#i wish i could have the surety that she’ll be happy *with* me

[comradebestie]

oh the temptation to ask my mom “would you still like me if i got top surgery?”

i’m not gonna do it girl, i’m just thinkin bout it

[acourtofthought]

I’m not sure if it’s ok for me to ask you this but I really like your posts and the way you interpret. Disclaimer: I am not antielain but I get confused with her sometimes. If anything I say comes off harsh I apologize and plz kno I didn’t mean that way. Just heads up this will be long

I guess I sometimes think ppl expect almost too much from elain. Part of it is because we don’t know much of her character/personality. Like ppl expect that she’ll do a complete 180 and prove us all wrong. I do think she will prove us wrong but not like that I guess? Not so drastic? I’m thinking similar to how Nesta grew in her book where it wasn’t a complete flip of her personality but it was a build up on it. I personally think that’s the whole point of these books it’s to learn to give love to ourselves (via the characters) rather than change ourselves or personalities”for the good of others”

So I think ppl associate bubbly chatty extremely giving bighearted personality to elain bc of how she was as human, before her life changed completely. But I don’t even see her as that back then? Basically there is a “type” I see assigned to her by fans and for me it’s just not quite there.

There is so much anti-elain content out there so I understand wanting to contradict that and disprove the haters. And I don’t mean to bash anyone, but I guess envisioning her in one “appropriate” way by fans is strange. I hear too many what ifs about her and ppl getting upset at those who don’t agree with the what ifs of her personality/character (those “what ifs” are treated like gospel)

Additionally- I saw a post of yours mention that elain might be disturbed about feyre’s pregnancy and how she might be upset with herself for not being acquainted with her powers to foresee it and I honestly love that. it’s an exciting addition to look forward to about elain, but couldn’t sjm have mentioned that in nesta’s book? Like a scene where the three sisters talk about it or something?? This is what I mean about seeing a lot of expectations for elain’s character. Dont get me wrong I love this idea and I theres a good chance e it’s true, but I have to see it be shown for her character and so far I’ve been given nothing. Also why didn’t anyone tell Elain that the childbirth could harm feyre?? Maybe she could’ve done something! That could add to Elain’s character right! Even if Elain isn’t involved with ic stuff that’s her sister. I mean, Elain was smiling at her sis by the end (could be hiding her pain of sisters almost-death maybe?). Do we really have to wait for Elain’s book to know that she was disturbed by the events of feyre’s childbirth?

An anti-elain thing I see is that she’s not very bright. I don’t agree with this. I’m thinking if she was always aware what was going on bw nesta and feyre could she have done nothing? Especially since nesta has said she would do anything for Elain’s happiness. What of feyre’s happiness u know?

Elain never hurt others like Nesta did but when it’s pointed out how kind she is, I do believe it, but I can’t help but wonder if she showed that kindness to her sister Feyre. Like Feyre is so quick to say that about Elain, and Elain did own up to her mistakes, but it’s hard not to imagine how Feyre must have felt as a kid. feyre is so sure of Elain’s love for her I’m just wondering where that surety comes from because as a reader there’s a bit of a disconnect to what makes feyre feel that way. Could it be feyre’s guilt of them turning fae? And then elain never blaming her sis for it? I think maybe a little of it is that feyre understands elain. Do you think elain is a dreamer im the sense that she wishes good things for all people? Elain did had a chance at happiness due to her family’s love for her, maybe id like to see more of it reflected for her family? Do something big for them? I know she shows them affection constantly, and i love that I think it’s so sweet, but it still doesn’t tell me enough about her. As of now, Elain to me comes off as someone who puts herself first (not selfish but just knows her worth, not self destructive like nesta ), which will be exciting to see from the classic self-sacrificial type of fantasy mc, she is someone who maybe isn’t always quite aware of what she needs to do but she was the will and desire for it, and lastly, though she focuses on her well being she is still aware of the feelings and concerns of those around her.

I guess I see that elain has some flaws and I’m okay with it. She’s probably hard on herself like Nesta is to herself. And I think she’ll probably still have a few hiccups along the way in her book which is always exciting in a book. I don’t tell myself that she’s this perfect, sweet, summerflower child who’s never done anything wrong. I think she is currently lost snd For now, could be changed later)I think that maybe this is the first or one of the few times where elain isn’t the one fully happy while others around her are l so it’s a new thing for her to understand, navigate, and find the happiness within herself and around her (she’s already doing some of that). Maybe she always found the happiness around her from things being good but now needs to find it within? Also she is now finding the part of herself she’s always maybe wanted to. Or now needs to be due to now being fae.

And why would it be wrong if she’s imperfect? What is this obsession with her being perfect knows it all who doesn’t owe anyone anything? Since the fandom likes to talk about these characters like they’re real- elain would most certainly not think of herself that way.

Maybe I’m not seeing it all clearly of her character? Sometimes it is hard for me to keep her character and personality separate I admit. I know she loves her family, I know she’s concerned about a lot that’s going on, but we only get like 1 instance of her showing anything and that’s it. So when the characters just keep saying this and that about Elain’s traits, but Elain is shown having that trait or quality once im ?? Where you at girl?

Ultimately I tell myself that it doesn’t matter how a character begins but rather how and what they grow into. I think being turned fae has forced her to do a lot of growing up (I don’t mean this in a bad way at all. As a reader, I think it’s v interesting)I’m willing to bet if sjm had done more planning from the start i would feel entirely different. I think im at a confusing spot with her character, but at a 100% hopeful&optimistic for her story kind of spot.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and If you don’t answer I completely understand. Frankly, I don’t want to add to any anti-elain discourse ( or even anti- nesta I love her) My intention wasn’t at all to bash Elain’s character. I am absolutely not an anti but if anything comes off sounding anti I apologize. I’m looking for some discussion and understanding of her honestly. I think the most important knowledge I’ve gained from your blog is that elain shouldn’t and can’t be compared to the other female characters of this series especially her sisters. I mean, none of the characters should even be compared, but yeah expecting her to be exactly the way her sisters are is not the way to go about understanding her character. I love your posts about elain and I very much like Elain thanks to you. I’m lowkey obsessed with elucien bc of you. and your posts are what got me interested in her character since you pay attention to her in such a healthy way.

Nothing you said came off harsh at all and I was excited to receive your message!

This is going to be long and rambling so I apologize in advance.

I absolutely agree that some seem to expect too much from Elain, both right now and later, especially when SJM has given us quite a bit of growth from her already and she's not going to become a completely different person.

She started off the series kind but fine with allowing herself to be taken care of. She still had thoughtful moments though, she used her "allowance" from Feyre to buy Feyre paints and to buy her father a new chisel rather than using it all on herself.

But by the end of ACOTAR, she started taking care of Feyre, planning the ball to honor her return, finding her a dress, preparing a horse and a satchel for her.

In ACOMAF, we see her apologize for failing Feyre, we see her willing to risk her engagement by letting Feyre use their manor to meet with the human queens.

In ACOWAR, after she had lost everything, she only spent weeks (maybe 2 months) sitting silently in her room in a depressed state. Then she started learning how to bake (and now helps cook for the IC) and thought of a way to help the humans, by having them head to Graysen's estate. Then she was cruelly rejected by Graysen, was kidnapped a second time but still helped save Briar and Az, then saved Cassian and Nesta (as well as many others) when she stabbed the king but then saw her fathers murdered body.

Though she mourned those things in ACOFAS, she still did not regress. She continued taking care of Feyre and Rhys's garden, began helping those in Velaris with their gardens, continued cooking for the IC. Then in SF we see her stand up to Nesta, see her offer to search for the Trove, see her go to the Hewn Cith with the others despite Feyre offering to let her stay home and despite the fact that it's cruelty bothers her.

I honestly don't know how anyone could expect anything else out of her before her own book and even after her own book, she's not going to morph into someone unrecognizable. She's not going to become a bloodthirsty, dagger wielding spy who thrives on going after the enemy and plotting their demise.

I see some claim she needs to get fed up with the others holding her back, where she'll head off on her own or seek out Lucien to help her. But where in Elain's personality has she ever shown to be rash? Where has she ever shown to be that angry with her sisters that she's going to go behind their backs to prove something? It's exactly like you said, Nesta's arc made sense for Nesta because that was within Nesta's personality.

If Elain has a problem, she addresses it with the person (as we saw in her argument with Nesta) and moves on. She was laughing by the end of SF when Nesta said "fuck you". She nearly watched Feyre and her nephew die in front of her. At the end of SF, Elain and Feyre were beaming at Nesta while Elain held Nyx in her arms.

Where in that is anyone getting the "I'm mad and I'm going to prove them all wrong!" vibe from Elain?

I have a feeling Elain's setup will be that of Rhys coming to Elain for help with something in Spring or the continent and that will kickstart her book. She's already told us that "she's part of the court and will do what is necessary" so all that we need to have happen is Rhys finally asking her to get her hands dirty. Her setup doesn't need to look like Nesta's did.

I do think we're going to see a different version of Elain when she's around her people (Lucien, Vassa, Helion, Jurian, the LoA), but to me that's kind of a given based on SJMs pattern of the FMC coming into her own once she's with her found family. So I do think we'll get more of the outgoing, life of the party version of Elain that we saw in ACOTAR, at least the Elain once she was overseeing their new manor and at the ball.

To your point about Elain feeling guilty, I don't think, if Elain were taking the events of Feyre's pregnancy onto herself, SJM would necessarily tell us that in SF. For one thing, Elain doesn't often share her deepest sorrows and regrets with her sisters. We know she's mourning her father because we're told how often she visited his grave but it's not because she sat down and had a deep heart to heart with Nesta or Feyre over it. Just like we had to wait for SF to see Nesta's complicated emotions over her fathers death, I think we'll have to wait for Elain's book to get inside her head and understand how she's processing everything that has been happening. For another, the end of SF was meant to wrap up Nesta's arc. We were meant to walk away with that HEA vibe for her character, not necessarily focusing on anyone else. I think SJM subtly hinted that we're about to have Elain's story when she closed out the book with the rose carving, when Nesta lets go this symbol of Elain and releases it into the world as a "permanent marker of beauty and good" but I don't think she wanted us majorly focusing on anyone else outside of Nesta and her journey.

For anyone calling Elain dumb, I think ACOFAS and SF prove how intelligent and aware Elain is. After Elain talks of traditions, Feyre notes her wisdom. In SF, Cassian notes how Elain had seen everything about Nesta and understood.

SJM has confirmed that Elain is a quiet dreamer, that she has a different strength than Feyre or Nesta, and that she expresses love openly in a way that Nesta always struggled with so I don't think we can deny those aspects of her personality, I'm not sure why people keep trying to claim her story can only happen if she spirals down the way Nesta did or until she gets angry at their treatment of her. I think it's more important to respect that because Elain is so different from her sisters, the start of her book might look different than what some expect and maybe she's going to simply internalize her frustrations then talk it out with them in her book. If she's even harboring resentment. I mean, SJM already had Elain call Nesta out for treating her like a child, she joined the others in the Hewn City as "part of the court", and she was laughing when Nesta swore at her and nearly lost both Nesta and Feyre at the end of the book so maybe Elain isn't really worried about resenting her sisters right now, maybe she's just glad they're all safe and alive.

I do think Feyre and Nesta see certain aspects of Elain's personality but as all sisters do, I think sometimes they are blinded by other aspects. I also think they at times see her in a way that makes them feel better about things. Like Nesta assuming Elain was fine and settled at the start of SF only for Elain to remind them that she's struggling too. However, I do think Elain isn't truly Elain around them either, that she hides some of who she is. Like Rhys said, she may have been worried about disappointing them.

And yes, Elain has flaws (as they all do). It's funny that some will claim she's one dimensional while complaining about her flaws in the next breath. If she's canonically kind, loving and makes them all laugh at times while also being flawed....then how can she be one dimensional? I think it's because some are expecting her character to look like that of Feyre or Nesta's characters and the other badass female warriors in the series (or her other series). And that's a very narrow minded view, to only think someone is interesting if they look like every other single warrior heroine that SJM has written.

And despite her flaws, she has never lashed out at the other characters and I don't think she's given enough credit for that. She was afraid of the fae yet willingly opened up her home to them, has treated Feyre's found family with kindness from the start, made sure Feyre had a special cake for her birthday and has never blamed Feyre for what happened to her, held Feyre when Feyre was breaking down after Elain's kidnapping (so yes, I do think she has shown Feyre kindness ever since Feyre returned to the human lands in book 1).

Like you said, it's not that she's so much selfish as in "I do what I want regardless of how it affects others" so much as 1) she is more of an optimist and it's not easy for an optimist to understand a pessimists pov because optimists are constantly trying to focus on what's good and 2) she does seem to have a sense of her own worth and isn't going to beat herself down the way Nesta did, at least not to the extreme level did. She can still struggle with things while not self sabotaging. It's the same with Az and Lucien. Both Az and Lucien struggle with self worth and trauma but only one of the two is constantly trying to risk his life in foolish ways, arguing against orders, fixating on things he has no control over (i.e. Mor / mating bonds), brooding, distancing himself from the group. The other, despite his sadness, tries his best to focus on what he can control and I think that's Elain to a tee (T?).

And Elain has been open about the things she wants but she's never forced others to do them for her. For example, Nesta asked Elain whether she wanted to head to Prythian in book 2 or stay and Elain said she had to stay. Because she was engaged. So logically, it makes sense that she would. But never did she insist that Nesta had to stay with her, Nesta chose to stay. Elain should be allowed to make her own choices without someone calling her selfish.

I think she definitely could be labeled as selfish in the first two chapters of ACOTAR but I don't think we can say the same by the end of that first book. Some will claim Elain was selfish for bringing up their father to Nesta when, if she were observant as is claimed, she should have seen Nesta didn't want to talk about him, but.....Elain should be able to talk to her sister about their father because Elain lost him too. The trauma of their fathers death did not soley belong to Nesta (especially considering Elain actually loved him meaning she lost someone she was extremely close with) and while Nesta had a right to say she didn't want to talk about him, Elain is not wrong for attempting to bring him up in the first place.

And your comment:

"Ultimately I tell myself that it doesn’t matter how a character begins but rather how and what they grow into"

is hitting the nail on the head. Elain was meant to start in one place then grow from there but she's not going to grow into her full self until she's with the right people in the right place. I think the reason Elain's personality doesn't jump out to many is because she's not in the right place with the right people, just like Feyre wasn't fully herself in Spring and only came into who she was meant to be once she was in the NC. And maybe the reason there was more room for SJM to show us Nesta's personality was because as soon as Nesta ended up in the NC, she was with the right people in the right place. Her struggle came from letting go of her own self hatred but it was clear that she was free to be herself, even act out, because she belonged.

If Elain was super sassy, bubbly and outgoing in the Night Court then the entire narrative that SJM has built for her falls apart. She's got her full personality on mute because she's still waiting to find her own path with her own people and it's only then that her sisters will finally see her for all that she is too.

That's what I wish some in the fandom would understand about Elain. That they really shouldn't villain-ize a character for at times seeming odd and out of place, where she's in the background and not involved in the way the others because SJM has been hinting at her having to leave the NC before she can become true FMC energy. She's not going to have that energy before her book though even when she does, she's still going to be recognizable. She's still going to be loving and kind, she's still going to make friends easily, she's still going to want sunshine and nature. I think anyone trying to keep her in the NC tries to reason away the fact that they'd be sucking out a major part of her personality by claiming "Velaris has sunshine too! She can just avoid the Hewn City!" That's like saying someone can get the same sunshine in Alaska as they can the Bahamas.

But until it's time for her full arc, SJM has to keep Elain in a bit of a holding pattern since she's been driving home the narrative that she doesn't fit in where she's at. Elain isn't boring or worthless, she's just waiting for a reason to leave the NC and do her thing (again, something that won't happen until her book) and her individual journey can not be compared to Nesta's because no matter how much she fought it, Nesta always belonged in the NC and it was made clear to readers from the start.

[sleepyseguin]

tyler seguin | i still see your face (nsfw)

summary: you and tyler break up. it’s harder than you thought it would be. 

a/n: highly recommend listening to driver’s licence by olivia rodrigo to get the whole vibe. my spotify must think i have a problem by the constant repeat. 

It’s not like you haven’t had a break up before. It’s just that this one feels different. Raw. A ragged edge that’s been torn. You drink too much beer and sleep too little. Your friends rally around you, of course they do, drag you to clubs with too many teenagers, tell you they never liked Tyler anyway. But the lie is thin, and in the dim bathroom of the bar one says, but why did you guys break up? What happened? You blink at her, mouth tasting of tequila. I don’t know.

-/-

Of course you know. You’re an adult. You made this decision together, sat on his couch. One of his throw pillows hugged to your chest so he couldn’t see the way your hands were shaking.

“If this is really what you want,” Tyler had said, and you could hear the scratch in his throat, the way his eyes shone too bright. Unshed tears.

 You hadn’t been able to speak, tongue too thick, hot tears on your cheeks, fresh ones ready to replace as they dried sticky on your chin.

 He was away from home too much. Your lives were going in different directions. You had opportunities to travel with work, and it’s not like he could come with you. It was best to do it now, a clean break, rather than struggle on, slowly tearing.

 You’d cried all the way home from his house, struggling to keep the wheel straight. Your mother would have been horrified by the reckless driving. When you’d finally dared to look at your phone, that first night alone, Tyler’s text made you sob all over again. I love you. Always.

-/-

You talk to him, sometimes. You can’t help yourself. It’s like an itch that becomes unbearable. You have to scratch. Meaningless text message chains. How are you? Fine, you? I’m okay. I miss you. I miss you too. You know it’s not helpful, not the path towards healing that your married friends preach. But it makes it easier to sleep. Knowing he’s still out there. It’s a blissful kind of agony when he texts you unprompted, in the middle of the night, sometimes the middle of the afternoon. I think of you all the time or I dreamt about you or I thought I saw you at the game. Your own misery overwhelms. Winter sets in. You struggle through grey days, take the long way home to drive past his street. Pray you don’t see another car next to his.

-/-

You cry on the phone to your mother, great big sobs like a child does when they’ve lost their favourite toy. She tells you she’ll fly out.

 “No, it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can do this.”

 “You can,” she assures, but the surety seeps away as soon as you hang up. A bottle of wine in front of the television. Take out. You’re either starving or not hungry at all now. You only watch ten minutes of an episode before you’re switching to the NHL channel. It’s too hard to forget the schedule. It’s like a reminder in your brain when you wake up in the morning, he’s playing today. You used to nap together, in the afternoons before games. The weak sunlight, the dancing dust mites. A Friend’s episode turned low. Tyler would reach for you in his sleep, nuzzle into your neck. Like he could never get close enough. Like he knew you would leave one day.

-/-

A mutual friends birthday. You’d tried to make excuses, but even you didn’t believe them.

 “It’s worse to avoid him,” your friend says, “It will only make it harder later.”

So in an effort to do the Right Thing, to be a Big Girl, and Move On, you find yourself drinking too strong punch, pieces of apple and orange floating in a plastic cup, leaning into a guy you just met and laughing too loud.

 And it is fun. For awhile. A mix of old friends and new. Loud music. And for most of the night, he’s not there. He’s so late you think he’s not coming. And you pretend you’re crying because you’re relieved and not because you’re disappointed. You’ve been smart enough to take yourself to the bathroom for the small meltdown, bent over the counter and taking deep breaths. You’re too old to be getting this smashed at a house party. It’s hard to focus on yourself in the mirror, bending light. It’s a good thing he’s not coming, you tell yourself, and wish you could believe it.

 You’re headed to the kitchen, the sink full of ice and hiding your drinks. Tyler is there. Tyler is there, standing in the hallway, talking to the host. His big hand makes the beer he’s holding look like a kid’s toy. He’s laughing, crinkly eyes, the sound reaching you. Slapping the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the joke. He’s so happy. How can he be so happy?

Dark eyes meet yours, the fall of his mouth from the grin. He goes to say something, call out maybe, but you’re turning away already, pushing back into the lounge room, the backdoor. Fresh air. Cold crisp of a Texan winter. The weather reporters are saying it might snow this year. He finds you. Of course he does. In the back-garden, looking up at the moon, counting stars. Your name in a familiar voice. The way he says it makes your heart hurt. You can barely look at him, the grass moving under your feet as you turn to face him. Curls peeking out from under a beanie. Black hoodie, dark jeans. You recognise the hoodie. You used to wear it to bed sometimes.

 “Hi,” you say, trying to be causal, wanting desperately to be, but at the same time you’re reaching out, clinging onto his arm. Don’t ever let go again.

 Tyler smiles, sad and small, “It’s nice to see you.”

 “Yeah,” you breathe, head back, gazing up at him. The moon has nothing on Tyler. Come back to me, you want to say, but this is your fault. You did this. You made this happen.

 “I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and you think yes, yes, just ask me, I’ll come back I promise, “I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. It’s too hard.”

 “Oh,” you say. It suddenly seems so much colder out here. “Okay.”

You watch him walk away, back into the house, the light of the party. And if you cry in the Uber on the way home, no one else has to know.

-/-

The first time you sleep together, afterwards, you could almost convince yourself it’s an accident. Not talking hadn’t lasted long. A loss, a commiserating text, a wish to just go back to the way things were. We can, you’d said, just for one night.

 It’s almost awkward, the way he’s a stranger around you again. He looks tired, sore, sweatpants and a hoodie. Pink cheeks from the cold outside. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling around his ears. You want to stay here, like this, forever, letting him sit you down in the bed, holding your face in his big hands to kiss you from where he stands between your knees. The way Tyler says your name, wanting, needy. The press of his body on yours. You missed this. You missed this so much. It would never be the same with anyone else. The way he touches you, so carefully, so purposefully. He knows just how you like it, just how you work together.

 It’s a habit, for you to be on top after a game, not worth making him expend any more energy. But he fights you for it, doesn’t let you settle, rolls you over onto your back again. You protest, mildly.

 “It’ll make you sore,” you say, can’t stop touching him, his hair, his face, his back, his chest. His skin is warm from the hoodie.

 “Don’t care,” Tyler says, a crooked smile, nudging his nose against yours, “I want it like this, want to see you properly.”

 Your heart is broken and remade simultaneously. It’s all you can do not to pull the doona over both of you and hide forever, keep him here like a prisoner. Cherish him for an age. His mother would never forgive you.

 Your body aches for him, as he nudges open your legs, kisses your mouth, your neck, your breasts. You should take your time, enjoy it, the last time, but you can’t help but surge towards the end.

 “Want you inside me,” you whisper, fingers on his hips, angling him.

 “Yeah,” Tyler rasps, aligning himself, “Fuck. Yeah, please.”

The relief of him sinking home, the opening of your body to him. It’s too easy, almost, the rhythm he settles into. Your legs tight around his waist, groaning when he pulls one up over his shoulder, finds a new angle. A big hand palming at your breast, the way he says your name, thick and low. You come a few moments before him, get off on the way he watches you, holds you, fingers caressing just above where he slides in and out of you. It takes everything not to cry, the final release, the drop of endorphins.

 Tyler shakes when he comes, a whole body shudder as he holds himself deep, panting against your ear. You stare at the ceiling and blink away tears. How could you ever have walked away from this? Nothing feels right unless he’s here.

 Later, he gets up to leave, but you reach out before he can get out of bed.

 “Please stay,” you whisper, pathetic. Tyler’s a shadow in the dark, but he’s warm when he slides back under the covers, gathers you up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat as you fall asleep.

-/-

It takes you another week to swallow your pride. You call your mother, again, cry on the phone, again.

 “I think I was wrong, I think I made a huge mistake.”

 “If he is who you say he is,” she counsels, “He’ll forgive you.”

 “What if he doesn’t?”

You’re convinced that someone will be in your parking spot the whole drive to his house. A new car. A girl’s car. You can’t breathe along his whole tree lined street, until you see the empty spot. Like it’s waiting for you. Like it has been this whole time.

 You almost slump into him when he opens the door, the relief, the grief. He’s surprised to see you. Sleepy. Got in late last night from a Roadie. The dogs are everywhere at once, bumping you into each other as they try to get a cuddle. Tyler stumbles into you, forced by Marshall’s heavy tail. Your hand on his ribcage, steadying. Are you really going to do this? On his front step? Behind him, you can see your red coat on the coat hook. So that’s where it was. You’ve been looking for it in the cold. And he’s kept it, this whole time. Waiting for you.

 “I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tyler shakes his head, confused, furrowed brow, “What’s going on?”

 “I made a mistake. I made a stupid mistake. I got scared, and I panicked. The truth is. I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And it’s scary. I’m so scared. But I shouldn’t have taken it on you like this. It was wrong. And if you can’t. If you can’t forgive me I understand. But. I really, really want you, too.”

 He says your name, quietly, prayer like. Your hand is still on his chest.

 “Are you sure?” He asks, and the dogs are still all around you, the front door is wide open. Tyler’s socked feet on the porch.

 “I’m so sure.”

And he’s laughing. He’s laughing. And he’s kissing you. Warm and fresh and familiar. And then you’re laughing and then you’re crying and Tyler is just holding, holding, holding you.

And along the street, a warm breeze blows through the trees. The promise of summer.

[bytheangell]

Hi!! I loved a lot your last Gabrily fic, and if you are still open to requests can I suggest one about them finding out they were having another kid so long after the other two? Baby Alexander barely gets mentioned eventhough he is the person Alec is named after, maybe at some point he did something great who know. I always find it curious how they reactions could have been to have another one so long after Christopher.. Ofc if this sits right with you and feel like it, thank uu

Breaking the News  (Read on AO3)

Cecily is thankful that Will and Tessa agreed to take Anna and Christopher to stay with them for the remainder of the day. Her thoughts bounce wildly from nervous to excited to total panic and everything in-between as she paces back and forth across the bedroom floor. Alone in the house until Gabriel arrives home in a few short hours, she wanted the time to come to terms with the news she got that morning and sort through her thoughts. Now that she has the time, she can’t sort through anything at all.

It doesn’t help that she’s been sick. That was the first hint that something was wrong, she suspected what may be the cause of her sudden recurring nausea and weakness, though she hardly dared to believe it. After spending the better part of the past week exhausted and obviously ill, Anna brought one of the Institute’s healers around to check on her, which was when they confirmed what she already partially guessed.

Except now that Cecily knows for certain that she’s pregnant with her third child, it’s quite the shock to process, with or without the distractions of two other children in the house.

She knows her initial doubts are mostly from the surprise of it all. Cecily likes being in control, and this is something she has no control over. This is happening, whether she wants it to or not, and even though she knows it’s a blessing the fact that she didn’t specifically choose to do this here and now throws her entire sense of being off-balance, enough for doubt to creep in. What if it isn’t just shock?

But that’s absurd. She loves her children, and she loved - and still loves - every moment of raising them. The chance to do all of that again is, while still a shock, a happy one. At least, it will be once she manages to get back in control of her racing thoughts and emotions.

Anna and Christopher are both teenagers now, sixteen and thirteen respectfully, and that fact isn’t lost on her. A new baby means 24/7 attention, days of constant needs and care that she thought were behind her. What if she thinks she can handle it but once the child is here she grows too overwhelmed tending to a newborn and two teenagers? Realizations like this are when the fear kicks in - she’s 37 years old, after all, and Gabriel 40.

Gabriel. What if he thinks them both too old to have a baby now? What if he hates the idea? It’s another reason she asked her brother to take the children - this is a conversation she wants them to have complete privacy for, just in case…

...just in case what?, she chides herself. This is Gabriel, after all. She remembers the years they spent together figuring out how to be parents to two wildly different children, remembers how good he was - and still is - with each of them, and how he’s never shown them anything other than unwavering love and devotion. This won’t be any different, she reminds herself, pushing the fear aside and allowing the nervous excitement to take over again.

She remembers the joy of raising Christopher and Anna, of watching them grow and learn and take their first steps and get their first runes… the joy of little moments and milestones she thought were long over for her. Anna is always so good with her brother, and Cecily can already imagine how wonderful Christopher will be as an older sibling, always so eager to teach others about his experiments. He could teach so much to a little brother or sister.

Cecily can only hope they’re as eager to have another sibling as she is to give them one.

Nervous. Excited. Fearful. Happy. Concerned. Eager. Her emotions shift and change more rapidly than she can keep up with until, finally, they settle along with her thoughts into one: contentment. This is happening, whether she’s ready for it to or not, and she’ll be damned if she isn’t going to make the absolute best of it.

When Gabriel finally arrives home he finds her in their bedroom, pacing as she’s been doing off-and-on for hours now as she tries to work out the best way to break the news.

“Cecily?” he greets her, voice uncertain. He’s been away in Idris but came back earlier than planned after hearing she hasn’t been feeling well. “Is everything alright? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Gabriel takes a few steps into the room and reaches a hand out to still her anxious movements, resting it gently on her shoulder.

Cecily stops pacing and forces a small smile onto her face. “There will be plenty of time for resting soon,” she says cryptically. “And whether or not everything is alright depends largely on how you feel about…” she wonders briefly if there’s a good way to phrase this, or at least a better way than simply blurting it out.

It’s a pity that tact and gentle phrasing has never been one of Cecily’s strong suits.

“...about having another child,” she finishes, carefully watching his expression.

It’s difficult to decipher much beyond Gabriel’s absolute shock, which is fair. She’s still a bit shocked herself and she’s had hours to process the news. His hand remains on her shoulder and she feels the grip of it tighten ever so slightly.

“Just to be clear,” Gabriel says cautiously. “You’re saying this simply because you want to have another child, or because-”

“Because I’m pregnant,” she confirms.

A silence falls between them then. Cecily can see the wheels turning in Gabriel’s mind, the way his eyes shift constantly from her face to her stomach to the room around them as he processes this information, and it takes all of what little self-control Cecily possesses to allow him that time.

“You’re pregnant,” he finally repeats, and then, very slowly, his lips curl up into an eager smile. “That’s wonderful!”

“It is?” Cecily asks, the words slipping out in a rush of relief after she’d mentally prepared herself for the worst possible reaction.

“Isn’t it?” Gabriel counters, sounding suddenly unsure of his reaction.

“I mean, yes, of course, it is! But we’re not exactly in our prime, and it isn’t as if we planned this, or anticipated the possibility the way we had with Anna and Christopher. I just thought… I know it’s silly but I was afraid you might…” Cecily struggles to find the words for the fears that are suddenly rendered baseless in her mind.

“Cecily, my dear, sweet Cecily,” Gabriel says, wrapping his arms around her to pull her in close to him, mindful not to pull too tightly. “I love you, and I love our family, and any addition to it is nothing other than a blessing, no matter how unexpected.” He moves to hold her just far enough away to lean in and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Cecily feels a few errant tears make their way down her cheeks in both joy and relief.

“I feel the same,” she agrees. “And I knew you would, too. I just needed to hear you say it. Since I found out this morning all I could do was build it up in my head - we worked so hard to give Anna and Christopher stability and routine with their studies and training and this is going to upend all of that.”

“Do you think they’ll be upset?” Gabriel asks.

Cecily can only shrug. “I don’t know. I hope not, but… it is a big change. And it’ll be attention away from them, no matter how hard we try not to let it be. I just don’t want them to resent the baby, or us.”

“They won’t,” Gabriel says with a confidence Cecily wishes she felt. “Do you know how I know?”

The question should be rhetorical but he waits for an answer anyway, so Cecily asks, “How?”

The hand on her shoulder squeezes again, comforting as a knowing smile spreads across her husband’s face. “Because they’re our children, and we - you in particular - raised them to be the sort of people who have compassion and understanding, even as unruly teenagers. They’re going to adjust just fine - we all are.”

Cecily hadn’t anticipated the tears that now overwhelm her after such an emotional day, shed now for words of such simple kindness.

“Thank you,” Cecily says, shaking her head slowly. “For always knowing exactly what I need to hear.”

“Well, you make it easy when you’re always so effortlessly deserving of praise,” Gabriel counters, lifting his hand to wipe away a few stray happy tears. “I suppose I should wait until we tell the others before I go rearranging the whole house, shouldn’t I? We’ll have to make a few changes… clear out a room, set aside a bit more savings, arrange for me to be home with you for the foreseeable future, of course…”

As Gabriel begins to rattle off the things that come to mind for the immediate future, Cecily is struck by how incredibly lucky she truly is to have him by her side. He doesn’t miss a beat in figuring out how to rearrange his own life and habits to better tend to her and support their growing family. He doesn’t make so much as a passing mention of what an imposition such sudden changes will inevitably have on him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Cecily says, reaching out to take his hand in her’s. His own easy acceptance bleeds into her, calming her nerves and bringing a smile to her face. She thought those words over and over throughout the day, but this is the first time she thinks them without doubt and voices them with equal surety. They will figure it out. Together. “We have time, nothing has to be done or decided today.”

She glances at the clock. “In fact, perhaps we should enjoy the next hour or two to ourselves before Will and Tessa bring the children back. I’m sure once we tell them we won’t know a moment’s peace until months after the baby’s born,” she points out with a light laugh.

“I don’t know if you’re referring to your brother or the children,” Gabriel says. “Though I daresay it applies to the lot of them.”

Cecily rolls her eyes. “Oh, come now. You know I meant-” she begins, but stops abruptly. “No, you’re right. Will is going to be insufferable.”

Now it’s Gabriel’s turn to laugh. “We’ll face that inevitability when it comes. Right now, if I know you you’ve likely been stressed and wearing yourself out all day with worry. Let’s get you some proper rest before we break the news.”

It isn’t the sort of quiet, alone time she’d meant, but the moment he suggests it she knows it’s exactly what she needs. He always knows exactly what she needs. To her surprise, instead of tucking her in and going downstairs he gets into bed beside her, pulling her against his side, and she allows his warm, comforting presence to lull her into the best rest she’s had in days.

[tangledstarlight]

julie’s ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke’s about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they’ve just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

DAYS GO BY AND SEASONS CHANGE (LETS TRY AGAIN NEXT WINTER)

trigger warnings!! swearing and mentions of death (julies mum)

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

autumn

There was a parcel waiting for her at the school's little post office building. It wasn’t a very big box, about the size of a shoe box, if she had to guess. It was just a little too big to fit in her bag at least. The handwriting on the label was hard to read, the ‘j’ in her name looking more like a ‘t’ and her last name practically blurring together. Julie suddenly understands why the girl working behind the desk had taken so long to find it and looked so unsure when handing it over.

Julie thinks back to her last call with her dad, tries to remember if he’d mentioned sending her anything. But it’s definitely not her dads writing or Victorias, and Carlos’ is messy but never this bad. It’s only when she puts it down on her desk when she’s back in her dorm room that she notices the postmark from France.

Which explains the who of it all, but not the what or the why.

With a frown, Julie tears the brown paper away and unfolds the flaps of the plain cardboard box that’s waiting for her. There’s a folded sheet of paper on top of something wrapped in grey tissue paper and she picks it up, carefully unfolding it.

Julie,

You gotta get back into music when you’re ready to, not before and not for anyone else. But, for whenever you do, I thought you might like these. And if you never do, you can always use them for school notes or something.

See you soon.

Luke x

She holds the note for a moment, staring at the words as if they’ll stop her heart from racing the way it is, because she’s pretty sure she knows what’s hiding under that tissue paper now. Biting her bottom lip Julie puts the note to the side and picks up the gift, gently peeling away the sellotape until she’s faced with two soft notebooks.

The first one is dark purple, soft faux leather with a cluster of stars embossed in the top right corner and the words ‘shine bright’ in silver lettering in the opposite bottom corner. Slowly, as if in a trance, Julie runs her fingers over the cover, opens to a random page to see the clean lined pages made of the thick sort of paper that you know won’t tear easily.

The second notebook is a dark blue, but this one has little music notes stamped in the corner. There’s no words or phrases written on this cover and for that she’s thankful because anymore words of encouragement might push her to the edge. She puts the two notebooks down on her desk, side by side.

Sitting back in her chair, Julie simply looks at them for a moment. Let’s herself think about how she feels about them. Because this is more than just some pretty notebooks and a kind message. She wonders if Luke knows, if he realises what that they might mean. But he must. She’s told him all about her struggles with music, how she’s lost that spark that wanted nothing more than to sing and play and write.

And he’d understood it. He’d got it. He’d also told her she was magical when she played, something she tried not to think too much about, but still remembered.

And he clearly remembered her mentioning once, in passing, how her favourite type of notebook are the ones that are slightly flexible, but feel solid when you hold them. She’s going to try not to think too much about what that means too. 

Her fingers slowly trace over the lettering on the purple notebook as she thinks over his note.

‘When you’re ready’, which is part of the problem really. Because Julie doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready to play or write properly again without her mom.

But, she’d written with him.

The thought hits her suddenly and out of nowhere, a breath leaving her lips in a rush as she lets it settle within her. She’d been writing with him. She’d been sending him melodies over voice notes. She’d been scribbling lyric ideas in the margins of her work for weeks now.

Over facetime at 3am and on phone calls while she made herself lunch and silly little texts throughout the day. She’d been writing with him. She’d helped him finish songs without that all too familiar sense of missingmissingmissingmissing creeping in.

Tapping her fingers along the arm of her chair for a moment, she bites her lip, before shaking her head once and carefully wraps the notebooks back up in their tissue paper and puts them back in their box and pushes the whole thing to the back of her desk. Out of sight, out of mind. Sort of. 

It’s one thing to suddenly realise she’s been slowly edging her way back into music, it’s another to dive head first when she’s not sure if anyone will be there to save her if she goes too deep, too soon.

(It’s two days later and after a facetime call with her dad that she pulls the purple notebook out of the box, picks up a pen, crawls onto her bed and writes something that feels real for the first time in nearly five years.

She calls Luke at 2am her time and 3am his, tears on her cheeks and rasp in her voice from lack of use and asks if she can play him a song. It’s a little rough and the second verse feels unfinished and she rushes through the last chorus too quickly, but when she’s finished the last note she feels more centred then she has in years.

“That was-” Luke trails off, and she can hear him breathing and suddenly wishes she’d done this as a facetime call instead, so she could see his face right now. See what he was thinking, feeling. Instead she’s left with bated breath and chewing on her bottom lip.

“Fuck Julie, that was amazing,” he lets out a short laugh, light and breathy like he can’t believe something, “You’re amazing. And talented and beautiful and a goddamn star.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, with so much conviction and surety in his words that for a moment, Julie believes him wholeheartedly.

“I think the second verse needs something, can you help me figure it out?” She asks after clearing her throat and brushing tears off her face. The simple ‘yeah’ she gets in answer makes her smile enough to think about the old notebooks carefully hidden in her suitcase and maybe finally looking at the songs she's avoided. )

//

It wasn’t until she’d started living in a different country, alone, that Julie realised how many different types of bread there were. Which was a weird thing to realise, she knew, but there were just so many to choose from. So many options. Too many options. She really hated having too many options. Decision making really wasn’t one of her special skills. And the longer she stood in front of the bread without Luke talking, the faster her thoughts seemed to loose all sense of focus. 

Holding her phone against her ear Julie picked up the closest loaf of whole wheat bread she saw, it was seeded and while she was sure Victoria would have had something to say about it, she didn’t. Seeded bread it was. Maybe next week she’d branch out and try the weird half and half down on the bottom shelf. God, she needed to get out of the bread aisle. 

Putting the bread in her trolley she pauses for a moment, head tilting to the side to try and hear if Luke had returned to his phone or if she was still on ‘hold’. His version of hold at least, which consisted of him saying ‘give me a minute’ and putting his phone down for much longer than a minute while he answered a skype call with his parents.

All she can hear is faint talking in the background, tone of voices but none of the words. Holding the phone with one hand and pushing the trolley with the other, Julie makes her way out of the bread aisle and mentally checks her shopping list in comparison to where she is in the store. She’s half way down the coffee and tea aisle, grabbing for the cheapest jar of coffee she can see, when a huff of air in her ear makes her jump. Clutching the jar close to her chest as she pulls the phone away for a moment and blowing out a breath. Luke’s already started talking when she puts it back, her mind filling in the blanks for what she’s missed.

“– that. Shit timing on their part. What were we talking about again?” There’s something off about his voice. She wouldn’t have noticed it a few months ago, but she can tell now, can hear the forced cheerfulness behind his words. And, if he wasn’t obviously forcing himself to sound happy, Julie would probably take a moment to appreciate she knows him well enough to know his different tones.

But there’s something wrong, and she wants to help him. So far, Luke’s been pretty quiet about his parents, so quite in fact that all Julie really knows about them is their names are Emily and Mitch, that they love him, they don’t get him and that the best way to describe their relationship is ‘strained’. All that she’d picked up from vague mentions and what Reggie had accidentally let slip.

Luke had helped her understand some of her feelings about her mom, listening to her cry at three in the morning, listened to her talk about her dad. She wants to do the same for him. She wants to make sure he knows she'll listen too. So she puts the coffee jar down and slowly starts walking out of the tea and coffee aisle while she talks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, the call, the ‘strained’ relationship, all the unsaid emotions clearly at war in his head. It’s quite on the other end of the phone, all she can hear is his breathing and Julie starts to worry that maybe she’s wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, or maybe he does, but not with her. Not sure which option is worse, she’s just opening her mouth to take it back when Luke blows out a breath and a flat laugh that sounds loud in her ear.

“They just- they don’t get it. What music means. What I’m trying to do with it. They don’t get me,” there’s a pause where Luke laughs again, flat and hollow and so, so wrong, and Julie thinks that’s all he’s going to say, but then he starts talking again. It’s like he’s been shoving plates into a cupboard without stacking them and now he’s opened the door and they’re all crashing to the ground.

“And it’s like, they don’t even seem to try. Not really. They listen to me talk about all these shows we’re playing and how we’re making all these awesome connections all over the world and how we’ve started recording a fucking album. And they’ve gotta be able to tell I’m excited, because Alex is always saying I’ve got no subtlety, and I’m pretty sure I’ve even said in those exact words. That I’m excited. That this is a huge deal for us. And they just - they listen to all that and then they-” he huffs out a breath, and Julie can almost see him shaking his head, at his next words, “And then they ask about what I’m going to do when I get back home. If I’ve given college anymore thought.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, because well. It is obvious how excited Luke is about the band, about the album they’re making, about music in general. You’d have to be blind not to see it, blind or just deliberately ignoring the obvious. And that’s even without ever having actually seen him play on a stage. If Julie could tell how good he is over staticy and unreliable voice notes and facetime calls, then anyone who’s seen him play live should know for sure.

“You know they’ve never seen us play?” He sounds small, and Julie wishes she was with him right now to give him a hug. 

That explained that, at least. They'd never seen them play. She’s standing in the fucking cereal aisle of a supermarket on a Wednesday afternoon, one hand gripping tightly to the handle of her trolley, and she can hear Luke sniff, wipe at his face and let out a wet laugh and it hurts. Julie thinks it’s almost worse than the hollow one and she feels tears spring into her eyes.

“Never?” She asks, because what else can she say? Her parents had never once missed an opportunity to see her play, she can’t even imagine standing on a stage again and her dad or Victoria not being in the audience for the first time.

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ and blows out a breath. “And I mean, I guess I could understand them not supporting the band and trying to push college on me if they’d ever actually fucking seen us. But they haven’t. It’s like they’ve just - they’ve decided we’re not good and that it’s all a waste of time. Without any evidence for it. Because, I- I don’t wanna sound egotistical here but fuck, we are good. We’re fucking awesome. And they won’t even consider that as a possibility. That this could work.”

“That’s their loss then,” is the first thing that comes out of Julie’s mouth, “Because I’ve only ever seen people's shaky phone videos of you guys playing and that was enough for me to know that you’re good. That you guys are amazing.”

They were more than good really, Luke was right, they were pretty fucking awesome, and if his parents couldn’t see that. Well that was on them.

“Yeah?” he sounds unsure for the first time, and Julie’s reminded that Luke might be a pretty confident guy but even confident people need a little reassurance sometimes. She relaxes her grip on the trolley’s handle and smiles a little.

“Yeah. And if they can’t see that Luke, if they don’t even want to try to see that, that’s on them. And they’ll either realise it soon enough and sort their shit out. Or they’ll try to deny it forever and end up regretting it.” She really hopes they sort their shit out, that his parents wake up and see that their son is gonna be a star, one way or another. And that they’ll want to be there for it, that he wants them there for it, to smile and clap and cheer for him.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen us play,” his laugh this time is lighter, not quite up to his usual infectious quality, but maybe warmer. Softer. Julie doesn’t know how to describe it, but she wants to be able to hear it every day.

“I know, I’m a fake fan clearly.” Julie smiles, blows out a shallow breath as she blinks back the sudden tears that had found her eyes and lets him change the subject. She didn’t come to do her weekly shop expecting an emotional spiral in the cereal aisle of all places. The freezers with the ice cream might have been more appropriate.

“We’ll have to fix that when we’re back on the same stretch of land. Personal concert, just for you.”

The teasing tone is enough to make her roll her eyes and start moving again.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

//

“So we’re back in the UK on December 10th.”

The statement almost makes Julie choke on her drink. And she’s glad that she’d put her phone down while she’d reached for it so Luke couldn’t see her reaction. Theoretically, she’d known they were approaching the end of November, that the band had finished their tour last week and had been using their free time to do some exploring, that they’d be back in the same country soon.

That, despite all her worst thoughts and assumptions, they were still talking. They were friends.

Wiping her chin with her sleeve, Julie picks up her phone again, trying her best to keep her face neutral. There’s a chance Luke doesn’t even remember the sort of deal they’d made. It had been nearly twelve months ago and it had been late at night and they’d both been pretty drunk.

“Really?”

He just looks at her, an eyebrow slightly raised and she can see the way he’s biting down on his lower lip. He almost looks – Julie blinks, brow furrowing, he looks worried. Which she doesn't understand.

“Are you okay?” She asks, leaning forward to peer closer at her phone like it will be able to give her answers.

“Yeah, yeah I just –” Luke pauses and Julie watches as his eyes seem to circle around his screen (which is technically her face, her mind oh so helpfully supplies) in search of something, and whatever he finds seems to be enough because he blows out a breath and nods once, more to himself she thinks. “We’ll be in the same country again and you’re going home soon and I– I was wondering if you still wanted to try that um night again. Maybe just you and me this time.”

Julie isn’t sure she’s breathing. Her mind has gone blank and all she can hear is her heart beating and Luke is just looking at her. All wide worried eyes and bitten lips and curls escaping from his beanie.

He’d remembered.

And he was asking her – out?

That thought knocks her mind into action again. She opens her mouth to reply, to say something, anything, but all she can get out is a slightly strangled,

“I–” Because Julie had been so sure that if they’d made it to this point and were still friends that Luke wouldn’t want anything more then that from her. She’d cried on the phone to him, at least twice.

“I mean we don’t have to I was – it was just an idea y’know? But I mean it’s fine, we–” Luke starts, taking her silence for her trying to let him down gently and not just an internal freak out.

“No!” She doesn’t mean to shout it, but it comes out as a shout anyway, startling them both. Luke just looks at her, mouth still half open and looking confused. Julie has a flashback to seeing him look exactly the same way when she’d said she couldn’t kiss him and it almost makes her giggle. “I mean yes, yes, I want to – to – to see you. To try that night again.”

“You do?” She watches as his confusion morphs into relief and into a smile, lips tugging up and eyes brightening.

“Yeah,” she smiles back, it would be hard not to smile back at him. “So, December 10th. I’m free the weekend after?”

It takes them a while to make a plan, mostly because Luke keeps having to ask Alex or Bobby where they’re staying or when they’re in the studio or what day they’re flying home. And then they bicker over where to meet because ‘London is so cliche Julie! We’re not cliche.’ which she’s pretty sure their friends would disagree with, but Julie pulls up google on her laptop and they look through different cities and towns until they find one they both like the sound of.

Two hours later after they’ve said goodnight and shared giddy smiles, Julie lies on her bed staring at the ceiling and for the first time since that first night they’d met, she lets herself feel excited for what might happen between them.

[catsafarithewriter]

Yeay promptsss !! What about... 13 and the one who said it is Haru :D

Fabulous! Prompt 13 was: “When I say ‘go’, run. Run and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” Human AU. 

NB: When I first started writing this (a few years back), I thought it’d be a funny twist to have a dramatic gun fight turn out to be a paintball battle, drawing the twist out to the last moment. However in the last couple of years the landscape on gun crime, particularly police shootings, has changed, and I’m very aware that something like this could be unintentionally triggering.

So I’m revealing the twist now, so that the context makes this funny rather than stressful, and so that people can skip this ficlet if they want. Please enjoy the Bureau being drama llamas over a paintball game :)

x

Haru slammed behind the barrier, breath low and jacket stained red, shoulder meeting Baron’s with a wince. She leant against him as they both refuelled their guns. “How are you holding?”

Gunfire peppered the wall opposite them. They ducked lower.

“Muta’s been shot,” Baron murmured.

Haru swore. “Where?”

“Chest. Several times. Legs. Once on the arm, I think.”

Haru dropped her head back against the barrier. Her hair, slick with sweat, was cold against her skin. She shivered, despite the rush pulsing through her veins. “Well, this is it. Game over.”

Baron gently elbowed Haru, but even that was tired. “Are you always this pessimistic, Miss Haru?”

Reluctantly, a smile tugged its way onto her lips at the old-fashioned address. “Only when I’m facing certain defeat.”

“Such dramatics.”

“Baron, I don’t think we’re getting out of this one.”

“Nonsense. You’re only saying that because we’re surrounded, Muta is out for the count, and–” He paused as more projectiles smeared the tree to their left. “And my sister is a really good shot.”

“She’ll have to run out of ammunition eventually, right?”

There was only the merest of silences before the firing continued. “Not if she tag-teams with her wife.”

“Is it just the two of them?”

Baron edged his head above the barrier and had to duck rapidly as a fresh volley flew inches from him. “I think so.”

Calculations ran through Haru’s mind. “I have a plan.”

“I thought that was my department.”

“Your plan got Muta shot.”

A beat. “Fair enough.”

“Their base is just beyond this hill, right? So all we need to do is get past them and we’re home free.” She finished reloading her gun and cocked it to her side. “Simple.”

“And what does this plan entail?”

“When I say ‘go’, run. Run and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” 

Baron’s gaze narrowed. “No.”

“Baron–”

“You’re not using yourself as live bait.”

“We only need one person to reach the base and then this is all over! Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“We’re either making it together or not at all.”

Haru cupped Baron’s cheek in her hand, drawing him close for a passing kiss. “You’re sweet, von Gikkingen, but wrong. Sometimes sacrifices have got to be made.” 

“Then we swap roles. I’ll be the bait.”

“You’re faster than me. You know that.” Haru grinned lopsidedly. “Plus you know my track record for running and forest roots.”   

 Baron’s jaw set into a stubborn line, and for a moment Haru was sure he was going to argue back. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. But when we’ve survived this–”

“Baron…”

“When we’ve survived this,” he repeated with surety, “I owe you at least a week of home-made tea blends.”

“Only a week’s worth?”

“If your plan works, I’ll make it two.”

“Deal. Now go. I’ll cover you.” 

He stole one last kiss and then hoisted his weapon to his side. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” 

Haru cackled. “Like that narrows things down. And, Baron?” She winked. “Good luck.” 

He saluted back and eased his way to the right corner of the wall. Haru watched him get about as far as possible before blowing his cover, and then she made a sprint for a copse of trees to her left. A cascade of shots shadowed her steps, scarring the trees in her wake, and she threw herself behind another lone wall seconds from being caught.

She heaved in gasping breaths and steeled herself for the fight ahead. 

x

The tenor of the gunfire shifted as it was drawn away, and Baron found himself hesitating. The gentleman part of him refused to leave his companion to her fate but another part - the practical part of him that knew that the plan was their best shot - turned his attention from Haru and onto his objective.

Cresting the hill, he came into sight of a set of low-slung walls, stained and marked and an almost exact match for where he had started, only twenty minutes prior. Centring it was a red flag. He reached for it. 

“Stop right there, Baron. Don’t make me shoot you.”

Baron froze, so close and yet so far from the marker that would bring all of this to an end. He straightened, his form taut and tense. “Toto.”

His oldest friend appeared from behind a barrier, gun toted in Baron’s direction. “Baron.”

“Why not just get this over with? Eliminate me, and this will all be over.”

Toto shrugged. “I don’t want to ruin your nice jacket. Anyway, we both know that there are two ways this can end - we eliminate all of your or we capture your… what did you call your base?”

“The Sanctuary,” Baron muttered. 

“Ah, yes. It didn’t really live up to its name for Muta though, did it?”

“You didn’t need to shoot him so many times. Once would have sufficed.”

Toto shrugged again. “Regardless, I’m sure the rest of my team will have squashed Haru’s little distraction, so they’ll be moving in on your... Sanctuary any moment now. It’ll all be over soon, Baron, so I’m quite happy to indulge in this stalemate between us.” 

Baron’s gaze flickered to the flag only a stone’s throw from him, and Toto saw the thought. 

“Baron...” he said warningly. 

“It’s not over until the bell rings.”

“There’s no way you can reach it before I shoot you.”

Baron grinned. “We won’t know until we try, will we?” he asked and dove for the flag. His fingers were inches from the fabric when something slammed into his back, between his shoulder blades, and spun him off course. 

Somewhere, far off, he heard the ring of a bell. 

Game over. 

“Sorry, Baron. It was nothing personal, you understand.”

Baron squinted up at the silhouette of Toto, jacket stained and breath winded, and he let the fight leave his form. “Good shot, Toto.” He dropped his head back against the grass. “I only wish I could... see Haru... one last time...” He slumped and lay still.

There was a snort.

“Get up, Baron. It’s only paint.”

Baron opened his eyes and accepted the proffered hand with only the smallest pout. “Yes, but it still hurts.” He was hauled back to his feet and glanced down at his front. “Oh. That’s going to leave a stain.”

“I did warn you.” 

“It was worth a shot.”

“Was it? Really? Because it looks like all you got for your efforts was paint and grass stains.” Regardless, he gave a small laugh and dug out a towel from a storage box hidden beneath the flag’s pedestal. “Clean yourself up and let’s find the others. I believe your team owes mine a drink.”

 “I believe that was the agreement. And, Toto?”

“Yes?”

“Next time you’re on my team.” 

[pepethehobbit]

Wish you were here - Notting Hill Au

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Jens knows this hotel. Of course he does. It’s one of the most luxurious and expensive hotels Antwerp has to offer. Anyone with a bank account that reaches six figures or more is most likely staying here when in the city. They have cheaper rooms of course, but even those are not ones the ‘regular’ person can easily afford. Jens feels out of place standing in front of the big red door knowing what kind of people stay in here. But then he thinks of Lucas and reminds himself that not all rich people are behaving like the stereotype that’s currently running through Jens’ mind. And apart from that, it’s not like he is here to see other people, he came to see Lucas. Who specifically asked to meet him here (under the pretense of giving Jens his sweater back, but he really hopes Lucas simply wants to see him again) with the weirdest (I mean it was written on toilet paper) but at the same time cutest note Jens has ever received from someone. So he puts the feeling of inadequacy aside and steps in. He goes straight to the reception and asks with as much confidence and earnest as he can offer to see Flynn Rider. It’s hard to keep a straight face at the name and honestly, Jens will have to ask him about that later.

The clerk behind the counter eyes him skeptically for a few seconds than says: “Up two flights of stairs, the last door on the corridor, Room 209. You are very late, you better hurry before it’s over.”

It’s a sign of how nervous Jens is that he doesn’t question it, just nods and begins to walk up the stairs. Then the questioning begins, did Lucas inform the hotel that he will have a visitor, surely not right? He lives here for the duration of his stay, he surely doesn’t have to let the hotel know who comes and goes? Also, he checks the time on his phone and sees that he is at least five minutes early. But Jens decides that it’s time for him to get his chill back. No more worrying about what could go wrong and simply concentrating on the fact that Lucas van der Heijden actually wants to see him again, which he made the effort of writing a note for, maybe because he was nervous to ask Jens outright? Maybe not. Lucas seemed pretty confident and not nervous at all actually. But anyway Jens couldn’t help but feel the quiet excitement cursing through his body which made him feel warm and happy, to the point that he couldn’t stop the smile once he stood in front of 209 and knocked three times.

The door opens but it’s not Lucas that stands behind him. Before he can even feel the disappointment and confusion he gets ushered inside the room by the person who opened the door.

“Another one, great. What’s your name?”

Jens is too perplexed to question what’s happening right now. He notices a handful of other people in the room as well. There are cameras and microphones and people running around with clipboards and security passes around their necks. There is a line of three people in front of a closed door leading into another room and Jens has a slight idea what’s going on now.

“Jens.”

“And who do you work for? Where is your pass? Didn’t they give you one? Here is another one.”

Jens takes the pass and hangs it around his neck but doesn’t know what else to do. Should he go along? Should he clarify? No, no one would believe him anyway. This may be his only chance of seeing Lucas again, so he plays along. “Well, which magazine do you work for?”

Right, okay. He can do this. He just needs to think about some of the pretentious movie rants Robbe goes on sometimes and wasn’t there a subscription he gifted him once to one of those weird movie magazines? In his peripheral vision he sees a plate of sandwiches and what comes out instead is: “Fine Cooking. I, uh, I work for Fine Cooking.” The dude eyes him weirdly like he lost his mind but could clearly bother less and tells him to wait at the door where the other three men already stand in line.

The first in line gets ushered in and leaves five minutes later, same procedure with the other two men in front of Jens and before he knows it he us pushed into a room with two chairs one of which is occupied by Lucas and a blonde woman standing next to him with a clipboard in her hand and an ear piece in her ear. Lucas hasn’t noticed him yet, currently busy with talking to the blonde.

“Next up, Jens from ‘Fine Cooking’,” says the guy who ushered him in and Lucas heads snaps up immediately. First it’s shock which morphs into amusement. Jens isn’t sure what to do until the woman comes up to him and introduces herself.

“Hi, I’m Engel, Lucas’ manager. You can sit down and ask your questions. You have five minutes and five minutes only so use them wisely, we’re on a busy schedule.”

Jens’ gaze flicks over to Lucas who looks back with an apologetic expression. Engel goes back to stand next to Lucas and Jens’ hope to be alone with him are diminished. Jens sits down across from Lucas and notices the film poster behind him. Jens has seen it before hanging around town. It’s a science fiction movie which isn’t really Jens’ favorite genre and also doesn’t go well with the magazine he is apparently working for. Engel clears her throat and makes a motion for him to start asking question. Well, here goes nothing.

“So, do you think the character you play enjoys cooking?” He looks at Lucas and sees the corners of his mouth fighting a smile and the ridiculousness of the situation makes Jens do the same.  

“Well, considering I’m pretty busy fighting aliens, I don’t think my character has enough time for cooking.” Lucas obviously tries to stay professional in front of his manager but Jens can hear the amusement in the answer loud and clear. Engel looks slightly bewildered but it doesn’t seem to be the weirdest interview she ever witnessed.

“Does your character have a favorite food then? Something like a celebratory dish after successfully fighting of the aliens?”

“My character dies in the end, so I guess that’s a no.” Well, so much for that, Jens thinks. He really doesn’t know what else to ask but then Engel touches the ear piece, nods once and says she’ll be back in a second. Even before she leaves the room Jens sighs out a breath of relief. He hears laughing and looks up at Lucas again.

“Fine Cooking? Really?” Jens scoffs but smiles anyway, at least it made him laugh.

“Well, it’s not like I prepared for this. I was just shoved in here and had to come up with something. I saw the sandwiches in the other room and Milan has a subscription to it. I panicked.”

“I’m sorry, Jens. I really am. I thought by now these would be over but they just keep on coming.” Lucas sounds genuinely disappointed and Jens kind of forgives him instantly. Not that he was really mad at Lucas anyway.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s fine. You just wanted to give me my sweater back anyway right?” Jens is pretty sure that that’s not true but he kind of wants to hear Lucas say it.

“No, I used that as an excuse to meet with you again.” Lucas says it with such confidence and surety that Jens can’t help but smile at him brightly.

“Yeah, I was kinda hoping that this was the case.” Lucas mirrors his smile and sends him a hopeful look. It makes Jens feel brave.

“Robbe, my best friend, is having a small get together for his birthday tomorrow evening. Do you wanna come with me?”

Lucas looks at him surprised but not opposed to the idea. “Yeah. Yes. I mean, I would love to. If it’s okay with them. I don’t wanna intrude on your best friend’s birthday.”

Jens shakes his head while Lucas is still talking. “You won’t. They’re always happy to meet a new face and Milan you already know, he’ll be there as well.”

Engel comes back into the room and Lucas gives Jens a meaningful look. Right, back to pretending. “Ask your last question now,” says the manager and looks at him expectantly.

“Right. Uhm. Will you consider having more cooking scenes in your next film project? Maybe before being killed by aliens?” There it is again, that smile that Lucas tries so hard to fight and even Jens can’t really keep a straight face.

“I will definitely consider it. Maybe the director can fit something into the script.”

“Well, the readers of ‘Fine Cooking’ will certainly appreciate that.”

Engel is getting ready to throw Jens out but Lucas turns to her, takes the clipboard out of her hand and writes something down. She looks surprised but lets him do that while making her way over towards Jens to lead him out of the room. Already at the door he notices that Lucas followed them and before Engel can throw him out Jens feels something slip in his pocket. He looks curiously at Lucas who just offers his hand in a goodbye. “I’m looking forward to the article in the newest edition of Fine Cooking. Can’t wait to see what you wrote.” Lucas has a cheeky smile on his face that Jens has the sudden desire to erase with his lips. Instead he squeezes Lucas’ hand and softly strokes the back of his hand with his thumb. “Thank you for your time. The readers of Fine Cooking will be thrilled to have your insight on space food.” Lucas can barely hide his smile again but by then he is already out of the room and then lead back into the corridor without so much of a second glance from the manager or anyone else.

Jens immediately checks his pocket once he is alone and finds a folded (this time actual) piece of paper. It simply says text me the details and then a phone number written under it. Jens can’t help his giddy smile. He immediately pulls out his phone, saves Lucas into his contacts and shoots him a message.

Is that your thing? Slipping people notes and hope they follow through?

The answer comes several hours later but Jens isn’t surprised. He saw how busy Lucas was.

No, not people. Only you. And it seems to be working, doesn’t it?

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Spirit of Christmas - Supercorp AU

I’ve been bingeing holiday movies and I really liked The Spirit of Christmas. I really liked the idea of a Supercorp version of it with a butch 1920s Kara falling in love with a beautiful heiress who shows up at her inn one Christmas Eve. They fall madly in love, and the heiress visits more and more until she practically lives at the inn. But when Kara reveals she runs alcohol for the local bootleggers to help make ends meet, her heiress is none too happy. 

Kara could have asked her for help, and she would have given Kara however much she needed. The heiress loves the inn-- she’ll buy it from Kara if that’ll make her feel better. If Kara got herself hurt...

Listening to her heiress with stars in her eyes, Kara proposes another idea.

“Marry me.”

Her heiress accepts with a laugh and smile. They spend the night together, and make plans for Christmas. An engagement party on Christmas Eve, hosted at the inn. There’s just one last thing Kara has to do first: deliver her last shipment of rum up to Canada. Her heiress begs her not to, but there’s no choice. It’s not like Kara can keep the rum and not have the entire force of the mob down on her doorstep. 

If she delivers the rum, tells them she’s out, they’ll have no reason to give her any grief. She promises that she’ll be back in time to announce their engagement on Christmas Eve.

But Kara doesn’t make good on that promise. She dies less than a mile from the inn, and her last thought is a wish to see her heiress one last time.

Fast forward nearly a hundred years, and Lena Luthor is posthumously gifted an inn from a distant relative. It’s a complete surprise-- she didn’t even know she had this relative until the executor of their will contacted her to inform her of her inheritance. Lena intends to sell it, but apparently no one wants to appraise it because of the haunting rumors that surround the place.

She goes to the inn herself to make things happen in time for her to turn the place around before she incurs taxes at the first of the year. Lena doesn’t give much thought to the tales of ghosts and mysterious deaths, except to scorn the poor business practice of closing the inn during peak tourist season.

So when heavy footsteps clomp across the first floor her first night their, Lena freaks, but trips down the stairs before she can call 911. She wakes under the watchful gaze of a very striking, very attractive woman in suspenders and heavy boots. 

The woman demands she leave, and Lena has absolutely none of it. She appreciates that the woman helped her out after her fall down the stairs, but she’s a trespasser and should be the one leaving before LENA calls the cops. Of course, the kind curmudgeon of an intruder just rolls her eyes and points Lena towards the framed photograph on the mantle. A photograph of the inn’s first proprietor-- who bears a striking resemblance to the broad shouldered woman staring Lena down.

Her sharp blue eyes unnerve Lena, who demands to know why she’s staring.

“You look like someone I once knew.”

So-- the inn is haunted. Great. No one wants to stay at the inn, no one wants to appraise it. But, Lena is nothing if not curious.

“Why are you here? How are you here? Have you been to the other side and then come back, or did you never leave? Why only two weeks in December? How do you--”

And on and on and on, until Kara can’t stand it. She refuses to say anything more, and refuses to look into the manner of her death. She’s tried before, countless times, and nothing’s ever come of it. It doesn’t matter. Kara just wants to enjoy her two weeks in peace-- alone.

Lena says whatever, but starts digging on her own. She rents all the occult references she can find from the local library, and visits the local Wicca store for help on casting spells-- to which she’s informed it doesn’t work that way, and is she sure she’s all right? So then she digs up the old records from the local paper and finds the articles that reported Kara’s death, and the trail of owners that led from Kara’s sister Alex all the way down to the distant relative who’d bequeathed the inn to Lena.

All the while, Lena and Kara get to know each other better, and it’s not long before a certain something sparks between them. Kara is in fact quite charming, and Lena is quick to laugh and tremendously compassionate. She also dances like a dream, which she proves to Kara one night when they uncover an old phonograph and a box of records.

When they kiss for the first time, Lena feels like the entire world grows brighter around her. Which makes the dark chill that fills the house at night all the more eerie. When she confronts Kara about the slamming doors and the ominous voices, they realize it wasn’t Kara at all, but another presence in the house entirely.

One that isn’t so friendly.

One that sends fingers of ice across Lena’s skin in the middle of the night, and throws Lena’s clothes across the room when she isn’t there. One that fills Lena with a sense of dread that burrows deep into her bones, that only Kara’s smile, her touch, can dispel. 

The day before Christmas Eve, Kara remembers what happened the night she died: she’d come across a man being attacked by a group of local troublemakers. They were drunk and armed, and she was one person, so when she stepped in they turned their focus on her and she lost her life to a single bullet fired by accident.

It’s then that Lena shares what she found out about the people Kara left behind, who Kara never had the heart to learn before. How her heiress had waited at the inn, for months, until her family forced her back to the city. How the night before her wedding, she’d taken a draught that helped her to sleep, and never woke up.

How the diary that had been delivered to Alex after the funeral had contained one final entry, dated the night of her death.

And so I return home. X

And Lena stays with Kara as she finally grieves for the life she lost, and the life of her lover, whose own had ended with her. Lena offers to cancel the Christmas Eve party they had planned as a thank you to the town, but Kara insists it go forward. 

“No. It was her favorite time of year.” Kara takes off her glasses to scrub her eyes dry. It’s a way of honoring her-- better than anything Kara has done in the 95 years since her death.

Lena agrees, and the party in question comes with warm lights and soft music and good food, as the locals come for a dance with high spirits. As Lena gets ready in her room, she spies a figure in the mirror behind her-- a woman she knows from the photographs she found in the hall of records.

“Diana,” she breathes, earning a relieved smile in return. Now Lena can see what Kara means-- their reflections could almost be sisters.

The heiress nods, and comes into clearer focus. “You can see me. I’ve been trying to get your attention--”

It was Diana all along-- the mess of clothes, the whispers and clammy touches. 

“Kara is here, isn’t she?” Diana asks. Lena nods. “I’ve seen glimpses of her, but slips away like mist before I can reach her. There’s so much I want to say to her, so much I--” Tears sparkle in Diana’s eyes. “Will you help me?”

Lena nods wordlessly. This time when Diana reaches for her, her touch fills Lena with warmth. She closes her eyes, and that warmth spreads from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. When she opens them again, their reflections have overlaid, occupying the same space. When her hand lifts to touch the mirror, it’s not by Lena’s will, but Diana’s.

Thank you, Diana sighs in Lena’s mind. Thank you, Lena.

No one seems to notice anything out of the ordinary as Diana descends the stairs, but the moment Kara’s eyes lock on them, Lena knows she sees Diana. Tears fill those beautiful blue eyes that Lena loves so much, and desperate hands reach for her to pull Diana into a crushing hug.

“Diana.” Words spill from Kara’s lips like snowmelt. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I never meant--”

“I know,” Diana responds with Lena’s voice. “I know, darling. I knew you would return to me. You promised you would.”

“I’m tried...”

“I pretended to hope, but I knew as soon as Christmas dawned that you were gone. When my mother sent her man to collect me, I knew--” Lena’s voice cracks from the weight of Diana’s emotion. Now Lena recognizes the chill that had filled her room each night, the despair that settled in her bones. 

“Nothing in the world seemed to matter,” Diana finishes.

Kara cups her cheek, her fingers gentle against Lena’s skin. “I love you, Diana. With every ounce of my heart.”

Lena nods, confident in Diana’s surety. “I know. I never doubted that. Not for a moment.”

Diana lifts onto her tip toes, pressing her lips to Kara’s in a kiss that begins tenderly but soon grows searing. Kara pulls her closer, as though to draw Diana’s spirit from Lena and into her own body. But Diana remains firmly in place, and when she draws back, there’s a new sense of finality that weighs heavy in Lena’s chest.

“But a heart can love again,” Diana informs her. Her hand caresses her lover’s cheek as it colors with shame. Distantly, Lena realizes that Diana is referring to her-- to the kiss they shared the night before. That Kara loves her, despite everything in life and the afterlife that stands between them. 

“I never got to give you my gift that night,” Diana murmurs. Her smile is sad, but shines with love. “Do you know what it was?”

Kara shakes her head.

“A life of unending happiness, with me at your side.” 

A strangled sound grinds from Kara’s throat as she hiccups a sob. She shakes her head, but Diana takes both hands in hers. 

“It may have taken nearly a century, but I give it to you now, even if I’m not the one who spends it with you.”

She places one hand on Kara’s chest, pressing gently, yet firmly against her sternum. 

“I absolve you of your guilt. Live, and be loved.”

“Diana...”

“Thank you, Kara, for showing me what life could be.”

Love her well, Lena.

Diana leaves Lena with sigh.

Suddenly, Lena is blinking into Kara’s tear-filled gaze. Horror and heartbreak flashes behind blue eyes a second later when Kara realizes Diana is gone. Her arms drop to her sides, and she staggers back one step, then two.

“Kara, I--”

Kara bolts.

She charges out the front door and into the building snowstorm, where Lena can’t follow. 

Lena spends the night alone in a roomful of people, staring as the clock ticks closer to midnight, and the moment Kara will disappear for another year. She ends up spending the night on the porch, bundled in three blankets and a quilt as she waits for Kara to return.

She only realizes she’s fallen asleep when she opens her eyes to the pale light of sun reflecting off fresh snow. Her breath clouds when she sighs, scanning an empty treeline for any sign of Kara. Her throat locks tight as she turns to go back inside. 

She freezes when heavy footsteps crunch through the snow towards her. She’s imagining it, Lena’s certain. She’s dreaming, or hoping, and what has that ever gotten her before--

“Lena.”

Kara’s voice pulls her around, turning with shuddering gasp. Kara clomps up the wooden porch steps, and gathers Lena tightly to her chest, blankets and all. 

“I’m sorry--”

“I’m so sorry--”

They speak at the same time, and Lena’s apologies fall silent under the weight of Kara’s tear-clogged voice. “I love you,” Kara says. “I love you, but I didn’t-- I couldn’t-- Diana, she-- It felt like a betrayal, but she--”

“I know.” Lena understands. Now more than ever.

“She brought new breath to my lungs the day I met her,” Kara croaks. “And now she’s done it again. I’m alive.”

Lena nods. There’s something different about the warmth that spreads in Lena at her proximity. It’s the heartbeat, she realizes dazedly.

“Stay with me,” Kara urges. “Please.”

Lena doesn’t even have to think.

“Yes.”

[jessipalooza]

Of Unseen and Eyes, Part I

Whether people wished to admit it or not, the sea changed from land to land, place to place. In Quel'Thalas, it was fresh and teemed with magic. In Stormwind, it was sturdy and bland. In Booty Bay, it was rotten and unruly.

In Drustvar, it was ancient and stank of blood, fish, and rotten earth. 

Karsteth had manged to find an island off the coat of Drustvar, within sight of the Crimson Forest, tucked down in the south where it should have been cold - but it was not cold...it was damp, it was humid, it was uncomfortable. Nobody wanted to be there, and so it was the perfect place for a man that wanted nobody around him.

With his ship docked on one side of the small island, he trudged along the beach, rounding the large hill (or perhaps small mountain). Even Booker remained back with the ship, leaving the one-eyed, hand-scarred captain alone. He listened to the waves, the cry of the gulls as they circled fish nearby, and the crunch of shells and sand beneath his boots. 

The island was silent of people, his men far enough away that their shouting drowned out beneath nature. But that was how it needed to be in order for his gruff voice to carry as he bellowed: 

"DASIA!!"

Her home had grown smoky with the burning of offerings, and so when she felt the call to sea-soaked climes, she took it. It was simple to her-- when certain clients called, and with such need, she came. There were deals to make, things to win... and she had been hoping to hear this voice through the shady betweenplaces. 

When Dasia' feet touched the sand, though, she gasped softly, full lips parted to taste the air, the mist, the blood thick in both.

Kindred, she felt. Kin and kith alike. Welcome home, the land said. Where you belong. Amethyst-bright eyes flashed over the rocky outcroppings, the thin trees for this blasted and small islet, and she shivered with delight. She took a step, and almost lost her footing. Her magic, so well heeled for centuries, raced and dragged at her leashes, bright and eager for the hunt. She knew this place then, and her laughter filled the wave-wracked wind.

"Oh, my Captain, you always know the best places for our dalliances." She replied to him, her bare feet light on the soaked leaflitter. "My heart sings."

There was a distant call for more tar. The repairs were getting started in full swing, but Karsteth made not even a glance up. He knew where his ship was, he knew what it needed, he knew what his crew was doing...and his crew knew better than to dally. Thankfully, where his ship was wounded, he was not. 

“Cut yer weird shit, Dasia,” he said, as gruffly as ever. “We ain’t here for a lover’s triste. Y’know that well enough. Guessin’ ye even know why I called ye here.”

She hummed softly, eyes tracing over the man's features. He may not want her now, but her appreciation for him was certainly not purely professional and it showed in the smile that curled her lips. "To business then, my Captain." There was always special emphasis on that title; she had helped him secure it, and maintain it-- a possessive shade that lingered when she spoke it. 

"I know what the winds tell me; that you engaged and were so close to your goal that the blood was all but on your lips... when it again, was snatched back."

She tossed her wine-dark hair and stepped forward. "I also know she lived, and that your work is far from done, and that you need something to help you keep your shadow close and tucked neat between your boots, so as not to tip your hand to any." She stepped around him, eyes trailing from his features to his shoulders, circling the man while we words would wrap them in a thick mist.

Soon, even the sounds of his ship seemed to fade in the murk, and the scent of copper permeated, combining with the seasalt and the scent of dried herbs that clung to the witch.

"In short, you wish to make another deal, and my Captain, I am very happy to oblige."

Karsteth looked unimpressed at her 'guess'. With a deep breath in, he ran a callused hand over his face and scratched at his scruff-ridden chin. He unhitched his bow from his back, swung it to rest against a nearby rock, and sat himself down. With a wide spread of his legs, he rest his arms across his lap.

"In short, aye. I want another fuckin' deal." 

He turned his eye - nay, his eyes - up to the witch. One green and wispy with the taint of fel. One all different colors and teeming with her own magic. 

"She had a fuckin' war ship. I could sit around all day and wonder how the fuck that lil' bitch got a war ship, but it won't do me any fuckin' good. I didn't kill her, I know that much. And if she's been huntin' me'n'mine, she'll know I'm comin' next time. So I wanna make sure she doesn't. I want her fuckin' blind."

"You want more than just one girl blind." Dasia corrected, her voice almost chiding. "She hunts you now, but you know that as soon as word rises that the White Widow was wounded, there will be other sharks chasing the chum in the waters." She clucked her tongue to teeth softly. "I know your enemies are many because they are sniffing after anything that will bring them an edge... even seeking witches." 

There was always the risk he would grow violent with her, of course; she liked it, he was chaos made man and she loved that he was one of the few who could end her, wholly, upsetting so many years of planning. Still, she wanted him to know-- she was courted by others, and had not given them nearly as much as she had given Karsteth.

No other had given her two sons, despite the firsts faults. "I have not bothered with them, but they seek anyway." She finished her circling and stood before him, arms crossed beneath her heavy bosom, hip thrust out becomingly. "I will make you a deal to blind them all; they would need to have their soles on your deck to know where you are."

Leaning down, she purred softly to him. "Imagine, Karsteth, lord of the waters... unseen. By any foe. Arrive like mist over the shore, disperse just as invisibly." She closed the distance, stepped up to where he was seated, and recklessly slid her hand over his unscarred cheek. "I could make you this way."

“Who the fuck else is lookin’ for me?” He all but growled, watching her come closer but keeping his hands safely down, dangling between his legs casually. He was a predator and knew another predator when he saw one. He knew better than to take his eyes off of her. 

Without waiting for a response (it didn’t matter, after all, they’d all be dead sooner or later and he had a more pressing matter to handle), he scoffed with a whiskey-scented breath. He leaned back and gestures loosely to the witch in front of him. 

“That’s why I’m fuckin’ here, Dasia. What d’ye need this time? Some rubies, some fuckin’ flour, and the cock of a general or some weird shit as usual? Name yer price.”

As he leaned back, her hand was drawn away, and she clucked. "Other captains, other pirates. You make no friends with your white flag." She shook her head as though sadly, but he could still see her smile. "They circle, but I will help you evade."

She opened her hands to him, and in them red mist swirled. "I need very little this time; hiding is what me and mine are very very good at." Dasia purred and in her palms grew a small stone vial. "Drink this, and follow the tracks of white light amidst the red; you will find what remains of... something I need. Something I cannot get."

Dasia's voice softened, a serious note growing in the dulcet tones. "Use it where your ship is docked against safe harbor, but no step you will need to take. Get me the glowing fragment, and I will make you invisible to all your enemies. I have the stones and bones and things I need to hide you, all I ask is for this one thing; an eye lost in the Nightmare."

Karsteth arched a long brow at her words. She was a woman of deals and didn’t give anything freely. Whatever she required must be valuable enough. She must have been desperate enough. But he wasn’t going to question it and ruin an upper hand. The two had their dance. He would stick with it. 

“Glowin’ remains of what exactly?” He asked, looking to the mist and then the vial as it materialized. “Ye said an eye? How am I supposed to know where the fuck it is in all this place yer sendin’ me?”

"It will glow." She said it with surety. "It doesn't belong there, and the Nightmare is trying to consume it and it is not being consumed. You have the... easy part, it has been moved part of the way to the edge of Nightmare, and just needs the last steps to bring it back to the world of living and breathing."

The danger, of course, was that he would smell enough of her or just enough of life to bring the things that hunter Nightmare to hunt. But she could not traverse those lands for this item; she could not touch it, while within the Nightmare. Her deals had been clear, no matter how she chafed against them these many years later. 

Simpering, she pitched her voice softer. "It won't appear like an eye. I do not know what shape it has in the Nightmare, now that it has been there so long, but it will glow and stand out against the wilds."

Karsteth's attention dipped down to the vial in Dasia's hands. His tongue ran along his teeth again and he leaned back - not just for comfort's sake, but to sit taller, straighter.

"So, ye don't know what the fuck it looks like. Might not look like an eye. But it'll glow. And it'll be fairly fuckin' close to wherever the fuck I dock my ship. But if I take this shit ye got, find the glowin' piece'a'shit, and get it to ye, then ye'll see to it that that fuckin' bitch won't see me comin'. That she won't be able to find me."

Dasia's eyes met his. "I will make it worth your efforts. I want this eye, and you want to be unseen. A trade made by fates, yes? Steal an eye and steal sight with it." She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

If he had not called her, she would have sought him-- or sent one of her other debted dealmakers into the Nightmare. She needed this, and the sooner she had it... the sooner she could begin. Things were unfolding, becoming, far quicker than she had hoped. If Karsteth could obtain this...

"I will do exactly as you say; bring it, and you will move over waters unknown and unseen, until you so choose to be seen." Her tone grew serious, and she leaned in, eyeing his features once more with clear evaluation.

"Do we have a deal?"

As Dasia leaned in, his eyes dipped down briefly to the humorless smile. It was business, and he knew that. But it was something else, and he knew that too. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was fucking him over somehow. He knew she wasn't telling him the whole story, but he didn't give a fuck about what all of these eyes, tongues, secrets, blood, and stones were for. And yet....

Rather than offer her a gruff, verbal answer, he reached up and forcefully grabbed a fistful of dark, wild hair. Tugging her down, he smashed his lips against hers for a hard and open mouthed kiss. There was a sort of hunger to it, one that came from the sheer power of both of them being in such a close space. But he had also not had a whore for nearly a month. 

Releasing her with a bite of her lip and a taste of blood, he made a grab for the vial and tried to stand all at once.

"Aye, we have a deal."

The potion grabbed from her hands, Dasia let herself fall back a step after the rough assent. With a toss of her hair to right the mussed locks, she reached up to touch her bleeding lip with a smile. Chaos made man indeed; she was never caught so unawares as she was with him. Hunger and demand in him was always met with a surge of her own, and she had not the time to delve into such now. Yet, her smile was as genuine as a witches ever could be, and there was smug satisfaction in her words.

"Sealed with a kiss, then." Her fingertip traced in pink, she made a symbol in the air that seemed to trail fire briefly, before burning up-- and in the burning, so too did the mists finally fade. "I would linger for... further amusements, but this spell is in need of reagents, and I have perfect faith you will return to me soon with what I have requested; I would not keep my Captain waiting." There was a note of resignation in the words; she would have enjoyed a dalliance, but he had been right when he said this was no place for a tryst.

"And I don't have any time to waste," he said easily. 

Slipping the vial away on his person, he watched Dasia for a moment longer. He had seen the fire well enough, but he knew better than to question such things with the witch. There was no purpose in it. He would not get a straight answer. And neither did the answer matter. 

"I'll get whatchye need and bring it back here. With the seas as stormy as they are and the fuckin' trolls fightin' the Kul Tirans, they won't come near here. Right under their fuckin' noses."

He already started to leave, but stopped and glanced back at Dasia. "Ye will be here when I fuckin' need it, aye? Or are ye gonna pull some creepy shit and materialize on my ship when I got the eye?"

Her laughter was bright. "Here is well enough; I promised the riding of rough waters to another, I will be here on land for you to find." Dasia took a step away, not bothering to leave Karsteth with a linger glance-- she had what she wanted, and promise of his return.

Maybe they might have time then, maybe not, but she had smarting lips and heat to remember him by and that was enough.

As her gaze slid over the rock, she glanced to the mainland as well, and lifted a hand-- marks, inky and dark appeared on the skin in a rush as she felt the wind that blew from it, and the scent of magics that swirled within. "Oh, I will be here." Her smile grew sharp as she stepped between shadows of a tree, and seemed to disappear, only her words remaining. "Afterall, you brought me exactly where I need to be."

Karsteth watched as she stepped forward. He saw the blow of the breeze, and then he saw the shadows encompass her until she was not but an echo of her voice. He took in a deep breath of the ancient-scented land and sea - the blood and rotten earth of it all. 

"Right where ye need to fuckin' be," he murmured, repeating her sentiments. With a shake of his head, he turned fully and announced himself as he headed back to the White Widow, as the voices and sounds reached his ears once more.

"Get ready to make way, men! We're leavin' within the hour, repairs done or not!"

Part I | Part II | Part III

@thesunguardmg | @stormandozone 

[pinksaphira11]

White Noise

Well, this is my first fic on here. It was impromptu because of this fic. http://archiveofourown.org/works/13035237/chapters/29816244 It’s kinda how I wanted that fic to be so, here ya go. I made it kinda open ended because 1) I want people to add onto it if they want to and 2) I’m planning on making more parts. I was thinking of making a before, bridge, and a bunch more for after this one. So, here’s the song I was listening to while writing this. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pq8XSOcjVg&feature=youtu.be It also inspired the title. One more thing, if you want more for the memorial, let me know. I might be able to go into depth. I just felt it wasn’t needed in this one. Hope you enjoy this!

Tony looks out the window of his limo to see headlights, when there’s a flare of pain in his side, shoulder, and skull and he suddenly is floating, weightless. What happened? Why can’t he feel anything? Why is everything so quiet and bright? There’s... sirens. People, screaming. He can smell... blood? Wait, he can feel it too. Huh, must have been hit by.... another car? Is Happy okay? He was on the other side of the car, so....... he should be fine. Well, it’s okay, his team will be here to help them soon. But... while he waits... he might need to take a little.... nap. Just a... little.... one...........

Five Years Later

“Toni! Where’d you go?!” Pepper calls frantically as she runs down the sidewalk. She turns the corner to see her four-year-old daughter trying to get some ice cream from a stand. She gasps and grabs Toni, pulling her into a hug and saying, “Don’t do that! You know you can’t go running off by yourself next to the road!”

“Sorry, Mommy,“ Toni says, patting Pepper’s back. Pepper holds back her tears and says, “It’s okay, baby. I just don’t want to loose you like I lost your daddy.”

“Cars dangerous,” Toni said, making Pepper smile and say, “Yeah, they are. Come on baby, let’s get some ice cream and go home, okay?”

“Ice cream!” Toni exclaims, beaming. Pepper laughs a little, then they get some of the ice cream, (with the vendor looking at them weird, but what can you do when you’re famous?) then they head home. Of course, as soon as they pull in, Natasha is there. Toni unbuckles and bursts out the door, rushing to Nat and saying, “Aunt Natalie!”

Nat stiffens, then chuckles and catches Toni in a hug, saying, “You silly thing, my name is Natasha.”

Toni furrows her brow for a second, muttering, “Natalie? No Natalie,” then says, “Sorry Aunt Tasha.”

“No sorry needed, little one. Come on, let’s go inside,” Nat says, looking up to see that Pepper has gotten out of the car, then around to make sure nothing is out of place. Then, she leads them inside, with Toni holding her hand.

They make their way up several flights, Toni loving to push every button and stop at every floor, waving at everyone she sees. This puts both Pepper and Nat on edge, but they laugh tightly at her silly, cute antics. Finally, they reach their floors, the safe level, and they relax as they step out only for Toni to yell, “Uncle Brucie!” and run over to Bruce, who is sitting on the couch, and give him a big ‘bear hug,’ as she calls it. He gives her one of his small, soft smiles and says, “Hey Toni. You have a nice time at you friend’s?“ Toni nodded enthusiastically, making Bruce smile a bit bigger, then she asked, “Where are Uncle Stevie, Uncle Thor, and Wandy?“

Bruce sighed and said, “Wanda went back to Russia to help some more orphans, but don’t worry, she’ll be back in a month. Right now, I think Thor is on the roof, getting ready to head back to Asgard, and Steve is probably drawing in the art room again.”

“K! Thanks Uncle Brucie!” Toni said, kissing his cheek and then running off to the art room while Bruce blushed. As she ran she glanced at the vents, searching for something. But she didn’t find it before she got to the art room. She always loved the art room, it was amazing! So many colors to use and papers to draw on. One time, Uncle Stevie had told her that her daddy had made it for him, so he could have anything he wanted to make pretty art. Her family always told her about all the nice things her daddy had given them. He must have been really nice and really smart. She wished she could have met him. She sighed and heard someone say, “Hey, why are you sad, little monkey?”

Toni looked up to see Uncle Stevie looking down at he from his stool, worry etched on his face. She looked at the floor and said, “Just wanting to know daddy again.”

Steve’s face fell and became pained as he said, “I know, we all want him back. Come here.”

Toni walked over to him and he lifted her up into his lap. He pointed to the picture he was drawing and said, “See? I’m missing him too,” Toni looked at his picture to see that he was drawing her daddy building in his workshop with his bots.

“But we’re gonna be okay. Just keep being happy little you, okay?” he continued and she nodded, then patted Steve’s cheek and said, “It’s okay, you can cry. Mommy says it’s good to cry sometimes.”

Steve started at that, staring at her for a moment, before his eyes started watering, he laughed and said, “I know. But I really shouldn’t be crying anymore. It’s been five years....”

“Mommy says that the pain never goes away, it just doesn’t hurt so much later,” Toni said and Steve gave a watery laugh, saying, “Your mom’s smart. She’s right. I just sometimes wish it would stop hurting.”

“Need a Band-Aid?” Toni asked and Steve chuckled and shook his head, saying, “Nah, I’m good kiddo. Why don’t you go see Thor? He’ll have to go back to Asgard tonight.”

Toni watched Steve for a moment, then wipes the tears from his cheeks and says, “Okay.”

She hops off his lap and walks to the door, where she turns and says, “Love you,” before running to the elevator. Steve sits there, stunned, for a moment, then smiles and tries to calm himself, before going back to his drawing.

The elevator dings as it finally gets to the roof and Toni walks out, looking around for Thor. She spots him at the edge of the roof, looking down at the city below. She quietly comes up behind him and pulls on his cape, yelling, “BOO!”

Thor starts, then relaxes when he turns and sees it’s her. He smiles and says, “Hello, young one. What are you doing all the way up here? You could fall.”

Toni giggles and says, “Fri would save me.”

“Indeed I would,” FRIDAY confirms, making Toni giggle again. Thor smiles, but Toni pauses, studies his face, then says, “Are you sad because of daddy too?”

Thor halts and stares at her for a moment, before rubbing his hand over his face and crouching down, saying, “Yes, young mortal, I am. Today is the day that he died, after all. Hard not to remember a comrade when it is such a momentous day.”

“He wouldn’t want you to be sad,” Toni says with surety, though she isn’t certain why she’s so sure, she just knows it. Thor chuckles and says, “Yes, I’m sure he wouldn’t. But I cannot help but miss him. He was a good friend and a valiant warrior.”

Toni squeezes his fingers and says, “I’m happy he’s my daddy, even if that means I never got to see him.”

Thor smiles and says, “I’m glad he had you as well. I am not sure how well we would have dealt with his passing if you were not here.”

“Even though he went to heaven?” Toni asks, and Thor smiles, saying, “I’m sure he is in Valhalla, but it is not easy to visit there, and we do not have him here, with us, so it still makes his passing hard.”

Toni nods and says, “You okay now?“

Thor nods and says, “Yes, thank you, little one. You bring great comfort to those in need. Now, why don’t you try to find Vision and Eye of Hawk? I’m sure they need comforting as well.”

Toni nods enthusiastically and runs to the elevator, calling, “Bye Uncle Thor!” as she goes. As soon as she gets into the elevator, Toni asks, “Fri, where is Viz?”

“He is in the workshop, would you like me to take you there?” FRIDAY instantly replies, and Toni answers, “Yes please!”

When they reach the workshop, Toni peeks inside to see Vision sitting in Tony’s chair, working with FRIDAY on something. She goes over and tugs on his sweater, asking, “What you doing? Can I see?”

Vision looks down and says, “Oh, it’s just a little something your father was working on before.... well, you know. *ahem* Is there something you need, Toni?”

“Nope, just wanted to check on you. Everyone seems sad because of Daddy today and Daddy made you so I though you might want a hug,” she offered, holding her arms out in invitation. Vision paused for a second, then bent down and picked Toni up, hugging her tightly in his lap. She patted his back, making him smile at the little hand trying to comfort him. He pulled back and said, “Thank you. I needed that more than I knew. We’re very lucky to have you. I’m just sorry that Mister Stark never got to meet you. He would have loved you.”

Toni sighs and looks down, saying, “Yeah, I wish I got to see Daddy too.”

Vision puts his hand on her shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll see him again someday, when the time comes for you to go to Valhalla.”

“Will that be soon?” Toni asks excitedly.

‘”No! Never wish to go to Valhalla before your time, Toni. If you went there too soon, we would miss you,” Vision said. Toni looks ashamed and says, “Okay Viz.”

Vision sighs and says, “I’m sorry for yelling, Toni, I just don’t like the thought of you being gone too.”

Toni nods her head and says, “You all better now?“

He nods and smiles, saying, “Yes, thank you.”

Toni giggles and runs out of the workshop, blowing Vision a kiss before leaving. Toni plants her fists on her hips, looking at the vents and saying, “Where are you Uncle Clint?”

Uncle Clint always liked to hide in vents when he didn’t want to see anyone, and he never wanted to see anyone when he was sad. So he must be up there somewhere. Toni looks around, then locates an art piece that is just tall enough. She climbs up it, then opens the vent and climbs in, ready to find her uncle. She does as Uncle Clint always taught her, bracing her arms on the sides and watching for slippery spots, along with all the other ways to be safe while climbing through vents. Finally, after what seems like forever, she spots a weird shadow. She crawls over to find Clint staring into space. She didn’t want to bother him, so she crawled into his crossed legs and just sat there, staring out the vent with him. After a bit, he ruffles her hair and she looks up at him to see him smiling. She smiles back and they go back to watching out the vent again.

“When are Auntie Laura and your kids coming?” she asked him quietly.

“In a few hours,” he responds.

“Why aren’t they here with you?” she asks.

“Because I had something I needed to do, then just came straight here,” he explains, and then they go back to their companionable silence.

It was getting dark when Laura finally got to the Tower with the kids. Clint watched them come in, then removed the vent cover and slid out with Toni sleeping in his arms. Laura smiled when she saw him and went over to him, giving him a gentle hug, before going to round up Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel. Pepper walked into the room and, seeing her daughter sleeping in Clint’s arms, went over and took her, then sat on the couch. Everyone gradually trickled into the room and sat down, chatting quietly. Even the kids had picked up on the mood and were playing with their toys quietly. Eventually it was time and Pepper gently rubbed Toni’s shoulder, saying, “Come on honey, time to wake up.”

Toni slowly roused, looking around blearily, though when she saw Laura and the kids, she quickly sat up and said, “You’re here!”

Laura smiled and said, “Yes we are dear.”

Toni smiled and ran over to the Barton kids, giving them all big hugs. Cooper only gave her a little pat in return, too distracted by his tablet. Toni wished 15 year olds were less boring. Then she ran to Lila, who was way more fun than the boys, even though she was 11. Lila laughed and returned her hug with energy, saying that she had missed her little happy machine, which made Toni giggle. Then little 5 year old Nathaniel came up to her and pulled her into a hug, to which Toni laughed at and returned. Then he showed her his toys that he had brought and they started playing.

“She’s so much like Tony,” Nat said as she watched Toni.

“She is,” Pepper said and smiled sadly.

“Reminds me of when we all met up again to find Loki’s staff,“ Clint remarked. Thor smiled and said, “Yes, Man of Iron wouldn’t stop going around and putting his arm around us. I must admit, I was not sure what to think of his way of greeting us.”

“He really didn’t know how to greet people, but he sure tried, and gave us a few good laughs along the way,” Steve said quietly, his lips quirking up at the memory. As the sky got darker they kept sharing memories of Tony with each other, sometimes even watching some videos. When it was finally 8:30, they called the kids over and turned on the TV. Like every year, they had the memorial for Tony going on, sharing all the great things he did for the world. There were a lot of people there, giving thanks to him for what he did for them. Toni didn‘t understand why, but for some reason some of the things they talked about and showed seemed familiar. The whole thing was touching and by the end of it even the news guy was in tears.

“Well, that, uh, *sniff* was a wonderful end to our Iron Man Memorial. I hope you all have a good night,” the news man said, before Pepper turned off the TV.

“Alright, well, time for bed,” Pepper says, as everyone gets up and turns in for the night. Once Pepper has finished reading Toni a book she retreated to her own room. She went to the picture on her dresser, picking it up and smiling bitterly.

“I miss you Tony. I wish you could be here to see your little girl. I wish I could see you again. Everyone misses you so much,” Pepper says, then hesitates for a second before leaning in and kissing the picture. She pulls back and continues, “I love you. Good night.”

Then she climbs into bed and falls asleep with wet cheeks.

[bytheangell]

The Art of Caring

Flufftober Prompt: Eyes (Read on AO3)

Clary hasn’t slept properly in days. Final projects for all of her classes are due over the course of this week and she’s spending more time in the studio than in her dorm. In fact, she hasn’t seen the outside world besides walking from one to the other and back again in longer than she can remember, and she’s just a little on edge.

Jace knows all of this, so when he pushes her to go home and rest after she makes it very clear she has no intention of doing either, it really shouldn’t be a surprise when it turns into a fight.  He succeeds in getting her out of the studio but only to lock herself in the girl’s bathroom until he’s forced to leave to open the coffee shop.

He feels guilty all day. Closing the shop a little early, Jace takes all the coffee that’s left and pours it into a large carry-out container -  the sort meant for catering events, that fits about 100 ounces - and goes to Clary’s dorm. Her roommate points him to the studio, and when he knocks on the closed door there’s no reply.

Pushing the door open he doesn’t know if he’s more relieved, amused, or worried to see Clary passed out, arms resting on the table, forehead down in the crook of her elbow. Her arm is sitting in a variety of blue paints she must’ve been mixing - they stain her shirt, her face, and even her hair.

“Clary,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, wake up.” He doesn’t want to wake her now that she’s finally getting some rest but he also doesn’t want her to miss any deadlines when it’s pretty obvious this was not a planned nap break.

Clary mumbles something sleepily before jolting up with a start as his voice registers. “Jace? What time is it?”

He consults his watch. “8:23.”

“Ugh,” Clary groans, running a hand through her hair before realizing she has paint on both. “Oh my god, this is a mess. I sat down to blend these blues and… I only meant to close my eyes for a second.”

“You’re burning yourself out. Let me take you back to your dorm,” Jace practically begs.

“I wish. I might be able to take a nap or two while the layers dry, but there’s no way I’m getting back to the dorm tonight if I’m finishing this in time to hand in tomorrow morning.”

Jace grabs the box of coffee he sat off to the side of the table before waking her. “In that case, this might help.”

Clary’s eyes light up, her entire body straightening as if re-energized by the mere sight of caffeine.  “You’re an angel.”

“I owed you after this morning.”

“No you didn’t. I should be the one apologizing - I was awful to you. I’m just so stressed I snapped, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re just trying to help.” She hesitates. “Can I show you what I worked on all day?”

“Of course, I’d love to see it.” She grabs his hand and he doesn’t mind the sticky, half-dried paint that transfers to his palm in the process. In the corner of the room is an easel with the canvas facing away from them. When they round the other side Jace stops short in surprise.

Painted against the white background is a pair of eyes. His eyes. The light icy blue of the right one stands in obvious contrast to the left where the blues blend into a patch of deep red-tinted brown at the bottom. There is a light to the painting; they look so vibrant and real and alive. He always thought they were cool as a casual observation but this is the first time he thought of them as beautiful, and it isn’t lost on him that it’s because he’s seeing them the way Clary sees them. There’s no face behind them, not even a full nose, but he can tell by the way they crinkle at the corners that they’re on a smiling face full of light and warmth.

“After you left all I could think about was how hurt your eyes looked when I walked out… but I couldn’t stand to paint them that way, so I made them happy again.” She looks up at him, looking into those same eyes, watching them crinkle at the corners at her words - just like the painting. She wants to promise she'll never upset him like that again but she knows that's a promise she can't keep, no matter how much she wants to.

“It’s stunning, Clary. I love it.” He pauses just a moment. She should know it, but that wariness in her voice prompts him to say it anyway. Perhaps he doesn’t say it enough.  “I love you.”

She looks relieved, as if afraid their fight that morning may have been enough to change that. “I love you, too.” Looking so much lighter as his arm wraps around her waist Clary leans against his side, forcing herself not to close her eyes when she rests her head against his shoulder. “And I’m glad, because this is getting submitted for my final portfolio. You know, if I ever finish it.” She’s already growing a bit antsy at how long they’re talking, even if it is to clear the air about earlier.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Jace says, leaning in for a quick kiss before leaving Clary to the coffee and paints.

He doesn’t stay away for very long, though, coming back 45 minutes later with a bundle of blankets and pillows in his arms.

“What are you doing?” Clary asks, pulling an earbud out of her ear at the sound of the door opening.

“For your naps,” Jace says. “I can’t get you to go to your bed so I brought most of the bed to you. You roommate refused to help me carry a mattress across campus.” He laughs at that, and so does she. He’s already setting them up in a little nest in the corner of the room. “Promise me you’ll try and get some rest?” 

“I promise.” At least that's one promise she can keep. The rest, she knows with sudden surety, will fall into place along the way.