#knitting project is called: 'hello darkness my old friend'

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

okay so i'm gonna try to finish a ball of this sport weight behemoth this weekend (maybe), and THEN i'm gonna cast on a shawl as a Gift for a March Birthday :) AND hopefully it'll be a ~writing weekend~!!!

[nanowrimo]

No Publishing Journey Looks the Same

To find an agent, or to self-publish? That is the question many authors ask themselves. Whichever way you choose, no publishing journey is easy—and no publishing journey looks the same. Today, long-time Wrimo Elayna Mae Darcy, author of Still the Stars, shares their publishing journey, and the things they learned along the way: 

When put under a microscope, NaNoWriMo turns out to be much more than an annual writing event—it is an idea that contains vast multitudes. As individuals, it teaches us the joys of dedicating ourselves to a task and striving to achieve it. As writers, it provides us with a community of like minded dreamers and word weavers to lift us up when all feels lost. And as I recently learned, the Wrimo’s journey also proved to be an unlikely mentor on the pursuit of self publication.

As a seasoned Wrimo with seventeen years of participation under my belt, the NaNo Way comes easy to me now. Pick an idea, chase it with reckless abandon for 30 days, revel in whatever I manage to accomplish at a brewery with writing friends when it's all over, repeat annually. But as my boy Obi-Wan Kenobi would say, NaNo looks quite different “from a certain point of view.” 

I’ve spent many a noveling month working on writing and rewriting the same book, a project called STILL THE STARS. And as I tackled it November after November, I also did massive amounts of research on the publishing industry. I wanted to devour as much information as I could. How to query, what’s it like working with an agent, what’s the revision process like with a professional editor, the list goes on. By the time I started querying, I thought for sure that this established, tried and true path was the only one that could lead me to success for my fictional work. I used the same focus and determination from years of NaNo noveling and directed it all towards this new goal.

But as rejection after rejection from agent after agent rolled in and the years wore on, there was a strange, familiar feeling that washed over me. It was the same sense of doubt I’d get when a NaNo project would hit a wall. It was a feeling of hopelessness, of wanting to just defenestrate the whole book and take up knitting instead. I began questioning why I was even bothering in the first place when it felt like the universe was holding up a giant sign saying NOPE. NOT FOR YOU.

If you’ve ever participated in NaNo, this is a feeling which conjures to mind the soft, aching lyrics that go, “Hello darkness, my old friend…” As this feeling started taking up all my energy, I very nearly gave up. But then I took a step back and asked myself the age old question, WWNMD? (What Would NaNoWriMo Me Do?)

“Our resilience is one of our most powerful weapons.”

Every time those feels hit in November, or I have to experience one of my Phillywrimos or writing sprint buddies encountering them, I am conditioned to respond with resilience. To just keep putting one word in front of the other, even if I end up needing to spend ages editing it later. One of the most valuable pieces of writing advice anyone ever gave me was, “You can’t fix a blank page,” and that is something that has been reinforced into my DNA with each passing November, as I manage to rally out of that hopelessness and keep forging ahead. 

What I needed was to apply this same energy not just to the act of writing, but to my publishing journey as well. The road to publication is just as fraught with road bumps, dark nights of the soul, and plot twists that would make even Agatha Christie’s head spin. But we don’t give up, do we? NaNoWriMo teaches us that. That our resilience is one of our most powerful weapons.

That’s why I finally decided to change course and pursue self publication. Because the truth that no one wants to tell you in an age of endless blog posts about “How To Publish Your Book In X Easy Steps” is that no writer’s journey is the same. Just because your favorite author managed to land an agent after a frenzied few weeks of writing one manuscript or because someone else you know stuck with querying 500 times over 10 years until they got their yes, does not mean you have to. Your journey is yours, just like any first NaNoWriMo draft that you’ve poured your soul into. 

That’s why despite lots of folks trying to convince me otherwise, I decided to Kickstart my book to self publish it and set up my own indie publishing imprint. Is it a traditional path? Maybe not. But NaNo has taught me that my story matters, no matter what path I might choose. I can take those same lessons learned in the writing of my stories and let them grow beyond the page into an education for the self publication journey and beyond. I encourage you to do the same. 

Don’t let anyone tell you what your publishing journey “should” look like, because whoever offers that advice is lacking the one thing that you happen to be the only person in the universe to have—yourself. Don’t be afraid to chase something like self publication even if industry experts are telling you you’ll never make it that way. Because if NaNoWriMo has taught me anything, it is that even if the story doesn’t go the way I planned, it doesn't mean it wasn’t worth writing. The journey alone is always worth it. 

Read Chapter One of STILL THE STARS here & support the campaign on Kickstarter!

Elayna Mae Darcy (she/they) is a queer YA author, poet, and filmmaker from Philadelphia. A self proclaimed NaNoLifer, Elayna has participated in the annual event ever since she was 14, and currently serves as one of the MLs for the Philly region & a sprint leader on @NaNoWordSprints. They are the author of two poetry collections, UNRAVELING LIGHT and DARKNESS UNDONE, the sci-fi short story, CONTINUUM, and STILL THE STARS will be their YA debut. You can learn more at elaynamusings.com or find them on twitter at @elaynamae.

[kikiwhataboutthatbrendon]

Nothing Could Be Possible Without Potential

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339106/chapters/72915165#workskin

An unlikely bond between Nothing and Justice.

This was not written by me, it was written by my sister @threesorrows .

She thinks the universe made-it must have made her, the universe makes everything- but she doesn't know. It's hard to tell. If the universe did make her, she is half finished, perhaps a project abandoned half way through or forgotten about. She prefers thinking of it that way, as opposed to the universe being too disgusted or angry with how she turned out to finish her.

She knows she is unfinished because she has no name.

Life must have brought her into existence though- and this she thinks was an accident. Perhaps a leak of power in the wrong area, a flight of fancy on some inanimate statue that she had been before. She knows it was not on purpose because Life was not there when she woke.

No one was there when she woke. When she pulled herself into awareness, a muddle of limbs and shapes and knowledge that she did not so much learn as know.

She knows of the gods, knows of the universe, knows Life should have been there for her beginning, knows that Death should be there for her end, but she doubts. She knows there are many gods, knows they may find each other, but she has never seen one. Her kin are not vastly social creatures, they stick to small packs like wolves but more tightly knit. She is not surprised they don’t actively seek her out, but in her wanderings, she is surprised none idly come to investigate.

There are no words for what she was when she first woke up. Too many eyes and limbs and veins holding it all together, she didn’t like that form so she changed it.

She started with grass, with dirt, started as the first things she saw, but grass was pulled by the wind and dirt was drowned under rain and she wished to move. She was a thing not meant to exist, so she existed in others’ forms.

A ladybug, first, because one crawled over her-as-grass and it could fly above the ground that bound the ants and caterpillars. Birds next, big and small, and then butterflies who were beautiful but boring. Flying was nice, but she didn’t love it, so she moved on.

Wolves and chickens and dolphins and cows and tropical fish and pigs and llamas and horses and humans. She tried them all. All had their charms, all had their downsides, she flipped between them like pages of a well-loved book. Like one found in a library that had been passed between a hundred hands and waited for a hundred more, but she was all those hands just in different forms.

Humans were nice, because she could walk into cities and temples and talk to the priests and the artisans and she could learn. One artist pressed a pencil into her unused hand and she taught herself to draw. She liked drawing, and maybe that’s a bit why she liked being a human.

But humans could get tiring, could get so caught up in themselves, so busy, and if her long collection of forms really were a book the most well worn-well loved- page would be cats.

She loved cats, loved the way they stretched and flowed and how she could jump from any height and to any height. How she could laze in any sunbeam and be left alone.

She is a cat when Justice found her. It had been too many human years, countless shifts between forms, since she had started her existence, she did not think any god would come to her, but there Justice is.

Her form is of a black cat with little white socks and a small patch right above her nose. He crouches down before her, long, red cloak splaying out behind him and dark hair matching her fur.

“Hello, would you spare a minute for my company?”

She yawns, showing off long, white teeth and twists herself into a jewelled hummingbird to reach level with his face.

“Sure, why have you come?” She zips slightly to the right in her curiosity.

“To greet you.”

“Hello, then.”

“Hello,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Why now?”

He sighs, a low, drawn out thing, and suddenly he seems old. Not in his face, or in his eyes which show nothing at all, but in his very presence, like weariness and age had found him again after a long game of chase.

“Because I could come no sooner.”

Other gods come. Not Life, not Death, but others, they pass by like they did not before, give nods and share stories and gifts, but they come and they go in infrequent bursts. Luck enjoys flitting by, dropping fortune and happenstance as he goes but he does not linger. Justice is an almost-constant.

Gods do not stay. They are not stagnant creatures, especially not human ones, which are called and pulled and drawn to their worshippers and domains. Justice is a human god, so he goes where he is bid, but when those ties do not inexorably tug at him, he finds her.

It is nice, comfortable, even. He does not press, he sits and he listens and he will look at her art or compliment whatever form she takes up. She starts pressing her lines harder into the paper, makes ridges and gouges that he can run his fingers over.

She shows him all the small, overlooked places, where children and animals hide and watch and play. She takes him through familiar and unfamiliar markets and they trade favourite foods. He shows her his many courthouses, made out of quartz and clay and wood and obsidian. They are large and they are small and everything in between. Sometimes they venture through at night, pacing empty halls in peace, sometimes they linger on the edges of the daily crush of people and business.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they do not. Often, they merely enjoy each other’s company.

“How do you always find me?” She asks one time, curling up in a stray sunbeam that glints off her orange fur.

Justice relaxes back, it’s a peaceful day, a beautiful day, a day for happiness, but he frowns. “Because the universe demanded you be let to find your own way, held even Life away from you so you grew and learned in solitude, and it was necessary, but it was not right.”

“What would be my recompense, then?” She stares up at him with big, luminous eyes; daring eyes. “Would you fight the universe if I asked that as my payment?”

“Yes,” he says with a chuckle. “But that’s not what you demand.”

“I suppose not,” she says, and springs up, racing away into the trees.

He does not follow for a long while.

She is nothing. She is nameless. She is a mistake, a chance, a thing that does not really belong. And yet- she can’t help but wonder.

This time, she seeks him out. She goes through courthouses, grand and small and hopes he is there because she cannot find him in the many cases that don’t reach his doors, that he must go out and find. Perhaps Luck had guided her to his friend-passed by in a breeze and whisper and gone before she could see- because he is not in one of his searchings.

Justice is in a small courthouse, barely two rooms, built from haphazard bricks and not called a courthouse really, but it is one all the same. He sits against the back wall, unseen by all as he sees all and nothing at the same time. When the proceedings are done, she unspools herself from her perch shifting from a lizard to a cat in a blurred moment, landing neatly on his shoulder.

“Hello,” he says.

“I am Nameless, am I not?” She asks instead of her usual greeting. It is an answer she knows, but her heart hopes otherwise.

“No,” he says, and the world stops in its eternal motion, “you are not Nameless.”

“Then what am I?” She challenges.

“You are Potential,” Justice says, the corner of his eyes crinkling, obscuring some of the milky white. “You can be anything you wish to become.”

The name sends ripples through her fur, it burrows between her pelt, through bone and blood to the thing that she was born as, the thing that stays with her through all her many changes, and the name sinks into the heart of it and stays. It is right. It is hers.

She does not settle, because that is against her nature. Her nature is one of constant change, of shedding the old and becoming anew and always moving. Not necessarily forwards, but moving all the same. She does not settle, but she is soothed.

Potential, she thinks, and that is a great power to have, a dangerous one, though few may think it, but she does not want to be dangerous.

Potential pulls herself up and stretches herself out and stands beside Justice with hands and feet and a perfectly normal face with features that eluded all who looked upon it. “Would you like to build a farm with me?”

“I would like nothing more.”

[purrincess-chat]

Quaranteen Hearts CH1

I’m early. That never happens, but hey, it’s Adrinette April somewhere! And I started this thing up because I’m a tool who can’t go outside. I hope you’re all doing well during this quarantine, and if not then hopefully this little amount of Adrinette fluff makes it a tad bit more bearable. We will get through this together!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

“As cases of Covid19 continue to climb across Europe, France has no choice but to close its boarders. Officials are ordering all citizens to stay in their homes for the next 15 days and practice social distancing to prevent the spread of…”

The TV droned on in the background as Adrien stared up at his ceiling. His worst nightmare had come to life, and it wasn’t even because of an akuma. This was real life. There was no magical cure that could fix this. He was stuck in lockdown. Again. And his father refused to budge.

Sure, they had enough food and supplies to last them for 6 months, and Adrien should have had everything he needed to stay entertained for as long. Everything, that is, but the one thing he craved more than anything: human interaction.

There was Nathalie, but she was too busy rearranging his father’s schedule and organizing his school assignments and private lessons to chat. And Gorilla wasn’t exactly the talkative type. He could talk to Plagg around mouthfuls of cheese, but there was only so much you could talk about with an ancient, tiny god of destruction. Especially when all he wanted to talk about was cheese.

He’d already topped his high scores on all of his arcade machines again, and his basketball score board had maxed out 20 layups ago. His online schoolwork had only taken him an hour, and his father dismissed most of the cooking staff, so he couldn’t even order a snack. Earlier, he tried going out in the garden, but his father had alarms on all of the doors in case he tried to go out. It was so unfair!

Just when he finally felt like he was getting a taste of freedom, and everything in his life was looking up, boom. Here comes a global pandemic to push him right back behind closed doors. Back to square one. He’d be lucky if his father ever let him outside again after this. All he wanted to do was see his friends, but this stupid virus meant that even if they could see each other, they’d have to keep their distance. He hated this!

“Look on the bright side,” Plagg said, floating over lazily. “Now you have plenty of time to help me age my cheese.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s really a bright side, Plagg,” Adrien sighed, lifting and dropping a pillow onto his face. “I just want to see my friends.”

“We could sneak out Chat Noir style,” Plagg offered.

“It’s a global pandemic, Plagg. Going out could expose me to the virus, and I really don’t want to have to explain to my father how I caught it under his lockdown,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. “I think I should just resign myself to die of boredom and loneliness.”

“Just because you can’t see your friends in person, doesn’t mean you can’t still see them. Why don’t you try calling one of them with that video thing on the computer?” Plagg said before stuffing a wedge of Camembert in his mouth.

Adrien shot up with a gasp, “Plagg, that’s genius! I can just Skype my friends!”

“You’re welcome,” his kwami mumbled before swallowing as Adrien jumped up and slid into his computer chair.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Adrien said, tapping his fingers until Nino answered. “Nino!”

“Yo, what’s good, dude? How is quarantine?” Nino asked with a grin.

“Terrible. I hate it,” Adrien said, leaning against his fist. “I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“But, dude, your room is so epic. There’s a ton of stuff to do,” Nino chuckled, but Adrien leaned back with a groan.

“Yeah, but I do all this stuff every day. It gets old,” he said. “I wanna see people.”

“Sorry, bro. I know you can’t stand being cooped up, but 15 days is gonna be over before ya know it, and you can always call your best bud,” Nino said, flashing two finger guns.

“Thanks. You’re the best. Hey, do you wanna link up and play-”

“Nino!” Chris’s voice sounded and he appeared in the doorway behind Nino. “I wanna play with my Grobotech, but I need someone to be the puny hero that gets destroyed.”

“Can’t you just play both roles?” Nino asked. “I’m talking to Adrien.”

“But I can’t be both because it’s no fun if I destroy myself!” Chris insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sorry, little dude. Maybe in a little while,” Nino said, patting his head, but Chris turned back toward the hall.

“Moooom! Nino won’t play with me!” He shouted, and Nino turned back to Adrien with a sigh.

“I better go. Sorry, bro. We can chat later after Chris goes to bed,” he said with a wince.

“No worries. Thanks anyway, Nino,” Adrien said, waving before the screen went dark, and he leaned back in his chair. “Maybe Alya will be free.”

He clicked her name along his sidebar and waited while it rang. She answered almost immediately which he took as a good sign until he appeared on screen with her two little sisters climbing over her lap.

“It’s mine!”

“No, it’s mine!”

“Hey, there,” Adrien said cautiously. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“A little,” Alya said, rolling her eyes. “We’re all going a little stir crazy around here, and Mom doesn’t want them going to the park because they don’t understand what social distancing means.”

“It’s my turn!”

“I guess I’ll let you get back to them,” he said, leaning against his fist in defeat.

“Sorry,” Alya said. “But, hey, if you want someone to talk to, Marinette doesn’t have any siblings, and I bet she’d appreciate a call.”

“Marinette…Yeah, thanks, Alya!” Adrien perked up.

“Bye!” Alya waved.

“You already had a turn!”

Adrien clicked the x and immediately scrolled down to Marinette’s name. Alya was right. Marinette was perfect. The bakery was closed, and Marinette was an only child. No siblings to interrupt. Plus, he always wanted to talk to her. Marinette was just who he needed.

“H-Hello?” Marinette blinked when her face appeared.

“Marinette! Hey, what are you up to? Are you free right now?” Adrien asked but decided he seemed a little too eager, so he toned it back. “I’m bored, so I was hoping to chat with someone.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m just- I’m not doing anything important,” she said, setting her knitting needles aside. “I can totally chat!”

“Awesome! What are you working on?” He asked.

“Well, I finished all of our schoolwork last night-”

“Same.”

“-so this morning I’ve just been knitting everyone’s Christmas gifts. Look, I made Max and Markov matching sweaters,” she said, holding them up then deflating. “It’s good to catch up on everything, but I’m running out of craft projects.”

“Yeah, I beat my high score on Extreme Racer 3 like five times now,” he said, shoulders slumping. “I miss hanging out with everyone. My father is adamant that I don’t leave the house for anything.”

“Not even out in the yard?” Marinette asked.

“He yelled at me for trying to go out into the garden earlier,” Adrien said, pursing his lips. “I swear he’s convinced it’s just floating in the air.”

“Sorry. I know how hard it is for you being locked up, but hey, at least we can still talk,” Marinette offered, and a smile curled on his lips.

“Yeah, and I’m really grateful for that,” he said. “I just wish I could see you in person, but Skype will have to do for now.”

Marinette pursed her lips then perked up and said, “Wait, do you have the new Animal Crossing?”

“Uh, yeah, my father got me the Switch that goes with it too,” he said, rolling over to retrieve it from his bed and holding it up.

“Why don’t we link up? It’s not exactly hanging out in person, but it’s close,” she said with a shrug.

“That’s a great idea! I can show you the tarantula I caught last night,” he said, booting it up.

“Ugh, I never see them coming! I keep getting bit by them,” she groaned. “They’re so scary.”

Adrien smiled up at her as she opened her gate for him, feeling the tension in his shoulders fade. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but his walls seemed a little less narrow now, so for that, he was grateful.

“Hey, Marinette?” He said, and she glanced up, eyebrows raising. “Thanks. It’s really hard for me being alone, so this quarantine is my absolute worst nightmare. I really appreciate being able to talk to someone.”

Her face softened in that token Marinette way that told him she understood. “You can call me whenever you want. It’s just me and my parents here, and if you ever need someone, just call, okay? We can ride out this quarantine together.”

“I will. Thank you,” he said, relief flooding over him. “Now, check out my tarantula!”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to ease his boredom, and more importantly, enough to make him feel like everything was going to be okay.

[prettyboy-parker]

undefined

starker abo: homecoming

warnings: emotional and physical abuse (nothing explicit!), smut at the end, implied thorki, mentioned sambucky

words: 3.7k

“Jesus, he’s such a fuckin’ crybaby. I feel bad for Quentin.”

Everyone turns to look at the table across the cafeteria. Peter Parker, the world’s snootiest omega, is perched on top of the navy lunch table and bawling his eyes out. Loki, a lithe snarky omega, is patting under Peter’s eyes with tissues. His usual posse huddles around him, cooing at and petting him.

“I don’t. His performance in bed probably outweighs his attitude, if you catch my drift.” Sam snickers and Bucky punches him in the arm. The alpha lets out a whine and rubs at his shoulder. “Hey! What was that for?” He snaps at his boyfriend. Bucky just narrows his eyes. Tony finds himself looking at Peter again. He seems to have calmed down a little. His friends usher him out of the cafeteria, no doubt to help him fix his makeup. Tony could gag at how fucking prissy the omega is.

“You okay, Tony? You look a little pale.” Steve says, and Tony can’t believe he’s actually concerned.

“Jeez, Steve, I’m fine. Your motherly instincts take over?”

The table howls with laughter.

“Good one, Stark!” Thor booms and Steve rolls his eyes. Tony sends a wink at Steve, a group of girls heading towards their table emerging in the corner of his eye.

“Steven,” Peggy, the beta exchange student from England, pipes up. A few of her friends giggle behind her. “Would you come with me? I have to talk to you.”

Steve nods wordlessly, trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

“He’s smitten, I tell ya’.” Bucky slurs, tossing a crumpled napkin at Sam.

“Idiot. I’ve got to piss, see you in Calc.”

Sam groans and Rhodey shouts “TMI!” Tony passes a table of girls on his way out, and they all call his name. He shoots them a wink, opening the double doors to the hallway. It’s actually quiet in the hallway, aside from his combat boots thunking on the linoleum floors. He fishes through his leather jacket’s pocket, looking for his cigs, when-

“Watch where you’re fucking going!”

Tony stumbles back as he knocks into, well, none other than Peter Parker. He looks like he’s going to cry again as Loki lifts him off of the floor. The tan-skinned beta flips him a bird as they walk away.

Great.

✨👑✨

He can’t believe Quent would ever say that to him. For one, he’s not a slut. He’d never cheat on Quentin, he knows that, so why did he say it? Two, Quentin’s lucky no one was around to see Peter’s tears.

What he can’t get over is how Quentin touched him like that.

He’s heard of alphas hitting their omegas, but it’s always been an old wive’s tale, or whatever. He guesses that Quentin’s just stressed. He didn’t do so hot on his Pre-Calc test, so maybe he has some pent up anger.

Peter needs to send him some flowers.

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he’s already tried calling Quentin three times to apologize, but the alpha never picked up. He drops his Vera Bradley book bag on the floor with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, Peter! How was school?” Uncle Ben asks from where he’s seated at the kitchen island.

Peter breaks down into tears.

Uncle Ben takes him in his arms, holding him close. That’s the thing about his uncle, whenever he’s upset he just lets Peter cry it out, never asking for an explanation. Peter appreciates when his aunt gives him advice, he really does, but sometimes it’s nicer just to be held.

“I’ve got Halotop ice cream that’s calling your name.”

Peter giggles softly as Uncle Ben ruffles his hair.

Soon enough he’s cuddled under his silk sheets, a carton of peanut butter cup ice cream in his hands. In the midst of watching Cady and Janis mix together foot cream, his phone rings.  “Quentin 💕💕” lights up on the screen over a very flattering picture of his boyfriend.

“Hi,” Peter answers quietly.

“Hi honey, I just-um-wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s okay Quent, I was a bitch too. I’m sorry.” Peter responds quietly, stabbing his ice cream with his spoon.

“You kind of were. I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye, love you.”

“Bye.”

Peter hangs up the phone, feeling emptier than before.

✨👑✨

“Anthony, you are not wearing that.”

Tony smirks and adjusts the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t worry, dad. I know Peter. It’s all good.” He replies, running a hand through his hand. Howard clenches his jaw.

“Come on, boys. We don’t want to be late.” His mother calls, ushering the two to the car. Howard still looks pissed as he climbs into the driver's seat, Tony scrolling through Instagram as they drive to the Parker’s. A picture of Peter appears, the omega posing on the hood of a cherry red ‘65 Thunderbird. His long, milky legs are displayed by his tiny red running shorts. A sliver of his toned stomach is exposed by his cream Coca Cola crop top. His almond hair looks like it’s blowing in the wind. Red heart-shaped glasses frame his face perfectly. The caption reads “Taste the Feeling! ♥️♥️”.

A small part of Tony wants to taste him.

He ignores that part.

“Now you behave, Anthony. This deal is important, we’re paying Benjamin a lot of money for his program.” Howard reminds him.

“Yeah yeah,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes and itching for a smoke. They pull up to one of the apartment complexes in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Tony begrudgingly follows his parents, the elevator operator nervously pressing the buttons.  The elevator brings them directly to Peter’s penthouse because of course, the Parkers have a penthouse.

“Oh, hello!” A voice exclaims from the kitchen. He stands awkwardly until Mrs. Parker emerges from the other room. “Welcome, all of you!” She exclaims, giving his mom a hug.

“Oh, Anthony, I remember when you were just a baby. Your mother came to me for a dress for a gala, and she brought you along. You’ve grown into such a handsome alpha.”

Tony flushes, embarrassed. His mom laughs loudly and pinches his cheeks.

“Peter should be down soon, he always takes forever to get ready.” Mrs. Parker complains, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “Benjamin is picking some whiskey from the cellar. Why don’t you come sit down?”

Mrs. Parker leads them to the living room, where the couches are covered with blankets and the fireplace roars. Tony sinks into the knitted blanket, sighing heavily.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry I’m late!”

Peter Parker is at the top of the steps, in a tight, glittery maroon dress, looking like an absolute vision.

“Come down, Pete.” His aunt calls with a smile. The omega’s heels click on the hardwood staircase as he comes downstairs. He’s prettier up close, a silver glittery barrette holding his curls out of his face. Gold glitter is swept over his cheeks and eyelids.

“Anthony,” He says, scrunching up his button nose. Tony winks at him. The only empty seat is next to the alpha, so Peter daintily sits down on the couch. He smells divine, like expensive floral perfume mixed with the sweet scent of omega.

“You can call me Tony, you know.” The alpha purrs under the voices of his parents and Mrs. Parker. Peter rolls his eyes.

“Dully noted.” He snaps back, but Tony just laughs.

Dinner goes on slowly and Tony keeps his mouth shut. Peter’s definitely checking him out (or maybe that’s just Tony’s ego.) During the meal of lamb and beef, Tony notices a bruise blooming under the hem of his dress.

The omega gives him a glare and adjusts his collar.

✨👑✨

“Did you hear? We’re being assigned partners this time.”

“Ugh, gag,” Peter grumbles, tapping his pink pen on his pink notebook.

“I know,” Loki responds, eyes glancing to the back of the room. “I hope I get paired up with Thor, though.”

Peter smiles and picks at his cuticle.

“He better ask you to homecoming. I’m blackmailing him if he doesn’t by Friday.” He says nonchalantly, eyeing the burly blonde in the back of the room. He’s laughing about something with Anthony.

“Peter. I’ll beat you to it, you know that.” Loki jokes. Peter nudges him in the shoulder of his dark green sweater. The class quiets down when Ms. Hill steps into the room.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As you may have heard from the other classes, we’re starting our quarter project.” She announces. “I’ll be assigning you into partners, and you’ll be researching the impact and achievements of a Chinese dynasty.”  

The glass groans, a few pairs of eyes flicking around nervously.

“Calm down. It’s senior year, you should all know each other by now. I’ve already have your partners, so listen up...”

Peter studies his French manicure as Ms. Hill calls out their names. He gives Loki a wink when the teacher pairs Thor with him for the Tang Dynasty. It’s getting to the end of the list, and Peter’s worried that Ms. Hill might have forgotten him, then-

“Tony and Peter. Song Dynasty.”

The omega dies a little inside.

“Alright, get to work! Rubrics are on my desk, get brainstorming!”

The class disperses into a flurry of noise and movement. Tony slowly stalks over to him like the douchebag he is.

“How about you get the rubric?” Peter suggests, but it’s more of an order than anything. Tony smirks and places his pencil on the desk next to Peter.

“Anything for you, princess.” He teases, causing the omega to flush a bright red. Peter doodles in his notebook until Tony gets back with two rubrics.

“Song Dynasty. I’m fuckin’ pumped.”

This actually makes Peter giggle a little bit.

“Calm down, Anthony.” He quips back, a small smile on his face.

It turns out the two work together pretty well.

Tony’s definitely not a slacker, and had avid ideas that Peter wrote down. They settled on a comedy-style presentation. (Which Peter would neverdo, but who can say no to Tony’s puppy dog eyes?)

When the bell rings, Tony walks him to his next class, like a...gentleman.

Who knew?

✨👑✨

“Good morning Midtown! I’m Peter Parker, your SGA President.”

Tony turns his attention to the T.V in the hallway. Peter sits at the newscaster desk, in a navy and white tennis polo, a matching headband pushing back his curls, and two big pearls adorning his ears. Tony could purr, but he pinches himself. There’s no way he can be falling for Peter Parker.

No way.

The entire hallway goes silent, in awe of their queen on the screen.

“A quick reminder-next week is spirit week! The days are posted on our Instagram and around the school. Don’t forget to buy your homecoming tickets. They’re being sold all week in the cafeteria. Thanks, and have a wonderful day!”

Everyone resumes their conversation.

Tony slams his locker shut.

✨👑✨

“Oh god, you are not making me ride that.”

Tony laughs loudly and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Peter stands with his arms crossed over his baby blue Chanel sweater. His pink lips are turned down into a frown, button nose scrunched like it always is.

“I am. Unless you want to walk?” Tony coos, handing his helmet to the omega. His honey eyes glance down at the black helmet, then back up to Tony.

“You’ll keep me safe?” Peter asks quietly, his bitchy facade dropping. Tony’s eyes widen.

“Oh, of course, Pete. I’d never let anything happen to you.” The alpha responds, genuine care in his voice.

“Well, then let’s go, slowpoke.” Peter huffs, placing the ill-fitting helmet on top of his curls. Tony chuckles and straddles the bike, waiting as Peter slowly wraps his arms around his torso, resting his cheek on his back.

“Hold on!” Tony calls as he starts the bike, causing the tiny omega to yelp. They leave school, weaving through the cars and students. Peter shouts directions to his house in Tony’s ear, the alpha smiling as the wind whips behind him. They eventually arrive at Peter’s apartment complex, parking his motorcycle in the garage for the occupants.

“That sucked,” Peter grumbles, but-Tony sniffs the air.

Peter’s turned on.

He’s about to crack a joke, but stops himself. Peter looks at the ground, embarrassed.

“Sorry. Didn’t bring my car.”

Peter tries to hide his smile.

The omega brings him up to his penthouse, heading to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

“Do you want anything, Tony? I’ve got...quite a lot.” Peter asks, grabbing some wheat crackers and spread from the fridge. Tony shucks off his leather jacket, placing it over the back of the chair. He runs his hand over the cool marble counter.

“I’m good, but thank you.” He responds, pulling his notebook out of his bag. Peter shrugs, grabbing his book bag.

“Suit yourself. Let’s go upstairs, my aunt will be home soon.” He tells Tony, not sparing him a second glance before heading to the staircase. The alpha rushes behind him, narrowly avoiding an expensive looking vase. They turn right down the hallway, pictures of Peter at all stages of his life on the walls. One catches Tony’s eyes, a little baby Peter with a big blue bow on his head, smiling as he plays in a pile of leaves.

“Please don’t touch anything, Anthony.” Peter sniffs when they reach his room, pink exploding in Tony’s vision. His room is huge, perfectly cleaned and organized. There are pictures everywhere, Peter smiling with his friends. A king-sized canopy bed sits in the middle of the room, expensive silk pillows arranged with care. Peter plops himself on the ground, spreading out his papers.

”Your room is...nice.” Tony comments, sitting on the ground next to Peter. He's still overwhelmed by the omegan aroma filling the room.

”Thank you.” Peter says softly, clearly pleased.

”Should we get started? I had some ideas about how we should present the civil service exam.”

They get a big chunk of their work done but end up talking about everything butthe Song Dynasty. Peter’s actually really fucking smart, wanting to study biological engineering in college. He's down to earth and an absolute sweetheart when he's not surrounded by the student body.

And he's really fucking pretty.

”I know! Fury is such a hardass!” Peter exclaims through giggles, tears coming out of his big doe eyes. His curls are a mess, splayed underneath his head.

Tony isn’t thinking when he reaches over and thumbs away Peter’s happy tears.

The omega blinks in surprise, but-

sucks Tony’s thumb into his mouth.

Tony growls loudly, removing his thumb from Peter’s mouth with a pop, leaning down, and pressing his lips to the other’s. The omega is everything Tony thought he would be. Sweet like sugar, with the remnants of the crackers on his tongue. He hums happily as Tony picks him up, pulling the smaller into his lap.

“Tony-“

“I fucking like you, Parker.”

“Tony,” Peter whispers as the alpha lightly drags his fingers over his bare thighs. “Tony, I have a boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be your boyfriend, Peter.” Tony says, almost frantically. “He-He fucking hurts you.”

Peter flinches at his word choice.

“He doesn’t. It’s none of your business.” The omega breathes, avoiding Tony’s gaze.

“Peter, please tell someone. Or break up with him, I don’t care.” The alpha pleads, taking Peter’s hands in his. The omega rips them away.

“He loves me. Please drop it.”

Tony bites his tongue.

✨👑✨

“Loki, your bow is crooked.”

Loki rolls his eyes and spins around.

“Then fix it, Peter.”

Peter laughs and straightens the blue bow that holds his black, silky hair out of his face. It’s Class Colors Friday, the seniors getting their rightful color of blue. Harley takes a bite of his sandwich, looking over Peter’s shoulder.

“Uh, Pete? Quentin’s coming over here, and he looks mad.”

Peter turns around, seeing his boyfriend heading towards him with a scowl on his face. Peter pretends to light up, giving him a small wave. Before he can greet the alpha, he’s grabbing Peter by his cheerleading jacket.

“You fucking slut,” He growls, blue eyes narrowed. “You sleeping around with Stark now?”

Peter whimpers as his breathing picks up.

“Quent, you’re making a scene.” He whispers, tugging at the alpha’s sleeve gently. Quentin grins menacingly.

“Am I, now?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “That’s high praise coming from a drama queen like yourself. Have fun finding another homecoming date.”

With that, Quentin pushes him back, and storms out of the cafeteria. Peter follows him, ignoring the shouts from his friends.

“Quentin, baby, wait!” The omega calls out once they get into the hallway, causing the alpha to spin around.

“Is it true? You made out with Stark?”

Peter’s bottom lip quivers as he stays silent. Quentin sighs exasperatedly, clenching his fists tightly.

“You deserve everything I did to you, Peter. And I hope you fucking know it.”

Peter doesn’t see his, well, ex-boyfriend, leave through his tears. He shuffles off to the omega restroom, trying to keep his mascara from running. He sifts through his purse for his little packet of tissues, dabbing at his eyes frantically. The door swings open, and Peter expects Loki and Harley, but the smell of smoke and musky alpha fills the room.

“Shit, Peter, I’m so fucking sorry,” Tony says quickly. Peter just whimpers and cuddles into the alpha’s torso.

“You were right,” He cries, breathing in deep breaths of Tony’s scent. The other boy strokes his curls, shushing him. “And now I don’t have a homecoming date, and all my friends do, and senior year is just going to suck.”

Tony sighs deeply from above him.

“I can go with you, if you want.”

Peter looks up into Tony’s deep brown eyes.

“Are you asking me out, Anthony?” He teases, poking the alpha’s cheek. His eyes widen in surprised.

“No! Not at all. I’m just saying, if you wanted to, I’d be willing to go with you.”

Peter laughs and kisses him.

✨👑✨

Tony’s so fucking nervous.

His hands shake as he grips the stupid plastic corsage box in one, ringing the doorbell with the other.

Mrs. Parker opens the door.

“Tony. Come on in. Peter will be down in a second.” She says with a glint in her eyes. Tony follows her into the apartment, perfectly clean, like always.

“Let me see,” Mrs. Parker smiles, leaning over to look at the corsage in the box. “He’ll love it.”

Speaking of him-

Peter Parker appears at the top of the steps.

Tony’s mouth parts subconsciously. Peter looks-Peter looks stunning. His dress is a cherry red that matches his lipstick, all lace and off the shoulder. He walks down slowly, smoothing the skirt of his dress.

“Peter, oh my god, you look beautiful.” Tony sputters as Peter gives him a peck on the cheek.

“And you look handsome,” The omega responds, thin fingers adjusting Tony’s tie. “You bought a corsage!”

Tony laughs, opening the box and picking up the white rose. He adjusts it on Peter’s wrist as the other boy pins a white boutonniere to Tony’s lapel.

“Perfect,” He coos, pressing another kiss to Tony’s jaw.

Mrs. Parker gives him a quick, threatening talk as Peter uses the bathroom. Peter fake swoons when Tony opens the passenger door to his Audi.

They’re the perfect pair.

They take pictures and dance and kiss and it’s everything Tony could ever dream of. Peter wins homecoming queen, as he should. He looks divine on stage, sparkling tiara on his curls and smiling wide.

“Alpha,” Peter whines, 30 minutes before the dance ends, making Tony’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, baby?” Tony responds, grinding his hips forward against Peter’s ass, a quiet ‘oof’ falling from his lips.

“Can-Can we go back to your place? If your parents aren’t home-“

“Fuck yes.”

The car is thick with the scent of arousal, the mixing of their pheromones making Tony crazy. They’re on top of each other once they make it inside.

“Tony, where’s your room?” Peter moans as Tony nibbles on his neck. The alpha doesn’t respond, instead lifts the smaller into his arms. Tony rushes upstairs, making sure he doesn’t drop Peter. They collapse onto the bed, Tony pressing his lips to Peter’s. He tastes delicious, as always, and Tony can’t help but moan. He pulls off of Peter, shucking off his suit jacket as Peter stands up.

“Alpha, can you help undo my dress?”

That phrase sends a jolt of arousal to Tony’s dick.

He obeys, thick fingers tugging the silver zipper down. Peter steps out of the dress, his freckled back on full display, as well as his delectable ass that’s barely covered by white panties. In awe, Tony runs his fingers over the pale stretch marks littering his flesh.

“Is that- are they too gross? Quentin always said t-they were ugly.”

Tony’s speechless.

“No, no, baby,” He coos, spinning Peter around so he can see his face. His doe eyes shine with oncoming tears. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? You’re the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Peter giggles shyly, flushed.

“Fuck Quentin. He’s a pussy, not a real alpha. He never deserved you. You’re perfect, my little omega.”

They make love.

There’s nothing else to call it-not fucking, not sex. Peter rides him for everything he’s worth, tiny cock leaking against his stomach as his thick thighs straddle Tony’s. The tiara stays on, his curls becoming damp with sweat. Tony doesn’t last long, he pops his knot too early, but he doesn’t mind, since Peter is right behind him.

“Tony?” The omega whispers after Tony slipped out of him and cleaned them up.

“Yeah?” The alpha responds, breath hitting the back of Peter’s neck.

“I fucking like you, Stark.”

Tony laughs, pulls Peter closer under the covers, and kisses him.

[marvelsdarling]

Daisies and Sunflowers - Loki flower shop au

Pairing: Loki x (female) reader

Summary: One of the costumers who frequents your flower shop continues to try and set you up with her son, and you continue to explain that you’re not looking for a relationship - that is, until you meet him…

Warnings: FLUFF

Word count: 2.5k

-

It was a late Sunday afternoon, the sun was pouring in through the front window of your shop. Decorative coloured bottles you had hung from the ceiling sent a kaleidoscope of colour across the front room. You sold flowers- Roses, Lavender, Wildflowers, and everything in between. You had a few regular customers but mainly did private events or drop-ins. Husbands picking up flowers on anniversaries or young boys looking for bouquets or corsages for a date. Groups of girls would walk in from time to time and buy each other small or singular flowers, but you never really got close to many customers. You also sold a few dried herbs and floral jewelry aside from the flowers but that was more of a passion project for close friends or family.

You checked the clock that hung on the far left wall; five minutes to four. Frigga would be coming in soon. Every Sunday she would come in and pick up a bouquet of flowers along with some dried herbs. Every Sunday she would come in, and the two of you would strike up a conversation. She was really nice- one of the nicest people who frequented the shop, which made you look forward to Sunday afternoons. That is, until just before she leaves, when she mentions that her son is about your age and that the two of you should meet. You weren’t looking for a relationship, not that you would turn one down if the offer arose, but you just weren’t actively looking for some prince charming to sweep you off your feet.

At around ten past four Frigga walked in. Her sundress was a bright shade of yellow and her cheerful but familiar smirk was unmistakable.

“Hello (y/n), anything new today?” she asked, looking around past the hanging plants that surrounded the doorway. She looked beautiful as ever, joyful and bright, almost no makeup at all either - you don’t know how she was so naturally beautiful.

“Tulips are in season, and I dried some sage if you want some,” you offered. She smiled and nodded her head slightly.

“That would be grand my dear.”

You rushed to the back and gathered her order, before ringing her up and once again striking up a conversation. Weather, friends, her family, anything that could have been discussed, was. Before you could walk her out to the door- as usual, she mentioned her son.

“You know my dear, one day I should bring my son to meet you, I think the two of you would really hit it off,” she said casually.

“I’m not really interested miss Frigga but if you want to you could bring him over,” you replied politely, opening the door.

“You have a kind soul darling, those are very hard to come by. Any man would be lucky to have an opportunity to meet you,” she said, gathering her flowers in her right arm.

“No thank you miss Frigga,” you said firmly. If the opportunity arose then maybe, but now… it was just easier to leave life how it is.

“Have a nice day,” you called out the door, and then same as always, she disappeared down the sidewalk.

-

It was raining. No- raining is an understatement. It was pouring. Raindrops felt like small rocks shooting from the sky, and the wind blew them sideways against the front windows. If raining cats and dogs was a natural occurrence, a whole barn would be flying around at this point. When you showed up at work it was just windy, however at this point leaving your establishment safely was not an option.

You looked at the clock on the wall; half-past four. On a Sunday. You guessed that Frigga was not going to make it today. Maybe you would spend the next few hours reading a book or trying to figure out how to make coffee in your new machine.

You walked to the back of the store where the rain wasn’t hitting against the window and opened one slightly. The air smelled like hose water and fresh flowers, but the grass was green and the flowers were sprouting so what did the rain matter anyway in the end? Deciding to leave the window open, you picked up your old Uni sweatshirt and long knit socks from the back closet before picking up your book.

A romance novel, of a handsome young prince and a noblewoman. A forbidden love to the highest extent, especially in the medieval times of which it takes place. You were pulled into the pages of the young prince's love for this woman, who captivated him with her intelligence and independence. An outlandish idea really, a man falling in love with a girl's brains rather than her beauty. It seemed that men from this planet really don’t care much for independence or intelligence.

Your concentration was only broken when the bell above the door jingled, and slow steps trailed into the shop. You slammed down your book and ran over to the counter. By this point in your reading session, your hair was up in a messy bun of sorts, your shoes were gone and the sweatshirt that you were wearing covered your decent looking shirt.

The man in front of you had never been in the shop before, but his blue eyes scanned over everything around him. He was well dressed in a full black suit, and his raven black hair was down neatly. Looking at him made you realize that your whole get-up was even more embarrassing than before.

“He-Hello, did you find your way here alright?” you asked hesitantly.

He turned quite suddenly, but his poise was phenomenal. There was something about him, maybe you’d seen him somewhere, like a store, but you know him somehow.

He hesitated with his words at first and looked at you questioningly.

“Yes hello, my mother has sent me to pick up some flowers. She has fallen ill but insisted someone come and check on you,” he said politely, eyeing you up and down.

Hahaha hello very attractive man, I know I look like a sack of potatoes today but please don’t judge me… You thought to yourself, trying to tuck stray pieces of hair behind your ear.

“Yes, of course, could I get a name please?” you said, rushing over to your computer and pulling up a client file.

“I believe it would be under Frigga,” he said politely.

Your stomach flipped down into your body. If only a black hole could open up in the floor and swallow this whole encounter away.

“Uh - yes, yes right away,” you laughed.

No need for a client file though. You just walked into the back and pulled out a bouquet of daisies and sunflowers. Those were the freshest flowers that were at the shop today and it would probably be best if you send those to her as a vessel to possibly save this conversation.

You rang him up as per-usual and thanked him for coming in on a day like today, but a nagging feeling in the back of your head turned your attention back to him just as he started to leave.

“A-are you sure you want to go out in that storm?” you asked quickly.

He turned back to you with a small, but familiar smirk on his face. Your face flushed various shades of pink as your fumbled with your words. A knot was beginning to form in the pit of your stomach.

“I-if you want you can stay until the storm passes, I just, um, made coffee…” you finished.

His smirk turned into a small smile and he nodded his head a few times before replying.

“Coffee would be lovely thank you.”  

-

When the two of you settled in the back of the shop you got a chance to look at all the details about Frigga’s son. He was lean but still muscular from what you could see. Very tall. His hands were quite large and slightly calloused but not too rough compared to some men you knew. His eyes were blue as the sea on a cold day and his hair contrasted them as a dark, gloomy colour.

He sat for a while observing your posture and poise while sipping occasionally on his coffee. The pit in your stomach began to deepen with doubt. Why today of all days was a very attractive possibly single man coming into your store?

“You must be (y/n),” he said, cutting off your train of thought. Clearly, the shocked expression on your face said enough. “My mother has told me about you,” he explained.

Chuckling, you gathered a bit of confidence. “Am I all that I have been cracked up to be?”

He smiled and looked down at his hands. “I must say she did not do justice to your beauty. I have yet to see the ferocity she has become fond of though. Though I do look forward to that my dear.”

Did he really just call you beautiful? This god of a man called you beautiful? This day was turning out to be more than just a quiet rainy day after all.

“You know my name, and a bit of my apparent personality, but I do not know yours? Hardly seems fair at all!” you shot back.

His laugh was warm to you, and his smile was similar to that of his mother. “I suppose you are right. I am Loki.”

An odd name. Maybe something Scandinavian or Dutch? Nothing you had heard before.

“Loki,” you repeated back to him. You liked the way it sounded, kind of rolled off your tongue naturally.

He nodded his head and sipped at his coffee. You could tell he was thinking about something, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. You liked him- not in a weird way of course. He was charming and kind from what you could tell. Maybe Frigga was right after all.

“May I ask what you do Loki?” you said, placing your mug onto the table with a gentle thud.

He hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth slightly, and then closing it again. Your brain imidietlely went to a far off land of romance and dirty thoughts before being thrown back to reality by the sound of his voice. “Some would say I am a member of a government, but I am more of a consultant than a politician at this point in time.” He quirked his brow at you apologetically. “Does that make sense?”

“Kinda - I’ll figure it out later,” you said quickly.

-

Both your and Loki’s laughter filled the back room of your shop. The rain was still pouring heavily and by now your coffee was long gone. You were bent over from laughing, and Loki had his hand on the small of your back, laughing hysterically himself. Your stomach ached, and you couldn’t control your so-called “ugly laugh” (according to your best friend). Your breathing was ragged and you had to hold onto Loki’s arm just to keep upright.

“I cannot believe you did that to your brother!” you said, between small giggles and heavy breathing. Loki’s smile beamed across his face, and his eyes were bright with joy. His eyes lit up when he talked about his brother. You could tell he idolized him but also enjoyed playing small harmless tricks on him, like pretending to be a snake and scaring him, whatever that means.

“Okay, Loki… what should we do now?” you asked. You stood up off your chair and ran your hands over the folds that formed in your sweatshirt. “We could watch a movie if you want?”

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed a little bit and he once again hesitated before speaking. “I haven’t seen many of those.”

Once again an odd response, not that you minded spending more time with him. Walking over to the small worn down couch in the corner you grabbed a blanket off the back cushions and sat down on the far side. “Come, sit,” you instructed. Loki sat down next to you gracefully, but even then the cushions collapsed inwards with the springs the two of you were squished together.  

You looked for a movie for quite some time before deciding on Lady and the Tramp, a movie that Loki had not seen before. You had gotten to the scene where the baby shower was being thrown when you noticed Loki’s hand tracing patterns on your arm. His fingers glided across your skin, leaving patterns of obscure figures up and down your skin. Soon after you tested the waters by leaning your head on his shoulder, which quickly turned to him putting his arm around your waist.

Gradually the two of you lay further and further down onto the couch until you were both facing the laptop from your sides. Loki was laying behind you, propped up on his arm, running his fingers through your hair and down your collarbones and arms. You were tucked under the blanket, huddled close to him for heat. You could almost sense his smirk that was oh so similar to his mothers even if you couldn’t see it. By the time the last credits had rolled, you finally realized that the rain had begun to die down, and you could barely hear it through your still slightly open window.

“Unfortunately love I must be going soon,” he said, tucking hair that had fallen near your face behind your ear. You groaned at the idea of him leaving. Next time Frigga gives you romance advice you will be sure to take it. Loki was the most amazing man you had ever met. He was smart and witty and kind, much like his mother, his looks added an extra bonus as well. Begrudgingly, you stood up off the couch and offered your hand to him. “I’ll walk you out then.”

You padded through from behind the counter to the front door of the shop, with Loki following closely behind. Turning to face him, you opened the door and listened to the familiar sound of the bell ringing above.

Hesitantly, Loki stepped towards you and slowly tilted your head up with his hand. “May I kiss you?” he asked quietly. Without even answering the question you brought your face upwards to his in a searing but gentle kiss. His lips were soft but he held you close and his tongue was dominant in your mouth. He held you against him, one hand against your jawline and the other on the small of your back. When he finally did let you go you were completely out of breath.

“I’d like to see you again miss (y/n),” he said, resting his forehead against yours.

Smirking, you put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him out the door. “You know where to find me.”

Taglist: @drakesfiance

Hey my darlings! I know that this look forever to get out but I am back now and I hope you enjoyed this piece! I had been working on it for a few months but writer's block is nasty so yeah. It's not perfect but it is something. 

[faketextstuff]

Caught In A Lie (prologue)

Summary:: In order to succeed in the entertainment business in this world one most eventually ‘make a deal with the devil’ or ‘sell their soul’ to the mafia and become a modern day slave to the family. Jimin is a struggling dance student with high morals and a determination to make it on his own. His best friend is a hired body guard in the notorious Bangtan faction and is constantly trying to persuade Jimin in coming to work for the family in order to make his life easier. Yet Jimin keeps refusing. When things start to go bad he finds himself wondering if making a deal with the devil would be his best option. He soon finds himself deep in a lie and caught in the claws of a beautiful but deadly woman who is one half the leader of Bangtan.

Paring: JiminxReader

Warnings: Graphic violence, cursing, deception, eventual sexual content. 

A/N: This is purely a fake world in which I’ve thrown real people into. Think of it as a movie staring your favorite people. This is in no way related to them other than I used their names. All fiction and it should stay that way. I mainly wrote this because I’d personally love to see BTS star in a mobster film. I believe they have the talent and look for it. This is purely a gift to ARMY who wanted a badass girl fiction. LOL Please review it or comment. It makes my day to see nice words. Also if there are typos I’m sorry. It was 2AM when I wrote this.

"So how's the dancing coming along? My parents said you applied at the school of fine arts over the summer."

Jimin glanced up from his soda where he had been watching the large ice cubes float around in the bubbling cola. Ever so often Jimin would occasionally stir his drink with the black straw, watching as more bubbles floated to the surface of his drink then popped, making a low fizzing noise.

His eyes met the dark yet curious ones of his old school mate, Jungkook. Jimin and Jungkook had both attended the same school and even though Jimin was two years older than the other male, the two formed a tight knit friendship that had lasted through high school and college. Jungkook was the sports guy, always making the top teams and gained many scholarships to play at different schools around the world, while Jimin was the dance kid.

Jimin did play a few sports growing up but dancing had always been his passion aside from music. To him the two went hand in hand. Can't really dance without music.

Jimin had met Jungkook while both of them auditioned for a school play when they were preteens. No one ever pictured Jungkook for a singer but once he opened his mouth everyone, Jimin included, were blown away by his voice. Jimin knew his voice was top notch as well but he preferred dancing and letting Jungkook have the lead singing bits in their play. The two of them built a name for each other and were tied in the school's student body voted for "most likely to succeed".

However, succeeding in Busan was easier said than done. The entertainment industries in the country were mostly owned by the rich and powerful, by rich and powerful, that meant mafia. Each idol that came along either bought their way into the industry with their parents money, were born into it or they were working for the Mafia. There were several different mafia factions, the most known were the factions of Red Velvet. A faction of women who were as deadly as they were beautiful. They helped many well known actresses push their way to the top by any means necessary.

There was the EXO faction. A large group of guys who mostly held a tight grip on the television and broadcasting areas. The BigBang faction were their don who was called G-Dragon held most of the crime and drugs that filtered out into the streets, Stay Kids faction, Seventeen faction....all of these families were ones you never wanted to cross on a bad day.

However there was one that held each family and faction in a tight grip. The Bangtan faction. They were formally known as BigHit but once the don of their faction stepped down it was handed off to two young members who had been with the faction from the start, the name changed to Bangtan. Kim Namjoon, aka Monster, who lived up to his name with his ruthless sense of business and knowhow. And BigHit's adopted daughter Y/N, aka Swan. Many factions protested BigHit's don handing the family over to a foreigner who had no blood ties to Korea but she quickly earned her place and respect with her knowledge and take no shit attitude. The rumors spread like wild fire about her ruthless nature but sensible attitude towards solving issues quickly and almost effortlessly. Swan quickly earned her name and place in the country. For a long time she was known as the White Swan due to her light colored skin and easy to spot features, however as she made a name for Bangtan she became the Dark Swan. Everyone said the White Swan was her when she did her charitable work for the country by helping lost kids find their way and bringing more money into the country with her over seas ventures and projects, and the Dark Swan was a side of Y/N no one dared mess with. She'd not hesitate to get her hands dirty and eliminate the problem when necessary as well as the one causing the issues. She also held the police tightly in her hands. Most say it was because of her beauty that had the men and women falling at her feet but truthfully it was because they knew what would happen if they crossed her's or Namjoon's path. Together they were unstoppable and pretty much ran the whole country. They were as close as brother and sister and when working together they were called the Twins.

Succeeding in Korea now meant working for one of the families. Make an enemy of one and soon everyone had you on their list. Jimin had been working on his own, refusing to 'sell his soul' for the promise of fame and riches. Jungkook, he joined swore service to Bangtan right out if college. Jimin was unsure of his position but knew Jungkook was very close to Namjoon and Swan. There were many pictures of Jungkook sticking very close to Swan's side while out at public functions.

Of course Jungkook wasn't stupid, he knew damn well that dating a mobboss' daughter, adopted or not, was like signing your death warrant these days. Times were tough but Jimin knew Jungkook's heart was always in the right place so he never judged his friend for running off and joining the mafia.

Jimin's pride, however, kept him striving to achieve his dream on his own. He was struggling and knew the odds were not in his favor for getting accepted into top league dance academy when he didn't have the money to buy his way in, but still he held on to his hope and determination.

"Hello! Jimin!" Jungkook snapped his fingers in front of Jimin's face twice, knocking the older one out of his trance. "You still with me?

"Yeah, sorry." Jimin laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly having been caught drifting off. "Yeah I applied but I haven't got a call back for an audition yet." Jimin let his shoulders skin a bit in sadness. He had worked himself close to death to get this far, only to not get a call yet.

"You'll get a call. You're the best dancer in the country." Jungkook gave a comforting smile to his friend before leaning back in his seat. "You know how to get a call--"

Jimin was quick to cut the younger man off, "No." He stated firmly with a clenched jaw and hardened eyes.

Jungkook sighed and cocked his head slightly to the left, his dark eyes staying fixed on Jimin. "Why not? You've worked so hard, you deserve to get a little help. Namjoon and Sawn could help if you just ask."

"For what price, Kook? My pride?" Jimin sighed, his hands going up to rub his face harshly. Of course the offer was beyond tempting but Jimin wasn't going to sell out that fast!

"Pride? You think I sold my pride when I took the job with Bangtan?" Jungkook began to get a bit defensive. Bangtan was his family and he was overly protective of his new family.

Shaking his head, Jimin gave the man an apologetic smile. "You know that's not what I meant, Kook. I just...I want do this on my own and not owe anyone anything."

"You don't have to do this alone. You think I wasn't afraid of losing myself when I joined? I was. Fuck it was the scariest thing I've ever agreed to, but my dream was more important to me. Now I'm working on my own album with one of the best producers in the world. It's all worth it if you can do what you love, even if you have to get your hands dirty time to time." Jungkook began preaching to his friend, hoping he'd come around. Jungkook hating to see Jimin struggling this way. "Remember Hoseok? The guy who graduated from college a few years a head of us?"

"Yeah, the lead dancer for the drama team?" Jimin nodded, his brow arching slightly.

"Well he started out street dancing when Namjoon found him, he works for Bangtan and now he's the top choreographer in the world. Hell, you can't turn on the TV without seeing someone using his dance moves. Same with Kim Seokjin the famous chief. This restaurant is his. He owns a chain of them and recently opened one in Tokyo. I work with him and Swan everyday. He's a great guy." Jungkook glanced around the highly packed restaurant and smiled. Yeah every member of Bangtan worked hard and had to pay their dues but the pay off made it all worth it. "It's okay to ask for help. Everyone needs help."

Jimin sighed knowing that Jungkook was making very valid and tempting points he just didn't know or believe he was cut out for the mob life. Hell, he hated hurting bugs when he stepped on them while on the streets but the things Bangtan could and would do to people who displeased them, it terrified him. Even more so to think of quiet, shy little Jungkook who had had known for years having to hurt a living soul. "I just want to get by on my own. To have something that's mine, ya know?"

Sighing, Jungkook nodded, Jimin was still as stubborn as ever but he hoped one day he'd come around and accept help and no be so hard on himself. "Yeah, I get that." Dammit, he just didn't want to see life drag Jimin down and snuff the fire that fueled Jimin's dreams. "If you ever change your mind just give me a call."

"I will, Kook. I swear." Jimin chuckled once more, giving Jungkook the smile that at times he didn't have the energy for.

Jungkook returned the smile before he noticed outside the entrance that a large black SUV had pulled right up to the door. Jungkook knew that car and a small smirk tugged the corners of his lips. "I'll be damned. Talk about timing." He said with a breathy laugh. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

Jimin turned his attention out towards the SUV and watched with curious eyes as a man dressed in an expensive black dress suit, white shirt and black tie stepped out from the drivers side and made his way towards the backseat passengers side. Jimin recognized the man to be Kim Seokjin, owner of this restaurant as Jungkook earlier pointed out.

He didn't blink as he watched Seokjin glance around cautiously before opening the door and helped someone step out from the backseat. It was a woman with long dark hair that hung loosely in curls that fell down her back in soft waves, she was dressed in a form fitting black dress which made her skin look a beautiful pale color. Her lips were painted red as blood and the coat that hung snugly to her body was a bright shade of red that matched the lipstick. It was Swan! He knew her from the photos. He watched as Seokjin stood close to her side and another man slid out of the backseat as well.

The man had a very intimidating look about him that only worsened the feeling by his dyed silver hair. He too was dressed in all black, unlike Seokjin, this man was dressed in solid black and no tie. To Jimin it looked like something right out of a movie.

Jimin half wanted to ask Jungkook if her ears were burning and that's why she showed up here of all days, but he thought it better to keep his sarcastic comments to himself, at least for now. He just watched in silence as the silver haired man opened the door for Swan and the three made their way inside gaining many whispers and glances. Everyone clearly knew who just walked in and Jimin couldn't believe people were openly whispering about the trio right in ear range.

Jungkook stiffened his posture to look more professional as Swan glanced around the crowded restaurant. Eventually her eyes landed in Jungkook and a soft smile spread across her red tinted lips. Okay, yeah. He could see what people meant by her beauty. She was even more breathtaking in person.

Jimin's heart fluttered and his hands began to sweat as the three swiftly made their way over to their table. "Kookie, I didn't expect to see you here on your day off." Sawn spoke, her voice was gentle and her Korean was flawless. Hearing her speak no one could say she wasn't raised in Korea.

"My friend Jimin, here has never eaten here so I thought I'd treat him today." Jungkook spoke with a soft laugh before nodding his head towards Jimin who wanted to desperately crawl under the table out of sight but it was too late, Sawn's gaze fell immediately on him. "Swan, this is my good friend from Busan, the one I told you about."

Jimin quickly straightened up and forced a nervous smile. "I'm Park Jimin." He bowed his head in respect.

"Oh this is the dancer I've heard so much about." Swan grinned brightly before extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Park Jimin. I'm Y/N, but you can call me Swan."

Jimin discreetly wiped his hand on his jeans before taking hers in a gentle grasp. He made a mental note to curse Jungkook later for talking about him to Swan. "Nice to meet you too, Y--Swan." He managed to catch himself before he called out her real name.

"I hope you've enjoyed the food here." Seokjin spoke up as Jimin quickly released Sawn's hand as if he had been burned by her gentle soft touch.

"I have, thank you." Jimin smiled nervously before bowing his head once again to the older man.

"Jin-hyung, since it's his first time, you should comp our meals." Jungkook smirked and wiggled his brows.

Seokjin visbilly bristled at the younger man and narrowed his eyes. "I'll comp his mean, you know how much money I spend on you with food alone? I even had to add Sushi to the menu for you."

Jungkook held an amused look as he began to argue with Seokjin with a playful tone. "You're getting testy in your old age Jin-hyung." Jungkook mocked.

"Old? I'm not old. Twenty-six is not old!" Seokjin's voice rose a whole octave as he chided the younger man. "You won't think that when you're my age."

"You'll still be older than me and just as tight with money." Jungkook mocked Seokjin's tone which caused the silver haired man to chuckle under his breath.

Swan rolled her eyes and placed a hand to Seokjin's shoulder. "Just this once, let's comp his meal. Kookie will make up for it later in Suga's studio. Isn't that right, Suga?"

At this, the silver haired man smirked and gave a sharp nod. "Oh of course."

Jimin's eyes widened slightly, Suga? He knew that name. Min Suga, or Yoongi was a world known and respected music producer and rapper! Jimin had done many of his routines to Suga's songs. Jimin had no idea that Suga was a part of Bangtan.

"What are y'all doing here today?" Jungkook asked suddenly which caused all the smiles to fade.

Swan glanced at Jimin, silently wondering if she should talk with a stranger here within ear shot. However she still spoke after fixing her gaze on Jungkook. "We have a..." she paused wondering how she should word this. "A meeting with that smuggler who has been dealing BigBang fits for the past few months."

Jimin noticed Jungkook's playful demeanor disappear into something he had never seen before. Jungkook became serious and tense. "Do you need me?" Need him? What did that mean? What was going on?

Swan shook her head and gave a wave of her hand. "It's nothing Yoongi, Jin and I can't handle." She glanced to her left to Suga who just gave a cold smirk and folded his arms across his chest lazily.

Jimin held back the urge to gulp, whatever this meeting was but he knew by Suga’s look that it wasn’t going to end in the smugglers favor. Suga had a dangerous vibe oozing from him as he stood silently.

“You enjoy your day off, but I’m glad I saw you. I know I promised you tomorrow off as well but I will need you. I have to go to Japan to oversee the construction for the new hotel Joon and I are opening.” Sawn continued, her voice holding a serious tone.

Jungkook nodded instantly. “I’ll be there.”

“We’re going to leave early so just plan on staying at the penthouse. We’ll take the jet and come back in three days.” Swan smiled softly.

“Just the two of us?” Jungkook asked feeling the urge to get all the details now rather than later so he’d know how prepared to be. It was always dangerous to travel out of the country in their line of work. Namjoon and Sawn were never allowed to both be out of the country’s the same time. It left Bangtan exposed to people who would dare try a take over.

Swan shook her head as Suga glanced down at the Rolex on his wrist before plascing a hand on the small of Swan’s back to signal it was time for them to go. “No, V will be coming with us since he’s over the design.”

Swan gave Jungkook a sharp nod, as if telling him they’d sort out the details later before turning her eyes to Jimin, the soft expression returning to her face.

Jimin felt himself heat up under her gaze. He then realized he had been staring the whole time with a slightly slacked jaw. “Jimin, it was nice to meet you officially. Jungkook talks about you all the time. I hope one day to see you dance. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask. Any friend of Jungkook is a friend of mine.” With that she gave a small nod before turning on her heel to leave the two alone. Followed closely by Seokjin and Suga.

Jimin felt his cheeks turn about fifty shades of red as she walked away. He watched the elegant sway of her hips as she headed towards the stairs that lead them up to VIP booths. He glanced over at Jungkook who was simply smirking at his friend. “She’s amazing right?” He asked as Jimin simply nodded.

“Amazing.” Jimin nodded.

**–**

As Sawn walked towards the VIP section she smiled to herself stopping herself from glancing back over her shoulder at the young friend of Jungkook. The deer in headlights look he gave her the whole time made her giggle softly to herself. Innocence in today’s world was a very odd thing to find.

“What are you giggling about?” Yoongi asked nudging her with his elbow as they neared the “meeting room”. A room no one should ever want to find themselves in unless you’re on the Bangtan side.

“That Jimin. He’s a cutie isn’t he?” She laughed softly while Jin smirked at his boss.

“You always liked them young, boss.” Jin wiggled his brows in a suggestive manner gaining a gentle shove from Swan as she pushed open the door to reveal a bruised up man gagged and bound to chair in the middle of the room. The smuggler. Hoseok was standing behind him with a large grin that stretched from ear to ear when he saw Swan and his fellow members enter.

“Hobi darling, did you bring me a present?” She asked with a grin as the trio stepped into the room. Her smile was a cherry one but her tone was cold as ice. “You’re so good to me, sweetie.”

Suga followed Swan into the room and Jin gave a swift glance down the halls to make sure no one who wasn’t granted Bangtan access happened to be lurking around the VIP section. After making sure the coast was clear he stepped inside and closed the door, making sure to lock it after it was shut.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: To see more in this series “My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}”, click here.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I appreciate my “me” time.  I’m a strange combination of introverted and extraverted.  I’m often the biggest personality in the room amongst friends, and then I shrink into my athleisure clothing over the weekend to recoup my energy solo. On a normal week, I have the opportunity to get enough social stimuli through work, friends, and chats with family.  At the end of my first ten days home, I’m starting to feel disconnected and isolated.  It’s necessary, but I’m feeling it big time going into the weekend. You’ll notice that I’m not talking about “social distancing” in this post, because for us single ladies, it’s next level.  It’s social starvation, and I am on “me time” overload. I can already feel it.  I’m getting lonely. When you’re single, there is fantastic notion and pride in taking care of yourself.  Anything you have and that you’ve accomplished is yours and because of you.  It could be as simple as paying your electric bill, decorating a room, or unloading the dishwasher.  None of these things happen unless you do it. At the same time, there is a scary feeling tied to being completely self-reliant.  Example:  I have lived in Colorado for nearly 15 years now, and I’ve never skied.  While that sounds insane, I also know that breaking one of my 43-year-old bones would not be in my best interest.  So, I have to make safe decisions sometimes. In the same sense, in light of COVID-19, I can’t get coronavirus.  I went down a dark, twisty hole this week thinking about how this would play out if I were to contract it (more on that in another post.)  That was a fun night…  All this being said, I’m taking social distancing very seriously.  We all should be.  While Coloradans are still free to roam the land (but not dine out, get your hair colored, or go to the gym), I’m choosing to stay put. WORKING FROM HOME I love working from home.  It’s my jam.  I get so much done, and I love being close to my kitchen and comfortable.  I eat healthy meals.  I drink tons of water  The bathroom is clean and just 12 steps away (ooo… something to verify.) My company (unfortunately) has a no “work from home” policy.  While they’ve lifted it right now, it’s been a LONG TIME since I’ve been able to work from my home office.  If you remember, I redid this space years ago, so it’s bright and comfortable and happy.  It’s one of my favorite spaces in my home, and I’m highly productive (and happy!) here. On Friday, I had a call with our executive team and I knew that they might have a fondness for video.  Unlike the other days I’d logged in, I got up and put makeup on and piled my hair on top of my head, suspecting that I might need to show myself on the call.  Like clockwork, 40 people logged on WITH VIDEO.  And, I have to tell you – – I can’t even believe I’m saying this — I liked it! It was great to see everyone after not seeing them for a while, and people brought their personalities to the Zoom and during varied speaking parts.  Really nice. But guys, if I’m for VIDEO CALLS, I’m definitely missing people. MEETING THE NEIGHBORS I’ve also met my neighbors.  This sounds like no big deal, but I’ve lived here for eleven years… and up until this week, I’d met one person.  I’ve said hello here and there, but I didn’t know people’s names.  You best believe I do now.   I met Bonnie and Katie (and her cute baby who’s name escapes me) and Sheila this week.  All very kind and coming together as a little community of helpers.  When someone’s outside, you can tell we all need interaction and we just chit chat a little (responsibly from 6 ft away).  It’s really nice, and have been some of the bright moments of my week. GETTING THE MAIL Hands down, this is my favorite moment of every day.  I live in a condo, so I walk to the mailbox bank every day to see what’s up.  Most days, it’s bills or those dumb flyers that go straight in the trash (I mean, when do those stop being a thing?)  I’ve also been trying to send out cards to friends – – little hellos, as I have to believe that everyone is loving mail right now — and this is where I drop them off to be mailed. Again, I’m starved for interaction… if you’re getting mail at the same time I am, be prepared.  I’m going to chat you up.  This, ladies and gents, is where I met my new friend Glennis.  I’ve decided Glennis and I are BFF.  She probably has a knitting project going right now too.  I naturally started up a conversation with Glennis at the mail area about the census paperwork that showed up.  I mean, that’s exciting and conversation worthy. As I was walking away, I turned around and asked Glennis if she had everything she needed.  She responded that she just got back from vacation and is having a tough time finding (yes) toilet paper.  I gave her my address and told her that I could hook her up with some squares, should she run out.  Naturally (like we all do), Glennis said she’d be fine and that she’d keep looking.  She also mentioned that she had kleenex she could use too.  I reiterated I had extra to share, and we said our goodbyes. When I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and decided to find her in our HOA directory and pop by with some TP.  Her unique name made her easy to find, and I bopped over with four megarolls of the Charmin Soft. Her response when she opened the door reminded me so much of my grandmother.  She was just tickled, as Lenora would have been.  “I’ll always remember you…” she said with a smile. What she doesn’t realize though is that I will too, and that moment was hands-down my favorite of the week. ADDING FACETIME TO MY PHONE I disabled Facetime on my phone a while back.  A courtesy to friends that I used to Facetime late at night after a few too many rosés, everyone seems to want to Facetime and I’m here for it (and using it somewhat responsibly.) Last night, we had a group Facetime that was a lot of fun and way too much wine.  Initially, it seemed like just a fun moment with friends, but I literally can’t even describe how much I needed that. Protip:  You can do group Facetimes.  Open a group text conversation, and at the top of the screen, you’ll see an option for Facetime.  Click it, and it will initiate a group Facetime.  So easy! If you’re in an office, team virtual happy hours might be a fun idea.  We’re having our first one next week with the team; I’ll keep you posted how it goes. VOLUNTEERING TO DO THINGS At work, we have a women in technology group that I don’t get super involved in usually.  My busy-body self attends when I can, but I don’t typically raise my hand to lead things.  UNTIL NOW. I just set up a virtual book club at work, and the fact that 45 women want to participate WARMS MY FREAKING LONELY HEART.  We’re reading Fierce Joy by Susie Rinehart, which is hands down my favorite read of 2019. We all could use a little Fierce Joy right now, am I right???  As I re-read, I’ll be sharing some highlights and a-ha moments here and on social media.  Stay tuned, it’s the most lovely book. If you could use a little Fierce Joy in YOUR life –> Click Here. REMEMBERING I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS SUPPORT We all need support.  To be clear, you may not be single but everything I mentioned may be tricky challenges you’re facing as well.  I hope not (and that you’re feeling a-ok), but if you are it’s completely normal.  It’s completely normal to feel lonely.  It’s completely normal to feel not lonely. Let’s all try to reach out to people more often right now.  Only good can come from it! MSGS Tip of the Day:  Take a few minutes to send a card to friends and family near and far.  We’re all loving happy mail right now, and this could be a little way to spread joy.  If you have kids, let them get in on the action too!  Artwork + a happy note = BEST MAIL DAY EVER! Related posts: My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: Stocking Up and Settling In My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: When You Get Sick Homemade Cabbage Rolls My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: About Social Starvation originally appeared on No Thanks to Cake on 03/21/2020, which is not permitted to be copied on other sites without written permission from the original author. #SocialStarvation #MySingleGirlStory{NavigatingCOVID-19} #COVID-19 #SocialDistancing

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/to-see-more-in-this-series-my-single-girl-story-navigating-covid-19-click-here

[agwitow]

Mark of a Witch

Just a little plot bunny that’s been bouncing around my head lately

Diane was used to smiling politely as people passed her by. She was the sort of person who was effectively invisible to everyone who didn’t already know her. For most of her life, this was beneficial. She would rather be ignored than experience the hate her older siblings, cousins, and other family received.

Only once had someone noticed her, and called her a witch.

She still had the scar on her arm where her teacher had pressed the bismuth bronze token against her skin. It was seared in. A visible mark, for any who might see, that she wasn’t human.

Diane learnt to be extra invisible after that.

She always wore long sleeves, and kept to herself. She strove to be forgotten as soon as she left a room.

Her brother, Sean, hated that she hid. He went to protests and rallies for equal rights for witches. She always admired that he fought for what he believed in. Too often she had to bail him out of jail. And always he had more burns from the bronze people threw at him.

Her sister, Aleisha, thought she should apprentice at one of the medical organizations. After all, healers were mostly tolerated by humans. Rather than erasing the bronze burns from their brother and his friends, or removing old Mr. Boldt’s fifth bout of pneumonia, or patching up the neighbourhood kids, Aleisha thought she should work for the humans.

Sean hated that idea more than the fact that Diane hid what she was.

So Diane hid what she was and went to a normal university.

She might have been able to hide for her whole life, if Kenneth hadn’t noticed her.

It was toward the end of the first month that she met him. He was a first year, just like her, but he was gregarious, popular, and exuded an air of confidence that made him impossible to ignore.

Diane was never sure how he noticed her. She was sitting in the library, reading, when he sat down next to her. She was used to people sitting at her table without even realizing she was there--that was part of being invisible--but she’d never had them say “hello” before.

She looked up from her book to see him watching her with a smile.

“Did...did you need this table?” she asked, uncertain what someone like him might want from someone like her.

“Not any more than you need it.”

She frowned and cocked her head. “Is...there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I’d like to know your name,” he said. “And whether you're seeing anyone.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever notices me--my roommates didn’t even bother learning my name.”

“Their loss. I noticed you the first day of school--you were sitting on the bench outside the lab building. You were wearing a green sweater and had your hair piled atop your head in some messy hairstyle, and I knew I had to meet you.”

Diane’s frown deepened. “If that’s true, why didn’t you say something to me then?”

“I was sure someone like you must have a boyfriend or three, or at least have to beat them off with a stick. I didn’t think I’d have a chance.”

She eyed him distrustfully, the tips of her ears burning. He seemed completely open and honest, but then, she didn’t have much experience with people. “What changed your mind?”

He frowned a little and glanced around the library, before returning his gaze to her. “I asked around about you, but nobody knew who you were. Most people had no idea who you were, and the rest only had a vague memory of seeing you in a class or passing you in the hall. It’s like you aren’t quite real, or something.”

She laughed nervously. “I’m real. Just an awkward nobody. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“You still haven’t told me your name, or if you’re seeing anybody.”

“Look, this is really sweet of you, but I like peace and quiet. And I know who you are. You’re kind of hard to miss--always surrounded by twenty friends, going to parties, and being the centre of attention. I don’t want you to notice me.”

“Too late. I’ve noticed, and I’m smitten.”

Diane laughed. She couldn’t help it. All her life she’d wanted to avoid notice, and now some boy declared he’d fallen for her without even having met her. It had to be a joke. “Did Sean or Aleisha put you up to this? Though I’ve no idea how you’d know either of them.”

“Who are they? Ex’s I need to be jealous of?”

“My siblings.”

Kenneth smiled. “So no ex’s? Any currents?”

She sighed. “You’re very persistent.”

“One of my many charms.”

She pursed her lips and studied him for a moment. “If I tell you my name, will you leave me alone?”

“Hm...only if you tell me your name and if you’re dating anyone.”

“Fine. I’m Diane, and I’m not dating anyone. Now, goodbye.”

“Bye, Diane. I’ll see you soon.”

He winked and left.

She hoped he’d forget about her, just like everyone else did, but he made a point of seeking her out at least once a day, every day, for the next month. The more attention he paid her, the less invisible she became. He was dragging her into the spotlight, despite her protests.

Part of her hated that he hadn’t respected her wishes and left her alone, but part of her realized how nice it was to have people outside her family know who she was for the first time in years.

By the end of the second month, she agreed to go on a date with him. It was a surprisingly simple event. He took her to a late-night movie and then out for coffee. They sat and talked for hours, and by the end of the night she had to admit it didn’t seem like he’d had any motive for chasing her, other than a deep, abiding infatuation. One she was starting to return.

They dated for the rest of the year and Diane learned to stop hiding so much. She still didn’t like baring her arms, but she made friends--both on her own and with Kenneth’s friends. And when a big group of them, 23 people in total, went camping together over Midsummer, she felt like a totally normal girl.

The following Fall, they were still going strong when her worst fears were realized. They were helping one of his friends move a large pane of glass for an art project when the friend tripped. The friend, Marcus, went down and the glass fell on top of him. It shattered. A large, jagged wedge was embedded in his arm.

“Oh, shit! Marcus, don’t move, man! I’m going to call 911!” Kenneth said. His arms were covered in a hundred tiny cuts, but he didn’t even notice as he pulled out his phone.

“I’m fine,” Marcus protested, using a table to pull himself up. He had hundreds of small cuts as well, and a long gash along his forehead. His eyes locked on the shard sticking out of him. “Oh, shit...look at that...” he grabbed the edge of the glass and yanked it out.

“Marcus!” Kenneth shouted.

Diane jumped forward and wrapped her hands around his arm, trying to squeeze the edges of the cut together and put pressure on it at the same time. Blood bubbled up between her fingers. Marcus swayed, gripping the table to keep from falling over.

“Oh my god, this is bad, this is really bad,” Kenneth said.

“Why aren’t you calling 911?!” Diane shouted at him. She could feel Marcus’s pulse. His life. It beat its way past her hands to drip down to the floor.

“I’ve got no signal!” he shouted back.

She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the pulse beneath her hands. She followed it back, coaxing it to come with her. Her fingers tingled as her magic stirred. She wove it through his arm, knitting torn blood vessels and cut flesh back together. Bodies liked to be whole. All her magic did was provide it the means to be so again. It was simple, as far as magic went. But tiring.

She wobbled and felt hands grab her shoulders. The world spun and she sucked in three deep breaths before opening her eyes. Both Marcus and Kenneth were supporting her, staring at her.

“You never told me you were a...a witch...” Kenneth said, his gaze hurt and accusatory.

“People don’ like witches,” she said, slurring slightly.

“You’re a healer, though,” Marcus said. “You saved my life.”

Diane laughed a little, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Please don’t tell anyone. I just...I couldn’t let you die.”

“Hey, no. What’s wrong?” Marcus asked.

“The last time someone found out I was a witch they burned me,” she said, sniffling as she pushed up her blood-soaked sleeve to reveal the 2 inch by 2 inch burn on her arm.

Marcus looked at Kenneth. Kenneth had pulled back and was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. Marcus wrapped Diane in a hug. “Don’t worry about it. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She sniffed and hugged him back, though a burning pain in her heart made her tears come harder. It should have been Kenneth hugging and comforting her.

After she’d calmed down a bit, they worked together to clean up the glass and blood. Marcus tried to keep a conversation going, but neither Kenneth nor Diane were much interested in talking, so they finished in silence.

“Okay, well, thanks for everything, you two,” Marcus said when they were done.

Kenneth nodded and left without another word. Diane gave Marcus’s hand a quick squeeze before hurrying after Kenneth. They walked in silence until they were halfway between the art building and the dorms. The night air was warm and the sky was just turning dark as the sun slid the final bit behind the horizon.

“Kenneth?” Diane asked, her voice soft and scared.

He sighed. “Look, we’ve been through a lot together, and I loved you, but...I can’t be with a witch.”

“I’m the same girl I was yesterday,” she protested.

“You mean a liar?”

Diane flinched. “I never asked to be a witch. I hardly ever use my magic. I’m just like every other girl...”

“Except, not really. You say you hardly ever use your magic, but that means you still use it sometimes,” he argued.

“I promise I won’t use it again!”

He shook his head. “No. Something will happen, like tonight, and you’ll have to use your magic. You can’t keep a promise like that.”

“But...I mean...was it a bad thing to heal Marcus?”

“No. I’m glad you did. He’s one of my best friends. But I can’t...I just can’t be with a witch.”

Tears ran down Diane’s cheeks and she bit her lip to keep from sobbing. Kenneth just turned and walked away. He stopped after a few feet and turned back to her. “I’ll keep your secret, but I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“How--”

“Don’t talk to me or my friends again, and I won’t tell anyone what you are. You can go back to being invisible--that’s what you wanted when we first met, wasn’t it?”

With that, he left her crying. He might not have used bismuth bronze, but he had scarred her just as badly as her teacher had all those years prior.

** If you liked this, you might be interested in my published work. You can also support me by ‘buying me a coffee'

[coeurdastronaute]

Giant: Ch. 10

How close am I to losing you? Tonight you just close your eyes and I just watch you slip away.

As a little girl, Lena never quite understood what her father did. She knew he did a lot of things, but they were all abstract, and difficult to imagine. It wasn’t like he was a cop, or a doctor, or a scientist, or a tugboat captain. He did things like mergers and acquisitions, financial planning and venture capitalism, all very unglamorous things for a nine year old who envied people who got to say that their daddy put out fires or helped people feel better.

Still, he would come home, sometimes after business trips spent around the world, probably exhausted and definitely overworked, and he would graciously accept his invitations for tea parties, tiara and all, and he would quickly change his clothes and rush Lena for a soccer game across town and pizza after, and he would let her come into the lab and solder wires beside him as he worked, taking the time to teach her things despite the unbelievable pressure he must have been under.

All of those memories came back to her as she closed her door and flopped onto the couch, unable to even muster the energy to kick off her heels or tug off her coat or drop her bag. All of it came with her as she fell like a tree in the woods when no one was around to hear its sound.

She was always meant to be a part of LuthorCorp. She wanted to wear a lab coat and make something out of nothing. She was never supposed to be a part of this side of things, never supposed to have to run it all.

And when it came to be that she would have to take over, Lena knew she would have to devote herself to it, full-heartedly. She started work months before the press conferences and the rebranding, she rebuilt it from the ground. A year’s worth of it all caught up with her, and she wondered how the hell her father managed it and two kids and a wife and a five handicap on the links.

She hadn’t factored in what dating the literal personification of a can of energy drink would mean, nor did she allot any sort of time for falling in love. She definitely didn’t reckon on the time needed for a superhero. She never counted on having Kara. Perhaps her father had it easier. He did dig a rather large hole for her to climb out of, and he wasn’t dating something that could stop a speeding train and had the stamina of a… well, a speeding train.

Exhaustion hit her hard, right there after an extremely long day of travelling, a day that started something like forty hours prior to the exact moment her phone rang. She wasn’t sure where she got the exact idea to tell Kara to come over when she got done with game night. It was definitely the reptilian side of her brain that wanted her very warm, very hot, very naked body in bed. That side was going to kill the rest of her sides.

With a groan, Lena pulled her squished face from the cushion and dug her phone from her pocket, squinting as she held it up to her eyes which were too tired to focus on anything concrete, let alone a number she didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” she rasped and cleared her throat.

“Lena Luthor?” a gruff voice rang out, clear and steady.

“How did you get this number?”

“My name is Hank Henshaw. I’m the Dir--”

“Director of the DEO,” she finished for him, her interest piquing. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television, because a call from someone like that, who wasn’t supposed to know that Lena knew that Kara was--

“An agent will be arriving at your door within the next few minutes to escort you--”

The images on the screen and the words coming from his mouth woke Lena up as much as possible. On a loop, the news showed Supergirl’s battle with what could only be described as a creature that towered over her. That wasn’t the problem, easily put down and captured by the hero. But as she finished, a singular shot rang out, and she fell, clutching her side, nothing but a heap on the ground.

“The Xichung was a diversion, as far as we can tell. The bullet came from a prototype at LuthorCorp, or now LCorp, and someone who had access to--”

“Is she alive?”

Lena didn’t bother turning off the television. She was already walking to her door.

“She’s alive.”

“I’ll see you soon, Director.”

“Ms. Luthor, the agents are for your protection, we actually just need access to--”

The phone call was ended just as quickly as another began. Lena breezed past the agents that arrived, snapping her fingers as she passed them and got into the elevator.

“Jess, have the heads of the seven facilities with ongoing K-research produce proof of their supply and schedule an audit of all those with access to those labs for-- Let’s go, get the car, keep up,” she barked at the agents as her heels clacked through the lobby. “The audit needs to be done in the next four hours. I don’t care what time it is.”

They group marched through the lobby, Lena in front, the agents almost jogging to keep up with her.

“Have Peter in Archives forward me every prototype plan filed under Project Andromeda created when my brother was at LuthorCorp. Have Bishop get in touch with me at her earliest convenience, such as now. And do the thing where you pretend you’re me and reschedule what you can for tomorrow.”

Impatiently, Lena waited on the sidewalk, answering a few of her assistant’s follow up questions as the car came.

“Ms. Luthor, we’re to accompany you to LCorp to get the research--”

Lena stopped him right there and moved her phone from her ear slightly, glaring at him, tilting her head, making him feel slightly intimidated.

“DEO Headquarters. Now,” she countered.

“There’s no way that we--” the other began.

“Let’s go,” she rolled her eyes, not bothering for a minute, sliding into the car herself. “Jess, reach out to Mr. Vanderbilt in acquisitions. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

As soon as she has a moment, to breathe, to catch herself, her phone vibrated with a few emails which she scanned and ignored. In the back of the car while the agents sat quietly in the front, Lena knit her eyes together tightly and clenched her jaw in an attempt to prepare herself for what was about to happen.

Girl of Steel, indestructible, never in any real danger. Those were the things Kara had promised her in the late hours when only the lights from the city provided a small glow through the windows, so that the sky looked like it was nothing more than the dark skyscrapers, and the windows were galaxies. There were monsters and aliens and weapons that Kara beat already, and Lena trusted her. She almost felt betrayed by Kara’s morality.

It took a lot of yelling, and a lot of threatening, but once Lena got to see the Director, he listened and let her in a second after meeting with her, giving Agent Danvers a nod. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but Lena ignored it as she is lead into a lab. She clenched her fists and jaw and tried to think of what came next.

But nothing prepared her for it. The sight of Kara in a hospital gown, Kara with the tubes and the wires and the equipment. The sight of her sleeping, or looking as if she were sleeping, but the knowledge that she was not, that something terrible happened, that her body was trying to recover, it was from a nightmare.

Alex told her about the gunshot, about how the bullet broke apart, and the Kryptonite that riddled her body. Lena listened but refused to take her eyes off of the girl who laid there. Before she knew it, and very, very quietly, almost silent, her hand slid into Kara’s and she gave her fingers a squeeze. When they were walking, Kara would do that, when Lena got distracted or excited, to show her she was listening and excited as well, she liked to squeeze her fingers. Her hand was still warm, still very soft and very Kara. That was the dissociative part of it, making it even harder to believe who was hurt and lying there. Supergirl didn’t get hurt. Kara didn’t get hurt. Not for long, not this badly.

Eventually, the sister quieted, just as upset by the situation, by the outcome, angry at the world and what it all meant. She watched the Luthor hold her sister’s hand without even moving, watched her stare at Kara and clench her jaw. She looked tired and oddly small, but Alex refused to think of anything other than her sister.

“She’s going to be alright,” Lena told her, as close to supportive as she can be with someone who obviously despised her, and even that was done just for Kara. She looked up at the agent and gave her a solemn nod and promise because she needed to hear the words, even if they came from her own mouth.

A second later, she looked back down at the girl who used to do handstands in her backyard, and willed her words to be true.

Back before she was anything, before she cared about anything other than her grade in Organic Chem and the game against Barnett, Lena was grossly in love with a high school reporter who was always eating something, who always tripped over her own feet, who always was grossly happy, so happy it was contagious.

No matter where she lived, there were people who wanted to be her friend because of her name. An irony that would soon make her laugh darkly as she grew older, but in high school it was enough to drive her crazy.

Kara was different. She was genuine, and she was kind, traits that were oddly catching.

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun,” Kara whispered, leaning close at a party thrown by some basketball player. She knew she’d been there only because Lena told her she had to, that no one would think of inviting Kara Danvers on their own.

“This is kind of boring,” Lena shrugged.

“There’s a double feature at the drive in tonight. Temple of Doom should be just starting.” With a small smile, Lena dug for her phone to dial her driver before Kara stopped her. “I have a better way.”

“Lead the way, Danvers,” she grinned conspiratorially.

On the way out, Lena grabbed a few beers and slid them in her purse beside a few snacks. She grabbed Kara’s hand who held it behind her as they wove through the bodies, almost not missed by anyone at all.

It was a short walk, but still, Kara let Lena climb on her back and she gave her a piggy back down the middle of the street, out of the neighborhood toward the old field where the rotting drive-in remained, stoic against the test of time.

Quietly, they climbed into the old box on the far side of the field. Kara pushed Lena to the roof without anyone noticing. She tuned her phone to the station and accepted a beer from Lena’s purse, though more eagerly took to the candy that came next.

“This is one of my favorites,” Lena murmured, watching the screen in the distance, the words a second off due to distance.

“It gave me nightmares,” Kara remembered with a smile. “When I first moved in with the Danvers, Alex took it upon herself to educate me, and it included classic movies. I think she forgot that I was just a kid.”

“My dad and Lex and me have movie weekends, whenever Mom goes out of town,” the soccer player explained. “She frowns about wasting so much time. But we order junk food and have a theme. One weekend it was Indiana Jones. I was about ten, too. I asked for a whip for Christmas.”

Lena earned that laugh, and she didn’t care about the movie. She beamed at her friend and had to gulp at the almost warm beer to make her mouth not so dry.

Nearly to the end, she leaned against Kara’s warm side and thought that no night could ever be better.

In under an hour, Lena was set up beside Kara’s bed, her phone charging, her laptop out, messengers leaving packages at the front desk. From outside the room, Winn and Alex and J’onn watched her pace and work and worry, stopping everything for quiet beside Kara, where she touched her hair, or kissed her palm.

She worked at an alarming pace, hands typing, scrolling through her phone, while at the same time, finding herself still and completely useless as she held her breath and watched the wounded girl battle the poison inside of her body.

“Ms. Luthor, you can’t have things delivered here,” the Director finally told her as he carried in a manila envelope.

“This is who you’re looking for,” Lena ignored him as she opened it and confirmed it was what she was waiting on. “Sebastian Speer.”

“We have our agents already--”

“Sebastian Speer purchased eight ounces of Kryptonite from a third party that refuses to be named, and I’ll keep it that way for now,” she continued, handing over a picture taken from a security image somewhere. “This is Speer and a mutual acquaintance exactly three weeks ago.”

“This is circumstantial at best.”

“Seems like it,” she continued, picking up more pages. “This is the membership log of District Three chapter of a group called Judgement. They are a radical, supremacy movement focused on not just hating anyone who doesn’t look like them, but are not from here.”

“We know this group. We monitor their activities.”

“Then you’ve seen this. This is taken from your own files, images of Speer and his friends having target practice with Supergirl dolls.”

“How did you ge--”

“Sebastian Speer’s Employee badge,” Lena stopped him, digging again into her envelope. “Employee at LutherCorp from June until September the following year. His military records. Sniper Team One, recruited by my brother to head up an alien strike team. The files on their composition, missions, and directives.”

“Ms. Luthor, perhaps you can talk with--”

“The shot was fired from room 1302 in the Filmore hotel. Here are security pictures of Speer entering and leaving the property.”

J’onn stood there with the evidence in his hand and looked up at the woman before him as if she were a witch.

“You did this from here?”

“Yes. How long does this normally take you?” she furrowed and cocked her head to the side. “I’m waiting to hear back from a few of my labs to account for all of our Kryptonite. I’ll be reviewing those with access and looking into the programs to see what we can cut. I just purchased a large section found in Montana last year. It’s on its way to my lab. It didn’t come from me.”

“If you have it, we will get rid of it--”

“No thank you, Director. I don’t trust the government to do anything in Kara’s best interest.” Mercifully, her phone began to ring again. “Excuse me.”  

“Agent Danvers!” he called, his eyes never leaving Lena’s as she took her call.

It wasn’t a lie. Lena let Kara know about her feelings for the Kryptonite holding organization, she didn’t hold back too much on her worries and concerns, and she tried to not sound like her brother while she did it.

While Lena finished, she saw the two huddle slightly, going over information, until the director nodded to her and left. She watched Alex watch her before looking at her sister. Lena did the same before she hung up.

“You must be exhausted,” Alex whispered.

“I have a lot to take care of.”

“I can’t imagine there’s anything else you can do.”

“There’s always more.”

The quiet was stifling instead of comforting. Lena didn’t mind it though because at least someone else was feeling something that she felt. She stifled a yawn and finally closed her laptop. Well after midnight, she relegated herself to lists and her notebook and trying not to sleep.

“You thought I did this, didn’t you?” Lena asked as Alex leaned against a door. She didn’t have to lie or confirm it. “You still think I had something to do with it.”

“I’ve seen Luthors in action.”

“Your boss trusts me.”

“He let you in,” Alex corrected. “Because you’re important to Kara, and no other reason.”

“He didn’t read my mind and see the truth?”

“Oh, Kara,” she shook her head and sighed at her sister’s secret keeping ability.

Both glared at each other for no reason at all except they didn’t understand how the other arrived at their solutions. The methods were too different. Lena knew that Kara could live without her, but never without her sister. She knew where she fell, and she understood that kind of devotion, to a degree. It was overwhelming and made her jealous. She was the expandable member of the room, and all she wanted to do was fight against nothing at all.

“If you’re right, about Speer, than militant supporters of your brother’s are arming themselves and acting out against my sister.”

“Yeah,” Lena agreed and reached out to hold Kara’s hand out of habit.

“What are we going to do about it?”

For a moment, she just stared at the sleeping girl and closed her eyes before dragging Kara’s hand against her forehead, leaning closer, she cupped her own cheek with it, inhaled what she could. She couldn’t let go of it.

“I’ve spent millions to buy all of the Kryptonite I can. I’ve archived and destroyed my brother’s designs and prototypes. I’ll figure something out.”

“We can--”

“You work at an organization that employs the use of the same material that did this to your sister. There is probably an identical bullet sitting in a gun in case she moves one hair out of place, right here in this very building, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep doing what I can, alone.”

Surprised by the strong words, Alex was taken aback for a moment. She swallowed slightly  and regained the bristle natural to her shoulders.

“I do it to protect her.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it right,” Lena promised, having some knowledge on the subject. “My brother thought he was protecting us. The reason doesn’t direct morality. Not completely. Not enough.”

A tap at the glass interrupted Alex’s lashing, perhaps even a war waged right there. The agent slipped into the hall without Lena lifting her head. For a moment, the battle was paused, and Lena shook her head, reminding herself that it was no way to win the other Danvers onto her side or in support of her and Kara’s relationship.

But that was tomorrow’s problem.

Back before she was anything, before she cared about anything other than her grade in Astronomy and the game against U of M, Lena was grossly in love with a college tutor who was always ready to laugh at penguin videos, who always had a phone with a cracked screen from dropping it, who always was grossly happy, so happy it was contagious.

“You don’t want to go out with the team? That party sounded fun,” Kara worried, linking her arm with Lena’s as they made their way through the streets toward the museum.

“Seurat is one of your favorite painters. And I know this because I got the entire history of his life and a definitive ranking of his works when you found out the show was coming here,” Lena shook her head. “This is way more important.”

Kara ducked her head and adjusted her glasses at the description. It was a lot to feel important to someone like Lena Luthor, and yet she had this inexplicable way of making Kara feel like the only person in the world, and as if it was nothing at all for that to be a fact.

Right there in the museum, Lena lost the battle she was constantly having with herself, one made easier by sheer distance that she tried to keep from her best friend. Ever since the kiss, she would see how far, how long she could go without seeing Kara because it just plain hurt, plain fixed her, made her dependent on that high. And then she would fail, and she would see her and she would lose the war.

It was a pattern.

It was no different in the museum for hours, watching the way Kara stared at paintings, asked Lena’s opinion, grabbed her hand and tugged her through the exhibit.

Sitting in front of a large mural of a park Lena vaguely recognized from her trips with her family, she studied Kara’s face a little more. She wanted to ask her where she came from, she wanted to ask her about the night at the freeway, when she stopped the speeding car, and she wanted to ask her about being bulletproof. She wanted to ask about her home and how she ended up on earth. But she couldn’t.

“I just like how they all seem so peaceful, the soft colors, the light. They remind me of home, I think. As silly as that sounds,” Kara offered with a sad smile.

She couldn’t tell Lena that if she squinted, she could pretend the man in the top hat on the painting looked like her father, and that was why she was found herself staring at it. Or that one of the women had the faintest trace of her mother’s smile. She loved the nondescript look to them all, and how she could see her history in it.

“I think that’s a good reason to like something.”

For hours, they trailed through the museum, they navigated all manner of art and history and stories and jokes. Lena could never remember having a better time with anyone else. The world disappeared, and all she could do was enjoy the way Kara leaned against her on the sidewalk after they closed it down.

For hours, Lena remained in the tiny little medical room, on the hard, plastic chair, beside the coven of machines and equipment. She leaned back in her chair and dug the heel of her hands into her eyes to stay awake which seemed possible after her twelfth wind of the night, though they were getting less and less effective.

No one saw her biting her lip, worrying it to shreds. No one saw her wipe a tear from her cheek so quickly it didn’t have time to even make a proper escape. No one saw Lena Luthor there, and that exact reason was why she was in love with Kara, the girl who saw her. Everyone else did their parts to keep busy. Alex hunted, J’onn oversaw, Winn and James researched. They took up their missions to distract themselves, but it just left Lena with her job, which was to simply wait.

It was absolute torture.

Lena almost missed the first sign of movement with daydreaming of them before, before fingers gently squeezed her’s back a second time. She hopped up and hovered to see eyelids flutter, and finally those eyes that were oceans focused on her before squinting slightly in that face, that too-tired-to-get-out-of-bed, face that Kara made nearly every morning they spent together. Just like that, Lena could breathe again.

“How was New Delhi?” Kara asked with pure gravel in her throat and a wickedly sweet smile. She swallowed as best she could, the dull throb in her side gripping her muscles tightly. She blinked and squinted as she woke, unaccustomed to such pain.

Lena didn’t respond, she just hugged her tighter than probably advised before kissing her cheek. She took deep breaths and she refused to let up. It hurt, but Kara didn’t care at all because she needed it more than morphine. Tears ran down Lena’s face despite herself. Happy as they were, she chided herself from once again failing to be someone who did not cry.

“Sydney was alright,” she whispered, pushing away the hair from Kara’s face. “My talk went pretty well. How was your day?”

“Not terrible. Did you know that someone might not like Supergirl?” the faux surprise gave way to probably a bit more honesty than Kara would have cared for. She knew people disliked her alter ego, but this was just beyond.

“I’m gone for two days and you go and get into trouble. Don’t worry, I got it handled.”

“Wait, you’re… here… I’m… this is the DEO.” Kara cleared her throat and tried to swallow, nothing really making much sense to her any more. Her body ached all over, as if her bones were shivering. Pain ravaged her body. Something happened to her and she didn’t know exactly.

“Yeah.”

“How?” Kara balked.

“Agent Danvers and Director Henshaw let me in.”

“Really?”

“No, I snuck in and subdued a few guards.”

The memories passed and Lena watched Kara think everything. When she moved she winced and laid back down, gripping her side where the bandages were placed. The lingering effects of the Kryptonite made her woozy and weak and altogether miserable.

“You got it handled?” she ventured after a moment, confusion clouding her vision.

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lena informed her, fretting over Kara’s shirt and arm, smoothing the blankets and untangling wires. “But no one’s allowed to attack my girlfriend without me having something to say about it.”

Kara grunted as she shifted slightly, tentatively testing out her body as it began to mend, the Kryptonite wearing out in her muscles, slowly losing to the lamp that supercharged her cells. She only knew a few facts: One, a Luthor was in the DEO. Two, it was on purpose. Three, someone let an alien out to shoot her. Four, she’d been shot. Five, with Kryptonite. Six, she didn’t like it and it would kill her. Seven, her girlfriend was protective and cute. Eight, and oddly terrifying, in a weirdly sexy way. Nine, she was having a very bad day. Ten, it was made better just with one person existing.

“Are you okay? Do you need something?” Lena asked, constantly touching and hovering.

“Just thinking a lot of things,” Kara decided, laying back again and looking at where a bullet had entered her body. “Ten things. I had ten thoughts.”

“That many, huh?” Lena teased.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she ventured after a long, deep yawn.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep right there.”

“You’re supposed to call me pretty. Woo a woman and such. What do they teach you in hero school, Kara?” She earned a chuckle from the injured party who scooted slightly, as much as she could. “Let me get your sister. She’ll want to run tests--”

“Come here, beautiful.”

“Kara…” Lena fret, looking around at the windows, the openness, the potential eyes. She was not a public person, she shied from the spotlight, from being human around many people. This felt incredibly intimate.

“You’re going to collapse.”

“You’re not supposed to worry about me. I’m fine,” she promised, smoothing her girlfriend’s hair. “You’re the one that needs to rest.”

“For me then? I haven’t seen you in a week.” It didn’t work well. She tried the sad eyes, and those started the cracking. “And I got shot.”

Lena looked around and debated it before she looked at Kara’s face, at the bandage on her side, at the gizmos and lights she had making her better. With a sigh she resigned herself to her fate, finally slipping off her heels before climbing onto the stiff platform of a bed. She’d give into whatever Kara wanted, and that was a scary fact.

Even hurt, Kara held out her arm and let Lena use it as a pillow, keeping her close until their foreheads were touching, their noses bumping with the small space of the single person pod. So close, she could only see Lena’s green eyes and that one dimple she had, on her left cheek.

From the sliver of bed, Lena placed her hand on the bandage, earning a wince, but she held it there, as if she could heal it. Despite herself, her eyes closed as Kara played with her hair.

“What’d you bring me from your trip?” Kara murmured, earning a small snort.

“I left it at home. I was in a rush to leave for some reason.”

“But what’d you get me?”

“Shh.”

“I know you can boss an entire secret government organization, my boss, my sister, your assistant, every person you’ve ever met, and will meet, but you should know you can’t boss me.”

“I can, and do,” the Luthor retorted confidently.

In her hand, under the bandage, she felt Kara chuckle at her answer. She held her tighter and pressed her eyes closed tighter, as tight as she could, because it finally hit her how close this was to never existing again. How close she was to not hearing that voice, or feeling that laugh. She got complacent and spoiled by the notion of an indestructible person.

“I’m okay,” Kara promised, wiping the faintest sliver of moisture from eyes that were locked shut, as if putting up the barricade on crying. “I’m going to be healed, no worse for wear, in about three hours.”

Even with the pain in her side, even with the feeling of her bones in a vice grip, Kara promised and dried and kissed.

“I know,” she lied.

“This is the job.”

“I know.”

“I’ll always come back, too. Just like you come back to me.”

“I know,” Lena nodded as she exhaled a shaky breath.

“I’m going to toss you up against a fridge as soon as I’m healed, so you should sleep.”

“I know,” she grinned despite herself.

“Snagged myself a know-it-all. I always knew you were super smart.”

It didn’t take long, for Lena’s breaths to even out. Kara closed her eyes and listened to them accumulate. No one else in the world would know about the small snore that came every three or four breaths. That was her’s. So was the way Lena’s hand rooted in her clothes at night, not letting go, so tightly, she couldn’t escape it, so tightly knuckles turned white. So was the feeling of having someone selflessly protect them, like having their own personal superhero.

She kissed Lena’s cheek and took a deep breath before tucking her closer, under her chin, wrapping her up as much as possible because she was so very sorry for what happened and what could happen. Kara dug her nose into the crown of black hair and smiled to have something like that, something to wake up to and something to fight for, having something fight for her.

[ziskandra]

so @aceryder​ was one of the recipients of my 100 follower fic giveaway and requested: ryder x liam where the two of them meet at in a bar in london before the arks leave for the milky way and really hit it off together.  ao3 link. and, well, here’s the story :~) Summary: Two weeks before the arks leave for Andromeda, Liv Ryder meets a handsome man named Liam at the bar. Too bad they’ll never see each other again. Near Morning

Olivia will never get used to the feeling of solid ground under her boots. She’s a spacer, through-and-through. Before Mom had taken her final turn for the worst and she and her brother and her dad had all relocated to Earth, she doesn’t recall a time when she’d ever spent more than three months planet-side at a time. Now, it’s going on six, Mom’s dead, and the final preparations for the Andromeda Initiative have been set. Two more weeks, and it’s bye-bye Milky Way, hello, new home. 

She can’t lie to herself, though. She knows they’re really just running away from something. Might even be the same thing, in the end. 

Dad had spent so much time working on his pet project — his SAM —and for what?  Nothing but bitter disappointment, which tasted suspiciously like the crumbly little sandwiches they’d served at Mom’s wake. 

Oscar — well, her brother hadn’t changed much. He’d always been the type to get swept up in the events around him. Had signed up for the Alliance more out of a lack of anything else to do, rather than genuine passion, and when he’d found his progression blocked by bad blood, well. Who could blame him for wanting to go somewhere, be somewhere, where he could do something that mattered?

And for Liv herself? Well, Mom’s dead, and she’s the one keeping this family together in her stead. She likes her life in this galaxy well enough, honestly, but she can’t just let her dad and her brother fuck off without her, so. 

New home. It’s a hell of a move. Anything’s got to be better than being stuck in London indefinitely though; the sky just keeps pissing on her, and the pollution’s so bad it hurts to breathe.

Good bars, though. Men that are attractive enough to flirt with, if not more. But she usually just goes to drink. Starts off with lager before working her way up to whiskey. Serving in the Alliance has taught her how to handle her alcohol. 

Tonight she’s checking out some new fancy place with one of her old Alliance squadmates who happens to be on shore leave. It’s going to be full of posh wankers, she’s sure; they make their drinks with off-world ice, of course it is. Liv’s shouting — she’s been keeping mum about what’s actually happening in the next few weeks, but she’s reassured Ellie that she won’t need the money where she’s going. Laughs when she tells her, because it’s such a goddamn understatement. 

***

The bar is dark and the drinks are overrated, but all-in-all, it lives up to Olivia’s expectations. The music’s not exactly her scene, but it’s danceable enough, and it’s not like Ellie has ever let anything like appropriateness get in the way of having a good time. To put it simply: Eleanor Rodrigues is the kind of friend you want to have when you just want to keep your mind off things, and after everything Liv’s been through lately? Ellie is probably, quite honestly, one of her best friends. They’d bonded over their passion for Prothean technology, but where Liv’s love of science is secondary to her love of being able to shoot a target from several hundred meters with pinpoint precision, Ellie is a scientist first and a scant five-foot-tall surprisingly scary biotic second.

Mostly, though, she’s just a terrifying and ferocious dancer and it often gets her into trouble. She’s flailing her arms on the edge of the dance floor just adjacent to the main path to the bar when her elbow connects heavily with someone’s ribcage, spilling one of the too-expensive drinks over the both of them. “Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry!” Ellie exclaims with drunken exuberance, clasping a hand to her mouth, the other reaching for the accosted man’s wrist. “My friend Livvy here – she’ll get you another drink.”

So, okay, two things:

One: Eleanor has had way too much to drink if she thinks she can get away with calling her Livvy.

Two: The man looks at her, smiles, and fuck it if she doesn’t go weak at the knees. Dark skin, beautiful hair, and he fills out a polo shirt like nobody’s business. God damn. But those are only distant observations. That smile could light a room on fire, but what gets her is the eyes. Brown, open, inviting, honest. Seemingly incapable of giving a shit about the fact that he’s now covered in fruity cocktail residue.

The man cants his head. “Does Livvy mind buying me a drink?”

She groans, but doesn’t correct him. The first stunningly attractive man she’s laid eyes on in the past month? Can call her whatever the hell he wants. “Please,” she basically insists, “allow me.” Her voice is low and awkwardly husky to her own ears. So, yeah. She’s a bit buzzed. Sue her.  

***

They’re sitting at the bar, stools too close to each other, knees touching. Liv’s keeping one eye out on Ellie, who’s gone back to sharing her chaotic dancing with the world. “Should we be worried about her?” the man asks, following her gaze to her friend’s flailing elbows and knees. 

“She’ll be fine,” Liv answers over the rim of her own drink. “Probably.” Which explains why she’s still watching out for her. 

The man shakes his head, and laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that warms her from the inside out. Deep and rich, genuinely amused. She wants to make him laugh again. “She’s terrible,” he starts, and when Liv’s brows knit as though to glare at him, he hastily adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Why’s that?” she asks, heart thrumming erratically in her chest. They’ve almost finished the drink she’d owed him, the pleasantry. She hopes he’ll let her by him another. 

“Because I wouldn’t have met you,” he answers, corner of his mouth curling into a smile as he finishes off the remainder of his drink in one long gulp.

It’s a level of smooth Liv can only hope to aspire to. She rolls her eyes, but can’t quite keep her own smile off her face as she drains her own cup. “You hardly even know me,” she complains.

“Yet,” he adds, and Liv feels the warmth in her skin rise to her face.  

  ***    

Olivia learns over the course of their next drink or two that the handsome man’s name is Liam and that he’s finishing up his work in a crisis-response unit before moving onto a new top-secret hush-hush mission. She could pry, because she has half a mind that he’s joking, what with the twinkle in his eye and all, but instead she tells him that she understands, because she’s basically in the same position herself. 

“Alliance?” he asks, gaze roving over the muscles in her arms that her tight-fitting jacket does nothing to disguise. Some men, she knows, are intimidated by her. Not Liam.

“Not anymore,” she answers, and she can’t quite keep the pang of sadness that comes with the clarification out of her voice. 

He reaches across the counter to place a reassuring hand upon her forearm. “But from what you’ve said, you’re moving onto bigger and better things.”

“Yeah,” she answers, feeling her throat seize up the way if often does when she’s vulnerable and thinks about Andromeda for too long. “That’s one way of putting it.” She cants her head, tries to dislodge the buzzing feeling she’s starting to get in the very centre of her skull. “I get the feeling you’re not usually one for us military types.”

Liam’s hand skims down her arm until his fingers are resting upon hers. “Not usually,” he murmurs in easy agreement.

Something twists deep inside her gut. Can’t quite stop herself from asking, “Then why me?” She’s staring at him more intently than she probably should, and he shuffles back in his chair slightly in response, but still doesn’t remove his hand. 

With a deep, whittling exhale, he answers, “You’re easy to talk to,” he says, running a thumb along her skin. “And I like that. But I can’t promise anything long-term. Serious. You know what I mean.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Not usually why I go about trying to pick up strange men in bars, Liam.”

“I know, I know—" he starts, almost defensively, before interrupting up himself. “Hold up. You’re trying to pick me up?” 

Their eyes meet, and she swears to God that she can almost feel the electricity spark between them. Oscar had complained to her on occasion about the thrum of static he feels when he passes another trained biotic. She wonders if it feels anything like this.

Liam’s gaze flickers down to her lips, then back up to her eyes. As she leans in to kiss him, she realises the answer is yes. 

 *** 

She’d made sure that Ellie was safe and had a way back to her hotel before leaving the bar. Ellie had mostly been preoccupied anyway but it never hurt to check. ‘You know where to find me if you need me’ Liv had told her with a tap of her omintool, but Ellie had waved her off. Her parting words had been, “Go get ‘em, corporal!” and Liv hadn’t had the heart to correct her.

She also taps out a quick message to Oscar, just in case. 

Liv:  Probably not home tonight. Don’t wait up. :) ;)

His response is almost instantaneous. 

Oscar: those emoticons add more info than i care to know about

Oscar: but GOOD i’m glad. be safe!! 

“Who are you messaging?” Liam asks as they huddle under his umbrella together. He’d brought an umbrella to a bar. She likes a man who comes prepared. 

“My brother,” she says, and at the look he gives her, she quickly adds, “younger brother. Just letting him know that I won’t be home.” And damn if her face still doesn’t flush at the implications of that sentence. It’s been way too long since she’s last done this, she’s super out of practice.

“I’m not keeping you away from any babysitting duties, am I?” Liam asks in a tone of mostly mock concern. She finds it extremely endearing, the fact that if she told him he was, he’d probably insist on marching her all the way home. 

“No, God, no,” she laughs. “He’s twenty-two. A big boy.”

Liam shoots her a skeptical look. “And how old are you? Am I allowed to ask that?”

She swats playfully at his arm. “Ass. Okay. I’m twenty-two, too.” She laughs. English is a funny language. “We’re twins,” she clarifies.

“Because you couldn’t just say that before,” Liam gripes.

“I’m enjoying keeping you on your toes,” she breathes, and he looks down at her, grins, and before she knows it, she’s the one that’s standing on her toes to lean up and kiss him. The umbrella gets knocked out of alignment, Liam’s hair and shirt get drenched and so do her hands, where they’re clinging onto him in those exact same places as though her life depends on it. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” he complains when they break apart for air. “I mean, literally, I’m going to get hypothermia and die and the worst part is, I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

She can’t hide the grin that spreads across her face, and she almost just wants to grab him by the cheeks and kiss him again, so instead she shoves her hands down in her pockets so to avoid any temptation to touch and touch and touch. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with me coming over?” she asks, hating how uncertain her voice sounds, but— if she has to face rejection, she’d rather now than later.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. But in reverse,” he chuckles. “I warned you: I’m staying with my parents. In my room from when I was a teenager.” 

“You have your own room,” she points out, trying not to think too hard about the tiny bedroom she shares with Oscar, two mattresses on the floor, belongings strewn about. She probably could make him sleep in the lounge, but a) she would never live it down, and b) it’s three-quarters filled with decomposing flowers none of them had had the heart to dispose of. And if Dad notices… well, he’s bound to have questions. Better to avoid that mess altogether. 

“With a single bed,” he reminds her, but she doesn’t really have it in her heart to care. It’s just one night. It’ll be cozy. And she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t looking forward to them shedding their clothes and getting hot and heavy underneath his covers. 

“Still better than what I have,” she grumbles, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s fine. I could tell you’re not from around here.”

“Did the accent give me away?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious of the low, flat vowels of her Citadel upbringing. 

“Something like that,” he answers, and she finds herself wanting to kiss the corner of his eyes, where the skin crinkles when he smiles.  

 ***

They creep up the stairs towards Liam’s childhood bedroom; it makes Liv feel like a teenager again but it’s kind of exciting. He flicks the light on once he opens the door for her and — okay, he’d warned her, but she finds herself holding back a laugh because it reminds her so much of Oscar’s old room when they’d lived on the Citadel.

Liam holds his hands up defensively as he guides her to the bed. It squeaks underneath her weight when she sits upon it. “Hey, I warned you.”

“I love the Star Wars posters,” she adds, leaning her head back to get a better look. “Always nice to see someone who appreciates the classics.” 

He chuckles as he sits down next to her, a hand resting high upon her thigh. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he says. Heat pools low in her belly, and she becomes acutely aware of just how much she wants him. “Can I get you anything? A drink?” he asks, fingers distractingly running towards the inside of her leg. 

“I’ve had enough,” she answers; she’d sobered quite significantly on their walk and finds herself wanting to do this sober.

She can’t help but think that Liam looks relieved. “Same,” he breathes, before leaning in to kiss her, hand now firmly pressed up between her legs where she’d been begging to be touched; her hips roll automatically, seeking friction. 

She can’t believe how much she’s needed this. To just simply be as she is with someone who knows her as just Olivia without Ryder following her like a curse. She wants to be swallowed up by him, if he’d allow it, and just forget. 

***

They’re recruiting the wrong men into the Alliance, she thinks to herself as Liam peels off her jeans and kisses a path up her legs from her knees, gaze never leaving their intended destination. 

How the hell did she get to be this lucky, she wonders as he kisses the smatter of freckles on her skin along the way and makes up nonsense names for them, constellations she’s never heard of.  

His stubble tickles her thighs as he buries his head between her legs and works her with her mouth for what feels like hours. Kisses her after she comes and she doesn’t even mind it, just  runs her fingers through his tight tight curls and kisses back, tastes herself on his lips. 

It’s only at her insistence that he allows her to return the favour.

*** 

The single bed is cozy. The truth of the matter is that neither of them are small people. She’s having to indulge in a bit more after-the-fact cuddling than she would like, but in all honesty? It’s not that bad. Good, even. They’re still both naked and vulnerable and just talking still, with voices that get more heavily laced with sleep as the hour nears morning.

It’s the vulnerability that gets her when Liam asks, soft and quiet and gentle, “You never told me why you came to London.”

She could wave him off with a vague answer about family obligations, and she he knows he wouldn’t pry further. But the grief is still raw and fresh and still sitting there just under her ribcage, no matter how much she tries to distract herself with attractive men with smiles she could die for. 

“Mom grew up here,” she starts and when she senses Liam about to ask for more information, she adds hastily, with less finesse than she’d hoped for, “she died. Not too long ago.” 

He inhales sharply, his arms tightening around her. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, and there’s something in his voice that almost undoes her, she can feel her lower lip tremble as she does her best to fight off the tears that finally threaten to fall at last. Oscar had always been a crier. But not Olivia. 

“It is what she is,” she says, mostly for her own benefit than Liam’s. “She’d been sick for a while. I just hope that if she’s… I don’t know, looking down on me or whatever, that she’d be proud of me. Us. Of what I’m about to do.” Mom is dead and gone and although she never put the burden of caring for the family on Liv’s shoulders, Olivia carries it anyway. Someone must. Dad’s a mess, and Oscar’s… Oscar. 

“It sounds like you’re going to do amazing things,” Liam says, so sincere she almost believes it. 

She knows what the churning in her gut is now. It’s fear. It’s relieving to actually have a name for it. “I’m scared,” she admits, burying her head further into the crook of his shoulder. Remembers Liam’s own top-secret mission, reaches out for a thread of common connection. “Aren’t you?”

“Not really,” he answers, shrugging as best he can with her head against his chest. 

She lifts her chin to look at him in wonder. “How do you do it?” she asks.

He presses two fingers to where his heart beats against his check. “I have hope that the future’s better than what I’m leaving behind.” He’s so earnest, so sincere, that Liv finally allows herself to cry.

“I am so depressing,” she manages to blurt out between sobs. It hurts to breathe. Her head hurts. Her throat hurts. But most of all, her heart hurts, buried under the weight of everything that was and everything that can’t be.

“You’re not,” Liam assures her, soothing his hands down over her back. “And for what it’s worth?  My mum would love you.” She starts to cry harder, then, really cry, face scrunched up and ugly. “And that was not the right thing to say,” he amends. 

She wants to laugh, because this entire night has been hugging the border between amazing and absurd and tragic ever since the very beginning. “Yeah. I mean. You still hardly know me. But,” she continues, wiping at her eyes with her wrist, “I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Sometimes the words come out the wrong way,” Liam explains, continuing to rub soothing circles against her skin, “Most of the time, actually. But … you knew what I wanted to say. That’s what matters. Means a lot, really.”

He continues to hold her until she falls asleep.  

***

When she wakes up in the morning she’s not too surprised to find herself alone in the bed. Thinks she can hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen if she strains herself to hear it. Not sure if she’s ready to deal with the implications of that yet, she instead busies herself with gathering her garments so casually discarded the night before, slowly redressing herself in her crumpled clothing. 

It doesn’t buy her enough time. She wants to sneak out the window or whatever, but can’t quite bring herself to do so.  It’s when she’s almost done making Liam’s bed with military precision that the door creaks open and the man himself is standing in the entranceway. “I cooked bacon,” he says, because of course he fucking did. 

She knows she said she wouldn’t stay, but she is surely tempted. Besides, she can smell their breakfast now because Liam’s brought it up to his room. He takes a few quiet steps towards her, sets down her plate on the dresser. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs. Figured I couldn’t go wrong with sunny-side up.” 

“You didn’t,” she answers, smile soft as she reaches for the cutlery he offers her. “My favourite.” She should be more fussed that she’s so predictable, but in this moment? She hardly cares.

“I already had mine,” Liam explains as Liv begins to eat, chewing thoughtfully upon the eggs and bacon and toast impaled on the tines of the fork. With a wince, he adds, “Mum’s home, but don’t worry. I’ll sneak you out, sight unseen.”

She almost chokes on her food. Instead, she playfully bumps him with her shoulder. “Had a lot of practice?” she asks.

He has the decency to look abashed, rubs at the back of his head with one hand. “Something like that,” he mutters.

Liv waves at her quickly vanishing breakfast with one hand. “Well, if it’s what taught you to do all this, I’m not complaining.”

“I’m glad,” Liam confesses, and they sit together on the bed, knees touching, until Olivia finishes eating. 

 ***  

True to his word, Liam manages to bundle Liv out the door without incident, but it’s a very near thing. Her face is burning as she recalls just how close she’d tiptoed to a meet-the-parents scenario that she doesn’t want to deal with right now. Liam’s mom’s voice rings in her ears even though she’d only heard it through the walls:  ’Are you going to introduce me to your friend?’ She’d mouthed a mortified no in his direction, and Liam had only chuckled, calling out a cheeky ‘No!’ to his mother in agreement.

“In another life, perhaps,” he says, arm still wrapped around her as they say goodbye on the corner of the street. Cold air nips at Olivia’s cheeks as she smiles up at him. “But, it is what it is. We’re both moving onto other things. Bigger. Better. Brighter.“

"Yeah,” she agrees, no longer wanting to push the point. "I’m sorry things couldn’t be different.“ She finds herself scuffing the toes of her boots against the concrete of the footpath, looking down. She doesn’t want this – whatever this is – to end. "I would’ve liked to get to know you better.”

“Likewise,” Liam answers, looking at her with those big brown earnest eyes of his; she meets his gaze and he runs a thumb along her jawline. Before she knows it, their mouths are crashing together once more. It’s the longest kiss goodbye she’s ever received.

When they break apart, she holds his face mere inches from hers, runs her fingers over the stubble she finds there. “Don’t miss me too much,” she warns.

“I’ll try not to,” he promises.

“Best of luck with everything.”

“You too.”

They break apart, and Liv does her best to disguise the lump in her throat. She takes one, two, three awkward steps away as Liam does the same, and then she looks back and does a little wave. “See you later,” she says in farewell, even though she won’t. It’s just pleasantry, really. Isn’t that how this had started? Now it’s time to go home, so she can continue to get prepared for the new home. The new home she’s growing less and less certain that she actually wants.

“Goodbye, Olivia,” Liam whispers to her retreating back.

***

634 Years Later

Liv is the first of the twins to awaken when the Hyperion arrives in Andromeda, her shuddering gasp full of wonder. They really made it. So much for her lack of faith. Doctors surround her. They’re going to unfreeze Oscar next.

That’s when she looks across the bay and sees and recognises the man enthusiastically waving across the room at her. Holy shit. It can’t be, but it is. “Liam?” She gapes, unable to disguise the way he makes her heart stutter just by goddamn looking at her. At least he looks just as giddy to be seeing her.  One of the docs makes a small noise of concern in the back of her throat. Her vitals are probably spiking. 

"You two know each other?” she asks.

“In a manner of speaking,” she answers, barely able to hear her own voice over the roar of her blood in her veins.

In another life, he’d said, and she’d wished for the chance to get to know him better. 

Luckily for them, it's their very first day in a brand new galaxy. 

[someinvisible-string]

Born in Pain (15/20?)

Summary: District Nurse and midwife Emma Swan has her priorities sorted out: babies first, friends second, and men… somewhere further down the list. That is until she meets Killian Jones and his son Liam who have a way of worming their way into her heart

A/N: OKAY SO I know that it has been approximately 87 years since I've updated this fic and honestly, I have no excuse beyond an uncooperative muse and things in my personal life blowing up in my face. I was uninspired and low key depressed and just not in a good place. I'm so so sorry that I haven't been updating or writing and that I left y'all hanging but I promise I never once thought about completely abandoning this fic. I just had to set it on the backburner for a bit but I'm back now! I can't promise regular weekly or bi-weekly updates but you all have my word that this fic will be completed at some point. 

Also huge shout outs to @shipsxahoy for the beautiful banner!

Word Count: ~4.5K/ Rated D for Daddy Issues

Ch.14/ AO3/ FF.net

"So let me get this straight, you think that my son is the long lost baby you gave up because they have the same birthday and you to quote 'just know'? Miss Swan, I'm sorry but this sounds incredibly far-fetched," Regina said as she, Emma, and Killian sat in her study.

"Believe me I know, but I just I know it in my bones that Henry is the same baby that I gave up all those years ago," Emma said.

"Exactly you gave him up, so you do not get to waltz into our lives and expect to be his mother. I am his mother Miss Swan," Regina glared at her.

"Regina that's not what she's asking," Killian squeezed Emma's hand comfortingly.

"I just want a chance to meet him, just so he knows who I am. And if all goes well I would like to get to know him."

"Well that's all good and noble but you are forgetting one thing, Miss Swan," Regina cleared her throat, "You have no proof that my Henry is your son, now I'm very moved by your story but as his mother I cannot trust the safety of my son in a complete stranger with a sad story."

"You saw me," Emma said tears forming in her eyes, "That day that you picked him up, you saw me running after your car. You were in a black car and he was wrapped in a yellow blanket and I know that you saw me."

Regina looked stunned, her mouth hanging open slightly. "That was you?"

"Yes."

Regina looked down at her hands, tongue firmly between her teeth as she mulled over her thoughts before looking up, "You will understand that I want to verify this as fully as I can before I agree to anything?"

"I understand and I, fortunately, have access to those records," Emma explained, "When you're a midwife you get access to that information," she answered Regina's quirked eyebrow.

"I see," Regina pursed her lips together. "How soon can you get your hands on them?"

"Next week."

Regina sighed and closed her eyes, her fingertips massaging her temples, "Well then bring them to me by next week and I'll a have barrister look over them and draw up an agreement in writing. Is this amenable to you?"

"Yes, although I have one more question," Emma said searching for the right words. "How much does Henry know about this situation?"

"He knows he's adopted if that's what you're asking," Regina said sharply, "I at least managed to do that in between the midnight feedings, temper tantrums, and school projects."

"Regina, I'm not here to disrespect you or to erase everything you've done these past eleven years, I'm not disputing that you are Henry's mother. I just want a chance to get to know him now that I have the opportunity. I'll have the records sent to you by the end of this week if you need to reach me just ring Antioch House."

"I'll be in touch," Regina said through clenched teeth. Emma sensed that despite the woman's trepidations she would keep her word.

"You did brilliantly love," Killian said as they walked out of Regina's house.

"I did?" Emma let out a shaky breath.

"Of course, not many people can stand their ground against her like you do. It's actually one of the most attractive parts of you," he said, a hungry look in his eye.

"Easy tiger, I have to go on my rounds as soon as we get back to the East End," Emma quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Tonight then? It's pasta night at Chez Jones," he grinned smugly at her.

"Hmmm well I do love pasta," Emma mused, "I suppose I could stop by after I'm finished with my rounds." The bus slowed to a stop on the corner that Antioch House sat, Emma stood up from her seat only to have Killian catch her hand in his.

He placed a tender kiss to her knuckle, "Until I see you tonight my lady."

"You are such a charmer," Emma rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Only for you love," he called as she hurried off the bus. She was able to run into the convent and throw on her uniform and dash back downstairs to get her assignments.

"Cutting it close Nurse Swan," Sister Ingrid chided with a small smile.

"I know I'm sorry Sister, we hit a spot of traffic on the way back," Emma apologized.

"Here are your rounds for today, all of them pretty standard check-ins except for your last one. Marco Bonardi has been having some heart problems and I'm afraid he's not doing well and the situation needs to handled delicately."

"The old Italian who runs the furniture shop, he's always been so sweet. I can handle this," Emma nodded.

"Wait, Nurse Swan, Mr. Bonardi is in a very bad place. He refused treatment until his son insisted that he see Doctor Whale. There's quite a lot of tension there, but I know that you can handle it if things start to get ugly," Sister Ingrid warned.

"Hello Mr. Bonardi," Emma said brightly as she strode into his room, "How have you been feeling today?"

"No better than I felt yesterday," Marco grimaced as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. "And please call me Marco."

"Lie back, I'll let you know when you need to get up," Emma placed her hand on his shoulder. Even through his thick sweater and nightshirt, Emma could feel how thin he had become. "Marco is there someone who can look after you during the day? Make sure you're eating? Call us if anything is wrong?"

"Yes, my store keeper can call you," Marco nodded.

"He also has me," a voice asserted. Emma turned to see a tall man with dark hair and striking blue eyes standing in the doorway.

"And you are?"

"He is no one," Marco huffed.

"My name's August Booth, I'm his son," the man stepped into the room but still kept a few paces back from the bed.

"Feh your name is Agostino Bonardi. This August Booth is no son of mine."

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot practically up to her hairline, she busied herself with rummaging through her medical bag as she searched for a way to dissolve the tension in the room. "Why don't I take your blood pressure, Marco?"

Marco held out his arm her for but kept his stern gaze on August who stared at the floor. Tension filled the room as Emma explained to Marco and August that she would be there every evening to give Marco an injection and to check his ankles and the sore on his shoulder.

"Nurse Swan, do you have any children?" Marco interrupted her rambling.

"Um-" Emma stood gobsmacked and trying to find the right way to answer.

"You young people are so lucky, lives stretching out in front of you full of opportunity. No one to break your heart."

"Papa-" August said softly.

"You do not get to call me that, not since you've spit on everything I spent my life building for you."

Emma could tell that nothing she said at that moment would ease the tension in the room, she kept her eyes down as she repacked her bag and bid Marco and his son goodbye. She hurried down the stairs towards the back of Marco's furniture shop and only slowed when she heard August's heavy footsteps following her.

"I'm sorry about that," he said when he caught up to her.

"It's not the worst I've seen, believe me," Emma smiled sympathetically at him.

"It wasn't my idea to change my name," he said quickly, "My publisher thought it would be better if I changed it to something more neutral sounding."

"I'm sure your father will come around."

"I changed my name 3 years ago and you just saw the first time he spoke to me." Emma tried to school her face into a plain expression but couldn't help that her eyebrows knitted together. "Don't let that color your opinion of him too much, we had a huge row and I told him to never speak to me. And to be fair it's not as if I reached out before this."

"Well you're here now, that has to count for something."

"I don't know if it's enough though," August looked back towards the stairs, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"All you can do right now is try. You can't control how your father is going to react, but you can control your actions."

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, "I'll see you tomorrow?" Emma nodded before throwing her leg over her bike and settling herself onto the seat.

"Everything all right love?" Killian asked as Emma walked into his flat.

"It's nothing, just a tough patient," Emma shrugged off her coat and handed it to Killian's outstretched hand.

"Want to talk about it?"

"You know I can't, part of patient confidentiality."

"Oh right, well if there's anything I can do just let me know Swan."

"Any chance that pasta's ready? I'm starving," Emma smiled hopefully.

"Aye love, just a few more minutes until dinner is served. Liam!" he called down the hall, "dinner's almost ready. Time to wash up lad."

"But I'm almost done with this chapter!"

"And it'll still be there after dinner, now come wash up!"

Emma watched as Liam came out of his room and stomped to the kitchen sink to wash his hands; he really was the spitting image of Killian right down to the way their eyebrows nearly had a mind of their own. Once everyone had washed up they sat at the small kitchen table to eat, trading stories about their day.

"Dad the Cub Scouts are going on a field trip out to the country new weekend, can I go?"

"Sure, do I need to sign something?"

"Nurse Lucas will be giving them out at the next meeting I expect."

"Well then, I don't see why you can't go, just make sure you don't fall behind on your school work."

Emma was lost in thought, had Marco and August had conversations like this one all those years ago? Had Marco checked August's school work and signed permission slips? Had they ever been close the way Killian and Liam were now?

"Swan? Swan? Emma!" Killian pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Oh sorry, I was just thinking for a minute there. What were we talking about?"

"If you wanted to back into town with me next weekend since it appears I'll have the day to myself." Emma knew he was talking about going to see Regina and possibly Henry.

"Maybe, I'll have to see if I have that weekend off."

"You don't get all weekends off?" Liam asked.

"It comes with being a midwife, some just can't wait until Monday to come out."

"You'd think they'd be more considerate," Liam smirked.

Emma and Killian chuckled, "Well babies have different things to worry about than being considerate to midwives I suppose."

"Liam, why don't you go back to your book lad?" Killian said but Emma could feel him looking at her.

"You mean I don't have to do the dishes?"

"I know how exciting Captain Nemo's adventures can be, go on." Liam shot up from his seat and practically ran back to his room. Emma helped Killian gather up the dishes to put in the sink, mentally preparing herself for what she knew would come.

"You seem vexed love."

"I told you I'm fine Killian."

"Forgive me Swan but I'm not buying it; you've always been something of an open book to me and I can tell that something is bothering you more so than just a difficult patient. Are you nervous about meeting Henry? That he'll resent you? Because I have known that boy almost his entire life and I can tell you he'll love you."

"I wasn't worried about that, well I am but that isn't what's on my mind tonight." Emma took a deep breath, trying to carefully find her words. "Is there anything Liam could do to make you not love him anymore? Something to disown him?"

Killian looked taken aback, "Not love Liam? No never. I'd never abandon my son."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I bloody well know what it feels like when a father abandons you," Killian said harshly. Emma gasped softly and Killian looked ashamed of himself. "Emma I'm sorry, it's just that man could hardly call himself a father after what he did to my brother and my mother and me."

"What happened?"

"He loved betting on horses more than he loved us. Until one day when it caught up to him and he couldn't pay up on a bet. So he up and left us in the middle of the night; it nearly destroyed mum I remember there were days that she just couldn't get out of bed let alone care for the both of us. So my brother had to take on being the man of the house, he worked and made sure we had food on the table and that I stayed out of trouble. And despite my best efforts to be a rebellious little shite everything seemed to work, we weren't well off but we were getting by and as the years went by mum started getting better. That is right up until the war, Liam felt it was his duty to join the Navy; he didn't make it back. They got attacked in the middle of the damn Atlantic, he had to have done something especially heroic, they gave my mother and I a medal at his funeral."

"It's not enough, is it?" Emma placed a hand on his cheek and saw tears collecting in his eyes.

"Not at all, naming my son after him still doesn't feel like enough after all he did. I can only hope I'm doing half as much for little Liam than my brother did for me. He was a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

"You're a better man than you know Killian," Emma stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him properly. "There's not many who love their children as unconditionally as you love your son."

Marco's condition did not improve with Emma's daily visits; she knew that she was only prolonging the inevitable but she didn't feel that her job would be done if there wasn't any improvement between Marco and August. The problem was that neither of them knew how to approach the other. Emma could see that August was searching for something to say and that Marco was waiting for him to say something.

August had taken to sitting in a chair in the corner of the room during Emma's visits, looking everywhere but at his father, before coming up with an excuse to leave the room. Emma could see the hurt and disappointment in Marco's eyes each time his son turned to leave before he spat out a disdainful "Goodbye, Mr. Booth" to his son's retreating back.

"August why don't I teach you how to perform some lymphatic massage, just in case your father needs it when I'm not here."

"Oh no, I don't think that'll be a good idea."

"I'd much prefer it if you do it, Nurse."

"Honestly you both are just as bad as the other; now August hold out your hands," Emma pulled a bottle of oil out of her medicine kit and poured a small amount into August's trembling hand.

"Now, grasp your father's ankle firmly and push your hands up to his knee," Emma instructed once she had pulled back the bed sheets to reveal Marco's slightly swollen feet.

August gulped and did as instructed but applied barely any pressure.

"Try going a little harder, we need to improve your father's circulation."

"If he had stayed here and run the shop instead of running off to write in his fancy flat he wouldn't have such delicate hands," Marco said.

"Marco it's probably for the best if we have some quiet right now," Emma said forcefully. "You're doing great August, just a little more pressure." She watched as August massaged his father's ankles and calves, her eyes flicked to Marco's face. His gaze was fixed on his son and his face unreadable as Emma coached August through massaging the other legs.

"Right well I think I've got the hang of it now," August got up off of the foot of the bed. "I'd best wash up." He walked quickly out of the room, Emma thought she saw his hand come up to wipe his eyes but turned her attention to pulling the sheets and blankets down to cover Marco's feet.

"You must think that I am an awful man," he said.

"I don't think that at all," Emma assured him. "My wife and I we tried for so long to have a child and then things began to happen back in the old country. Friends going missing, hundreds arrested and shipped into exile, it was not safe to stay there and certainly no place to raise a family. So my wife and I, we move here and open the shop and a year later she told me she was expecting," an easy smile spread across Marco's face as he seemed to savor the memory. "But you know what happened then, the Blitz, they took her from me and left just me and Agostino alone together."

"Marco I'm so sorry, that cannot have been easy."

"It wasn't raising a teenager on my own but I tried to teach him everything I knew, just as my father had done for me and his father before him. I wanted to be supportive of his writing but one day he comes up to me all excited about getting published and he thrusts this bundle of pages into my hands and I see the name he has chosen for himself and it felt as if he turned his back on everything I have done for him. As if he didn't want to be associated with all of this that my wife and I had built for him."

"I'm sure that's not true, that can't be true."

"You don't have to protect my feelings Nurse, I am an old man and I know that I'm dying. Whatever you have to say to me can't hurt as bad as that."

"Then you'll forgive me for suggesting this Marco, but you might try meeting your son halfway. It could work wonders" Emma snapped her medical bag shut and stood up to leave.

"But what if that doesn't work Nurse?" Marco asked, Emma turned back and was struck for the first time just how ill he was, his pajamas and sweater hung off his body making him look even thinner than he was, his skin was so pale it looked nearly translucent, and his breathing was raspy and uneven.

"I can't make promises, but I will say that you can only control your actions. You can go to bed at night knowing that at least you tried."

"I see, thank you, Nurse Swan," Marco said, clutching his blankets and not quite meeting her eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose."

"Good night Marco," Emma nodded as she left, hoping that there was still enough time for him to even attempt to make amends. Over the next few days Marco's health was at a standstill, while he wasn't getting any worse he also wasn't improving no matter what Emma tried. It did seem that August and Marco's relationship was getting better, even if the improvement was minute. August now sat in on the entire visit instead of ducking out halfway through, Emma could also tell that he was continuing to massage his father's feet when she wasn't there. Marco at the very least wasn't glaring at August throughout Emma's visits and Emma could have sworn she saw a copy of August's book wedged between his mattress and the bed frame.

Until Emma got the call she had been dreading from August, "Nurse Swan please come quickly!" August had panted into the phone, "My father, he's not breathing right nurse and I don't know what to do."

"All right, I'm on my way August, just make sure he's breathing and that he stays calm. I'll be there as quick as I can." Emma grabbed her medical bag and raced down the stairs of the convent and peddled as fast as her legs could to the furniture shop. In no time Emma was up the stairs and examining Marco.

"His heart rate is very fast," Emma said removing her stethoscope. "Try massaging his ankles and feet, we need to try to improve his circulation while we can."

"Nurse Swan," Marco wheezed, his hand reaching up towards her, "Tell the truth. Am I dying?"

Emma paused, at a loss for words, truthfully he was. He was dying and the most that she could do was ensure that he was comfortable. "Yes," she nodded at him, tears starting to cloud her vision, "I'm so sorry Mr. Bonardi."

"No no, don't be sorry. I have had my time and I'm afraid that I've wasted a large part of it."

"You didn't and you still have some time to make things right," Emma whispered to him before looking towards August.

"Papa," August sank into a chair near the bed, "Papa I'm so sorry. I should never have turned my back on you."

"No no no my boy, it is I who should be sorry." Marco held out his hand, curled with age and still calloused from a lifetime of work. August clasped it in his own hand and tears fell down his face. "I was the one to turn my back on you. You are my son and I forgot that."

"Papa…"

"Let me finish, I only have so much time left. Whether you are August Booth or Agostino Bonardi, you are my son. I love you."

"I love you too," August choked out and kissed his father's knuckles.

"I only wish that I could finish your book, I was just getting to the good part," Marco chuckled before coughing.

"Well it's fitting, I was working on this," August pulled a small wooden whale from his pocket. "I know I'm a little rusty but-"

"You always had a talent for carving, but maybe you should stick to writing," Marco smiled before taking one last breath. A small smile remained etched on his face as August began to sob still clutching his father's hand. Emma reached forward and gently closed Marco's eyes and pull the bed sheet up to cover Marco's face.

Emma sat at the back of the church for Marco's wake with Killian and the other midwives. It had been a somber occasion as Marco had been known and well liked throughout the community having made most of their furniture with care and skill. She listened as the priest spoke about Marco and lead them all in prayer. It wasn't long before it was over and they were all dismissed and she and Killian walked hand in hand down the church steps.

"Emma wait!" Emma turned to see August jogging down the steps to meet them. "I just wanted to thank you, for everything you did."

"Your welcome, I was only doing my job," Emma blushed.

"No, you did much more than you were asked to and I can't even think of a way to properly thank you."

"Really you're welcome; I did everything I could for him. So what are you going to do now? I heard Marco left you the shop."

"I'm going to keep it open, I figured I'd get back to my roots," August shrugged and smiled.

"What about your writing?"

"I'll still be doing that too; woodworker by day and writer by night. I think that'll make him happy."

"I'm sure it would, good luck August."

"Same to you Nurse Swan," he smiled before turning on his heel and walking back towards the church.

"You really are a marvel you know that," Killian said as they began to walk.

"Only because you mention it so often. Thank you for coming with me by the way."

"Of course plus Marco was a great man. Loved Liam and made him some toys when he was a wee lad. And speaking of lad's," he turned to her with a serious expression.

"I called Regina, she had a barrister look over the records you sent her. She's agreed to let you and Henry spend some time together if you're ready for it?"

Emma looked back at the church thinking about everything she had seen the past couple of weeks, "Yes I'm ready. I want to meet my son."

tagging: @timeless-love-story, @leatherjacketsandrum, @captainswanismyendgame, @potentialheartofdarkness, @a-faekindagirl, @caprelloidea, @stardusted-nymph, @survivorjace, @captainstudmuffin, @ouat-upon-a-coconut, @captainswanandclintasha, @captainswanapproved, @brooke-to-broch, @xemmaloveskillianx, @xerxesrises, @xhookswenchx, @hook-come-back-to-me, @lenfaz, @sherifffjones, @fefefeferniss

[pebble-xo]

The Secret (3)

prologue; part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; epilogue.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get to sleep. It was nearly 3am and you still hadn’t fallen asleep, resigning yourself to just rolling around while you tried to shut your brain off for the night. And you had tried everything: doodling in your sketchbook, reading one of your mystery crime books, watching late night crap reruns. In the end, you were left lying on your back, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

Rolling onto our side, you reached for your phone to check the time just as the screen lit up with a text. A text from Baekhyun.

It had been over two weeks since you’d been reunited with your old childhood friend and you’d spent the majority of it texting or calling each other. It was different to when you had been in school. You’d both grown up a lot and changed in different ways that should have pulled you apart - technically you lived in different worlds in the same city.

But he was Byun Baekhyun and he quickly had you in the palm of his hand: eagerly awaiting his calls and smiling brightly when he sent you a text.

Baekhyun’s text popped up along with a photo of him in the back of a car bundled up in a soft-looking dark green scarf. “Whoever invented scarves was a knitting genius!” You read his message and couldn’t help but smile into your pillow. How could someone be so handsome and yet so cute at the same time?

Biting down on your bottom lip, you quickly typed back your reply. “You’re so profound in the early hours of the morning. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

While you waited for his reply, you continued to stare at the photo he’d sent. Immediately you could spot the similarities between him and Zoe. They shared the same soft eyes that always scrunched up when smiling and the same sparkle within that made them so full of energy and life. It warmed your heart and yet tore it apart at the same time. Why couldn’t Zoe look completely like you? It would make separating her from Baekhyun so much easier.

Your smile stretched up as his reply lit up your phone bright. “I’ve just finished up rehearsals, what’s your excuse?” The text made you chuckle, reminding you of your school days when you used to stay up late studying and he’d stay up to play video games.

“Can’t seem to turn my brain off,” you quickly replied, locking your phone and leaving it on the pillow beside your face. All you wanted to do was sleep. It was hard enough getting Zoe out of bed in the mornings – you didn’t want to be absolutely exhausted as well.

Suddenly your ringtone pierced through the air, jolting you up as your phone vibrated off your pillow into your hand. Calming your heart with a couple of deep breaths, you read Baekhyun’s name on the screen and slid your thumb across to answer. “Hello?” you answered quietly, conscious of Zoe in the other room.

“Hey there bright eyes,” he said quietly, his voice sending a little shiver down your spine and yet warming you to the core. Talking to him, especially so late at night, made the whole thing feel forbidden … which only made you want it more. “You know, they say that if you’re having trouble falling asleep, it’s because someone somewhere is thinking about you.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes in the dark, putting your phone on speaker and lying back down on your pillow, the phone in front of you. “So you’re thinking about me? You couldn’t have just said that in a text?” you retorted, lifting the covers up to your chin.

It was his turn to laugh, ever melodious and perfectly pitched. “And miss the chance to hear your voice? No way,” he replied with a soft sigh down the phone, signalling he was being serious now.

“I wanted to help you fall asleep.”

You froze for a second, panicking that he was going to come over. But then you let out a bated breath. He didn’t know where you lived. Still you frowned at your phone in confusion. “What are you talking about Baekhyun?” you asked.

“Close your eyes and get comfortable,” he insisted in a soft voice that was such a contrast from his usual loud self. For him not to be shouting down the phone like an excited puppy made quite a change. A side of Baekhyun that only you got to see.

And then he surprised you completely … and started singing in a quiet voice for only you to hear.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high,

There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue,

And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

You had heard him sing a thousand times: in the rehearsal room at school, quietly under his breath when he wanted a distraction from studying, even in EXO when Zoe had them blasting loud so she could dance. But this was different. He wasn’t singing for the band or for an audition or for EXO. This time, his voice was saved completely for you and it was heavenly.

As you buried your face in your soft pillow, you focused on Baekhyun’s voice and slowly felt the pull of sleep luring you in. All your worries and stresses were momentarily forgotten, leaving you finally able to relax and drift off, Baekhyun’s honey voice filling your ears with a sweet song.

Eventually the song finished and Baekhyun’s voice trailed off into silence. However, by that point, you were already fast asleep in dreamland.

###

It had been almost over a month since you moved with Zoe to Seoul and you were finally starting to feel settled in the big city. Things at the illustrating company were busy and always kept you on your toes but you were so glad to be drawing again. The leader of your current project was very pleased with your rough sketches and now wanted you to get to grips with the digital drawing software as the next phase – so basically you spent your days doodling on a high tech tablet while you trialled different pens and techniques.

You had been worried that Zoe would struggle but city life was the making of her. According to the chats you had with her teacher in the mornings, she had made lots of friends and was excelling in her learning. As it turns out, Zoe was the least of your worries.

Instead, your old best friend who was now a famous idol was the one causing you most of your worry – particularly trying to hide his daughter from him.

After shutting him out of your life so quickly once you found out he was leaving, you loved that you were reconnecting with him again. All throughout the day you would be texting each other about your days, Baekhyun usually sending pictures too. Slowly your friendships slipped back into place but it left you feeling like you were living a double life. One where you were a mother and the other a lying best friend.

And yet you were a glutton for punishment and couldn’t leave Baekhyun out of your life.

Saving your sketches on your tablet, you grabbed your bag from under your desk and slipped your phone inside, just as it started to ring. “Typical,” you muttered under your breath, re-grasping your phone and lifting it to your ear. “Hello?” you asked, waving to everyone in your office as you grabbed your bag and headed out for lunch.

“Is it your lunch break yet?” Baekhyun asked impatiently, pouncing on you as soon as you answered.

His voice made you smile into the fluffiness of your scarf. “Just about to leave the office,” you told him, calling the lift and waiting while the numbers sped towards your floor. “What’s up?” He didn’t answer straight away which was unusual of Baekhyun. It left you curious as to what he was going to reply with.

“I’m … er … I’m parked outside your building,” he admitted, honestly sounding bashful. You could imagine him in his car, leaning against the glass of the window running a hand through his hair. “You mentioned how stressed you’ve been lately so I brought lunch.”

You balked, staring blankly in disbelief as you pulled your phone away to check it was actually Baekhyun calling. “Are you serious?” you asked, ducking your head as the doors to the lift opened. Slowly it started to drop to the ground floor.

He laughed lightly like music to your ears. “Yes,” he insisted, laughing again and leaving your heart in a flutter. “Now hurry and get down here before your coffee gets cold!” And then he hung up, not giving you time to even argue.

Still slightly confused, you rode the lift down to the ground floor and took long steps across the shiny tiles in the foyer until you were walking through the spinning doors of your building and trying to spot Baekhyun. You had no idea what he was driving and the road was packed with cars, all flashy and expensive looking. As you walked alongside them, trying to peer through the tinted windows to spot Baekhyun, you came up on a sleek black Audi with black windows that merged into the paintjob, until the passenger window started to move down.

Bending low, you looked inside and saw Baekhyun’s beaming smile. “Get in,” he ordered jokingly, beckoning you inside with a twitch of his finger.

You opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat, sitting awkwardly with your bag in your lap while Baekhyun rolled the window back up, plunging the car into silence as he shut the world outside out. “What are you doing here Baekhyun?” you asked quietly, fiddling with the strap on your bag with your gaze fixed down.

Beside you, Baekhyun moved to reach for something in the backseat, leaning towards you and intoxicating you with his aftershave. “I told you … I brought lunch!” You looked up at him, hiding slightly behind your hair, to see him holding a large coffee cup and a brown paper bag. “We’ve both been too busy to meet up but I had the morning off so I thought I’d make the effort today and surprise you.”

Immediately you shook your head, taking the coffee and bag out of his hands. “You really shouldn’t have,” you murmured quietly, taking a little sip of your coffee and feeling your sense go crazy with the shot of caffeine. “You remembered my favourite drink,” you said with a smile, licking the taste of the hazelnut latte off your lips.

Baekhyun’s face quickly morphed into a smirk. Evidently he was proud he got it right after so long. “Open the bag too,” he told you confidently, turning in his seat to face you.

Inside the mysterious paper bag was quite possibly your favourite snack of all time. “A cream cheese bagel!” you exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw your arms around Baekhyun and simultaneously rip the bag open and devour the bagel in one swift motion. “I can’t believe you remembered this,” you said surprised, picking a little piece off and savouring the soft bread on your tongue.

“You ate it every morning for three years straight on our way to school,” he replied, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink before he tried to hide his face behind his coffee cup.

“Well thank you,” you replied shyly, taking another sip of your coffee.

Even though he was a famous idol with a life completely different to yours, he was still the same person from your schooldays in all the ways that mattered. And it warmed your heart to know your best friend was still there.

“Now how are rehearsals going?” you asked enthusiastically, turning on your side and leaning your head on the back of the seat. While you ate your bagel bite by bite, you sat back and listened to Baekhyun complain about the preparations for his new concert and how exhausting it all was. You were pretty clueless about what he was talking about but he clearly needed someone to vent to.

You just hoped he could fit it all into the one hour you had for lunch.

###

Zoe ran out of her after school club with a definite spring in her step, wrapping her little arms around your legs and jumping up and down. “Mummy!” she exclaimed excitedly. Someone had missed you.

“Hey there little one,” you said brightly, reaching down to lift her up onto your hip and bouncing around in a circle. “Did you have a good day at school?” With a quick peek in her backpack to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, you set her back on her feet and took her hand to lead her back to the car. While you walked, she skipped beside you, happily explaining about her colouring project and the race she had with Toby around the playground.

And then all of a sudden, she jumped up at you like an excitable puppy. “And that’s not the best part of the day!” she cried, practically flying with so much excitement. She pulled you to a stop by your car and stood in front of you, trying to make herself seem as tall as possible to look at you, hands locked behind her back. “Elle is going to see EXO and she said I can go too,” she screamed, spinning enthusiastically in circles.

Meanwhile you stumbled to your car and sat on the hood to steady yourself. You knew it was selfish and it riddled you with guilt, but all you wanted to do was distance your daughter from her father. Yet here she was, trying to seek him out and becoming a fan.

Destiny worked in cruel ways.

“What am I going to do?” you muttered to yourself, just as Zoe stopped celebrating and starting pestering you for a yes.

“Please, please, please Mummy!” she begged, clapping her hands together in front of her chest and giving you her best puppy dog eyes that she knew would instantly make you melt. “Pretty please with a cherry on top!” she pleaded, pulling on your coat while her voice started to lean away from cute and sound more like whining.

Pushing yourself up off the car, you crouched down and smoothed Zoe’s hair, pressing down on her shoulders to stop her bouncing. “I’ll think about it,” you promised her, needing more time to think about it. “Right now, we need to go shopping and choose your Halloween costume,” you said as a distraction.

It worked. All Zoe could think about now was the possibility of dressing up as either a princess, a unicorn or a cyborg.

[masterlist]

[asbestosmouth]

If you still do prompts- can you write me some Beric/Ramsay Halloween fluff? Please please please? (bonus points for Sansan or Lannistarth)

Author: AsbestosMouthShip(s): Beric/Ramsay, background SanSanTrigger Warning(s) if applicable: Fluffy Modern AU but with Ramsay. Not his own warning, for once.Brief Summary: Beric is new to Winterfell, and has never experienced a Hallow’een like it. It’s fun, and exhausting, but when a weird leather-clad bloke, accompanying a tiny little boy dressed as Darth Vader, turns up on his doorstep, the night get far more interesting.

A continuation of the Circle Time Universe. Thanks, Nonny, for the Beric/Ramsay prompt :D

Every year the town of Winterfell embraces Hallowe’en with an enthusiasm that southrons find adorable at best and slightly creepy at worst. It seems every house displays carved pumpkins, every owner putting on some sort of costume, every child visiting every door with a hopeful expression and the cry of ‘trick or treat!’ on their lips.

Beric has lived in Winterfell for almost eleven months. He moved up from the Storm Lands during the latest banking crisis, being ‘let go’ from his stressful and high-powered financial job for whistle blowing the whole rotten house of cards into international disrepute. The press still call him Robin Hood, still ask hopefully for interviews, but he politely shuts down every call and email and settles into this new life in the North.

He likes the North.

Winterfell was never an obvious choice, but when the shit hit the fan, it offered a thousand miles and more between him and the steaming pile of faeces of his past. Vague memories of visiting the North when he was a child, running through snowy dales and eating solid hearty food, still nestled in his head. Garlan, a friend from his army days, from before Beric ended up honorably discharged after the head injury that finished his promising career, recommended Dorne. Apparently his brother lives there, curates some museum, always needing someone trustworthy to help with ancient artifacts and, well, as Lieutenant - as he was way back when, he’s a Colonel now, and it is very well deserved - Tyrell said, who is more honest than a man who destroys a whole institution because he despises the crookedness inherent in the system?

Dorne. Too warm. Beric likes rain, and winter chill. He’s very much a child of the Storm Lands, even if he grew up near the Dornish border. Anyway, a complete break meant throwing off all ties, getting the hells out of Dodge as the cowboy films put it, and moving somewhere unknown.

He loves Winterfell.

It’s a pretty town, of grey granite and slate, narrow cobbled streets, the fortress giving the place its name lowering darkly over all. The North is massive skies. Endless walks. Nature study. Waterfalls. Basalt tors, and honestly grim people who warm up to you when you become ‘one of them.’ Providing enough amenities for never having to go anywhere larger unless very much needed, and, anyway, isn’t that what the internet is for? Winterfell is, in Beric’s opinion, pretty much perfect. He has friends. He has a community. He has a reputation for being quite eccentric, and since he doesn’t had to really work because of the pay out given by his employers for his quite illegal sacking, he’s become the wealthy oddball with a posh southern accent who gets involved with local people, and projects, and charities.

Clegane turns up with a pumpkin in hand, his small daughter in tow.

“Carve this,” he says unceremoniously as he dumps the orange vegetable - or are they fruit? Beric can never remember. He does have certain blips in his memory these days - onto the front step. “Hallowe’en’s bloody big around here, so dress up and shit.”

Sandor swears when Lyanna can’t see his mouth moving. The little girl bounces on her toes, pink-cheeked and beaming. She’s almost seven now, about to move up to junior school, and is frighteningly intelligent. Beric adores her, but then in general Beric adores kids. He’d like one of his own, one day, but he’s unsure how his single status and homosexuality would affect adopting. He lives slightly vicariously through Lyanna, who he’s learned sign language for, and the other little ones of Winterfell who turn up at the library he volunteers at on a weekly basis.

That is how he met Sansa, and then Sandor, and got himself a best friend. Not that the big oaf knows that, and their insults are very fond, but compared to the anonymity of the south, the North encourages closer relationships.

What are you wearing? Lyanna signs, small fingers like lightning. Today’s fingerless gloves, and they are as always knitted with love by Sansa, are pink and black stripes.

“I’m not sure yet, Little Bear. I’ll have a look in my wardrobe and see what I can find. If I struggle, can I come and see you, and you can help me decide?” Lyanna’s mother was a Mormont.

Daddy never dresses up because he says his face is scary. Sansa has a pretty witch dress. I am going to be a bear. Grrr. She spells the last part in letters, grey eyes so bright. Lyanna is all Sandor, though the other Mormonts they know are also dark-haired. For a man born in the Westerlands, Clegane is very Northern-looking, but then his mother came from White Harbour.

“Daddy is silly, because we both know he’s the most handsome man in Winterfell.” Beric gently flirts, because that’s what he does. He gently flirts with most people, and some inanimate objects, hence being known as that odd ginger southron with the really bloody nice cottage.

“Fuck off, you bastard.” But Sandor smiles, a glimmer of teeth, a faint redness to his unscarred side.

Sansa says they have a bromance.

Beric agrees.

In the end he doesn’t need to go and beg an almost seven year old for help. Beric drags on black jeans, a black dress shirt from his banking days, digs out his ceremonial sword and the eyepatch from when he got shot in the head, ties his hair back, and goes mad with a make up pallette from when he did amateur dramatics in military academy.

Sandor Lyanna wants a photo of what you’re wearing. Sending you one of her. Fuck. I’m not. Sansa will. Can’t work this bastard phone.

Sansa, who is more technologically aware than her fiance, does and Lyanna’s picture makes his heart tug deep in his chest. Little furry round ears, and an Ewok costume that’s been cunningly resewn by the even more cunning Sansa into a perfect little bear outfit. They’ve even painted a cute black nose and whiskers on her, and she is the most adorable child that Beric’s ever seen in his entire damned life.

He takes a quick mirror selfie of his zombie pirate effort, sends it off, and decants sweets into various bowls. Perhaps there are a few too many, but Beric will polish off the rest if any are left over.

Eight thirty, and the madness finally dies down. Any hope of leftover chocolate goes by the wayside as Beric makes an emergency shop run twice, and he’s still almost out of treats. At one point he began giving out his prized gingerbread men, to the delight of everyone, but now he’s down to a handful of Haribo packets, one gingerbread man, and three fun sized Mars Bars.

The door goes.

Beric opens it.

“I am the Zombie Pirate of Winterfell, and those who knock on my do-”

A very short and very pale man stares at him balefully.

“Oh. Hello. I thought-”“Domeric, for fuck’s sake. Say it.”

“…scary,” whimpers a tiny voice. Beric looks down even more. The pale man, and to be honest he’s never seen anyone dressed in so much black leather since that night at military academy, holds the hand of a very small child. Not that he’s particularly young, the boy, but Beric, presuming that the short leather wearing and quite sexy - he’s quite sexy with that intense pale-eyed glare and all that leather, that square-jawed face and stocky build - man is the child’s Dad, he’s not surprised that the height runs in the family.

“He’s a bloke who’s dressed up. I could kill him easily. He’s not scary.”“So tall,” the child squeaks, pressing closer to his unfairly well built and attractive Dad.

“I’d kneecap him, kick him in the balls, then rip his heart out if he tried anything,” the man says easily enough. “We can do flaying lessons on his corpse.” A pause, then the hand that isn’t being clutched at by a terrified five year old reaches out and caresses the pommel of Beric’s sword. “Real?”“Yes.”“Nice. Thought it was some stage shit, but that’s a passing-out sword.” Sexy Daddy squints - he isn’t dressed up, because to be perfectly frank he’s the sort of person who is quite terrifying to the majority - and taps the enamelling. “Sandhurst?”“For my sins. I’m Beric.”

“Ramsay.”Oh. That Ramsay.

Aware that he shouldn’t be thinking about the legendary local psychopath naked, Beric hunkers before Domeric, smiles, and holds out the bowl of sweets. “Your Dad is very sc-”“He’s not my Daddy. He’s my big brother!” Reducing the massive height difference seems to have helped the child’s confidence a little, though he still crams tight to Ramsay’s side. He’s dressed as Darth Vader, but the helmet dangles around his neck on a piece of cord.

Sexy Brother snickers at the awkwardness.

“If you’re Darth Vader, who is Ramsay?”Domeric glances up the not so considerable distance between himself and his brother. “He’s scary. He doesn’t need to dress up. Everyone’s scared of him. He’s cool!” Adoration radiates from the boy, boring into Ramsay, who shifts his weight in an oddly bashful gesture.“One day you’ll be as terrifying as me, Dom, and we’ll murder our way through the galaxy. You with a lightsabre and me with a flaying knife.”

Beric puts handfuls of sweets into the helmet, which acts as a bag, contemplates the last of the gingerbread men and then offers it up to Ramsay. The young man takes it, bites the head off with a murmur of pleasure; those pale eyes half-close and he licks crumbs off his frankly quite disturbingly nice lips.

“What d’you say, Dom?”

“Thank you. May the Force be with you. Our Blades Are Sharp.”

A nod, a gleaming evil sort of pride in Ramsay’s weird eyes, before he grins as sharp and white as any slavering hellhound. “Good look on you, by the way.”“Zombie?” They’re flirting. This is flirting. This isn’t just one-way between him and a random friend or colleague, but with someone actually responding.

“On your knees.”

Ten o’clock comes, and the doorstep has been quiet for the last hour. Unbuckling the sword, taking off the eyepatch, Beric settles down to have a beer and watch some random comedy panel show he’s taped off the telly weeks before but never got round to viewing. He’s almost at the first set of adverts when the doorbell goes.

“Bugger.”

He’s out of everything that might be construed as a treat in the entire house. Dammit.

“I am the evil Winterfell Zombie pi-”

Ramsay pretty much comes up to his nipples given the height difference and the few inches between the interior of the house and the outside ground level.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Is this like in Dany the Grumpkin Slayer, and if I willingly invite you into my house I’ll end up sucked and drained?”

Square fingers slide from thigh to throat, wrapping lightly around Beric’s neck. “Other way around, bitch, but I’m sure you’ll love it.”

The first kiss, while they’re frantically trying to strip off and Ramsay gets overexcited about the sheer scale of Beric’s scars, body, and everything else, tastes of gingerbread, beer, and something else that can’t quite be explained but is utterly, devastatingly, addictive.

The small boy with the pale eyes sits next to the small girl with the long dark hair and the forest green fingerless gloves. They’re on their bench in the playground, under the shelter. The snow drifts gently through the air, and it’s so pretty. January snow is the prettiest, definitely! They never have snow days here, because everyone is used to the snow. Later he and Lyanna are going to make a snowman with Sandor and Sansa, and Domeric’s going to have something to eat there, and then Mum’s going to come and get him, and then Ramsay’s taking him to see the new Star Wars film again because they both like it. Darth Vader is in it, and he loves Darth Vader, but Ramsay prefers Emperor Palpatine because he’s evil.

Ramsay likes evil things. Sometimes though, when no one’s around, he’ll sit and help Domeric with his schoolwork, or play, so even though everyone thinks his brother is really frightening, he can be nice. He’s just sworn to secrecy that he’s not allowed to tell anyone, on pain of flaying.

Domeric thinks Lyanna is so cool. Not cool like Ramsay, but not scary like him. She’s a bit scary because she can be grumpy like her Dad, and he’s so tall! Lyanna’s little, like him, and he likes that. She’s a year older, and is going up to big school next year, and he’ll miss her so much.

“Ramsay has a boyfriend, like Sandor has Sansa,” he says. He makes sure Lyanna can see his mouth, and understand, because he’s not good at signing yet. When they get married, when they’re bigger, he’s going to make sure he can talk to her with his hands. “He’s nice. He’s the nice man from the library, with the red hair.”

Beric is really nice. He is my friend.

The two children smile at how weird grown ups are, and Domeric, who is far more his mother’s child than his father’s, blushes. Mum blushes a lot, especially when Dad is near. Everyone says his parents are in love, and it’s so sad they can’t have another child as they’ve only got him, but they’ve got Ramsay, too! He isn’t Mum’s child, because Ramsay’s older than her, but she looks after him like he is. When Ramsay was younger, apparently he was not very nice, and had to go and live in a special school for quite a long time so he got better, but Mum said he should come home when she married Dad, and so he did.

Mum loves Ramsay, but sometimes she’s scared of him. Everyone is, apart from Domeric and Beric - even Dad! Beric makes sure Ramsay takes his tablets, and keeps him calm. They’re talking about moving into that nice house Beric lives in, and Domeric’s scared that he’ll miss his brother, but Beric told him that there will be a room for him, if he’d like to go for sleep overs, and they can paint it in whatever colour Dom wants, so he’s said yellow, because it reminds him of Mum, and sunshine, and daffodils, and spring.

Are they going to get married? Like Daddy and Sansa?

“Beric would look silly in a dress!”

He giggles, and Lyanna clamps her hands over her mouth, eyes dancing with amusement.

“When we’re big enough, can we get married? It’ll be fun! We can have a pet bear, and a dog, and we can eat loads of chocolate when we want, and go to sleep when we want, and watch telly all the time.”

Lyanna tilts her head, looking very much like her Dad, and then grins, nodding.

[joneswilliam72]

Grumpy Old Men, the heist film & a true story of Dick Nixon’s dirty money: meet director Mark Steven Johnson of Finding Steve McQueen.

I caught up with writer/director Mark Steven Johnson (Simon Birch, Killng Season, Ghost Rider) for a chat on filmmaking, the heist movie, Grumpy Old Men (which he wrote) at 25 years, screenwriting, Trump and similarities to Richard Nixon, and more as it relates to his latest – a take on the heist film that is based on the true story of Dick Nixon's dirty money and one of the largest bank heists of all time – Finding Steve McQueen, in theaters, on Digital and On Demand now.

Inspired by the true story of the biggest bank heist of all time that you've probably never heard of, Harry Barber (Travis Fimmel) recounts how in 1972 a gang of close-knit thieves from Youngstown, Ohio attempted to steal $30 Million in illegal campaign contributions from President Richard Nixon's secret fund. But the plan quickly goes sideways, prompting the biggest manhunt in FBI history with more than 125 agents assigned to the case.

Finding Steve McQueen is a fun as hell ride that'll keep you wanting more when it's over, seemingly all too early. It is great entertainment – the reason we go to the movies in the first place, with a kickass '70s soundtrack to boot. The film also stars Rachael Taylor, William Fichtner, Lily Rabe, Rhys Coiro, and Forest Whitaker. Check out screenwriter and reporter Keith Sharon's retelling of the story (on which the film is based) in his series "Stealing Nixon's Millions" here.

Director Mark Steven Johnson. Photo courtesy of Mark Steven Johnson.

Catch Finding Steve McQueen in theaters, On Digital and On Demand now from Momentum Pictures and enjoy the interview below.

Hello Mark, how are you?

Hey Wess, how you doing? I'm good, man, how you doing?

Oh, fighting a bit of a nasty chest cold, but what can you do this time of year? My apologies if I have to cough while we're talking.

Of course, no worries. Oh shit, I hope you get better, I hope it's on its way out and not coming in.

Oh me too, and thank you for that. Getting right into it, what was it that attracted you to Finding Steve McQueen as a project?

You know it was, the script was sent to me and I asked what it was about and they told me it was a heist film, and I said "pass," just because I'd never had the idea to make a heist movie. And there's just been so many great ones. You just can't compete with it. You know, I have nothing new to say about it.

I understand that feeling although I think you did contribute in the way Finding Steve McQueen’s story is told.

And then my producer, Anthony Mastromauro said, "Just read it." And I did. And I realized it wasn't really a heist film, there was heist in it, but it really a love story. And that's what I got excited about. You know, because the movie is told all out of sequence, it's got like five different timelines going on, so it's like a puzzle piece. And so you don't watch the movie and think, you know, in most heist films, it's all about the planning, the execution, and the aftermath of the heist. Are they gonna get away with it?

Indeed. Finding Steve McQueen had an excellent flow.

And this one opens up eight years after that. Which I thought was really cool. It was really interesting. It was like, if they get away with it, we're told right away in the first minute: they got away with it. And you realize it's really about a love story. Is she gonna forgive him when he tells her? When he confesses. Are they gonna go away together, even have to go to jail? And so it's kind of interesting, you set up that kind of ticking time bomb in this diner and then we flashback and you keep jumping around in the story. But he comes back to the diner to track their love story. Their relationship throughout it. And that, I thought, was really cool.

And then, the second thing was that I'd never heard of it, I didn't believe it was a true story, I kept Googling while I was reading it. You know?

Definitely.

That can't be true, that can't be true. And it was. All the most outrageous parts of the story are all factual and I thought, "How did I never hear about this?" And I realized most people never heard of this story. And that was exciting to me. You know, to tell the true story that no one's ever heard of that's such an outrageous concept. You know?

Absolutely.

So, that got me very excited. You know, there's an interesting part, this is all I can think of. There's a part in the movie where she says to him,"So you went off to rip off the President of the United States?," and he said, "Yeah," he thought it was a good idea at the time. And she says, "And you were gonna get away with it, how exactly?" And Harry says, "Well, it's dirty money, we figured that even if we get caught, there's nothing they can do about it." You know? And I think that's why you never hear about it. Because Nixon had dirty campaign money in a bank in Laguna. And the FBI wasn't in on it, other than that there was a bank robbery, and they didn't wanna let that out. And the bank robbers aren't gonna talk about it cause they're all on the run. So you can see why he kept this secret for so many years.

Great points. Nixon was almost on his way out with Watergate too as the robbery happened in 1972.

And then, Keith Sharon – whose one of our screenwriters – he wrote a series for the Orange County Register called "Stealing Nixon's Millions", documenting this true story, he did all the research. And that's how it all started. By his research. And now he's got a podcast, actually I've got it right now, it's pretty fascinating.

(L-R) Louis Lombardi as Pauly Callahan, Rhys Coio as Ray Darrow, Travis Fimmel as Harry Barber, and William Fichtner as Enzo Rotella in the Momentum Pictures’ action, crime, comedy “FINDING STEVE MCQUEEN”. Photo courtesy of Momentum Pictures

Source:Larry Nista, OC Register

Nice. Being a true crime geek, I'll absolutely check that out too. What were the challenges like for you on the film?

You know, honestly, I'd never made a movie this small before. That was the biggest challenge, in fact, the movie was a five and a half million dollar budget, which is small. And I've made movies with a hundred million dollar budget. And so, that's just a whole, you kind of like feel like a film student again. You're like, how can we get this shot? How can we, you know, how are we gonna, you have to rethink everything. Like, okay, we can't afford a big, you know, car crash scene because we can only afford, you know, two GTOs, and one of them doesn't work. We're like, okay, if we crash this car, the movie's over. You're thinking that way.

Wow yeah. I imagine.

So, that's difficult but it's fun also because there's a spirit to it, you know? There's no fat anywhere, no one's getting rich, no one's getting paid, so people that are doing it are doing it because they love the script and they love the director and want to do something different. So, that really seeps into the energy of it, which I loved, you know?

That's a great thing when that spirit is there. Sort of related on that energy idea, any funny or memorable moments that stick out in your mind from that filming process?

Oh, goodness, there's so many. I think overall for me, it was probably just the energy of the guy, you know. Usually when you do a movie, and you work a long day, and you wrap an actor for the day, he goes home. And in this movie, it was one of those rare cases, where when you'd wrap somebody, they would stay. Nobody wanted to go home, 'cause it was fun.

Why would you want to go back to your hotel room? Why sit there and eat room service and go to bed, when you could sit here on set and make fun of everybody, and a lot happened. Some jokes. So, that kind of spirit is really wonderful. We're also good friends, all the actors, and everybody's on the group text called "The Idiots". We text each other all the time. And maybe they'll chime in from wherever they are in the world, check it on each other. And that's something that makes it worth it, you know? When you have that kind of comradery and it shows on film, I think you can tell, the fun these guys had playing together, you know?

(L-R) Rachael Taylor as Molly Murphy and Travis Fimmel as Harry Barber in the Momentum Pictures’ action, crime, comedy “FINDING STEVE MCQUEEN”. Photo courtesy of Momentum Pictures.

Oh, absolutely, I think it really did show in the film. And another thing I'm kind of curious about there. Sadly, those themes of that dark money and sort of, you know, that corruption that has proven to be eternal. You know, since Nixon. I'm just wondering, what do you hope people will take with them from the film?

Well, I think, you know, it was a fascinating time to make this movie, right? And now that it's finally coming out, it's even more so. I mean, every day you hear about Nixon and Watergate on the news. And it always kind of blows my mind that, someone mentioned 1972, after all this time, you turn on the news, CNN, and there's Roger Stone doing the Nixon peace sign out on the steps. And he's showing off his Nixon tattoo on his back. And you're like, what is going on? I mean, we're right back where we were. You know? And “I'm not a crook” has become "no collusion." You know? The "witch hunt".

History repeating.

And maybe, who knows? Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe not. But I tell my kids all the time, I know you're tired of hearing all about what's going on Trump right now, but you have to pay attention because this is a historic time in our country. And you get to witness it. So, watch it because this is an amazing time. And so I think it's one of those where you're making this period film that suddenly has become incredibly topical. So, it's a fascinating time for this film to come out.

Oh, absolutely. Crazy times, Mark. Crazy times.

You know, I would be remiss if I didn't ask while I had you, any reflections on Grumpy Old Men at 25 years?

Yeah, 25 years. You know, it's a funny thing because I still dream about those guys. I have dreams about Walter [Matthau] and Jack [Lemmon]. They were a huge part of my life. And the fact that I broke into the business writing about home, writing about Minnesota where I'm from, and these characters, they're always with me. And in fact, there's actually, believe it or not, they're putting together a Grumpy Old Men musical right now.

Oh, wow.

Which is actually terrific. Yeah, it got great reviews, they're gonna be touring it this year. So, I think it's gonna be in my head still. Which I'm very happy about, actually.

[Laughs] that's great. Half of my family's from Minnesota so it resonates with me too.

Oh, right on. Oh, great.

Yeah, Moorehead and Detroit Lakes.

Oh, there you go. Yeah, you could go to Wabasha now and, where the movie is set, the home of Grumpy Old Men. It's so funny. So they do that, Grumpy Old Men Days every winter. You know, polar bear plunge and ice fishing contests, snowmobile races. I've been doing it for over 25 years, it's really great.

That's awesome. A question I like to ask everybody, what makes a great film?

A great film? Oh, boy.

It's a big question, I know.

For me, it's the one, sometimes it's not even when you see it, sometimes, I'll see a film and I'm not sure how I feel about it. And then I wake up the next day and I'm still thinking about it. And then, I watch it again. And then I watch it again. And then I watch it again. And then I realize, this is a great movie. Some movies, you know right away, but a lot of times, there's a movie, I'm trying to think of an example for myself, you know, for example, would be Fight Club.

I remember the first time I saw Fight Club and I wasn't sure what to think of it. It was so dark and it was so messed up and interesting, but I remember walking out thinking, I don't know, man, I'm not sure how I feel about it. The next morning, I was still thinking about it. And I watched it again. And then I watched it again and watched it again… And I find that a lot, actually with Fincher's movies. Sometimes they take time to process, you know?

They really do. I think a lot of them really resonate after they've marinated for a while, likely because of just how detailed they are (something Fincher is legendary for). The last question, what's next for you?

You know, I've got two things I'm working on. One is a movie that I'm producing and I wrote called Lucy Boomer with Shirley MacLaine. And we're trying to cast that right now for the summer. And then I have another movie, a comedy called Patrick 1.5, which is a really lovely film, and same thing – casting right now, so I can't say too much, but they're both front runner stuff, so I'm hoping that both could be going this summer.

GRUMPY OLD MEN (1993) trailer.

SIMON BIRCH (1998) trailer.

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