#or when I shut down because I’ve socialised for too long and the room smells too strongly of air freshener

[iwillstabyou]

I’m listening to Hozier and I’m feeling emotions I didn’t think even existed

[idyllicstarker]

Hello again!!💞 So... I have another request. Peter being afraid of thunderstorms and no one knows this. He‘s hiding and Tony comes and finds him🐰💖 (I just need some fluff (or whatever u decide to do with this) because I’m also afraid of thunderstorms and yeah)

Thank you for the prompt!! I love all of them! And it’s okay, thunderstorms aren’t one of my favourite things either~ I’m sorry this took so long!!

Everything felt dull. From the dim lighting of the room, to the black clouds sprawled carelessly across the sky. The grey hue drained everything of colour. The little greenery left in the densely populated city was nowhere to be seen because all that was left was darkness. With all the windows shut tight, Peter had made sure he wouldn’t be able to smell the grim dampness of the rain outside or feel the icy cold draft that was desperate to lick at any inch of exposed skin its tongue could get to. New York City felt nothing like New York City today. The usual hustle and bustle of people urgently trying to get from one place to the next was frozen somewhere in a much nicer time. Even the worst rains and winds never usually caused such a change, but today was different. The storm that raged outside was far superior to any Peter had ever seen. To put it lightly, he was terrified. 

Like most nights, it was family time downstairs in the avengers facility. Family time was the name Peter awarded lovingly to the nights when most of them were together within the same space, just relaxing and having some downtime. Although almost all the avengers lived within the facility, they were often out doing their own thing. But nights were the times Peter saw everyone at their happiest. Socialising, bonding, just acting very much like one big happy family. Although everyone used to protest at the name, it eventually grew on them, and more people began to settle into this sort of routine; when Peter told FRIDAY to give out the message that he was watching a film in the screening room, more and more of them began to show up over the week.  But of course, everyone still liked their alone time, so it wasn’t uncommon to not see everyone there. 

Although Peter wasn’t directly living in the building, he was as good as, spending most weekends there, and most evenings after school. Sometimes he’d even have his friends over for a sleepover, and of course Tony was more than willing to supply.Most nights however, he was there alone, and on these nights you’d usually find him curled up in Tony’s bed, cuddling against the older man. It was something everyone had realised a long time ago but knew better than to mention until Peter was ready to reveal it himself. And Tony, well Tony was just happy to finally have a ray of sunshine to brighten up his life.

Today, however, was a much different night. When Peter came home from school, he was already on edge. It was like he could feel the start of the storm brewing in the air. But he stayed quiet, not wanting anyone to find out. He managed to play off his tenseness with a simple shrug of him being tired and feeling sick. But when Tony suggested that he go take a nap, Peter was quick to shake his head, not wanting to be left alone. He managed to make it until dinner, taking small bites of the soup Natasha had made for him to help him feel better. 

His knees were pulled to his chest, small and tiny on the couch in the lounge, a blanket draped over his knees. But by then the storm had begun.

A torrent of rain began to fall at once, crashing against the roof as if demanding entrance; low crackles of thunder would occasionally accompany them in its destruction, rolling across the sky ominously, yet loud enough to send Peter into overstimulation instantly. It was horrible. Every boom had him wincing, static ringing in his ears as his face scrunched willing it to stop. He whimpered, standing within seconds and mumbling something about the toilet as he ran out the room. As he got halfway down the hall, he stumbled as a white streak of lightning bolted across the sky, illuminating his dark pathway. It made him freeze, his breath catching in his throat before he was running again, but quicker this time. 

Which brings us to now. 

As soon as Peter reached Tony’s room he closed the door and bolted under the covers craving the familiar scent of his sheets to comfort him. He usually would never enter without permission but couldn’t have Tony, or anyone for that matter seeing him in this state. The little baby was scared of a bit of rain, thunder and lightning, they probably wouldn’t ever stop laughing. So he’d decided he’d hide out in here until it stopped,. Huddled in a small ball on the massive bed, knees tucked under his chin as his body trembled. He kept the covers over his head so that he could attempt to block out all the conflicting sounds fighting for dominance and the inconsistency of the flashes of white light in the room. But his headache had already formed, his eyes scrunched shut tightly. He refused to cry, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, his nails digging into his palms to make sure his body didn’t let him down. 

He was so concentrated on being as small as he could possibly be that he didn’t hear the door opening and slowly shutting behind the intruder. Whoever it was, was careful to try and make as little sound as possible. They set something down on the nightstand before slowly Peter felt the side of the blanket being lifted. The hand barely made it inches before Peter was whining, a silent beg for them to not go any further but too weak to actually say it. Yet he wasn’t listened to, becoming distressed, Peter tried his best to shuffle further down the bed so that he was covered as much as possible. But as the side of the bed grew weighted with a figure sitting down, a gentle and familiar hand took his and pulled him back up carefully. 

Moments later he was in a lap, pressed against a hard chest, his nose breathing in the one and only smell that could calm him down. 

Tony.

Peter nuzzled his cold nose against his neck but never once did the male complain. Not a word left either of their lips, Peter still not in the right headspace and Tony too afraid that any sort of sound would only hurt Peter, due to how over stimulated his senses must be. 

Instead, he seemed to press something foamy into Peter’s ears - ear plugs. He also pressed Peter’s face into his neck, it wouldn’t do much, but it helped block out the light in some manner.

Slowly and gently he pressed kisses to Peter’s temple, rocking him cautiously in his arms. They were wrapped protectively around his waist, his hands rubbing soft soothing circles on his back to try and calm him down. After a moment, one of his hands moved to run through the boy’s hair softly. He knew how responsive Peter was to that usually, he loved having his hair played with just as much as he loved getting kisses.

For a while Peter was pretty much limp in his arms. As much as he wanted to move he couldn’t, fear literally paralysing him despite being in Tony’s arms. But sooner or later he let out a deep strangled breath as if he hadn’t been breathing this whole time, and his hands came up to clutch onto Tony’s shirt. 

His shaking became more prominent, before he began to sob, tears rushing from his eyes like fountains as he choked over his own cries and whales. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me!”

Of course, Tony had never been planning to, but his arms tightened around Peter the moment they left his mouth, pulling him tighter and more protective against his chest. “I’m not gonna Pete, I promise.It’s just you and me love, I’ve got you, I’m right here.”

It seemed at Tony’s words Peter began to shake a lot less. Taking it as his cue that it was alright to talk, Tony continued. 

“That’s it Darlin..”

“You’re doing so well for me”

“I know it’s scary outside but it can’t hurt you okay?”

“I’m right here”

As he spoke, he began to lie down, wrapping Peter’s legs around his waist, and the boy took it upon himself to wrap his arms around his neck so that he was clinging onto him like a baby koala. It seemed fitting. 

As Tony continued to speak, Peter grew calmer and calmer. Pulling the blanket over their bodies he felt that sad, honey-brown eyed gaze on him. And sure enough, as he looked down at Peter’s teary face, those wide eyes were looking with the most loving expression. Peter truly did feel safe with Tony. And though the storm was still raging outside, Peter didn’t even realise. 

Licking at his lips slowly, Peter hesitated with his speech for a second. Tony smiled, raising his thumb to wipe off the remnants of the tear tracks before placing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

“Don’t speak my love, sleep now, we’ll talk in the morning”

Peter nodded his head slowly, finally a small smile appearing on his own face before he pouted his lips expectantly,  of course wanting one last goodnight kiss. The sight had Tony chuckling affectionately, of course providing him with a sweet peck to his lips. “Goodnight Pete”, he whispered softly against them. 

Closing his eyes, Peter nuzzled his head to Tony’s neck. He allowed the warm embrace to take over his body, and the gentle rise and fall of Tony’s chest to lull him to sleep. 

With a soft sigh, Tony pressed a final kiss to his temple, closing his own eyes.

“I love you”, he muttered softly.

And if i said Peter didn’t mutter it back in his sleep, I’d be lying to you. 

They both seemed to sleep better that night, than any other.

[writerman]

Prompt: Bard is a Tired™ man and with Sigrid in college he only has to worry about 2 children (he worries a lot tho) and when winter break happens she gets a ride back with this other kid and his boyfriend(Legolas&Gimli). Thranduil wants to meet Sigrid bc Legolas doesn't have many friends and then invites her whole family over, he has a big enough house (too big, he's lonely) to host all of them for get togethers. Bard is reluctant but goes "less for me to clean up" and agrees.

Thank you for this one! It was a nice wholesome prompt and I had fun with Bard and Thran’s interactions.

Please enjoy!

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

“Da, I’m home!”

Bard had heard the door open and assumed Bain and Tilda were home from school and immediately worried as to why they had come back so early, but when he heard the familiar voice of his eldest ring out through the house he set aside his work and moved to greet her.

They met in the hallway and Sigrid threw her arms around Bard her cold nose shocking him slightly. How long had she been outside to be so cold?

“Welcome home, sweetheart, how was the trip home?” They left her luggage in the hallway for the time being as Bard led his eldest to the kitchen to make something hot to drink. Sigrid probably needed something to perk her up after being on the road all day.

“It was fine. It’s much better when you have company, leaving my car back at school was a good call.” Sigrid shrugged off her coat as she chattered about her friends and school work, meanwhile, Bard busied himself with making hot tea for both of them.

“You’ve mentioned Legolas and Gimli a few times if they drove with you here do they live nearby?”

“Yeah, uh, Legolas lives in the nicest part of town and Gimli is related to your friend Thorin. His family moved to town just after he started university so hasn’t been here until now.” Their conversation was cut short when Bain and Tilda stormed the kitchen dusted with snow and sporting red cheeks just like Sigrid had.

Once everyone had settled in and warmed up, dinner was had and everyone went their separate ways, Bard returned to his laptop to continue writing while he had the time off from work.

Being a novelist with kids was hard, and between working at the mechanics, raising kids and writing he hadn’t really found the time to relax or socialise so when he had time off to do those things, well, he didn’t do them.

It was late when Sigrid came to him, she was on the phone to someone but clearly needed his attention regarding whatever was being said on the phone. There was a moment of silence while she listened to the person on the other end of the line before she laughed aloud and shook her head in disbelief.

“Alright, alright, I’ll ask him. Hold on.”

Bard looked up expectantly, hands together rested on his desk as he awaited whatever question his daughter on the tip of her tongue, though he did have a sense of foreboding and was wary of what was coming.

“Da, Legolas said his dad wants to invite us all over for dinner tomorrow, can we go?” She genuinely sounded excited and the pleading tone she used hadn’t surfaced since she was very little so it was difficult to say no.

But, Bard hadn’t heard of Legolas until that day and he was positive he’d never met his dad. Or, had he done the unthinkable and forgotten Sigrid’s friends? She had always had her friends from school come over but he didn’t recall a Legolas…

“Uh… I mean, that is a nice offer, Sig, but I don’t think I’ve ever met your friend or his dad. Wouldn’t that be awkward?” He had to be honest, but that didn’t seem to deter her because his words were responded to with the roll of her eyes.

“That is the point of going over for dinner. You don’t get out much socially, neither does Legs’ dad and apparently, he has been wanting to have people over for dinner for ages. This is perfect timing.” Again, she gave him a hopeful look and Bard relented because why not?

At least he wouldn’t have to do the dishes.

Who was he kidding, he would offer to do them as thanks.

“Fiiine, we’ll go tomorrow. Just give me a time and an address and we’ll be there with bells on or something.” He was half-joking as he got to his feet, the closet needed to be raided for smart yet casual- he didn’t want to look like he was only going to appease his child.

After all, the adult company would be nice. And as fun, as his workmates were at the auto shop he did often wince at their choice of humour. Meeting new people was a top priority while he had the time, he supposed.

There was no further response from Sigrid as he passed her, she had only mouthed a ‘thank you’ before returning to her call.

The next morning at the breakfast table Bard revealed their dinner plans to Tilda and Bain. Neither of them seemed overly enthused about the idea but agreed that dinner anywhere but their own home was going to be interesting at least.

Both of them were in high school and had hoped to use the winter break as a chance to indulge in their favourite pastime of nothing. Bain had mentioned maybe visiting friends but the snowfall dissuaded him for the time being and Tilda just hated being cold so leaving the house wasn’t even an option for her.

Plus, modern technology would allow her to keep up with her friends without ever having to leave the bed.

“Everyone be on your best behaviour tonight, I honestly have no idea what to expect so just- maybe pretend you’re sick if things go belly up, ok?” A moment later Bard had to explain he was joking, well, half-joking but they didn’t need to know that.

A small part of him was excited to meet someone new and just talk about something other than sports and cars. After working at the auto place Bard did have to, eventually, admit to himself that he did not care for sports and it did make some conversation tedious.

When dinner time rolled around everyone piled into the family car and headed out to the fanciest part of town Bard had ever seen. It was the kind of place that had gated communities with gardeners and security. Sigrid had to call her friend to let them in because the security guard really did not like the idea that they were there on an invite.

Legolas was at the door already when they pulled up outside and Sigrid was the first to get out of the car to greet him. They hugged like they hadn’t just seen one another the day before.

The other two took some coaxing to get out but when they did Legolas greeted them cheerfully before turning to Bard, his demeanour didn’t change but he was extremely polite to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Bowman.”

As nice as it was, he didn’t need to be treated so carefully, even if Legolas was brought up to be so polite it wasn’t necessary with him.

“You too, Legolas. Eh, if your father around?” The blonde boy nodded and led everyone inside after realising he had left them stood out on the steps instead of inviting them in. He blushed but no one mentioned it because really it didn’t matter to them.

“He’s in the kitchen down the hall.” Bard was directed to a door at the bottom of the hall but Legolas didn’t stick around long. The kids left him standing alone in the hallway heading to something that sounded vaguely like a games room.

It’s just another adult you can deal with a stranger, Bard tried to bolster himself as he stepped lightly down towards the kitchen, he’s probably really nice.

When he pushed the door open he was greeted with the smell of something decidedly mouthwatering and a sight that almost definitely rivalled it. The blond man was stood before a cutting board of freshly washed vegetables, his hands on his hips as he moved his attention from them to the door.

“Ah, it’s already 6?!” Oh good lord above, that voice was as deep as a roll of thunder and Bard definitely felt the heat of a blush crawl up his neck before he put himself in check and entered the kitchen properly shutting the door behind him as he did so.

“Just a little after actually. Do you- do you need help with anything?” Bard ventured as he moved toward the kitchen island the other man was stood at. He tried to ignore how beautiful he was by not looking directly at him for a few moments.

“It would be so impolite to ask a guest for help but… I must concede and accept defeat. Your help would be wonderful, thank you.” He passed over the vegetables and a knife and Bard go to work on slicing up carrots. “My name is Thranduil, by the way.” It came as more of an afterthought as though it hadn’t mattered what his name was.

“Nice to meet you, I am Bard, father of Sigrid. But I assume you already knew that unless you have more guests on the way?” When Thranduil shook his head Bard felt as though he could relax a little, one parent was fine, unless he had a wife and then two parents were also ok.

“I apologise for inviting you over with such short notice. It seemed the best time to before Christmas and whatnot.” Bard concentrated on slicing up the carrots but he nodded hoping Thranduil would see because for the life of him he could meet his eye.

This man had to be an ex-supermodel or something!

But really he knew he had to answer.

“Aha, it’s no problem. Sigrid seemed really excited that you had invited us all over and she seems quite close with Legolas I don’t think I could have said no even if I’d wanted to.” when he dares to look up Thranduil is smiling at him.

“I admit, it is nice to speak to another adult, I am often here alone so the most conversation I get is over the phone for work or the delivery man.” What a relief it was to hear that Thranduil had the same issues as he did.

When he let out a laugh Thranduil seemed more pleased than shocked.

“I’m sorry, I am in the same boat. I stay at home mostly too, unless the auto shop needs an extra pair of hands. Sometimes the only conversation I get it a one-way argument with our cat.” If there had been tension between them at first it had completely dissipated as they chatted as they prepared dinner.

For anyone looking from the outside in, they appeared as life long friends.

When dinner was nearly ready Thranduil seemed to relax and he offered Bard a drink, Bard readily accepted the beer from the fridge and followed his host to a drawing-room, he took a seat opposite Thranduil by the window.

“I’ll be honest with you, Bard. I invited you all over because I have never really heard Legolas talk about friends before and I wanted to see who this person was and who her family were. Legolas has tremendous issues with opening up enough to make friends, but he is like his father in that respect.

He lost his mother at a young age and while I gave him as much as I could throughout that period in his life, we both knew I was not capable of being both parents.

Sigrid has brought him out of his shell enough that he now has a boyfriend. I can scarcely believe it but I am so very happy and thankful for her friendship to my son.” Realising that he had, perhaps, said too much he gave Bard an apologetic smile before looking away from him and allowing himself to be distracted by the view outside.

“I realise now that it may have been put across to you as though Sigrid was a substitute for his mother, that is not the case. I believe I have said quite enough already.” The pink flush that slowly spread over Thranduil’s face was genuinely delightful but Bard had to put him out of his misery before it got too much.

“Sigrid is a great kid, she lost her mother at a young age too, Legolas probably feels at ease around her because she can relate to his pain. It hurt us all when my wife died, and I admit, Sigrid did end up taking more on than she should have at her age but when I was back on my feet I made sure she got to be a kid.

Also, don’t worry about what you’re saying so much, honestly, I am happy talking about anything as long as it isn’t sports.” They share a laugh at this and the conversation turns to their jobs, Thranduil revealed that he restored antiques and was very enthusiastic when Bard asked him of his methods.

Just seeing him light up when he spoke of his work was a gift and Bard had to remind himself that 1) this man was probably straight 2) he likely believed Bard was too and 3) He was so out of his league AND not interested in him.

It wasn’t long before dinner was served and Thranduil met Bain and Tilda who were very polite in thanking him for their invite to dinner. The kids made him proud that night with the table conversation managing to get a laugh out of both himself and Thranduil.

All in all, Bard found the night a success and even said so to Thranduil when he helped with the washing up while the kids put on a movie in the front room.

“I do not regret my decision to invite you all over. Tonight has been a lot of fun and seeing Legolas so animated was truly amazing. He’s on such a high I may have to scrape him off the ceiling later after you’ve all gone.”

They ended up talking in the kitchen far longer than they had intended but as soon as Bard mentioned he was a writer Thranduil grilled him to within an inch of his life on his books, he was extremely interested and it gave Bard a little thrill.

In the end, though, their conversation had to end and they had to part ways for the night but not before Thranduil made Bard promise to drop by again and soon with the kids.

Sigrid seemed pleased with that evening, even Bain and Tilda had no complaints other than that they had to leave early. This was forgiven when Bard explained that they would probably visit again throughout the winter break as Thranduil was keen to have them over more.

He missed the sly smile Sigrid gave him while he concentrated on driving.

The next time he saw Thranduil he was out running errands and they noticed each other on the busy high street almost immediately. Then again, everyone was noticing Thranduil he really did stand out from the crowd.

“Bard, it’s good to see you. How are you?” Thranduil had easily navigated through the crowds and was now stood before Bard dressed in a long black winter coat and deep purple scarf that was pulled up over his nose and mouth. “Would you like to get coffee?”

There was nothing he wanted more than to escape the crazed throng of Christmas shoppers and so with a quick nod they darted down an alley and to a cosey little bookshop slash cafe with very few customers.

“You’re brave to take on the masses today,” Bard said as they took their seats by the window, the heat radiator by his legs was blessedly hot and he inched himself a little closer to it much to Thranduil’s amusement. “Doing the last bit of Christmas shopping?”

Thranduil was looking at the drinks menu when he responded.

“Hm, no, I was out finding antiques to take home, we’re not exactly big on celebrating Christmas in our home being that there is only the two of us.” It sounded like Thranduil wanted to drop the subject but was too polite to say.

He didn’t know if it was the cosy atmosphere or the sheer giddiness of seeing Thranduil again, because yes he admitted to himself he had a crush on the man, but he went out on a limb when he offered Thranduil and Legolas his home for Christmas.

“You’re welcome to spend the day with us. It would be really nice to have you and Legolas over.”

At first, he didn’t receive a response, just a slow blink of confusion but then a smile spread over Thranduil’s face that could have lit up an entire banquet hall.

“That would be lovely, but would the invitation extend to just myself?” Thranduil began, “I am sure Legolas would have loved to spend Christmas with Sigrid but he is spending the day with Gimli and his family.” The man was embarrassed to admit he would be alone on Christmas that much Bard could tell but he had no reason to feel ashamed.

“Hmm, well, Legolas is the cool one…” Bard feigned a thoughtful expression and only stopped when Thranduil laughed. “If you’re cooler than your kid you can come.”

“I am afraid not but I can bring dessert if that sweetens the deal?”

“Oh, you know how to play me, with your pretty face and your sweet talk.” It had just slipped out and while he was mortified he knew he had to play it off as a joke. Can’t let this man know he was a bisexual disaster and he really didn’t want Thranduil to think he only wanted to hang out with him because he was hot.

“You think I have a pretty face?” The response was smooth and Thranduil’s voice dropped an octave as he near purred with pleasure at the accidental compliment. “Were trying to flirt with me just now?”

Oh no, what am I supposed to say to that? Bard panicked internally, he had absolutely not meant to tell Thranduil that he thought his face was pretty but now they were going into territory Bard was very unfamiliar with.

When was the last time he had actually purposely flirted with anyone?

There was nothing for it, he had to be honest or at least some kind of honest. It was only fair.

“It just slipped out, I didn’t mean to say that but- I mean, well, I do think you’re pretty. Maybe not pretty that seems tame. I uh is it too much to ask you on a date after Christmas even though this is only the second time we’ve met?” He had been reduced to a stuttering mess and it was his own fault but from what he could tell Thranduil found it endearing.

“I would like that very much.”

They spent a long time in silence until their drinks were brought to them.

“You’re still bringing dessert for Christmas, right?”

“I am, along with my pretty face.” Thranduil teased.

It seemed winter break would be just a little more interesting this year.

And Bard had the sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with his very clever daughter and her equally as clever friend.

If they believed that he and Thranduil would be good together, who was he to argue?

Only time would tell.

[acabecca]

Tessa Dunbar // “I’m damaged.” - requested by @starcrossedjedis​

This was requested like a million years ago when I was on a Teen Wolf rewatch, and because I’m on ANOTHER Teen Wolf rewatch I’ve been inspired to write it! I have borrowed @sgtbuckyybarnes​ oc Perrie, and @ceruleanmusings​ oc Mel!

*

Sighing heavily, Tessa sank down into the grass, her cup balanced on her stomach as she stared up at the night sky. She didn’t know how long she’s been out here, lying beside the lake. She didn’t care.

She was hidden from view, purposely choosing to lie in front of the small rowboat so that if anyone glanced out of the windows of Lydia’s lake house, they wouldn’t be able to spot her. Tessa had had enough of people watching her. She just needed a few minutes, some time by herself to just stop and think and breathe.

She felt like she hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath for weeks. Someone was always with her, always on babysitting duty – mainly Mel, Perrie, or Liam, or sometimes even all three of them – and as much as she loved her friends and her brother, she really just needed some time alone every now and then. Tessa wasn’t stupid, she knew this whole last-minute party had just been an excuse to drag her out and force her to socialise – literally, Isaac had forcibly removed Tessa from her house and driven her to the party that no one had told her about, ignoring her whining the entire way there and promising her she was going to have a good time. He had made good on that promise for all of an hour, before Tessa had started to drift away from everyone.

That was how she found herself outside. God, she hadn’t even been to a party since… She couldn’t even remember when. Theo had been around, though.

Letting out a groan the way she always did whenever Theo crossed her mind, Tessa brought a hand up to cover her face as she screwed her eyes shut.

“There you are!”

“We’ve been looking all over for you, T.”

“You know you’ve been gone for like, hours, right?”

Tessa opened her eyes, looking up at her friends stood over her and she raised an eyebrow at Perrie’s statement. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been gone like, twenty minutes, tops.”

“Try double that,” Perrie frowned.

“That’s still not hours, Pez,” Tessa sighed, closing her eyes again and missing the look Perrie and Mel shared.

“Soo…” Mel started, taking a seat beside Tessa as Perrie sat on her other side. “What are you doing out here on your own, anyway? There’s a perfectly good party going on inside.”

“Just thinking,” Tessa paused, holding her drink up. “And drinking.”

“Drinking what?” Mel asked, taking the cup off her sniffing the contents. “It smells like regret,” she pulled a face, leaning across Tessa and handing the cup to Perrie.

“Hmm…” Perrie took a sip. “Tastes like it, too.”

“It’s vodka,” Tessa rolled her eyes, pulling herself up into a sitting position and leaning with her back against the rowboat before she took the cup back off Perrie. “Did you guys just come out here to annoy me?”

“Of course not, that’s just a happy coincidence,” Perrie smirked.

“We were worried about you,” Mel added softly. 

“I’m fine,” Tessa murmured.    

“‘I’m fine’,” Perrie mimicked, and Mel reached behind Tessa to flick Perrie’s shoulder. “Ow! What?!”

“We’re supposed to be sympathetic and understanding!”

“Well we’ve tried that,” Perrie argued. “And she’s ended up sitting outside in the dark drinking vodka and looking like she’s about to drown herself in the lake, so I think we need a new approach.”

“And tough love is the best approach to take, right?” Mel raised an eyebrow. “Was that Stiles’ idea?”

“As if I’d ever listen to any idea that Stiles has,” Perrie scoffed, and Tessa couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. “Knew that would get a smile out of you! So… You’ve told us what you’re drinking. You wanna talk about what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Not really,” Tessa took a sip of her drink, rolling her eyes when she saw the look Mel and Perrie shared. “Are you guys not bored of hearing about my drama and my issues? It’s all we do lately. It’s all we’ve done since-” Tessa stopped speaking and looked at the ground, picking at the grass beside her leg.

“Since Theo?” Mel nudged her gently. “You can say his name, you know? No one’s going to yell at you for it.”

Tessa side-eyed Perrie. “Simmons might.”

“I will not!” Perrie cried indignantly. “Hey, I too was taken in by Theo’s boyish good looks at charm and all round lies. Don’t forget who encouraged you to get to know the new guy.”

Tessa raised her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure that was Lydia.”

“It was me,” Perrie rolled her eyes. 

“That’s such a lie!” Mel laughed. “It was most definitely Lydia, to get Tessa over her little crush on Scott! Whereas you have been Team McCall for the longest time-”

“Uh, there is no Team McCall!” Tessa interrupted with a shake of her head. “No teams at all, actually. Team Tessa, maybe, but that’s it. I am staying far away from boys for a very, very long time. Until I’m at least like… 21.”

“Yeah okay,” Perrie scoffed. 

“I’m serious,” Tessa whined, taking another sip of her drink and pulling her face. The coke had started to lose its fizz, but there was no way she was going to give her drink up and go back inside, no matter how desperately she wanted to escape the oncoming conversation Mel and Perrie were about to force her into. “I’m pretty sure Scott probably hates me right now, anyway.”

“Scott doesn’t hate you, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Way to be supportive, Perrie, good going,” Mel sent her a thumbs up, and Perrie flipped her off. “Why do you think Scott hates you?”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Tessa asked with a shrug of her shoulders. “My brother tried to kill him, my boyfriend did kill him, I tried to save said boyfriend's life, only to fail miserably and shut myself away to sulk for weeks. Anyone would hate me. I hate me. It’s just… not normal, right? After everything that happened, everything Theo did, that I still tried to save him? I’m… broken. I’m damaged.”

“Tessa,” Mel started gently, reaching forward and taking the cup out of her hands. Tessa whined and reached for it, but Mel tipped the liquid out onto the grass behind her and tossed the empty cup into the rowboat. “You aren’t damaged, okay? And Scott doesn’t hate you. Scott understands that you’re grieving, we all do, and you’re allowed to grieve for someone that you cared about.”

“Even if he was a bad guy?”

“Yes, even if he was a bad guy. Listen,” Mel sighed, shifting slightly so she was facing Tessa. “Theo had us all fooled, he lied to all of us, but you? He made you fall in love with him, with the person he pretended to be. It’s okay to grieve for and to miss the person you thought he was, the person that you loved, because that is who you lost.”

“Yeah, exactly, what- what Mel said!” Perrie nodded enthusiastically and Mel shot her an incredulous look as Tessa turned to look at her.

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk Perrie, I’m so glad you’re my best friend,” Tessa deadpanned.

“Listen, I grew up with Stiles Stilinski so I’m not really good at the heartfelt chats like Mel is. You get sarcasm from me, or you get nothing,” Perrie shook her head, patting Tessa’s shoulder. She snorted out a laugh and shook her off. “She’s right, though. You’re not damaged and you’re not broken. It’s just going to take a bit of time, that’s all. You’ll be fine, T, I promise. We won’t let you not be fine.”

“I know,” Tessa whispered with a soft smile. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, loser,” Perrie nudged her. “You wanna go back inside?”

“Uhh…” Tessa looked back towards the house. “You guys mind if I bail? I promise I’ll be all smiles for the next party, I just kind of need another night to cry in my room.”

“Come on,” Mel pulled herself to her feet, holding her hand out to help Tessa up. “I drove here, I can give you a ride home.”

“Thanks,” Tessa smiled gratefully, brushing down the back of her jeans and turning to give Perrie a hug. “Thank you for never failing to come through with a sarcastic quip, it’s the reason I love you,” she whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, yeah…” Perrie rolled her eyes, giving her a quick hug back before pushing her away. “Now get out of here and go sulk, I’ll tell everyone you’ve gone home,” she waved them off, watching as Mel threw an arm around Tessa’s shoulders and guided her towards the front of the house.

Crossing her arms over her chest and smiling softly, Perrie stayed where she was for a couple of minutes, not even glancing at the person who had walked up beside her. She knew who it would be, anyway. He was the one who had sent both girls out when he’d noticed Tessa sitting along.

“Is she okay?” Scott asked in concern.

“No,” Perrie shook her head. “No, she’s not. But she will be.”

[bamby0304]

Spanner in the Works- Ch.15

Series Masterlist

Summary: Your car breaks down, leaving you stranded in a small town. Waiting for your car to get the all clear, you find yourself getting closer to Sam Winchester, the handsome mechanic working on it. Will he be able to break down your walls? Or is this just a pit stop before you continue to run?

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long. With exams and being sick, I haven’t had a lot of time to write, or energy. But I’m here now!! Just managed to squeeze it in before the day ended. That does mean it hasn’t been looked over, so I am deeply sorry for any mistakes. And, as always, check out the scent Sam from @scentsfromthebunker for a next-level fanfic experience!!

Warnings: Angst. And a little bit of fluff.

Bamby

Things slowed down a little after your confession to Dean and the aftermath of it all. Sam was still very determined to show you that he was interested in getting to know you, but he was patient at the same time. The next two days that passed, he was close by but left you to do what you needed.

You took the time alone to heal your foot, and think things over.

With everything you’d been through, your apprehensions were warranted. You had every right to feel the way you did. Your worry was understandable. The walls you’d built around yourself were sturdy for a reason, and no one could tell you that was wrong. No one but yourself.

Living a life on the road, running away from all and any relationships, was not healthy. You weren’t an idiot. You knew that avoiding people like the plague was going to kill you. People are social creatures, and even if you preferred to keep socialisation to a minimum, you still felt the desire to be with people. You just weren’t the one to hangout with anyone.

Sam wasn’t just anyone.

If someone had told you a week ago that you’d be spending your time with a tall, gorgeous, smart, caring guy, you would have… well you would have kept running, but just moved a little faster while doing it. Now though, despite that voice inside your head that begged you to leave town before things turn bad, you wanted to… you actually wanted to stay. Maybe not for long, but at least for a while.

“Knock knock.”

Looking up from the window you’d been staring out of while sitting in bed, you turned to the bedroom door and spotted Mary poking her head in.

“How you going, sweetheart?” She smiled as she entered the room.

Shifting on the spot, you gave a small shrug. “I’m… I’m better.”

The brothers had blown up at the auto shop while Mary and John had been there. They’d seen the little fight. Hell, John was the one who had told Sam to take you home- which hadn’t lasted long once you’d realised everyone’s lunches were still in the car. He’d left shortly after helping you inside, and returned later that day with his family in tow. It was then that everyone sat down to get some things on the table.

Mary and John still didn’t know everything that Dean and Sam knew- especially Sam- but they knew you had your issues. They’d known that before you’d all sat down, considering you’d woken them up in the middle of the night with your screams, but now they knew more.

Hearing that you’d lost a lot in your life, and that you’d never really had much to start with, really seemed to make things a little clearer for the Winchesters. Mary was more gentle with you- not that you thought that would be possible- and John’s patience had grown tenfold. In fact, you’d heard him talking to Dean later that evening, scolding his son for his behaviour and insisting Dean treat you better ‘or else’.

“Well, I just wanted to come in an ask…” She stood there, fiddling with her thumbs, showing the first signs of nerves around you.

When she didn’t go on, you pressed her encouragingly, “You can ask me anything, Mary. It’s okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she went on, “There’s a party, a town get together, just a small barbeque. We have one every month, and you just happened to breakdown outside our town the weekend before the party. And I don’t want to pressure you into going, because I know you don’t feel comfortable around so many new people, but I don’t want you to feel left out either. John and I talked, and it looks like your car might not be fixed as soon as we thought, so you might still be around-”

“Mary,” you cut her off, feeling uncomfortable watching her fumble, “it’s really okay.”

Nodding, she finally cut to the chase. “We’re going to a barbeque this weekend and I wanted to ask you if you’d like to join us?”

“A barbeque… with the whole town?” Anxiety shot through you in an instant.

“You don’t have to,” she assured you. “And you don’t have to answer now. I just wanted to let you know so you have time to think it over.”

Knowing she wasn’t expecting you to respond right away, you felt some of the pressure lift off your shoulders. Releasing some of your anxiety, you smiled at her. “Thank you, Mary. I’ll think about it.”

…

Walking out of your room, you headed out into the kitchen only to stop as you spotted Sam and Dean leaning over the bench, drinking greedily as they stood their in dirty and sweaty clothes. You could see a sheen of sweat on their skin as the sun came in through the window, shining right on them.

To say it wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d ever seen would be a lie. Just because you’d been through your own Hell doesn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate things, and you appreciated that view of the brothers. Especially Sam.

As if he could sense your eyes on him, Sam turned. “Hey!” He beamed.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Hi. Busy day?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, stepping up to you. “We got a few more cars in. Emergency jobs. All hands on deck kind of day.” He came to stand in front of you… and that’s when his smell hit

“Whoa,” laughing lightly, you pressed your hand to his chest to hold him back. “You stink.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Grabbing his shirt, he lifted it to his nose and took a whiff, only to pull back in disgust. “Okay, yeah, I stink. I’ll go jump in the shower, and then…” he hesitated, grabbing your hand as his eyes watched you carefully, “you wanna hangout?”

“That would be nice.”

“Good.” Giving your hand a squeeze, he then let you go and walked off… leaving you alone with Dean.

Dean had kept his distance since you’d opened up to him, but it wasn’t him being rude. When you did catch short moments where you were both in the same room he was more awkward than rude. He didn’t shut you down like he used to, now he mostly fumbled. Every time he tried talking it was like he was doing everything in his power not to insult you. It was getting a little frustrating, if you were being honest.

As soon as Sam was gone Dean began to shift. You were standing between him and any exit out of the house, or out of the room. So getting to an exit meant passing you, and that was apparently too much for him.

“Dean.”

His head shot up and turned to you, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“I’m not some fragile doll. I’m not gonna fall apart if you talk to me. I know things beforehand were a little rough, and that’s what led to me breaking down, but that doesn’t mean everything you say to me will get that reaction. If I’m gonna stay here, in your home and with your family, I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I can’t feel comfortable knowing I was an ass to you, judging you, when I had no right. Not when you’ve been through everything you have.”

“No one knows my story when we first meet. I’ve been treated horribly, and I’ve been treated nicely. Yes, you hurt a little and that fact everyone else has been so welcoming kinda made it worse, but I’m not holding that against you. You shouldn’t either.”

“Sam does,” he noted, surprising you. “He’s been different since that day. Not just with me. He knows you’re on the edge of leaving, of running. Even if you don’t run off now, he knows once your car is ready you’ll be gone. He thinks I haven’t been helping the situation.”

“Whether I leave right away or not has got nothing to do with anyone but me,” you assured him. “You were an ass, I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Doesn’t mean you are an ass. If I ran away from every asshole out there I’d never stop moving. I run away from the good things, not the bad things.”

Leaning back against the counter, he frowned a little. “I don’t know if I want you to tell my brother that or not.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Well, I don’t want him to think I’m pushing you out the door. But I don’t want him thinking he’s the reason you might leave. You make him happy and if he thinks getting close to you will chase you away it’ll drive him insane.”

Sam’s feelings towards you weren’t exactly unknown. He’d made it clear he wants to get to know you. It was scary to think he could get close, that he could like you, and that all over that could hurt either of you.

It was getting to the point where if you didn’t turn away now someone will get hurt no matter what, and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Yet you were still here, still thinking things over, taking your time when you should be leaving. You should be putting as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Hey!” Sam came back into the room, wrapping an arm around your waist as he smiled down at you.

“That was a quick shower,” you noted, trying to smile back despite the fact your conversation with Dean had stirred up some fresh anxiety.

“Didn’t want to keep you waiting.” He gave you a gentle squeeze. “You wanna go hangout?”

“Sure.”

Stepping around you, he grabbed your hand and started to back up towards the front door. While he didn’t tell you where you were going or what you’d be doing, you trusted and let him lead you away. Before disappearing outside, however, you looked back over your shoulder at Dean who was watching the two of you with concern in his eyes that made you feel a little uneasy.

As much as you hoped it wasn’t too late the look on Dean’s face told you the truth. Time had run out a while ago. If you were to leave, it was going to hurt everyone.

Bamby

[omgrachwrites]

Ocean Avenue (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: When Darcie Baker - the daughter of a police officer - breaks her misfit friend’s heart at 16 she regrets it everyday even after she graduates though she knows she can’t go back and change what happened. Everything changes when over 10 years later she meets the gorgeous mechanic.

Warnings: angst, fluff, underage drinking, sad Bucky :(

Words: 2170

A/N: I really hope you enjoy this next part, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged because I probably won’t be making a masterlist or linking the chapters because I think that tumblr is still being stupid lol. I love you all very much! xxx

Part Two

Bucky sighed, sitting back in the rubbish chair on wheels and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, the room smelled horrible – it smelled of stale coffee, body odor and it smelled like someone had tried to microwave fish for their lunch. The other side of the desk was empty but the other desks weren’t and he was getting tired of waiting, he was going to make them listen to him. Breathing angrily through his nose he clenched his teeth together and attempted his most polite voice.

“Excuse me? This really isn’t necessary,” Bucky exclaimed, pulling at the handcuffs that bound him to the desk, “I shouldn’t even be here, it’s no big deal!” he thought that nobody was going to answer him until a policewoman scowled at him.

“Well considering the amount of attempts you’ve made at escaping in the past, those cuffs are completely necessary,” she stood from her chair, grabbing her coffee cup, “now shut up and wait for Officer Baker.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, he’d never been seen by Darcie’s dad before, and he would have to stop himself from mentioning that he was friends with Darcie. Bucky definitely couldn’t spill the beans about the fact that he had a crush on her. It would only make Darcie’s dad angry at her and Bucky didn’t want that, Darcie didn’t deserve that. He still felt unworthy of her friendship. He didn’t really care what happened to him, he wouldn’t be in this damn city for much longer anyway.

A couple of moments later a door opened and out walked Darcie’s dad, his nose too wrinkled at the smell of the room. He remedied this by very obviously spraying the room with air freshener, he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it and that made him a jackass. He had the same grey eyes as his daughter but they had node of Darcie’s warmth and kindness.

“Here again Barnes?” he sat down, holding a photograph, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly,” the cold glare that the Officer fixed him with told Bucky that it was just the opposite.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky sighed, lying through his teeth. Officer Baker slammed his fist down on the desk, causing it to wobble and it made Bucky jump.

“This photograph says differently,” he paused, presumably for dramatic effect before he continued, “it shows that you were speeding, nearly twice the speed limit. Normally you’d just get a ticket but you’ve been here before haven’t you?”

Bucky chewed his bottom lip, it was true, he was an adrenaline junkie but he just wished that Baker would shut up. It took every inch of Bucky’s willpower to not open his mouth and say something that he would surely regret.

Instead he said, “so what now Officer? Am I going to jail?”

“No,” Officer Baker simply said which surprised Bucky, “you’ll be getting a fine, and I know you’re good for it. You’re only here because I want to meet some of the trouble makers that my daughter goes to school with. She’s smart enough to avoid people like you like the plague.”

Bucky bit his plump bottom lip so hard that it almost bled, he was dying to rub it in Baker’s face that he was taking Darcie to Homecoming. Though he reluctantly refrained.

The following day Bucky was walking down the hallway with Steve, complaining about his run in with Darcie’s dad, “it’s not like I even care though, I’m leaving soon.”

Steve sighed at his best friend, raking his hand through his golden blonde hair, tilting his head slightly to look up at Bucky, “do you still want to leave man? I mean, you’ve got something to stay for now.”

Bucky shrugged, “nah, she’s just a girl. They come and they go,” both Bucky and Steve knew he was lying. Darcie wasn’t just any girl.

A soft warm touch on Bucky’s elbow made him turn to look, it was Darcie and she was smiling at him shyly. Bucky felt a warm, swooping sensation in his chest, he just couldn’t believe that they were friends and he was taking her to Homecoming.

“I’ll meet you in class man,” Steve smirked, Bucky nodded at him before turning to face the beautiful girl, “so what’s up Darc?”

She blushed a rosy pink colour, it had quickly become Bucky’s favourite colour, “I guess, I um just wanted to say hi and tell you that I can’t wait to go to Homecoming with you. And, I know that you were worried about coming to pick me up but I’ve convinced my parents to go out that night.”

Bucky thought that she was pretty adorable, “yeah?” he asked, cupping her jaw, rubbing slow circles into her warm skin with his thumb, “well, I can’t wait to go with you either,” he murmured before leaning so close to her that their lips were mere inches away from one another. Their lips were about to touch when the bell rang, a sharp shrill sound that made them jump apart from each other, chuckling nervously.

“I should get to class,” Darcie giggled, gesturing in the opposite direction.

Bucky pouted as he nodded, “okay but just remember doll, I will get that kiss someday soon.”

A couple of weeks later, on the night of Homecoming Darcie was sitting next to Bucky in his car, she looked a vision, she really did. Her pale blonde hair was curled and twisted into an up do; she was wearing a powder blue dress that floated daintily down to the floor. She was absolutely stunning but something was the matter, she seemed distant. Her smile looked forced and her laugh sounded fake, it bothered Bucky because he just wanted her to have a good time.

“Darcie is everything okay?” he asked, glancing over at her for a moment before fixing his eyes back onto the road.

“Of course,” she smiled but Bucky didn’t see the sadness swimming in her bright eyes and he didn’t notice the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Bucky nodded and decided to leave it at that, he trusted her to tell him if and when she was ready.

The gym looked amazing, there wasn’t a theme for this year’s Homecoming but it was still decorated beautifully. The room was awash with holographic light from the numerous disco balls that were hung around the room. Scattered all along the floor were multi coloured balloons that people were forced to kick out of the way.

“Hey, you two!” Clint slurred, holding a solo cup and he got in between Darcie and Bucky, wrapping one arm around their shoulders, he’d obviously been here a while, “I spiked the punch bowl with vodka,” he giggled drunkenly, swaying a little, he clearly thought that it was hilarious, “you look really pretty Darcie.”

“Why thank you Clint,” she giggled, her laugh was musical and pretty, she shared a smile with Bucky and that was one of the few genuine smiles that Bucky would see that night but he would have no idea.

The night went by wonderfully, Bucky didn’t drink any of the spiked punch because he wanted to make sure that he got Darcie home safely, though that didn’t stop her from drinking a little. She soon became giggly and tipsy – her cheeks prettily flushed with pink – even more so when she met up with her best friend Sam and his date Nat.

Bucky was completely entranced by the gorgeous young woman as she socialised and danced with her friends, he’d tried to kiss her a couple of times already though each time they either got interrupted or she backed away. Bucky soon got the horrible nagging feeling that Darcie was elated to be at Homecoming, just not with him.

Regardless, Bucky and Darcie were having a great time with their group of friends; they danced together, ate together and laughed together. Even though everyone was having an amazing time Bucky still couldn’t help but feel that something was really wrong. It wasn’t until Bucky and Darcie were slow dancing that he spoke up.

“Can I kiss you Darc?” he smiled, faltering a little when he saw the split second of hesitation on her face, “I’m sure that we won’t get interrupted this time.”

“Sure Buck, you can kiss me,” she blushed and Bucky leaned down towards her lips and finally, finally their lips met.

Darcie’s lips were soft and warm and they tasted of cherries, as Bucky kissed her he got chills and fireworks exploded in his head and chest. Though, it seemed that she was only half-heartedly kissing him back. Bucky pulled away and sighed.

“Did you even want to come here with me tonight? It’s okay if you didn’t,” Bucky felt his chest clench painfully as he spoke those words.

Darcie bit her lip and looked up at him from beneath her long lashes, “we need to talk but not here. How about we go down to the beach?” Bucky nodded, he supposed that that was going to be okay but he was nervous about what they had to talk about. Darcie leaned forwards on her tip toes to kiss the corner of his lips. Bucky noticed that she looked sad. She looked so very sad.

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

The ocean water lapped over Darcie’s feet refreshingly – she had taken her heels off, they had been killing her – as she walked along the beach with Bucky. Out of the corner of Darcie’s eye she saw the handsome young man glance at her then back down at the sand.

“So, I think that you’ve stalled long enough for one night, what did you want to talk about?” Bucky asked, breaking the peaceful silence.

Darcie sighed sadly before gazing up at Bucky, trying to memorise every inch of his beautiful face because she knew that after this conversation he would never want to see her again and she couldn’t blame him.

“I don’t think that we should be friends anymore,” she simply said, closing her eyes for a second. Her words were so harsh and bitter but she didn’t want to sugar coat it or build it up for him.

“What?” Bucky burst out laughing, it was Darcie’s favourite sound and she’d miss it more than anything, “you’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Darcie shook her head, somehow finding the courage to look at him and she wished that she didn’t, he looked very hurt and confused, “I’m not kidding.”

“B-but, I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” he asked in a small voice and hearing how weak he sounded tore at Darcie’s heartstrings. It made her want to wrap her arms around him, hold him close and tell him that everything would be okay.

“I can’t afford to be distracted by someone like you Bucky, I need to get into medical school, being a surgeon is the only thing that I’ve ever wanted to do, and I’m not compromising that for anyone.”

“What do you mean someone like me?” his voice was wobbly like he was trying not to cry, “I would never try and distract you.”

“I don’t want to be friends with someone who thinks breaking the law is a good pastime,” Darcie looked away, not wanting to see the lost puppy expression on his gorgeous face, she didn’t want to see those blue eyes well up with tears.

“Why did you even come to Homecoming with me then?” Bucky grabbed her arm so that she was facing him, so that she could see him cry. The tears were flowing freely now, they passed over his lips and he didn’t even bother to wipe them away. Darcie hated herself for what she said next.

“You’ve got a crush on me so I knew you’d take me and Sam was already going with Nat, nobody else would have asked me. You were my last resort. I didn’t know if you would leave me alone or not,” she winced at her own words.

“You’re so conceited, you really think that everything is about you, you're not the only one with dreams,” he mumbled, his voice breaking, “though I guess it’s a good thing, I’m joining the army and I wasn’t looking forward to leaving you. But now I can leave you in peace knowing that we never would have been anything and you will just be another pretty girl I knew once in High School.”

“Bucky,” Darcie started, she didn’t want him to leave like this, what if something happened to him and this was the last conversation that they would ever have. She longed to reach out and stroke his cheek, brush away those tears that streamed from his eyes.

“Don’t,” he shook his head, “just don’t. I hope you’re happy now, don’t bother contacting me. Ever,” that was the last thing he said to her before he walked away. Before he left her standing on the windy beach, in the cold water with the hole in her heart.

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@void-imaginations @theonelittleone @marvelellie @thesswintersoldier @dreamacoholic

[tulpacest]

Perspective

A short fic exploring Korekiyo & Sister’s relationship towards the end of her life.  My writing is a little rusty, but I am so glad that I am able to do something for these two again. AO3 cross-post: here 

Any feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for so much for reading! 

The night air hummed sweetly with the sound of crickets chirping. A hazy white-noise that awoke the evening, the swift vibrating of their wings marking the cusp of summer. It would not be long until they would have to slide the doors that opened onto the engawa veranda shut, when the honeyed heat slowly melted away into autumnal frost. A chill already hung in the air, one that pricked goosebumps on her skin. He wondered if he should have already shut the door, but to deprive her of that beautiful vista… to deprive her of the moon and the stars that overlooked her at night… he could not bring himself to do it. And so the hum of crickets continued to fill her room, and so too did the slightly smoky scent of sweet osmanthus. “Sister… Did you know?”

She did not respond. That was alright - after all, she could not. Not while a machine pumped rhythmically into her lungs. Not while she remained artificially sedated. Not while her mouth lay open, red and angry and raw. It was alright.

She was resting so that she could heal. “The singing of crickets in Brazil is said to be a sign of impending rains.” ‘Ah! Korekiyo, and why do you think that is?’ “Perhaps when the conditions are most suited for the crickets to mate and die is just prior to the rainy season.” ‘Hm-hm ~, the mating song does sound a little like the pitter-patter of rain, do you agree?’ “I would never have considered that, but of course! Yes… to examine every angle of a symbol, environmental, textural, sensual… Only then do we have a chance of finding the truth.” Her mouth stayed open, her endotracheal tube sitting pertly between her teeth. The only noise she made was a faint gargling sound. Could the tube have been fitted improperly? Or was it her body’s natural reaction, them muscles in her throat tightening and relaxing against this foreign invasion. He brushed her lips with his finger, leaning forwards as he examined her mouth, hair falling over her chest. ‘Do you think we can ever find the truth? Even with all our thick descriptions, our deep thoughts, our probing questions… most things will be forever shrouded in the mists of the unknown. Does that frustrate you, Korekiyo?’

“Not at all, Sister. I think… that is what makes it so fun.”   Her throat looked so dry… Salvia weakly bubbled, yellow-green mucus forming around the edges of her mouth. Does it hurt? No, he chides himself. She’s dreaming, in a world of ecstasy. Nothing can hurt her in there. Nothing. “To be unable to understand everything, to frustrate ourselves with even the simplest of things; such as why a Brazilian hears a cricket and thinks rain but a pilgrim in Kyoto hears the voice of Buddha… The infinite possibilities one humble insect possesses over the human mind. That is what I find so intriguing.” Standing, he quickly searched the room, returning after a brief moment with a bag of toiletries. It would be some time, now, before a nurse would visit. But, she needn’t worry. This was no chore to him. To help her, in any small way, that was his honour. Kneeling into the tatami, the sound of crickets still thrumming in his ear, he gently dipped a cotton bud into her throat. “In parts of China, they believed that the cricket would bring good fortune. In Barbados, they say the same thing. Fourteen thousand kilometres between those distant shores - and yet, still, the whirring of an insect’s wings inspired the same thought in them.” Carefully swabbing away her mucus, he continued to stare deep into her throat. The ridges of her mouth. Her flaccid tongue. Her teeth… they would need brushing, too. And her hair… her whole body, really, was begging for attention. He put down the swab. First, he would change her catheter bag.

To do that, she would have to be undressed. Gently running his hands over her hair, he gazed quietly at her face. Her expressionless sleep. Her folded eyes. “Sister. Please, you desire the feeling of cleanliness, yes?” She always seemed her happiest after a bath, cheeks a sensational red, her smile full and genuine. Come feel my skin. It’s so soft. Laughing as she squeezed her own arm. It feels like I’ve gained weight. I’ll have to bathe before they weigh me, next time. What do you think?

“I am sorry. I will have to undress you. Is that alright?”

Her mouth tightening, a red smile blossoming. She’d lift up her bathrobe - sudden and unexpectedly, the laughter reaching its peak. Anasyrma. A softening of her expression as she swayed side to side, her lewdness still exposed. It is a ritual gesture recognised in cultures all across the world. Pliny the Elder thought a woman could lull the storm out of the sea with this gesture alone, the Chinese and Irish both marvelling in its ability to ward off enemies. It can chase off demons, scare the gods, end the rains. Are you scared of it, Korekiyo? He began to undo the ties of the hospital gown around her neck, untucking the robe from her sides,  pulling it from her body like wind rippling over sand. Her chest stared up at him, breasts limp and her stretched brown nipples arousing absolutely nothing in him. Her body was speckled with familiar markings - her scars that cleaved her like white kintsugi rivulets, her freckled hips, the mole just by her stomach. It was still her body, but… how different it looked. Swallowing air, veins flush to the surface, new sores forming. She was still laughing, completely disrobed now. Deep summer, the veranda still in full view. No one will notice, she insisted - and besides, the moon illuminated her body in a way that was far too flattering to dismiss. How alive she had looked, then. Drinking in the light, her breasts kissed by that white-blue air that seemed to soften everything. Are you frightened, Korekiyo? Or do you think this gesture represents something else entirely? She’d opened her legs, her mouth brighter than her eyes. To me, I think, it evokes surprise and laughter. To me, I think that it can be used for emotional healing.

He spread her legs so that he might access her catheter more easily. Standing, he went to wash his hands. Returning, he carefully removed the catheter tubing that connected to the bag. He re-connected the tubing to another bag. The soiled bag was taken to the bathroom. He opened the valve and let the contents drain into the toilet. He repeated the washing of his hands. He filled the bag with warm, soapy water. He drained it of soap. He refilled it with a disinfectant. Shaking the solution, he placed the bag on the bathroom counter - leaving it to rest. He washed his hands again.

To me, I think it represents letting go of sadness.

Filling a basin, he returned to her side. With a washcloth, he softly wiped away the sweat and oils that had come to her skin’s surface. She remained motionless as he scrubbed under her armpit, lifting her breast so that he might clean beneath it, watching as soap bubbles gathered between her ribs and in the depression where her stomach lay and her hips jutted from. She was so thin, but not as thin, he reminded himself, as last year. “You’ve not been eating. I have observed it, the way you slip food from your plate. Mother may not be able to see it, but I do.” Her face had soured, then. Her cheeks sucked in, her teeth rubbing against her lips. She hadn’t said anything, but he knew it was because she had lost the ability to taste. How all foods must have been reduced to textures, like chewing through bark. Perhaps it was ritualistic fasting, but they both knew there was no curative powers to that.

“So, allow me to eat for you.” With a dry washcloth, he dabbed all of the places the water had flowed over. It was not the same ritual, he knew, that she used to take. All of her lotions and oils and pretty-smelling things. Mother complained if he applied them, because then, of course, she’d know he had been doing this. Then she’d be reminded of her negligence. Failing to love unselfishly must be a torturous thing.

And she had watched, with disbelieving eyes - as he scraped the hospital food from her plate. Slipped the overcooked noodles into his mouth, cold and flavourless - and instead, described to her their exquisite ecstasy. No longer was it noodles he was eating, but living Unagi. “Ah, this eel! How excellently she has been prepared Split from the stomach, Osakan style, encouraging one to literally ‘spill their guts’ during a night of socialising. The way she still writhes in my mouth, tickling my gums, bringing sensations to places I nary knew existed - isn’t it wonderful? Should I swallow her whole, Sister - or do you think she deserves mercy for this sacrifice?”   This sight, of a noodle transformed into an eel - a strand still hanging through the zip of the meal-time mask she had made… It made her laugh. The shock of the question, the horror and beauty and ecstasy that he was describing - it made her laugh even harder. The idea that this hospital would serve a delicacy like live unagi! She had taken his chopsticks then, brought the eel to her own mouth - quivered as it slipped between her lips. Let’s study how both methods affect the culinary experience. Crunch her between your teeth, savour her flavouring, relax in knowing that you have delivered a sweet mercy. But I will swallow her, and I will delight in her agony as she travels through my digestive system, and I will remember how she did not give up trying to escape until the very last moment.

And it didn’t matter, then, that the lack of taste made her throat clamp up. That noodle, transformed, the memories of grilled eel with rice and pickles, the realisation that she could not give in because of this - not yet, no. Not yet. She had to keep eating, she had to keep dreaming, she had to - because this laughter, those gentle eyes, this moment alone was worth any pain. And now, she doesn’t feel pain at all - do you, Sister? Isn’t it beautiful? She was dry, now. His fingers slipping through her hair as he combed it. He would wash it later. Clip her nails. Give her a massage. Speak to her until Mother came back from wherever she was, wherever it was that she went every night instead of being here with her.

“But, Sister. Did you know? Crickets do not only symbolise positive things. Human beings as fickle things. No matter how hard social structures try, there will always be those who see one thing and think another. Yes. The cricket,” he breathed, “Is said to have been the first being who wished death into the world.” “In Alagoas, it is said that the cricket announces death when it enters the house.” Carefully combing out a tangle, he stared out into the veranda. Golden light pierced the sky, pink clouds on a background of stripped blue. The sound of crickets still drowned out everything, louder than her ventilator, far louder than his whispered voice, louder still than the sweeping of the brush through her hair.

‘I wonder,’ He said to himself in a falsetto, knowing that if he could eat for her, he may as well speak for her, too. ‘I wonder which it will be for us. A harbinger of good fortune, the crackling laughter of god, or a messenger of death?’

Placing her comb beside the futon - he leaned across her body, resting his head on her shoulder.

‘Don’t cry.’

Don’t cry, she’d croaked, leaning limply on him, golden eyes barely open. There’s no time for weeping. You have to be strong. If you cry, I will cry. And that would be a rotten thing, wouldn’t it?

‘Don’t cry,’ she repeated, now, in his voice. He remembered her embrace, how easily she once squeezed resolve, joy, warmth into him. Lifting one of her heavy, lifeless arms, he drew it over his back. The other, he draped across his waist.

Held like this, in the cusp of summer, her voice a pleasant memory leaking from his lips - he felt…

Wonderful.

Their two bodies entwined like this, the flickering of life in her like a candle easing in and out of the wind. Is it frightening? Is it deserving of mercy? Is it representative of the letting go of sadness, or is it wishing death into the world?

Are we all of these things? Are we any of them?

[zhovel]

letters of war

Summary: Beca, a soldier, gets stationed in West Berlin. She meets Chloe there. The world was just against them.

Word count: 2608

Rating: G

read on ao3

Written for this ask, betaed by Janie

Beca, sixteen and orphaned for years, signed up for the army.

They didn’t ask for her age. Not like they cared, anyway, with their patriotic hearts and toughened hands, all they wanted was fresh blood, fresh meat.

And when they called her a one-of-a-kind soldier, they were right, because only people who had nothing to lose were willing to take risks as much as she did. Her captain called her in for a talk, told her that her life belonged to her squad too, but nothing went into her ears; not when the soldiers in her troop took every chance they had to tease and rile her up for being a girl.

The second world war was already over when she got deployed.

-

She got stationed in West Berlin. A place divided into three, nicknamed Trizonia because America doesn't know how to keep its nose out of European business and got involved.

At night on the seventh day, Beca slipped out of the barracks, squishing her feet into uncomfortable, army-issued boots. She was silent as she snuck past the guards, years of training finally useful.

She cut a hole in the chain-metal fence surrounding the camp. It rattled when she crept through it, wanderlust finally catching up to her. Germany was dead silent at two in the morning, except for the crickets, which reminded Beca of America.

She wasn’t homesick. Never would be, because if you asked any hardened soldier, home was the only word they needed to forget.

It could have been a desert for how dry it was, the gravel crunching against her feet as she setted off for the nearest town. Beca hoped no one could see her, with the dead giveaway camouflage uniform she was wearing. She had enough problems without a supervisor breathing down her neck at every moment.

Every step felt like freedom, and yet, they could realise she was gone anytime.

There was a fork in the road. She took the left.

Finally, when she saw artificial, white lights in the distance, she grinned.

-

A café was open in the small village she stumbled her way into, even at this hour. She didn't expect that, she didn't want anyone catching her and asking her for her identity.

Was it worth it? Hell fucking yeah.

(But she didn’t really fit in here, a girl in non-girl clothes and, and, and-)

Instead, Beca slipped between alleys and listened out for any approaching footsteps. She breathed in the air - smelled like home, the bakery must be nearby -  and wondered, at how far apart two places could be, and yet so similar.

She didn't realise how much small towns could look alike. The sound of nature was so weirdly nostalgic, like the time a friend from her childhood town snuck into the orphanage and stayed over and they escaped-

She got caught up in memories.

Too caught up, in fact, because she didn’t hear the girl approach.

“Psst!”

Beca jumped, landing on the metal grate she was standing on and making a loud clang. “Shit,” she whispered to herself, whipping her head from side to side to look for an exit.

The girl cleared her throat awkwardly, her head tilted slightly to the left. Beca saw the red hair falling down her back in loose curls.

Beca opened her mouth to defend herself, but before she could say anything, the girl cut in.

“ Are you from here? ” she asked, the harsh German language somehow sounding soft in her voice.

“ I- am just- passing ,” Beca said, brokenly.

She fled before the girl could ask anything else.

-

The next morning, Beca was in a bad mood, and not just from the lack of sleep.

Now, socialising with her troop wasn’t something that Beca particularly enjoyed. Captain, however, decided that she was too detached from her fellow soldiers and that was a “bad thing”, so he he pulled her aside and made her join one of their nightly trip to a nearby pub.

Beca sighed. The only person she could stand here, sort of, was Jesse, the youngest man who followed her around like a lost puppy most of the time.

The captain, turning around, gave her a meaningful raise of his eyebrows. Beca considered flipping up her middle finger at him, but decided that she’d rather swallow her own pride then do another thirty laps around camp.

She siddled her way closer to Jesse.

“Sup, Swanson.”

He looked at her with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Su- sup?”

Internally, Beca sighed. She missed the sharp banter she used to share with people in the orphanage, even if they were kind of assholes most of the time.

She forced herself to continue with the stilted conversation, not even noticing when they reach a place that looked familiar-

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

Beca was an unlucky son of a bitch. She was in the same town she ran away from less than five hours ago.

To make things worse, they were heading quite near the alley where Beca had seen the redhead. She hadn’t realise how close the alley was to the cafe, or how pretty the sign on top of the shop was, but in daylight, everything was clear.

(Clear-as-day, she thought to herself. Heh.)

The so-called pub was the cafe. Double fuck.

God hates Beca. Beca hates God too.

She tried to school her face into a neutral expression as she followed Jesse into the cafe, with the others following them.

“How many?” The waiter asked them in stilted English. Jesse held up ten fingers, then realises it wasn’t enough.

“Uh- twenty-four,” He stammered.

Again, Beca tried to muffle her disappointment. Jesse felt too- different? dampened, that's the word, compared to the people she used to know.

They crowded into a booth, bodies squished together. Beca thanked her lucky stars that the girl from last night wasn’t there. She watched as the soldiers around her jostled each other playfully, being too loud for the otherwise quiet cafe.

Here, she was a bystander. She didn’t fit in.

When the captain waved a hand in the air to order, instead of the first waiter coming over, a girl with red hair comes their way.

Beca had spoken, as usual, too soon.

At least she was hidden quite well among her squad, a tiny five foot woman camouflaged in-between men.

The redhead said, “I’m Chloe and I’ll be your server today,” in a lilting accent, like she’d been watching too many American movies. “How can I help you?”

Ordering took a long time. Beca was the last one.

“And you?” Chloe said, turning to her.

The second Chloe saw Beca, her eyes widened with recognition. Beca tried her best to convey the message of shut up with nothing but her face, while still being subtle enough that Jesse wouldn’t pick up on it. From the girl’s conflicted expression, she’d succeeded.

Beca said, “Just a coffee,” and sunk back down in the chair.

She watched Chloe for the rest of the hour, hoping that she wouldn’t tell anyone. Chloe looked too busy to do anything weird.

(Beca sighed, relieved.)

A blonde brought them their food in several trips. When Beca looked up, she caught Chloe staring at the blonde’s butt as she walked, biting her lip as if she was repressing too many emotions at once.

Beca tears her gaze away. It wasn’t her thing to know.

When they left, she left a big tip in neat blue bills, stacked.

-

Beca started following the guys to the cafe after that day. Chloe served their table each time. Beca kept her head down and missed her ratty hoodies that she could hide in.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

-

The blonde was gone the next time they went in. And she remained gone the time after, and after after; and Beca saw Chloe wilt a little more with each passing day.

She made her mind up.

-

A ring on a girl’s thumb, back in America, was a code for being gay. Beca didn’t know if it was the same in West Berlin, but the next time she goes to the cafe alone with Jesse, Beca made sure her ring was sitting firmly on her thumb.

She was the first to order, sliding her hand across the menu, the metal ring glinting under the sunlight streaming in through the window.

“Oh,” Chloe said, sounding surprised, under her breath.

Beca met her eyes, steely. “Oh?”

They grinned at each other, ignoring the clammer of people around them.

(Outsiders, Beca mused, always managed to build back their own community right from the ground. The struggle, the pain; it was just for outsiders.)

-

Just before they left, Chloe chased after them, her stained apron flapping with each movement.

She stopped in front of Beca.

“ Does your friend speak my language?” Chloe asked, in German.

Beca shook her head mutedly.

Chloe leaned forward, closing the distance between them. She tugged on the cuff of Beca’s sleeve. “ Are you the girl? From the alley?”

“Ja,” Beca said. “ And thank you for not telling anyone. ”

Chloe’s eyes lit up. “ What is your name? ”

“ Beca. ”

Chloe said, “Hello, Beca,” and Beca realised how much trouble she was in when her heart gave a little leap at how her name sounded from Chloe’s lips.

-

Chloe started giving her special cupcakes every time Beca came by. Beca left behind a scribbled thanks on a folded paper towel that she hasn’t used yet.

And soon, the thanks Chloe turned into Beca leaving Chloe anecdotes about her life in the army, and letting her learn more about past Beca in general.

Beca came alone one day. When Chloe passed her a cupcake, their fingers touch.

“Give me your address,” Beca said, soft. “So we can be official pen pals.”

Chloe paused for a moment, then-

“Alright.”

-

Chloe,

I’ve never done anything like this. Give me your letters under my plates when I’m at the cafe.

B

My friend,

I am not brave enough to refer to you by name, for fear that my parents may see. Address me as Bella, if you wish to do so. We cannot risk anything, in this wartime, anyone could find us.

Do you have another name?

C

-

Dearest Bella,

You can call me-

Beca frowned. Everyone in her squad called her Mitchell, and the occasional Madam if she was being particularly snippy that day.

A sudden memory came back to her. Her mother, picking her up from under her armpits when she was a child, flinging them across the room until they were a blur of laughter and happiness and safety.

“ My little DJ ,” she had said. “ I can't believe you made me a mixtape! For my birthday !”

Was she really ready to give this up to a stranger? A possible lover?

Will she ever find someone like her again?

She crosses the last few words out.

My mother used to call me her DJ. I trust you with this name.

With much love, B

-

Letters fly back and forth, until Chloe became Beca’s safe place, and Beca learnt more about another person than she thought she ever would.

(A confession this time.)

Dear Bella,

I should not be telling you this. I smuggled someone into West Berlin.

They were a child, love, and I could see their ribs.

DJ

-

Three days later, Beca received another letter. Shorter this time, written on a piece of paper that looked like it'd been torn from a paper plate.

DJ, I think you may be a better person than I could've imagined.

Two kisses underneath.

Beca held the letter tight in her hand, and dreamt of falling asleep next to red hair that night.

-

Months pass. Beca sneaked out in the middle of the night to post letters to Chloe, and tried to shove Chloe’s letters into the pockets of her trousers as quick as possible.

They fall in love, slowly but surely.

Wouldn't it be lovely , Beca wrote one day, if our letters could be shown to the world one day? So they could see that we are people too, and not just- forbidden?

Chloe said, “I like that you come alone,” the next time they saw each other; and Beca understood - I’m glad you’re here.

-

Six more months flew by.

Summer passed, the flowers outside the cafe bloomed and wilted under Beca’s watchful eyes.

It was a slow day today. Beca waited until her shift is over, then snuck out to meet Chloe. Chloe was locking up the cafe when Beca arrived.

“Chloe,” Beca said from the shadows, leaning against a wall. Chloe jumped.

“You asshole!” Chloe said playfully, and went in to swat her on the shoulder.

Beca caught her wrist before her hand could make contact. She said, “not so fast, Beale,” and flipped their positions and pinned her against the wall. “I win.”

Chloe said, “Do you, now?” and her eyes flickered down to Beca’s lips.

When they kissed for the first time, it felt like going home, and it was in the same alley they met in.

-

My dearest Bella,

I am going home soon. What do we do from here?

DJ

-

Chloe answered, I am madly in love with you.

Beca wrote back and said, I can't do this anymore.

-

Things Beca was: Twenty. A soldier, best of her troop. A legend among women, shunned by men.

Things Beca was not: brave enough.  

She cried, alone in her bunk, and flew back to America the next day.

Her sergeant didn’t question the red rims of her eyes.

-

Chloe wrote letters, but she had no way to give them to Beca.

-

There were stories about people falling in love on different sides of a war.

And yet, this time, it wasn't a war between countries. It was a fight against oppression, what happens when you cage a wild animal and a girl tames it with a soft voice and kindness, the first shown in a long time.

Beca didn’t see Chloe again for years. She wondered what would have happened if she had stayed.

-

At fifty, Beca still wasn’t married. Her neighbours, when they gossiped about her in their white suburban homes, blamed it on the war. She didn’t tell them she never fought in one.

How could she, when it wasn't just her secret to tell?

She kept a locket around her neck, clasped tight, a lock of curly red hair nested safely inside.

-

An old woman opens the door when the mailman knocks. There are wrinkles around her eyes, but not happy ones, like the lines on people who laugh.

Those were lines of fatigue, of something that was beyond him.

“Madam,” he greeed, tipping his hat. She gives him a slight nod, watching him with piercing eyes as he dug around his bag for her letter.

“For DJ Mitchell,” he said. “From Bella Beale.”

He turned around after he gave her the letter, but not before catching the woman clutch the letter to her heart with tears starting to form in her eyes.

A soldier, the family down the road told him.

It wasn't his business, anyway.

-

(In green ink, in slanted handwriting too neat to be a man’s-)

Dearest love,

Hello again. I found you.

Are you good? How is life treating you? I’ve been thinking about you since the day you left without a word. I’m hurt. But I understand why, it wouldn’t have worked because we weren’t in a time of peace.

I married. And I divorced him, DJ, because he wasn’t you. Do you understand?

I forgive you, DJ. Or Beca, as I can call you now. I love you.

Yours, forever.

Chloe

[crowleyaj]

it gets even weirder

This is the very very belated last part of this year’s (well, last year’s) 9DaysCWC. I was supposed to write it on 1st Jan... well, that didn’t work out.

It’s a sequel to this ficlet.

00Q, Hannigram. New Year’s Eve Dinner. Q has doubts.

Q looked at himself in the large bedroom mirror. A completely different man stared back at him. He seldom wore dinner jackets—it was nothing like his style; unaccustomed to and undue. But this evening required it, so he had dug it out the back of his wardrobe full of otherwise colourful clothes, and told himself it was for James.

He fixed the cufflinks and straightened the sleeves. It was just a New Year’s Eve dinner at the neighbours’. A fancy dinner. Yet, he did not stop questioning the necessity of a sodding dinner jacket and a bow tie.

Q sighed. Besides the festive clothes, the dinner would also require socialising with the other occupants of the house, which, as well as the former, was not something he would enjoy. If he was being honest, he was somewhat fond of one of them only. The woman was a toxicologist who had helped Q-Branch with one of their projects. Perhaps he could count Mrs Caldwell from the ground floor as a good acquaintance if he squinted.

 He wanted to step away from the mirror and leave the strange figure behind, but then he glimpsed a fast flick of a fluffy white tail behind him. Their cat, Pampuria, has sneaked into the room. She meowed. Apparently, she agreed with the sceptical attitude he held towards the event.

She crept between his feet. With loud purrs, she danced between them, and some white fur stuck to his trouser legs. Oh, of course she had to be an additional inconvenience to the already tiresome evening.

But the feline was also, undeniably, a distraction from the thoughts running around in his head. Q smiled. He squatted down to scratch her ears. She waved her tail in the air contentedly.  

“I know you wish me to go no more than I do, Pampuria, but I have to,” he explained with fondness he saved for no one but James and their furry companion. He talked to her like that often, especially when James was off due to King and Country’s business. “Commitments a person of my rank and status has to keep. Besides, James is waiting for me, you know. He’s left earlier to help the host with preparations, old mates they are. I cannot do that to them.”

Q rose. With a subtle move of his right leg, he prompted Pampuria to run to the kitchen along with him. The Lecters had a dog, so he omitted cleaning the trousers for its uselessness.

“Your dinner is in the bowl, it should be enough. I’ve poured you some milk, too,” he glanced at the more or less empty bowl, “but I’m afraid that’s all we have. I will be back by two, I presume. Or later.”

He wouldn’t be so sure as to guarantee anything; the party may as well go on till the morning. That depended on the amount of alcoholic beverages and revelry from the other guests’ side, and knowing them all, it will both be high.

Pampuria meowed again, and pattered to the food bowls. She did not touch any of it, merely eyed the contents. With a good-bye, Q finally continued to the foyer.  

 He spared one last look in the smaller mirror. Its frame, lavishly adorned with a patina of faux dinge reminded him of James, who had been overexcited about the party. The mirror belonged to him long before the flat became theirs.

Q’s wild hair couldn’t be contained any more, and the bow tie would get askew with every move anyway, so he concluded his looks were acceptable at it is. His hand mechanically reached for a scarf lurking at him from the hanger—but of course, there was no reason to take it. He was not heading out, to the freezing cold and heavy snowfall. He grabbed his keys.

He opened the front door only to slam it shut again the next instant. He locked it, just to be certain, and checked his Omega watch. It told him that it was 8:56, high time to appear at the party. It was starting at nine, in a flat directly above theirs.

Q walked the way to the stone staircase with old white wooden bannisters, across the tiled floor. He has just made the first step when the door to the other flat opened and closed with the clinking of keys. He was not the last one to come, then.

He came to a stop and turned around. Dr Barbara Corner, the toxicologist, walked to him in her clopping black stilettos, wearing a smile on her face. Apart from that, she was wearing a plain, black robe that brushed against the floor with every step and did wonders to her figure.

He could appreciate intelligent company on the way. It was a few days since he came out of his nest and visited her to enjoy a cuppa and an open, intelligent conversation. “Good evening, Barbara. You look wonderful,” Q complimented her. He meant it.

“Good evening, Andrew. You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, and the smile widened. There was a disconcerting flash in her glacial blue eyes. “How’s Pamps doing?”

Oh yes, oh yes. His poor, old, dying cat was always in the centre of everybody’s interest. Q did not know whether she worried about her, or there was something else to it.

“So far so good, thank you. I think she won’t give up as easily. She’s practically immortal,” he chuckled, and it was partially true. She celebrated her fifteenth birthday this year. But it also hurt. He loved her as his own child. James had rescued her from the hold of his villainous step-brother those years ago in Morocco, and since then, she has been living with the two of them, finally feeling loved.

Barbara noticed the sudden sadness in his expression, so she changed the subject as they walked up the first flight of stairs.

 They talked about the project she had helped him all the way to the flat. As soon as they approached the door, their thoughts drifted elsewhere. The image of the party became real again.

Q brought himself to knock on the door. His hand was trembling, imperceptibly to Barbara.

Having had that pointless conversation, Q momentarily forgot about the nervousness. As they both ran out of meaningful topics to discuss and were standing in silence, waiting for someone to open, the slight, unflagging fear oozing from the Lecters’ flat through the gap above the threshold enveloped him again. He fidgeted in that jacket that did not quite belong on his body.

The door swung open a few second later. Q breathed in relief when he saw the familiar blond standing behind it, clutching it with one hand.

“Good evening, James,” Dr Corner greeted the agent with yet another smile and no visible trace of concern whatsoever. Nevertheless, Q knew it was there, in the corner of her eye. She paid the place respect as well as everyone who has seen what they have. It was dangerous, he just could not fathom why.

Perhaps it was the antlers, strange paintings, weapons, and many other creepy statuettes placed everywhere, hanging on the dark paperhanging covering every wall in the foyer and living room, or the sterile coldness of the steel kitchen and the sharp knives laid ostentatiously on the counter. If he did not know better, he would say it looked like a serial killer’s lair. Though, he knew Hannibal Lecter worked as a renowned psychiatrist, and his husband was ex-FBI who now had a part-time job in an animal shelter—which he did out of the goodness of his heart, he had told.

This sort of an eerie atmosphere that gave one goose bumps upon even approaching it reigned the place. But apparently, he and Barbara were the only ones who thought there was something off about the flat. He stopped mentioning any suspicious thoughts about it to James right after he had said Q was simply being paranoid because he worked for an intelligence agency.

“Good evening and a happy New Year, Barbara,” said James and stepped away from the door to let her and his partner inside. “Andrew, my darling.”

As Q walked by, James pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. Despite parting two hours ago, laying his eyes on Q conjured a heartfelt smile on James’ face. Q smiled back, it was impossible to resist, but it wasn’t credible. Not even James’ presence couldn’t put him to ease.

The trio continued to the living room, where the rest of the guests were sitting on the sofa upholstered with black leather and matching armchairs, occasionally sipping on red wine from tall, thin glasses. They were all dressed in equally elegant, shining robes as though they were going to the opera. Q mentally laughed at the fake glitz with which people like them wheeled into Dr Lecter’s favour since the day he had moved in this house in Notting Hill. They could smell the wealth and genteel that radiated from his persona, and wanted to get close to him, without trying to peer under the person suit and seeing what truly is inside. The danger. Q was wiser than that. He went to his parties only out of courtesy, and his love for James, who was thick as thieves with both Hannibal and his husband.  

James was no different case, really. He has been helping the couple with the preparations, brought hundreds of pounds worth of drinks, and crawled up the Lecters’ arse in many other ways possible. But if keeping them company was what he liked to do in his free time, besides keeping Q company, and kept him occupied when he was not on a mission, Q was very liberal about his actions. He has learnt that forbidding James Bond from doing something does not have a point anyway; it can only spur him to do it out of spite.

 Mrs Caldwell said hello to Q. He returned to corporeality in his thoughts and greeted her back.

Then he gave James a proper look. He, of course, saw what he had put on before he left, but he had had no time to really look and fully appreciate the sight in front of his eyes. A bespoke navy blue dinner jacket with a white shirt underneath it, and a bow tie of colour that matched the suit nicely outlined his well-defined chest and brought out his icy blue eyes. A pair of black slacks was snug on his strong legs. Saying that he looked exquisite would be an understatement. Clothes like these suited him, unlike Q, more than well. He was once again reminded why he has fallen for this impossible man in the first place.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from James, and politely greeted everyone else: a couple of lawyers from China, who lived opposite the Lecters; the family from ground level; Mrs Caldwell. Samantha, the only child in the house, was playing with Encephalitis the dog on the floor. The parents did not seem to mind.

Hannibal Lecter and his husband were nowhere to be seen. They were probably making some final preparations in the kitchen. Q’s senses were a little calmed by that, but not enough for him to relax. Not even after he was offered a glass of 2004 Red Bordeaux, and the sweet taste of the wine pleasured his taste buds.

 Both men emerged from the kitchen a moment later. They carried large, silver trays full of various kinds of colourful, mouth-watering appetisers, and Q, despite himself, realised how hungry he actually was. He ate his last meal at two o’clock in the afternoon.

He recognised many meaty foods, as typical for Dr Lecter and his parties, and he was worried for a minute. He was vegetarian, and he would not eat that should he starve to death. That was another regard he and Dr Corner shared—their taste and distaste in foods.

Although, to be completely honest, he would not eat that even if he ate meat. He did not trust the food as well as the cooks—without really knowing why.

Hannibal and Will laid the trays on the large mahogany table, in between a ghastly, crooked, antler-like candelabrum and a bowl of exotic fruits and leaves with what looked like a golden egg in the middle of it. In another moment, Will was excusing himself and returning to where he had emerged from. Not a while after, he came back with two other smaller plates, on which foods more likeable to Q’s appetite were arranged.

“Please, help yourselves to a bite to eat,” he said, locking eyes with everyone in the room. Q had to wink repeatedly to shake off the discomfort of the intense gaze.

Will’s eyes lingered on his husband. He gave him a negligible smile, and then he popped a piece of honeydew melon with prosciutto and almond in his mouth. At least the meat looked liked prosciutto.

Hannibal lifted his glass of wine in the air to catch everyone’s attention. Those who were sitting rose to their feet, mimicking the host’s gesture with the glass. Q’s arm moved up automatically, without his thinking. “Bon appétit, my friends,” said Hannibal. “Enjoy the party, and your last hours of 2030.”

That couldn’t go without a chuckle coming from Q’s mouth. He sipped at the wine once more and stepped to the table. He looked at the vegetable-filled champignons and the little, grilled peppers with cheese on the first plate. Which should he taste first, if at all?

“Try the mushroom first, then the pepper, Andrew,” offered Will Lecter. “Those are the most delicious thing in here.”

For once, Q will trust him. There could be nothing wrong with a vegetable hors d’oeuvre, correct?

But that still did not convince him about the propriety of the other things, food or otherwise. He will keep an eye on the couple. He worked in an intelligence service, after all.