way that it does when he needs to sort his thoughts. The lapse in the conversation stretches on until Ned gives up on using fancy words, meeting Peter’s gaze again. “You really, really don’t need to wonder, Peter. She likes you.” 

Peter can’t explain the surge of excitement that rushes over his body, causing every hair on his body to stand up. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, but the only thing that compares is the way that he feels when his spidey senses are tingling. “How do you know? Did she say something, or...”

“Nah,” Ned dismisses, waving one of his arms airily. “But sometimes it’s not about what a girl says, it’s about what she doesn’t say.” Peter’s best friend says this with the sage air of a Jedi master speaking to his young Padawan, and Peter raises an eyebrow.

“What do you know?” 

“Shut up,” Ned responds, grinning. “Anyone with eyes can see that she likes you, and anyone who knows you knows that you like her, too. Maybe it’s new, but you still have a thing for her, and you’re not really smooth.” 

Peter’s eyes shoot open wide, and he finds himself peering over his shoulder as if someone might have heard. Okay, so he’s not the smoothest, but he at least thought that he had this little secret... What would she do if this got to her? 

What if she never wanted to talk to him again? 

“Do you think she knows?” Peter demands.

“No.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

“I’m sure because if there’s one person more oblivious than you, it’s her.” 

“She’s not oblivious, she’s one of the most observant people we know!” 

They both know that this is true. Peter has lost Ned’s train of thought, and what his best friend says next makes even less sense.

“Not about stuff like this.” Ned’s words are heavy and serious again. They are not grim, exactly, but he is clearly not screwing around either. But Peter is at a loss for words and understanding, and it is for this reason that he gestures emphatically as he speaks. 

“What’s ‘stuff like this?’”

Ned stares at Peter quietly, and for a moment, a silence stretches between them. Peter’s skin seems to crawl with a mixture of frustration and impatience, needing to know what Ned is saying, desperate for answers. 

Ned weighs his next words carefully, clearly choosing them to communicate as simply as he can. “I think you know,” Ned murmurs in response, his eyes holding a significant look that almost scares Peter. 

He’s scared because it clicks, because he knows that Ned is right. There is something deeper in his chest than some flutter, a warmth and a pining that isn’t a little crush. Ned has clearly seen it, and now that Peter thinks about it, so has he. 

This feeling rears its head when she smiles unexpectedly, in that slightly wry way that lights up a room. It floods his mind when she answers a particularly difficult decathlon question, and her face holds nothing but triumph because she’s that good, and she knows it. The feeling numbs his thoughts whenever she stands up for herself, for what she believes in, whenever she puts some schoolyard bully like Flash Thompson in his place. Peter feels it when he sees her reading, when he smells the scent of her lemon shampoo, when he catches a glimpse of the little doodles on the corners of her papers. 

He knows this feeling well, and he knows what it is. 

For a few seconds, Peter is quiet. He is thinking, processing, running this newfound revelation over in his mind. Even though he has experienced it before, that does not mean he has ever confronted it like this-- head on. However, after a little while, he finds a new strength to speak up.  

“Okay.” 

It is Ned’s turn to snap immediately to attention, turning to stare down Peter. His eyes are slightly narrowed, filled with a conflicted sort of worry and concern as he attempts to gauge Peter’s reaction. 

“Okay, what?” he asks, pausing in his walk again. Peter pauses, too, and he breathes in and out before continuing.

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.” 

“But, Peter-” 

“I never said you were wrong,” Peter interrupts his friend. Now, there is a smile growing on his lips, a real and genuine one that he cannot seem to repress anymore. “I just said that I’m done. And I’m done because I have one more present to get.”

Ned understands now, Peter knows. His best friend is smiling, too, with a grin so wide it’s almost unsettling as they stand beneath a striped red awning with their bags in hand. What Ned doesn’t know is that he has given Peter a gift, one that is more valuable than anything else he could ask for this season. 

Ned has given Peter hope, and more than that, he has given him a plan. 

“Now, come on. I have the best idea, and I know exactly what I’m going to get her.” And with that, the two continue to walk down the sidewalk, brushing past a million little people in their brightly-colored jackets, all searching for the little, unexpected revelations that are priceless in their own way. 

[kissykiwi]

money, money, money (pt. 2)

(part one)

wherein things progress, and harry makes a bit of an ass of himself.  (mamma mia au, 4700 words)

Y/N got to sleep in the next day by just a bit.  Her Big Ben alarm clock, a gift her grandmother had picked up in a thrift store somewhere in Cheshire, rang furiously as soon as eight o’clock rolled around.  The day was to begin.

“Good morning dear.  Mr. Styles has asked for breakfast at 9 o’clock -- a pot of tea with the fixings, some toast, and a bit of fruit, if you please -- so you’ve got a bit of time to get ready and have your shower before I need you going,” her mother said, opening the creaky, light blue door to her room.  Y/N paused, frozen in her morning stretch, to stare at her mother.

“Mr. Styles?  You mean Harry Styles?  The travel writer?”

Dee sighed, and suddenly Y/N understood why this information had been so carefully hidden from her.  Harry Styles was her favorite author.  He’d been around half the world and had quite a knack for colorful descriptions and vivid storytelling alongside a cutting humor.  Though she’d never gone farther than a bit into the mainland, his work made her feel like a proper globetrotter.

“Yes, that Mr. Styles.  And you are absolutely forbidden from badgering him about his travels.  He’s come here for a respite from all that, and I won’t have you stressing him out and running him off the island,” Dee said warningly, shaking one beringed finger.  Y/N tried not to pout.

“Okay, heard.  Toast, tea, and fruit, and absolutely no mention of the fact that he’s been to every place I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Exactly.  Now, up!”

Y/N watched her mother go, and then rolled out of bed.  Today wouldn’t be too much of a day, overall -- a few check-ins who would probably fall straight into bed from jetlag and Harry fucking Styles were her only priority.  She might even have time to read on the stairs or make it down to the beach in the slow moments.  A pair of old cutoffs and one of her tee shirts should do the day.  One quick shower later, and her neroli scented soap had her feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.

“Gooood morning, Helena!” she sang, throwing herself around the doorframe into the kitchen of their main guest building.  At the stove, the lady who did the cooking for the Muse turned to grant her a smile.

“Can you believe this new guest, huh?  Toast and fruit!  Is he a traveler or a hummingbird?” she said, half to Y/N and half to herself.  Helena believed strongly in meals that would stick to the ribs, and clearly their new guest was already not quite up to snuff.

“We’re only here to provide what they ask, Len.”

“Well he had better start asking for a proper breakfast before he wastes right away.”

Y/N laughed and picked up the tray of food.  Helena had been careful to set out cream and sugar alongside the teapot, and they’d even gotten out the nice jadeite tea set that grandma had sent her mom from Myanmar (it had still been Burma at the time).  She’d also sliced apricots nectarines and thrown a few cherries onto the plate, even added a little pot of lemons in case that was how he preferred his tea.  A few slices of Mr. Alexandrou’s local whole grain bread had been toasted to a perfect golden brown and were placed delicately to the side with a small pot of local butter.  Despite it not being Helena’s preferred fare, it really seemed to represent the best of Kalokairi and her environs.

“You’re an artist Len.  I’ll be back for my coffee!”

Y/N trotted away as quickly as she could with a tray full of food (and alright, so maybe it was a bit more of a slow walk), headed to the stairs that carried the kitchen up to the dining balcony.

The dining balcony.  That was number two out of Y/N’s eleven favorite spots on the island, with a view that could almost rival the staircase.  Though it was just a little rectangle sticking out from the second level of the cliffside building, it had always made Y/N feel like a princess staring over her ocean kingdom.  The far left side of the building, facing the north of the island, peeked out upon Calliope’s Beach where this side of the island went to swim.  If you faced the building on that side, you could see just past into the citrus orchards where Y/N had spent her childhood munching on oranges and reading fantasy books, and even further in, the houses of some of the locals.  Though almost no one who ate up there knew it, the entrance to Euterpe’s Grotto was hidden at the very end of the beach where the island curved northeast.  The west view, looking straight off the cliffside, was more of the dazzling blue of the Aegean Sea, and the east peeked into the docks and the little markets that sat behind them.  It felt as though all of Kalokairi was encapsulated in a single turn.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said cheerfully as she came up upon the curls she had seen the night before.

He looked up, eyes even greener than they had looked on his book jackets and framed by angirly furrowed brows and purple bags.

“I was told my privacy would be respected when I came here,” he all but snarled.

Y/N tried not to visibly recoil as she set his tray down, though she heard the clink as the tea set jerked slightly.

“Well of course, I mean-- we’re not going to go about on social media screaming that you’re here.  But all the same, I’m the daughter of the woman who checked you in last night, and we make a point of greeting our guests by name.”

He stared at her a moment more, gaze both analytical and totally disinterested, and she wondered for a moment if she was actually a ghost. She took a deep breath.  He grunted dismissively.

“I did want to ask, Mr. Styles, if you had any questions about the island or what we have to offer here.  If you don’t mind me saying so --”

“I do mind, actually,” he started, cutting her off.  “Can’t a bloke get some bloody peace around here?”

Y/N’s jaw snapped shut so hard that the canals of her ears hurt faintly.

“Of course.”

She was not ashamed to say that she fled the space after that, taking the stairs in a sprint with cheeks burning like the cherry of a cigarette from sheer fury.  It was only the telltale cadence of Georgie’s footfalls at the bottom of the stairs that kept Y/N from running face first into her.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Georgie asked, grabbing her by the elbows to steady her.  Y/N rolled her neck.

“Haven’t had it yet.  Did you know we have Harry Styles gracing our humble establishment?” Y/N laughed, clenching her fist.

“You mean your favorite author?  The guy whose books I’ve bought you for the past three out of five Christmases?”  Georgie asked.  Y/N could tell she was confused.

“The guy’s an asshole.  Steer carefully around him,” Y/N scoffed.  Georgie was frowning at her, face clearly sympathetic, and Y/N wanted to scream.

“I’m so sorry rosie,” Georgie said, stroking her hand softly down Y/N’s arm.  Y/N frowned.

“I’m only warning you George.  We’ve got him for three months, and whatever his books were like, he is not.”

There was more Georgie wanted to say, that was certainly visible on her face, but she nodded instead.

“Wanna talk about this over coffee?” she asked softly.  Y/N didn’t, not really, but it might be easier if she did, so she turned to the worn wooden table and chairs for employees set up in the kitchen.  A steaming cup of coffee was set in her usual  place, alongside a plate of Helena’s breakfast hash.

“So Harry Styles sucks?” Georgie prompted, taking a mouthful of potatoes.  Y/N took a bracing drink.

“Of course he does.  He’s massively rich and has met a million interesting people and seen half the world.  What time does he has for us small folk?”  

Georgie’s eyebrows raised high.

“Not that she’s bitter.”

Y/N glared.

“For the past six years I have lived the rest of the world through him and how funny he is.  Now he’s here to stay with us and I find out it’s all an act.  Forgive me for my sour grapes.”

Georgie waited for the next shoe to fall.

“It just feels like...” Y/N scrubbed her hands through her hair.  “I don’t know.  It just feels like everything happens outside of Kalokairi.  And when it happens here, it can never be the same.”

“Oh c’mon Y/N.  I’d bet you half my paycheck that he’s like that everywhere.  You know how rich people are, they forget what it’s like to be ordinary like us.  The ants can’t help but bother him,” Georgie pointed out.  She poked Y/N’s plate, trying to remind her to eat for the rest of the day, and Y/N managed a morose forkful.

“It’s to be expected.  Here I am working my ass off just to keep the walls of this place upright and he’s too high on the fumes of a few euros to be nice to people around him.”

“Never meet your heroes.  By the way, he’s already sent down some laundry to be done,” Georgie replied.  Y/N groaned and laid her head next to the plate on the table.

---

So Harry may have been a little mean to the cute girl who brought round his brekkie.  In his defense, he certainly felt bad about it.  He was just feeling so rotten between how tired he was and the start of the morning.  There’d been this stunning sunrise he saw lighting up his balcony, and when he went out to watch it he felt so young and inspired and ready again.  He’d grabbed his typewriter (which was a bitch to lug around, but always worth it) and set up on the little wrought iron table, and-- nothing.

It was like a million different words were pounding on his chest, begging to be let out of a door that his fingers could no longer be.  It was infuriating.

So he’d gone to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling again, and by the time he’d marked down for breakfast, he was properly full to the brim with ire.  And then the girl had known his name and he was just so bloody sick of being Harry Styles, Travel Writer that he’d snapped at her.  He’d been even angrier when she’d had a reason for knowing it and he realized how rude he’d been.

He rather wished he’d let her speak too, because he didn’t know a stitch of Greek or where he ought to go now the day had begun, and he was a bit too afraid to risk running across her in the registration house.  For now, he thought, he’d explore the resort.

It was a precious place, he had to say.  The hotel complex itself was basically a square of buildings around a divided courtyard.  The structures themselves were all very Greek, covered over with a pale stucco and roofed in with terracotta tiles.  All of the doors were a soft shade of blue that matched the walls of the rooms.  He was in the building to the north, the longest one, which connected to a dining balcony with one of the most breathtaking sea views he’d ever seen -- and he’d seen a few.  The north building turned an L, so that it covered a half of the east side.  There was a wide gate heading out of the courtyard that led onto a small, red dust lot, and that was where he’d entered the night before.  The other east building on the lot had a spillover of more rooms (the least expensive ones, he assumed, since they looked out on trees and the road down to the markets and the docks).  What must have at one time been a goat house was now a bit of storage for food and miscellany, according to the owner, Dee.  

Beautiful though the buildings were, Harry could see the wear.  In some places the stucco was chipped, and it was more of an off white than the pure, bright white that most Greek tourism brochures tended to picture.   On the registration house he’d started in the evening before, on the very south side of the square of buildings, he could see tiles missing in the roof and how nearly all of the blue paint had peeled off the attic window shutters.  Nevertheless, every worn patch had a cheerful flower to match it, and the food and comfort of his surroundings was undeniable.

Harry had already gone to inspect the flowers crawling the walls (he was almost fitfully delighted to see that it was an old, lovingly cared for bougainvillea plant), and noted with joy that the little box under the attic window was decorated with a carving of all of the muses and bursting with brightly colored blooms.  

The courtyard had a slope to it, and it split like a step in the middle.  Dee had explained to him in the ride up to the place that people had kept tripping over the damn thing, so she’d built a wall to make it safer because she wasn’t about to be liable.  Then she’d found out that if you closed the gate and it made a suitable dance floor that went well with the courtyard’s outdoor bar, and it had kind of gone from there.

Though there was something almost magical about sitting under the clotheslines heavy with laundry on the east side of the gate, he’d seen stairs on the cliffside as the ferry came sailing in, and he thought that the gate on the southwest side of the courtyard may lead to it.  It’d been closed all day, but he didn’t think that meant it would be locked.  Those stairs, he thought, would probably be a good place to crack open the book of Ginsberg poems he’d grabbed as he was leaving New York.

To his surprise, the door of the gate he had seen was now open.  His hunch had been totally right, he saw.  There were the stone steps, and he could smell the faint aroma of cypress on the otherwise salty sea breeze.  

He started down them, already thrilled by the view expanding in front of him, but froze when he noticed a head of familiar hair.  It was the girl.  She had a book in her lap and another stack to her side, and he noticed with a start that one of his was atop the stack.  

It was a paperback version of Haggled History: Viewing Europe’s Past on a Budget, one of his prouder works.  It was rather dense since it covered quite a few countries, chapter by by chapter, and how best to learn their histories with only a few euros in pocket.  It was also less trendy, he supposed, than much of his other work.  Apparently, his usual reader wasn’t much for history reference based jokes.  He very rarely found himself signing it on his book tours-- and yet there was her version, tattered and well loved.  Pages were marked with washi tape, seemingly in the place of a dog ear, and just about a whole pad of post it notes had found their way into the four hundred odd pages.  As the gentle wind coming off the water blew her copy open, he could see it was highlighted and marked with a heart next to whatever city it was open to, margins crammed with notes.

Feeling suddenly vaguely ill, Harry turned around and decided that maybe sleeping off his jetlag would be the best use of his afternoon.

---

Georgie, the traitor, had told Dee how Y/N’s meeting with Mr. Styles had gone.  Y/N tried not to be too irritated by the fact that her mother was largely unsympathetic -- “he’s just another guest, my rose, and his euros have the same value as anyone else’s.  I don’t care what his personality is like.”  Still, Dee knew how much his books meant to her (even now, having met the asshole), and Y/N would have liked a smidgen of understanding.  Unfortunately, her mother was right.  Harry Styles’ money was metaphorically green and all that, and he was giving them quite a bit of it.  So Y/N could be nice.  Or polite, at the very least.

Alright, she could prevent herself from being openly hostile.  Y/N really thought, though, that that should count for something!  It wasn’t as though he was being a peach.  He’d been here two weeks, and the entire time he’d been surly and frowning.  He’d even had the audacity to ask Dee to switch his mattress, as though that was the reason he was sleeping poorly.  It hadn’t helped, either, because every time Y/N brought his breakfast (or any other meal.  Or an extra pillow.  Or had the nerve to even look in his direction), he was still as nasty and short as he’d been that first day.

The worst part though, easily, was the fact that she seemed to be the only person gifted with his special attentions.  Her mother had insisted that he’d been a total sweetheart about asking about his bed, Helena declared that she liked him, despite whatever his breakfast choices might be, and even Georgie said that he really wasn’t all that bad.

Y/N was reeling with enough betrayal that this Thursday already felt pretty sour.  But then the morning had started unpleasantly, moreso than usual.  Big Ben had decided to take a day off (looked like she would have to bring it round to Mr. Hatzidakis to fix, again), so she’d awoken to her mother yelling through her door that she had 15 minutes before Mr. Clark would like his breakfast at 7:30.  The food had been ready since Helena worked like an atomic clock, but Y/N’s hastily dealt with hair and puffy eyes were still a dead give to her own tardiness, and Mr. Clark was kind enough to let her know as much as she set down his cuppa and two eggs, scrambled, with sliced tomato and cottage cheese to the side.  From there she’d been dashing up and down the service stairs to fill every ridiculous request from the latest batch of uni kids (and who on earth could drink three frappe’s in the space of an hour without their heart beating itself out?), never having time to eat or even get a sip of coffee in, until suddenly it was nine.  The worst part of her day.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said breathlessly, setting down his usual plate in front of him.  She didn’t have his paper yet (they tended to get a variety of english options sent in for the guests, but this morning’s ferry was running late), but it would be on the way just as soon as she got that damn uni student his fucking Lucky Charms.

Styles grunted in response.  “You forget I asked for the Guardian?” he asked mulishly, picking up the container of cream.  Y/N sighed, feeling the simmer of anger in her chest roar to a boil.

“No, I-”

“Oi!  Miss Waitress!  I asked for that cereal,” called one of the Chads from the next table over.  His friends snickered, and Y/N felt her fingers twitch at her side.

“-have to do that.  I’ll bring the paper with his cereal,” she ground out, wiping an errant piece of hair from her forehead.

“Don’t see why it would have been so hard to do now, but alright,” Harry muttered, and Y/N felt the angry blood in her stomach crawl up her neck.  She turned and left.  Georgie grabbed her on the stairs.

“Listen, I know you don’t like Styles, but if you’re going to push any of them over the cliffside, pick the frat boys.  They keep talking to me as if I don’t know english, and they say it’s because I ‘have an accent’.  So do they!  It’s just one of those English ones!”

“Duly noted.  Have the papers come in yet?”

“Nik is running them up now, should be within five minutes,” Georgie answered as she jogged away.  Well, Mr. Styles wasn’t going to love that.  Now that the school groups were coming and going, Y/N found that he made a concerted effort not to linger over his breakfast.  Helena, with her usual artful arrangement, had set out the cereal and milk alongside a bowl on a tray for Y/N to take, but Nik was nowhere in sight.  Unfortunately, the food really couldn’t wait.  The university boys seemed to get a kick out of complaining to her about every little thing, so the less room the better.  Y/N turned and hauled herself back up the stairs.

“Cereal for you boys,” she said, voice distinctly more cheerful than she was feeling.  She set the tray down and was ready to head back to see if Nik was around, but one of them grabbed her wrist.

“Pour the milk, won’t you?” he said, grinning, and Y/N heard her own knuckles crack.

“Of course.”

She poured the milk, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were now literally shaking with suppressed rage, and was once again ready to leave the balcony and maybe punch a wall, when she heard her name being called.  It wa by Mr. Styles, who had a face like a thundercloud.

“Thought you said you were bringing my bloody newspaper up.  I’ve been waiting all morning, and I understand that you might be busy flirting with England’s finest over there, but I would think you’d still be able to do your job,” he hissed as she drew up near him.  

Oh, that was it.

“Listen.  I know that in your tenure as one of the unnecessarily rich and stupidly famous airheads that wander this earth of ours, you’ve forgotten that the sun does not, in fact, revolve around your inflated head.  Let me remind you though, that you are a guest here, just as they are -- in fact, very much like them since you’re in the running for ‘who treats the service workers worst’ -- and I am only one person running about to help just under eleven of you, all making rapid fire requests.  So you’ll forgive me for not pulling the newspaper out of my own asshole just because you request it, but I’d just like to let you know that even if I could, I wouldn’t, because I’ve never had a guest who was less pleasant to be around and a greater disappointment of a person.”

By the end of her monologue, she knew, she was yelling.  She just couldn’t help it.  Two weeks of berating at the hands of someone she’d admired, someone who was regularly listed as one of the kindest celebrities in his tax bracket, and three days of those fucking university students (which, frankly, was enough).  She was just so sick of being kind and amiable and patient with people who treated her like shit.  From behind her, a throat cleared.

“Brought the paper up, Y/N.  Nik rushed it since the boat was late, but I that didn’t really help,” Georgie said, voice torn between laughter and concern.  Y/N turned around, snatched the paper out of her hands, and slapped it in front of Harry Styles so hard that the table shook.

“The Guardian, as per your request,” she snarled, and then she was gone.

---

Harry may have deserved it.  “It” being the dressing down he got in front of two amused couples, four first year frat boys, and two lone guests at full volume at 9:10 in the morning.  He knew he’d been pushing her, he supposed.  But wow, had she gone off.  Harry couldn’t help but be angry that she even looked good when she was screaming at him.

Still, it was a pretty shit way to start the day.  He’d been unfair to her the entire time he was here, but again, Y/N could have let him know the ferry was running let.  She didn’t have to make an ass of him.  Although he supposed, again, that he hadn’t really given her the room to let him know.  Whatever.  Whatever, it had happened, and he planned to relax on the beach to soak it all off, since writing seemed as though it still wasn’t an option.  (It was possible, he thought, that the persistent writer’s block was probably a big part of his shit attitude.)

It was only much later that evening, as Harry went to sit on the steps in the dying summer sun and read with ouzo and two small glasses (Helena had insisted, saying it would keep him from looking like an alcoholic), that he realized how different Y/N’s life really was.

There was a little landing in the stairs, just a storey below the resort itself, that had a pathway to the cellars.  Harry knew from the chats he’d had with Helena in the courtyard that the little door on the side was rarely used thanks to the stairs from the kitchen, but now he could hear voices from where it was hanging ajar.

“... cannot believe you would ever speak to a customer that way!  As a hotelier, you know better than that!”  was the first thing Harry heard, Dee’s voice angrier than he had ever heard it.  There were muffled sniffles in the background, and not for the first time, Harry felt like a proper asshole.

“I’m not a hotelier mom.  I live in a hotel and I help, but I’m not a hotelier.  That’s what you do.  I’m just here.  And I’m sick of being treated like it.”  That was Y/N talking, so lowly that he could only barely hear it above the sound of the waves on the rocks below.

“Well while you’re here, a hotelier is what you will act like,” Dee responded, tone unforgiving.

“And how long is that mom?” Y/N was yelling back now, and Harry realized quietly that she had quite the temper on her.  “How long am I here?  Because I have begged until I was blue in the face to go to college, or Italy, or even Athens, and you’ve never let me!  How long do I have to pretend like Kalokairi is all I’ll ever want when we both know it’s not?”

Harry held his breath.  There was a long moment of silence.

“Y/N, you know that I don’t have the money for that --”

“I will take out loans for school.  I will hitchhike, I will stay in hostels or camp illegally, I will sell everything I own, I don’t care.  I just want to see -- fuck, something!” Y/N gasped, begging now.  Another long moment.

“Y/N, I need you here.  And I need you to do your job, the way I know you can.  I’ve told you so many stories, dear.  It’s not that much different out there compared to those,” Dee tried to be light in telling her story, but the tone was obviously clipped.

“Mom, I want to explore.  I want to meet people, and see things.  I want to make my own stories,” Y/N pleaded.  Dee sighed.

“And you’ll have them, my rose.  One day.”

“When?”

This time Dee didn’t respond.  After another long period of quiet, Harry heard the sound of steps walking away, followed by harsh sobs.

Harry felt really, really awful.  Here he’d been, so trapped by the weight of his job, that he’d forgotten how much it was that he got to do.  Just like Y/N had said.  So lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize that the door was opening on a tearful Y/N until they’d looked up and made eye contact.  The anger he’d become so used to settled in on her face.  Oh boy.

[enixamyram]

Imagine a Jones-Mills family trip to Disneyland (because they’re ironic like that). Rumple has Blessing in a carrier strapped to his chest. Killian has Desiree on his shoulders. Zelena is pouting because she drew the short straw and has to carry the diaper bag. Robin insists on riding the Alice in Wonderland ride several times.

This one is so long, it might as well just be a oneshot rather than a CA short! Haha! Again, so much fun writing this out! It was honestly just… Yeah, it was just awesome! Thanks for the idea, Anon! 

   The sun was shining brightly overhead, there was barely a breeze to cool them down as they walked, the smell of cotton candy and other sugary snacks filled their noses and made their mouths water, and almost everywhere they turned, there was a swell of screams and cheerful cries from all the people crowding onto the various rides and entertainment around them. It was busy, like it was every day of the year, and the small group shuffled closely together in order to avoid being lost in the crowds.

   Sitting on her grandpa’s shoulders, Desirae sat open mouthed and wide eyed in awe of her colourful surroundings. She couldn’t look at all fast enough. Every time she looked in one direction, something new had appeared behind her and she rushed to look back again. She twisted and turned as much as she could, almost falling off several times, saved only by the light grip Killian kept on her ankles above her bright blue sandals. At one point she lay back against him, hanging upside down and letting her dark blue dress fall down, revealing a pair of pink frilly knickers underneath.

   “Desirae! Stop that! Sit up right now!” Zelena said, putting a hand on the younger girls back and pushing her into sitting position, brushing the material of her dress back around Killian’s neck.

   "She’s having fun, mum!” Robin laughed, glancing back at the three of them. “Don’t spoil it for her.”

   “She can have fun without flashing her underwear to the world.” Zelena said strictly.

   “You’re just bitter cause you pulled the short straw.” Killian smirked, raising an eyebrow at the children’s bags hanging off Zelena’s elbow. They held everything from a change of clothes, to spare diapers, to an incredible amount of sunscreen, to the endless bottles of juice and water to keep them hydrated. All of it would have her weighed down if not for the quick spell she had cast to make them as light as possible.

   Zelena scowled at him but turned ahead and pouted slightly, saying nothing. It really was unfair if you asked her. Especially since Rumple wasn’t even biologically related to either of the girls. Yet he had been a second father to Alice for many years before and during the cursed years, and had been as big a part of Desirae and Blessing’s life as she was.

   Not even the sight of Rumple could cheer her up about it. Although she had promised to take pictures for when she was in a better mood to tease him relentlessly once they got back home. After all, The Dark One in denim was nothing compared to The Dark One with a pink baby carrier strapped to his chest.

   Blessing sat in said carrier, cradled against Rumple’s chest, her short blonde hair curled slightly at the end and bouncing with every step. Though unlike her sister, she seemed far more entertained with the way her feet hovered so far off the ground than the cheerful screams and flashing lights on every other side around her. In fact she barely glanced up at all, and even that was only when one of her mothers paused to move back towards her tickling her underarms and causing her to look up and squeal at them.

   Striding in front of their daughters and parents, Alice and Robin were arm in arm, grinning from ear to ear as they looked at the amazing sights ahead. It was their first real holiday together, as a whole family, travelling somewhere completely new for once. It had taken them a while to agree on just where to go, but in the end, Disneyland won out. Because what better place to go, than where their stories were celebrated the most.

   “So what next?” Alice asked loudly, not bothering to look back any more.

   “Lunch!” Zelena suddenly cried, wincing at her next step. “I need to put my feet up already before they start bleeding out.���

   “I told you to wear proper shoes!” Robin complained, pausing to look back at her. “I said we’d be walking all day!”

   “Zelena’s stupid footwear aside,” Rumple said, leaning against a nearby sign. “She’s right. A break would be good. Not all of us are as young and fit as the two of you.”

   “But the day’s still young! And we have so much left to do!” Alice gasped excitedly.

   “We also have all weekend to do it,” Killian chuckled. “Come on, Starfish. We’ll take a lunch and then keep going until dinner.”

   Alice felt her face drop but glanced towards Desirae and Blessing guiltily. They were both very distracted at that moment (Desirae by a nearby water ride and Blessing by someone’ puppy as it walked passed) but she knew it was probably best to get them something to eat and drink anyway. And somewhere shaded would be good too. Even though they both wore sunhats and even though they were layered in protective cream (and a few protective spells) it would be nice to hide the somewhere with air-con for a decent meal. As much as she wanted to do more today, she also knew being a parent meant sacrificing for your child’s best interest over your own selfish wants.

   But then suddenly Robin was sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her close and grinning at the others. “Okay then, tell you what. You guys take the girls for lunch and rest your old aching feet. Meanwhile, Alice and I will go off for a few minutes of alone time.” She said cheerfully. “We’ll meet up after and continue the family fun together!”

   “That works for me.” Rumple nodded, pushing away from the sign and stretching his arms slightly as Blessing wriggled in her carrier.

   “What do you mean old?” Zelena demanded.

   “Great!” Robin said, ignoring her mother. “Call us when you’re ready to meet back up!”

   With that, she spun a squealing Alice around in a circle before pulling her off into the crowd. She already had the perfect place in mind where she wanted to take Alice. In fact she had wanted to take her there since they first entered the park early that morning. And now that they would be doing it alone, well, that just made it even better.

   Meanwhile, Killian paused, watch the two of them disappear before looking at the other two, smiling and waving towards the buildings to their right. “Shall we?”

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “So where are we going?” Alice asked, letting Robin lead the way since she clearly seemed to have a plan in mind, judging the way she was still pulling Alice along rather specifically.

   “Somewhere special.” Robin grinned, looking up at a sign before tugging Alice aside, not giving her a chance to read any of it.

   “You’re not going to tell me, are you.” Alice said, rolling her eyes.

   “Just be quiet and enjoy the private moments we have together,” Robin said, pausing long enough to kiss the side of her mouth.

   Alice smiled back at her. “I’m enjoying every moment. With you and with our family.” She sighed happily, leaning against Robin and shutting her eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling in its entirety. “I never thought we’d reach this moment in our lives… It feels wonderful.”

   Robin came to a sudden stop. “Wonderful. Huh. Interesting choice of words.”

   Frowning, Alice opened her eyes and was immediately greeted with the sight of her smiling self beaming down at her. Or at least, the cartoon version of herself that this world had come up with for some bizarre reason. She stumbled back a step and looked up at the imagine, finally realising her cartoon picture was plastered on a poster that sat atop of a pink mushroom in front of Robin’s planned destination.

   “You’re kidding…” Alice said, looking at Robin in a mixture of genuine surprise and slight horror.

   However Robin was unaffected and just grinned back at her. “Well we’d better get in line!” She said, dragging Alice to where a crowd of people were already waiting to take their turn on Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “Oh it feels good to get off my feet!” Zelena gasped, sitting back and smiling as she pulled her shoes off, taking a quick bite from the sandwich she had brought for herself. “God, I wish Chad were here to give them a proper massage.”

   Rumple cringed at the thought and turned his attention back to Blessing, making sure she was drinking all her juice. He had her balanced on one of his leg, the carrier now hanging off of one shoulder to allow some of the minor breeze they had to catch and cool his sweaty chest. He reached over, grabbing his own water and downing half of it without pause, his own sandwich barely touched at this point. Once again, he missed his magic and the ability to keep himself feeling fresh no matter how long he marched for.

   “It’s a shame he couldn’t make it.” Killian nodded, once again doing his best to remain civil. He always had done, even before their daughters had fallen head over heels for one another.

   “I know,” Zelena sighed sadly. “Next time, for sure.”

   “Pan!” Rae suddenly gasped, grabbing onto Killian’s top to pull herself clumsily onto her feet, standing on his leg and leaning against him for support. “PAN!” She cried.

   “What?” Zelena frowned at the young girl.

   “PAN!” Rae shouted, pointing hard at something behind her.

   “Did someone say Pan?!” A new voice shouted out.

   Suddenly all the others sitting at the outside tables looked up. Several children cheered and squealed, jumping up and crying out like Desirae as they pointed over towards the figure who ran towards them, followed by several other excited audience members. It was a grown man dressed in green tights, with red hair and a green hat sitting on top. He danced towards them with a big smile and came to a stop right beside Rae’s table, leaning towards her.

   “Hey there, everyone!” He called happily.

   “Oh God,” Rumple mumbled, purposely turning himself and Blessing away, glad that Blessing had no interested in the actor dancing around them.

   “Pan!” Rae beamed happily, reaching for him.

   “That’s right! I’m Peter Pan!” The man beamed, standing back and putting his hands on his hips. “What’s your name? Are you a Lost Girl?”

   “No, she’s not.” Zelena said, also turning her body away, hoping he would get the hint and leave them.

   He did not.

   “Uh, oh. Someone’s grumpy.” The man playing Peter said, leaning towards where Rae was beaming up at him and where Killian was attempting to lean away - and would have, if not for the back of the chair preventing him from doing so. “But that’s okay, I know what’ll make her feel better. A story! Stories make everything better! Do you have any stories?” He asked with an eagerness that was eerily convincing.

   Rae hesitated, putting a finger between her teeth before she shook her head, smiling shyly at him.

   “You don’t? Oh man. I love stories!” Peter said, looking towards some of the other people sitting close by, including a pair of young teenagers taking pictures of him. “Do any of you knows any stories?”

   “Yeah…” One of the girls giggled nervously.

   “Well let’s hear it!” Peter said, leaping over the gate and stealing a seat, sitting beside Killian and Rae - far too close for Killian’s liking. “Tell us a story!”

   “What is happening?” Killian hissed, leaning towards Rumple with a look of confusion and awkward terror.

   “An actor. Playing the part of Peter Pan.” Rumple cringed. “Or at least, this worlds version of it.”

   “Are you ready for the story, Lost Girl?” Peter asked Rae.

   “Yeah!” Rae shouted, just as loud as the crowd around them.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   Sitting side by side in a cosy yellow cart with the cartoon caterpillar head at the front, the girls had chosen to settle at the back, and out of everyone else’s way. After they had started and disappeared into the first dark tunnel, it was easy for Alice and Robin to get a little lost with each other. Especially as they started out staring at one another, grinning it cheerful and reluctant excitement for what was to come. In fact, what started out as a friendly ‘are you ready for this’ kiss, quickly turned into a passionate make out session that lasted the whole of the ride, until they were broken apart by the flash of lights from the exit and the crowds watching closely while waiting for their turn.

   “Wow, that was fun!” Alice grinned suggestively, climbing from the ride and reaching to pull Robin out with her. “But we better go find papa and the others now.”

   “Oh no!” Robin said, grabbing Alice’s hand and dragging her to the back of the line. “We’re riding that again.” She looked at her. “Properly this time!”

   Remembering fondly how their last ride in the dark tunnels had gone, Alice allowed herself be dragged along with little resistance. “Fine by me.” She grinned, winking at her as they took their place and waited together.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “That was a great story!” Peter shouted, jumping up and clapping excitedly in Killian’s ear, grinning when Rae joined in with him. Even Blessing finally looked up towards him, only to grow bored almost immediately and leaned back against Rumple, eyes growing heavy.

   “Ugh, can you go away now?” Zelena grumbled.

   Peter, finally seeming to get the hint, gave an extravagant bow to her and the other tables. “If you say so. I better go find Tink! We’ve got some more adventures to have.” He jumped back over the gate, pausing to wave at Rae. “Bye, bye, Lost Girl!”

   “Bye bye!” Rae shouted, waving her free hand at him while the other continued to cling to Killian.

   “Thank God,” Rumple breathed, turning back around again and twisting Blessing in his arms until she was comfortable.

   “You can say that again. Now let’s get out of here already. It’s about time we met the girls before that idiotic man child comes back.” Zelena said, collecting the bags back into her arms.

   Unfortunately it seemed they spoke too soon. Suddenly another voice shouted over the crowd and drew the attention of everyone (Rae included) back to them.

   “BOY!”

   “Uh oh!” Peter gasped, looking towards the boys and girls over the gate. “I think I hear a pirate!”

   Suddenly all the kids were shouting and booing. They jumped from their seats and began clambering against the gate, cheering and talking over one another with Zelena, Killian and Rumple stuck between them. Even if they wanted to stand and get away, they wouldn’t be able to easily and not while Rae continued to squeal and bounce, leaning as far as she could in Killian’s arms and pointing along with the rest of them at the shape that had called out to Peter.

   And then a man was stepping forward. Or at least, someone dressed as man. Unlike Peter, this actor wore a mask that included comically enlarged facial features, including a fat nose on top of a long thin moustached that was upturned on either side, over the top of a large toothy grin. He had long black curled hair and wore a purple fancy hat with a thick white feather to match the long red coat with a white frilled shirt underneath. He strode forward in a pair of pink and white leggings with a hand on his fake sword and the other arm held up above him, revealing a long silver hook on the end.

   “No…” Killian said quietly in disbelief.

   “On second thought…” Zelena said, sitting back and smiling. “I think we’ll stay a little longer after all.”

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “Alice,” Robin breathed. “Pay attention.”

   “I am.” Alice said, leaning over and kissing her again. “I’m giving you all my attention.”

   Robin pulled her close then twisted her around suddenly so she was facing away from her, breaking their kiss and wrapping her arms around her chest and arms to keep the other girl pinned and prevent her from twisting around to face Robin one more. As much as Robin loved their private moments in the dark like this, she also brought Alice on this ride for a reason and she was going to sit through it no matter what.

   “I hated the film,” Alice grumbled, scowling at the white rabbit chanting in front of her. “Why should I enjoy the ride?”

   “Cause you’re on it with me.” Robin grinned, kissing the back of her neck.

   Alice smiled. “Well… That is a perk.” She leaned back in Robin’s arms, barely paying attention to the animatronics that quoted the cartoon to them. In her mind, that was Robin’s fault. If she wanted Alice to focus on the ride, she shouldn’t be holding her as close as she was.

   They both slouched down together, riding along the tunnels and through the various story scenes of the film. When they momentarily slid back outside, they paused to share a grin between them just before entering the second part of the ride.

   “See?” Robin laughed as they neared the end.

   “Okay. I’ll admit. The stories a little more fun in the ride version.” Alice nodded, pecking her cheek. “But I think our first ride through was still the best.”

   As they came to a stop and climbed from the cart for a second time, Robin took Alice’s hand and began to head in direction of where most of the restaurants were located. They both knew they had to meet with the others eventually and there was no doubt they would all still be somewhere they could sit and rest. After all, they would need all the rest they could get for today.

   And then suddenly Robin felt herself being pulled to a stop. She looked back and saw Alice smiling at her, biting the corner of her lip. “You… Maybe want to go again?”

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “No…” Killian groaned, looking around but both Zelena and Rumple had gotten quite comfortable now.

   “Sit back and enjoy the show, Hook.” Rumple smirked, Blessing having now fallen asleep curled up slightly in his arms, oblivious to everything happening around her.

   “HOOK!” Rae gasped, looking from Killian and towards the actor and back again. “HOOK!” She gasped excitedly, pointing towards the actor while staring at her grandpa. “HOOK!”

   “Think she recognises you.” Zelena smirked.

   “Shut up.” Killian moaned, trying to sit Rae down in his lap, but she was more excited seeing Captain Hook than she had Peter Pan and refused to let herself be settled.

   The two actors had begun to walk around one another. Hook said very little as he waved his sword at Peter who mocked and giggled at him, jumping around and running in circles like it was a game of tag. Every now and then he jumped the gate and ran among the children with Hook pretending to try and chase after him while unable to actually follow and every time he did, the three actual fairy tale characters got a lovely view of his ridiculous head, including the enlarged cheeks and chin that went with the nose and smile.

   “Can we go now?” Killian asked, trying to sound more bored, like he didn’t care which way or the other.

   “And abandon the show?” Zelena cackled. “I think not!”

   “Let’s leave it to Desirae to decide,” Rumple said confidently, leaning forward, being careful not to jostle where Blessing had turned and curled against his chest now. Not that he needed to try so hard, it seemed the young girl was completely undisturbed by the cries of many people still shouting around her. “Rae? Rae? Do you want to go now? Or do you want to watch Peter Pan and Captain Hook?”

   “HOOK!” Rae cried, pointing and bouncing on her feet still. “HOOK!”

   “That decides it,” Rumple said, leaning back and smiling at his old enemy/new friend.

   “I hate you both.” Killian mumbled, slouching down in his seat while keeping his hands on Rae’s hips. He had to be careful to keep her from falling as she continued to bouncing up and down on his leg.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “Okay, we should really head back now.” Alice giggled, walking for the excit, back alongside the crowd of people still waiting to have their turn.

   “We should.” Robin agreed firmly. Then added with a devious smile; “Or… We could have one more ride.”

   “Really?” Alice laughed. “Come on. Even I’m getting bored of it now.”

   “Yeah but think of it this way,” Robin said, pulling her forcefully to the back of the line once again. “We started this ride with a kiss… Shouldn’t we end it that way as well?”

   Alice pretended to pause and think it over. “Well, that sounds fair to me!”

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “How long are they going to do this?” Killian hissed.

   “For as long as it entertains.” Rumple shrugged, looking towards the kids and teens still laughing around them.

   “Yeah, well, I’m going to get us some more drinks,” Zelena said, standing and wedging her way through the crowd, pausing to pat Killian’s shoulder and wink down at him. “Don’t go anywhere.”

   Killian lashed out a hand, grabbing her wrist tightly. “You are not leaving me here!”

   “Well you can’t come. Rae’s enjoying herself so you have to stay for her sake.” Zelena said, pulling her arm free. “Have fun, Captain.”

   Rumple chuckled, watching Zelena disappear into the crowd. Then turned as he caught Killian glaring at him. “What?” He asked.

   “You’re not going anywhere.” Killian warned, then added quickly. “Don’t forget, if you move, you’ll disturb Blessing.”

   “Oh no worries there.” Rumple said, putting his feet on Zelena’s recently vacated chair, smiling as he looked back towards the show just as Hook bent over and had his backside kicked by Peter, sending him toppling to the ground. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

   Killian was suddenly regretting the idea of keeping Rumple around and groaned loudly, watching his cartoon self struggle to scramble back onto his feet and those ridiculous looking shoes. Rae couldn’t stop laughing and more than once pointed at Killian and pointed back again, as if reminding him again and again that, yes, that was supposed to be him.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “Okay, now we should head back.” Alice sighed sadly.

   “Are you kidding? They made us sit up front this time. We couldn’t finish how we started we everyone able to watch us.” Robin argued grumpily.

   “Robin, enough, okay? If I have to see those stupid things again or hear any of their high squeaky voices, I’m going to lose my mind.” Alice said sharply, rubbing her temple at the very idea of passing through those damn tunnels once more.

   “You won’t hear them. Not if I’m doing it right.” Robin said quickly.

   Alice ignored her attempts to flirt and kept walking. Or rather, she tried to keep walking. She didn’t get very far when suddenly Robin reached down, picking her up off her feet and physically carrying her to the back of the line.

   “ROBIN!” Alice yelped, kicking her legs out.

   “One more time!” Robin promised.

Once*Upon*A*Time*At*Disneyland

   “Finally!”

   A few parents shot Killian a dirty look but he ignored them. He didn’t care if he sounded like a miserable old bugger. Seeing his cartoon self run off like a coward when Peter got all the audience to start making ticking sounds like a clock, was both a great insult and an even greater relief. Killian was an inch away from carrying Rae off mid performance, even if she hated him for it, while Rumple had never looked like he was enjoying himself more. Even now, he was still grinning at the (real) pirate with a smugness that wasn’t going to be wiped away easily.

   “Can we go now?” Killian growled as the crowd around them thinned out and everyone returned to their seats to finish their lunches.

   “Yeah, the fun’s over now.” Rumple said, standing and shuffling Blessing in his arms. She whimpered and her little blue eyes blinked open staring up at the shocked expression on the older man’s face. “That’s what wakes you?” He blinked.

   As if she even understood him, Blessing smiled slightly - a smile that matched her mothers cheeky side - before shutting her eyes and cuddling back up against him. Rumple shook his head at her before turning and heading back inside the restaurant, followed by Killian where he had settled his granddaughter back on his shoulders, ignoring her restless fidgeting. While he knew she was eager to be released on her own two wobbly feet, there was no way he was going to risk letting her get lost in this crowd.

   As they made their way through the main restaurant and for the exit, they kept an eye out for Zelena but she was nowhere around. At least not until they found their way out of the building and back into the main area of the park.

   “I thought you were just getting drinks?” Killian demanded when he caught sight of Zelena, hovering across from the exit, waiting patiently for them.

   “Guess I forgot.” Zelena shrugged innocently. “So did you enjoy the show?”

   Scowling at her, Killian stormed passed, letting Rumple come to a pause behind him, still smiling at his back. “Oh he loved it.” He said loudly, then glanced at Zelena and lowered his voice so Killian could no longer hear. “I think we’re gonna need to ask for a special request for Captain Hook to come see Desirae, don’t you think?”

   Zelena smirked back. “Even without your magic, you are still the Dark One.”

   “What are you two whispering about back there?” Killian snapped, looking over his shoulder at them.

   “Oh nothing!” Zelena sang, walking over and reaching up. “Now give Rae here. It’s your turn to carry the bags.”

   Killian side stepped away from her. “After what I just sat through? I don’t think so.” He walked around her, heading off with Rae falling back to hang upside down behind him again, giggling and waving to her grandma.

   “Hey! Over here!”

   Alice and Robin caught sight of Rae’s flashing knickers before they saw the faces of the others. They hurried over, both looking very pink in the face and grinning with deep matching breaths.

   “You two look like you had fun,” Zelena said, pushing aside her irritation at still being stuck with the bags. “How many rides did you get on in the end?”

   “Oh… Not many actually.” Robin shrugged.

   “Just the one really.” Alice admitted.

   “Just one? Was the line that long?” Zelena blinked. Well, all the lines were long but she had discovered that the park was actually quite good at getting everyone moving at a brisk pace so as to give everyone a chance.

   “… Yeah. Let’s go with that.” Robin nodded, ignoring the puzzled look her mother gave her.

   Quick to change the subject, Alice looked between her daughters. “Aw, is someone tuckered out?” Alice asked, walking over to Rumple and brushing some strands of blonde hair to the side of Blessing’s head, kissing her sleeping forehead softly.

   “Yeah, she fell asleep near the start of the show.” Rumple nodded.

   “Show? What show?” Alice asked.

   “Forget about it!” Killian said quickly before anyone else could answer. “Now are we going to go on some more rides today or not?”

   The girls looked questioningly towards Rumple and Zelena for answers, both of whom were smirking to themselves and each other. It was obvious something had happened while they were gone, but neither had any idea what could pull such mixed reactions from the three of them.

   “We’ll tell you later.” Rumple promised.

   “We’ll show you if we can.” Zelena grinned, then looked at the girls. “Seriously you are both still very red. Lemme guess, roller-coaster?”

   “Uh- yup! That’s right!” Robin nodded. “Very exciting! So much fun! Couldn’t get enough of it.” She looked at Alice and shared a secret knowing smile. “Definitely do it again some time.”

   Alice grinned back, reaching over and entwining their fingers together as they began following Killian across the park. “Sometime soon.”

   As oblivious as ever Zelena shrugged and walked beside them. “Well, we have all weekend for you two do it again. But for now, Rumple, give me my granddaughter! Now! Grandma Zee wants time with her precious Blessing as well, so hand her over!”

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT 2

A/N LISTEN UP BEACHES I EDITED THIS WHILE EATING SKITTLES AND DUPLINGS SO YOU KNOW I WASNT NORMAL WHILE EDITING I HOPE I EDITED EVERYTHING IF NOT I’LL CORECT THIS LATER

Genre:Fanfiction/Romance/Erotic Romance

Type:Rated-r(later chapters)

Word Count 5,084

PT.1 , PT2 PT.3

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seoul. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Kwon Jiyong has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Hyo-Rin didn’t give me a brief biography

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Hyo-Rin’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Min Hyo-Rin! I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating Brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Kwon’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, y/n, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want. We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Gangnam-gu, close to the Gangnam campus of GAU. I’m lucky – Rin’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Hyo-Rin is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview. “Y/N! You’re back.” Rin sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little kittens, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.” “Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her. “Y/N, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Min Hyo-Rin, Inquisition. I struggle to answer her question. What can I say? “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.” Rin gazes innocently at me. I frown at her. “Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Hyo-Rin clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-eight. Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”(a/n let’s imagine that this store is in korea ok?!) “Y/N, you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started atGAU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Gangnam area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Kwon Ji Yong. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me. “y/n! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Hyo-Rin is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with… him. “You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/N. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look. I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Rin doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription. “I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks. “Um… no, I didn’t.” “That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush. “I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. “Oh come on,Y/N – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that,Y/N. Come on , he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen. “So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something – quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts. I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Y/N, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me? Now Hyo-Rin’s being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Kwon Ji Yong that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Rin and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Hyo-Rin has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday. I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and Brown eyes. For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Hyo-Rin is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-kittens PJs. I call my mom in Jeju to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Y/N?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.” “Y/N? Have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Y/N, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Hyo-Rin and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Mino, (dont hate Me)clutching a bottle of champagne. “Mino! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” Mino is the first person I met when I arrived at GAU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Mino’s Father were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Mino is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Mino has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me. “The Gangnam Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Hyo-Rin beams at him too. “Way to go Mino! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins. “Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Mino looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Rin. Mino and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Hyo-Rin often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven’t met anyone who… well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.(a/n ME THO) But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kwon? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely? I watch Mino open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Mino’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Mino looks up and smiles. Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold Brown gaze of Kwon Ji Yong who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Kwon,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr.Kwon?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Y/L/N. A slight frown mars Kwon’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning. “They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me – because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Gangnam? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head. “Are you in Gangnam on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Y/N! “I was visiting the GAU farming division. It’s based at Gangnam. I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts. “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease. “Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny? Funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, Brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Y/L/N! “Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Kwon says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium. “Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. “What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord… ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.” Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife. “Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Kwon.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing,Y/N?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Y/N, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks.(A/N BOIIII!!!!) “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Rin is. Miss Min. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Kwon raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off. “You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Hyo-Rin will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous… “Hyo-Rin will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position. Oh my. Kwon Ji Yong’s lost look. “Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Hyo-Rin is going to be thrilled. “Y/N!” Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Kwon, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Y/N, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Y/N, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Kwon Jiyong, he’s watching us like a hawk, his brown eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant. “Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Kwon’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Paul, this is Kwon Ji Yong. Mr. Kwon, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Ji Yong holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Kwon,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up – not the Kwon Ji Yong? Of Kwon Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kwon gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?” “Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Y/N.” “Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Kwon?” “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Kwon, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his brown eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Y/N.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh – and Y/N, I’m glad Miss Min couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay – I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Hyo-Rin and organize a photo-shoot.

boi i swear he...ugh he as a rich ceo....just yasss,also i didnt change the paul name because its the only time he appers in the book so yeah tommorow i will upload another part!!!!

[bananashemmo]

When We Collide (Part 47)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Masterlist: Here

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand

When We Collide on Wattpad

“The theories and articles are in fact, correct. Young movie director, Luke Hemmings, has in fact confirmed a kidnapping has been committed at his apartment. Investigators are currently performing their best to investigate the crime scene which is the director’s New York City luxurious penthouse apartment. The girl we are looking for is the director’s assistant, Y/N Y/L/N. Female, late in her pregnancy and with signatures looking like the following...” 

Words seemed so faint in the background Luke couldn’t really fully focus if it was actually happening beside him. 

His ass was so harshly pressed against the couch he was sure he would fall through the cushion and through the floor any second by now.

He felt completely numb. 

Say it would have been days. It felt like it, like the time was completely snailing through everything. But it wasn’t. It had only been minutes, maybe an hour before everyone had figured it out. 

Investigators were walking around the ‘crime scene’ talking about everything. He wasn’t listening. He was trying to think who wanted their revenge. 

Hands were pressed together the color on his skin had almost turned white. More likely a yellow, expressing that he was basically cutting off his blood system. 

It wasn’t that it hurt, he almost couldn’t feel it. The only thing he could feel was his heart pound faster than ever almost begging to come out from his chest. It was the only thing that actually hurt, besides the constant fear resting inside of him. 

If he looked over his shoulder he could hear people talk. It was serious, he could tell and he knew he most probably had to listen but he was completely stuck to the couch.

Only a question here and there was answered. Where did he see you the last time, what were the last words and what had you worn today. It was like the only thing he could remember was your face as you left. 

You should never have left in the first place, he thought. 

It would have changed everything. He wouldn’t have been in this position now. 

“The shirt is size XL. Suspect must be tall, at least 6′2 and fingerprints are about to get recognized from the sleeve.” A female investigator explained as she wore blue gloves and shared it with another worker. 

Shoe prints on the balcony floor are currently being scanned. Nobody touches the floor before we are done.” Another one said but Luke didn’t even want to turn around to look. 

He was in clear shock and everyone was giving him a small rest just to adjust what was going to happen. 

His eyes flicked towards the investigator with chestnut colored hair walking past him as she put the black hoodie in a plastic bag. 

He scanned it for a short second but it wasn’t something he could recognize. Like, everyone was wearing such shirts nowadays it would be impossible to remember one not wearing something like that. 

As the investigator walked out of the front door she almost collided into a tall Ashton and Calum wanting to get inside of the apartment. 

“It’s okay.” Luke held a hand in the air when one of the police officers held them outside to block them. 

“They’re with me.” 

For the first time in a while he stood up from his couch and walked forward. He could tell so many questions were crowded inside of Ashton’s head but there was no way possible he could answer them all. 

“What-, Uh-,” Calum was the one speaking up at first but he clearly couldn’t understand what in the world was going on. 

“Who took her?” Ashton was more settled with his question, eyes wide and dark just like the tone of his voice. 

“If I knew, you’d think all these people would fill up my apartment?” Luke asked back.

He didn’t want to be rude but with his mood and the many thoughts in his mind he couldn’t help but fire back a sneaky comment. 

Ashton understood right away the mood Luke was in, god he could totally relate to the situation he was standing in. Instead, he decided not to say something to it and ran a hand through his hair. 

“What is he doing here?” He decided to ask instead, referering to Michael talking to some sort of interviewer. 

“He was with me when she was kidnapped.” Luke explained, looking at Michael as well. He was baffling his arms in the air almost as if he was telling a story that was totally exaggerated. 

Ashton and Calum both glanced at Luke by the mention, one eyebrow being lifted but it took Luke some seconds to realize what they were thinking. 

“And that doesn’t ring a bell?” Calum asked and crossed his arms, “Don’t you think it’s just a tiny bit shady he’s in the apartment at the same time as your assistant slash pregnant roomie gets kidnapped?” 

Luke looked between the both of them and it took him a split second to hurry towards Michael and pull him away from the interviewer.

Michael was pretty startled by the sudden hands on his shoulders, he barely got the chance to apologize to the interviewer before he was pulled away completely and pressed into the kitchen with Calum and Ashton. 

“Woah, security guards, what is going on?” He almost raised his hands in surrender and looked between them with confused eyes. 

“Michael, look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.” Luke looked at him seriously almost straight up in his face. There was no doubt in his tone that he needed the answer right away. 

“What?” Michael blinked twice, almost needing the question to be repeated. 

“You think I,” He pointed at himself, “Had anything to do with this?” 

Luke looked at Michael with a shrug in the shoulder. When he thought about it he couldn’t just accuse him of something there wasn’t any clues to but he just needed to be sure. The whole investigation could be pointless. 

“Luke come on.” Michael almost looked hurt, “After everything we’ve been through you believe I would steal your poor pregnant assistant? I could have easily bought myself a better one instead of just stealing her.�� 

“Yeah, he didn’t do it.” Calum mouthed to Ashton in a whisper but Luke heard. 

“Don’t judge the guy, he’s blond.” Ashton muttered back, making both Luke and Michael turn their heads towards them. 

“I can’t believe you would think I could do such thin-,” 

“Yeah that’s great pretty boy.” Ashton mumbled and turned around quickly, “He’s out of suspect let’s hear what the police has to say.” 

Michael almost felt offended by being interrupted in his deep speech, his eyes blinking open and watched as Luke also turned around to leave. 

At first he just stared at them not realizing what was going on but afterwards he hurried to stand in their heels as they approached the investigators and the police. 

“Any news?” Luke asked, standing behind the lady officer sitting in front of the computers they had set up on the dinner table. 

“So far, nothing. We’ve checked camera rolls, video clips from down the streets but the suspect has been quiet the clever Cloe. No files seem to be erased yet there is nothing to find. It’s like whoever has stepped out from the apartment has completely vanished.” 

“Maybe you should reload some of the clips from the elevator? Maybe we can kind something in that.” Ashton suggested, standing next to Luke with furrowed eyebrows. 

“If the suspect hasn’t taken the stairs.” Calum mentioned quieter, already thinking forward but it was worth the shot. 

The lady officer nodded her head in agreement and typed things onto the keyboard. Files spread on the three large computer screens they had put up for the investigations and it was a lot of things to look through.

“There.” Ashton pointed at one clip, “That timing and date seems perfect.” 

“Let’s check it out.” The lady officer mumbled and she pressed her finger with a spare of cards symbol tattoo onto the mouse to load on the screen.

They all waited in anticipation as the file suddenly came up on the screen, showing someone stand with a black hoodie over their shoulders with the back facing the camera. 

“That must be him!” Ashton exclaimed intensely, “Or her, for the matter.” 

“I’m not sure if it’s the same hoodie. Seems more like a jacket.” The lady officer explained and when the second was at the most dramatic, everyone sighed in deep disappointment. 

“That’s Michael.” Luke almost wanted to smack his head against the table. 

As the person turned around and revealed who it was, the clear significant pointed to Michael. The blond hair, the stubble around the chin and the sunglasses to cover his face. 

“That’s me!” Michael commented in an exciting tone and a smile broke to his face. 

“Man, I look good in an elevator.”

Silence fell upon the room by the sudden comment, all eyes adverting to Michael who clearly didn’t understand the dramatic point of the situation. 

“You bring a flat iron with you?” Calum almost couldn’t ask the question as he looked on the tape. 

“What?” Michael asked and softly ran his fingers through his hair, “It’s hard to control the hair at cold months because it curls in the ends so I need to bring my straightener after leaving my house. I always carry it in my bag and it’s the reason why I wear my hoodie over the head. It protects the hair.” 

A moment of another silence was completely offered to Michael. At least twenty eyes were staring at him almost in disbelief and it wasn’t until Calum coughed attention went back to the screen. 

“The tapes are pointless. Calum is right. He or she must have taken the stairs.” The lady officer confirmed and another sigh of disappointment came from Luke. 

“We have to do something.” He almost wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. 

“Try give me your phone again.” She requested and Luke did as told, pulling it out from his pocket.  

“And you’re sure the I.D caller was Unknown?” She asked, almost not wanting to touch it because it being such a clue to the whole investigation.

“I’m completely sure. Neither did I recognize the voice. It was completely unknown to me and I meet a lot of people in life. That voice, I couldn’t remember.” 

The lady officer nodded her head in understanding and nodded a few people over to help. Luke and the others nodded intensely. 

“What we are going to do is to hope that the suspect has seen the flash news on TV and such. It makes them believe they are something important, that their mission is heading towards the right direction. Hopefully, we expect they are going to call you again as you still haven’t proceed to do something about the kidnapping.

“Well that’s because some officers haven’t allowed me to leave the place.” Luke said almost through gritted teeth and glared towards the door. 

“Exactly, but see it as a benefit, Mr. Hemmings.” The lady officer explained.

“What we are going to do is we will connect the phone to our system. If the phone calls again we will be able to track it all over the state at every mobile post that exist. It works almost 100% correct whether the I.D caller is known or Unknown.” 

“But how do I make it call again?” Luke asked, not but getting the answer he wanted. 

“We can’t decide that.” The lady officer saddened in her tone, “It’s all up to the suspects.” 

Luke sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. It felt like no matter how many times things seemed to head forward he was stuck in the same position as before. 

“We will wait.” He said bravely, “No matter if it takes all night then so be it.” 

Luke headed away from the table just to get a breath of air. He didn’t know where to go because it was impossible and it didn’t take long before another interviewer showed up to speak with him. 

“Luke?” She was careful in her tone, not wanting to disturb but still wanted to do her job. 

“Heather.” Luke said back, recognizing her bouncy blond curls. 

“I don’t want to disturb if you’re in deep thought,” She was still careful, “But is there anything you want to say to the world before we turn off for the night?” 

Luke looked at her ready to reject but then a sudden confusion came to his face. It changed quickly to something that seemed to settle on something he took the microphone out of her hand. 

His face was directed pointed towards the camera and he breathed in deeply to find the right words to say. 

“Whoever did this. Whoever had the heart to do something so idiotic as kidnapping someone to get a benefit is what god wishes as something only happening in the movies. I hope whoever have done this to not only me but also to the girl that I love have the baddest feeling in the mouth. Nobody wants to go through the feeling of doubt, confusion and the constant fear of nothing moving forward like the way I’m feeling right now. Trust me when I say that I can feel my heart ready to pound out of my chest. Trust me when I say I can feel my throat ready to turn upside down. Trust me when I say that I’m ready to commit a murder of whoever decided to kidnap Y/N because this won’t end well and heads will roll.” 

He looked at the kidnapper almost pressing the microphone into her chest, “That’s all I have to say to the idiots.” 

Heather looked pretty surprised by Luke’s words, a little speechless but she seemed satisfied with what she got. 

Luke cleared his mouth from the small bit of salvia that had arrived from not breathing through the words and his eyes were quick to glance back when movements came from behind him. 

“The phone is calling.” The lady officer announced loudly and waved her hand for Luke to come. 

“I.D caller is unknown, start the tracking devices.” She instructed harshly and Luke hurried over to grab the phone out of her hand. 

“Remember, no provocation.” She warned at him carefully, pointing a finger at him.

Luke nodded his head and swallowed thickly as he answered the phone and shut his eyes. 

“Hello?” 

His voice almost echoed in the apartment, it was so quiet. Nobody was speaking a word, they didn’t dare to. The only thing was low machine noises coming from the detectors trying to register where the phone call was from.

Seconds passed by but nobody said a word. Luke was almost confused if it was just someone else calling out of accident but then he heard small sounds coming from the other end of the phone. 

“Luke? Luke-, Please is that you?” 

When he heard your voice he almost couldn’t believe his words. It cut through his heart like a sharp knife.  

Ashton felt a jolt go through his body by your tone but Calum held him back from saying or doing something out of reaction. 

“Lu-, Luke please, you have to do somethin-,” When the line was completely cut off so did Luke’s breathing. 

“Did you get it?” Calum asked almost loudly as he watched the computers still trying to regestrate where it was coming from. 

It was a stressful situation, it was hard to tell what was going on. Ashton and Calum were staring at the screen while Luke stood completely frozen with the phone not believing his ears. 

“We’ve got it.” The lady officer announced when the screen changed with an address and google maps. 

“We’ve found the location of the phone.” 

“No time to fucking waste.” Luke, Ashton and Calum hurried towards the door with the rest of the crew. 

“We need to leave right in the second. Get spread in the cars.” 

Michael still stood by the computers looking confusedly around down at his fingers. It took him some time to register what had suddenly happened and he hurried towards the door as well. 

“I’m going with you! This could be the biggest comeback of a movie ever.” 

Luke barely heard what Michael had to say but neither did he care. Just the sound of your panic voice was enough to make him storm out of the door with a headed direction. 

Little didn’t he known how cold, alone and scared you felt tied to a chair. 

You had no idea for how long the drive had been, how you had suddenly appeared it almost felt like you had been drugged. You could have compared it to drinking and getting the blackouts. 

Nothing seemed to be remembered clearly and god how you just wished you could get the headache away. 

You were sure of one thing. You were tied to a chair. It was pretty obvious and you could feel how it was tightening around your stomach. They didn’t take anything for care and they had no hopes of believing you were okay. 

“Did you hear the sound of his voice? He sounded so panicked!” 

“Yeah I was pretty amazed too! Who could care that much for a poor girl and I baby. I wouldn’t. It doesn’t come with any benefits.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to smack your head back and hopefully hit the back of the chair. That was how tired you were of listening to the two large tall males who had kidnapped you the second you came down to the last floor of the apartment. 

They only went by the letters T and G. Most probably to cover up their original names and most importantly not to spoil anything when they had placed the phone to your mouth. 

“Did you see him on the TV? He’s a wimp and I’m most probably can’t do a thing about anything.” 

“Was he that bad in bed when he knocked you pregnant? He can’t even keep his arms up for a second I don’t believe he could do the same with his dick.” The guy to the left commented after banging his hand on the small TV.

His friend was laughing next to him, pretty amused by the situation. 

“How about the two of you shut up for a second and start telling me what the hell is going on?” You were both stubborn but scared at the same time. They seemed like losers but still remained scary with their tall shadows. 

“How about you shut up? I told you not to say anything as long as you were under our domand.” The guy to the right knocked on the TV once to get the channel right and headed towards you. 

“Or, do I need to remind you again?” He headed forward and cold shivers ran down your spine as he collected a knife. 

“You know that I can easily tear your pretty face with this?” He slowly pressed the blade against your cheek, “Or let’s say something else. An arm? Your stomach?” 

“You don’t touch her.” You said through gritted teeth teeth but gasped when he grazed the knife against your arm. 

“Oh so it’s a girl!” He said as if it actually impressed him and watched the blood leak from your arm. 

It wasn’t a deep cut but enough for you to flinch. You couldn’t even remove the droplet of blood because of your hands being tied but you watched it slowly fall down onto your lap. 

“Don’t act like you’re happy on my behalf.” You spat, almost not wanting to start the argument. 

“But I am.” He said and spread his arms, “A girl means she’s already wrapped around his little finger! That only adds up your chances of survival you know. If he gets here in time.” 

You watched him head towards a desk filled with cobweb. The place wasn’t really anything to brag about, it smelled horrible and could have been cut out from a scene. 

“What is this? Why did you kidnap me?” You had asked the question a couple of times now. 

“I’ve already answered you this.” The one still standing by the TV sighed. 

“You’re the key to the diamonds.” 

“I don’t get where you’re going.” You quivered an eyebrow and sincerely wished he could continue. 

“To get to Luke, you need to get close to the thing he loves the most.” 

“And that’s me?” You almost couldn’t believe his words. 

“It’s you.” He pointed at you with a smile and moved the knife down, “And the baby.” 

“But what about revenge?” You couldn’t get the things to seem right. Nothing seemed right about this, there was something he wasn’t telling you and you couldn’t figure it out. 

“Who wants revenge if it’s the diamonds that are demanded?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He shrugged like it was nothing and laughed. He was either being really stupid or just enjoying giving you this pain. You were left with no information. 

“But aren’t you the one wanting revenge? Wanting the diamonds.” You looked between them, “The both of you.”

“Nahh.” The other one shrugged and crossed his arms, “We’re just the ones taking orders.” 

You looked between them trying to read their faces but you couldn’t get them to say anything. You looked over their shoulders by the doors that were faintly covered by white duvets. 

It wasn’t clear to see but two shadows were also creeping behind, not wanting to reveal their faces but you could feel the lump in your throat ready to choke you. 

“Please tell me this is just a nightmare.” You whispered to yourself but as another droplet of blood hit your thigh you realized the reality. 

[sian22redux]

He followed me home

Title:  He Followed Me Home

Pairing:  Chris Evans/Reader

Rating:  T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup:  Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series.   Whoever won got a drabble.   It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland.   So here is her choice:  Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name:  from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney.   Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic.    Enjoy! 

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.  

Thanks so much to  @mypatronusismrpricklepants   and  @arizonapoppy for their awesome help. 

 Chapter 1:  Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable.   You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.  

His arms are folded across his chest.  His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once.  It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago.  Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.  

“Oh really.”  The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.  

It was just the first thing that popped into your head.  Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”    

“Maybe,” you squeak.  It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.  

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.  

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).  

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.  

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”    

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun.   It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees.  Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of  Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog  (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).    

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes.   His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch.  Probably with Dodger on his chest.  

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.  

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.  

He so needs it.  The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.  

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point.   The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before.  How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa.  How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out.  That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.  

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip.  You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat.   Change was hard for animals.  

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.    

How do you explain?  You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run.   Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window.   So cute, and so in need.  

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist?  Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit.  “It just kind of happened.”   Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.  

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again.   “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap.   At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup.    The little guy whimpers mournfully.   You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure.  The smells and sounds are new.  There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.  

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.    

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much  

“Come on pal, leave off.”   Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host.  The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.  

Puppy is still scared.  He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.  

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.    

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing.  “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.”   A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.  

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim.    “Boy or girl?”  

“Boy.  He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.  

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur.    He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly.    "Homer, I can see your doodle…"    

“Chris!”  

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis.  It is also a recognized crossbreed.  

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip.   “Shuddup.  A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross.  You shouldn’t tease the little guy.  He’s had a really rocky start.  Was just busted out of a puppy mill.  He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t.  Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose.  His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle.  Quirky and utterly adorable.    You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick.   “Awww.  Sorry dude.”  

You shift the warm furry load at your hip.  A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.  

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure.  Bring him in.”    

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail.  So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.  

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing:  white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.  

“You, too.  Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee.  The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked.  A picture of controlled enthusiasm.  His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.  

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack.  You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety.   Chris is the alpha male:  one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.  

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts.    “Ow.”  he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp.  And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder:  how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home.   The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home.  It’s been years since you had a pet.  Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen.  You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.  

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note.  He has been so good.  Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.    

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check.  In a sec.  Does he have a name?”  

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records.  At Ace they called him by his number.  They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam.  I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash,  a comb,  smaller steel bowls.  Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.  

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time:  all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell.  Pure heaven.  And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.  

(No ticking clocks, here.  Nope.   None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up.  Coughs once.  Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.    

Chris looks over at you alarmed.  “Is he ok?”    

This time it’s you that melts a little.  Chris worries.  Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.  

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time.  He’s a rescue from a puppy mill.  The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.”  Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.  

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over.   Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet.  All is in order.  Case # A201206 has been dewormed.  Had all shots.  Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements.   Has been off his feed because of illness.  Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy.  You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention.    Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.  

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush.  This is the tricky part.   “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup.  Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur.  Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates.  Hefty and solid.  He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.  

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”  

Chris chokes.  “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”    

You hold your breath.   This is a gamble.  Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow.  You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”  

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back,  reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek.  A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart.   “Chris, I feel like this meant to be.  You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard.  He’s like your kindred spirit.  Bernese are also big and loyal and loving.  They adore kids.  But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”      

“So you’re just like me, hunh?”  he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds.   I’d be doing curls with you…”    

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.  

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.  

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it.  Keen on it right away.  This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning.   Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog.   Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems.  There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving.  Possibly another Broadway run.  There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.  

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too.   Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour.  It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once.   As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist.  You’re a name on the end credits.  Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with.  A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great.  Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game.  You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date.  No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter.  No one’s staking out your house.    Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up  your calf. Hidden. Secret.  Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do.  Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going.  Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much.  The frequent long distance trips make it hard.  Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode.   Constantly catching up.  Two steps forward and one back.   Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate.   Case in point:  today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice.   “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.  

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.”  Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap.  He sighs. “This was a really good idea.  I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?”  You sit straight up.  Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian.  He experienced and no-nonsense.  A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay?  You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.”  Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed.  Easy. Intimate.  It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“How can anyone resist this face?”  he says, tickling Puppy under the chin.  It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out.  You’re lost, the both of you.  

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins.  “I was just surprised.  Needed to think it through is all.  Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain,  but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.  

“What do you….?”  

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you.  ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps.  Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected.  Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.  

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.  

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.  

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you.  Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”    

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say.  Going public seems like a giant step.  Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy.  Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath.  This is truly what you want but can you make it work?  

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation.  He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling.  “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit.  I am getting old.  The flights are getting harder.”  

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask.  You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.  

“Ancient.”  

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head.  Dodger’s head pops up.  If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead.  He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity.  Chris sets the puppy on the floor.  The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh.  Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins.  This new development is surprising but not scary.  He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.  

“Woof!”   It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.  

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.”  Chris is laughing.  Puppy seems very pleased with himself.   A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows.  Outside the morning is clouding over.  It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain.  Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird.  Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.  

Pup looks to him and back.  “Boof!”   Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger.   Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized.   A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen.  Pad are laid beside the back door.  The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket.  You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly.   He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.    

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen.  “Lets get the little guy’s space all set.  He’ll need to eat soon and then go out.  We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”  

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend.   They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again.    It’s hilarious and sweet.  Big brother playing with the little guy,  but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns.  And coughs.  

“Hey…”  

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest.   A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired.   It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.  

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head.  He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell.   Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best.  There’s a twinkle in his eye.  One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Don't You Forget About Me (Ao3 Link) Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow, Irish Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: After Len, nothing seems to be going right for Mick. He keeps going listlessly -

- at least until something cold as death starts crawling into his bed.

(In which Mick Rory braves the Sidhe to win back his True Love)

A/N: For @jq-piccadilly - happy birthday!! (also special mentions to @ice-whisper who inadvertently gave me the idea and @oneiriad, for who this fulfills another Coldwave Bingo Board entry)

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After Len died, everything sort of stopped, for Mick.

Oh, he kept going, kept fighting, kept up with the great and noble mission to which he had been consigned by destiny and by Len. The flesh of him kept right on going.

It was the spirit of him that came to a halt.

He stopped caring about the things that made him happy, before; stopped caring about the game, or food, or even fun; stopped caring all too much about being alive.

But he kept going and time, wicked time, starts healing even his most dire wounds.

Mick had a chair in his room - big, comfy, just the way he liked it. It was good that it was so comfy, because he slept there, now, forsaking the bed in his cabin.

The bed that had been his and his Lenny's both.

Not even Kronos had dragged on his soul like Len's death - a hundred years and a day disappearing like a wink in the salt of Len's tears, but no salt would save him from this loss. Nothing but time could help.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

He remembered with terrible clarity how it was, that bed, a touch too small for two grown men but comfortable regardless. Reminded them both of a prison bed, when they'd first seen it, and it had made them laugh.

They shared that bed, just like they'd shared all their beds. Mick always went to bed first, pointedly, because Len's brain whirled so fast and so hard it needed to see good behavior to model it, but he liked to stay awake, dozing, until Len crawled into bed with him, cold from the air outside the bed, and wrapped a chill arm around his chest.

Len liked to put his icy fingertips – terrible circulation, that man – under Mick’s shirt, to warm his hand on Mick’s heart. It was one of the things Mick loudly complained about but secretly enjoyed.

It’s one of those thing Len will do no more, because he’s dead.

Mick doesn't sleep in the bed.

Mick kept on with the Legends. They treated him badly, and he let them. He encouraged it, even, playing up his stupidity, his brutishness, his uselessness, wanting the emotional spikes of pain under his nails, under his skin. He would never harm himself physically - Len would turn over in his grave, if he had one - but he could torment himself in other ways.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

Time passed, and passed, and passed, until he was lighting a year's time candle for Len and watching a false version of the man disappear like the illusion he was.

"Do you think he sleeps uneasy, what with no grave?" someone asked at one point.

It may have been Mick, come to think about it.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

But in that year, time passed and time healed and even the worse wounds can become scars, and at any rate when Mick swore to Len's ghost that he'd care for the team that Len'd died for, he'd meant it, and he took such oaths seriously. Keeping the Legends intact was a trip and a half, and more work than he'd ever done before, and it just didn't stop.

The work he let himself be made to do, the abuse he'd once invited and now resented -

He was tired, damnit.

And one day, a day after he lit that blasted candle that he can still see gutted on the desk, a day he should’ve had for grieving but instead spent out fixing yet another stupid aberration, he's so tired he just staggers right into his room, eyes barely staying open, and he collapses in the bed where his feet and his friends - Ray, he thinks, though it could be Sara - help him, and he curls up in the bed, which is sweet and perfect.

If he'd fallen straight asleep and never repeated the act, well, he might've fared better.

He doesn't.

He has just enough time to realize he's in the bed, the bed and not the chair, and he yields to his exhaustion and doesn't rise up and leave.

Time heals all wounds, he thinks blearily, thinks sadly, thinks regretfully, and he closes his eyes and he sleeps.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a footstep.

A single one, but even in his exhaustion, watchfulness is part of who he is, and so Mick is awake if still reluctant to move.

It's probably one of the Legends, looking for something and not bothering to knock.

Another footstep.

The blanket lifts behind him.

Mick expects to be roused with a shove.

He isn't.

A cold body crawls in with him, cold as ice, cold as - Len - and Mick shivers. He doesn't turn. He doesn't want to. It would ruin the illusion. The dream.

The nightmare.

A chill arm wraps around his body, and the hand finds his heart.

Mick knows that hand, knows that arm, knows that chill, and he would weep for the fact that he's clearly gone and lost it at last, but he doesn't want to disturb the dream.

He closes his eyes and dreams -

He dreams of blue.

The next morning, he's more tired than the night before, but he's upright, he's mobile. The Legends will have to make do with that.

"Wow, Mick, you look like shit," Sara says, eloquent as always.

Mick grunts and grabs the coffee. He has it Irish, of course. He's Irish.

"You do look positively haggard," Amaya says.

Mick grunts again and ignores them both.

He doesn't expect it to happen again.

It does.

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

Mick Rory's ma was Irish even in a town filled with Irishmen. She was a proper mac something-or-other, some other child told Mick solemnly once; she might even be descended from a queen.

She certainly carried herself like one, marching through town with a straight spine and steel in her gaze, making pennies stretch for miles, raising her gaggle of children - six all together - with no family around to lend her aid, and not too shy to challenge even the big department stores when she felt she wasn't getting her money's worth. She was tough as dirt and just as practical.

Except, of course, when it came to the faeries.

The aos sí, the daoine sídhe, Tuatha de Danann, or whatever they were called.

Ma Rory's boys went around with salt in their pockets and iron nails, too. No one else did, but Mick's ma insisted.

And, to be fair, there were some moments where it seemed the rest of the town didn't disbelieve as big as all that.

See, Mick's ma was the seventh daughter, with six older girls that had nearly bankrupted her poor father, and Mick her sixth son, sons all in a row. There was talk in town, anticipation, when she got pregnant again.

"A seventh son of a seventh daughter; that's powerful magic," one of the children at school tells Mick. "A seer, a mage. A portent of great things."

He looks at Mick, then, all beady-eyed. "Not that you really matter," Mick is told. "No one ever pays attention to the mage's older brothers. Except where they fail first, of course - but that's usually in threes."

There are sighs of relief and disappointment when Mick's ma gives birth to a girl instead.

When Mick turned ten, his ma ordered his brothers away, sends her husband out with his baby sis, and brought him into the house.

"Michael," his ma says.

Mick blinks, indignant. "I didn't do nothing!"

For once, it's even true.

His ma sighs. "It's not about what you've done," she says. "It's about what I've done."

Mick frowns. That's not how the lectures usually go.

"Before I married your da, I got myself in trouble," she says bluntly.

Mick's eyebrows go up. He's always heard that nice girls ought to about that mysterious pre-marriage 'trouble' as much as they should. Of course, he never thought of his sharp-tongued, bull-headed ma as particularly nice...

"It were a boy, too," she says. "Sickly, he was, but he survived, and the nuns at the convent took him away. But he was mine. My first boy. After that, my parents took me around and I met your da, and I came here."

Mick nods. "So Jacky ain't the eldest." That'll show Jacky, who's always boasting about it and claiming it gave him special privileges.

"Jack is my second," she confirms. "And you, my baby boy, are the seventh, not the sixth."

Mick frowns. "But ain't a seventh son supposed to have the Sight?"

His ma chokes back an unhappy laugh. "My baby boy," she says, and it annoys Mick that that's the nickname she picked for him for all that it's technically true. "I wouldn't have told you about this, 'cept for the fact you need to know it. Weren't you telling me just last week about how you stopped your big brother from going to rescue the horse from that flooded river, all 'cause you saw it had gills?"

"I thought it were like in the comic books," Mick says. "Radioactive."

His mother shakes his head. "We call 'em kelpie. Horse-spirits that drag boys to their deaths. You saved your brother that day."

"I got sent to bed without dessert!"

"You did punch him in the face. And a year ago, do you remember the day you went up to the governor's house with your school? And you got lost and went to the kitchens and spent a few hours with the cook and the cobbler and the handyman, all of 'em complaining about how their wages been cut? And the governor got all pale when you mentioned it?"

Mick nods.

"They cater at the governor's house," she says gently. "They don't have a cook."

"But -"

"T’were the brownies, my boy."

"Is that why they liked my chocolate?" Mick had felt bad for them, their wages all cut, and he'd given them the chocolate bar in his pocket, all cut up in equal size portions, just enough for all of them if he didn't take one for himself. He'd regretted it - a chocolate bar of his own was a rare indulgence which he'd saved up two months' allowance for - but they'd been so happy he couldn't bear to keep it for himself.

"I think they liked the milk in the milk chocolate," his ma says. "But that's why I'm telling you now, you've got to be careful. You've got the Sight, just like everyone said, and people with the Sight get themselves in trouble."

"I get in trouble all the time."

"You just keep telling me if there's anything weird," she instructs. "Right off."

Mick sighs, but he's a good boy, and he obeys.

Well, he tries.

"We should take him to see a shrink," his da says, watching him guiltily clean up after another fire.

"Won't help," his ma says. "The fire comes from inside of him."

When Mick is ten, he starts getting into fights. He has broad shoulders that he'd grow into one day, but right now he's still skinny as a rake and his fists aren't strong enough to defend his temper.

The boys at school jump him after school, strip him bare, and pitch him into the local pond, hollering insults the whole time. Mick hollers them right back, but what's he to do? They ran off with his clothing, and he's got to get home before dark.

Mick grits his teeth against the slight. It won’t be too bad, getting home; it's getting cold as the summer draws to a close, but it’s not so cold as to hurt. He's embarrassed, sure, but embarrassment won't hurt him. Not on the outside, anyway, only in the soft gentle parts inside of him, and men weren’t supposed to have those anyway.

He's walking home, head held high because why not, when he sees the cat.

Big and black and beautiful, she is, with eyes as wild as stars, and she's got six little babies curled right up at her side, nursing, and a mate at her back, smaller, licking at her shoulder in homage.

She's near as big as a dog, she is, with a white stripe dead center on her chest.

One little runt is sitting not far from the others. It ain’t nursing or anything, but it looks fine.

Mick smiles a little at the cats. He likes cats.

Somehow, they notice him looking and all of a sudden the big cat starts to wail, and the little cats all wail, too, and the mate, too, all of them, all but the little runt who starts to cry, softly, instead.

Mick feels cold, all of a sudden, scared. "You stop that, right now, you hear me?" he snaps at them, and suddenly three more kittens run from the mama, what keeps a-wailing. The little kittens scatter off, sticking together, but they don’t go anywhere near the runt.

The fear is still there. He runs the rest of the way home, pride be damned.

"Mickey, my darling, what's happened? Where are your clothes, and why are you so scared?" his ma asks.

He tells her everything, and his ma goes pale as a ghost.

 "What was it, ma?" he asks.

"The Cat," she says. "Oh, that ain't no good, no good at all."

She gnawed at her lip. "Only one runt, all alone," she says. "Crying where the others are wailing."

"Until I said something," Mick corrects her. "Then there were four."

"And I'm glad you said something. The Cat Sidhe is a collector of souls. Did the kittens run together?"

"No, the runt was still alone."

"And so alone you will be, my baby boy, but you have saved all their lives."

His ma sends away his baby sister to her parents, his brothers whoever she could. The oldest ones laugh at her fears and refuse to leave so close to the harvest, but the youngest she can insist upon better. In the end, she sends away two boys and the girl.

That's why they don't die in the fire.

Mick hates his Sight for not letting him save more.

He ain't all too fond of cats after that, neither.

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

Mick always did wonder why he'd started seeing Len those days before the false version came to him. It wasn't grief, like Stein claimed; he'd never seen visions in his grief before. It wasn't what was in his head, courtesy of the thrice-damned time-stealers, the fickle monarchs in their palace three steps removed from the regular flow of time.

In Ireland they spoke of people who'd gone sideways into the hills, and how they never returned the same.

Mick's not impressed. He went sideways, as sideways as you get, and they tried their absolute hardest to make him forget who he was so that he'd stay with them forever - but he rejected them.

Oh, Mick swore himself to them, he played the role of the Knight, but when a hundred years and one had passed, his Tam-Lin Len had grasped his soul tight, grasped him hard through rage and pain and hate, had offered up his life and so won Mick's freedom.

And the time-stealers had no hold on Mick anymore.

He's not the same, no, but he's not as different as all that.

He's still himself.

"The story's supposed to end with a wedding," he tells himself, a year of death come and gone. The ring of platinum - spell-cursed silver that it was - was warm beneath his clothing. "The story's supposed to end with a wedding after the rescue. Not a funeral. Even I know that much."

No one responds, of course.

But every goddamn night Mick goes to sleep in that bed, and every goddamn night something crawls in beside him and curls that cold chill arm around him.

"You look sick," Jax says. "Have you gotten checked out by Gideon?"

Mick rolls his eyes, but Jax is not so easily deterred.

In the end, Mick admits that he has - sure, it was only because Sara insisted at knife-point, certain that that zombie disease was coming back or something, but it isn't his fault his eyes have bags under them large enough to steal something in, or that his skin's gone grey with exhaustion.

He sleeps every night in his bed.

Every night.

"You should go again," Jax says.

Mick goes again.

Gideon returns a clean bill of health - but for the exhaustion, which she cannot explain, and the fact that everyone around him can see that Mick's dying.

They make him sleep in the med bay that night.

Mick doesn't want to. He can't sleep anymore, not without that arm curled around him - him, who used to sleep anywhere and anytime! He can't even nap anymore.

Not without Lenny.

Oh, it's not Len, Mick knows it can't be Len. He held the hope of Len's resurrection in his hands and he let it go, and he put that illusion back on the road to perdition where it belonged, because he couldn’t let a Len live that lived under that type of brainwashing.

He didn't tell any of them that he knew that the mind-wipe would fix the brainwashing, where nothing else would. He didn't see why it mattered.

He didn't want to sleep anywhere but the bed.

Their bed.

The Legends made him. "Your skin is grey," they said, "your eyes are red, you look as though you're a corpse risen up."

"If only, if only," Mick says.

They looked uncomfortable. "Corpses can't rise up," Stein tells him, using different words, fancy words, but the meaning is clear enough. "You know that best of all."

It's a lie, of course. Many a corpse has stood once more - monsters, the lot of them, but standing tall and proud. Mick’s ma told him all about those, and she told them their names: the red cap, the washer-woman, the screaming in the dark.

The Legends make Mick sleep in the med bay.

But joy of joys, that night he feels the chill hands on his shoulders, spreading down the blanket, crawling in, wrapping the arm around him.

Putting a hand on his heart.

Mick smiles and sleeps.

The next morning he looks even more wretched than usual.

Gideon has nothing.

No explanation, no cure, nothing.

Mick wouldn't take it if they did.

The Legends give up and let him go back to his room.

Mick sleeps in his own bed.

And smiles at the cold.

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

"Mick."

Mick grumbles. He's tired, damnit. Let a man sleep.

Sure, it's all he does these days, but really, people should accept that.

"Mick."

Mick has thirty years of training to drop everything and respond to that insistent nasal whine.

He sighs and opens his eyes.

Len is perched on his goddamn chest, straddling him, peering down at him.

"Y'weigh a fucking ton," Mick tells him, slurring with sleep. "Gerroff."

"Can't," Len says, not without regret. "You're almost dead, you know."

Mick murmurs agreement. He'd accepted that already, hadn't he? Why is Len kicking up a fuss about it now?

Wait, since when have his hallucinations started to talk again?

"I'm not a hallucination," Len grumbles. "I wasn't then, either; I stole a mirror to talk to you, all those times."

Seems like a Len thing to do.

Len prods at him. "Mick."

That one means 'Pay attention to me'. Mick is very familiar with that variant of his name.

He forces himself more and more awake, or as much as he can, nowadays. "What issit?"

"You're almost dead," Len repeats, as if that's important. "I want you to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being almost dead, of course," Len says snippily.

"Can't," Mick says, because it's true. The Legends have tried - fancy future doctors, changing locations, even took him to see John Constantine, who had taken Mick aside in private and told him "if you want to die, it's easier to blow out your brains, you know", which hadn't been all that helpful and so Mick had declined his offer of an exorcism.

"Exorcism wouldn't have helped anyway," Len says. "I'm not a ghost."

Mick's not too tired to pull up his cheeks in a bit of a smirk. "Not a hallucination or a ghost. What are you, then?"

Len blinks down at him, inhumanly blue eyes luminous. "I'm a hag."

A what?

Mick wakes the rest of the way up, all at once, and he stares up at Len. Len, who doesn't look like any of his neat hallucinations, like his brainwashed former self, nothing.

Len, with glowing blue eyes with pupils shaped like stars, with teeth that are long and filed to a sharp point, whose skin is grey like a corpse but for the black shine of his long and deadly claws, his beautiful fingers curving into terrible talons, his clothing dirty rags that fall off his frame.

Dirty, but familiar. He'd been wearing that outfit when he'd gone to the Oculus, over a year and a day before.

It had been exactly a year and a day, in fact, when the dreams had begun.

"Bean sidhe," Mick gasps.

"That's a woman," Len sniffs. "I'm still male. Well, non-binary with a preference for masculine pronouns, whatever. Not like the Underhill cares."

"You've been?"

"The Time Masters were something of a renegade bunch," Len says, baring his sharpened teeth. "Changelings all, you know; they trapped a Queen in a labyrinth so she could fashion them more of the same. We met her, remember? In that orphanage, where we put our past selves within her grasp."

Stolen children from all the ages - of course.

Of course the bastards were changelings. Human-born but raised beneath the Hill, who aped mastery of magics they could never hope to truly control. Jealous, bitter creatures; they helped steal more of their kind to spread the misery further, hoping it would be lessened and failing to understand why it didn't help. All they ever wanted was for someone ranked lower than themselves to step on.

Somehow Mick's unsurprised that they ended up forming a bureaucracy.

"And you?"

"They went too far," Len says. "A Queen more or less - well. There are Queens in every nook and cranny, you know; male and female, strong and weak. You get enough followers willing to call you a Queen and a bit of land, that's good enough. But they weren't satisfied with that. They wanted the power to raid and rule the Hill itself."

Mick knows enough of his folklore. "They wanted the power of the High King."

Len grins. "They wanted his throne. I don't think they entirely understand the concept of an elected monarchy, but in fairness, Oberon ruled a thousand years in his time. They might've gotten confused."

"What happened?"

"I unbound the wellspring they'd created. A cat jumped across my corpse and snatched my soul - same cat as what tried to warn you before, as it happens - and the King built me a new body of straw and silver. It's silver what runs through my veins now, Mick, not iron. That dream that the changelings all wanted, and he gave it to me - to spite them, I think."

Mick swallows. "And you're - what are you?"

"I'm a hag," Len says. "The mara, the banshee, the night-mare - whatever you want to call me."

A night-hag, bearer of nightmares, who rides you in your sleep and drains your soul - and indeed, Len is perched upon his chest, a crushing, draining weight, and Mick may have been talking but his arms lie paralyzed by his sides.

"I haven't had nightmares," Mick says, his only protest.

Len looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Of course not," he says. "You're my partner. I took the nightmares, and gave you dreams of peace."

That was always the way of Len: throwing himself in front of the bullet he himself fired at you.

As fickle as Fae, Mick had thought before, amused.

Not so amusing now.

"Why can I see you now?" Mick asks. "When I couldn't before?"

"I have the strength, now," Len says. "I've drained you near to death."

Mick nods. That makes sense.

"If you weren't who you were," Len continues, "it might still have not been enough. You shut your eyes to the Sight long ago - but the Sight doesn't forget you."

"What's the purpose of this visit?" Mick asks, because Sight or no Sight, he knows his partner.

Len's waiting for him to ask.

Len gives a sigh of contentment, tension relaxing; he must have needed Mick to ask the question. Probably one of the strange laws of the Sidhe that Mick doesn’t know about.

"I'm a hag and shall remain so till the tides come no more," Len says, wrinkling his nose at his own poeticism - undoubtedly words of ritual, based on his expression. "But a hag is not a lord, and may be bound into service - and taken from the Hill."

"Taken," Mick says, his heart leaping in his mouth.

"You're no singer, and your violin playing would scare away dead souls," Len says dryly. "But you're the seventh son of a seventh daughter, and though it has been hidden from sight and memory, there have been six such generations born before you. If you die now, there will never be a seventh, and magic throughout the land will be the weaker."

Mick frowns. "I don't have -"

Len makes a face that says he's trying not to laugh. "Did you really never think about the consequences of sperm donation, with your family line?"

Oops.

"Six daughters you have sired - their families are very grateful, just so you know, the kids are great, all very happy, and those with mental illness are getting it seen to properly - but you will never sire a seventh if you die now."

Mick raises his eyebrows. "You asking if I'll trade my kid for you?"

"Like I would ever agree to suggest that," Len replies, rolling his eyes. "No - we give you a chance to win me back, if you promise that, if you are successful, you'll go about having that seventh kid. What you do with her beyond that is all on you. Free will, you know, that sort of thing. Magic loves it."

"And I'll have you."

Len smiles, and his teeth are sharp and pointed and shine in the light. "If you still want me."

Like that's a choice Mick has to think hard about.

But Mick's ma was Irish, in a land filled with Irishmen, and she didn't raise a fool.

"I think," Mick says, "that I'd like a written contract, if you will. And I'd like my lawyer to look at it first."

Len throws back his head and laughs.

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

Mick knows the stories, well and good. He’s no singer to charm the Lords of the Sidhe to give back what he’d lost, and – as Len so succinctly put it – his violin skills would scare off spirits of the dead, and not in a good way. But he’s the seventh son of a seventh daughter, and his mother a seventh daughter of a seventh son, and so on and so forth, hidden from Sight by magic and from memory by lies, and his child will be a marvel should she ever be born.

Marvels can also be terrors, of course.

No wonder John Constantine offered him the path of the bullet.

Mick sleeps three days and three nights in his bed, overriding Gideon to lock his door, and each night at the stroke of midnight, Len comes to him. The second night, Len brings a negotiator, a woman so pretty that it hurts Mick’s eyes even to look at her; but Mick’s heart belongs firmly in Len’s pocket and he declines her overtures in favor of negotiating long and hard into the night. When they finally reach an accord, she offers him a hand to shake, grudgingly impressed, and Mick refuses: Len came once to make the offer, twice for the negotiations, and so the bargain would be sealed on the third night, not the second.

She's even more impressed with that.

That night Mick writes down all he can remember of their agreements and made Gideon send it to Lisa with strict orders to get it back to him before nightfall. It’s all he can manage before his bed drags him back into the arms of sleep.

He wakes up, once, to Gideon telling him that he has a reply. Lisa took his contract to all the lawyers they knew, and the sharpest minds out of the lot pointed out a few clauses that Mick might want to be wary of – after all, the Underhill does so love its tricks, and giving a man his every wish while denying him his hearts’ desire is their favorite.

Mick considers the matter, and slips back into sleep.

Midnight comes again, and with it Len and his negotiator, who today was a hideous crone wearing a cloak of crows’ feathers and yet was the same as yesterday – Mick suspects that if she had come with Len the first night, she would have been a child – and Mick lays out his requirements.

“A what?” the negotiator says blankly.

Len howls with laughter.

“A best efforts clause,” Mick repeats. “Means you gotta try your hardest to make it live up to the spirit instead of the letter.”

“We don’t agree to those!”

Mick shrugs. “I was willing to let the hag –” He doesn’t use Len’s name; he’s not so stupid. “– sit on me for months and months before agreeing to hear you out. You want this, bad as I do; I figure we ought to meet all equitable.”

Her eyes glow like the moon. “And if we refuse, and claim you for our own without relief for your insolence?”

Mick smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “I’ve spent a hundred years and one beneath the Hill,” he says. “Kronos, they called me, 'cause they could not break my true name; a hundred years and one as a Knight before my true love held me fast and pulled me out. You cannot claim me – you’ve already tried that, and failed. You want my magic to reach its fulfillment?” He points at the contract. “Then sign.”

“Or else?”

“Or else I go tell all the bards I know that the Lords of the Sidhe no longer keep true to their deals - and are cowards, too.”

The negotiator laughs, a wretched thing, long and lolling and gruesome, but she plucks a crow’s feather from her cloak and she signs the contract with her own blood. Then – much to his surprise – she offers him the same feather.

“Didn’t know we were on such close terms,” he says, accepting it. You don’t turn down a gift kindly-meant from the aos sí.

“Any man, seventh son or no, would can out-stubborn the Morrigan deserves blood-brothership,” she replies gleefully, and really, if Mick had realized he was negotiating with the goddamn goddess of war maybe he wouldn’t have been quite so rude, but he’s not going to say no.

He cuts his hand – a prick at the base of the thumb, which has no impact on mobility, rather than on his fingers, which he actually uses – and signs his own name besides hers.

“Well done,” the Morrigan says. “I wish you the best of luck in the battles ahead.”

Mick inclines his head in thanks.

And so they go –

- and so he awakens.

He gets up, dresses, and walks to the bridge.

The Legends all gawk at him: standing tall, hearty and hale and flushed red with the blood of a goddess.

“I need to borrow the ship,” Mick tells them. It’s not a request. “Strap in.”

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

Mick goes first to visit John Constantine.

“You freed yourself from a haunting,” Constantine observes. “That’s rare.”

“I need a map to the Underhill,” Mick replies.

“Oh hell no.”

Mick shrugs. “I’ve got seven days and one to make it to the meeting place. Want to see my contract?”

“You contracted with the buggers? You’re right fucked, you are,” Constantine says, but he takes the contract.

After he reads it, he squints at Mick. “You’re a seventh of a seventh and you never thought to mention it?”

“A what?” Jax asks.

“Seventh of a seventh of a seventh,” Mick confirms, ignoring him. “Six times over.”

“And I suppose you’ve got seven of your own?”

Mick smirks. “Six, apparently.”

Constantine groans. “Now I see what you have to trade that they’d want.”

“Is someone going to explain this to the rest of us?” Sara asks.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” John asks, following Mick’s lead and ignoring her. “Even though you get to keep the kid, the Gentlemen are going to have a vested interest.”

Mick shrugs. “I’m on my way to rescue my True Love who has been transformed into a night hag.”

“…I take your point.”

“Wait,” Ray says. “Mick’s fallen in love? When?”

Mick isn’t even going to engage with that.

Constantine gets him the map.

“Really?” Mick says dubiously. “A strip mall?”

“Don’t doubt the value of liminal spaces,” Constantine says. “Also, have you seen those places at night? Even I think they’re creepy.”

Mick shrugs. “I’d say thank you,” he says, “but I don’t do that.”

“Because you have no manners?” Stein suggested.

“Wise man,” Constantine says. “You keep up with that, especially if you're playing games with the Fair Folk. And if I ever need something that requires a drop of blood from a seventh of a seventh, I’ll call you. You have no idea how many useful things call for that.”

“I have some,” Mick – who had totally been kidnapped a few times by foster parents with an eye towards genealogical records, albeit ones who hadn’t read the fine print of ‘disturbed juvenile arsonist’ and had no idea what they were getting into – replies. “Guess I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re going nowhere without my agreement,” Sara puts in. “How’d you even get Gideon to bring us here, anyway?”

“He’s a seventh,” Constantine says, stressing the syllables. “And you’re in a time ship.”

The Legends all blink at him.

“Think adoring puppy dog and someone who smells of bacon.”

Any technology sufficiently advanced will be mistaken for magic, Mick thinks, amused; looks like the other way is true as well.

Time ships always did answer to him particularly easy when he was Kronos, a matter of some great frustration to some of the other bounty hunters...

Map in hand, ignoring the Legends' protests, Mick goes on the next leg of his trip.

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

This place had no name, no place, no time - by those that knew it, it was the Floating Market, but ask any of them what that was and they'd deny they'd ever heard of such a thing.

Indeed, many said it was impossible to describe, even if you were willing to spill its secrets.

Mick thought of it as a time traveler's Mos Eisley.

The greatest collection of thieves and vagabonds in the timeline.

Today, it was in Rome.

Mick doesn't actually pay much attention to where and when - no togas and no t-shirts, so somewhere in the 1000s - because it didn't matter, not really. You don't find the Market by looking for it, you find it with a dowsing rod reserved especially for the purpose.

Mick's never needed one.

"The Floating Market is one of the places that even Captain Hunter feared to go," Gideon tells him.

"Probably because Time Masters aren't treated like gods there," Mick says.

More like pests to be stomped out, actually; their arrogant and high-handed ways had no place in the Market. The Time Masters' bounty hunters, on the other hand, were welcomed as fellow-travelers.

Mick likes the Market.

"I wouldn't go, if I were you," he tells Sara. "They'll peg you for the League in a minute and black-ball you."

She frowns. "They know the League?"

"The League picked a fight with the Market once. I'm pretty sure the League calls that period of time the Great Disaster."

Sara's frown deepens. She recognizes the name. "Why are you going there now?"

"I need to see a man about a cat," Mick replies.

His favorite of the Market's watering holes, of which there were an infinity, is still there. Mick's sure that for some of his fellow travelers, he only stepped out for a minute; such is the way of things.

Underhill's not the only place that knows how to play with time.

He heads in with Jax at one side and Sara - who never listens - on the other. The others were guarding the ship: they'd already gotten six offers to purchase it, and two attempts to steal it.

"Good to see ya, Kronos," one of his old drinking buddies calls out. He's big and tall, wearing black leather pants and a matching vest. His shaggy black hair is as wild as his smile. "The Main Man missed having a challenge."

Mick can't help a smile.

"Lobo," he says. "Just who I wanted to see."

"How can I help ya?"

"I'm looking for Cat Anna," Mick tells him. "I need to know how to care for a hag, once you've got one to care for."

Lobo belches from his beer and roars in laughter. "Cat Anna! Care for a hag! You'd better not be getting romantic on me, Kronos - and even if you were, Jenny Greenteeth or Canrig Bwt is far more, heh, feisty."

"Canrig Bwt eats brains, Lobo," Mick reminds him.

"So? Who needs 'em?"

Mick grins. He likes Lobo. "You got me a lead on Cat Anna?"

"Oh, sure. And you're in luck, too - she's just about to make the switch to Black Annis. Look for her by the witches' feet."

Mick nods acknowledgment. "Good hunting, Lobo."

"And you!"

Mick drags a gaping Jax and Sara out of there. He's not sure what the big deal is.

Kali always has that many skulls tied onto her belt.

The witches' feet is another part of the Market, best identified by the bunches of chicken's feet at every stall, done the same way hookers hang red lanterns.

Finding Cat Anna is easy enough. Not many black cats are being given the royal treatment.

"I wanna talk to you," Mick says to her, ignoring the way Sara seems to be doubting his sanity and how Jax appears be considering purchasing some newts' eyes for some godforsaken reason.

Cat Anna stretches, long and lithe, and in a blink of an eye she becomes Black Annis, the one-eyed, long-haired, sharp-toothed hag of the hills.

"You've been ridden hard," she rasps. "But gentle. That's not like a hag."

"I'm seeking my true love," Mick tells her.

She snorts. "You and the rest of humanity."

"He's the hag."

"Now that's interesting! Human-born, I take it?”

Mick inclines his head.

“Well done, well done. And what need you with Black Annis, then?" she bares her teeth. "Lest you've got some children you don't need."

"He ain't for sale," Mick says, swatting her reaching hand from Jax. "I need to know how to care for one. What'll you charge me? And you can get your own kids."

She snorts. "Oh, hell, I ain't gonna charge you, not for bringing another hag into the world - assuming you manage it. Tell you what, m'boy - you wrestle your hag out of the sidhe and you'll have all you need to know, and all I'll ask is to spread his name."

She looks at him expectantly.

"Captain Cold, they call him," Mick tells her.

She cackles. "Oh, that's a fine one! We ain't never had a Captain before."

She shoves her wrinkly hand at him and Mick kissed it in thanks. He feels the knowledge settle into his mind where it ought to be, locked away until he's fulfilled the conditions on his side.

Getting the Legends out of the Market before they spend every penny they have and some they don't is yet another battle.

And with that done, their eyes still dazed, he goes to claim himself a hag.

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

The stories don't differ.

Oh, some are charmers, some are singers, some are poets, but in the end the job's the same.

You want to take something out of the sidhe, you'd better grab it tight and hold it to your heart, no matter how it burns you.

Lucky for Mick, he has plenty of experience with things that burn.

The Legends follow in his wake, silent and unjudging, less as support than as witnesses.

He’s warned them not to eat or drink and not to say their names to anyone, but to accept any gift they are given. He hopes that they’re wise enough to listen, but his focus has to be on his challenge.

The strip mall at night becomes a Queen's Court - one more in the style of Mab than Titania, if Mick had to guess. The bean sidhe coo when they see Mick and a familiar cat the size of a dog - all black but for the stripe of white at her heart - brushes by his feet, all approving.

Len's his prize and his challenge both, and he stands at the center of the .

"Welcome, Kronos," the Queen says. "Seventh son of a seventh daughter, Hunter of the Timeline and Rover of the Waves, Knight of the Summer’s Shadow, Victor of the Battle of Bet-Adon, Trieste, and Atlantis-Ouest, Master of The Leviathan, Destroyer of the Renegade Court –” By which Mick assumes they mean the Time Masters. Nice to know that that’s been added to his list of titles. “– and guest at our court.”

“Don’t forget Heatwave,” Mick reminds her.

The Queen inclines her head gravely. The Lords love etiquette more than anything else; the best way to get the upper hand is to point out a flaw in their approach. This must be a young Queen indeed.

“Heatwave, Supervillain, Member of the Rogues, Enemy of the Flash, Commander of Absolute Heat,” she recited. “I did not forget; I was unsure if you had reclaimed those titles.”

“I have,” Mick replies, just as solemnly.

Though not without worry. The stupid “Rogues” idea Len had actually comes to fruition?

Ugh.

Mick would say he’s having second thoughts about winning this contest, but he can’t even joke about that; the wound is still too fresh.

Len grins as though he knows what Mick’s thinking, because he’s a dick. He’s totally going to take advantage of this to make Mick join his stupid Rogues.

But on the other hand: he’ll be around to do that.

Mick will take it.

“You will face three trials,” the Queen says. “To rescue a soul from the Sidhe requires love and hope and faith. We will try all three.”

Mick nods, unsurprised.

She waves her hand, and suddenly there’s a dozen Lens standing there, all the same.

“Tell us which of these is your true love,” she demands. “For love will know love, even in disguise.”

Mick gnaws on his lower lip, staring at them. “Might I test them, your Majesty?”

“You may,” she replies haughtily. “Ask your questions.”

Questions? Mick doesn’t need questions. Besides, changelings-constructs have the same memories as the original. Questions won’t help, as the Queen well knows.

No, love needs a different test.

Mick pulls out a hammer.

The collected Court withdraws from the stench of iron, which causes them pain even at a distance.

Mick steps forward, puts his hand on a nearby surface – a squat barrel which he suspects spends its daylight hours as a garbage can – and spreads his fingers wide. He lifts the hammer up high.

“What are you doing?” the Queen asks.

“My love gave up his hand for me,” Mick says. “Seems fair.”

He brings the hammer down, as hard as he can.

The iron never touches his flesh, caught instead by one of the Lens darting forward, his face flushed with rage. He ignores how his own hands sizzle at the touch of iron, too focused on Mick, too focused on yelling, “What the fuck are you doing?! You don’t need to smash your own hand, you - you - you asshole! We already had it out about the hand! What the fuck?!”

“This one,” Mick says to the Queen dryly.

“Well played,” she responds, equally dry. A wave of the hand vanishes the remainder.

Mick pries the hammer out of Len’s hands before they burn any more. “I’m not going to smash my hand,” he assures his partner.

“You’d better not!”

“The next of your tests is this,” the Queen says, and she waves her hand. A table appears, with a wooden cup filled to the brim.

Len’s eyes go wide. “What? No!”

“Drink of the forgetting water,” the Queen says. “It washes away all care, and with all care all memory.”

Mick raises his eyebrows skeptically. “So I’m supposed to drink away all my memories?”

“All your cares,” she corrects. “If your love is true, then have no fear: you will remember him. But if not, you will leave without him and without the memory of him; and ne’er will you meet again.”

“Damnit, he’s already been brainwashed enough!” Len snaps. “And he hates it, too; that’s a terrible test.”

The Queen frowns thoughtfully. “If he will not trust to his own love, he cannot pass the test. And yet I have some sympathy to your plight: it is indeed an old wound. Very well: swear to me your services for three tasks of my will, and he may forgo the drink.”

Mick reaches out and takes the cup.

“Mick!”

“The test is for both of us,” Mick tells him. “And you know it.”

Len falters, just long enough for his brain to start to work – logic overcoming concern, his cold heart overcoming the heat of his emotions.

“I see,” he says. “She can’t bind a hag to her will without their oath, and I ain’t giving her no oath – not for anything but this.”

“She’d trade it and then laugh at us for failing her test,” Mick agrees. “You’ve got to trust me that I can do this, and I’ve got to trust in myself. That’s what hope is.”

“Then go ahead,” Len says. He looks like he’s regretting it.

Before Len can say another word more, Mick lifts the cup to his lips and drains it.

It is –

A blaze of flame surrounds him but does not burn him, soothing his innermost pain, the oldest of all his friends. It welcomes him, calls him to rest, a peaceful slumber.

It wipes away all cares: the old hurt of his parents’ loss, the newer stings of the Legends’ cruelties, even his disagreements with Len over all those years.

But Len is more than just a care, more than just a worry, more than just a disagreement.

He's everything.

Mick opens his eyes. “You ought to market that as an antidepressant,” he observes. “What’s the third test?”

Len punches him in the shoulder, smiling. “They’re still looking to get FDA approval,” he jokes.

“Well done,” the Queen says, ignoring their levity. “Your hope and love is true. And now there is only the test of faith.”

She says no more.

That’s fine.

Mick knows what to do.

He reaches for Len and he takes him into his arms and he holds on.

Holds on through leopards and foxes and spitting cats, through flames and blistering cold, through hurricanes, holds on as his hands hurt and his gut feels like it’s been ripped out, holds on, holds on, holds on –

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

“Is anyone going to explain what just happened?” Sara asks, a little plaintively.

They’re back on the Waverider.

Len is by Mick's side, where he belongs.

He has on that wretched blue parka that Mick would've sworn was lost on some time-traveling jaunt - and indeed that might be so, because this parka gleams subtly in Mick's sight like maybe it wasn't made of fabric from this plane. Also like maybe it could hold off a bomb.

Mick reluctantly approves. He’s in favor of Len being bomb-resistant.

Len also has a bag that seems to contain more things than it really ought. He says he won it off - someone.

He refuses to give more details than that.

His smile is still too sharp, his pupils still star-shaped, but his eyes have returned to their original shade and his talons have reshaped into familiar fingers and at any rate judging from the way none of the other Legends have commented, Mick is pretty sure that he's the only one who can see Captain Cold in his full, newly-inhuman glory.

Mick is -

Mick is content.

No.

Mick is happy.

He's also getting a shit ton of information on the care and feeding of night hags - 'mara' is apparently the preferred name for the singular, Len was just being a dick - so he's not really in the mood to answer the question.

"I'm back," Len says in belated response, when it becomes obvious that Mick has no intention of answering. "Obviously."

"And it's the you we knew?" Jax asks cautiously.

"Mr. Blow-Yourself-Up, in the flesh," Len confirms.

"Oh," Jax says. "Uh. Good to see you again?"

As if that's the switch, the rest of the Legends start crowding around with greetings and smiles and introductions to Nate and Amaya, stories and comradery and all that. Several of them step around Mick to do so.

"I'm a little tired," Len says pleasantly. "As I'm sure Mick is. Perhaps later?"

Human or not, Len's charisma is a force of nature.

They are left alone.

"You're back," Mick says, finally letting himself believe - really believe - that it's true.

Len smiles, his secret, honest, hidden smile, that only Mick and Lisa get to see. "You saved me."

Mick snorts. "You saved yourself, with my assistance."

"Maybe," Len concedes.

"You have plans already, I take it?" Mick asks. He knows that look in Len's eyes.

It's so familiar, so wonderfully familiar, that his chest hurts.

"Oh, yes," Len says. "Many - the Rogues, of course, and finding you just the right woman to bear our child -"

Because of course it's their child.

Mick objects not at all.

"- and maybe having a bit of a snack off our dear friends the Legends, who seem to have grown disrespectful of you in my absence," Len continues. "But that's for later. For now I have other plans."

"I'm all yours," Mick says.

Dangerous words, to say to one reborn among the Sidhe.

Mick finds he can mean it no less. Everything he is, the flaws, the virtues, all the powers he was born to, the full sum of him - it's all nothing without Len.

Len's eyes glitter with pleasure and he takes Mick's hand, and he leads him to the bed.

The bed where they slept together when Len was still a man, the bed that Mick avoided so much that year they were apart, the bed where Mick gave himself, body and soul, to the hungry nightmare Len has become.

Mick smiles and climbs into the bed.

Behind him, a cold body climbs in.

A chill arm wraps around his body.

A hand rests upon Mick's heart.

"Sleep," Len whispers in Mick's ear. "I'll watch over your dreams."

Mick closes his eyes.

And sleeps.

[fiftyshadesofdimmadome]

Book 1; Chapter 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Kate didn’t give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the 1-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic as if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate’s questions ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occa sion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating gray eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s more like a man double his age.

Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting expe rience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1 -5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky Kate’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is go ing to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Ana! You’re back.” Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini disc recorder at her.

“Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even and young. Really young.”

Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

“Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry I didn’t think.”

I huff.

“Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?”

“Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject.

“Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in grati tude. I check my watch.

“I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”

“Ana, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. We’re busy it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Ana! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.”

“My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.”

“I’m real pleased to see you.”

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task.

When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with... him.

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcrip tion.

“I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks.

“Urn... no, I didn’t.”

“That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some origi nal stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

I flush.

“I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

“Oh come on, Ana even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.

“You probably would have got a lot more out of him.”

“I doubt that, Ana. Come on he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something quick.

“He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant scary really, but very charismatic. I can un derstand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all.

“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face.

“Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrass ing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory.

“Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.”

“It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.”

“Oh, Ana, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.”

Taken with me? Now Kate’s being ridiculous.

“Would you like a sandwich?”

“Please.”

We talk no more of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten,

I’m able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accom plished so much for a Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Kate is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final ex ams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week.

She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob her relatively new but much older husband is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

“How are things with you, Ana?”

For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention.

“I’m fine.”

“Ana? Have you met someone?” Wow... how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.

“No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

“Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.”

“Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy.

Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coax ing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

“Jose! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.”

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Jose has a great eye for a good picture.

“I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

“The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.”

“That’s amazing congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him too.

“Way to go Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins.

“Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Jose looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven’t met anyone who. . . well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expecta tions are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.

Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers.

NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful inter view. Are you gay, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Jose’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick -the two other part-timers and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up. . . and find myself locked in the bold gray gaze of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

Heart failure.

“Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke.

“I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

“Ana. My name’s Ana,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Tak ing a deep breath, I put on my professional l’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years fagade. I can do this.

“There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused.

Cable ties?

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery.

Get a grip, Steele. A slight frown mars Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s rather lovely brow.

“Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.

With my heart almost strangling me because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beauti ful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

“Are you in Portland on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Ana!

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based at Vancouver. I’m currently fund ing some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See?

Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet.

“These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

“Is there anything else?”

“I’d like some masking tape.”

Masking tape?

“Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?

“No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me.

Am I that funny? Funny looking?

“This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

I glance behind me as he follows.

“Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, gray eyes con centrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me?

I feel like I’m fourteen years old gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Steele!

“Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

“I’ll take that one,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him.

Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

“Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly.

“Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky.

“This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope... twine... cable cord... ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow.

“I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.”

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot gray gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth!

“Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

He arches a brow.

“What is your thing, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Ana, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

“Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing!

I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.

“What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it.

“Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject those fingers on that face are so beguiling.

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?”

What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?”

He nods, gray eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans.

“Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.

“I could always take them off.” He smirks.

“Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW.

“I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly.

I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans.

“Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls.

He ignores my inquiry.

“How’s the article coming along?”

He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk... a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty.

“I’m not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she’s the writer.

She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome raises an eyebrow.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps... ” he trails off.

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Kate will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought of all the silly, ridiculous...

“Kate will be delighted if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

Oh my. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s lost look.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wal let. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.”

“Okay.” I grin up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.

“ANA!”

Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest broth er. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today.

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome frowns as I turn away from him.

Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise.

“Ana, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes.

“Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?”

“Yep. You’re looking well, Ana, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, he’s watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else someone cold and distant.

“Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

“Er, Paul, this is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more.

“I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m bab bling... Stop, now!

“Mr. Clayton.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up not the Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? Of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Wow is there anything I can get you?”

“Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words... it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling.

“Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Ana.”

“Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn... have I offended him? Tak ing a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem?

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

“That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his gray eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving.

“Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card.

“Please, Anastasia.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic.

I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh and Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quiver ing mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth.

Okay I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Kate and organize a photo-shoot.

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