#i remember age ELEVEN my mom sitting me down and asking me seriously if i ever cut myself

[2024skin]

When Gillian Flynn wrote "problems always start long before you really, really see them," that was real and I lived it

[emma-nation]

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

[spencers-renaissance]

The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

Summary: After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

Tags: high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Part Two

This is a platonic Derek & Spencer friendship fic because they are minors, but there are seeds being fairly obviously sown for part two of this series which will be set when they are both over the age of 18.

Spencer unfolds the creased piece of paper he’s holding for the eleventh time as he stares up at the house in front of him. He remembers the address scrawled on the sheet Derek Morgan had ripped from the back of his notebook earlier that day perfectly, the spiky peaks of his handwriting and the surprisingly loopy ‘y’s and ‘g’s are burned into his brain, but nerves have overtaken his helpless body. He’s not exactly in control of his actions. 

It’s not much but it’s definitely a cheerful house, that much is clear from the brightly lit windows and colourful curtains, the many gnomes decorating the front garden and the carefully planted flowers neighbouring the vegetable patch. One of the windows upstairs is cracked slightly and he can hear 90s R&B floating through the airwaves, accompanied by a female singing voice. The welcome he knows he’ll receive, though, is exactly what’s giving him pause.

A happy home is so foreign to him he has no idea how to behave. He’s used to being the adult, but tonight he has to play the 16 year old he is, and his mask is so dusty and disused he’s worried he won’t be anywhere close to convincing. 

Eventually, though, he summons up the courage to make his way up the stony path leading to the bright red front door. A brass knocker stares him in the face, but there’s a doorbell to his right as well, and the choice debilitates him for a moment, leaving him standing uselessly on the front step. He decides on the doorbell, since it’s a little more subtle, and he only has to wait a couple of seconds before the door is being yanked open and a smiling Derek Morgan is right in front of him. 

“I thought you’d never come.” His voice is bright and cheery but Spencer wonders for a moment if he’s mad at him. He’d been early when he first turned onto Derek’s road, but his over-thinking and ritualistic obsession over the address written on a scrap piece of paper had made him late. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and his desperation to be understood, his clear discomfort in such a foreign environment must be obvious, because Derek’s face softens even further. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” he grins, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him deeper into the hallway as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

Pretty boy. He’d used the nickname once earlier that day when they were planning when to meet up for their science project, and Spencer had flushed immediately. No-one’s ever called him pretty. He’s an awkward, lanky 16 year old senior who’s far too short for his age; his appearance isn’t exactly conducive to flattery. 

The last time anyone had called him by a fond nickname was when he was eleven years old and his mother was still somewhat rational. She’d pulled him close and called him her baby boy, and while some pre-teens might have recoiled from such a name, he simply snuggled closer and tried to remember every second he was wrapped up in such warmth. Five years later, he’s so thankful he did. He replays it most nights before he drops off to sleep.

He blushes again at Derek’s easy affection, trying to relax into the warmth of his house. 

“Is that your friend, honey?” A woman emerges from what Spencer assumes is the kitchen, drying her hands on a teatowel. She looks every bit the stereotypical American mother, dressed in casual, comfortable clothes with a warm smile plastered across her face. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Fran, Derek’s mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says shyly, trying to meet her eyes but failing miserably. He can’t help that this whole experience is so out of his comfort zone it’s ridiculous. 

“Do you boys want any snacks to take up with you?”

“Are you hungry, Spencer?” Derek asks, and he internally panics for a moment. Yes, is the answer. Yes, I’m so hungry. The only thing I’ve eaten today is an apple this morning. But is he allowed to say that? He examines the both of them and it does look like a genuine offer, but will they guess that something is wrong if he says yes? It’s only six o’clock, though, so maybe he can swing it.

“Yes please,” he dares, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Fran says, putting her hands on her hips. “You both head on up. I’ll bring up a tray.” 

Derek’s room is big, filled with football trophies and posters. It’s so achingly normal that Spencer’s stomach clenches as he gingerly takes a seat on his bed at Derek’s instruction. 

“I did some research that will help us with our presentation,” Spencer offers as Derek sits on his desk chair, spinning around to face him. 

It had been a shock when they’d been paired up. Derek’s friends had hollered and laughed when their chemistry teacher had paired them together, and Spencer had gone bright red at the humiliation, not that he could exactly blame them. Pairing up the skinny nerd who’d been moved up two grades with the jock who was almost guaranteed a football scholarship to an excellent university later this year had been a rather bizarre choice on their teacher’s part.

It’s not that Spencer minded: along with being the quarterback with a 4.0 GPA, he was also painfully nice. But everyone else certainly did. Every girl in their science class had sent him death glares as Derek had sauntered over to his desk at the end of class, wearing a lazy grin.

“Chill, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he pushes himself side to side in his spinning chair. “We got time.”

“I have to be back home by 9,” Spencer says sheepishly. He’s sure most people in their senior year are allowed to stay out later than that, and he hopes against hope Derek thinks it’s only because he’s sixteen and not that he has to get his mother into bed and try and force her meds down her throat so she won’t wake him up in the middle of the night convinced the shadows in her room are government spies. 

“Still three hours. Anyway, I’m sure my mom can drop you home,” Derek shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, we have weeks until we have to present. Why don’t we spend tonight getting to know each other? I feel like I should know a little bit about my project partner, especially if we’re going to be working together for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the year?” His voice squeaks anxiously but he can’t help it, Derek’s completely catching him off guard. 

“Yeah. Ms Farron keeps partners from the first project together for every assignment that year.”

This is news to Spencer, but he tries to keep calm. It’s a good thing, right? Derek has always been friendly to him, and he’s intelligent, too. It’s unlikely he’ll fob all the work off onto him. But being taken advantage of and subsequently left alone is what he’s used to: ‘getting to know each other’ is decidedly new territory. Spencer’s head is spinning. 

“Oh.”

“So, pretty boy,” Derek grins, giving himself another 360 spin, “tell me what a 16 year old is doing in senior year.”

“I got moved up two grades back in elementary school,” he explains, grateful that this is at least a rather impersonal topic. “My teachers wanted me even higher but two grades is the maximum our school district allows.”

“I guessed that much,” Derek points out. “Why were you moved up two grades?”

They’re briefly interrupted by Fran’s delivery of a delectable spread for them to feast on. Spencer reaches for a cracker and dips it in some cream cheese, but as soon as he’s swallowed his first bite, Derek gives him a look that tells him he hasn’t exactly gotten away with it. 

He sighs. “The last time I was tested, I had an IQ of 187,” he admits, looking down at his worn sneakers. He’d expected to be told to remove them, but he’s glad he wasn’t. His socks almost certainly have holes in them, and laundry isn’t something he can afford to do often. “And I have an eidetic memory.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Damn, I knew you were a genius but that’s some next level shit,” he says, before popping a grape in his mouth. “You’re going places, Spencer Reid.” He’s saved from having to fight his blush too hard by Derek moving swiftly on. “Your turn to ask me a question.” 

Spencer takes a second to think before deciding to push the boat out, to ask something he actually wants to know instead of playing it safe. “You’re popular, star of the football team, get straight As,” he starts slowly, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “What makes you so nice? You could easily join in with your friends and be another asshole jock pushing me into lockers.”

When he looks up, Derek’s face is an array of emotions. “Kindness costs nothing,” he says seriously, and the intensity of his gaze surprises Spencer. “I saw my pops shot to death in front of me when I was ten and I got my ass kicked every day in freshman year, believe it or not. I know what kindness can mean to a person just as much as I know what cruelty does to someone.”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he knows that he’s finally relaxed a little. Derek’s stark honesty and vulnerability, as much as he doesn’t know quite the right way to react, is refreshing to him, and it’s made the icon of their school seem much more human. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Spencer says quietly. 

“Thanks, man,” Derek says, a half smile crossing his face. “What about your family life?” 

Spencer swallows another bite of his cream cheese and crackers, his empty stomach thanking him for finally filling it. “My dad walked out when I was ten,” he admits, treading as carefully as possibly. “It’s just me and my mom now.”

“I’m sorry. Are you and your mom close?”

How does he answer a question like that? They’re close in the respect that Spencer cares for her and spends every free moment he has with her. But he also holds his breath every time he turns down his street, half expecting to see his house up in flames, and they’re going hungry this week because she threw most of their groceries in a nearby river after convincing herself it was all poisoned. They don’t exactly have a typical mother-son relationship. 

“Something like that,” he mumbles, stuffing another cracker into his mouth. Derek clearly takes the hint that he doesn’t want to elaborate and moves on. 

They spend the rest of the evening taking it in turns asking one another questions, ranging from simple ones like their favourite colours to deeper conversations around their future plans and biggest fears. By the time 9 rolls around, they’re lying next to one another on Derek’s bed both facing the ceiling as they trade questions back and forth. Fran’s dinner tray is now covered in crumbs, her carefully prepared spread having been demolished by two hungry teenagers. 

Their assigned topic, Enthalpy, Entropy, and Free Energy, hasn’t even been touched, and Spencer can’t find it in him to care. He could throw together a perfect presentation the night before if he needed to. Right now, getting to know Derek Morgan seems far more important. Ironically, the boy he’s only really started to get to know three hours ago is probably the person who knows him best in this whole world, and the thought makes his chest hurt. 

The jittery nerves that had consumed him at the start of the evening have dissipated into a calm companionship, and he can’t believe how comfortable he now feels. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to take care of his mom; she’s already been on her own for so long today. 

As if on cue, Fran knocks on the door, poking her head round. “Would you like me to drop you home, Spencer?”

He feels guilty accepting, but the last thing he wants is a twenty minute walk home through the streets of Chicago in the pitch black December night. “Yes, please.”

Derek comes with them for the short drive, and Spencer feels a little embarrassed as he points out the apartment block he lives in. It’s a shitty neighbourhood and his building is crumbling, but it’s home and it’s the cheapest they can afford on welfare. He ducks out of the car and shoots them both a grateful smile. 

“Thank you for driving me home, Fran,” he says. “And thank you for a nice evening, Derek.”

“No problem, pretty boy,” Derek winks. “I’ll find you at school tomorrow and we’ll sort out another night to meet up, yeah?”

The smile the Morgans put on his face doesn’t fade until he opens the door to his apartment and reality brings him crashing back down to earth. 

⭐️

Over the next few weeks, Spencer Reid gains his first friend. They finally end up actually writing their presentation and naturally, they get an A+ but Spencer’s anxiety that Derek would want to stop hanging out with him once the project that had brought them together was behind them ended up being for nothing. Derek had fist-bumped him as they’d walked out of their classroom. “Come over tonight?” he’d asked, and once Spencer had recovered from his shock, he’d beamed and nodded excitedly. 

As Christmas comes and goes, they continue their bizarre friendship. Spencer runs up to Derek’s room as soon as the door is opened, and dives under the covers on his bed, always freezing cold. The first time Derek had cuddled Spencer, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling. He’s seriously touch-starved, and it’s only more apparent from the way he craves contact with Derek. He’s ridiculously thankful that the older boy is so free with his affection, not consumed by the same toxic masculinity that seems to plague the rest of the football team. 

It’s nearing February when Derek asks the fatal question.

Spencer had whizzed home after school and made sure his mom was okay before running over to Derek’s, breezing past Sarah on the staircase and diving onto the soft, clean bed sheets. He’s sometimes jealous of all the home comforts his friend has access to, but he does his best to tamp it down. It’s not like it’s Derek’s fault that he’s well-loved and cared for. 

“Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he spins around from where he’s doing homework at his desk. “Where’s that shy boy who sat right on the edge of my bed only two months ago, hm?”

“You prefer confident Spencer and you know it.” He moves up the bed a little to sit with his back against the headboard. He’s never become so comfortable around a person this quickly before but there’s something different about Derek. 

“Can’t argue with that.” He gets off the chair and moves to sit next to Spencer on the bed, lifting his arm to let the smaller boy cuddle close. Spencer sometimes has nightmares that the boys at school find out how affectionate they are with one another and call them gay after which Derek doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore. (Secretly, he thinks he might actually be gay, but he won’t tell Derek that. Just in case.)

“Can I stay for dinner?” he asks. It’s a moot point: Spencer always asks if he can stay and the Morgans always say yes, but he doesn’t like assuming, especially since he knows how expensive food is. Not that Fran has ever complained about an extra mouth to feed, though. The dinners at Derek’s house are always a family affair, full of laughter and hearty, homemade meals and Spencer likes pretending he’s one of them, just for a little while. 

The guilt that he’s leaving his mom for so long eats him up, only eased by the knowledge that she usually sleeps the afternoon away, worn out by a manic morning. He has no idea how to navigate this anymore. It was easier when the only person he had in the world was his mom, but now he has Derek and his family. And as much as he loves his mom and doesn’t mind taking care of her at all, spending time with Derek doesn’t automatically trigger gut-eating anxiety and heart-wrenching misery.

“Of course you can stay, don’t be ridiculous.” Derek elbows him playfully. “You don’t need to ask every night.”

“What if one night you don’t want me to stay, though?”

“I thought I told you to stop being ridiculous?”

Spencer can’t help but smile at Derek’s relaxed, easy grin. For some reason this popular football player with the world as his oyster and a million friends chooses to spend every evening with the nerd who’s two years younger than everyone in their year. For some reason, Derek chooses Spencer. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Derek asks the question. “Why don’t I come over to your place instead one evening?” It’s a casual suggestion, there’s nothing really behind it. “I’d like to meet your mom and see your bedroom. If you’re gonna make fun of my football trophies, I need some revenge material.”

Spencer freezes. He has no idea how to respond to such an innocent proposition. Derek takes his stunned silence as reluctance simply cured with a little more persuasion. “Besides,” he continues, “I feel bad that you always have to run home first before coming over here. It’s like a twenty minute walk.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer hedges, trying to buy time as he comes up with a cover story. “My mom is really particular about our space and she doesn’t really like visitors. I’m not sure your mom could spare you a family dinner anyway.” He pushes Derek playfully, hoping to God he’s even half-way convincing. 

One glance at Derek’s face tells him he isn’t buying it, but he can clearly read Spencer’s troubled anxiety expression so he doesn’t push it. “Okay, pretty boy,” he says, relaxing back into the bed, “we’ll stick with the Fran Morgan dinner delight for now.”

Something tells him he won’t get so lucky next time. 

⭐️

Spring is just starting to show her face the next time it comes up, and this time it’s completely Spencer’s fault. He shouldn’t have gone over to Derek’s. He should have made up an excuse and stayed in his shitty apartment with his mom, but he couldn’t help it. He was sore and desperately sad, and all he wanted was Fran’s comforting shepherd’s pie and a cuddle with Derek. So he’d made his way home, checked his mom was still sleeping before limping over to the Morgan’s.

He’d concealed it pretty well all day, but energy is seeping out of him and the pain is only getting worse, not helped by the decent trek across town. 

He has a key now, so he lets himself in, hoping to avoid Fran until dinner time. Luckily, he’s quiet enough to not disturb her baking in the kitchen, so he makes his way slowly up the stairs, hoping Derek is not as perceptive tonight as he usually is. He’d briefly considered using bullies as a cover story if it came up, but Derek has spent almost every moment he could at school with him the last few days, he wasn’t out of his sight long enough to really encounter anyone cruel enough for it to be a viable story. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek greets him, not turning away from the maths homework he’s finishing up. It gives Spencer a little extra time to make it to the bed like he usually does. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “A bit tired. You?”

“Training was rough today so I’m sore as shit, but otherwise I’m fine. Better now you’re here.” He turns to smile fondly at Spencer, finally locking eyes on his pale, sallow skin and defeated expression. He scrambles to try and make himself look slightly less terrible, but he’s not quick enough. “You sure you’re good? You don’t look it.”

“No, seriously, I’m fine,” Spencer tries to persuade him. “Just tired as I said. Can we watch a movie while we wait for dinner?”

Derek doesn’t look even close to convinced, but he gives in and brings up netflix on his computer. Spencer collapses against Derek and lets his eyes close as the film they choose plays across the laptop screen, but he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by his friend and he’s in a completely different position. 

“Spencer, wake up,” he says insistently, and the urgent worry in his tone makes him sit up, wincing when the movement aches his core. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily, obediently sitting up at Derek’s instruction. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek says, sounding teary and a little desperate, “where did you get those bruises?” 

He freezes for a second before glancing down at himself and realising that as he’d slept his shirt had shifted, revealing his black and blue stomach. How the fuck was he going to explain this? Not seeming himself wasn’t such a challenge, everyone has their off-days after all, but bruises like these aren’t the sort of thing your best friend just drops when you don’t want to explain them. 

“I—” He has no idea what to say. Tears spring to his eyes in a terribly unhelpful fashion, and Derek moves closer, wrapping Spencer up in a hug. 

“It’s okay, you can tell me, Spencer,” he promises as he holds him so tenderly it breaks his heart. “Take your time.” 

He cries for a good few minutes — it just feels so good to let it out — but as his painful sobs draw to a close, he knows it’s time to face the music. There’s no other option. He has to tell Derek. And maybe a teeny tiny part of him actually wants to tell his best friend.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he confesses, keeping his head buried in his friend’s chest so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Derek’s hand combing through his hair doesn’t falter. “The reason I didn’t want you to come to my place is because of my mom… She’s a paranoid schizophrenic. When my dad left I became her primary carer, and I’m— I’m not doing a good job.”

Derek holds him a little tighter and presses his cheek to the top of Spencer’s head, shushing him quietly. “Don’t say that, I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job.”

“The other night she got confused because she’d refused her meds again. She became convinced that I was a spy there to hurt her. I can usually talk her down from these moments, or at least guide her to bed to let her sleep it off, but this time there was no reasoning. Eventually, she got so worked up that she shoved me backwards, hard. It sent me sprawling face first across the coffee table, and she kicked me twice before considering herself safe and barricading herself in her room.” He tells the whole story through thick tears, shoulders still shaking with pent up emotion. He wishes it didn’t feel so good to finally get off my chest. 

“Spencer, oh my God,” Derek whispers, sounding thoroughly shocked. He’s suddenly fearful that he’s going to report Diana, and he sits up, finally meeting Derek’s teary eyes with his own. 

“You can’t… you can’t tell anyone,” he begs. “If anyone finds out, she’ll be locked away and I’ll be put into foster care. I can’t do that to her and I can’t lose you.” 

Derek takes Spencer’s hands. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, making him calm down a little. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, okay? Not without your permission. But I also can’t let you be beat up by your mom.”

“It’s not her fault,” Spencer says desperately, “it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she thinks she’s in danger.”

“I know,” Derek promises him, “I know it’s not her fault, but she still hurt you. Has this happened before?” Spencer’s hung head and refusal to respond speaks for itself. “Okay, listen. I know you need to go home tonight, but come over tomorrow morning okay? It’s a Saturday and we can spend the morning figuring out a game plan and the afternoon taking your mind off it. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is this… is this why you like being here?” Derek sounds nervous asking the question, clearly not wanting to offend him.

“Before I became friends with you,” he whispers, moving back to hide against Derek’s chest where it’s safe, “I went hungry a lot. We don’t have much money between rent and bills and mom’s medical expenses. I had to hide the groceries because she would become convinced they were poisoned and destroy them, but she got really good at finding them. I had to stop keeping them in my room because she would insist that I was corroborating with the government in trying to poison her.” 

“Spencer,” Derek breathes, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know about any of this, I would’ve done something, I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I’ll keep you safe now. I promise.” 

When Fran comes and asks them down for dinner a few minutes later, Derek points to Spencer’s exhausted form slumped against him and asks if they can have it up in his room. She relents, and Derek manages to get him to eat a few bites of the risotto Fran had made, not leaving his safe cocoon against Derek’s chest.

He insists on driving Spencer home himself tonight, surprising Fran who had her coat and boots on already, but he escorts his friend right up to his door. “If you come in, mom will get confused,” he explains so Derek gives him a long hug in front of his apartment door instead, holding him as close as possible. 

“Spencer… you know I love you right?” he asks, expression intense and serious as his gentle hands rest on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“I love you, too, Derek,” he whispers, giving him another hug. It scares him just how much he means those five little words, all the meanings that dance behind them taking him aback. For now, though, he settles on one more tight squeeze before deciding to not procrastinate the inevitable anymore. “I should go in and see mom.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” His heart does an excited little leap at the thought of seeing Derek again in the morning. As he walks away back towards the elevators, Spencer takes a deep breath before inserting his key into the lock on his door and pushing it open. He only has to go 12 hours without seeing his best friend. He can do this. 

His life suddenly seems like it holds infinitely more promise than it ever has. He supposes that’s the power of Derek Morgan.

Part Two 

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith  (taglist form)

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

Will you be my...? | d.m and s.m (request)

Request: yes by @avatarbeeb

“hello! i saw you were open for draco imagines and can i have one where a the reader (slytherin) is dracos gf and a professor at hogwarts? Then mothers day came along and scorpius purposely got himself detention to sneak draco bc he wants to propose? and scorpius asking you if you can be his mom”

Word count: 3640

Warning: major draco feels

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!adult reader and Scorpius x reader

Note: No proofreading, because I wrote this in the middle of the night, but I’ll do it late! 

Giving detention were never my kind of thing. Especially because I had quite a few of them when I was only a student at Hogwarts. The memory still lives vividly in my mind when Dolores Umbridge punished almost every single one of us with one of the most sadistic ways. Cursed pens were given us, and we had to write down “I must not tell lies”. The twist of the story is, every time we wrote it down, the writing appeared on our hands, leaving a nasty scar behind. I was never a fun of them, so when I had the chance to come back to Hogwarts, I made an oath to myself, that I’ll never give detention to any of my students and instead I sit down and talk with them about the consequences of their actions. I wanted to teach them something they can use in life later.

- Professor Y/L/N – Professor MyGonogall called after me as I was leaving the Great Hall. I was on my way to the Potions classroom where my students were probably already making a mess and playing around with the equipment – May I have a word with you, my dear?

- Yes, of course – I smiled at her brightly. I’ve always loved her, ever since I was an eleven year old little witch. She was a role model for me through the years, and I was terrified during the Wizarding War that she might not make it out alive. But she did, and I admired her even more after that. She built up Hogwarts from its dust, and used all her power to turn it into a home again. For us, and for our posterity.

- I just wanted to remind you that the dance rehearsals for the Spring Ball are staring tomorrow afternoon – oh the Spring Ball. After the battle, she wanted to give us something which could make us forget about all the pain and loss. So she came up with the idea of this Ball, where girls could ask the boys to be their partner for the night. I loved the Great Hall’s decoration. Every year, it was like a sign of rebirth. Very bright because of the thousands of candles and sparkles. Very fresh because of the most beautiful flower decoration. And very vivid because of the laughter that finally filled the Hall again.

- Yeah, of course. I’ll be there – I assured her and hurried to my class. Teaching Potions were my passion. I’ve always loved this class back in the days and I was honoured enough to teach it at Hogwarts. I loved seeing the excitement on our students’ faces when a potion changed colour, of when they could finally see the results and test it on each other or on themselves. Their favourite was probably the Amortentia, and the biggest fans were the fourth and fifth year students, who were at the age when they started to experience the beauty and pain of first love. They loved to use this love potion to admit their feelings, or just to check if their little crush were attracted to them as well.

I was cleaning up their tables after class, so I didn’t notice when someone came in the classroom and picked up the last vial of Amortentia.

- Hmm – I jumped by the voice of my visitor and as a bad habit, I immediately reached for my wand – It still smells like vanilla, mint and sandalwood. It still smells like you, babe.

I lowered my wand when I realised the voice belonged to Draco. I put away the last remaining equipment and turned around to face him. He aged very well, just like fine mead. His hair was still platinum blond, and the few grey hairbreadths were invisible because of this from afar. His grey eyes were shining again, filled with love and life. The tiny wrinkles and the fine stubble made his irresistible.

-  Hey, you – I greeted him with a bright smile and a light kiss on his delicate lips – What are you doing here?

- Well, Professor McGonogall sent me an owl, asking to see me – he took my hand and brought up to his lips to plant a kiss on my knuckles – She wants to talk about the upcoming Spring Ball.

- Oh, yeah. She is very excited about it, because everyone is invited from the Class of 1991. I’ve already sent an owl to the Potter’s. Ginny said they are coming for sure, and Hermione and Ron too – I told him happily and we left the room and went for a walk in the Castle. It was great having him here, especially because I hardly ever had the time to see my boyfriend since I started teaching. But every good thing comes to an end, and shortly we had to say goodbye, because he had to meet McGonogall, and I had to tutor some students who had asked for my help previously.

- Good evening, Professor Y/L/N – students greeted me with smiles on their faces when I entered the Great Hall. I’ve always loved children, and often fantasized about becoming a mother one day. I wasn’t in a hurry, I still had plenty of time. And there was Scorpius, Draco and Astoria’s son, whom I loved like he was my own. He was a little troublemaker, just like his father, but the kid had a huge heart and an even bigger imagination. He never failed to make me laugh, and showered me with his love every day. Having him here, at Hogwarts felt a little nostalgic. He looked like so much like Draco, so every time I saw him on the corridors or in class, I had small flashbacks from little twelve years old Draco, making fun of someone or insulting a poor mudblood. Thankfully, Scorp never hurt anybody. Not on purpose at least. He was an amazing kid, and the highlight of my days were when after dinner, before he had to go to his Common room, we went to the Astronomy tower and he told me everything about his day, sitting in my lap, his little arms wrapped around me and he rested his blond head of my shoulder. He usually fell asleep like that and I had to carry him to his bed, but it was worth it. He made me feel really loved.

- Y/N – Professor Flitwick came up to me – Could you please come with me? We have quite a serious situation…with Mr. Malfoy.

- Scorpius or Draco? – I asked him.

- Scorpius – he looked worried and without hesitation, and jumped up from the bench and followed him to his office. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was praying it wasn’t anything terrible and Scorpius was fine. I felt like a stone was lifted from my chest when we passed the Hospital Wing. Thanks Salazar, he wasn’t injured.

- What happened to him? – I asked for the hundreds time. I had to know. Did they tell Draco? Did Draco know about it in the first place? Was he on his way too? Should I send someone to find him? – Filius, please. If Scorpius OK?

- Don’t worry, Y/N – he tried to calm me down – He is fine, but he did something bad. Do you remember why you were in detention for a whole week in your sixth year?

Oh my Merlin! I panicked when I remembered why I got detention years ago. And it was not because of a silly little childish mischief.

- Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy – calling someone by their full name meant one thing: they were in serious trouble. There he was. Sitting by Flitwick’s table, a guilty look on his handsome little face and a broken wand – What have your father and I told you about duelling?

- Hi, Y/N – he sheepishly smiled at me, but turned his gaze away from me the second he realised I was really furious this time. Draco and I talked with him about these kind of things, and reminded him that his own safety was the most important thing and we didn’t want him to get hurt – I can explain. I was…

- No – I shushed him and turned to Filius – Have you informed Draco? He must be in the Castle somewhere. He had a meeting with Minerva, but you know him. He likes to wander around the School.

- Is Dad here? – Scorpius asked with a wide smile. I didn’t understand his behaviour. He was about to get detention for the rest the semester and he even broke his wand, and yet, he was acting like everything was just perfect – I though he’s…

- Thought what? – I asked him with my hands on my hips – Scorpius, do you understand that what you did was dangerous? You could have gotten seriously injured or worse. Your father and I can’t lose you, sweetheart. You’re the meaning of our life.

Scorpius looked truly guilty and was playing with his hands. I kissed the top of his head and turned back to Flitwick.

- No, I haven’t got the time yet – he said – I went to find you, knowing that finding you was easier. Little Mr. Malfoy starts his detention right now, beginning with putting away all the books in my room. Could you please find Draco?

- Yeah, sure – I nodded and turned to Scorpius – Scorp, please, be on your best behaviour. No pranks, no whining. This is going to be a great lesson, and hopefully, you won’t get into a duelling battle in the near future again.

I left a pouting Scorpius and a fuming Flitwick behind. I was positive that Draco was still somewhere in Hogwarts. He would have said goodbye before he left to go back to the Malfoy Manor. I didn’t waste any time searching for him around the Castle. If he was still there, he was probably at the Astronomy Tower. That Tower was everything to us. We became friends there. Shared our first kiss there, while the only light and witness was the Moon. It was the place where I told him I loved him for the first time. And we broke each other’s heart there. Not long before the Wizarding War. Little did we know, we chose the same tactic to protect the other. But after the battle, he disappeared for years. The next time I heard about him was when their engagement with Astoria was announced. I was heartbroken and happy at the same time. I cried for weeks, because I truly believed he was going to be the one for my. The man, who I go back to and settle down with. And I cried because I saw him alive. And fine.

I walked up to the top thinking about him. Their marriage was everything but good. Astoria loved the idea of becoming wealthy. Draco desperately needed someone to fill the whole in his chest and be there for him when nightmares didn’t let him sleep at night. After a year of marriage, Draco was seriously thinking about getting a divorce, but then was when Scorpius came in the picture and Draco couldn’t do it. He wanted to provide everything to his child. Everything that he never got from Lucius. Draco loved his son. Protected him. Cherished him. He was his pride and joy. And he was an amazing father. But there was still a small whole. Something was still missing and he knew what it was. Pardon, who it was. He used all his connections to find me and reach out to me. Draco could be very romantic and sometimes he went a little too crazy with his romantic gestures. He refused to believe me when I told him he didn’t have to prove anything to me, because I’d never stopped loving him. But he wanted to make up all the time we had to spend separately.

When I reached the top, I froze in my step. Candles and colourful rose petals covered the stone flooring. Draco was standing in the middle, his glowing in the moonlight. For a second, I totally forgot the reason why I was searching for him. He looked almost too perfect. My stomach twisted by the sight of him. All I could think about was how much I loved that man.

- Darling – he offered me his hand to go and join him. I walked up to him slowly, making sure I didn’t mess up the decoration with my robe – I thought you’ll never find me.

- Find you? – I was confused – Do you know that our son was in a duelling battle and he is in detention right now?

His only answer was a sly smile and a nod. Did he now care at all? Merlin please tell me he wasn’t proud of Scorpius for that.

- Our son – he breathed out. I didn’t even realise that I referred to him like that – That’s one of the million other reasons why I couldn’t wait any longer with this – Draco took my hand and squeezed it a little bit – You know, I’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours now. Thinking about everything that happened here with us – he looked down at me – I can still remember the first time we met here like it was just this morning. You were lying here, watching the stars. Neither of us were supposed to be out here that late, but we didn’t care about the rules back in the days. I didn’t ask you if I can join you, just layed down next to you – I rolled my eyes at the memory. I found him quite arrogant and annoying in the beginning of our friendship.

– And it became a habit. Sneaking out together of the Slytherin Dormitory, checking every corner for Prefects or Filch – he chuckled at the mention of our favourite caretaker – After a couple of weeks, I named a star after us. When I was at home, or you couldn’t come up here with me…or when I thought everything was falling apart and slipping out of my control, I had something I could hold onto and look at. I often talked to that star – he pulled me with him and pointed out a larger and brighter star. Our star – I confessed my feelings to it. I imagined it was you who I was confession my love to. But I was a coward, and you confessed first – I laughed at the fact. I didn’t really think much about how or when I should tell him how I felt. I did it when during one of our many arguments, a sudden rush hit me and blurted out those three magical words. I love you.

- We went through so much – he faced me again, his hands never leaving mine – And somehow, you’re still here with me…with us.

- And I’m not going anywhere, Malfoy – I took his other hand in mine too and looked up at him. He was beautiful. Inside and outside. An amazing mind. A huge heart. But he had troubles with showing it. Slowly, but he learnt it.

- I really hope, because I don’t want to make a fool out of myself – he chuckled nervously and let go of my hands – Y/N, you haven’t only been my girlfriend for the past four years. You have been much more than that. You’ve been my best friend who I can rely on. The soulmate who understand me without word. You’ve been my lover and Salazar is my witness the whole eternity wouldn’t be enough to list all the reasons why I’m on love with you so much. And what I’m indescribably thankful for, you’ve been a mother to Scorpius.

In that moment, I knew what was going on. My head felt dizzy, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking and tears were filling up my eyes as I watched Draco getting down on my knee. One thing I thought I’ll never see him doing. I hid a smile when I caught his hands shaking as well when he reached for his coat’s pocket.

- Y/F/N – Draco said – I’m not planning to live one more day without you being my wife. Would you honour me with marrying me and making me the luckiest man in the whole universe?

Tears were running down my cheeks and I was choking on my own words. I nodded my head rapidly, in case he couldn’t understand me through my sobs. This was really happening. He was proposing at the place where everything started years ago. Draco put the huge emerald engagement ring on my ring finger and kissed it gently. I looked at the green crystal, which symbolised our Hogwarts House’s colour. It was simple but perfect. And that jewellery tied us together.

- I love you so much – I whispered to him before kissing him slowly. I didn’t want that moment to end. I pulled him closer to me and held him as tight as I could, but there was someone we were forgetting about. Scorpius.

- As much as I’d love to finish this – I pulled away – We have to talk to Scorp about this whole duelling situation. He needs to understand that duels are dangerous even for adult, not alone for a twelve years old boy.

- You’re right – Draco kissed my forehead and laced our fingers together – Let’s go and find him.

I took one last look of the beautifully decorated tower and followed Draco to Flitwick’s office. Poor Scorpius was still putting away the books, sorting them into alphabetical order and dusting them too. He looked at his father with his huge grey eyes. From the corner of my eye I saw Draco nodding proudly, which cause Scorpius to drop the old magic book and run up to us, hugging both of us at the same time. I caressed his soft hair with love and looked at Draco who was already watching us.

- Did he know about it? – I asked him quietly.

- Of course. We had this planned out for months now. His task was to keep you away from the tower, but there was no duelling in the plan – he looked at his son with a ‘we will talk about this later’ look – He was so nervous, because he didn’t want to accidentally tell you the whole plan. That’s why he missed your usual night conversations at the Tower. You know how he is when he’s really tired.

The amount of love was suffocating me, and before I could stop them, tears were rolling down my cheeks again. I loved my boys with every single heartbeat.

- Is it my turn, Dad? – Scorpius let go of us and looked at his father.

- Go on, buddy – he winked at him and sat down on my of the chairs in the room, excitedly watching his son turning to me with a little box in his hands. Scorpius cleared his throat, trying to catch my attention before he opened his mouth to speak up.

- Y/N – he shyly started – First of all, sorry for making you worry about this duelling situation. I know you just want to protect me from getting hurt. The reason I did it is, Wilson was talking badly about you. He said that his parents know you and you betrayed your House during the Wizarding War. I couldn’t let him talk about you like that…

- Oh, my love – I put a hand on my heart. It was beating too fast, I was genuinely afraid it might fly out of my chest. He wasn’t trying to cause any trouble, he was protecting me. Just like his father.

- I wanted to teach him not to mess with a Malfoy – he smiled at me, nodding to the huge ring which was now an evidence of me being officially being part of the Malfoy family – And I wanted to teach him to never ever dare to talk about my Mom like that or I’ll hex him into oblivion.

I gasped at his words. First, on the way he was talking. I made a mental note to myself to scold Draco for teaching these things to his twelve years old son. But which surprised me even more was the fact that he called me his mom. There were a couple of other examples of this. Scorp calling me mom, but it was always when he had a high fever or he was already half asleep. But he was neither of them.

- Now, Dad isn’t the only Malfoy who’d like to propose to you in some kind of way – he slowly opened the little box in his hands. There was a beautiful bracelet decorated with tiny emerald crystals and diamonds. It looked like a flower wreath – Y/N, you’ve been by my side for years, and the love you give me is something I never want to lose. You’re marrying my Dad, and I really hope accept my Mom proposal too. It would make my very very happy.

- Of course, baby boy – I pulled him in a bone crushing hug and peppered his pretty face with kisses – I’d be honoured to be your Mommy.

- Really? – He looked at me with his shiny grey eyes. I was the luckiest woman in the whole universe. I nodded at him and held my wrist for him to put on the bracelet – And don’t you ever think I forgot about Mother’s Day. I love you so much. 

- I love you too – I kissed his forehead and pulled him in for another hug. I looked at Draco who was watching us, tears threatening to roll down his cheek but he quickly shook his head before it could happen. He joined us in the hug, and buried his face in my neck. There we stood. Hugging each other. Loving each other. And we made lifelong memories at Hogwarts, where everything had started. Magic really was there. In our lives. Making everything finally totally complete.

[unforth]

A few days back I read this post in which you explained how you found out your daughter's gender and I just wanted to express to you how amazing it is that you listened to her.

I keep hearing people talking about how it's wrong to let children "decide what gender they want to be" (.........) because they are "too young to really understand what they're saying" (again, .........) so it's nice to see that someone actually LISTENS. Kids need adults, especially their parents, to listen to them when they are telling them who they are.

So thank you for listening and for stressing how important this is!

❤❤❤

For us as a couple it was a no brainer. We're both queer (we’re two married cis women) and we have a lot of genderqueer friends. All the evidence and research on children this young is that they understand gender as early as 2 and can know they’re not cis at that point (the little was about 26 months when she told us, and is 2 3/4 now) and that the best thing we can do as parents is to affirm her. We did have concerns about how some of our family might react and for the most part things went okay but we did have one big conflict with my MIL which has resulted in us seeing her much less, and she's not allowed to be alone with the kids. Her reaction to, "so the little told us she’s a girl...so she’s a girl," was, "at that age my brother thought he was a school bus." (To emulate you... ................) She also blamed me for dressing 'him' that way - "who picks out the little's clothes?” (she knew I did the clothes shopping) “Dressing that way doesn't make the little a girl!" which was the stupidest fucking thing to say...like...the little herself picked out those clothes when I took her thrift storing with me. I just bought what she liked. I literally have a picture of her hoarding two dresses and a skirt that she’d picked out, hugging them to her face while she sat in the cart, from a few months before she told us. She would pitch fits when she’d find something she’d like and I’d be like...little you’re a size 2t and that’s a size 7, we’re not buying it cause it won’t fit you...and she dressed in tutus and dresses for almost six months before she learned how to talk enough to share the gender thing...and we still called her by her birth gender because obviously wearing dresses doesn't make someone a girl. Hell we have lots of pictures of our older kid in a dress when he was that little (I bought like a year+ worth of clothes at thrift shops before I knew the gender of the kid I was pregnant with, since we didn’t find out ‘til he was born), and he never said he was a girl and is at the age of almost 5 very confident he's a boy (so much so that he doesn't want to do "things that girls do" except like his rubrics for deciding what are girl things are hilarious he went on this whole spiel about how Glitter Force is a girl show...while he was watching the Equestria HS spin off of MLP...and asking for sparkles on top of his blue nail polish please...anyway tangent sorry.)

What "made" the little a girl was that *she told us she's a girl* like I can't fathom why people think this is complicated? It’s not like she magically transformed one day, she was always a girl, she just couldn’t tell us. No one knows her better than she knows herself. I'm positive she knew all along, her language skills just hadn't developed enough to communicate. After she was able to tell us, and we started using the right pronouns, her behavior improved a lot. The most memorable thing - a few days after she told us she and I were sitting in the master bedroom while my wife was taking her meds. She did something cute, and I said, “awww, my sweet girl!” and she just lit up, “yes, girl!” So I asked her “does it make you happy when I call you a girl?” and she said, “yes, was sad.” (remember, she’s barely over two when this happened, so, like, not so much on sentences) and so I clarified, “you were sad before?” and she nodded and said, “yes...now happy!” 

It was mindblowing. She was so clear about how she felt and what she wanted. I can’t believe anyone, even my MIL, could have heard that conversation and not recognized that this child knew who she was. (I wrote the conversation down, for obvious reasons...we did show it to my MIL, and, well...sigh). My wife told me that she also started telling a lot of stories at bedtime about her stuffed toys feeling broken, but starting to feel better now... (my wife does the little’s bedtime, I do the big’s.)

Other than pronouns and gender id she's the same kid she's always been, her favorite colors are pink and purple, she loves dresses and skirts and rainbows (and Glitter Force, lol) and also loves trains and stuff...because she's a *kid* ffs. And if at some point she does come think this is the wrong thing for her, no harm done, we'll listen. By listening now, we've proven that. She knows she can trust us, and we'll support her and encourage her. I really don't see a losing side to this.

I saw a theory that what freaks people out is they think we're gonna give, like, hormones to a two year old? Which of course not. But if she still feels this way in a decade or so of course medical intervention will start to be a topic...but by then she'll have felt this way for years so what's the problem? It’d be cruel to force her, a girl, to go through male puberty, and anyone thinks that an eleven or twelve year old doesn’t understand enough to make that decision has never met an eleven or twelve year old, like, ever.

I can only assume that the adults like you mention can't remember what it felt like to be a kid. By the time I was the age my big is my parents had gotten divorced and I thought I was a very big, mature girl, and if anyone had tried to dismiss me the way I see many adults dismiss kids I would have been livid. I guess I was lucky, the adults in my life mostly took me seriously (and now those same adults - my parents - have been great toward the little, especially my mom, which proves its not an age or race thing since my dad is a 79 year old straight white god fearing literally runs his church's services once a month dude, and my step mom and mom are both 76 and also white, and they've all been super accepting.) To me it seems stupidly obvious, like...my kids may not know some stuff but they know themselves and I learn more just by listening to them than I'd ever figure out on my own.

My job as their mom is to help them figure out who they are, not force them to be who I think they should be. And I hate that more parents aren't like that, sigh, but I think more are now than ever before, and things will slowly but surely get better. I have to believe that...

(Sorry this got long, by necessity I've thought about this a lot...we're very lucky, family, friends and community the only person who got really weird on us was my MIL, and even she really is trying now...)

[gossipchii]

Spectrum

FF.net: here / AO3: here

Characters: Tachikawa Mimi and Takenouchi Sora

Pairing: Sorami

Words: 3100+

Notes: There’s no other explanation to this other than I love these two. And I hope to be more than Mimi.

HAPPY PRIDE! LOVE IS LOVE!

Enjoy!!!

To Mimi, love was something she understood from a young age. It had never been the subject to ask any explanation for; she simply had always embraced it. She felt it in the small things, such as the cherry blossoms growing on the trees during spring, or with the rainbows that came after a big rainstorm.

She had had great teachers, too, the best ones, even. The way her parents loved each other, by how her dad always opened the door, of any kind, to her mom, or left a bouquet of flowers every seventh of the month on their dinner table, as if they had just started dating, made her heart ginormous. She loved love and was not afraid to express it.

She had always had many boyfriends, even if they tended to last a couple of months only, but each one of them Mimi could have sworn at some point of their relationship, had to be the love of her life. Her friends tended to roll their eyes at her, Mimi was a hopeless romantic, and she could not deny it, she did not want to.

When she was eleven, her world turned upside down, when her parents told her they would move to New York, the Big Apple, which she had only seen on movies. She was at shock at first, of course, but she was sure she could handle it. She had always been a sucker for adventures, after all.

"Aren't you scared of learning a new language?" her oldest friend, redhead Sora, was helping her packing. Their mothers had introduced them to each other when Mimi was in diapers, and Sora was only a year older than she was. Mimi's mother was passionate for anything luxurious, and she considered flowers a luxury, she always had. Hence why she had to take Ikebana classes, which was how she met Toshiko, Sora's mother.

They had been best friends ever since.

"I have been practicing a little bit! One, two, three!" She counted with her fingers, in English with a thick Japanese accent, which left Sora speechless. Mimi was her own kind.

"I will really miss you." Sora said after closing the last box in the brunette's room. It felt cold, wrong even.

"Don't be silly, daddy promised we will come visit every summer at least," Sora embraced Mimi, and it was the very first time she had felt sad about moving. New York was exciting, of course, but it did not have Sora.

.

New York was a whole universe apart from Tokyo. Sure, they were both huge cities, but the mentalities from one another, it was hard to believe they were both under the same sky.

Mimi had learned so much more about love during the six long years she had lived there. For starters, contrary to what most of the media she consumed while growing up had wanted her to believe, sexual orientation was a spectrum, which had as many options as humankind would let it. Mimi had remained a love lover, and that also meant she had, well, experimented here and there. And she had enjoyed every piece of it.

When her parents gave her the option to study her junior year of high school in Japan once again, she accepted without hesitation. New York would always be waiting for her, but Japan felt more distant than ever, and she somehow felt a part of her was missing.

She was especially excited to see her childhood friends, especially Sora, whom she had not seen for two years, but had kept in touch via e-mails and text messages. God bless cellphones and the internet. Sora had told her that she was in a relationship during those years they had been apart but had just broken up.

He had other priorities; Sora explained.

Since Mimi´s parents never had the heart to sell their old apartment, Mimi could have it all for herself, which was a dream for someone who loved experimenting with art like she did. She had seen so many cool ideas on design magazines, she could not wait to bring some western into good old Tokyo.

Sora was waiting for her at the airport, with a very tiny, very discrete, but with the most beautiful handwriting WELCOME HOME MIMI sign. She had written it in English, too. Mimi squealed the moment she saw her and ran as if she was in one of her favorite rom coms, to embrace the redhead.

"It has been ages, Sora, you look fantastic!" and she was not lying. Last time they had seen each other, Sora was fifteen and she was fourteen, during the teenage years, each one counted as at least five. Sora had not grown in height, Mimi was still slightly shorter, but it had always been like that, however, she looked grown, almost adult. Perhaps it was being an Ikebana master daughter, but Sora's posture and presence was impeccable.

"Says Tokyo's favorite princess," her and Sora had always had what Mimi liked to think as a spiritual connection. They were so incredibly different, in every single aspect, however, any time their eyes linked, they could communicate in ways Mimi could not dare to try with anyone else. "Did you seriously only bring a couple luggage?"

"Silly little Sora, the rest is being shipped, obviously!"

It had been a month since Mimi had arrived back to Tokyo, she had had enough time to unpack, and get familiar with the language once again. Classes had also started, and as much as she did not want to admit it, she had felt like an outsider. Sure, she was amicable with the rest of the girls in her class, but she could sense the hypocrisy behind their smiles. Mimi was very sensible with people's vibes, after all.

Sora tried her best to be there whenever she needed her, but Mimi understood she was close to be driven insane. Not only was Sora on her senior year of high school, and applying to the best design schools in Tokyo, but she was still managing to be in the tennis team, help her mom with the school and stay as a top-notch student. Mimi's head was in pain by just imagining it. She was grateful Sora had managed to save that Saturday night just for them, for old time's sake.

"Sorry I'm late! My mom had ordered forget-me-nots for the school, but they sent carnations instead! Can you imagine the chaos? We had to make like a million calls in order to get three hundred forget-me-nots in time for the exhibition next week, I almost had a stroke!"

Sora took out of her bag chips and sodas for their movie night. She also brought out skin care products, since she knew Mimi loved them. That was Sora in a nutshell, always going above and beyond for everyone, but especially for those close to her heart.

"You sound so stressed, and remember, stress is not allowed in the Tachikawa household!" Mimi was already in her PJs, she helped Sora with the snacks, and they both proceeded to sit in the living room. "Nu-uh, you must get into your sleepwear, otherwise you would be breaking the most important rule of slumber parties!"

Sora rolled her eyes and got into the bathroom, to get out wearing, not a silk set like Mimi was, but running shorts and an oversized tee. Sora had a unique kind of beauty; while Mimi had a face you could be able to catch on a runway, Sora had a face that made you look. No wonder most of the guys at school were even scared to talk to her, she was mesmerizing, even with no makeup and her short auburn hair all over her face.

"You have no idea how much I needed this evening, it's exactly what kept me going throughout the week!" Sora stole the chips from Mimi and smiled, she felt a punch in her stomach which she decided to ignore. "What are we watching?" Sora asked completely clueless of her anatomic pain.

"One of my favorites, The Notebook, the kind of love story that makes you want to die," Sora raised her eyebrows, not surprised by Mimi's exaggerations.

It was no lie The Notebook was one of Mimi's favorite movies, but she could not focus on the movie even if she were being paid to do so, and not because she had seen it at least fifteen times, but because she could not keep her eyes off Sora, and her reactions on the star-crossed lover's story. Sure, Mimi had experimented with women back in New York, but they had never been her very best friend.

"No way he fixed the house for them!" Sora was slowly cleaning up the tears that were fighting to get out of her eyes, as she caught Mimi staring at her.

Sora, on the other hand, had never experimented anything, of barely any kind. She had lived in Japan her whole life, and the most extreme adventure of her life was missing the train while she was on her way to visit her dad in Kyoto. In her very structured brain, heterosexuality was the only way of loving, the one-way couples existed. Then, why was she feeling magnetic towards Mimi's hazel eyes?

Mimi was the one to make the first move, holding her hand gently, to see what Sora's reaction on it was. She was static, but did not seem against her touch, either, so she slid closer, removing the bare centimeters that were separating them to each other. Her hand moved up Sora's arm, to her collarbone, neck and stopped right at her cheek. Sora's whole body was on fire, she had never been touched with such care, with such kindness.

Words were not necessary when the unspoken language between their gazes was so powerful. Maybe it had been a second, maybe it had been an hour, but Sora's lips were all over Mimi's, as if she had wanted to do it all her life, as if she had needed to do it all her life.

The kiss had started sweet, a peck savoring Mimi's strawberry infused lipstick, but had slowly increased in heat, Sora's body felt sweaty. Their lips had understood each other perfectly, adapting to the other's pace, and need. Sora's thoughts had been emptied for the whole time, and she wanted it to remain like that. Whenever she thought, she tended to overdo it, and she really did not want to ruin the moment.

Until their lips had to be separated, not because they wanted to, but because they needed to catch some air. Mimi's lips seemed swollen, and Sora's hair was messier than before. They were both panting, cheeks flushed.

And then it hit her, the big wave of thoughts entered Sora's brain and she got scared. What had she just done? That was Mimi sitting in front of her, that was Mimi who she had been kissing as if they were the couple in the cheesy Hollywood film they were watching. Tears filled her eyes once again, she was shaking.

"I'm sorry but… I really need to go." She grabbed her backpack and ran as fast as she could. She was not brave enough to face Mimi once again, because she was the reflection of what she had done, and she was not ready to hear it out loud.

Mimi was left alone in her parent's small apartment, because somehow it still did not feel like her's. She hugged herself and tried to force herself into finishing the movie, which was almost impossible, since her tears barely let her see anything.

What had she been thinking? Sora was all she had in Japan, her only sincere friendship, and she had to be stupid enough to let her feelings lead the way and ruin the only thing that was right with her life. Her chest was in so much pain, Sora would probably never speak to her again, and she could not blame her. Mimi was not stupid, and she knew Japan was one of the most homophobic countries in the world, even if it was the 21st century for fucks sake!

In New York things were much more different, and sure, homophobic folks existed here and there, but it was 2005 and her gay friends were allowed to hold hands in public, even show other signs of affection. Yeah, same sex marriage was not allowed just yet, but they were close to getting there! Japan was miles away from any kind of acceptation… God, what had she been thinking? Perhaps she should start looking for planes, to go back to where she belonged.

Sora ran, she ran so fast she felt her legs could detach from her body. She was not sure why she was running so fast, the one thing she wanted to get away from was on top of her shoulders. She was aware she had been the one to make the final move and kiss Mimi, the facts were there, what she wanted to know, to understand, was the reason behind her actions. She had never seen girls in a romantic or sexual way, she barely even had a close relationship with many girls.

But she had not been on drugs, or alcohol, or any other substance she could blame her actions on. She had just been drawn to Mimi's pink lips as if it were the natural thing to do, as she had kissed her ex-boyfriend so many times. She stopped running to catch a breath, she was not even close to her home, because she had been running without a destination in mind. She knew she had acted like a jerk by leaving Mimi's apartment, but she really needed to be alone, clear up her thoughts.

She grabbed her phone and texted Mimi, "can we talk about this tomorrow? I need to clear up my thoughts."

"Sure ," Mimi replied unable to write a dry message. Happy faces tended to relax situations, right?

Mimi and Sora agreed to meet in Sora's apartment to have breakfast. They could have had their conversation in a restaurant, or café, but the mere thought of being heard by anyone, drove Sora insane. No, they needed privacy.

Sora still felt guilty about leaving in such a rude way the night after, so she tried her best to cook an American breakfast, with pancakes and sunny side up eggs. She bought bacon, too! Very early in the morning, considering she had barely even slept.

Mimi knocked Sora's door, with a knot on her stomach. She could smell from the hallway the breakfast she had prepared, and she hated to admit she was hungry. Sora was a great cook, another talent to add to her never-ending list.

"Hi," Sora opened merely a second after she had knocked, making Mimi believe she had been standing behind the door for a few minutes. She seemed nervous, considering she could not stop playing with her hands. Who was she kidding, Mimi was crazy nervous, too.

"I brought flowers, which is probably stupid considering I came to the Japanese kingdom of flowers," it was a single orchid, beautifully sitting in a nice pot. Sora grabbed it and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table. It all had been arranged as a nice brunching spot Mimi would go to on a Saturday evening in the American city, her heart skipped a beat. "You didn't have to go this far with the breakfast, you know?"

"It's nothing," she shrugged her shoulders, which Mimi could see since Sora was wearing a tank top. She had never noticed the amount of freckles Sora had on them. "You know how much I enjoy cooking, please sit or it will get cold."

They ate in silence, making a mundane comment here and there, about anything but the one subject that was burning on both of their chests.

"I want to apologize for leaving like that yesterday, it was rude. No matter how confused I was feeling, that had not been your fault."

"I understand, really. You don't need to apologize, I seriously thought you would never speak to me again."

"Why would you think that?" Sora's voice sounded hurt.

"Well, considering the circumstances… it could get weird. I've been there before."

"But Mimi, before anything we are friends, best friends even. Sure, I am still very confused about my actions last night, but you did not offend me. I can not promise I could see women in a romantic way, I did not even know it was an option until last night but… I would never want to lose you."

"It must have come as a big shocker to you, right? So many of the people I had mentioned in my mails and letters were girls. To me love never had a specific sex attached to it, not even when I was a kid. I have been working with my sexuality for my whole life. I do not expect you to figure it out in a single night."

"So you…?"

"I have fallen for girls before, yes. I believe I do like girls more than I like boys. Girls tend to be more sensible and open with their feelings, you know? Of course, I do not expect my feelings to be reciprocated, there may even be a chance I am just confused because you are the only person who I feel at home with in this country. I am sorry I let myself get controlled by my feelings, I tend to do that a lot."

"Wow Mimi, I had no idea."

"I do not think I have ever said this out loud, I am not the best at speaking."

"Are we sure The United States is in the same planet as Japan?"

"Right? Japan may be advanced in technology, but you guys still live in the 15th century for so many other things."

"In my household I think we live in that century for most of the things, including beds," both Mimi and Sora laughed, cleaning up the air. "You are so brave, Mimi. For never being afraid of being yourself. You are such a blessing to anyone who ever runs into your life, I will never understand how you do it."

"I guess I have been lucky to, for the most part, run into the right people. Thank you, Sora, for not seeing me as a monster."

"Are you kidding? You are way too pretty to be a monster," they held hands, speaking once again everything they could not say out loud with their eyes.

Mimi knew she could not ask Sora to be with her, not in that moment, not the way she wanted her to be. But Sora was still for her, and she knew she would always be. She was grateful she could still be herself with the redhead, no matter the circumstances.

[hairringtonsteve]

and they were roommates.

[steve harrington x reader]

summary: The shit hit the fan, and you need to find a place to stay. Steve Harrington, being the knight in shining armor that he is, offers to let you crash at his place during the quarantine. Clearly, feelings ensue. 

word count: 3,704

a/n: Hey guys. I’m back. The world is a little bit scarier than it was before, but we’re here and we’re getting through it. I need to emphasize that while this fic is lighthearted, it’s not me making fun of the situation. This last week has been excruciatingly stressful for me as well as the rest of us, and honestly, I just need some fluff. So here’s to you and Steve being stuck in an apartment together. Informational links will be located in the first reblog.

**********

“Do we stockpile toilet paper?”

You snorted in response, assuming that he was kidding. Instead of bothering to look at him, you kept your eyes on the Netflix menu, scrolling through the list of horror movies as you tried to ignore the anxiety building in your gut.

If someone had told you at the beginning of the year that you would end up being stuck living in Steve Harrington’s apartment for who knows how long because of a global pandemic, you would have laughed.

But who could have guessed that it would happen? Who could have guessed that your college would shut down and shift everything online, that you wouldn’t be able to fly back home because flights were too expensive? Who could have guessed that Steve Harrington would somehow have perfect timing and walk by just as you burst into tears over flight costs?

“No really, do we stockpile toilet paper?”

You ignored him and kept scrolling.

Really, though, his timing had been perfect. You’d been searching Google for the last twenty minutes, trying to find a flight back home when the cheapest flight out was still over two thousand dollars. Sitting on the steps of your college building – the one that had become like a second home to you since the dorms were awful – you’d shoved your head into your hands and cried.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Steve had asked. You didn’t bother to look up at him, instead opting to take in deep, calming breaths. “You good?” He sat down beside you, not bothering to keep his distance.

The news had been telling everyone to practice social distancing, but it was hard when you were suddenly hit with the reality that you probably wouldn’t see most of these people again. Everyone had thought that you wouldn’t start the I’m graduating college goodbyes until May.

“Oh, you know,” you began as you lifted your head up but didn’t look at him. Your voice was watery as you spoke. “Global pandemic and all that. I’m fine.” Steve leaned over your shoulder to get a glance at your phone.

“Fuck, that’s rough. You trying to get home?”

You’d gotten the email the night before. Sitting in the common area of your building despite the fact that your classes had ended hours ago, the group from your department had all sat at the various tables in shocked silence. Students out of the dorms within ten days unless there were extenuating circumstances. They hadn’t defined what those circumstances would have to consist of, but you knew deep down that you wouldn’t qualify.

“Yeah, I uh… My mom can’t afford it and neither can I.” A new wave of tears started to sting at your eyes. A few made their way down your cheeks. “I’ve got ten days, though. I can figure it out.”

Steve sighed. You finally looked over to him. The tears made him a little blurry.

“My roommate is flying out tonight,” he said. He looked forward before looking back to you. “I’m sure he’d be cool with you crashing in his room until shit gets sorted out.”

You stared at him. Your throat got thicker. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the sob that wanted to burst through at the offer. Instead of saying anything, you gave him a short nod.

Within an hour the two of you were packing up your dorm room, throwing everything into whatever luggage you had. You hauled the luggage and everything else that couldn’t fit down the four flights of stairs and tossed it into his car. His two-bedroom apartment was a fifteen-minute drive away. There had been a quick goodbye to his roommate – who didn’t know what was going on until you had gotten there – and that was that.

“Toilet paper, Y/N. Do we need it?” A hint of annoyance was coloring his words and you finally shifted around on the couch, twisting your neck far enough so you could see him. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, already holding two packs of toilet paper, eight rolls in each.

“Dude, seriously?”

“What? What if we use it all up?”

“Then we go to the store and get more.”

“What if they put us under martial law and we’re not allowed to go anywhere?”

“Then we’ll figure that out. But we have enough for now. We’re not hoarding toilet paper like the rest of the assholes out there.” He tilted his head back and groaned. “Steve, c’mon. It’s fine. It’ll—” You were interrupted by your phone beeping, alerting you to a text. You ignored it. It was probably your mom, checking in. Again. “Steve, it’ll be okay. We’ll have enough toilet paper. We just need to go get food and beer, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve stared at you. “But what if one of us gets diahre—”

“Okay, that’s it. Get your shoes on. We’re heading to the store, dumbass.”

Steve grinned. “Wow, dumbass? It’s like we’re back in biochem.”

You snorted and got up from your spot on the couch, heading to where you’d taken off your sneakers near the door. You’d placed them next to his. It hit you, that your sneakers and his sneakers would be right there for the foreseeable future because of… everything that was going on. You swallowed, the anxiety that had been settled in your gut for over a week now threatening to rise to your throat. But you sucked in a deep breath, willing yourself to keep calm.

Things were fine. It would be okay.

Steve came up beside you and reached down to shove his shoes on. When he righted himself, he bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned.

“Think the beer will be gone?”

*****

The grocery store looked like it was ransacked. The toilet paper and baby wipes were off the shelves. People had grocery carts piled high with nonperishables and whatever else they could get their hands on.

You and Steve locked eyes without a word. His fingers thrummed against the railing of the last grocery cart that had been available while he raised a brow at you. You nodded and the two of you headed straight for the alcohol.

It took twice as long as usual to walk the length of the store to get to the far corner where they held the beer and liquor. Not surprisingly, the area was filled with mostly college-age looking people trying to get their hands on whatever would get them adequately fucked up for the next few weeks.

Steve cleared his throat and nodded towards the beer, the one that everyone had been studiously avoiding. “Should we get some?” He waggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes. “No, that stuff tastes like piss.” He laughed and pushed the cart forward, stopping to get a case of Angry Orchard. “You like that stuff?”

“No, but it’s your favorite, right?”

You nodded as you tried to remember when he would have been able to figure that out. The first time that you’d met was last fall, when you had the same biochemistry lab together. “Yeah?”

“I thought so. I remember you mentioning something about it the night all of us went out after our final in December.”

That had been over three months ago. But everyone in the lab had gone out for drinks to celebrate making it through finals week. At the time, you’d exchanged a handful of words at most. Hell, you hadn’t even mentioned that it was your favorite directly to him. Something shifted in your chest.

Weird.

After that, things grew quieter between the two of you as you made your way systematically through the store. With the alcohol, you got some staples, some favorites, making sure to take into consideration the fact that there would probably be a few nights where the two of you would drink enough to kill a horse. After that, you started to make your way through the food aisles, getting whatever was left over. While most of it was taken, you got the important stuff: bread, vegetables, fruit, meat, peanut butter. Things were scarce, but you got through it.

And the whole time, your stomach was sinking further and further down.

Things weren’t supposed to go this way. All you could think about was the day prior as your professors had said their goodbyes to the students, everyone trying to keep a brave face. Rationally, you knew that things would eventually be fine. But it was hard to keep that in mind when it felt like the beginning of an apocalypse movie.

“—You good to go?”

“Huh?” You looked over to Steve, blinking. At some point, the two of you had made it to the front of the store.

He smiled, soft and understanding. “I asked if you were good to go. We should probably get in line. They’re just getting longer.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” It took a few minutes to try to find the shortest line (if you could call any of them short. You glanced towards the front of the line, watching as the over-worked cashiers struggled to keep everyone happy. Looking back to Steve, you leaned against the grocery cart. “Have I thanked you yet for letting me crash at your place?”

“Only about ten times, but I haven’t figured out that you’re appreciative yet, so you could go for eleven.” You laughed and rolled your eyes as the line moved forward about an inch.

“Seriously, Steve. Thank you. You didn’t have to offer.”

Steve shrugged. “I kind of did. I can’t live alone.”

You scoffed. “You think we can live together and not want to murder each other?”

Steve shrugged once more. “As long as you let me win at Mario Party, we’ll be fine.”

The anxiety in your chest eased up a little. Maybe staying with Steve wouldn’t be too bad.

***** 

As it turned out, being around Steve Harrington constantly was a lot to handle. He was adamant that the two of you worked together daily on your coursework. He’d said that it was to make it just like being on campus as much as possible, but the two of you knew that it was really just an excuse to bicker over homework and steal each other’s pens.

It was weird, knowing these little intimate details about him that you only find out when you live with someone. He sang while he did the dishes. He never made his bed and left video game cases strewn throughout the living room. He had a habit of falling asleep on the couch in the most uncomfortable positions. He preferred tea to coffee, sweet to savory, and had a weird lack of movie knowledge. He also played a lot of Fortnite with a bunch of kids from his hometown.

When you asked him about it, he’d just shrugged and said: “I’m a really great babysitter, what can I say?”

To which you’d heard, muffled through his headset, a boy’s voice shriek, “Bullshit Steve!”

The biggest problem, though, was that he was starting to get to you.

Objectively, you’d understood that he was conventionally attractive. A guy with hair that nice couldn’t be wholly unattractive.

It was just that it didn’t really hit you until two days into quarantine. You wandered around out of your room, too occupied with replying to a text to keep yourself from running into a shirtless Steve, complete with a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair.

His hands wrapped themselves around your arms as he pushed you back a little, making sure that both you remained upright. The two of you locked eyes. You were close enough that you could see the little flecks of gold in them. 

Oh. 

Oh.

Your stomach flipped and suddenly you were acutely aware of him. Your eyes started to slide from his face – taking in his nose, his jawline, his mouth – to his chest when he let out a choked sort of noise.

“Please don’t look down,” he said, his voice higher than you’d ever heard it before. You looked back up at him, scrunching up your brow. “The towel fell and I… Naked.”

There were maybe three seconds of silence before you burst out laughing. You took a step back, clapping a hand over your eyes as you struggled to breathe. 

There you were, in the middle of quarantine during a global pandemic, and Steve Harrington was naked and dripping wet in front of you. 

“Just shut it, okay?”

You tried to stifle the laughter, but it just turned into muffled giggles. “You good to go there, Harrington?” You could hear a bunch of shuffling along with some muttered swearing before eventually, he gave the okay for you to look. Your hand dropped from your face and the laughter died out as you got a good look at his chest. 

It took him clearing his throat for you to meet his eyes once more. He was looking at you with an intense look on his face. His tongue darted across his lips as he took a step towards you. Your heart thudded in your chest and just as he took another step forward and then — 

A knock at the door. 

The two of you jerked back. You almost knocked your head into a shelf while Steve said that he’d get the door. You watched as he stepped forward, raising an eyebrow in silence as he turned back to you, a sheepish look on his face. 

“Did you just now realize that you’re…” You trailed off as you waved your hand up and down to motion towards the towel. He nodded, his cheeks growing red. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it.” 

He’d scurried down the hall to change while you opened the door to one of Steve’s neighbors clad in a mask, asking if you guys had any extra toilet paper.

You got the elderly man two rolls and waited for Steve to come back out of his bedroom.

He didn’t come out for the rest of the night.

That was twelve days ago and since then, the two of you had been avoiding each other like… well... the plague.

Instead, Steve would walk into the kitchen, only to see you and abruptly turn around to walk out. You would head into the living room to watch Netflix and immediately try to leave when he was playing the PlayStation. When the two of you did talk, it was weird. Stunted.

“What do you want for dinner?” 

“Whatever you want.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Cool.” 

On and on it went, both of you hole-ing up in your respective rooms while trying to avoid the other. You even took turns doing the grocery shopping.  

The worst part about it, though, was how aware you were of him. When you walked by him in the hallway, your senses honed in on the way your arms brushed. When he was leaning against the counter and shoving his fingers through his hair, your gaze would somehow magnetically drawn towards looking at him regardless of what was on the TV. 

You had to shove your face into a pillow every time you heard the shower turn on.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. Crushes – and that’s what this was, a full-blown crush – were awful to begin with. They were inconvenient and distracting in the best of times. But this? This was downright torture. Utter and complete torture. You felt like you were going to snap at any moment, ready to combust at a second’s notice.

And then you got the alert on your phone. You were sat on the counter, a spoonful of peanut butter shoved halfway in your mouth. Your thumb flicked the notification bar down as you read the headline. It wasn’t anything different, just an update on the virus spread and the estimated time that it would take for things to calm down.

But that meant that you would be there longer.  That meant that you would be in that apartment longer, having to go through silence and awkwardness and who knows what else for an “indeterminate amount of time.” Something inside you snapped. You hopped down from the counter, chucked the spoon of peanut butter into the sink, and hurried down the hall towards his bedroom.

After around five hurried knocks, the door swung open. He had a panicked look in his eyes as he stared down at you. “What? What’s going on? Did something happen?” He was frantic as he stared down at you. 

“What?” 

“You knocked like someone important just died, and I missed it. What’s going on?” 

“I — I just wanted to talk?” 

Steve blinked at you. “We’re… There’s a global disaster going on and you choose to knock like that so we can talk?”

“Steve, I knocked on your door. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“There’s knocking on a door, and then there’s whatever the hell you did.” He stepped outside of his room, causing you to step back as well to give him some space. “So this —” He knocked against his door three times, slow and not too hard. “-- Is how normal people knock. And this —” There he knocked hard and fast against the wood, exaggerating how hard you’d knocked. “Is how you knocked. Now clearly, there is a difference and you almost gave me a heart attack.” 

“You’re dramatic.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “So what’s up?” He crossed his arms and quirked a brow.

You heaved in a breath and started rambling.

“I — Look, I get it if things were weird because I practically saw you naked but we’re in the middle of a fucking pandemic and I’m stuck in your apartment for who knows how long and I can’t keep avoiding you like this. It’s weird, Steve.” 

He just stared at you and didn’t say a word. So you kept rambling. 

“I get it that you’re really stressed out and I am too, but Steve, this is just making things worse? And like, honestly it’s not that big of a deal. You were shirtless. It was fine. More than fine, actually. Like, it’s cool. It’s —” 

“More than fine?” 

You stared at him. “What?” 

“You just said that me being shirtless was not only fine but more than fine.” 

You could feel your cheeks begin to warm. “I don’t — I —” 

Steve took a step forward. “Is me being shirtless more than fine with you?” 

You gaped at him, frozen. 

“Do you like me being shirtless?” There was a smirk on his face now, as though your silence was enough of an answer. 

“Steve, I —” He took another step forward, right in your space. He leaned down a little. Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

 “You like me shirtless.” He wasn’t asking anymore. Your rational brain wasn’t working. You opened your mouth to reply something, anything, and what came out was: 

“We’re supposed to self-distance.”

Steve froze, eyes wide, and took a step back. “Did I — Did I misread? I thought—” 

You tried to shake your head, hoping that he’d notice, but he was too caught up in the panic of thinking that he’d misread everything and crossed a boundary. So you did the next best thing. 

(Really, the thing that you should have done a week ago.)

You reached out, fingers grasping at his shirt and tugged him towards you. You rolled up onto the tips of your toes and pressed your lips against his. He froze, his words falling silent. Your heart was pounding so hard that you feared it would come out of your chest. Slowly, his hands fell to your waist as his lips began to move. He pulled you closer to him, all thoughts of social distancing falling away as you kissed. 

Eventually, he pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “We’re supposed to self-distance?” He asked, a slow grin spreading across his features. You rolled your eyes and tried to pull back, but he gripped your waist a little tighter, keeping you there. 

“I panicked, okay? You just — I just didn’t expect it to go that way.” He didn’t respond verbally, instead just raising his brow. “It’s been weird not talking to you and being here. And I didn’t mean to say that about you being shirtless, it just kind of slipped out.” 

“Why are you acting like that wasn’t okay? Y/N, you know I’ve liked you since the first day of biochem.” 

You blinked. 

“Seriously, you had to have known. I was hung up on you.”

You blinked again. 

“Y/N, I laughed at all of your terrible jokes in lab. I… offered to let you stay in my apartment during the quarantine.” While he’d started off laughing, by the second sentence, he was speaking slow and soft, enunciating every word. You opened your mouth to reply when he continued. “I let you win at Mario Party, come on. You’re terrible at that.” 

Whatever thoughts of acknowledging his feelings flew out of your head at that. “Excuse you, I am great at Mario Party. I kicked your ass at that the first two days that we were here.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I purposefully lost to make you feel better.” Your expression softened at his words. He pulled away just a little — his hands still on your waist — to stare up at the ceiling. “You were stressed about your mom constantly texting and I know that it’s hard for you to not be with your family. So I just wanted to make it easier on you.” He looked back down at you. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest. 

You smiled up at him as you searched for the right thing to say in response. But it was hard. There weren’t words to convey just how thankful you were for that. You leaned up to press your lips against his once more. After a moment, you pulled back just enough to look at him and grinned. 

“So, you want to go play some Mario Party?”

[shutterbug5269]

Piano In The Dark

Kate Beckett woke in the middle of the night and reached across the bed for Castle, but he wasn't there. For a brief moment, her old insecurities flared, worried that it was something she did or said during their lovemaking earlier, but those traitorous thoughts soon gave way to more practical possibilities.

She dragged herself out of bed and slid one of his shirts over the camisole and boy shorts she had slipped into before falling asleep. She opened the door leading into his office, thinking he must have gotten up to write. She hoped he was, this case had been a truly dark and nasty one and he had done little of that in the last two weeks.

She saw immediately that he had tried. His laptop was sitting at an odd angle on his desk, still on. His "You really should be writing" screen saver scrolling endlessly. When she brushed the touch pad it was on a blank document. She was about to wonder how long he had sat there staring at a blank screen when she heard it. The soft, almost mournful notes of a piano. It wasn't a recording, and she couldn't recognize the tune, but it was so quiet and sad it was almost beautiful.

She had walked past the baby grand piano in the living room many times, but figured it was Martha's. She didn't even know Rick could play, one of many things she was learning about this complicated, sensitive man she adored. She watched him as he sat in the dark, playing this sad mournful ballad with only a single candle to guide his fingers across the keys. She could see his tears reflected in the candle's dim glow and it tore her heart in two.

She wanted to rush to his side, kiss him, and brush his tears away, but she stood, transfixed as if caught in the spell of the mournful notes he was playing which tore at her in a way that nothing else could. So she stood there leaning on the doorway, tears falling from her own closed eyes at the as the notes from the piano washed over her.

For the past two weeks, they had been working quite likely the most heart wrenching case the two of them had ever investigated together. The type of case she always dreaded, that no homicide detective with a soul ever wanted to have cross their desk. There had been eight victims in all, young girls all between the ages of eight and twelve. Murdered and left in dumpsters.

She had tried to get him to stay home and sit this one out, but he refused. He had told her that if she was in this, then so was he. There was no question of his involvement after victim number three. Melissa Davies, age ten, was a pretty little redhead with pale blue eyes. That was all it took set him inexorably into "Daddy" mode. He wasn't going anywhere after that.

He called Alexis every night during the case, glad she wasn't interning at the morgue this semester. After her kidnapping she was taking it easy. He would drive out to her dorm to visit her, hug her fiercely and look under her bed for monsters whenever a new body dropped in the case though. She was sure he saw his baby girl in every one of their little faces and it broke her heart every time she saw him.

For two weeks, as the body count slowly rose with no new leads, she watched him die a little bit more inside at every crime scene. Gone were his wild theories and his stories to make the evidence make sense, he had even forgotten to bring her coffee once or twice. He just sat in his chair by her desk reading evidence reports and staring at the murder board as the life slowly drained out of his soul.

When they finally caught the man responsible, Reginald Jacobs, there was no fist pumping, no outward show of victory from her normally expressive partner. The man had been caught red handed on a surveillance video camera dumping victim number eight, Veronica Miles, age eleven into the dumpster behind New Amsterdam Bank and Trust.

He confessed to all of the murders without much prompting, almost like he'd wanted to be caught and punished, even waived his right to counsel. As she took down his confession and gave it back to him to sign Rick had been strangely silent, like he had no heart for this anymore. When  she called LT in to take charge of the prisoner for processing, Rick spoke only one word to the man.

"Why?"

To which the man answered, "They were simply too beautiful to live in this world."

To her credit, Kate had seen the rage building in Rick's eyes and body language the moment the words left Reginald Jacobs' mouth and had LT hustle the man out of the interrogation room before Rick lost it.

He flipped the table, kicked all of the chairs over and she seriously wondered if he was going to do actual property damage before she saw his eyes land on the scattered crime scene photos of all eight girls on the floor, dropped to his knees and inexplicably burst into tears. The first real show of emotion she had seen on his face in over a week.

He slowly, almost tenderly picked up every photo, as if committing all of their names and faces to memory, taking great care to make sure they were undamaged and right side up before slipping them back into the file folder and almost reverently giving it to her with shaking hands.

He was halfway through quietly picking up the interrogation room, when Captain Gates appeared at the door, a look bordering almost on sympathy for the man. Kate had forgotten briefly that they had that one single thing in common. They were both parents. The Captain had softened a bit toward him since Alexis' kidnapping.

"Please take Mr. Castle home, Detective Beckett. I don't want to see either of you for at least a week."

That was Thursday afternoon.

They had taken the long way back to the loft to stop at her apartment to collect the bag she always kept packed for unexpected long stays at the loft. She kept pajamas at his place and a change of work clothes, but not much in the way of casual wear...yet.

They took a longer detour to swing out to Columbia. Kate had a feeling he would want to hug his daughter now that this case was finally over. She hadn't realized how much she had needed it too, until Alexis disengaged from her father and wrapped her slender arms around her waist. She hugged Alexis tightly, not realizing she had begun to cry until Castle pulled them both in and had wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

They had made love when they got back to the loft, but there was little passion in it, for either of them. More of a desperate need to feel alive after the last two weeks had nearly crushed them both. The case had trampled Castle's spirit, his anguish and pain had nearly broken hers. To feel something other than the soul crushing sadness that had enveloped them.

Which brought them back to this moment. The music had stopped. When she looked up, he was gently closing the cover over the keys and running a finger across it as he sat on the bench looking down at his hands. With the music's spell broken she crossed the short distance to the piano and sat at the bench beside him. She pulled his head to her breast and stroked his hair.

"That was beautiful, I didn't know you could play." she whispered.

"Mother began to teach me when I was four." Castle replied quietly. "When she couldn't get a part in a show, she would make ends meet by giving private piano lessons."

Kate had forgotten that the Rodgers family hadn't always been wealthy, that Martha had had to raise a son by herself in the 1970's when such things were not looked upon with as much tolerance as they are now. Now that she thought on it, it made sense why Alexis had been encouraged to take up an instrument, to have the gift of music to fall back on when she needed it.

"One summer we actually lived on an estate in the Hamptons when mother was tutoring their daughter. It was why I bought a house there when I could afford it. I think mom wanted me to follow in her footsteps, but then I discovered writing."

"Your father." Kate whispered, remembering his story about the book he'd gotten in the mail the day he returned from Paris with Alexis.

"Yeah." Rick replied, "Though I did make some extra money in college playing in some of the upscale bars. That is until “In A Hail Of Bullets” hit the bestseller list. I haven't played in years."

"Why now?" Kate couldn't help but ask.

"I tried to write, but the words just wouldn't come. I think I stared at my laptop for over an hour, before I came out here, poured myself a glass of scotch and poked at the keys. It all just came flooding out of me. I had forgotten how much it helped to do that until now."

"Come on, Rick, lets go back to bed." Kate said, tugging him off the piano bench, "We can thank your mother for the many gifts she gave you in the morning."

Rick blew out the candle on the piano and followed her back to bed. Glad that neither he, nor Kate would have to grieve for the victims alone.

They had each other.

[wontlastimokwiththat]

Witches Mates- Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of Witches Mates....

Warnings: Slight language, 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

After making the ring for Luke that would help him control his shifting, I went back to the house. The dogs had decided to explore the city so it was just me and Snow. When we got there, Snow jumped off my shoulder, telling me she wanted to stay outside. I walked in the front door and could hear the arguing.

"What do you have against her? She's been nothing but kind and understanding since we told her," Ashton said.

"She's a human, Ashton. She has no place in our world or our lives," Luke told him.

"She's our mate! Me, you, Michael, and Calum, we share her! She belongs with us, human or not!" Ashton yelled as I saw Calum walk down the stairs with my grimoire in his hands. I was thankful he couldn't see me where I was standing. Calum walked into the living room and I lost sight of him.

"She's not," Calum stated.

"What?" Luke asked. I moved a bit so I could see Calum as he held up my grimoire.

"I found it in her room. It's the real thing, guys," Calum told them.

"Why didn't she tell us?" Michael quizzed. I sighed and spoke, walking into the room.

"Maybe because if a witch has four mates, nothing good ever comes of it," I suggested, holding out my hand and willing the book into it. "This is off limits."

"I've never seen any of those spells," Calum stated.

"They're mine," I told him. "I've been creating spells since I was eleven."

"That's not possible," Ashton said.

"It is when you're a Firelight," I heard a voice say. I turned to see my mom walking in from the kitchen with Snow on her heels. "Mystia's gifted, always has been."

"Hi, Mom," I smiled.

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted, hugging me tightly.

"How was Paris?" I asked.

"Boring compared to everything that's happened here. I saw Lejend and Shyla in the city, they told me everything," she told me. Lejend and Shyla A.K.A Damien and Annette.

"Uh oh," Snow said.

"Oh, hush. It's not like you weren't going to," I hissed down at her.

"Um, you're arguing with a cat," Michael stated.

"No, I'm arguing with my smart ass familiar," I told him as Mom took the grimoire from my hands.

"This is beautiful. Where'd it come from?" she asked.

"N-" Snow cut me off.

"Jonathan. He left it in her room," Snow told her.

"Another word from you and I'm sending you to London with Liam, " I said.

"Why can't we hear her?" Calum asked.

"I'm not sure she won't be rude," I told him, glaring at Snow. "Do you swear not to be rude?" I asked her. Snow raised her left paw. "Nice try, smart ass. Other paw." She squinted her eyes as she raised her right paw. "Okay. I'm trusting you." She said nothing as she trotted over to Luke, jumped in his lap, and laid down.

"Why is it touching me?" Luke asked, holding his hands up. My mom looked away from the book and at Snow sitting in Luke's lap.

"Oh, holy shit," Mom mumbled. "She doesn't even let me pet her."

"He's the warmest," Snow said without lifting her head.

"Oh, my God. It actually talks," Michael said. "I thought J was crazy."

"Joker and Harleen talk too," I told him. "And she's twenty-one, not seven."

"It's rude to tell a lady's age," Snow told me.

"You're not a lady," Joker said, walking in with Harleen at his side and Damien and Annette behind them.

"Mutt," Snow mumbled.

"That's offensive," Luke said, glaring at Snow.

"She was talking to Joker," I told him.

"Wait, do they know?" Annette asked me.

"Calum found my grimoire," I sighed. "Now, Snow has made Luke her bed and Michael no longer thinks I'm crazy because Snow actually talks."

"Well, okay," Damien nodded.

"You always give the best descriptions of situations," Harleen said to me and I knew by the look on the boys face that they heard her.

"Thank you, Harleen," I smiled, petting her head. "Why did Damien and Annette get nice familiars?"

"You're familiar reflects you. Both you and Snow are sarcastic, smart ass, assholes," Damien told me. I glared at him.

"I'm going to kill you in your sleep," Snow growled, jumping to her feet.

"You're three pounds of fur, good luck with that," Joker said.

"Enough," I said, knowing things would get heated if they weren't brought to an end quickly. Snow laid back down in Luke's lap and Joker lowered his head.

"Oh, can I see it?" Annette asked my mom, looking at the grimoire. Mom nodded and handed it to her. Annette flipped through it, stopping on a certain page. "I remember when you made this spell. It was when you broke your hand and couldn't write. We were, like, twelve."

"The enchanted pen?" I asked. She nodded.

"I use that one on a daily," Damien said, looking over Annette's shoulder as she started flipping the pages.

"Oh, Luke, I have you something," I said before walking over to Ashton and sitting in his lap. He was sitting in the recliner beside the couch. I pulled the simple black band from my pocket and handed it to Luke. He took it and looked over it.

"What is this for?" he asked.

"Ashton told me about your struggle with controlling your wolf side. The ring prevents the wearer from shifting. As long as you wear it, you won't turn," I told him. "You can wear it as a ring or put it on a chain, it doesn't matter."

"How does it work?"

"It's a spell from one of my grandmother's grimoires," I said as he slid the ring onto his right ring finger.

"Is that why you went to the shop?" Ashton asked, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Yeah," I nodded, leaning back against his chest. "I didn't have everything I needed here. Which reminds me, I need to restock."

"What do you need?" Damien asked.

"Um, sage, mint, and jasmine," I told her. Mom, Damien, and Annette raised their eyebrows and Snow lifted her head when I mentioned jasmine. "Not for those reasons."

"Sure," Annette nodded.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "Mom, are you going to the compound?"

"Yeah, I have to get some manzanilla before I leave for London," she said.

"Why?" Damien asked.

"I'm helping to break a curse," she told him.

"No one's used curses in years," Annette mumbled.

"What?" Calum asked. "Two months ago-" Mom cut him off.

"It's an old family that was cursed many years ago that needs to be broken," Mom said. I raised my eyebrows at Calum, who was looking skeptically at my mom. "Anyways, I should be going. It was nice meeting all of you. Mystia-"

"I know, I know. The shop, the coven, I got it," I nodded. She frowned slightly before nodding and walking out.

"J, that was rude," Damien said.

"Something tells me J knows something we don't," Annette muttered.

"J, is there?" Damien asked.

"Come with me," I told them, standing up. "Give us a minute." The boys nodded and Damien, Annette, and I walked up to the study. I closed the door behind us and turned to look at them. The room was spelled so as soon as the door closed it was sound proof.

"Mystia, what's going on?" Annette quizzed.

"Look, I learned something about the Witches Council today and it seriously set off bad vibes," I explained.

"What did you learn?" Damien asked.

"The wolves in the wolf packs that are aligned with the Witches Council are forced to trigger their werewolf curse when they're thirteen or they're killed," I told them.

"What are you talking about?" Annette asked. "Those wolves voluntarily turn."

"No, Ashton told me earlier-" Damien cut me off.

"So, we just believe everything the vampire says?" he asked.

"That's not what she's saying. She's saying we need to figure it out," Annette told him.

"Exactly. Annette, take Michael and Calum to talk to the voodoo witch on Bourbon Street. Damien, take Luke and go talk to the wolf pack on Main."

"And you?" Damien asked.

"I'm gonna see if Ashton can tell me anything else," I told them.

"Mhm hm," Annette smirked.

[elevenharringtons]

Babysitting El pt. 1

Pairing: None (but leading into a bit of Steve x Reader) 

Summary: Hopper, exasperated by having to deal with monsters invading Hawkins and having a teenage girl, has asked you to come babysit while he investigates for the night. Max shows up (unannounced, to you at least) and proposes a mall day to cheer everyone up. However, things don’t go as planned, and you find yourself an accomplice to Mike and El’s breakup. 

Warnings: Profanity

Word Count: 3.3k

This is a two-parter! This part is based on El and Max’s shopping trip. It’s not exact, considering El was the one to seek Max out, but nonetheless, you’ll read some familiar scenarios. Just some good ol’ girl time and bonding over stupid boys. Part Two should be out sooner rather than later, considering all the time that has suddenly found itself on my doorstep. Stay safe out there, y’all. 

***UPDATE: There will be a taglist for the second part, so if you’d like to be on it, let me know! 

“I’ll be there.”

“If that Wheeler kid shows up here one more time-“

“Calm down! She’s a young woman now, she’s doing what she’s supposed to be doing” you say, twirling the yellowed telephone cable between your fingers. This is the third time this week that your uncle has called you upset that El was dating the second youngest Wheeler. Hopper hadn’t necessarily been on good terms with Mike, considering he found ways around Hopper’s rules, especially rules that were crafted for Eleven’s safety. Grumbling ensues on the other line.

“What time are you going to be here?”

“8 o’clock,” you reply almost confidently.

“Sharp?”

“8 o’clock...ish?” Hopper was good at seeing through your facades. Your mother was a pro at being fashionably late to things, a habit that you’re not too happy that you picked up. “You know it takes at least 15 minutes to get back to Hawkins, and then at least another 20 to remember which turn into the woods I have to take to find your cabin-“

“Save it. Just...promise me you’ll take care of this?” Hopper pleaded. You could hear someone rapping on the door in the background and assumed it was Mike trying to get back in to see El.

“I’ll do what I can. Bye, Uncle Hop.” You hear indistinct chatter on the line before it cuts to a dial tone and chuckle to yourself, continuing to pack a small overnight bag full of clothes and other essentials needed to ‘babysit’ Eleven. Hopper had to deal with a special assignment that you had specifically chosen not to ask him about, knowing it must be a continuation of the strange events that kept happening in Hawkins the past two years. Your mission was to stay with El until Hopper returned, however, now that El was a teenager, that was no easy task. Boys, best friends, and fighting intergalactic monsters had El in more directions than you remember when you were her age. Then again, you didn’t have to deal with the intergalactic monster part.

The morning drive wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. Surprisingly, you remembered exactly where to turn into the woods to find Hopper’s cabin. The ground was wet from a rain storm the night before as you tried your best to maneuver your mom’s old Buick through the slippery terrain. El was standing outside on Hopper’s porch, her eyes lighting up for a quick second before diminishing again. She turned and headed back inside the cabin before you had the chance to get out of the car. Hopper met you at the door.

“What’s her deal?” You ask, closing the car door and moving to the trunk to grab your backpack.

“I, uh, may have had a hand in that,” Hopper replied.

“What’d you do”

“Joyce told me to have a talk with her and Mike, but instead, I told Mike that his grandmother was sick and that he should go be with her instead of with El,” Hopper couldn’t meet your stare. You laughed out loud.

“Seriously, Uncle Hop?”

“She doesn’t know!”

“And what made you think that was a good idea? What advice did Joyce give you that made you do that? Couldn’t have been that bad, it’s Joyce!” You’re leaning against the car door, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t letting your uncle off that easy before he left you with a moody teenager.

“She just said to set some ground rules, to talk to them,”

“The three inch rule?” You quip.

“Well, El doesn’t always adhere to the three inch rule, that’s why I had to do something about it,” Hopper replied.

“So telling Mike Wheeler that his grandmother was sick even though she isn’t is how you’re handling this?”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

“Oh, so I’m the diffusion? She needs to be a teenager, Uncle Hop! Explore! Kiss a guy! Kiss a girl if she wants to! Fall in love! Get her heart broken! You were a teenager once, weren’t you?” You say. Out of the corner of your eye, El reappeared on the porch.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, El!” You smile and wave as El does the same. Hopper runs his hand over his face before leading you to the cabin. He grumbles under his breath as you walk.

“Look, just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. No one can find her out here, it’s dangerous.”

“I’ve got it under control, Hopper. She won’t leave my sight,” You assure him as you walk up the stairs to wrap El in a hug. Hopper watched as the both of you headed inside the cabin before starting his truck up and driving away.

“So, Hopper has you on some…guidelines, huh?” You say once the door is closed, taking in the cabin. It wasn’t as messy as you would have guessed it to be, definitely not like the lake house that you had practically grown up in. You put your bag down on Hopper’s armchair before leaning against the couch, watching El as she paced around.

“Guidelines?” She asked.

“Oh, um, rules. Like how he won’t let you out past a certain hour?”

“Or how he doesn’t let Mike over,” El nervously played with her hands. She was still pacing, clearly worried that Mike had abandoned her.

“Hey,” you say softly. “He doesn’t hate Mike, you know? He just…isn’t ready for you to grow up yet.” El was trying to take in what you were saying, but a knock was at the door causing the both of you to jump. El looks to you for permission to open the door, which you grant. She gets up and crosses to the door, standing on tip toes to peer into the peephole.

“It’s Max,” El says, almost disappointed.

“You can let her in,” you say. The door swings open to reveal the fiery red head, who doesn’t stay outside long.

“Lucas dropped all of our plans today for some family thing he forgot last minute,” she says. “So I told him that we were on a break.”

“A break?” El asks.

“Yeah. Like not a break up but you want to break up? Kind of?” Max says. You stare wide eyed at the two of them.

“I’m sorry, you told Lucas you wanted to take a break because he had to do something with his family?” You ask.

“Look, he pulls this last minute shit all the time. He’s probably at home playing with his stupid walkie talkie or at Mike’s. It’s better to take a minute to show him that I’m mad by taking a break than to dump his ass altogether,” she plops herself into Hopper’s armchair and right on top of your stuff without missing a beat. El sits stiffly beside you on the couch.

“Mike’s grandmother is sick, so he’s probably not at Mike’s,” you say, trying to go along with Hopper’s false narrative as truthfully as you could. Max rolls her eyes.

“Sounds like some last minute bullshit to me.”

“Last minute,” El says thoughtfully. “Mike didn’t call this morning.”

“Then dump his ass,” Max says matter-of-factly. “He keeps you on the line way too much for you to keep putting up with that.”

“I don’t think it’s Mike’s fault,” you say under your breath. Max doesn’t hear you.

“Dump his ass?” El questions.

“He’s obviously hiding something from you. Don’t put up with it,” Max shrugs.

“Nobody’s dumping anyone. Look, you can’t just break someone’s heart because they can’t do something with you,” you say. You may not have a lot of experience in the dating department,  but you also could recognize human mistakes from lies. Plus, you had your uncle’s fake storyline standing over your shoulder, so it was best that El not make any hasty decisions.

“I’m just saying, El, you could do a lot better,” Max says. “In the meantime, though, we should give you a makeover and show him what he’s missing. Let’s go to the mall!”

“Whoa, El’s not allowed out. You know that,” you say, standing now between El and Max’s line of vision.

“Hopper’s not here is he? Plus, you’re here. Nothing bad can happen if you’re with us,” Max retorts. She had a point. Having an adult around two teenagers in a mall cramped their style, automatically making them less of a target to the bad guys. Right?

“Technically, I’m not supposed to have you here,” you reply. Max rolled her eyes.

“Y/N, can we please go to the mall?” El asks. Her shimmering brown eyes are enough to make you cave. She knew just how to push your buttons.

“Fine,” you say, “but you guys can’t leave my sight.”

“Deal,” Max and El say together as they race outside to your car.

“I said don’t leave my sight!” You yell, running after them. How bad could this be?

**********

Two hours later and you’ve become the stereotypical pack-mule “boyfriend” to your two teenaged counterparts. Max had insisted El buy a new wardrobe to make Mike jealous, so her muddied shoes and ragged plaid shirt were stuffed in a tiny bag from The Gap while Max made El try on several brightly colored combos. Then, El wanted Glamour Shots, so you watched as her and Max put on oversized pearls and lavish feathered hats, posing ridiculously for the camera. You’d bought each of them a keychain sized version of their favorite picture, adding another bag to your hand. Max had careened into JC Penney without your knowledge, taking El with her through the winding racks of aerobics wear and puffy jacket vests. You managed to find them, though, because Max was trying on bright red sunglasses in the mirrors right next to the entrance.

“What did I tell you about running off?” You say. Before Max could protest, El had walked out in a black romper with neon shapes plastered all over it. She was stumbling around on two inch heels, her stark white socks making it obvious that she’d never worn anything else besides sneakers. However, the smile on her face distracted you from the fact that she could fall and break her ankle at any moment. She stopped to pose in the mirror before turning to you.

“What do you think, Y/N?”

“I think it’s a winner. You look beautiful, El,” you say, her grin growing wider. Chastising them for running off could be saved until later. Or until something actually~ happened.

“That’ll show those stupid boys not to mess with you!” Max exclaimed.

“Maybe not in those heels, though,” you say, choosing to ignore Max’s comment. Not that you were doubling back on your whole “give Mike another chance” mantra, just that you didn’t want to ruin El’s confidence. You motion for Max to help you get the heels off of El before slipping her new Nikes back on her feet.

“Can I wear this out instead?” El asks.

“And ditch those cute yellow suspenders?” You quip.

“Come on, Y/N!” Max joined in. “What’s another bag? Another swipe of the old Visa?”

“This is the last time I bring you out shopping,” you sigh, watching as the two girls squealed, jumping up and down like they were front row at a concert. Max agrees to gather El’s other outfit from the dressing room while you take El to the register to pay. Then, you’re off again into the bustle of the Starcourt Mall. As you’re walking out, though, you spy Mike and Lucas, along with Will Byers, stepping out of a jewelry store in a heated discussion. Max and El giggled beside you, blissfully unaware that you had just caught both of their “men” doing the exact opposite of what they should be. You silently curse Mike for being this stupid. You careen then girls onto the down escalator.

“Where are we going?” Max asks.

“I saw a food court downstairs. Figured we’d go refuel for a little bit,” you say, not entirely sure the girls would fall for it.

“Oooo, can we get ice cream?” Max replied.

Mission accomplished.

That was until you had taken your eye off them for two seconds after looking at the time on the big yellow clock in the center of the food court. Max had taken El by the hand and bounded down the escalator, into the sailor themed eatery, Scoops Ahoy. You pushed through a group of teenagers balancing ice cream cones, finding the two girls receiving ice cream from a brunette boy in a ridiculous bright blue uniform. You couldn’t shake the familiarity of his face, like something you had seen in dreams. It wasn’t until you were inside of the shop, shivering from the slight temperature change, and smelling the sweetness of the treats before the name had come to you.

“Thanks, Steve!” Max said as she and El grabbed a strawberry and vanilla cone from the boy’s hands, blissfully unaware of your presence as they enjoyed their treats.

Steve Harrington. A name you hadn’t heard since you were in grade school. You remember him being the troublemaker, the one who had stolen your new pack of crayons when you weren’t looking and the one who was every teacher’s nightmare. But you also remembered him being the sweetheart. The boy who stood up for you when Tommy H was making fun of your bangs in second grade. The boy who tried to kiss you on the cheek by the swings when no one was looking. The last time you saw Steve Harrington was when your parents’ moving van was careening carefully down Main Street as you all were moving cities once you completed fifth grade. Steve was riding his bike, stopping in front of Melvald’s General Store before locking it to a rack and walking inside. Since then, Steve had become a memory, someone who would appear every once in a while as a nameless face in a dream.

You stood speechless at the counter, his back turned to you as he cleaned the ice cream scoops before meeting his next customer. There was no way he was going to remember you, your mind was racing. Years of never even thinking of him and here you were a nervous wreck. And for what? Shaking thoughts from your head, you reached into your bag to pull out three dollars for the girls’ dessert. The sound of change clanging on the counter caused him to turn. Shit.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. They come here all the time.”

You looked up to meet his brown eyes, hands still nervously reaching for the change that had fallen out of your hands. You watched as something in his mind clicked.

“Y/N?”

“That’s me,” you reply, shoving the money back into your bag, trying to avoid an awkward conversation that probably neither of you wanted. “Sorry that they ran in here like that.”

“Jesus, how long has it been? What brings you to town?” Guess he wanted an awkward conversation.

“Oh, my uncle, he, uh, wanted me to come watch El for him while he figures out…you know, normal Hawkins police stuff.” God, why are you like this??

“How long are you here?” Steve asked, catching you completely off guard.

“I mean, I only packed an overnight bag,” you say.

“Oh, cool,” Steve replies. The spark that was in his eyes when you’d first connected had vanished.

“But, uh, Hopper never said when he was coming back, so, maybe the weekend?” You tell him, watching the corner of his mouth curl into a smile.

“Would you maybe want to catch up sometime? Like, tonight after I get off?” Steve asks. You could feel your cheeks getting hot. It was your turn to smile now. Instinct struck, though, as you turned away from him and noticed El and Max were gone from the place that they were sitting not too long ago.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I have to…go. Because the girls are…yeah. I’ll come here tonight,” you ramble as you rush out the front towards the escalator.

“See you…later,” Steve called after you. You waved a hand as you bounded up the escalator past several angry mall-goers. You couldn’t even process that you were having a “date” with someone that you hadn’t seen since elementary school, someone that you subconsciously always thought about. If you couldn’t find El, though, it would be your ass. You could already hear Hopper yelling at you at length over the phone when you spot Max’s slender frame standing out front with a melting ice cream cone in her hand. She was watching something, hopefully something to do with El, but you couldn’t figure out why Max wasn’t standing right next to El. Then it hit you.

El found Mike.

You pushed through the front door as quietly as one could push through a heavy glass door. Max’s expression went from supportive to nervous wreck once she had laid eyes on you. The “why did you run out of my sight you dumb idiots” conversation could wait a few minutes. You heard Mike trying to come up with a good excuse as to why he was out at the mall with his friends when El’s quiet voice cut through the palpable tension.

“I dump your ass.”

Max chuckled, mouth agape in surprise. You tried to keep your composure, especially considering you had told the girls not to just dump the boys over “nothing”, but you were proud of El for sticking up for herself. Mike, Lucas, and Will were stoic as El turned dramatically, hair bouncing, arm linking with Max. You heard the boys mumble to themselves as you ushered the girls away from the mall and into your car. In the rearview mirror, you watched as Max gave El a high five, offering to switch ice cream cones with her.

“Don’t think I haven’t forgot that you all ran away from me,” you half-smile. Their faces fell. “I’m not mad.” You scramble to say, just to bring that little bit of happiness back to them.

“Look, we got ice cream and then caught two lying ass boys. It’s not our fault that we fell behind flirting with the sailor boy,” Max said under her breath, taking a bite of El’s ice cream. Your cheeks grew hotter than they were in Scoops Ahoy.

“I wasn’t flirting…”

“Oh, please, I had to sit through weeks of watching El flirt with Mike. I think I know what flirting is,” Max said.

“How did you even-“

“We were sitting in a booth practically behind you. Then El saw Mike and I had to chase after her. You’re welcome, by the way. I should get some of the money that Hopper is giving you for watching her.”

“First of all, I’m not getting paid. Second, thanks, I guess?” You shake your head. “Plus, my love life is not something we should be discussing right now. Didn’t you both just dump your boyfriends?”

“Boys are stupid,” El said matter-of-factly. She wasn’t wrong. Max gave El another high five as they switched ice cream cones again.

“So are you going on a date with Harrington or not?” Max asked.

“Yes, but-“

“Great! I’ll spend the night, and El and I will help you get ready,” she said. El nodded in response, too enticed by her ice cream to give verbal recognition.

“I thought you were against boys?” By now, you had turned down the pathway to Hopper’s cabin. You put the car in park, turning to look at the two girls in the back seat.

“Those boys. Helping you nab Harrington is a different story.” Max said, grabbing her JC Penney bag and bounding out of the car. You helped El carry all of her belongings into the cabin before plopping it into Hopper’s armchair.

“Makeover?” El asked once everyone was inside and settled.

“Oh, yeah,” Max replied. They each took your hands and led you to the bathroom.

What were you about to get into?

[dreamyyang]

To All The Boys I’ve Hated — 01

Summary: “What starts with ‘f’ and ends with ‘uck’? Firetruck! Welcome to Camp Firetruck, we hope you aren’t carrying any carrots because the demon rabbits will attack you.”

or

Three weeks of summer camp with the seven boys you hated the most was a clusterfuck of chaos waiting to happen.

Warning(s): themes of bullying (here and there), behaviour that really shouldn’t be condoned, cursing, a few questionable life decisions, weird animals and even weirder camp counsellors, author has never been to a camp so spare her if she fucks up

A/N: it’s here y’all

previous | next

Your heart ached, its walls clenching in anguish. The pain coursed through your veins like electricity, the sparks concentrated in the cavity in your chest. The light from your eyes had vanished. It had been snatched away from your irises, leaving behind a shadow of its former glow of happiness. Your lips were dry and chapped, the lines on your lips ran deep, but not as deep as your emotional scars—

“Wipe that look of long suffering off your face would you? You look like we’re sending you off to a concentration camp,” your mother said, exasperated.

“But birth giver, do you not see that you’ve thrust upon me a fate that I believe is just as painful—”

Your mother only rolled her eyes, tossing a pile of clothes at you, “Save the theatrics for summer camp, would you? I hear they tell stories every night. You can recite your tragic soliloquy then. Now start packing, you don’t want a late night.”

Your body lazily slid down the side of your bed, limbs flopping onto the floor in response. Your mother smacked you on the back of your head, “You’re dragging the clothes down with you.”

You pouted exaggeratedly, speaking in a baby voice, “Sowwy mummy, pwease forgive me.”

“I’m this close to selling you.”

You huffed, making a face at your mother’s back as she left the room. After sitting on the ground and staring at your open suitcase for what felt like an eternity, you finally got off the floor. You grabbed the clothes on your bed as well as those from the clothes basket your mother had left behind and began packing. Your mind was already trying to come up with ways to get out of going to camp.

To be fair, your mother was sending you to a place where you’d had some of your best memories as a child. You’d spent two weeks of your summer vacation at Camp Firetruck since you were six years old but you stopped going by the time you were eleven. Now going back at sixteen just felt weird to you. Wouldn’t you be too old by now?

Of course, there was a bigger reason as to why you didn’t want to go back to camp but you forced yourself not to think about it. You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to mentally push out your thoughts. It took you a few minutes, but you finally opened your eyes, having been able to move your thoughts to the back of your mind. You stared down at your suitcase for a moment before slamming it shut and zipping it up, as if that was a way for you to keep your memories at bay.

You stood up, a queasy sensation in your stomach making your knees feel weak. You let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Fucking hell, y/n, it’s not that deep.”

The loudness was unsettling. Camp was far more chaotic than you remembered and you were feeling extremely uncomfortable. There was a flurry of activity around you, campers of all ages were running around, parents were yelling goodbye and telling their demonic kin to behave themselves and the camp’s theme song ‘Firetruck’ played loudly in the background. In the middle of all the life and activity was you, standing stiffly with your suitcase in hand, backpack on your shoulders and a terrified expression on your face.

You were trying to get to the quadrangle where orientation would be held but there was so much going on and you felt so out of place. A hilarious contrast to your previous summers. You used to fit in perfectly. Perhaps that was why camp felt more normal back then, you were just as loud and full of energy as it was— and still is. After what felt like an eternity, you managed to make it towards the front.

Having noticed that you were struggling, a boy with bright orange hair walked up to you, “Need help carrying your bag?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s just that there’s so much going on, I’m scared I’ll hit someone with my suitcase.”

“It’s fine, they’ll just laugh it off if camp is still as chill as I remember it to be.”

“You haven’t been here in a while? Me neither!”

“Yeah, I moved back to Shanghai for a while. That’s my hometown. Well, city. You?”

You bit your lip, refusing to recall the memories that had been in your head the previous day, “I got busy during the summer. So yeah…”

You trailed off before realising that you had yet to introduce yourself, “I’m y/n, by the way. You are?”

The boy tilted his head slightly, “Don’t you remember me?”

You frowned and blinked, “Should I?”

The boy seemed amused as he smiled, shaking his head, “Nevermind. Well, at least we can get to know each other this summer?”

You smiled weakly and nodded. You didn’t get along well with boys, especially those your age, but that was mainly because the boys at your school weren’t exactly the nicest people. However, you were sent to camp because your parents felt you were being too asocial. This could be a chance to break out of your shell and prove to yourself that not all boys were terrible.

He hadn’t told you his name yet and you were about to ask again when a familiar boy walked up to the two of you, “I see you’ve met y/n.”

Park Jisung. What was he doing here at camp? You would’ve expected that his parents would take their little golden boy on some sort of exciting trip abroad. You tried your best not to feel disheartened but your hopes of having a male friend for the first time in years was already making its way down the drain. If he was friends with Jisung then it was unlikely that he was going to like you for long.

Suddenly, the unsettling feeling came rushing back along with a distant memory. One of twelve year old Zhong Chenle shrieking in front of the entire class, “Y/n has boy and girl parts!”

Your eyes snapped from Jisung to Chenle, panic rising in your mind. There was no way you were dealing with this. Not for three weeks. You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to grab your suitcase and make a run for it. All of a sudden, the sharp feedback from a microphone breached your ears, directing yours as well as the rest of the campers’ attention to a familiar bespectacled boy who was struggling with his megaphone. Your palms grew sweaty as you watched in horror.

“Uhm, check? Testing? He-hello?”

There stood one of your biggest nightmares. Clad in the dorky lime green camp shirt and jeans with a cap shaped like a siren with a smiley face. Mark Lee. The tension in your mind built as he continued to fumble with his megaphone. That malicious, soul-sucking wretch who’d be sent from the murky abyss of hell to personally torture. The smiling cicada with chibi eyes could only mean one thing. You were going to suffer.

“Yo campers!”

“Fighting haeyadwae!”

“Mom please pick me up, I’m begging you!”

“No, y/n, what a ridiculous reason! Just because the boys you don’t get along with are at the same camp as you are, doesn’t mean you should leave,” you could practically hear your mother rolling her eyes as she spoke.

“But ma—”

“No! You kids are so ridiculous, you fight all the time and make it hard for everybody else.”

“Ma—”

“Nothing doing, y/n, you are staying at Camp. God, when did you become such a brat? You’ll really use any excuse to stay inside your room like a bat.”

“Seriously though—”

“Natural sunlight won’t hurt you, now get off the phone, I’m driving.”

“Fine, I love y—”

Your mother cut the call because you could finish your sentence. You sighed, you were definitely one of two things: either someone who committed a heinous sin in their past life or an adopted child.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

You shrieked, surprised by the sudden voice. You spun around, involuntarily reaching out to punch the owner of the voice. However, you just ended up punching air.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Na Jaemin said, sarcastically.

You internally groaned, you were really hoping to avoid interacting with Mark and his friends. Especially Jaemin. Out of the seven devils, he was inarguably the worst.

“Why were you eavesdropping?”

“Why are you being such a baby and crying for your mommy?” He retorted with a grin which you ached to punch off his face.

“None of your damn business,” you snapped before walking towards your assigned cabin, making it a point to harshly brush your shoulder against his own.

You heard him mumble to himself but you couldn’t be bothered to try and listen. You were just fixated on appearing confident as you walked away.

“Channel your inner Hwasa, channel your inner Hwasa,” your mind repeated until you’d reached your cabin.

You swore you could feel Jaemin’s gaze burning through the back of your head but that could just be the self consciousness that he brough out in you. Na Jaemin was easily the most intimidating boy you knew. Standing within even a centimetre’s radius of him terrified you. You fought the urge to behave like the stupid main character from the horror movies you loved and turn around to look at the monster creeping around behind you. You swallowed, your throat uncomfortably dry and your palms sweaty. Before you could reach out to twist the door knob, your cabin mate stepped out, pushing you off balance. Your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of Lee Jeno, his face mirroring your surprised expression.

Jeno panicked, his arms reaching out to grab you. Thankfully, he managed to pull you back to your feet. Your scalp was less than thankful though, it was burning with pain. Jeno, being the idiot he was, had grabbed a fistful of your hair to keep you from falling. You grimaced, your hands massaging the back of your scalp as you softly hissed in pain. The boy in front of you was still wide-eyed, words spilling from his mouth incoherently. You held up a hand, your face still scrunched in pain, halting Jeno’s unintelligible apology.

To his credit, Jeno looked incredibly apologetic. And slightly scared of what you were going to say; you weren’t a person of few words. Indubitably, you were going to give the poor boy an earful. His friends had teasingly mentioned that he looked like a puppy and he silently prayed that he would look pitiful enough for you to not raise your voice.

Your angry rant never came. Jaemin had strutted up to you with a pleased grin on his incessantly chapped lips, “Getting kinky are we? Gosh, at least do it inside.”

Your glare was quickly diverted to him, much to Jeno’s relief. You were aching to give the both of them a piece of your mind but you couldn’t work up the courage to do it. You hated how weak Jaemin made you feel. Clenching your hands into sweaty fists, your gaze awkwardly darted away from Jaemin to the bright red ‘9’ that had been painted onto the cabin door. You were at the correct cabin but why had Jeno been inside your cabin? Your mind began to race with thoughts. Perhaps him and Jaemin were trying to pull a prank on you. That would explain why Jaemin had been keeping an eye on you a few moments earlier.

Trying your best to muster up the courage to sound harsh, you glanced at Jaemin for a second before speaking, “I’d prefer it if you stayed away from my cabin, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.”

You could have sworn you saw Jaemin’s eyes twinkle. He jokingly stood at attention and saluted you, “The Tweedle twins reporting for cabin mate duty.”

“Fucking pardon?”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: The Adoption

I meant to write the baking-cookies drabble from Danny’s adoption stuff came out instead! Whoops. No warnings for this, beyond it being pretty bittersweet  - takes place in the past, when Danny is five years old. 

I’ll tag the usual people - even though this isn’t really whump. But it’s background for Danny!

@finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @special-spicy-chicken

“He’s small,” The woman says, looking down at him, and Danny tries to straighten his back and make himself as tall as he possibly can. His hair sticks up a lot, which he has to hope helps at least a little. “Why is he so small? The papers I looked at said he’s five years old, has been since July.”

“He was born premature,” The social worker says without looking up from her paperwork. 

She’d brought Danny a cheeseburger Happy Meal and he’d inhaled every single bite and licked all the salt off his fingers afterward, so happy to have enough food to feel full and not have to fight any of the other kids for a single bit of it. He was currently twisting back and forth the little arms of the plastic toy man that had been inside the box, making him fight an invisible bad guy that kept punching him but he couldn’t see it. 

The toy man was from some movie, but it wasn’t out were Miss Karla could buy it yet, so he didn’t really know anything about it. Fighting an invisible bad guy seemed like the right thing to do with him. 

Bam, Danny thought to himself, making a mean snarling face. Punch him, kick his head.

“He was born eight weeks early, according to medical records,” The social worker continues, giving a loose, casual shrug. “He spent three weeks in the NICU before he went to his first placement.” This social worker was a new one, way younger than the last social worker. She didn’t seem to like him very much, but actually Danny thought mostly she looked more tired than angry, so maybe she didn’t mind him like some of the others did. 

The woman sitting at the table leans over, her voice pitched low, probably thinking Danny can’t hear her. Little pitchers have big ears, they said all the time at Kindergarten. He didn’t know exactly what that meant, other than adults said it to shut each other up when he was in the room. “Were there drug issues? We specified that we were not interested in taking on a greater than average amount of obligation-”

“He’s not a dog, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says, looking up with the barest hint of an edge to her voice, and Danny fights back the tiniest little smile. It’s kind of nice, having one who sticks up for him. Usually they don’t. “But I understand what you’re trying to say, or at least what I hope you’re trying to say. Please understand that your guidelines were taken into account by the agency you contracted when they contacted us. Daniel was premature due to pregnancy-related complications with the mother, that’s all.”

“Complications? Does that mean there’s a family history of serious health concerns? Did his mother die?” The woman’s fingers stopped tapping again, and Danny looks back at his toy, but some of the shine has gone out of having a new thing (and Danny doesn’t exactly have a lot of things just for him), because he knows the answer to that question.

She gave me up.

The social worker’s eyes go to him, and Danny ignores her, setting his jaw in an angry, pouting line, and the invisible bad guy punched his toy until he died. Then he lived and got back up, but the dead part was pretty satisfying. 

The social worker looks back at the pretty woman in the nice clothes and jewelry and sighs, a little sadly. “No, she didn’t. She chose to, um, to place him with state care.”

“Do you know why she chose to-”

“She was thirteen years old, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says quietly, so quietly Danny almost misses it. Thirteen isn’t very old, he thinks. One of his foster brothers, Craig, is thirteen, and he’s not even in high school yet. Danny could count to thirteen easily and without even needing help when he was four years old, so he knows it can’t be a very high number. That makes him think. If he’s five years old and his real mother was thirteen years old, then thirteen plus five is… Danny counts on his fingers, trying to remember.

If it’s ten eleven twelve thirteen… then it’s fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen… eighteen.

That would make his real mom eighteen.

Danny sits back, proud of himself for doing the counting all in his head and on his fingers, without having to ask the grown-ups, who were still talking about him like he couldn’t hear them.

Most grown-ups did.

“You can understand,” His social worker was saying, “Why a thirteen-year-old might make such a choice with even the healthiest baby. The home life was... not ideal.”

“I can understand.” The woman’s mouth purses a little, like she has a bite of food in her mouth she doesn’t like. “Poor thing. But you’re sure he’s healthy?”

The social worker shrugs. “He could use more time out in the sun and probably someone who lets him play outside more often, but… he’s healthy enough. He measured between 6th and 13th percentile straight through from birth until now, and his growth is steady. Honestly, ma’am, with a decent enough food intake he’d probably grow faster and catch right up. But...” 

The social worker waves her hand around the house they’re sitting in, a vague gesture that means nothing to Danny - but the woman sitting at the table nods very seriously, and so Danny tries to look serious, too.

The woman raises an eyebrow and looks around the dining room. The large table has enough chairs for twelve people to sit, and Danny is unlucky number thirteen - the youngest - so he was used to sitting at the card table off in the corner, where he sat now, swinging his legs in the folding chair and making the toy man run across the table and dive-bomb towards the floor.

When he makes the little exploding sound, the woman sitting at the table - she has pretty brown skin and black hair, and funny honey-colored eyes - smiles at him, and he smiles right back at her. She has a really, really pretty smile - warm and nice.

His foster mother is nowhere to be seen - Miss Carla didn’t really like talking to his social worker anyway, and she had been furious to hear about the rich lady coming to look at Danny, which… Danny didn’t really get, since getting adopted was a good thing. 

Then again, Miss Carla didn’t exactly like him very much. Danny had a mouth, Miss Carla said all the time, and Danny would just grin at her with all his teeth inside that mouth. 

Then he called her whatever names the older boys had taught him, only he got in trouble because the words were different when the older boys said them, for some reason.

His social worker had told him this lady and her husband had chosen him straight away after seeing his photo, and so he had combed his own red hair this morning nice and careful (no one else ever did) and dressed in his absolute best clothing - his favorite blue T-shirt and his good brown pants, his Sunday pants.

He wasn’t sure if the lady at the table had noticed, but he was sort of hoping so. 

“How are his academics?” The lady at the table asks, glancing over at him again. He smiles brightly at her, trying to get her to smile again - he’s pretty sure she likes him. He’s little, and he’d heard Miss Carla say that little kids get adopted faster. 

His biggest foster brothers probably won’t, he thinks, if that’s true. They’re both big and mean, and they look older than they really are. Parents won’t want them, even if Miss Carla likes them the best because they act like her.

“I’m in kindergarten,” Danny speaks up, holding the little toy man in his hands, nervously twisting at his arms again. His voice is high and clear, and he swings his legs a little harder where he sits. “I have lots of good days on my take-home sheets. More good than bad, Miss Carla says.”

“That’s right, Daniel, you do,” His social worker replies, and she smiles at him, finally - a thin and tired smile - as she flips through the paperwork she brought with her in a big folder with his name on it and his photo paperclipped to the outside. “Daniel’s in his first year at public school,” She says to the lady at the table. “He’s in a class of 25-”

“My God.” The woman at the table puts a hand up to her chest. “We’re looking at an exclusive Montessori for our little boy with an average class size of eight - I showed you his photo, the three-year-old. Obviously Daniel would also attend, I’ve already ensured him a spot should we bring him home, I’m good friends with the director. I just cannot imagine attempting to corral so many five year olds-”

“Most of them are already six, actually - Daniel is the third-youngest in his class. In any case, based on his school reports, he excels at academics and struggles with focus, sitting still, and social interactions. Makes sense for the age and his current… ah, situation.” The social worker looks at him again, and Danny sits himself up just a little straighter, making the toy man wave his little movable arm at her. 

The smile this time is less tired, and more real.

“Does he do well with younger children?” The woman at the table asks. “I mentioned our other son - he’s just turning three. Any aggression would be absolutely unacceptable-”

“He loves younger children actually - his last placement was with a foster home that had very young babies and toddlers other than him, about a year ago for three months, and his foster parents reported that he was very gentle and loving with the younger children. I’ve been told he changed diapers, watched the younger ones, and was very good at comforting younger children at night.”

Well, Danny thinks to himself, nobody else woke up as fast as I did, so...

“Ryan doesn’t wear diapers any longer, so we’re not worried about that, but… why was he moved, if he was so good with them?” 

Danny looked down at the floor, because he knew the answer to this question, too.

Because she was growing a new baby and there wasn’t any room anymore.

“His previous foster mother became pregnant,” The social worker says brusquely, waving one hand in a dismissive way. “All the foster children in that home were moved to new placements at the couples’ request.”

“That must have been hard on the children,” The lady says, and her voice changes a little. It’s softer, but angrier at the same time. “They must have bonded. The young ones bond so quickly-”

The social worker shrugs. “It’s not uncommon. Daniel had some… difficulty adjusting here, but he’s doing well now.”

“Difficulty?” 

“It’s all in the paperwork,” The social worker replies, looking uneasily over at Danny again, who only stares back at her with his best totally-blank ‘I wasn’t listening’ face, even though he absolutely was. “He had conflicts with his new foster brothers, missed the little ones. Struggled with the change in schedules and rules. That happens with every new move, learning a whole new household.”

“So… when he moved, he doesn’t see the other children any longer?”

The social worker blinks, surprised by this line of questioning. “Ah, no. He has no further contact with them, that would be… incredibly difficult to put together, considering he’s not related to any of the other foster children. It really isn’t an uncommon situation, kids in the system tend to adapt really quickly to the loss of foster siblings.”

The lady at the table’s mouth thins, just a little. Danny watches, fascinated, at the way her honey eyes shift, and for a second he sees them flash a really pretty purple. Then the color was gone, before he even blinked.

The social worker isn’t looking up, and didn’t see it, and honestly maybe Danny just made it up. He did that sometimes. 

“If we come to a decision in favor of bringing him home,” The lady at the table says, her voice firm and warm and calm, “It should be with the understanding that it will be permanent. I dislike the idea of such a young child being moved around so often, that cannot be healthy.”

“It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson, but that’s the system we work with.” The social worker sighs. “Daniel, will you come over here for a second? Mrs. Michaelson wants to speak with you.”

Mrs. Michaelson hadn’t said any such thing, but Danny shrugs and nods, hopping off the chair to walk over to her, tilting his head and looking up and up and up at her pretty eyes. No purple at all. 

“Hi,” He says, politely. “You can just say Danny. I don’t really like Daniel.”

The woman - Mrs. Michaelson - nods, slowly, thoughtfully, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “He really is exactly what we had in mind when we began discussing bringing a child home for-... to be a sibling for Ryan,” Mrs. Michaelson says, her voice softer and more gentle now that he stood right there with her. She turns her eyes back to Danny and leans down to get a little closer to him. “I have a little boy named Ryan at my house. Do you think you could be nice to him?”

“Oh, sure,” Danny replies, nodding, because that’s what he’s supposed to say. And he really does like the littler kids - he’s small and littler kids don’t pick on him like all the big kids do. “I always think it’s fun to play big brother. Is your house very big? Would I share with him?”

“Share?” Mrs. Michaelson cocked her head, and it was like Miss Carla’s cockatoo in its cage, and Danny giggled a little. She smiled at the sound. “Oh, like a bedroom? No, darling, you would have your own room, of course you would.” 

“Then I think I could be a good big brother,” Danny says, with a grave and thoughtful voice he thought sounded very grown-up. He was rewarded with another smile. Mrs. Michaelson looks him over one more time, taking in his skinny arms and the freckles scattered across his face and the rest of him darkened by the time he spent just sitting outside in the sun. 

“He really does fit the profile we were hoping for exactly,” Mrs. Michaelson says, but her voice is very quiet and she seems to be talking more to herself than Danny or even the social worker. “They’re looking for Ryan, but that hair, those freckles… that’s what they think they need to look for, isn’t it? They think we’ re meant to be Irish, but oh no, we’ll fool them, won’t we? We always have...” 

“Huh?” Danny cocks his head right back at her, and she laughs, a brilliant, sparkling sound that he loves already.

“I’m sorry, what?” The social worker asks, looking up.

“Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Michaelson says breezily. “Just muttering to myself. I don’t need to speak with Patrick about this, I’ve already decided. We’ll move forward with the adoption immediately.” The social worker smiles, and the two women begin to speak in low tones, throwing words and terms and stuff back and forth Danny hadn’t heard before and doesn’t know. He steps a little closer, and a little closer still.

Danny blinks.

He blinks again. 

“The what?”

The two women turn to look down at him.

“Oh,” The social worker says, surprised. “Daniel. Mrs. Michaelson would like to consider adopting you. Would you like to go stay with her and see how it works out?”

“Go stay? For real?” Danny’s heart starts to beat fast inside of him, like when he stands up in front of music class to sing. He smiles, and he clutches onto the little toy man as tightly as he can. “For really real?”

Mrs. Michaelson laughs again, and he hopes she will laugh like that for him a lot when he goes to her house. “For really real,” She says with a nod, and leans over to tap the end of his nose with one finger.

“I, I, I’ll go get my things! I don’t have a lot of things, but I do have, I have a little dog I carry around his name is, um, his name is Scruff and he has a collar but I can get him and I have some clothes-” Danny starts to turn, only for both women to laugh.

He stops and looks back at them, suddenly embarrassed, his face burning bright red under his freckles, feeling his lower lip stick out all on its own. Miss Carla is always telling him to pout less, but he can’t stop, it’s not his fault, the lip just does that. 

“Oh,” He says, and feels a wave of hurt and mad. “Oh, it was a joke. I thought you meant for really real.”

The social worker is the first to understand, and her expression goes serious and thoughtful. “Daniel, we’re not laughing because it was a joke. It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson really does want to bring you home to meet her little boy.”

“I do,” Mrs. Michaelson says. “As soon as I can. We were only laughing because you were so excited - and it can’t happen right away, it takes a little while. The agency has already put everything in motion, of course,” She says sidelong to the social worker. “It’s just a matter of getting all the right papers to the right people.”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll take you home, Daniel,” Mrs. Michaelson says to him, and bops him on the nose again. He hates when his foster brothers do this - they always flick the end of his nose and make it hurt - but he kind of likes it, from her. 

“Yeah? Not a joke?” Danny’s head goes back up, and he searches both of their faces for signs it’s still just a mean joke, like when Conrad apologizes and then smacks his head again and he didn’t mean the apology at all. “For really really real?”

“Not a joke,” Mrs. Michaelson says, and there’s a sweet little smile on her face as she puts her hand out, littlest finger crooked. “Pinkie swear.”

Danny puts his hand up, too, and he hopes that she understands how much it really means when you say you pinkie swear a thing, because that means you have to do it.

“For really really really really real,” He says, seriously. “You have to mean it or you shouldn’t say it.”

“I mean it,” Mrs. Michaelson says softly. “I really, really mean it. Don’t worry, Danny. I’m going to bring you home to stay with us, and you’ll be just like another son. My little boy Ryan is going to love you. He’s always asking for a brother.”

“Are you going to love me?”

The question startles the two women, who blink down at him in unison.

Then Mrs. Michaelson leans over to tuck a curly bit of bright red hair behind one ear, and smile. “I’m sure I will.”

[loove-persevering]

Trained Weapon PART 2 (Steve Harrington Series)

Description: You were made to be a weapon, forced to kill on command. You were number thirteen, the lab had taken you at the age of eight from your mother and father locking you a way for training, if you didn’t do what you were told you were locked away. This time you were going to be killed you knew it, if you told them no they would kill you so the only thing you could do was run. And turns out you run exactly to the boy in a sailor outfit. (This will follow closely with season 3 of stranger things) 

In case you missed it: Prologue  , Part 1 

PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AND READ MESSAGE AT THE END!

 _______________

 ‘’So she’s like El?’’ Steve asks his tone very low. 

‘‘Nobody is like El,’‘ You hear Mike say louder. 

‘‘Ew get out of here with that shit,’‘ You hear Lucas say. 

‘‘That’s not what I meant shit heads,’’ Steve says his voice attempting to be low again, ‘‘I mean she came from the same lab?’‘ He asks. 

‘‘I mean I don’t remember her, we were never put together,’‘ You hear El say. It was true you were never put together, the only reason you could think of why was because there was strength in numbers. If you put all of these people with theses abilities together it would be dangerous, it would honestly be catastrophic. 

‘‘Then how do we know she’s telling the truth?’‘ You hear Mike ask. He seemed to be very protective of El but she seemed comfortable and happy here and that told you a lot. You knew Brenner and you knew El had a connection with him and sometimes you remember hearing her screams during the day. Basically when Eleven escaped you were brought out and trained harder than you had ever been, before you were kept behind closed doors mostly and when they realized Eleven was gone you were brought out and training was intense. 

 You decide to get up making your way over to them and you peer around the corner, ‘’I can hear you, you know?’’ You tell them. They all turn around looking at you wide eyed, ‘’Sorry,’’ You say awkwardly. ‘’I can prove it to you all, well El at least.’’ You say looking at her. 

‘‘No, no way!’‘ Mike says moving in front of El, ‘‘Not happening,’‘ Mike says.

 ‘’Mike,’’ You hear her say and he looks back at her, ‘’It’s okay!’’ She says looking to you giving you a smile. 

‘‘We don’t know this girl!’‘ Mike calls out, ‘‘She could hurt you, or all of us for that matter!’‘ He says and you felt your chest tighten. You were made to be a weapon but that wasn’t willing, you wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they one tried to hurt you or people you cared about. You turn away from them and walk back over to the couch you were sitting on wanting to just let them talk, if they were going to say stuff about you that wasn’t true you didn’t want to be around for it. 

 ‘’Nice going dip shit,’’ You hear Steve say. 

You waited for a few minutes and then they all make there way over to you, ‘’Okay, you can show me.’’ She says and you can see Mike roll his eyes from behind. ‘’They’ll all stay here and Steve will show us somewhere we can concentrate,’’ She says. You look over to Steve who nods at you encouragingly. He walks you upstairs opening the door to what you assume was his room, he had a big house and it seemed like right now it was only you and the rest of his friends in the house. 

 ‘’You can do the thing here,’’ He says walking toward the door. 

‘’Could you stay?’’ You ask him, you didn’t understand why but you felt safer with him around. He looks at you a little shocked and then to El who just shakes her head yes. He looks back to you and then he moves his body in shutting the door behind him. El sets up the radio while you sit down on the floor then she joins you and you both sit across from each other crossing your legs. Steve hands you both some sort of cloth to cover your eyes and you take it behind your head tying it around your eyes and then sit your hands back on your legs gently, now you just had to channel the memory you wanted her to see. 

  You see the scene before you, a black space filled the world around you. You look over and notice El who was looking around. Finally you heard the screams that seemed to echo around you, ‘’Momma!’’ You yell laughing. You look over and see your mother holding you upside down a smile on her face as you both laughed. ‘’Put me down!’’ You yell laughing the kind of terrified laugh children give off but really they’re having a great time. 

 You had gone back to his memory so many times just to see their faces, it was the last good moment you had with them before it all went to chaos. You watch your father come into view and he walks over kissing your mom on the cheek, then he looks down at you, ‘’Is that a monkey?’’ He asks making you laugh. You hear a knock at the door and that makes you glance over seeing the familiar green door, your dad had painted it your favorite color. He walks over still smiling opening it and you see four men standing in suits, you notice your mom had began to put you down on the floor her face stone cold. You watch in horror as one of the men reaches out to your father and he seems to be struck with something and falls to the ground, your mom screams. You look up and she grabs you from under your arms cradling you in hers and she begins to run, your chin hits her shoulder and you yelp in pain. 

‘‘Ow mamma,’‘ You call out. She doesn’t say anything she just keeps running making her way through the house, you notice the men have now entered the house but they weren’t chasing after you. Your mom runs to the back door but soon that is occupied by another man in a suit, he looked terrifying. 

You glance over to El who was watching intensely, ‘’No!’’ Your mom screams, the man walks toward her tauntingly and then you turn your head seeing another man come up from behind stabbing your mother in the neck with a needle, your caught by the scary man who had just appeared. He begins to walk away and you watch your moms body fall limp onto the ground. 

‘’Mom?’’ You call out, ‘’Mamma!’’ You scream noticing she wasn’t moving. The man held you secure against his body and you try and wiggle and least loosen his grip. He just hold your tighter as you make your way through the house, you notice your father laying on the floor, ‘’Dad!’’ You call out to him, ‘’Dad help me!’’ You call out, he doesn’t move. ‘’Please!’’ You cry out. 

 You feel the cold air hit you as the man hold your outside and you look around noticing Brenner standing there, ‘’It’s okay,’’ He tries to sooth you. ‘’No need to worry little one,’’ He says, and you lean your body away from him still prying to get out of the mans tight grip. ‘’She’s perfect,’’ He says looking back at the other men, ‘’Good tip,’’ He says to one of the men who you identify as Davis, looking at him now so weak and obedient made you mad. 

You look over to El who was now looking back at you a sympathetic look on her face, you turn around when you hear a familiar cry, your own. You re live the action you had committed just a short two days ago, when you had killed the man. You didn’t want El to see this she would think you were a monster, a killer. You look at her panicked and she continues to watch her face having an unreadable expression. You hear your screams and the mans combining and you reach up covering your ears not being able to bear hearing it again for a second time. You tighten your hands pushing against your ears as hard as you can, you scream now for real not what you were showing El but in this moment you were screaming wanting it to stop. 

 You rip off the cloth from your eyes and you look around seeing Steve by your side his hand touching your back which seemed to calm you down because when you looked into his eyes you knew you were safe. You knew that you weren’t in the lab, you were here in this moment away from the bad people. El slowly removes her cloth from her eyes and she had tears streaming down her face as she looked at you. You could only imagine her time at the lab was similar, she moves up onto her knees and leans in giving you a hug. ‘’You’re not that,’’ She whispers into your ear, you squeeze your eyes shut tightly as the tears stream down your face. ‘’You’re not what they made you to be, neither of us are.’’ She says. 

______

A few hours later all the kids had left and you were alone with Steve, you watched him as he made a bed on the floor of his room piling blankets and pillows and you stood in the corner taking in his room. He had a few pictures on the wall and and you could see out the window he had a pool? He coughs gaining your attention, ‘’Uh, you can have the bed,’’ He says gesturing at it, ‘’I’ll take the floor,’’ He says. You nod your head and walk over sitting down on the bed and he seemed to be watching you carefully. 

‘‘I’m not going to kill you in your sleep if that’s what you’re thinking,’‘ You say to him sarcastically. 

 He lets out a nervous laugh, ‘’I wasn’t thinking that!’’ He says in defense. ‘’I just- you’re just-’’ He mumbles not being able to find any words. ‘’You’re just this big mystery and I hardly know you and you’re sleeping in my bed?’’ He says laughing again. 

‘‘Do you want me to leave?’‘ You ask him seriously, he nods his head no.

 He moves down to the floor putting the blanket over his body and you get up sliding yourself under the covers as well. ‘’Y/N?’’ He asks you. 

‘‘Yes?’‘ 

‘‘Why’d you ask me to stay today?’‘ He asks you. 

‘‘You make me feel safe,’‘ You tell him. ‘‘I don’t know why, I barely even know you. But you make me feel safe.’‘ You admit to him. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and then after a while he finally speaks, ‘’Goodnight Y/N.’’ He says. 

 ‘’Goodnight Steve,’’ You say closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

____

Preview of next Chapter: Steve brings Y/N to work with him and she gets to meet Robin, then El and Max kidnap her giving her a much better look then Steve’s baggy clothes. Plus a surprise for everyone Y/N knows how to speak Russian! 

PART 3

 HEYYY guys! Thank you so much for all the support on this I am freaking loving writing the series. Tell me what you guys want to see for Steve x reader! Do you find it boring keeping it at such a slow pace or does it feel more real? I don’t want to rush the relationship too much because I find that unrealistic, leave me anons or comments below!

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[demi-drawing]

in case you don’t live forever - ni no kuni

word count - 4846

tumblr sucks and won’t let me put a link so if you want to read this fic on ao3 my ni no kuni ao3 acc is @sweetpeasprite!!! it’s on there

so remember that older oliver design i made? haha yeah! so anyways what if that didn’t happen

DEATH WARNING there’s death in this fic. major characters die. it’s nothing gory and they all live long happy lives and die of old age but they still die so Be Warned

Oliver is thirteen.

When he arrives back in Motorville, the first thing he does is take a shower, and then he goes down to Miss Leila’s shop and talks to Myrtle about nothing in particular, until Miss Leila shoos him out not unkindly for “distracting her best employee”. On the way out, she says something odd.

“You seem different to usual, Oliver, dear.”

Oliver blinks. “Different how, Miss Leila?”

She stands in the doorway of the milk bar and shakes her head fondly. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. More mature, I suppose.”

He laughs it off with a smile and a wave as he goes to see how much progress Phil has made on his car since he last saw him (was it when the Clarion was made? It feels like months ago), but it sticks in his head for the rest of the day.

---

Oliver is fifteen.

He hasn’t grown any taller. Phil and Myrtle were already taller than him to begin with, but now they tower over him; he supposes he must have a growth spurt someday soon. In the back of his mind, he worries over it, mind wandering along to the other world and its magic, but there’s no time for that when Denny’s made it into the track team, and Phil’s made a new car, and Myrtle’s taken up playing the flute (by Oliver’s recommendation).

He doesn’t think about it for a few months until all four of them are over at Phil’s garage, watching him work and chattering amongst themselves, occasionally handing him a tool when he asks for it. Somehow, the conversation takes a turn to two years ago.

“Man, do you remember when I hurt my ankle and just completely stopped running for a while?” Denny asks, leaning against a pile of old tires. Oliver looks up at him, then turns his gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice. “That was weird. Honestly, I barely remember what even happened during that.”

“That was a few months before I got weird too, huh?” Phil says, his voice echoing from under the car. “Like, when I stopped working on any of my cars or… anything, really."

Myrtle frowns slightly. “Now that I think about it, Denny’s injury was only a few months after my sickness.” She leans back in the old garden chair Oliver had found buried under a tarp. “It is odd all of that happened in the same year.”

Oliver stays quiet, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to where Phil is halfway under his car, hoping to stay non-suspicious. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, as Phil rolls out from the motor and raises an eyebrow at him, streaks of motor oil on his cheeks. “Wasn’t that the year you disappeared for months at a time, Ollie?”

When Oliver doesn’t reply, only glancing away which in retrospect he thinks only makes him look suspicious, Denny hums in thought. “He came back to fix my ankle. And… whatever was stopping me from running, I guess.”

“Same with me,” Phil says, still staring at him, “but with my motivation, or whatever.”

“He cured my illness.” Myrtle pauses, scrunching her eyebrows together. “...And I think my parents’ marriage somehow?”

All three of them stop, glance at each other, and then stare at Oliver. He ducks his head and does a half-hearted shrug. Phil snorts.

“Take it from the guy who’s known him his whole life,” he says, ducking back under his car and making his voice start echoing again. “That’s just how Ollie is. He’s just such a nice person everyone naturally follows in his wake of good-hearted destruction.”

Denny laughs. “I can’t deny that. I swear I’ve seen flowers actually bloom in his presence. He’s, like, magic or something.”

“There’s also the fact he still looks eleven,” Myrtle says. “All us three are teens and Oliver’s still the age I met him.”

“I was thirteen when I met you!” Oliver says indignantly, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began.

“You looked eleven then, and you look eleven now,” Denny teases lightly. “But seriously, are you gonna get any taller or are you gonna be four foot something forever?”

Oliver splutters in offense as the rest of his so-called friends laugh.

---

Oliver is eighteen.

...He thinks. He still looks thirteen. Maybe he’s not been counting right.

Denny has left Motorville to try out for the state championships, and Phil’s now employed at Rusty’s garage; Oliver is proud of both of them. Though, with Myrtle still working for Miss Leila (she's getting paid for it now), Oliver’s the only one without a job. It’s kinda difficult to get one when you look thirteen. And he definitely only looks thirteen - he’s not actually still thirteen. That would be ridiculous, and impossible, and… magical, which is entirely possible. He steers his mind away from the topic whenever it happens to pop up.

With all the time he has now, what with everyone at their jobs, he visits the other world a lot more. Swaine’s co-running Hamelin with Marcassin, and Esther’s continuing to care for familiars. Swaine doesn’t look much different - other than occasionally he shaves now, which is a big shock - but Esther’s growing up at the same pace as Myrtle, which he supposes shouldn’t come as a surprise.

He wakes in a dream one night, and finds his mom standing in a field of flowers for the first time in five years.

“Oliver, sweetie,” she murmurs, and if Oliver is seeing and hearing her right, she seems on the verge of tears. He blinks. That's not right. It's usually the other way around. “I’m so sorry.”

“What…?” he whispers, and for once she comes up to him to sweep him in a hug, kneeling down to match his (unfortunate) height.

“We didn’t know,” she says, and her hug is exactly like how he remembers it. He presses his lips together as she murmurs, “Honey, we didn’t know. We’re both so sorry," into his ear.

Oliver swallows and wraps his arms around her middle. The dream doesn’t end as he remembers the rest of them doing - instead of her drifting away, into white space, his mom simply holds on tight, and the ending is so abrupt he wakes up startled, tears in his eyes.

There was definitely one thing about this dream that was the same as the others.

Great Sages can be so cryptic.

---

Oliver might be nineteen.

That’s what the calendar says. But he gets confused looks from his childhood best friends, and mistaken for another kid by actual thirteen year olds, who give him odd looks when he tells them (and himself) that he's not. At this point, he thinks Myrtle is convinced he’s magical. Which, he doesn’t particularly blame her for - after all, it’s the truth.

He visits Teeheeti one day, on a hunt for a certain lantern-nosed fairy. Of course, he’s so easily recognisable now that when he walks into the Fairyground, all the fairies with nothing better to do start calling for the Lord High Lord of the Fairies.

“Ollie-boy!” Drippy shouts, almost from the other side of the town. Oliver smiles and waves at him, and he comes racing over, lantern jingling furiously. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a bit! What’s going on, mun?”

“Not much!” Oliver says, smiling. “Just wanted to visit you, I guess.”

“There’s a change. Haven’t seen you in months, mun!" Drippy rolls his eyes, and Oliver winces apologetically. "Been lonely, I have. There’s been a new restaurant opened up here and everything! Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

Drippy leads him through the town, past the Cat’s Cradle and the giant octopus building that Oliver never really got the chance to learn the name of. As it turns out, the new restaurant is right near the Cavity Club. The seats are, of course, far too tiny for Oliver to sit on, so he just sits on the grass instead. They order and begin to wait.

“So, Ollie-boy,” Drippy starts, sipping a glass of water. “Wanna tell youer old friend what’s really bothering you?”

Oliver starts. “Wh- Mr. Drippy, there’s nothing bothering me! I-”

“Save youer breath, you’re a terrible liar.” Oliver stops talking, taking a drink from his own water quietly. He glances at Drippy, only to jump when he realises he’s leaning into his personal space and squinting at him in an almost threatening manner, if only he wasn’t so small.

“Okay, so maybe there’s something bothering me,” he mutters into his fairy-sized glass, built for fairy-sized hands.

Drippy continues to stare at him for a few moments before he says, “Well? Spit it out, mun, I don’t have all day.”

Oliver takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “Mr. Drippy, can people without soulmates age?” he says heavily, looking down at the water in his glass and swirling it around as he waits for a response.

They’re both silent for a moment. Drippy looks Oliver up and down, and Oliver glances up to find his expression somber. “...At this point, there’s not much hope, is there?” he says softly, as though what he just said didn’t break Oliver’s heart, in the non-magical way.

Oliver blinks back tears, swallowing hard. Drippy pats his arm lightly, and they sit in silence for a minute before their food arrives, and Drippy starts attempting small talk. Oliver does his best to respond, trying to smile, but the mood has been brought down.

Oliver thanks Drippy, though he’s not sure what for, and the fairy watches as he casts Gateway home. There, he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a while. At some point, tears start to fall. At some point, he starts to sob.

Oliver is thirteen.

---

Oliver is thirteen.

He’s accepted it now. It hasn’t sunk in quite yet, but he’s at least accepted it. That doesn’t mean everything else stops growing. At some point, all his friends turn twenty-five. He’s too busy accepting he will genuinely be four foot something for the rest of his life, if his life ever ends, which it doesn’t seem to be doing any time soon.

Marcassin, now in his early thirties, mentions Cassiopeia during one of Oliver’s trips to Hamelin. She’s apparently doing very well - only blowing up a toaster a month. She had made a public apology, back when Oliver was thirteen and meant to be thirteen, and twelve years later, most have forgiven her. Of course, some haven’t, which is reasonable, considering everything she did. Oliver hasn't seen her since before his whole immortality revelation, too busy with, uh… his immortality revelation. Which seems strange, but he already gets enough pitying looks from his friends - he didn't want to get more.

So, he casts Travel in the direction of the Ivory Tower in search of a certain green-haired queen.

As it so happens, he lands right in the main flight bay of the castle, where he first flew Tengri in to fight the White Witch all those years ago. Cassiopeia clearly hadn't been lying when she said her first step would be flowers - there are flowerpots and planters and vases filled with them on every pedestal Oliver remembers being empty before, and all the deactivated robots have their nooks and crannies filled with pastel pink and blue petals. He brushes his hand along a few of the taller plants. They look incredibly healthy, considering how many there are - he wonders if Cassiopeia has enchanted them, or maybe has someone else take care of them. It's most likely the former - he's not sure having this many of them here would be worth it otherwise.

He wanders through the halls, no longer filled with wild beasts, until he hears a familiar tune hummed by a familiar voice. He makes a right and heads straight for it, trying to remember where the path he's walking leads but ultimately failing. As he gets closer to the voice, he recognises the melody. It’s the Clarion’s song, the one Esther played to clear the Miasma Marshes of the cursed fog. Oliver smiles nostalgically. He hasn’t heard it in twelve years, after all.

He manages to find a circular room with a beautiful segmented glass domed roof, letting him see the bright blue sky. The room seems to have either been built specifically to be a garden, or been entirely repurposed to be one. The floor is made of red brick, and there are flower beds blooming with so many plants they overhang heavily onto the small paths leading through the growth. Oliver can only name a few of these flowers - he can see roses, violets, and a few... carnations? - but he’s stunned by their beauty nonetheless.

In the middle of the garden, barely distinguishable through the flowers, stands Queen Cassiopeia, former Nazcaan royalty. Her white headpiece is barely visible over the giant sunflowers she appears to be watering, and she seems to be so caught up in it that she doesn't notice Oliver come in. He winds his way through the path until he's standing near her, coughs quietly, and her head snaps to attention. She stares at him for a few seconds before smiling.

"Oliver!" she exclaims, putting down her watering can. "You haven't visited in a while! Would you care for some tea? I know you prefer coffee, but I believe Marcassin took my coffeemaker away from me after… some incident or another, I'm sure."

Oliver smiles. "I would love some, Queen Cassiopeia."

She exits the garden, gesturing for him to follow. "How many times must I tell you, please just call me Cassiopeia. Or even Pea! It was my name at one point, you know."

Oliver giggles as he's led down marble hallways and past yet more flowers before they arrive in the kitchen. Cassiopeia immediately fills the kettle and puts it on the stove, while Oliver sits at the table in the middle of the room. She makes small talk as the kettle boils, asking Oliver about his day and whether anything interesting has happened recently, to which he answers to the best of his ability. The kettle whistles, and Cassiopeia pours water into two teacups and places teabags in both, setting one down in front of Oliver and sitting across from him with her own.

"Now, as much as I adore your visits," Cassiopeia says, which makes Oliver smile, "is there any reason you've come to me today? And with so little warning, as well."

Oliver swirls his tea around his cup. "Well, Queen Cassiopeia," he winces apologetically as she gives him a dry look when he says her title, "I haven't, uh… haven't been aging these past few years? And I, uh, thought you might… know something about that, in some way."

She stares at him, and he ducks his head to avoid her gaze. "You haven't been aging?" she says, tapping one of her fingers on the table. "How did that come about, I wonder? I, myself, am immortal only due to my use of the forbidden spell…" Her eyebrows scrunch together as she traces the wooden pattern in the table.

Oliver bites his lip, then hums in an attempt to break the quiet. "Has anyone ever told you my soulmate was Shadar?"

Cassiopeia chokes on air, glancing up with wide eyes. "Shadar? The Dark Djinn?"

"That's the one..." Oliver murmurs, looking away. It's not that he's… embarrassed his soulmate was Lucien, just… the reaction.

"But- you-" She struggles to get the words out, making Oliver wince. "You're… you! And Shadar was… so bitter. I don't remember much from my White Witch days, but he was such a big part, I don't know if I could forget…" Cassiopeia taste-tests her tea, wincing as she burns her tongue, before her eyes go wide as she seems to realise something. "Did you not defeat the Dark Djinn? Is he not… dead? I vaguely remember him dying…"

"He is!" Oliver says, quickly. "But he… severed the link between our souls. When he died, I mean. He turned out to be okay! He just, uh... wanted to protect the world. His… his actual name was Lucien." He taps his fingers on the table anxiously. "With the link gone, I haven't… aged at all."

"Wait… yes, you two being soulmates is coming back to me now." She leans back in her chair, putting one hand to her forehead and exhaling. "I apologise. My memories from my time as the White Witch are… faint." She huffs, shaking her head slightly. "So, you think because you don't have a soulmate to age alongside, you can't age at all?"

"That's… pretty much it, yeah." Oliver sighs, trying to take a sip from his teacup and wincing as he burns his tongue, trying to blow the steam out of his teacup.

They sit in an almost, but not quite, awkward silence for a few moments or so, carefully sipping at their drinks, trying not to burn themselves. "So… how old are you?" Cassiopeia pipes up, startling Oliver.

"Physically? Thirteen. But, if I were aging, I'd be… twenty-five or so now?"

She laughs to herself quietly. "I hardly know the difference between those numbers. In my many… many years sitting in this castle, I appear to have forgotten how humans age."

"Oh, well…" Oliver thinks to himself, trying to find a good comparison. "Have you seen Esther recently?"

Cassiopeia nods. "A year or so ago, I believe."

"I'd be the same age as her."

She blinks, shocked, as she presumably thinks back to her last encounter with Esther. “Wow. You really did stop aging." She smiles slightly, a quietly fond look in her eye. "You're awfully young to be immortal, you know."

He hides his nose in his cup. "Don't rub it in," he grumbles, more to himself than to Cassiopeia. She laughs, and he finds himself smiling along with her, until he's giggling into his cup.

Cassiopeia leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, as Oliver takes a sip from his tea to calm his laughter. "What are you going to do now?" she asks, and she seems genuinely curious.

Oliver blinks. "Hm?"

"Well, you just found out you're immortal - or, at least, can't age." She smiles at him, sitting back again. He doesn't tell her he didn't just figure it out, but then again, maybe twelve years isn't all that much to Cassiopeia, considering. "What are you going to do for the rest of your never-ending life?" she asks.

He thinks for a few moments. What is he going to do? He's literally going to be thirteen forever; there's not much he can do about that, and he's already bored of it after twelve years. He supposes he could go back to Motorville, but people are already suspicious there, and for good reason. No one stays the same age, after all - unless you're Oliver, that is. He did enough travelling for a lifetime when he went on his quest to defeat Shadar, and though he didn't know it for the bulk of the time, the White Witch as well.

He hums into his cup. "I don't really know," he admits, biting his lip as the sentence settles in his mind.

Cassiopeia looks uncharacteristically nervous as she stares down her teacup, before she quietly says, "You could… stay with me."

Oliver looks up, blinking a few times, staring at her as he processes her words. “Stay… here? At the Ivory Tower?”

She nods slowly, as though warming up to the idea. “It gets awfully lonely around here, you know. Though, perhaps I should think of a new name…" She stares to her left at nothing in particular, lips pursed in thought. ""Ivory Tower" sounds a bit sinister, don't you think?"

"I think it's fine," Oliver replies, staring down at his now almost empty cup. Ivory Tower sounds okay to him, but they're getting off track. "But, um, back to the, uh, "staying with you", thing…"

"Ah! Yes." Cassiopeia brings her attention back to Oliver, smiling. "Do you think it's a good idea? I have a spare room you could stay in. Many spare rooms, in fact. This palace is enormous."

"Trust me, I figured that out trying to find the throne room the first time," Oliver laughs into his cup, draining it of the last drops of tea. He sets it down with a small clink.

They sit in silence for a bit as Cassiopeia finishes her drink as well. Oliver traces the lines in the wooden table with his finger as he thinks over her proposition. The more he thinks about it, the more he warms up to the idea. After all, he has nowhere else to go. All his friends in Motorville have drifted apart from him; it's kind of hard to stay friends with a forever-thirteen year old when you're in your mid twenties, not to mention he hardly spends time there anymore. 

And all his friends here… and in Motorville, for that matter… he'll outlive all of them. He'll be thirteen when they're old and grey. When they're gone… where will he go, if he doesn't stay here? He'll be wandering alone forever. Like… Cassiopeia was, but less restricted by a kingdom. That… scares him a little. What would happen if he were to be alone? What would happen if he were alone as long as Cassiopeia was? Would he become something like the White Witch? Or maybe... Shadar? His mind whispers that Shadar was his soulmate, and Oliver frantically chases the thought away, refusing to think about it, in the same way he's been refusing to think about it for the past twelve years.

"Oliver?" Cassiopeia murmurs, and he looks up, startled. "Are you okay?"

He presses his lips together, electing to ignore the question in favour of answering hers. "I… guess I could stay here…" Oliver murmurs, and Cassiopeia visibly perks up. "Th- that is, if it's not too much trouble!" he adds on quickly, not particularly wanting to be a burden.

She blinks slowly. "Oliver, child," she starts, and Oliver wrinkles his nose, seeing as he's technically not a child, "I have been alone for so long, just having someone here who isn't that godforsaken Council is a blessing."

Oliver blinks, staring at her for a moment, before lighting up with a smile as he exclaims, "Thank you, Queen Cassiopeia!"

Cassiopeia sighs, though it's through a grin of her own. "What will it take for you to stop calling me that? Perhaps I shall start calling you Saviour Oliver."

"...Please don't."

"Very well, Saviour Oliver."

---

Swaine dies first.

It maybe shouldn't be a shock to Oliver, who's been living with Cassiopeia for the past fifty years and visiting his friends every week, watching their grey hairs slowly grow in as his stays the same red as always. But somehow, it is a shock, and it's another reminder of how he's still thirteen while his friends are literally dying around him. He attends the funerals: the public one and the private one. Both have a traditional Hamelin send off - that is, cremation. The actual body gets set on fire during the private ceremony.

In both ceremonies, Marcassin makes a speech. In both ceremonies, he cries. As does Esther, and Drippy. Oliver attends with Cassiopeia, and quietly sobs into a handkerchief adorned with Nazcaan symbols, as Cassiopeia lets him lean on her shoulder.

Marcassin is next. His son ascends the throne, thankfully much older than his father was when he did the same. He gets a similar set of ceremonies; being the emperor and all, though, they're bigger than Swaine's funerals were (Oliver's not sure Marcassin would have liked that), and the three kingdoms are swung into sadness for a week before things get back on track. Everything goes back to normal so quickly after even the emperor's death, Oliver thinks, watching the main street of Hamelin bustle from a palace balcony as he cries silent tears for his friend.

The next funeral is thankfully a good few years later - Esther's. Gogo dies with her, what with him being born out of Form Familiar. Her ceremony is much quieter, yet Al Mamoon keeps their heads bowed for her, the daughter of a Great Sage and one of the best familiar keepers around. Oliver realises Esther dying means Myrtle must be dead as well, and quietly mourns two friends instead of one. He swallows as he realises it also means his childhood friends from Motorville must either be already dead or close to it. During Esther's ceremony, Drippy clings to Oliver's shoulder as they both realise they're the only two of the original team left.

Drippy lives for much longer, thankfully - he looks the same as he did seventy years ago, bar maybe a few extra wrinkles surrounding his eyes. Oliver asks him about this, and at first he responds with offense, but then explains that fairies have a much longer lifespan than humans do. He lives for another fifty years before finally kicking the bucket. Oliver is the only human allowed at what would otherwise be a fairy-only ceremony. He watches Drippy's body vanish into a puff of golden magic, and tries not to burst out wailing, because he can hear Drippy calling him a Cry-Baby Bunting at even the first sign of tears. Only a few of the other fairies cry. Many of them who weren't alive a hundred and twenty years ago (has it really been that long? Oliver's heart squeezes as he realises it might have been) give Oliver almost offended looks during the ceremony, not knowing who he is, but the fairies that know him tell him to pay them no mind.

When he returns to the Ivory Tower after Drippy's funeral, he sits in the garden for a while, surrounded by plants and flowers, tugging on his black mourning cape (which Oliver wishes he didn't know was a thing) and gazing up at the steadily darkening sky through the glass. For some reason, it didn't hit him til now that everyone he once knew from when he was actually thirteen, on a dumb quest to save the world that really never should have worked but did, is gone. Everyone, from every town. Drippy was the last part of that time he had. The first tear falls, then the next, and he feels himself breaking down as he starts sobbing, sitting on the red brick below him and letting himself cry for a time that's long since passed. Somewhere between tears comes the realisation that he won't be able to see his mom in the afterlife, if there is one (and considering he's died before, he thinks there is) and he thought he was over her death, there are more recent deaths to be sad about, but all his grief hits him at once, and he wails and howls into his hands like the thirteen year old that he isn't.

Cassiopeia finds him curled up in a ball on the floor next to a bench, tear tracks still wet on his cheeks. The first thing she does is question why he's on the floor when there's a perfectly good bench right next to him, which makes him smile, even though it's fake. Then she scoops him up and carries him through to the living room, where he eventually falls asleep on her shoulder as she reads through a peace treaty from ten thousand years ago that she found in the back of the palace library and highlights the spelling mistakes.

The next day, Oliver returns to the garden and, following in Cassiopeia's footsteps, picks five flowers to fill with his memories. It doesn't mean he loses those memories himself, it just means if he ever forgets his adventures, he can always have a little reminder.

One is blue, like Drippy's fairy suit. One is pink, which was Esther's favourite colour. Another green, as Swaine's coat. The fourth purple, like Marcassin's cape. The last flower's petals are pure white, with a black center. Oliver stores in this flower his memories with his mother, and with Lucien, and how he saved Cassiopeia; it's the centrepiece of the bouquet. He keeps the five flowers in a vase in his room, enchanting them to never die.

---

Oliver is thirteen.

Sitting on a kitchen counter and watching-slash-guiding Cassiopeia on how to use an electric kettle (he's not entirely sure, himself - they've only been invented recently), he smiles.

"Why in the world are you smiling?" Cassiopeia says, trying to figure out where the on button is. "This damned machine still won't turn on!"

"I don't think there's any need to cuss out the kettle, Cassiopeia," Oliver says. "We have all the time in the world, after all." She glares at him, and he giggles.

"Read the instructions to me one more time, I think I got it."

It still hasn't quite sunk in that he'll be thirteen forever, but it will eventually.

He does have eternity, after all.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.4

Summary: The holiday season comes for the guys as they continue to adapt to their lives together. Steve discovers a (not so little) problem. Master list is HERE.

Warnings/ Content: There are some slight body image issues mentioned but I don’t feel it’s disordered or too upsetting. Still, you know yourself best and if any body image discussions upset you, you can easily skip down to after the first set of xxXxx ‘s. 

Word Count: 1.4k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this chapter has two of my absolute favorite head cannons for tiny!Steve and post Winter Solider Bucky. I’ll just let ya’ll wonder what they are... Anyhoo, enjoy more of our boys settling in to their lives together! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Four

“Buck…” Steve called from the bedroom, “I think we have a problem.” 

Bucky dropped the mug he was washing in the sink and raced to the bedroom afraid of what health issue Steve could be having. He had just taken his blood pressure meds after breakfast and he wasn’t due to use his inhaler again until the afternoon. He tried to remember if Steve had taken his arthritis medication yet. “What’s wrong?” He asked frantically from the doorway. 

“Oh, no.” Steve said quickly realizing he’d scared Bucky, “No, I’m fine. Shit, sorry. I was being dramatic. I… um… I just can’t get my pants to button.” Steve blushed hard at the admission. 

“Jesus God.” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. “You scared me to death. I thought something was really wrong”

“Well, if I can’t get my pants on right we can’t go to Sam’s for dinner so that is technically a problem.” Steve shrugged and motioned at the waist of his khakis where the two tabs of fabric were nowhere close to joining. 

Bucky laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “It’s a damn medical marvel is what it is. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you outgrow a pair of pants since you were eleven.” 

“Ha, ha.” Steve’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, “You’re the one that let me get fat.” 

“What?!” Bucky sputtered in protest, “This is not on me, Rogers. This is just what happens when you finally have access to good medical care and decent food.” 

“Says the one who’s always going on about ‘let’s try the new Indian place that opened’ and ‘oh my god you have to get one of these cheeseburgers, Steve’. You still go running and spar with Sam while I’m just here sitting on my ass. Maybe I need to start running again. But not around Sam, I don’t think I could handle his gloating.” 

Bucky cracked up but quickly stopped at the glowering look Steve gave him. “I’m sorry.” He said, barely containing himself, “But which do you think will flare up first when you start running: your asthma, your arthritis, or your arrhythmia?” And with that Bucky dissolved back into laughter as Steve ran over and tried to tackle him. Bucky scooped up Steve easily and tossed him onto the mountain of blankets on their bed. 

Small or not, Steve still remembered his training and he locked a knee around Bucky’s, destabilizing him enough to bring him down next to Steve where he was able to swing a leg over Bucky’s hips and sit on top of him. Having no qualms with playing dirty, Steve started tickling Bucky mercilessly, knowing every single spot on Bucky’s body to have him screaming and laughing beneath him. 

Bucky let Steve get a few good tickles in before he flipped them easily using his weight to his advantage. He pinned Steve’s wrists above his head using his metal hand and felt an unmistakable hardness growing against his thigh. Ignoring it for the time being, Bucky used his other hand to pull up the hem of Steve’s blue polo, exposing his soft tummy. “Let’s see this fat.” He teased pressing kisses across Steve’s mostly flat stomach. “Jeez, Rogers, I think you might actually be over a hundred pounds now without even needing rocks in your pockets.” 

“Oh shut up, ya jerk.” Steve grumbled, leaning his face to the side, slightly embarrassed as Bucky continued to kiss and nip at his softer middle.

“This is not fat, this is healthy. This is you not looking like you’re on death’s door every time you get a cold. And it’s kinda nice having something soft to hold on to.” 

“You’ll have a whole ball of fluff to hold if I keep up like this.” 

“And I’ll love my little Stevie fluff ball all the same.” Bucky teased as he slid up Steve’s body to silence him with a kiss. “Seriously though,” he said pulling back, “You look healthy for once. But it’s your body and if it bothers you we can talk to Helen at your next appointment. Maybe start cooking more and ordering take out less.” 

Steve looked down at himself thoughtfully. He knew he was being dramatic but it had been a little unsettling when he realized his pants no longer fit. He’d bought them a little under two months ago and they’d been perfect at the time. His stomach which had been concaved was flat and soft with just the smallest pooch at his waistband where the fabric of his boxer briefs pinched slightly. Steve mused it was better than the winter of 1937 when the doctor had told them he was so underweight that his body had started eating itself to keep him alive after months of battling influenza. He was so thin that year that Bucky had spent his whole savings account to turn on the heat and keep Steve’s fingertips from turning blue. “It’s not so bad.” Steve said finally, “But we’re going to start cooking more often. I don’t have a super soldier metabolism to fall back on anymore.” 

“Whatever you want to do. Now, let’s get you into some sweatpants and we can stop on the way to Sam’s and replace your khakis.” 

Thanksgiving dinner at Sam’s house was a sight to behold. Steve had met some of Sam’s siblings and his parents before but seeing the entire Wilson family gathered in Sam’s small townhouse in DC was a little overwhelming. There were a dozen kids running round in ages ranging from teenagers to toddlers and it felt like someone was hugging Steve at all times. Sam’s mother doted on him endlessly making sure he was comfortable and had something to eat. Sam’s aunties took turns pumping him for information on how he and Bucky were doing and regaling him with stories from Sam’s childhood, happy to provide a lifetime supply of blackmail material. It was easy to get lost in the sea of people and Steve loved every minute of it. Growing up holidays had been just him and his ma or he joined Bucky’s family if she was working. Watching Sam’s seemingly enormous family celebrate together made Steve thankful he was a part of it. 

xxXxx

The winter wore on and Steve and Bucky chose to celebrate Christmas quietly together despite invitations from Sam, Pepper, Bruce, and one of Bucky’s friends from the VA hospital. They spent the day in soft, flannel pajamas and exchanged gifts sitting next to the fake tree Bucky had bought last minute when they discovered Steve was allergic to pine trees. The hives had cleared up by Christmas Day but Bucky still felt terribly guilty. Steve loved the art supplies and the annual memberships to the MET and a few other museums around the city Bucky had given him, as well as the other small gifts he’d managed to stuff into Steve’s stocking. Bucky wiggled happily in place when he unwrapped the books on space Steve gave him and hugged the obnoxious fluffy rainbow print robe tightly as soon as he pulled it free from its sparkly silver bag. It was so garish that he couldn't help but love it. 

A few weeks after thawing out from Cryo in Wakanda, Bucky had developed a fondness for wearing soft, fuzzy clothing around the house; the more outrageous the better. Anything that helped to remind him he was allowed to feel safe and warm and wasn’t a weapon anymore, he’d said, and it broke Steve’s heart a little to hear it. Steve ensured from that point on that no holiday was complete without adding something new to Bucky’s collection. 

As the day wore on they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Charlie Brown Christmas”; drinking eggnog and eating snickerdoodles, both from recipes Sam’s mom had given them. It was a quiet, perfect Christmas. Exactly what they both needed after too many years of fighting and struggling. 

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s chest as they curled up under their mountain of blankets late that night. He was warm, sleepy, and more than a little buzzed from the eggnog. It was the best Christmas he could remember having since his ma died and he fell asleep feeling truly thankful for the series of events that lead to him having a new lease on life.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[bechloeislegit]

PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019

DAY 4 -MILK CARTON KIDS (#HW194)

Beca opened the door to her father's house and went in.

"Dad?" Beca called out. "Dad? Are you here?"

"Beca?" Warren Mitchell asked, stepping out of the kitchen. "Good morning, daughter. What brings you here this fine morning?"

"You act as if I never come to see you," Beca said.

"That's because you usually don't unless I guilt you into it," Warren said, laughing. "Seriously, though, what's up?"

Beca smiled and said, "I was hoping you were having breakfast. I'm starving and broke."

"You're in luck," Warren said. "I was just getting ready to scramble up some eggs. Come join me."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Beca said as she followed her father into the kitchen.

Beca sat and the counter and watched her father move around the kitchen. Warren went to the refrigerator and got out the eggs and milk. She closed the refrigerator door and turned toward the stove.

"Who's that?" Beca asked, pointing at the milk carton her father was holding.

Warren looked at the carton. "What?"

"There's a picture of a kid on the side of the carton," Beca said as she walked over and took the carton out of his hand. She read the information given. "Whoa! This says the kid's been missing since 1995."

"Oh, yeah," Warren said as he started cracking eggs into a bowl. "I heard they were bringing back the milk carton kids campaign."

"Milk carton kids?" Beca asked.

"The dairy industry started putting pictures of missing children on milk cartons," Warren said. "They figure most people drink milk so the pictures would be widely distributed."

"Huh," Beca said as she leaned against the counter next to her father. "Not a bad idea. I mean this kid went missing in Los Alamos, Texas, and now his picture is here in Barden, Georgia."

"The campaign ran for a number of years," Warren told Beca. "I don't remember when or why they stopped."

"I'm glad they're bringing it back," Beca said. "Maybe it will bring closure to families whose child has been missing for a long time."

"I'm sure it will," Warren said with a smile. "Now, sit down and eat. We need to talk about Christmas."

"Ugh," Beca moaned as she went to sit back down at the counter. Warren finished the eggs and plated their breakfast.

"You sound like Chloe and the girls," Beca continued as Warren poured her a cup of coffee. "Christmas is two months away and Chloe had us draw names for the Secret Santa today. We haven't even had Halloween yet."

"Who did you get?" Warren asked as he set a cup in front of Beca and took his seat.

"I'm not telling you," Beca responded. "If I can't keep myself from telling you, then I know I'll start blabbing it to everyone else. It's supposed to be a secret."

"Okay, okay," Warren said, holding up his hand in defeat. "But, if you need any help, just let me know. I can give you some ideas."

"Thanks, Dad," Beca said with a smile. "I'll think about it."

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

"Beca, where are you?" Chloe called out as she walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store.

"Over here," Beca called back.

Chloe walked toward Beca's voice and found her staring at the milk cartons.

"Um, Becs," Chloe said as she stood next to Beca. "Whatcha doing?"

"Did you know that the dairy industry put pictures of missing kids on their milk cartons back in the '80s?"

"I did not know that," Chloe said, looking at the cartons. She picked one up and read it. "Wow, this kid went missing in 1989. He would be thirty-one now. And look." Chloe turned the carton toward Beca. "They have an age progression photo to show what he might look like now."

"I saw that," Beca said, picking up another carton and showing it to Chloe. "Laura Stephens. Doesn't this look like Jessica?"

Chloe looked at the age progression photo. "It does. But it also kind of looks like Amy, too. That's eerie."

"It says she was kidnapped in Australia at the age of eleven months and possibly brought to the United States. She would be about nineteen now," Beca said, looking closely at the photo. "Do you think it could be Jessica?"

"I don't know," Chloe said, taking the carton and placing it in the cart. "But we'll soon find out."

"What are you going to do?"

"Ask her, what else?"

"Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, if that is her, she probably doesn't even know she was kidnapped."

"Only one way to find out," Chloe said and started walking to the checkout.

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

Chloe stared at the picture on the milk carton before sighing and placing it on the shelf in the refrigerator.

"You still going to ask Jessica about it?" Beca asked as she leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.

"Yes, I am," Chloe said. "It looks too much like her to be a coincidence."

"I think you'll be stirring up a lot of stuff that should stay buried," Beca said. "We should just leave it alone."

"What if it is Jessica?" Chloe asked, standing in front of Beca. "Don't you think she has a right to know?"

"I do," Beca said, sounding frustrated. "But, I also don't think it's your place to tell her."

"So, if you found a carton that had a picture of someone who looked like me, you wouldn't tell me?"

"No, yes," Beca snapped her mouth closed and let out a breath through her nose. "I don't know, okay. I'd like to think I would, but I'm not sure I actually would."

"What if you were on one of those cartons?" Chloe asked. "Wouldn't you want to know?"

"I guess," Beca said. "It would certainly explain a lot about my childhood."

"Maybe Jessica feels like something is missing," Chloe said. "This could help her answer some questions."

"Fine," Beca said. "You should tell her."

"We'll tell her," Chloe said. "She trusts and respects you. And we'll abide by whatever she decides to do about it."

"Agreed," Beca said, causing Chloe to pull her into a hug.

"I'm telling you that's Fat Amy," Emily's voice could be heard from the living room.

Beca and Chloe separated and went to see what was going on.

"What's happening here?" Beca asked as she and Chloe looked around the room.

"Ask them," Ashley said, pointing towards Beca and Chloe. "See what they think."

"See what we think about what?" Chloe asked.

"Go ahead, Emily," Stacie prodded. "Show them."

"Fine," Emily said and walked over to Beca and Chloe. "Does this look like Amy to you guys?"

Beca and Chloe looked at the picture on a milk carton that Emily was holding up to them. Chloe's brows furrowed and she looked at Beca. Beca's eyes were wide as she looked back at Chloe.

"Um, wait here," Beca said and ran off into the kitchen. She came back holding another milk carton. "May I see your carton again, Emily?"

Emily handed the carton to Beca and she held the two cartons side-by-side.

"Oh, my God," Beca whispered. "They're twins. Both kidnapped from Australia at the age of eleven months. Their birthdays are the same. And the age-progression photos look just like Jessica and Amy."

"You're right," Chloe said, leaning into Beca to look at the cartons side-by-side. "Everything matches up. They might be Jessica and Amy."

"If they are twins and both were kidnapped," Stacie said. "Why wouldn't they put them both on one carton?"

"I don't know," Chloe said. "I think we need to talk to Jessica and Amy about this."

"Can't we just talk to Jessica?" Beca said with a whine. "You know Amy will be a jerk about it. I don't feel like listening to her go on and on about how she's the better twin. Or how she'll teach Jessica how to wrestle crocs and dingos. Jessica is the cooler head and will be more pragmatic about it."

"I know you're right," Chloe said. "But, I really believe they both need to know. If it's really them on those cartons, they're sisters. Twins, Beca. Twins!"

"This is so exciting," Emily exclaimed. "I mean, what are the odds that seventeen years after being kidnapped, they end up at the same school in the same town? And that one of us would find their pictures on a milk carton."

"It is kind of exciting," Stacie said. "And, I think we should tell them. I know I would want to know if I had a twin sister out there."

"I'll text them and ask them to come home," Ashley said as she pulled out her phone.

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

"So, what's the emergency," Amy called out as she entered the house. "I was really enjoying my time with Bum-, uh, my smoothie."

"Come in and sit down, Amy," Chloe called from her seat next to Beca. "We need to talk to you and Jessica."

Amy took a seat next to Jessica and looked around the room. She felt a bit uncomfortable when she noticed that all the girls were staring at her and Jessica. It was if they were examining them or something.

"What?" Amy finally asked.

"Yeah, guys," Jessica said. "What's going on? And why are you all staring at us like that?"

Beca stood and placed both milk cartons in front of Jessica and Amy, ensuring that the photos were facing them. She went and sat down next to Chloe.

Jessica and Amy looked at the cartons and then back at Beca. They turned and gave each other a look before returning their gaze to the milk cartons.

"Is that you?" Jessica asked Amy, pointing at one of the photos.

"Is that you?" Amy countered, pointing at the other photo.

They both reached to pick up the carton that had what they thought was their photo.

"This is what we wanted to talk about," Chloe said. "We think these missing children are you two."

"It says they're twins," Jessica said.

Jessica turned to look at Amy; Amy just looked back at her.

"I don't see it," Amy said.

"But that age-progression picture looks like you," Beca said. "Do you have any baby pictures? We can compare them to the baby photos on the carton."

"I do," Jessica said.

"I don't have any here," Amy said. "I'd have to ask my dad. But if I do he's going to want to know why. I can't ask him if he or my mom kidnapped me. That's just...I don't know, but I can't do it."

"You may have to," Jessica said. "That photo on the carton looks just like the one I have of me."

"I'm not your sister," Amy yelled as she stood up. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to any more of this. Twins are supposed to feel their twin. Or feel like something's missing from their life. I don't feel that. I'm not whoever that is in the picture."

"Amy, calm down," Chloe said. "Please sit back down so we can figure out what to do about this."

Amy looked around the room. Her usual boisterous manner was subdued and she quietly sat back down. Jessica pulled out her phone and pulled up a photo.

"It's me, Amy," Jessica said with a tear in her eye. "I'm wearing the exact same outfit. And the birth date matches mine; I mean matches ours. I need to call my mom and dad."

"Do you want to go to our room to make the call?" Ashley asked. "I'll go with you if you want."

"Yes, please," Jessica said.

"You two go on," Chloe said with a smile. "Come back down after you finish talking with them."

Jessica nodded, and she and Ashley got up and left the room.

"I'm not calling my dad," Amy said petulantly. She sat back on the sofa and crossed her arms.

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

It was almost an hour later when Jessica and Ashley came back downstairs. Jessica was teary-eyed and Ashley had her arm around her shoulders as she led her to the living room.

"I'll get the rest of the girls," Beca said as she stood.

Beca left the room and knocked on Stacie and Emily's door. She let them know Jessica was back downstairs and the two leggy brunettes made their way down.

Beca sighed as she entered the attic room she shared with Amy. She was confused when she saw Amy sitting on her bed, wiping at the tears that ran down her face.

"Hey, Ames," Beca said, causing the girl to look up at her. "Are you okay?"

Beca stood in the middle of the room unsure of what to do with a crying Amy.

"I called my dad."

"Oh," Beca said. "Do you want me to get Chloe? She's so much better at this emotional stuff than I am."

"No, that's okay," Amy said. "What did you come up here for anyway?"

"Um, Jessica came back downstairs," Beca said. "We're gathering up all the girls."

"Can you give me a minute?" Amy asked. "I just want to wash my face before I come down."

"Um, sure," Beca said. "I'll let the girls know."

"Thanks, Beca," Amy said.

"No problem," Beca said and left Amy alone.

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

Meanwhile, Ashley leads Jessica to the loveseat and sits with her. The other girls sit quietly, waiting for the other girls.

Stacie and Emily come in and sit, joining in the uncomfortable silence.

"Um, Beca should be down in a minute," Stacie said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks, Stacie," Chloe said.

Just then, Beca came bounding into the room. "Amy will be down in a minute."

"Sit here, Beca," Chloe said and patted the seat next to her.

Beca went and sat next to Chloe. Beca leaned in and whispered, "I found Amy crying when I went to our room. She said she called her dad."

Chloe whipped her head around to look at Beca. Beca moved back slightly but they were still very close.

"Did she say anything else?" Chloe finally asked.

Beca shook her head but couldn't keep herself from looking at Chloe's lips.

"Can we maybe-"

"I called my dad," Amy said as soon as she was in the room. "He said I wasn't adopted. So, that can't be me. Sorry, Jessica."

"It's okay," Jessica said. "My mom told me I was adopted. It was through a private agency. She's going to talk to my dad when he gets home and they are going to call the agency to find out more."

"We're sorry, Jess," Chloe said warmly.

"My mom said they were going to tell me," Jessica said. "But, they couldn't decide when was a good time."

"Now that you know," Emily said. "Are you going to try and find your real parents?"

"They are my real parents," Jessica said, glaring at Emily. "They raised me and I never once felt like I was a burden or unwanted. I love them and they love me."

"I'm sorry," Emily said. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just wondering if you were interested in finding your birth parents. I mean, they had you for eleven months and you were taken away from them. I'd want to know what happened to you."

"She's right, Jess," Ashley said. "They may have given you up for dead or something. It might be nice if they found out you were alive and doing well."

"Jessica," Chloe said, causing the girl to look at her. "You can look for your birth family and not have to tell your parents. You could just call the number on the milk carton. They may be able to get you in touch with your birth family. If you were kidnapped and sold, the police will be involved and they will want to talk to your parents. Think about it. We'll support whatever decision you make. Okay?"

Jessica swallowed and nodded her head. "Thank you. I'm going to go lay down. It's been a rather emotional afternoon."

"Wait," Ashley said. "Don't you want to know about Amy's call to her dad?"

"Yeah, I do," Jessica said, looking over at Amy. "What did your dad say?"

Amy looked around at the girls staring at her. Normally, she wouldn't mind being the center of attention. But this was very off-putting and she wasn't sure what to think about it.

"He, um, said that it couldn't be me on that milk carton," Amy said. "He then told me he met my mum when I was not yet a year old. They fell in love and he adopted me when they got married. The didn't tell me only because my mum said my real dad was a bad man and she didn't want me to be around him."

"Does he know your birth father's name?" Stacie asked.

"No," Amy replied. "And even if he did, I don't care. I don't want any parts of my sperm donor. My mum and dad loved me and never made me feel like I didn't belong to them."

"Amy," Chloe said and sat forward. "If you were almost a year old when your dad and mom met, you could still be that little girl on the milk carton."

"I'm not," Amy said adamantly. "My dad said so."

"What about your mom?" Emily asked.

"Her mom passed away when she was a little girl," Stacie murmured to Emily.

"Oh, my gosh," Emily said, looking at Amy. "I'm sorry, Amy, I didn't know. I'm sorry for your loss."

Amy waved her hand as if to dismiss the faux pas. Everyone was quiet for a moment before Beca broke the silence.

"Ames," Beca said, getting Amy to look at her. "I'm not saying you and Jessica are sisters, but don't you think there's enough here to suggest that you might be? Don't you want to know?"

"I, um, I'm," Amy stuttered. "My mum's the only one who really knows. She's an only child and had no other family that she talked about. I feel like I'd be betraying her if I started questioning things."

"We understand that, Amy," Chloe said. "But I think that she would forgive you for checking into it. Maybe she planned to tell you herself one day. Maybe it is as simple as your dad said. But, those questions will haunt you if you don't at least try to find out the truth. And, hey, you could get a sister out of it. That's got to be worth checking into."

"Yeah, Amy," Jessica said with a wry smile. "I've always wanted a sister. It would be kind of cool if it turns out you and I are related."

"What if we both took a DNA test?" Amy asked Jessica. "I can decide to check into things further if the test shows we are related."

"I'm willing to do that," Jessica said. "We'll have to find a place that can do the test."

"I found a place," Lily said, startling the girls.

"When did she get here?" Beca whispered to Chloe.

Chloe shrugged her shoulders. "What did you find, Lily?"

"There is a kit you can buy," Lily said. "You mail it in and it will send you the results in about two weeks."

"Where do we get the kit?" Amy asked.

"You have to order them," Lily responded. "You should receive it in about five business days."

"Let's order them," Jessica said excitedly.

"I already did," Lily said. "As I said, you should receive them in about five business days."

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

The DNA kits came about five days later. Stacie took the swabs of Jessica and Amy's cheeks and put the samples in the packet that was provided. The girls mailed them off and now they waited.

"It's been two weeks," Amy said, pacing back and forth watching for the mailman. "Why haven't they come yet?"

"Take it easy, Amy," CR said. "You're making everyone nervous."

"I can't help it," Amy said. "I've always wanted a sister and now I have the chance of actually having one."

"Amy, you may not realize it," Chloe said. "But you have ten sisters already. We are family and we always will be."

"Yeah, Amy," Beca said. "What she said."

"I know," Amy said. "And I love you all. But, I wanted a sister so I could have a best friend that knows everything about me."

"Um, according to you I'm your best friend," Beca said.

"You are," Amy said. "But I don't feel like I can tell you everything because you're also the Bellas Co-Captain and there are some things I can't tell a Bellas Co-Captain."

"Got it," Beca said.

There was a knock on the door and everyone turned to look. Amy shoved past Stacie and ran to the door. She opened it to find the mail carrier standing there.

"Here's the package you've been waiting for," the mail carrier said as she handed over the package to Amy. "I know you were anxious so I thought I'd bring it to the door."

"Thanks," Amy said and closed the door in the mail carrier's face.

"Amy!" Chloe squealed. "That was rude!"

"What?" Amy asked as she tore the end off the envelope. She pulled out the papers that were inside and started reading. "Oh, this one is yours, Jessica."

Jessica took the letter Amy was holding out to her. She started reading.

"We're not related, Amy," Jessica said. "But, it looks like I'm a match to the girl on the milk carton. They gave me a number to call."

"I'm not a match to you or the milk carton kids," Amy said.

"Wow, so I have a twin sister out there somewhere," Jessica said as she sat in the nearest chair.

Ashley hurried to her side and sat on the arm and gathered Jessica to her. "It's okay, Jess," Ashley said. "I'll help you through this. Maybe you should call the number. They might have information on the whereabouts of your birth parents and your, um, sister."

"I've said it before," Chloe said. "And it bears repeating. We are all here for you. You're part of our family and we love you."

"Thanks, everyone," Jessica said. "I think I'm going up to my room. I want to call my folks before I do anything else."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Ashley asked. Jessica nodded and they both left the room.

"How are you feeling about things, Amy?" Emily asked.

"I'm disappointed," Amy responded. "I was thinking it might be kind of cool to have Jessica as a sister. But, I'm also feeling okay, because I have all of you as my sisters. And that's aca-awesome."

** PITCH PERFECT HORROR WEEK 2019 - DAY 4 **

Jessica was sitting on the porch steps, staring up into the night sky. Ashley quietly made her way over to her and sat down.

"Penny for your thoughts," Ashley said.

Jessica gave a little laugh. "You know that song about there being somewhere out there? I was just sitting here thinking about the twin I have out there. At least I hope she's out there. And I imagine her looking up into the sky and seeing the same stars and moon that I'm looking at. I want to find her, Ash."

"I know," Ashley said, taking Jessica's hand in hers. "And I'll be with you every step of the way. That detective you talked to said your birth parents are still in Australia. If you were brought to the States, she may have been as well. We can find her.

"I guess," Jessica said. "My parents are coming here when my birth parents make their final arrangements. They want to apologize for raising me when they should have been the ones to watch me grow up."

"Your parents are the best," Ashley said. "If you weren't already eighteen I think they might actually give you back."

Jessica chuckled. "It's a good thing I'm of age then. I'd love to get to know my birth parents but I'm going to let them know I don't think of them as my mom and dad."

Ashley pulled Jessica into a side hug and sat next to her quietly staring at the stars with her.

Meanwhile, about two hundred miles away, another girl was outside staring up at the sky, cursing her bad luck.

"Why fuck did you do this to me?" the girl yelled up to the heavens. She guzzled down the last of the beer she had been holding and went for another.

"Come on, Laura," a guy said. "Slow down."

"You don't get it," Laura said. "I have a twin sister I didn't even know about. I also have parents; real parents that I was kidnapped from when I was barely a year old. A detective said my sister called to let them know she took a DNA test and it got a hit on the missing kids' registry. I took the DNA test over a year ago. This is the first time I feel like I belong somewhere because I have a sister."

"That's great news," the guy said. "Are you going to contact her?"

"Nope," Laura said. "I'm going to surprise her by going to see her. She's at Barden University about four hours from here. I should be able to recognize her because she looks like me. Who knows? Maybe I'll get rid of her and take over her life. Can't be any worse than the shitty one I'm already living."

"Won't that be a little weird," the guy asked. "I mean if she looks like you, wouldn't it be like killing yourself?"

"That's Plan B if this one doesn't work out," Laura said and walked away from the guy. "Look out Jessica Smith, here I come."

#pitch perfect horror week #Pitch Perfect Halloween week #Halloween #HW194