#plane face internal gay panic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

Hey Steph!

Any chance you've got any fics where John and Sherlock come out publicly (an AU or just canon)? For some reason I just adORe the tension

Anyway, thanks for everything you do on your blog, it's hugely appreciated!

Hey Lovely!!

Ahhhh Hmm I thought I had a list for this but apparently not, oof.

Here’s what I can offer you with my tags in my bookmarks and MFL’s! Feel free to add some, y’all if you have any I missed!

COMING OUT

See also:

Homophobia / Sexuality / Pride || [John’s Sexuality]

John’s Friends Find Out About Sherlock

John’s Internalized Homophobia

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

MARKED FOR LATER

About Being Gay by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 1,088 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Romantic Fluff, Older Rosie) – Rosie looks up from Sherlock’s picture book about poisonous plants, gives Sherlock a look and asks, 'Are you gay, Sherlock?' and Sherlock, without missing a beat, just says 'Yes,' and continues drinking his tea, and Rosie says 'Ah,' and goes back to her plant book, and John nearly doubles over in the corner.

A Regular not at all Terrifying-for-unknown-reasons Conversation by Dodoa (T, 5,506 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Unilock, Best Friends, Coming Out, Self-Discovery, Dialogue Heavy, Self Acceptance) – Sherlock is trying to work something out and goes to John for help. John might not have all the answers, but he's determined to help.

Still alive by LoLecter (M, 8,375 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Trans!Sherlock, Suicide Attempt, Overdose, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Bisexual Character, Fluff, Transphobia, Asshole Parents, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock has known he was transgender for a while now and he decides to come out to his parents, but they react badly and Sherlock end up trying to kill himself only to be saved by his best friend John who doesn't know anything about Sherlock being trans.

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 8,549, 6/7 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B.

Who I Really Am by agirlsname (T, 13,067 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE [1] or [2] || Post S4, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, POV John, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending) – You don't tend to give up your heterosexual privilege without a fight.

Coming Out by LiviKate (M, 13,439 w., 5 Ch. || Teenlock, Homophobia, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Oral Sex, Drunk John, Bisexual John, Teen Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Reconciliation, Arguing) – John has had feelings for his best friend for a very long time. Feelings he knows will never be returned. When John goes out to drown his sorrows in booze and girls, he finds himself falling into bed with a man for the first time instead. John doesn't expect Sherlock to think much of it, as he had never cared either way about people's sexualities. But when Sherlock finds out, things go downhill quickly, leaving John confused and alone. Can the two friends come back together after such an explosive coming out? If they do, will it be like before? Or might it be so very, very different?

Straight Boy Pain by Glenmore (NR, 18,257 w., 10 Ch. || Coming Out, Pain, Romance, Birds, Sexuality) – Sherlock is in pain. Billy Kinkaid, the Camden garroter and best man Sherlock knows, diagnoses it. Ademar Silver, a male prostitute in south London, attempts to treat it. Lestrade, kindly Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, doesn’t notice it. Eventually, John Watson, healer and registered medical doctor, cures it. And a beautician called Penny paints Sherlock’s toenails.

The Lying Doctor by pagimag (E, 44,285 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Anger Issues, Depressed John, Watson Siblings, Coming Out, Bi John, First Time, Dom/Sub Undertones, Parentlock, Internalized Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John's relationship is fragile after the events at Culverton Smith’s hospital. John struggles with guilt and anger issues. During a case he decides to visit his aunt, which leads to an unexpected development. He’s forced to reevaluate ingrained behaviours, confront long lasting issues and question how he leads his life.

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

NO! by Tildathings (M, 50,043 w., 36 Ch. || Homophobia, Bed Sharing, Military Uniforms, Past Abuse, Jealous John, Stalking, Violence, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Pillow Talk, Coming Out, Sherlock’s Past, Shower, Cuddling, Grief and Sorrow, Hugs, Character Death) – Sherlock has been in a coma in over 8 months after he overdosed on the plane at TAB, during which time Mary and Rosie were killed by Vivian Norbury. This story starts 3 weeks after Sherlock has woken up. John is asking to move back to Baker Street.

What have you done? by Tildathings (M, 63,940+ w., 17/? Ch. || WiP || Interenalized Homophobia, John’s Family, Coming Out, Sherock/OMC, Hugging, Suicide, John Deduce’s, Nightmares, Love Confession, First Date, Bed Sharing, Psychiatry) – John have been invited by Sherlock on a pub night?! Sherlock said to him at Monday that Greg and Mike wanted him to come with them on a pub night. Sherlock is afraid that he would do something wrong socially left alone, so could John come with him? When John arrives at the pub Two Broken Hearts he sees Sherlock talking to a man.

A Change of Heart by SosoHolmesWatson (E, 65,436 w., 20 Ch. || Post-S4 / Canon Compliant, Jealous Sherlock, Past Abuse, Parentlock, Dev. Rel., Idiots in Love, Suicidal Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Mollstrade, Coming Out, Love Confessions, Big Brother Mycroft, John’s Childhood, POV Alternating, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Hand Jobs) – After all they have been through, after all the heartbreak and desolation, John and Sherlock want to make their way back to each other, still convinced that friendship is all that can exist between them. Will there be a change of heart? Part 1 of the The Pains of Growing series

Worst Kept Secrets by Sherlock1110 and sherlockian4evr (M, 61,515+w., 8/? Ch. || WiP || Engagement, Coming Out, Angst and Feels, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Fluff, Scars, Weddings, Honeymoon, Playing Pirates, Parasailing, Archaeology, Paintball, Swimming, Golf) – For the prompt: What if the thing Mycroft did to upset Mummy... was to come out? What if, as a teenager, Mycroft decided to tell his family that he is gay, and his parents disowned him for it? It's okay now, he runs the British Government, he IS the British Government, but there's still that tiny part of him that wants his parent's acceptance, especially now he's found the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Part 4 of the Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff series

Sacré Coeur by Mamaorion (M, 95,235 w., 27 Ch. || S4 Fix It Rewrite, First Kiss, UST / RST, Eventual Happy Ending, Coming Out, Holmes Family, Marriage Proposal, Husbands, Healing, Evil Mary, Beekeeping, Caretaker Sherlock, Mind Palace, Alzheimer’s Disease, Protective / Big Brother Mycroft, TD-12) – In this s4 fixit, John must piece together the gaps in his altered memory if he and Sherlock are to face the terror that has plagued Sherlock since childhood. As they untangle the web, seven years of hidden love ignite.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Of Ice and Men by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 176,906 w., 20 Ch. || Olympics AU || Paralympics, Prosthesis, Disability, Established Relationship, Threesome - Johnlockstrade, Angst with Happy Ending, Coming Out, Secret Relationship, Asexuall Sherlock, Pilot John) – Greg wants Sherlock to win his first Olympic Gold medal. Sherlock wants John to win his first Olympic Gold medal. John wants Greg to come to bed wearing all four of his Olympic Gold medals, and you didn't really think this would be that terribly serious after reading that title, did you? Bundle up, it's a Winter Olympics OT3!

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor (E, 280,251 w., 73 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S4, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol / Rx Drug Abuse, Coming Out / Bisexual John, Seizures, Past/Referenced/Implied Child Abuse, Hallucinations, Rehab, Celibacy, Sobriety / Relapse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Psychological Trauma, Nice /Not Anti-Mary, John’s POV, Parentlock, First Time, Angst, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #coming out #my fic recs #sexuality fics #mindless-octopus

145 notes · View notes

thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

secret son

A/N: this was requested by anonymous, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. I might make a part two with Richie and Eddie’s son getting to know each other a bit better if anyone wants to read that? How’s everyone doing during this time?

Summary: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where months after the fight with Pennywise eddie shows up at richie's house with the ten year old son he didn't mention he had?

warning: some homophobia (like really really brief though)

Richie is nursing his third whiskey when a harsh knock on his door catches his attention. The scotch, a real one from Scotland with an earthy and smoky flavor that Richie only drinks when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself, sways dangerously over the edge before stilling with only a drop off spillage when Richie hurries to steady the glass.

The reason his emotion threaten to bury him tonight more than usual, is the texts he has received from Bill. It wasn’t a bad text, but he asked if Richie had any idea why Eddie hadn’t answered his phone for a few days, and now Richie can’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. After reliving the same trauma twice, panic is the automated response when someone forgets to check in with them.

He’s being ridiculous, Richie tells himself, especially since he himself hasn’t texted Eddie in, well not since he left Derry. He packed his bags faster than Eddie had started walking again, choosing to run when he confessed the extent of his love for Eddie, and it was met with pure utter silence. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he crossed state lines, Eddie’s adult face pinched in annoyance gracing his cellphone screen, the photo he had taken during dinner the very first night after he won the game of arm wrestle, seemingly laughing at his expense. He didn’t pick up.

Of course he kept up with Eddie’s progress through the other losers, but he refrained from reaching out to Eddie on his own. Ever the coward, his traitorous mind provided with a hiss, the dark part of his mind growing a little everyday he wasn’t in contact with his best friend. Cause that was the place that Eddie still inhibited in his heart. He might have turned away from Richie’s feelings, but Richie still considered Eddie his closest friend, even if the opposite was true vise versa.

It’s his own fault anyway, if only he had some self-control, so he could stop the words from overflowing and his darkest secrets from tainting the perfect facade he had built around himself. When Bill texted that Eddie didn’t answer any calls or texts, Richie swallowed his pride and his embarrassment, sending a quick and short message Eddie’s way.

The white hotshame burned brighter than it had since Eddie turned Richie down when the former went radio silent. Richie supposes that he had that one coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. Another insistent knock caused the pounding in Richie’s brain that to intensify, by whoever is knocking gets what they want, Richie downing the rest of the scotch in on go, slamming the glass against the counter and getting up. He has no clue who it could be.

The last person to drop by his apartment was his manager, after Richie had neglected his duties as a comedian once more, to rouse him from an alcohol induced slumber and get him ready from him show. Today is Richie’s off day though, so he knows that it can’t be him. The only person that Richie can think off is his neighbor asking to borrow something, but that doesn’t appear to be likely. Whoever he was expecting to see, the man he left in a Derry hospital bed before said man was fit enough to leave was not it.

‘Eddie?’ Surprise crosses Richie’s face as soon as he makes eye contact with him, blinking dumbly behind his giant glasses who are sitting askew on his face. He looks good, a lot better than he did when Richie last saw him, white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

It hurts physically to see him up close again, while Richie wants nothing more than to reach forward and touch him, to hug him even in just a friendly way, but Richie figures that that is off limits. He can’t shake the look in Eddie’s eyes when he told him he loved him as more than friends, the look of pure and other fear, of him. Not Pennywise, but Richie, like not even being attacked by a killer clown was a terrifying as someone having a gay crush on you. He tries to focus on the now rather than reliving the moment that has haunted his dreams more than Pennywise.

‘What are you doing here Eds?’

Eddie’s face is doing that thing again where he can’t complete hide the fact that he is worried, but he’s trying his best to stay calm for someone else. It’s a sight that was thrown Richie’s way one too many times, often when he did something stupid and Eddie had to fix him up, but now Richie is unsure what could be the reason he’s sporting the look, until he lays on the little boy standing next to him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he stares at the kid who is clasping Eddie’s hand in his tightly. He can’t be more than six years old, his legs yattering with what Richie assumes is impatience, and he’s shamelessly staring at Richie. Kids don’t know any better he supposes.

The eyes strike recognition in a deep part Richie can’t name for himself, and suddenly, without any second guessing, he knows that the child is Eddie’s. A dead give away are the eyes, but also his general presence reminds him of a younger Eddie.

Something in his face must give him away, for when his gaze turn back to Eddie, all he does is nod. There are a thousand question Richie wants to ask him, for example why he never brought him up when they first reunited, or what they’re doing at his doorstep, but he notices how exhausted they look, and so he gestures with his head, giving them permission to enter the house.

‘Thanks Rich.’ At the sound of Eddie’s voice his body jolts, more aware than ever that a part of him went missing and he has no idea how to get it back or what to do about it.

Richie rushes back towards his kitchen, pushing past both Eddie and his kid, to hide the bottle of booze still out in the open. He’s not very subtle about it, and he can see on the judgment on Eddie’s face before it is carefully concealed.

‘So, what are you doing here Eds.’ Richie struggles to appear indifferent, but he is confused and dying to know why Eddie and his son where here, so he imagines that he’s not pulling it off very well.

Eddie glances at his son, still holding his hand and resisting the urge to pick him up. When he doesn’t respond straight away, Richie turns towards the boy, who is looking hesitantly up at him. His personality clearly mirrors Eddie’s, his wariness having transfer onto the next generation.

‘What’s your name bud?’ Ever since he was little, Richie has this gift when it comes to children, being able to communicate with them, and understand them when adults write their quirks off as annoyances.

He used to have a bond with Georgie back when he was still alive, and despite the usual horror stories off siblings, he got along great with his sister once she was born. He’s hoping that whatever charm helped him do that, will help him form a band here.

‘My name’s Matthew, but everyone calls me Matt.’ He seemed to be shy, toying with the hem of his shirt.

‘Are you my dad’s best friend?’ Richie blushed a bright red, since he not really knew what the answer was supposed to be. He assumes he still is, but he’s unclear about what Eddie might have told matt.

Thankfully, Eddie answers for him. ‘Yeah he is Matt.’ For a moment it’s quiet again, and the room fills with an awkward tension, neither Eddie nor Richie knowing where to go from here.

‘Is there somewhere Matt can explore?’ Eddie inquires eventually, the extra meaning behind his words crystal clear to him.

We need to talk, but not with my son in the room.

The apartment is not nearly big and all composing enough for a child to be able to go exploring, there’s only really 5 rooms in total, a kitchen, living room, the main bedroom and a guest bedroom and bathroom, none of which are necessarily child proof.

He does have a PlayStation attached to the tv in the guest bedroom however, even though he rarely uses it, and so he figures that’s the best place to direct Matt too.

‘You wanna go play a game buddy?’

Matt peers up at his dad, who nods reassuringly, giving him a gently push Richie’s way.

He waits for Matts affirmative nod before leading the way. It’s a miracle the thing works, as it’s been for three years completely unattended, but as soon as it starts Matthew jumps up and down excitedly when he sees the Mario kart logo pop up.

Richie leaves him with the door open just an inch, so that Eddie can still see him from the living room. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘No thank you I’m good.’

The awkwardness lays heavy on Richie. Things have never been uncomfortable with Eddie before, and he knows that it’s his fault that it is now. He wants to make a joke, or steer the conversation into safe waters with light topics to talk about, but he’s also aware that there has to be a reason why Eddie would show up to talk to him this late, without a phone call or any sort of notice. Because Richie’s brain is still muffled by the alcohol and he can’t think of a joke to make, he decides to ask the obvious first.

‘You didn’t text me back, Eds.’ It’s a stupid thing to stay, Richie knows considering he didn’t call Eddie back for months, but the question is out in the open and there’s no taking it back anymore.

‘My phone died on the way here.’

‘You fucking drove here? If you wanted to see me that bad you could have boarded a plane.’ Richie cringes when he hears himself speak. That was a quip he was used to making, but one that no doubt caused internal disgust in the other man.

‘I left Myra, and I need a place to crash.’ Eddie opts to say, despite it not being an answer to the question. For a moment Richie fears he might pass out, stumbling backwards but managing to keep upright thanks to the chair behind him. Out of all the possible explanations he was prepared for, this was not it.

‘Wh- why did you do that?’ Richie’s voice is shaking, his attempt to steady only being futile. He’s thrown for a loop so bad, that he forgets to conceal his shocked reaction. It’s out in the open, how Richie longs for him, but the least he could do was have the decency to cover it up.

‘Because,’ Eddie peeks past Richie to see Matt, who is fully focused and engaged in the game, before gaining enough courage to say what comes next.

‘Because I’m gay.’ He manages to spit out, his hands shaking by his side while he stares intently at Richie.

Richie has never been hit before. He’s been punched before and even kicked, yet never hit, but he imagines it feels somewhat like the words Eddie just breathed to life.

It’s strange since kid Richie would have done anything in the world to hear those words coming from Eddie, to the point where at night in his bed he would imagine scenarios in which he would utter them, but the situation at hand is very different than the one he fantasized about.

The fact of the matter is, that Eddie is not homophobic like Richie suspected him to be after his reaction, he just reacted disgusted because it was Richie, and that hurt even worse. He knows his not a catch. He woke up one day in college and saw himself for what he really was, a below average looking guy whose only talent was making jokes that would annoy others, with a ridiculous loud voice. And as he got older he only got worse, but he hadn’t expected that Eddie would use that against him.

He thought that Eddie might have let him down easier, but he guesses he just has that effect on people. His first instinct is to snap back in his hurt, to reply somewhat cruelly so that his feeling don’t show, but then he comes to the conclusion that he was just in Eddie shoes a few months ago, and he can recall exactly how scared and how disheartened he had been when he received negative comments, and he can’t do that to Eddie. Maybe to someone else, but not to Eddie.

Instead he replies with; ‘Oh well congrats for coming out. Welcome to the team Spagheds.’

Apparently, it’s not the reaction Eddie expected, for his face falls and his eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over his face.

‘Rich. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s just that -.’ Richie interrupts him before he can say something else.

‘Hey, it’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t tell the guy that made me uncomfortable either.’

Eddie blinks rapidly, opening his mouth but Richie intercepts, trying desperately to keep his feeling at bay.

‘Do you want to crash here for tonight? We can order pizza and watch a movie. Or whatever Matthew likes to eat is fine by me. I’ll get some extra sheets because I know you’d be disgusted if you found out what kind of action I’ve been getting. Not like I’m still hung up about a rejection, can you imagine?’ He laughs uneasily, scrambling to get together an extra sleeping kit, ignoring Eddie as best he can.

‘Rich’, he calls his attention, and despite being embarrassed, Richie would follow Eddie into anything, so he stops dead in his tracks and turns towards him.

‘I have a son.’

‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out Eds. I have eyes, he looks a lot like you.’

Eddie rolls his eyes in annoyance, huffing to convey how stupid Richie acts sometimes.

‘When you told me you liked me,’ Richie shrinks down, his shoulder turning in on themselves to make himself as small as possible, ‘I was worried you might feel different about me, because I am a dad.’

‘I could never, Eds. I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention him before.’

A sigh leaves Eddie’s lips, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘I was worried IT might find out and use it against me. Besides, I didn’t even remember you guys all that well in the beginning. I was just scared.’

Richie gets it a little bit. When he was younger he was terrified IT might take his sister, and he would have done anything to prevent that. So he understands why Eddie wouldn’t say anything back in Derry, but why not after? Why didn’t he say anything when they left. Then again, it’s not like they talked a lot post clown fight two.

A thought suddenly downs on Richie then. ‘Wait, did Myra just like you take Matt with you?’

Eddie’s face turns bright red, a guilty look crossing over his features. Richie eyes turn wide as saucers.

‘Eddie, do not tell me you kidnapped your son’, Richie whispers screams, panic taking over as he thinks things through. It’s Myra, and from what he heard about her, she’s pretty much the same as Sonia, which means that she has no problem calling the police.

‘You could get arrested.’

‘Only if she calls the cops,’ Eddie hisses back, his body locked in anger, like he’s a bomb that is very dangerously close to exploding, quitting down when he sees Matt’s head peeking through the crack in the door. He waits until Matt is turned back towards his game to continue.

‘Look, I told her that I was gay, and she told me to get everything that’s mine out of her house immediately, anything that I had ‘infected with your homosexuality’. So I took me son with me. I wasn’t going to leave him there.’

All at once, the fight leaves him, and he crouches down on the couch, his head in his hands while he begins to sob. It produces back a memory, from a time where he had to go over to Richie’s house to tell him he was leaving Derry and not coming back, and Richie hurries to ban the thought out of his head before he joins in.

‘Two days ago, Matt fell of his bike in our backyard, and when he did he started practically screaming. I’m sure it hurt a little, but he was crying hysterically, and he begged me not to tell his mom, because she would freak out.’ Eddie’s eyes filled with tears focus on Richie’s, who is slowly making his way over to sit next to him. ‘Then he asked me if he would get really sick now because of the dirt on the ground that must have gotten into his wound.’

Eddie laughs humorlessly. ‘I though that by staying with Myra I would do him a favor. I was just trying to protect him. I can’t believe I was convinced staying with Myra would be good for him. She’s exactly like my mother Rich, and I didn’t protect him.’

Despite better judgment, Richie puts his arm around Eddie, shuffling closer so that their knees are touching, and Eddie gracefully accepts, leaning further into Richie so he’s practically a pillow, a sob wrenching from his throat.

‘You did protect him Eds, you moved with him right? He’s gonna know that his dad did that for him, because you loved him.’ Placing his chin on the top of Eddie’s head, Richie breathes in deeply, forcing himself to stop from being overly affectionate, even when he’s clearly failing.

‘When Myra told me she was pregnant, I freaked out. I love my son, I would do anything for him and I wouldn’t give him up for anything in this whole wide world, but when I saw the pregnancy tests, all I could think was ‘oh god please no’. I’m a terrible father.’

Richie shakes his head determinately. ‘Eds, look at me. That’s normal, we went through some tough shit when we were kids, even if we didn’t remember it. You love him, and you look after him, and trust me, none of those are attributes to being a bad parent like you claim you are.

Eddie sniffles, placing one of his hands against Richie’s cheek, who embarrassingly enough nuzzles against it like a wounded dog would to a loving touch.

‘I’m sorry Richie. I really am. I love you. I think I somehow always have, even when I forgot, but I was so fucking scared when you told me, that I turned you away. As soon as I did I regretted it though, but I didn’t want to scare you off, and I didn’t want to put Matt through that change. Can we start over? I just really want to try this again.’

Richie is almost scared to believe the words coming from Eddie, but hope blossoms in his chest anyway. The piece that had cracked when he was turned away seem to magically fix itself, making his heart feel whole again.

‘You want me to confess my love for you again? Jees demanding much? You know your mom was the exact same way, always needing reassurance that our night together felt as good to me as it did to her.’

‘I changed my mind. And to think I was about to thank you for being serious for the entire conversation.’

Despite the meaning of the words, Richie can’t help but laugh when he sees the face Eddie is pulling, cheeringly outwardly when Eddie breaks and laughs alongside him.

Matt comes out of the room to check out what the commotion is about, a childlike glee all over his face when he sees his dad happier then he had ever been. ‘Can we order Pizza please?’ He begs Eddie with the same puppy dog eyes Eddie used to own when they were young themselves.

Richie grins at the boy, and while Eddie is pretending to contain plate it Richie nods excitedly, causing him to giggle with glee.

‘Alright’, Eddie eventually pretends to give in, watching as Matt jumps up and down in pure joy. He looks like the kind of child that has an endless supply of energy, and Richie can’t wait to find out more about him. This is the son of the man he loves, and if Matthew is even half the person Eddie is, than Richie loves him already.

‘Hey Matt, we’re going to stay with Richie for a while longer okay? If you don’t have anything against that?’

Matt just shrugs, eager to get back to the game and get some eat some food. ‘Sure.’

‘oh, we can’t tell mom though, she’ll freak knowing I ate pizza.’

‘Shit’, Eddie curses as soon as Myra’s name comes back up. Matt glares at him, placing a finger on his lips as an indication to be silent, and Richie can’t help but titter.

‘We’ll figure it out Eds, we always do.’

And if Richie spend the next few weeks looking for a new house for them to move into, well then that is just them figuring it out.

#reddie #reddie imagine #eddie lives #eddie has a son #and he shows up at Richie's apartment with him #the loser club imagines #My writing #it chapter 2 #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier imagine #Richie x Eddie #eddie as a dad

78 notes · View notes

solarwriting · 5 years

Text

When In Venice

Plane Rides II

<Prev. Next>

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader x Michelle Jones (eventually)

Warnings: Language, slight? homophobia/biphobia

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added) @ludwigvonbaethoven @hayadora

Note: This series loosely follows the events of spiderman ffh, so read at your own spoiler risk!

Finally, after 9 hours, everyone was exciting the plane, Peter and Ned walking side by side. “Did you see Brad and MJ on the plane? They were watching movies and laughing almost the whole time.”

Ned stopped walking and looked at Peter, “Come on, man. It’s not that bad. I saw that Y/n was watching too and it seemed like Brad wasn’t getting the attention he wanted because of her.”

As they continued walking, the duo could see MJ and Y/n walking side by side laughing together, their arms brushing against each others’ lightly. “Hey, babe, can you hold this for me?” Betty asked Ned as she caught up with the pair. Peter’s face scrunched in confusion as Ned explained how he was a man and no longer a bachelor.

A few feet ahead, MJ and Y/n were walking towards baggage check. “What are your plans for Venice?” MJ asked.

Before Y/n could answer Flash walked past with his phone in his face, “We are now in the airport in Venice! We’re about to go to our hotel that Mr. Harrington said would be luxury! I am psyched!”

Y/n let a short breath out of her nose, “To get away from that.” MJ laughed at her comment and bumped her shoulder into Y/n’s lightly, warmth rising to both girls’ faces. They made brief eye contact before quickly looking away and picking up the pace to catch up with the group.

The group were herded to a boat where they were taken to their hotel, everyone buzzing with excitement at the hotel Mr. Harrington had continually hyped for weeks leading up to the trip.

“Is it that one?” Betty asked pointing to a lavish building to the left of the water, it was at least five stories and each room seemed to have a large, arched window with small balconies.

“No. Ours is just up ahead, and it’s even better!” Mr. Harrington explained, enthused. The boat slowly drifted and stopped at a dingy, rundown building that seemed it had taken flood damage.

“We’re here. They must be doing sum upgrades.” Mr. Harrington said, unsure. Y/n lifted her phone up to her face, leaning towards MJ to get her in the picture. MJ glanced at the phone and gave it a small smile as Y/n took a few pictures. Y/n glanced at Peter who just looked away from looking in her and MJ’s direction before looking at MJ, who also looked at Peter. Peter looked back at the two girls and heat coated the trio’s faces and it definitely wasn’t from the European heat.

The group eventually got into the hotel where Mr. Harrington stepped in flood water, “This place is sinking.” Flash commented with a grimace.

“You mean charming.” Mr. Harrington corrected as he continued into the building, the group following suit.

“Yeah, a charming dump.” Y/n commented earning two small laughs from MJ and Peter (the only two who heard her). They were all lead into their rooms where everyone put their stuff away, MJ and Y/n sharing a room because of budgeting. Ned and Peter also shared a room.

Everyone was off, exploring the foreign area of Venice (Saint Marco Polo’s Square): Flash was vlogging (and apparently playing a brutal game of nut-tap with his friends), Betty and Ned were getting a caricature done Mr. Harrington lost his camera, a larger part of the group was going around and talking selfies, Peter ran off to some store which left Y/n with MJ… and Brad.

MJ held her arms out as pigeons perched on her, laughing Y/n and Brad took pictures of her. Y/n bumped into Brad trying to get him to take the hint and leave but that only made him more determined. He stood up straighter and took another photo of MJ moving so he stood in front of Y/n, blocking her shot of MJ. This interaction went unnoticed by MJ as she was focused on the flock of birds on and around her, light laughs escaping her lips.

Y/n sighed walked up to MJ, Brad still attempting to take pictures of her. Some pigeons flew away as she approached, “Hey, I’m going to go look at the shops really quick, I’ll catch up with you later.” Y/n explained, her eyes squinted due to the brightness of the afternoon.

“Yeah, that’s okay.” MJ nodded, pigeons around her flapping their wings. Y/n turned around and walked off towards the shops. Maybe she could find some espresso for her and MJ.

“Hey, Y/n! Wait up.” Brad called as he caught up with her. She continued to walk trying to ignore him before giving in, “What?”

“What’s your deal with MJ.” Brad asked, his arms crossed.

At the point the two had stopped walking. “Excuse me?”

“What the hell is your deal with MJ, why are can’t you let me have alone time with her?” Brad asked, her words more aggravated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, w-we’re just friends,” Y/n began,wincing internally at the description of friends, “We hang out because of it,I guess.”

Y/n shrugged as she tried to start walking again, Brad stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Do not fucking touch me.” Y/n seethed, ripping her arm out of Brian’s grasp.

Brian’s face contorted in anger and annoyance, “What’s you’re deal? Are you gay or something?” Brad must have seen the shock cross Y/n’s face because he continued, “Are you in love with her?” He laughed, “That’s never going to fucking happen because you’re just a lesbian she’ll want nothing to so with.”

“I’m not a lesbian,” Y/n mumbled, trying to move away from him.

“What what’s that?” Y/n ignored his question, opting to turn on her heal and move into the crowd. She blended in and followed it to the center, near the stairs where she saw MJ and Peter.

She jogged up behind them, “Boh.”

MJ glanced at Y/n and smiled, “Hate to break it to you but I already told him about it.”

“Damn.” Y/n sighed lightheartedly, moving to walk in the same rhythm as the two on the opposite side of Peter.

A man walked in front of the trio, trying to push of of them to buy a rose before Y/n and MJ both said, “Boh.” The man’s face instantly changed and he was gone.

“Boh is my new superpower. It’s like the anti aloha. I was born to say this word.” MJ smiled.

Y/n noticed the bag Peter poorly tried to hide, she nudged him with her elbow, “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh um, boh.”

“Nice.” Y/n and MJ approve in unison before MJ noticed crabs crawling up the pillars of the dock.

“Cool.” She muttered, crouching to take a picture, looking back at Peter and Y/n momentarily before returning her gaze to her phone. Y/n noticed water on the street get sucked into a grate, she looked at Peter who seemed to have noticed it as well. His eyebrows furrowed, his face mirroring Y/n’s confusion.

Everything seemed frozen for a moment before an enormous wave erupted out of the canal, sending people scattering. Y/n and Peter sprung into action as Italian citizens and their friends screamed in panic.

152 notes · View notes

midorree · 5 years

Text

Gay Minds Think Alike

@paperhatcollection co-wrote this with me, they are so fucking talented, and I had a blast writing this with her! Give her as much love as humanly possible, and we hope you enjoy this wreck of a fic!

Love is a funny thing. It’s hard to define, harder to understand, sometimes changing with the winds and other times a sturdy rock in an otherwise turbulent river. Sometimes it’s like a recurring idea or a thought you can’t shake from your head, or as much a part of your like as your voice or the way your heart skips a beat when you see you one and only soulmate. Sometimes it's slow, built up over a thousand small moments, other times you trip and crash headfirst into a crush.

Sometimes it’s like tripping on the top step of a staircase and tumbling your way to the bottom, where you land at the feet of your crush.

Which is exactly the situation Anti found himself in, laying on his back at the foot of the stairs, his gay dumbass gaze locked onto the face of Chase Brody standing above him.

The first thing Anti was aware of was the way his breath was knocked from his lungs, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the fall or from the way that Chase was looking down at him. Anti found himself captivated by the gaze, his breath caught in his throat by the way Chase batted his eyelashes, or maybe he was just blinking, but Anti didn’t care. He wasn’t sure of the angle did something, or if he’d gotten a mild concussion, but Chase was so pretty. It was as if the gates of heaven glanced upon his pitiful existence just to give a taste of what it all felt like. When Chase opened his mouth to speak, it was as if a chorus of angels backed his words, the light about them nearly forming a halo around Chase.

“Woah, dude, did it hurt?”

Anti felt himself grin, a look he imagined to be sly but in reality, looked rather dopey. “You mean when I fell from heaven?” he asked, almost certain it would end in his favor.

“In what world would you fall from-” Chase frown, shaking his head ever so slightly and sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. No- when you fell down the stairs, are you okay? That looked like it hurt, dude. And now you’re just kinda… staring off into space, I think?” He added a small wave of his hand back and forth over Anti’s field of vision, checking if his eyes moved along with the movement. Anti blinked. Once, twice, then refocused on Chase, the vacant look finally falling from his face.

“Oh.” Anti tried to ignore the way the lump in his throat turned into a rock in the pit of his gut. “Um… yeah. I’m uh, I’m fine. Yeah. No problemo here.”

Chase shrugged. “Alright man, if you say so. Need a hand up?” he offered, holding out his hand to Anti. Anti’s mouth went completely dry as he looked anxiously at Chase’s outstretched hand; endless possibilities flashing through his mind.

He could grab Chase’s hand and try to play it off coolly, standing to his feet in a smooth motion that would allow him to regain some of his composure. He’d pull Chase’s hand closer, planting a kiss on the back of his palm and wink to him, and totally embarrass himself because he’s got Clumsy Bitch Disease and it’s fatal, so he’d definitely mess up somehow.

Maybe his own hands would clam up and he’d gross Chase out, and then he’d never speak to him again and he’d die alone with fifty cats as his only company. The saddest part being, one of the cats would definitely be named Chase. Maybe even Marvin if he were up for it. One day once he was old and alone he’d wake up to find out Chase the cat had passed away peacefully in its sleep, and he’d mourn the last link he had to his lost love while gazing sadly out his window. It would be raining.

Maybe he’d trip over his big fucking feet again and pull Chase down with him, and then Chase’s weight would be pressed against him, their lips inches apart, their eyes meeting-

Anti made a low whine in the back of his throat, acutely aware of the clock ticking faster and faster as he left Chase hanging for a response.

“No, I- fuck you.” Anti blurted out.

Even before the words had fully left his throat, Anti could feel his internal narration freeze in panic, then go into maximum overdrive. Before Chase had a chance to register what dumbass sentence just came out Anti’s mouth, and before Anti could see the look on his face when he did, Anti had glitched out of the current plane of existence, hoping his useless gay soul would just hang on a string and he would die a quick painless death.

Chase blinked then shrugged, sighing inwardly to himself. Geez, some people.

-----

In the quiet of dawn, when the world was just beginning to wake from its gentle slumber, and the first rays of morning’s light snuck through the thin gap between closed curtains when Chase shot upright in bed with the sudden realization that Anti wasn’t delusional, he’d been trying to court his dumb butt.

If it hadn’t been six in the goddamn morning, Chase probably would have screamed bloody murder. “Oh my god,” Chase whispered-screamed to himself, shoving the blankets aside and nearly tumbling out of bed in his hurry to stand. “Oh my fucking god, oh man, I’m so dense, what the fuck-” his efforts to stand did ultimately end in him tripping and hitting the floor with a loud THUD, but Chase was up the next moment, too absorbed in his breakthrough to notice the collateral damage. “Okay Chase, calm down. Maybe Anti didn’t realize what he was saying- he probably got a concussion falling down the stairs or something, you know how egotistical that glitch is,” He gulped. “I hope.”

“I mean, not that… I… well it has been awhile since I’ve been with someone, but…” Chase paused and gave himself a light slap on the side of his face. “No, bad Chase, you’re projecting. But what if I’m not- I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Anti’s not that bad a guy once you get to know him, and he’s got those fucking eyes, that shitty laugh of his that’s always so much louder than everything else in the room like he’s trying to make sure everyone pays attention to him.” And it fucking works, by the way. Chase couldn’t count the number of times he’s felt his gaze pull towards the glitch, his attention stolen in a moment, left breathless as he watches the way Anti effortlessly manipulates the room with a word or a gesture. Chase felt himself shiver just thinking about it, picturing the gleam in his eyes, the smirk tugging his lips up.

“Oh, fuck,” Chase whispers to himself, shoulders slumping downwards. “I’ve got it bad.”

He shook his head, staring blankly at a wall, before returning to his bed. He sat on the edge, letting his head fall into his hands, taking a deep breath as a shudder ran through his body. The worst part was, this could still all be in his head. He didn’t actually know for sure if… oh fuck, this was just like him too, wasn’t it? Chase didn't exactly have a history of… successful relationships, to put it bluntly.

Love isn't fun. Sometimes it’s hard, harder still once you’ve lost at its game. Sometimes love is the thing that fuels you, that keeps you going on during cold nights, while other times it’s the thing that takes half of your soul and throws it into the void. Sometimes it’s like a dream, blissful and sweet, while other times it’s a melancholy memory, bittersweet in the moments you know you’ll never have again. And sometimes… sometimes it feels like your only source of air, like something you could never live without, no matter how many times it chews you up and spits you out.

Yeah, Chase Brody was a dead man.

-----

Maybe, Chase thinks, a bus will run me over and my problems won’t matter anymore.

No such luck was waiting for him, it seems, as he made his way downtown. Maybe the recording studio would be on fire, and they’d have to cancel recordings for today. Wouldn’t be the first time, although Marvin had sworn to Ireland and back that he’d be more careful with his magic from that point on. Or maybe Anti was too busy editing footage for everyone's videos, and he wouldn’t leave his editing room for the entire day, and Chase wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him.

Too bad as soon as he walked into the office, he was smacked in the face by reality, and left breathless by the smug grin Anti was sending his way. Somehow, he seemed to radiate a confidence Chase could only wish he had, even when casually standing by the water cooler and flipping through a script for someone’s video. Chase faltered to a stop, catching Anti’s eye from across the room and giving a weak wave in response. He was almost sure the beating of his heart was audible to those around him.

In reality, Anti was baring the dopiest smile a gay man could bear, staring at his favorite person head-on. Soon enough, he had the thought that Chase may be weirded out by his staring and proceeded to pretend he was doing something important. Such as flip through a finalized script that was already good enough to be on camera, and ‘scan it for errors’. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chase halt midway across the room, glancing back over in time for Chase to flash him a grin and wave. Anti nearly short-circuited, causing him to drop the papers, which fluttered to the ground and fanned out into a heap around him.

Cursing under his breath, Anti knelt down to recollect them, trying to hide his apparent blush from embarrassing himself in front of his crush two days in a row. From across the room, Chase gasps in surprise when Anti drops his papers, rushing over to help. He wasn’t even sure if Anti noticed him right away, at least not until they reached for the same paper. Their hands brushed, Chase’s resting on top of Anti’s, a slight spark leaping between their connected hands.

Than Chase panicked, jerking back and somehow managing to hit Anti square on the nose.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Anti snapped.

“Fuck- shit, I’m sorry!” Chase blurted out, dropping what few papers he’s managed to collect back onto the floor. He reached out towards Anti, unsure what he’d really be able to do but wanting to make sure he was okay, only for Anti to jerk away and glare at him. Chase flinched and pulled his hand closer to his body, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Uh, um, I thought you might need uh, you might want a hand?”

“I’m fine,” Anti grumbled, gathering the remaining papers together in a pile and straightening them out. They weren't in any way shape or form in the correct order, but Anti didn’t care right now. No, instead he was just focused on the annoyance bubbling in the back of his head, cause that was better than focusing on the bubbly feeling he got when he looked at Chase’s cute, apologetic face. He started to reach out before catching himself, wanting to comfort him, but he knew if he started to do that he’d end up a stuttering, nervous wreck before the minute was over.

“I… I have to go. Gotta, um, reorder these.” Anti awkwardly stammered out, standing and almost dropping the papers again, before catching them against his chest and turning to leave. As he did so, his jacket caught in the air, flaring out and fanning around him like a cape. It was somehow an even more dramatic flair than what Marvin was able to manage, and that guy wore an actual cloak.

“I like your jacket.” Chase blurted out, standing quickly. He coughed into his fist, his throat suddenly remarkably dry, and he nonchalantly edged closer to the water cooler. “I mean uh,” Chase paused to lick his lips, which suddenly felt as dry as his throat did. “That’s a really nice jacket, Anti. It suits you.” He licked his lips again, mostly because his saliva was depleting rapidly from his mouth. He grabbed one of the paper cups from the cooler and finally got himself a drink, drowning it in a single gulp but somehow still just as thirsty as he’d been before. When he looked back up from his cup, he realized Anti had ceased storming off, and was staring at Chase with an unreadable expression. Oh- Oh fuck. Chase had assumed he’d already left. Instead, he’s watched as Chase stopped and gulped down an entire cup of water, in the middle of a fucking statement. “Uh, I, um. You… jacket, uh, looking good?”

Anti, oblivious to what Chase’s message to him was, stated, “No, you can’t have my leather jacket, you already stole Jackie’s.” and turned around and left.

It was an hour later, after Anti had reordered the script and begun editing footage for Jackie’s latest ‘parkour’ video (it was actually just him on patrol, but no one needed to know that) that Anti removed his headphones, stared off at a blank wall, and realized Chase had been complimenting him.

“FU-

----

“Henrik, I fucked up!” Chase yelled, bursting through the door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic.

Henrik sighed, putting down his clipboard. He didn’t look surprised in the least, just tired. “I knew it. Where did he stab you?”

“Uh… what?” Chase asked, confused.

“You tried to steal Anti’s new jacket, didn’t you?” Henrik paused, sighing. “Oh, I’m sorry, ‘borrow’ his jacket, just like you’ve ‘borrowed’ clothes from the rest of us. I still want my sweater back, by the way.” Chase was pretty sure that sweater was currently folded up in one of his dressers, right next to one of JJ’s spare bowties and one of Jackie’s jackets. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“What? No! I just… had a realization…” Chase began, faltering and adjusting the brim of his hat, glancing around the room as if expected someone to leap out at any moment.

Henrik looked puzzled for a good second before his expression cracked, an assuming smile turning the corners of his lips. “That have certain feelings for Anti?”

“How the fuck did you know that?”

A small smirk teased on Henrik’s oh so smug face. “A little birdie told me.”

And by birdie, he was referring to the fact that he’d listened to Anti rambling on about his crush for hours over the course of his visits to Henrik’s clinic, during which Anti had managed to compare Chase to everything from the sun to a Greek god. The amount of giddiness Anti radiating from Anti could power the entire goddamn planet, and Henrik found watching his half-assed attempts at catching Chase’s eye akin to watching a morning soap-opera you kinda hoped would turn into a trainwreck of gay feelings.

“I mean… Hen, I’ve been out of it so long, what if he doesn’t like me back?” Chase asked, his voice raising several pitches from his panic. “What if he rejects my attempts? What if I try and bring him some coffee to flirt with him, but I spill it all over his shirt and he hates me forever? And the tension in the office raises a lot? And what if because of that, the others start to hate me? And then I have to move out of the country, change my name to Scooter Bronan, and become a drug dealer on the lonely streets of LA!”

Henrik almost felt bad for laughing, but not by a lot. A drug dealer? Preposterous, Chase wouldn’t be able to sell water, a legal substance, without a license.

“Henrik!” Chase whined. “Stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“Chase, would you do me a small favor for me?” Henrik asked, as he stood up from his desk and walked towards a storage closet. “Get in the closet.”

“Is that a metaphor? I’m openly gay-” Chase began, only for Henrik to cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I’m aware, get in the closet, please.” He opened the door, smiling welcomingly, yet Chase was getting mixed signals from the whole ‘get in the closet’ thing. Reluctantly, he stepped into the closet, letting the door shut behind him. Chase settled down on an upside-down bucket, listening to Henrik move around the clinic from the other side of the door. After a moment, he heard Henrik speak up again. “And Chase? Please be quiet for a moment, if you would.”

“Alright…?”

Nodding to himself, Henrik set his plan in motion. First things first: alerting the other disaster gay. One text later, and Anti was coming any moment now, not aware that Chase was in the closet. Literally speaking, of course, everyone knew that Chase swung both ways, and Anti had been over the moon the first time he’d found out about it.

Glitching into existence already sitting on the examination bed, Anti was holding a five-hour energy bottle that he threw back into his mouth and downed it all in one go. “Henrik, you’re not going to believe this shit.”

“Let me guess, you have a crush on Chase?” Henrik asked, grinning to himself as he set about changing the bandages around Anti’s neck. He’s done this so many times, he could probably manage it with his eyes closed.

“Oh, haha,” Anti said with a roll of his eyes. “The usual, anyways,” he tossed the now-empty bottle behind him, where it landing it the trash with ease.

“Show off, how many times did you practice that at home?” Henrik asked.

“Moving right along,” Anti replied without missing a beat. “So you know how eye contact is something important for every humanoid should have a grasp on?”

“Yes?”

“I forgot how to maintain eye contact when Chase was looking at me, and I dropped a bunch of papers in front of him like an absolute clutz,” Anti explained, sighing dramatically. “Now Chase probably thinks I’m the biggest doof in the whole office! And he punched me! I’m never washing my face again, by the way.”

“Yes you are, your I’m forcing you to take a shower.” Henrik cut in. “A crush is no reason to abstain from basic hygiene.” Normally, he’d already been halfway done by now, but Henrik was going slower than usual. “Anyways, I’m sure he doesn't think that. And what really happened?”

“Oh- um, he tried to help me pick up the papers, you know, cause he’s a perfect fucking angel, but then our hands touched and I think maybe I’m not so dead inside? Maybe this man is the cure to fucking cancer?” he sighed dreamingly. “There was a spark between us, I just know it. Or, you know, maybe it was my glitchy electrical powers zapping him, cause he ended up yanking back and smacked me on accident.” Anti paused than shook his head. “It was an accident, so I’m not really upset at him.

“Anti,” Henrik began. “We all know Chase could stab you and you’d be on your knees thanking him for breathing in your direction.”

“Cause he’s fucking perfect, that’s why.” Anti snapped. “Have you seen that guy? He’s so sweet and caring, he puts others well being in front of his own, and just- have you seen the way he looks when he helps someone? That pure smile on his face, I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he manages to make me think that maybe the world isn’t so doomed after all? And when he laughs just makes the room brighter, it makes my entire day when I can make him laugh, I’d do anything for it.”

Anti paused and chuckled. “And I swear every time I hear it my heart’s gonna beat out of my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can take this without bursting at the seams from all these stupid feelings, but I can’t just make a move, what if he doesn’t like me back? I would die alone with fifty cats, one of which is named Marvin, and I have to spend the rest of my life referring to Marvin as human Marvin, and I never speak to Chase again because he’s allergic to cats and he won’t ever come near me. I’ll have to quit and get a new job and move towns and call myself Connor and become a shell of former self.”

Henrik hummed knowingly, glancing at the closet. “What exactly do you feel for Chase?”

“I… I kinda…” Anti began, then muttered under his breath.

“You kind of what, Anti?”

“I kind of love him?” Anti whispered, grinning sheepishly.

“I can’t hear you,” Henrik said, tilting his head and leaning back. “Could you speak up, please?”

“I said I fucking love him?! Okay?! Henrik?! I love him!” Anti screamed, face turning a light shade of red.

Nodding to himself, Henrik finished applying Anti’s clean bandages and smoothed them out, double checking his work before backing away and dusting off his hands. He spun on a heel, crossing to the closest door, and opening it while stepping aside to reveal a very shocked and very blushy Chase Brody.

“Alright, was that straight enough for you?” Henrik asked than caught himself and chuckled. “Ah- my bad, I should wait for you to come out of the closet, shouldn’t I?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, I’m not-” Chase stammered, not prepared for the fuckery that Henrik has laid down in front of them.

“Nonsense!” Henrik cut in, grabbing him by the arm and leading him out of the closet. “We were just talking about you, actually! Weren't we, Anti?”

Anti opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, looking from Chase to Henrik and back to Chase again. “Henrik! You set me up, you son of a whore!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you were talking about Chase on your own account, weren’t you?” Henrik asked, unable to stop himself from smiling right in Anti’s face. “Why, I couldn’t have stopped you if I’d tried!”

“You could have! You could have stopped me right there!” Anti screamed, pointing at the now empty closet. “Chase was in the fucking closet the entire time, and you didn’t have the human decency to stop me from being gay!”

“It’s called doctor-patient confidentiality,” Henrik explained. “If Chase didn’t want to come out of the closet, I had no right to force him.”

“I didn’t even know what I was saying, I don’t even like Chase! I was just exaggerating to be funny! You like drama, so I gave it to you!" Anti protested.

“You… you were?” Chase asked, his voice soft, broken, and his expression crestfallen. He sniffed, scrubbing at the corner of his eye as he looked off, trying not to appear too heartbroken and failing spectacularly. “I… oh. Well, I hope you had fun, Anti. It’s not like some of us actually care about our feelings.”

“No! Chase, I didn’t mean to- please- I don’t- what- Henrik! See what you did?” Anti asked, turning back to the doctor and unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“Me?” Henrik asked, putting an arm around Chase’s shoulder and bringing him closer, comforting him. “I didn’t do anything, except listen when my friends came into my clinic of their own accord and start gushing to me about their crushes.”

“I should go.” Chase blurted out before anyone could say anything else. “Anti you… you enjoy your game, just leave my heart out of it.” he pulled out of Henrik’s arms, heading towards the door with a slow, dragging pace.

“No, you’re not going anywhere, we need to set some things in order,” Anti said, sliding between Chase and the door, placing his hands on Chase’s chest. “I… I didn’t mean it,” he admitted, fidgeting in place. “I… Chase look, I’m really fucking dumb sometimes, and I don’t work well under pressure, and I’m pretty sure Henrik has been stealing my brain cells during my visits-”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to replenish them you disaster child.” Henrik cut in.

Anti glared at him than softened his expression when he returned it to Chase. “Chase, the truth is I… I um, I … Feel… good when I’m near you I… you… we… have something? Please? That we don’t have with the others? You… I… love… I love you.”

Chase sniffed, rubbing his face with one hand than looking up at Anti with a sly grin, all traces of his sadness gone. “Is that so?” Chase asked, leaning closer and grinning. “Cause, I think I love you too,” he admitted, planting his lips on Antis in a quick, stolen kiss.

“I… uh, holy shit, what, hands, do, I, um, fuck, Chase-”

“Chase, you broke him, his last brain cell was a gift to you.” Henrik gasped, placing a hand over his heart. That dramatic bitch.

Lifting one of Anti’s hands in his, Chase interlocked their fingers together, smiling at his new boyfriend. Anti still having yet to form a coherent sentence, managed to stammer out something that vaguely sounded like ‘You… smile… good’. Chase giggled and planted another kiss, on his cheek this time, tugging him towards the door. “Common, let’s go break the news to everyone else before you crash completely.”

Maybe love wasn't so bad after all.

#connor writes #co-made work #this was so fun to make!! and we were laughing a lot at the gay jokes #the amount of times i coughed and laughed is just #lfljdsdsf'l #i had so much fun and id totally be down to do it again

59 notes · View notes

almostafantasia · 6 years

Text

Lancelot (14/14) - Epilogue

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 14/14 read on ao3

EPILOGUE

“Space!”

Lexa slams on the brake at Aden’s outcry, a move so sudden that it would perhaps propel them both out of their seats and through the windscreen of her car if they weren’t crawling around a busy car park at walking pace looking for somewhere to park.

“Aden, you can’t tell me there’s a space after I’ve already driven past it,” sighs Lexa.

“Yeah, well I didn’t bloody see it until after you’d driven past it,” complains Aden, folding his arms across his chest as he slumps back into the passenger seat in a teenage sulk.

Finding a parking space at Heathrow Airport, it turns out, is actually harder than trying to figure out and put a stop to a nefarious global plot masterminded by a bitter and power hungry old woman. Lexa would much rather face down the former Azgedan royal family once again than to have to spend any longer driving in circles around the car park getting directions from a grumpy thirteen year old who seems to think he could do a better job at finding a space.

“I tell you what, Aden,” says Lexa, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Why don’t you drive next time?”

“I wish,” replies Aden, taking his phone out of his pocket and tapping away at the screen. “We would have been here like twenty minutes ago if I’d been driving. You drive like a grandma.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Aden glances up at Lexa, eyebrows raised, “I’m telling the dads you swore at me.”

“Do it, I dare you,” Lexa challenges him.

Aden falls silent and Lexa knows that she’s won. There are advantages to being the oldest child, and one of Lexa’s favourites is that ever since she’s moved out, she gets away with a lot more than she used to. At twenty two, she’s hardly going to get grounded for swearing. The same, however, cannot be said for Aden.

“Space!”

Aden’s outstretched finger points dead ahead, where another car is reversing out of a parking space. Spotting another driver eyeing up the same space, Lexa accelerates forward and swings into the empty bay almost as soon as the previous occupant has left it, then cuts the engine.

“Finally,” grumbled Aden, opening the passenger door and manoeuvring his lanky limbs out of the car, before leaning against the side of Lexa’s car, his phone still in his hand.

“Come on,” Lexa calls out to him, as she climbs out of the driver’s side and starts looking around the car park for signs to the lift. “Clarke’s plane touched down ten minutes ago. We really should get moving.”

Aden looks up from his phone and starts following Lexa.

“Oh, so now you’re in a hurry?” he snorts, though he stays close behind as Lexa speedwalks across the carpark to the lift that will take them down to the arrivals hall.

Lexa presses the button to call the lift, then takes her own phone out of her pocket. There’s a text from Clarke announcing that she’s landed and is making her way through customs, and Lexa’s heart starts fluttering in her chest with the knowledge that Clarke is so close. It’s been three months since they saw each other and Lexa has been counting down the days until their reunion since her own flight back to England from Washington D.C.

Lexa doesn’t realise that the lift has arrived until Aden gives her a nudge with his elbow.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” he teases her, eyes flickering down to the phone in Lexa’s hand.

“Shut up or I’ll just leave you at the airport instead of taking you back home.”

Lexa sees Clarke straight away, as if her eyes are magnetically drawn to Clarke as soon as she emerges from around the corner. Lexa’s heart starts doing somersaults the very moment she sees Clarke, who squints and scans the crowd waiting at the arrivals gate. Clarke’s features relax as soon as she finds Lexa’s face, and she speeds up into a faster walk, weaving in and out of the other passengers with her suitcase trailing behind her as she races to get to Lexa as fast as she can.

Clarke lets go of her suitcase as soon as she’s close enough to touch Lexa, which is exactly what she does, flinging her arms around Lexa’s neck and wrapping her legs around Lexa’s waist. Lexa staggers back a couple of steps under the weight as Clarke jumps into her arms, putting a hand under each of Clarke’s legs to support her, and buries her face into Clarke’s neck so that she can inhale Clarke’s scent.

“God, I missed you so much,” Clarke half sobs. “Come here, I want to kiss you.”

Lexa lifts her face from Clarke’s neck and lets Clarke place a hand on either side of her head as she swoops down for a kiss. Clarke’s lips are softer than Lexa remembers, yet more insistent too, kissing Lexa with an urgency that seems far too indecent for such a public place.

Not that Lexa is bothered by that. It’s been nearly three months since she last saw Clarke back in D.C. at the end of her mission in the States. Nearly three months of having to make do with texts and phone calls at strange hours that never seem quite long enough. Nearly three months of only seeing Clarke’s face through a grainy webcam or in the photo of the two of them that Lexa has set as her phone wallpaper. Nearly three months of daydreaming about Clarke at every possible moment, and of having wildly inappropriate dreams about Clarke at night, and of crying out Clarke’s name into the darkness of her empty bedroom in the dead of night as she touches herself over and over again.

Nearly three months without touching Clarke. And now that Lexa has Clarke in her arms, she wants to whisk her away somewhere secluded and only stop touching Clarke when both of them are too exhausted to be able to keep going.

Except that she can’t, because they’re in public, and Lexa’s thirteen year-old brother is right there next to them.

“Gross!” exclaims Aden. “I didn’t come here to watch you two get off with each other.”

Lexa reluctantly pulls back from their kiss and Clarke untangles her legs from around Lexa’s waist so that Lexa can lower her to the ground again.

“Why did you even come here?” Lexa asks Aden, her hand grappling for Clarke’s and knotting their fingers together. “You’ve done nothing but complain so far.”

“Because I wasn’t sure if I should believe you when you said you had a girlfriend, and I definitely thought you were lying about her being Clarke Griffin.”

“Hi,” says Clarke, greeting Aden with a smile. “You must be Aden.”

Aden stops bickering with Lexa as soon as Clarke addresses him, wide-eyed and apparently speechless now that she’s looking at him. His gaze drops, ogling the low ‘v’ of the loose t-shirt Clarke travelled in without even a trace of subtlety.

“Her eyes are up here, pervert,” says Lexa, giving Aden a prod with one of her fingers.

“Sorry,” mumbles Aden, glancing away as a pink flush of embarrassment glows on his cheeks.

“No need to say sorry,” says Clarke. “I think it’s cute.”

Aden’s head snaps up and a slow, almost dumbstruck smile spreads across his face.

“She thinks I’m cute,” he says breathlessly. “Clarke Griffin thinks I’m cute.”

“Okay, stud,” says Lexa, rolling her eyes. “She’s just saying that to be nice.”

“Oh, are you getting jealous?” teases Clarke, her fingers squeezing Lexa’s reassuringly. “You’re pretty cute too, you know.”

Lexa smiles bashfully, then says, “Right back at you.”

“Guys, I’m right here!” complains Aden, startling them both to attention before they can even think about leaning in for another kiss.

“Aden, make yourself useful and grab Clarke’s suitcase,” Lexa instructs her little brother. She turns to Clarke and presses a tender kiss to Clarke’s cheek, then whispers, “Let’s get you home.”

“I’m terrified,” admits Lexa.

Parked on the driveway of Lexa’s family home in rural Oxfordshire, they sit in the two front seats of Lexa’s car, neither one making any move to get out.

“You’re terrified?” Clarke asks surprisedly. “I’m the one meeting your parents.”

“Yeah, my parents,” explains Lexa, reaching across the central console to rest her hand over Clarke’s. “I’ve never brought somebody home to meet them before. What if they completely embarrass me and scare you away? Oh my god, what if Maxwell doesn’t like you?”

“Your dog? Is that … is that likely?”

Clarke completely forgets that they aren’t the only two in the car until Aden speaks up from the back seat.

“Can you two, like, have your gay panic after you’ve let me get out?” he complains, tapping Lexa on the shoulder from behind. “Also, Maxwell likes anybody who gives him treats and belly rubs.”

Lexa opens the door on the driver’s side of the car and steps out, pulling the switch that tilts her seat forward far enough for Aden to be able to awkwardly maneuver his long limbs through the gap and out of the car. Getting out of her own side of the car, Clarke shuts the door behind her and moves round towards the trunk to fetch her suitcase.

“Okay,” she says, as Lexa pops open the trunk and reaches inside to haul out Clarke’s bags, “so treats and belly rubs for Maxwell. Any tricks for winning over your dads?”

“Just be yourself,” says Lexa, placing Clarke’s suitcase down on the gravel driveway with a gentle thud, before she seeks out Clarke’s waist with both of her hands and pulls her in close. “If I like you, then they’ll like you too.”

“Do you like me?” Clarke asks coyly, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from Lexa’s lips anyway.

Lexa’s mouth curls up into a shy smile, and she answers, “A little.”

“Only a little?” Clarke mock gasps, pretending to be offended.

“Okay, a lot,” concedes Lexa, pulling Clarke in tighter, as if afraid that she might run away. “Let me show you how much.”

Clarke leans in and meets Lexa halfway, only too happy after months apart to spend as much time as she can kissing those beautiful lips. She drapes both arms around Lexa’s neck and lets herself fall into the kiss. There aren’t the words to explain how much Clarke has missed Lexa, missed this, while they’ve been apart, but they have the next three weeks in England to make up for all that lost time.

Starting right now. Clarke pulls Lexa impossibly closer and briefly wonders if it would be wildly inappropriate to push Lexa against her car to make out with her properly.

Clarke doesn’t get the chance to make that decision because they’re interrupted by an amused voice calling out from the direction of the house.

“Hey, Peanut! Do we not get to meet your girlfriend before you kiss her on our drive?”

As Clarke detaches her lips from Lexa’s, though she keeps her arms draped loosely around Lexa’s shoulders, her heart does a nervous little flip at the word ‘girlfriend’. It’s not that they aren’t together - or at least as together as two people can be when there’s an ocean and a five hour time difference between them - but that they haven’t yet had that conversation. It’s much easier to let the ‘I miss you’s devolve into steamy bouts of phone sex than to try and have a real conversation about putting labels on a relationship that sometimes feels like it must be too good to be true.

Now doesn’t seem like the right time for that conversation either. Not when there are two dads waiting to meet Clarke and an impatient thirteen year-old lurking on the other side of the car. So Clarke chooses to deflect things away from the word ‘girlfriend’ and onto another word that whichever one of Lexa’s dads heckled them from the front door decided to use.

“Peanut?”

“So embarrassing,” whines Lexa, a pretty pink flush decorating her cheeks.

“It’s cute,” counters Clarke, before she asks, “Are you going to introduce me?”

Lexa nods and disentangles herself from Clarke’s embrace, reaching for one of Clarke’s hands before she starts leading Clarke around the car and towards the front door.

Lexa’s family live in adorably quaint cottage that looks like it’s stepped right off a postcard. Clarke didn’t realise that homes like this actually existed - a rustic stone exterior, vines creeping up the sides of the house and curling around windows and drainpipes, with a lush green garden that seems to be sprouting every flower that could possibly exist. It’s so far removed from Clarke’s own life, from both the bustling college campus where she spends most of her time and the high fences and armed security guards of the White House, but it’s so incredibly British and Clarke loves it.

Clarke nearly trips over her own feet when she sees the two men standing in the front door, awaiting her arrival. Because the house may not have been what she expected, but it still makes sense, whereas Lexa’s dads are the absolute opposite of what she ever imagined they might be.

They’re both huge, is Clarke’s first impression. Two veritable giants of men, with hulking figures and thick tattooed arms and some very impressive facial hair, and it all has Clarke thinking that they could both have just stepped off a Viking longboat, if it were not for their complexions that are too dark to be Scandinavian.

“Clarke,” says one of the dads. “Come on in and make yourself at home, pet.”

“This is my Pops, Nyko,” says Lexa, gesturing to the man who has just spoken, then turns to the other of her dads. “And this is Gustus - or Dad.”

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” says Clarke, offering out her hand.

“We don’t do that here,” says Gustus. “You’re part of the family, come and have a hug.”

Clarke finds herself being swallowed up in a hug, with two pair of muscular arms wrapped around both herself and Lexa. The dads hold them both for a few seconds and it’s a little weird to be embraced by two men that she hardly knows, but she knows that it’s with good intentions and she does immediately feel like she’s welcome in their home.

As they drop their arms and release the two girls from the hug, Aden drags Clarke’s suitcase up to the front door and hauls it up the steps and over the threshold into the house.

“There you go, Clarke,” he says brightly.

“Thanks, Aden.”

Both dads look surprisedly between Aden and the girls, but it’s Nyko who addresses Lexa.

“Did you leave your brother at the airport and bring home somebody else’s thirteen year-old?” he asks.

“He’s got a schoolboy crush on Clarke,” explains Lexa.

“Bore off!” growls Aden.

“And there he is!” grins Nyko.

Nyko reaches out and ruffles Aden’s hair, and Aden ducks out of the way with an incoherent grumble, lifting his hands to fix his hair. His cheeks are pink, and Clarke can’t help but smile to herself as she is immediately reminded of Lexa, and the flush that rises to her cheeks when Clarke catches her off guard with a compliment or a flirtatious comment. It amuses Clarke that she seems to have had both Woods siblings wrapped around her little finger within moments of meeting them, but she finds it nothing more or less than plain sweet that Aden has a soft spot for her.

“Come in, girls,” says Gustus, stepping aside so that they can enter the cottage.

They’re immediately greeted by another member of Lexa’s family. A dark mass comes bounding down the hallway, which Clarke quickly realises is Lexa’s dog Maxwell, and he jumps up in front of Lexa, barking excitedly.

“Whoa!” says Lexa. “Steady, Max. Down, boy.”

Maxwell stops trying to jump up, but he still runs back and forth in front of Lexa, tail wagging with excitement.

“Maxwell!” says Lexa, her voice a little sterner. “Sit!”

Maxwell’s ears prick up as soon as he hears his name, and he obediently drops into a seated position, head tilted slightly to the side and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he pants noisily.

“Good boy!”

Lexa drops to her knees and rewards Maxwell with a good scratch behind his ears. He immediately rolls over onto his back, his paws brought up to his neck, exposing his long torso for a rub. Lexa indulges him, using both hands to scratch lovingly at his belly.

Lifting her head to look up at Clarke, Lexa says, “So, this is Max. He’s basically a giant puppy.”

Clarke crouches down beside the German Shepherd and tentatively offers out a hand. Maxwell tilts his head enough to be able to sniff Clarke’s fingers, curious about this new stranger in his home, but he almost immediately relaxes again, resting one of his paws over Clarke’s hand and using it to try and drag her hand onto his stomach, as if Lexa’s two hands treating him to a belly rub just aren’t enough.

“Aww,” says Clarke, gently scratching Maxwell exactly where he wants her to. “He’s very clever.” Clarke softens her voice, and coos, for Maxwell’s benefit, “Such a good boy.”

“He’s very spoilt,” Lexa corrects, with a glance up at her dads, though she continues to smile and reward Maxwell.

“Just look at his eyes,” says Nyko. “How can you say no to those?”

Lexa stands up again, much to Maxwell’s disappointment, and Clarke gives him one final scratch out of sympathy for the whine he gives out before standing too.

“I’m going to show Clarke to my room and get her settled in,” Lexa explains to the rest of the family.

“It’s lovely meeting you, Clarke,” says Gustus. “Give us a shout if there’s anything you need.”

“Thank you so much,” smiles Clarke.

She makes to reach for her suitcase, which Aden has brought into the hallway, but Lexa steps forward and gets there first.

“Let me.”

“How chivalrous of you,” teases Clarke.

In the end it takes both of them to get Clarke’s huge suitcase up the narrow stairs leading to the upper floor of the cottage. Lexa does most of the work, hauling it up by it’s handle, while Clarke stands below and helps guide it around the corner and up onto the landing.

“How much stuff have you brought?” jokes Lexa, dropping the suitcase with a thud when they get to the top of the stairs, before she wheels it across the landing and towards a door with a crooked handmade sign reading Lexa’s room.

“Stop it,” replies Clarke, rolling her eyes playfully. “Do you want me to run out of clothes while I’m here? Wait -” Clarke could kick herself as soon as she realises what she’s just said, especially when Lexa shoots her a suggestive smile, “Don’t answer that.”

Lexa’s bedroom is just as quaint as the rest of the house, if not more so. There’s a slanting ceiling from where the roof meets the house, supported by wooden beams that stretch from one end of the room to the other. The room looks like it belongs to a teenage girl, and Clarke imagines a younger Lexa trying to make her room just perfect. The bedcovers are a soft blue colour, with a string of fairy lights hanging above the bed and a selection of candles littering the top of both the dresser and the corner of the desk under the window. There’s a tall bookshelf in the corner, crammed with so many books that some have had to be piled up in front of the others, too many to fit in neat rows on the shelf.

Clarke’s eyes are immediately drawn to a large photograph that hangs in a frame on the wall. At first, Clarke thinks it’s a photo of Lexa and a young toddler, but then she starts to notice the differences. The woman’s eyes are too light, greyish-blue instead of green, her face is slightly rounder than Lexa’s, her hair a shade lighter, and it’s only when Clarke’s eyes drop to the little girl in the photo and recognises her immediately, that she realises who the woman is.

“Your mom?” asks Clarke.

She phrased it hesitantly, caught between not wanting to pry into a relationship that Lexa probably hardly remembers, and wanting Lexa to feel able to open up to her about anything.

“Yeah,” replies Lexa.

“She’s beautiful,” Clarke tells Lexa. “She looks just like you.”

Lexa’s eyes widen, full of hope, and she says, “You think so?”

“Yeah. Do you miss her?”

Lexa hesitates before she answers, just long enough for Clarke to start regretting even asking, but when she does reply she doesn’t seem upset or angered by the question.

“I think that sometimes I miss the idea of her,” Lexa admits honestly. “It’s hard to miss her when I barely remember her, and especially when I’ve got two such amazing dads.”

“They really are great!” agrees Clarke, latching onto the opportunity to steer the conversation away from Lexa’s mom before she pushes and pries too far.

“Aren’t they just?” says Lexa, with a content sigh.

“They’re … they’re not at all what I expected,” admits Clarke. “I feel so bad - in my head I was expecting one or both of them to be a stereotype. But they both look like they’ve stepped right out of a motorcycle gang.”

Lexa grins, and then says, “They actually met at a biker rally. But they’re both huge softies. Dad keeps bees and Pops has a chihuahua that he crochets sweaters for. They’re like a pair of grandpas, honestly.”

Clarke can feel her heart melting just a little bit more with each word that Lexa says.

“I love them already,” confesses Clarke, making a mental note to express her appreciation of the dads to their faces later tonight. “And they’ve been so welcoming.”

“I think they love you too,” Lexa tells her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them pulls me aside tonight and begs me to propose to you right now.”

“After knowing each other for three months?” gasps Clarke, feigning shock. “I’m pretty sure that would make us the stereotypes.”

It’s a whirlwind of an evening.

Clarke takes a shower to freshen up after her transatlantic flight, and then Lexa’s family jump right into making sure she feels at home. She meets Delilah the chihuahua, who wears a hand-crocheted sweater and is by the far the biggest diva in the house, then gets led out into the garden so that Gustus can show her the fruit he’s growing in the greenhouse as well as his four beehives. And after turning down a third helping of spaghetti and homemade meatballs, somebody produces a board game from seemingly nowhere and Clarke finds herself trying to reign in her competitiveness while Maxwell sits at her feet and Lexa’s thumb traces patterns across the back of her hand.

It’s so far removed from Clarke’s normal life as the First Daughter of the United States, but she thinks she could get used to this, to being a permanent fixture in Lexa’s life, to domesticity and dogs and dads.

Aden triumphs and is declared the winner of the game (both Lexa and Gustus make accusations of cheating and Clarke is struck by their obvious similarities, only falling more in love with this odd little family with each second she spends in their house) and then Lexa excuses them both to bed, yawning exaggeratedly to fake her own tiredness to give Clarke a reason to bid her goodnight and head upstairs too.

Clarke doesn’t realise how tired she actually is until she makes it to Lexa’s room. The time difference means that it’s still the afternoon back at home in America, but after an overnight flight with very little sleep on the plane, Clarke is starting to feel the effects catch up with her. Her eyelids are heavy and her entire body aches with exhaustion, and now that she can see Lexa’s bed, Clarke wants nothing more than to lose herself in that mound of pillows and wake up in twelve hours time feeling refreshed.

But it’s been nearly three months apart, and there’s also a really gorgeous girl at her side that Clarke would quite like to lose herself in too.

“I didn’t think it possible, but you’re even prettier than I remember you being,” says Clarke, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s waist to draw her closer.

Lexa takes the bait and dips her head, capturing Clarke’s mouth in a soft kiss. And it’s nice, more than nice, but Clarke hasn’t been waiting three months to be kissed softly. She wants Lexa to kiss her like she means it, and then throw her down on the bed and make her moan until she can no longer remember her own name.

But when she tries to deepen the kiss, flicking her tongue against Lexa’s in a silent request for more, Lexa is having none of it.

“You must be exhausted,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s mouth.

“Not too exhausted for you,” replies Clarke, lifting one of her hands up to cup the back of Lexa’s head in an attempt to bring Lexa’s lips back to her own.

“Baby, I want this, but I’m still going to be here in the morning,” says Lexa, hands squeezing Clarke’s hips in a reassurance that she isn’t blowing her off because she doesn’t actually want this. “You’ve been suppressing yawns since dinner. You need to sleep.”

Clarke is disappointed, but she understands, and her body betrays her with another lurching yawn.

“I think you’re seriously underestimating how much I’ve missed you because I’m pretty sure I’d be done in less than two minutes,” jokes Clarke.

“Three months,” says Lexa. “We can wait twelve more hours.”

“I’m going to be all over you the second you wake up,” promises Clarke, extracting herself from Lexa’s arms and bending down to rifle through her suitcase for a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized college tee.

“Can’t wait,” grins Lexa.

As it turns out, they can’t wait until morning.

They do manage to get a little bit of sleep. Lexa gets woken by Clarke rolling over to face her in the middle of the night, and when she blinks her eyes open to find Clarke’s face inches from her own, sleepily peering at her through the darkness, it takes them all of about five seconds before Lexa’s mouth is on Clarke’s and her hand is between Clarke’s legs.

When they’re finally done, after two orgasms apiece, Lexa tucks herself into Clarke’s side and drapes an arm across Clarke’s stomach.

“Is it a cliche for me to say that I’ve missed you right after sex?” says Lexa, as she tries to catch her breath back.

“Probably,” says Clarke, laughing softly. “But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be true.”

Clarke wraps both of her arms around Lexa and holds her tight, and Lexa has to try really hard not to cry at how nice it is to be held like this after three months of only being able to imagine it.

“You know what Dad shouted at us when we were kissing on the drive earlier?” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s collar bone. “When he called you my girlfriend?”

“Mmm?” hums Clarke in response.

“Are you my girlfriend?”

Lexa’s heart pounds against her ribcage as she asks her question, and the way that their bodies are tangled together surely means that Clarke can feel it too.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Clarke asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if we already were, or not,” admits Lexa. “Because we agreed to be together and to not see anybody else but we also never put a label on it. And part of that was because I was scared that we weren’t going to make the distance thing work, but we are making it work and I would really like to have permission to refer to you as my girlfriend…”

“Permission,” laughs Clarke, pressing a kiss to the top of Lexa’s head as her arms squeeze her a little bit tighter. “You have my permission. I’d really like to be your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay,” Lexa exhales in relief and pushes herself up on one arm so that she can look at Clarke’s face. “Good. I’d like that.”

“You are really bad at this whole seduction thing,” Clarke teases her. “Like completely useless.”

“Hey!” pouts Lexa, flopping down onto the pillow next to Clarke. “You fell for me, so I can’t be that bad.”

Clarke considers this for a few moments, then replies, “True. And I’m so glad that I did.”

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #kingsman au #i'm a little emotional posting this #come and have a chat with me about this fic now that it's over

100 notes · View notes

profoundnet · 6 years

Text

PROFOUND MEMBER POST - NOVEMBER 2018

Header by @pantydean and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord Server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in entirely during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR NOVEMBER 2018!

Masterpost below the cut.

wargurl83 - @wargurl83

Fem Cas for Jess

Summary: Art created for Jess/Jscribbles of Fem Cas

SFW

JessJessTheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJessTheBest

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

Summary: “I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y'all are mighty fine. It’s time for ass-whooping. Who’s next in line?” Baby Del Mar is one of the top faces in the WWE universe. But in real life, Dean Winchester is just a guy who wants to keep his personal and professional lives separate. This turns out to be a problem for several reasons.

Tags: WWE AU, Established Relationship, WWE typical violence, discussion of past injury.

SFW

Accompanying art by @purzelndesbaeumchen

kradarua - kradarua

The Stars, They Shine

Summary: Engineer-in-training Dean Winchester just wants to work on cars. Astronomer Castiel Novak spends his time holed up in the school’s observatory looking at the stars and trying to piece together his dissertation. They’ve never had any reason to cross paths. Not until they get roped into participating in the college theatre group, anyway. When Lisa invites Dean to join her at the mass meeting, he can’t say no to a pretty face. But the joke is on Dean when he accidentally lands the male lead and has to come to terms with memorizing lines and trying not to make a fool of himself on stage. Moreover, despite his best attempts to stay interested in Lisa, there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull he feels around Castiel. Castiel is just here to prove to Charlie that he’s capable of doing something besides research; it should be easy, except he finds himself becoming interested in Dean in a way he really did not expect. Dean is trying to navigate being way outside his skill set; Castiel just wants to hold onto his scholarship without pissing off the religious organization that gave it to him. It’s going to be a long semester, especially if Dean keeps forgetting his goddamn lines. The show must go on!

Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Theatre, Homophobia, Misappropriated Christianity, Astronomer!Castiel, Accidental Actor!Dean, Gay Panic, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time

NSFW

canadduh - @canadduh - canadduh

Uncle Dean: Adventures in Babysitting

Summary: Dean has always looked after his brother Sammy. So it was really easy to extend that care to his brother's kid. Dean watches his nephew while Sam spends five hours on self-care for the first time since the death of his wife almost six months ago. Dean and Cas talk about the future.

Tags: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid!Fic, Uncle Dean Winchester, Uncle Castiel, Dean Winchester is a good Uncle, Fluff, Parent Sam Winchester

SFW

sharkfish - @reallyelegantsharkfish - sharkfish

trustworthy for such work

Summary: Cas hugs his pillow, and he’s mostly asleep when a memory works its way in. His father watching Fox news, a fearmongering piece about ifrits in healthcare. His father’s voice, saying, Blood is how they take your wishes. Cas always assumed that meant through feeding. But —

Tags: Dragon Castiel, djinn dean, Dragons, Djinni & Genies, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, Magic, Wishes, References to Addiction, References to Knotting.

NSFW

longing for grapefruit

Summary: Dean lights up and takes the first hit, but instead of exhaling, he leans over towards Cas. It’s not a proper kiss, breathing in Dean’s air, but it’s intimate, and they take turns sharing hits in between kisses. Cas is flying. Cas can feel everything, Cas is out of his body. “Baby,” Dean says, soft in between them. “Let me make you feel good.”

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Recreational Drug Use, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Mental Health Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Shotgunning, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural)

NSFW

dancing backwards

Summary: Cas hears Dean Winchester come into the bathroom, but he’s too busy fiddling with equipment to acknowledge him at first, until Dean says, “So like, is there someone I can sue when I break my ankles?” Cas looks up to see the pair of pale pink stilettos hanging from his fingertips. The only thing he’s wearing is a long, dingy skirt with layers and layers of tulle like a tutu and dark, smudged eyeliner.

Tags: Actor Dean Winchester, Photographer Castiel, Dean Winchester in Heels, Fluff and Smut

NSFW

The Answer

Summary: “Can I ask if you’ve done this before? BDSM shit.” “Is it that obvious that I haven’t?” “We were all new once,” Dean says, giving him a smile.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sex Shop, BDSM, Gentle Dom Castiel, Sub Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Paddling, Face-Fucking, soft Recreational Drug Use

NSFW

overdressed and overeducated

Summary: My brother says I’m boring, Castiel wrote. Perhaps you can make me seem a little more exciting.

Tags: Stylist Dean, Cas is sad & bad at clothes, Meet-Cute, Weddings, First Kiss, Pen Pals

SFW

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittensWraith

Lost Time

Summary: Dean figured Cas was only trying to let him down easy. He needed a little bit of time to figure out how to deal with it.

Tags: Fluff and Angst, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Newly Human Castiel, Love Confessions, First Kiss

SFW

ravenscat - @ravenscat-tumbler - ravensCAT

“They Were in the Bag!” (Panties and dildos)

Summary: The Luggage Mixup Au no one asked for. Basically pwp, almost, it was supposed to be and then feelings happened. Gross.

Tags: Top Cas/Bottom Dean, Rimming, Blowjobs, Shower sex, plane sex, Dean in panties, lawyer Cas

NSFW

deliciousirony - @delicious-irony - deliciousirony

Arctic Light

Summary: Art for Northern Sparrow's Under The Midnight Sun

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Dark-Eyed Junco (Original Character), Fanart DCBB, northernsparrow, Birds, Curious Birds, Physiology Of Angels, Angel Wings, landscapes, The Arctic, Deli, SPRW

SFW

dean-bangs-cas-in-the-impala (maknatuna) - @dean-cas-in-the-impala - Dean-Bangs-Cas-In-The-Impala

October in Paris

Summary: No matter where Castiel is he always thinks about Dean. Tags: Fluff, Romance, Friendship, Friendship that is slowly turning into romance.

SFW

EllenOfOz - EllenOfOz

For A Dream’s Sake

Summary: Part of the DCBB 2018. Just four ingredients is all they need to reopen the rift. Archangel grace, the Seal of Solomon, blood of a most holy man, and a fruit from the tree of life. Castiel returns from Syria with the fruit, saying that he killed some djinn and bargained with the rest. But just what bargain did Cas make with the djinni queen? What did he experience at her hands? Heaven's great leader of armies prides himself on his self-control, his steadfast courage under pressure. But when the djinni's dream is everything he's ever hoped for...

Tags: No Archive Warnings, canon level violence, canon verse, Djinn, angst with a happy ending, angel wings, season 13

NSFW

Accompanying art by @usarechan

Bumocusal - Bumocusual

Six Degrees of Levain

Summary: Dean has a dog that won't stop vomiting, a brother with Sasquatch hair that brings all the ladies to the yard, and is developing a particular attachment to the hot guy that jogs by his house.

Tags: Police Officer Dean Winchester, Animal Lover Castiel, Meddling Sam Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut, Vibrators, Anal Fingering, Anal, Kissing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Rimming, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean Winchester

NSFW

jscribbles - jscribbles

Your Story Isn’t Over Yet

Summary: One morning, Castiel wakes up suddenly very lady-shaped, and Team Free Will discover that a nephilim grows inside him. Sam has no idea how this could have happened considering Cas was supposed to be human, and Dean seems uninterested in finding out how or why their friend is pregnant and female - but he seems goddamn excited. Castiel retreats into himself, seemingly more depressed than usual. Sam is determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, though the others seem reluctant to discover the origin of the nephilim. Could the answer be right under his nose?

Tags: Temp MCD, mpreg (but not really), Temp Genderbend, Grace Baby, Angst, Grief, Implications of losing a child, Blood, Vomit

NSFW

supernatural9917

Cogitationes Publicae

Summary: While organising a store room in the bunker, Dean accidentally breaks a potion bottle, and the contents leave him with no internal monologue. What secrets will be revealed when all his thoughts are laid bare? Written for the Destiel Smut Bingo. Square fill: Consequence of a truth serum/spell Tags: Destiel Smut Bingo 2018, Truth Serum, Dean has no inner monologue, Cas approves of this, Consequence of a truth serum/spell

NSFW

Hot for Teacher

Summary: Castiel Novak is a young new math teacher at Lawrence High, and Dean Winchester is a popular senior in his class. Dean has a bit of a crush, and Castiel can't help but notice Dean's charms. Written for the Destiel Smut Bingo. Square fill: hot for teacher

Tags: Destiel Smut Bingo 2018, hot for teacher, Teacher Castiel, Student Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Castiel isn't oblivious to Dean's charms (No underage or relationship while Dean is a student)

NSFW

MalMuses - @malmuses - MalMuses

Wendig-Oh-No!

Summary: Of all the things that Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, expected to become as a human, being clumsy was never one of them. When Sam catches the flu, Dean is forced to team up with Cas on a Wendigo hunt in snowy northern Minnesota. It goes terribly. Or does it? SPN Reverse Bang fic, with art by @harplesscastiel.

Tags: Fluff, Miscommunication, Bedsharing, Camping, Human Castiel, Clumsy Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing Body Heat, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Wendigo, Hunter Castiel

SFW

Personal Space

Summary: Dean is an astronaut, and he definitely chose the career so that he could help move humanity forward, not just because he didn't want to sit in an office, thank-you-very-much. Becoming the first human to set foot on Mars was never part of his five-year plan, but he loved his job and couldn't say no when the opportunity arose. He had spent plenty of time thinking about what he was risking never seeing again if something went wrong; his brother, brother-in-law, and the adorable kid they were adopting, not to mention his friends, his car, and pie. What he hadn't considered was what, or who, he might find when he actually got there. SPN Reverse Bang fic with art by @thefriendlypigeon Tags: Mars Exploration AU, Astronaut Dean, Alien Castiel, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Way more feelings than you would expect, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Castiel Has Tentacles, Consentacles, Not as crazy as it sounds, Kid Jack Kline, So many references but actually not crack, Sam is a Good Brother, Jack is adorable, More Wholesome Than It Sounds, Tentacles, Tentacle Sex, Love Can Cross the Cosmos NSFW

The Doppelganger Effect

Summary: Dean had been having a pretty great week, all in all. There had been that case up in Dodge City where he’d worn a cowboy hat, he had made homemade burgers for dinner, and best of all? Cas was back from the Empty. Alive, unharmed, and in the bunker. Things were back to normal. Then they showed up to ruin things—Dean and Cas, Version 2.0. They're not just different, they're happy. Not to mention very... coupley. Thrown from their own world with magic unheard of since Purgatory, the doppelgangers need Team Free Will’s help—or is it Dean and Cas that need theirs? Suddenly, Dean is stuck in a minivan with two angels that hate each other, a (pretty awesome) copy of himself, and his gassy little brother. Through magic mirrors, ill-advised pacts with Eldritch gods and rather too many gas-station tacos, Dean and his angel face down the past, and decide on their future. A 2018 DCBB fic with art by EL.

Tags: Case Fic, Possession, Eldritch Gods, Car Accidents, Canon-Typical Violence, Eye Trauma, Tentacle Monsters, Horror, Canon Flashbacks, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Drinking, Pining, Slow Burn, Witches, Original Character Death(s), Mutual Masturbation, Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Casturbation

NSFW

exceptcas - @exceptcas - exceptcas

No Call

Summary: While celebrating Sam's bachelor party in Vegas, Dean runs into Cas. --- This is based off of the song "Closer" by Halsey.

Tags: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Bachelor Parties

SFW

Hitori-Alouette - @hitori-alouette

Can’t do it alone

Summary: Art created for the DEANCAS CREATIONS CHALLENGE

Tags: #deancascc #destiel #deancasedit

SFW

#member masterpost #member masterposts #november masterpost #profoundnet #profoundnet monthly masterpost #deancas reclist #member fic #member art

29 notes · View notes

balmerancrystalance · 6 years

Text

the jock, the preppy and the nerd aka garrison matadashi hcs

matt and shiro meet for the first time when matt was getting bullied, trying to fight them in all his pre-serum steve rogers glory, when the roaring of a bike echoes loudly, following by someone yelling at the bully from behind to “pick someone of their own size”

shiro, taking off his helmet and hopping off the bike: hey, you alright?

matt, breathless by both the fight and the pretty boy now helping him stand up: yeah, you should’ve seen the other guy

this is why shiro has been a hero longer for matt than anyone else

shiro immediatelly becoming sam’s favorite after finding out what happened

they bond over comics, movies, memes and of course, s p a c e

they also become commander iverson’s headache

on his first try on the simulator shiro effortlessly beats the record

matt, whistling: would you look at that. soon you’re gonna have every girl in here drooling over you

shiro: *closeted gay silence*

shiro eventually comes out to matt as gay when watching love, simon on movie night, giving matt the confidence enough to come out as bisexual

matt starts to wear glasses and hates them because he thinks now he looks even more like a nerd

matt: it’s like i literally have a ‘break my nose’ sign tattooed on my forehead

shiro, without looking up from his paper: actually, the reason why you get beat up is because you wear heelies but go off i guess? besides, i think they look cute

matt: *blushes in bisexual*

a year later, the first day adam walks into class shiro’s brain short-circuits

caramel smooth skin, aurburn hair falling all over his face, golden eyes looking through the room, uniform fitting in just the right places and-oh shit, he’s coming this way, fuck fuck f u c k

adam, smiling: hi, excuse me, is that seat taken?

shiro, a gay mess™: *tentatively looking down at his lap* i-

matt, slamming his hands against the table: please, join us

just when shiro thought he survived his interaction of adam asking him for a pencil their teacher offers shiro to show to show the new kids around

teacher: i’m sure one of our best students here would love to walk you through the installations and help you getting settled down

shiro, internally: ♫ conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them knoooow ♫

adam, nudging his arm smirking: so, what you say golden boy?

*shiro.exe has stopped working and somehow got even gayer*

matt excusing himself of having to do something for the rest of the day, even tho he knows shiro knows he’s lying

matt, picking up his stuff as soon as the bell rings: i’d love to join you but you know how dad gets when i’m late and stuff but hey, have fun, yeah? gotta gay-go, i gotta go!

adam, hooking his glasses into his slightly open garrison jacket: seems like you’re stuck with me

shiro: *gay panic bass boosted x10000*

the three of them quickly become friends, adam becoming their new mediator whenever they bicker (”okay, but hear me out, what if shiro is actually six?” “for the last time, that’s not how it fucking works”), knowing for some reason shiro would always listen to him and that matt is slightly intimidated by him

shiro wears his garrison jacket out, adam wears it tucked in and matt is lucky if he remembers to wear it

adam beats shiro’s score on the simulator on his first try but he’s already way head over heels for him to be even bothered about it, too focused on adam’s smile as he comes out of the ship to hear the other kids mocking because ‘the new kid beat his score’

shiro, later that day: i guess some congratulations are in order

adam, releasing the breath he was holding: oh, thank god. i thought you’d be mad at me

shiro, smirking: well, maybe i am

adam: oh, really now? *getting closer to shiro* can i make it up to you?

matt, bursting into the room in nagisa 50% off’s voice: sup, sluts?

matt knows they like-like each other before even they do, maybe its a holt’s intuition, maybe its the fact they were the epitome of the mutual pining ao3 tag

shiro finally asks adam on a date??? he’s still not sure how it happened, like, one minute he was was talking about a meteor shower and the next one adam’s hand was on his thigh saying he would see him tonight

if he got lost in adam’s lips in the middle of the conversation, which had some information he could really use right now, no one needed to know

shiro, running around their living room in panic: what do i do?

matt, playing video games sitting upside down on the couch: use the bike, that did it for me

shiro, after getting his keys and slamming the door shut: right-wait, what?!

boy oh boy does adam love the bike

shiro: need a ride, star pilot?

adam, already hopping on the bike: i don’t know. i’m not supposed to get on bikes with strangers. no matter how hot they are

shiro, laughing: then thank god you’re an awful listener

adam, whispering on shiro’s ear, smiling: to the stars, golden boy

its cheesy and disgusting and if he tells matt he won’t hear the end of it but adam looks so pretty under the moonlight shiro doesn’t care, its just perfect

shiro: did you asked for a wish already?

adam: to every single one we saw so far

shiro: how many things could you possibly want

adam, getting closer to finally kiss shiro: well, right now? just one, you

shiro and adam go back to shiro’s room forgetting matt was there o o p s

adam, the next day: are we really going to pretend nothing happe-

matt and shiro, at the same time: yes

once its oficial, adam and matt switch rooms so he can be with shiro, matt agreeding immediately when he found out adam’s roomate droped out, meaning he had the whole room to himself

adam calls him “takashi” for the first time and shiro ascends to the astral plane

the three of them somehow graduate from the garrison with honors

adam and shiro decide to become teachers, commander iverson’s recommendation, and matt hangs around every now and then helping sam

everyfuckingone in the galaxy garrison knows they’re a thing™

shiro, knocking into adam’s classroom: professor, might i have a word?

students: oOOooOooooOoOoooOOOoOooOhhhh

years later they find out that not only matt, but shiro as well, could be part of the kerberos mission, adam nothing but excited and supportive of his two favorite boys

after a few requiered studies for the mission are done, shiro gets called back, returning a few hours later with papers in his trembling hands

matt, getting up from adam’s lap where he was solving his rubik's cube: oh, fucking finally. dude, what took you so long?

adam, getting up as well: i was starting to geeting worried. what they said?

shiro, looking down at the paper, whispering: i’m... dying

shiro doesn’t get to continue because suddenly adam is runing away, feeling like he’s going to be sick at any moment, matt motioning him with his head to go after him, that he’ll be fine and they’ll talk about it later

that same day matt gets home and walks into sam’s office, sam is on the phone with someone but immediately hungs up at the sight of his son, they don’t say anything, they don’t need to

sam just nods and matt rushes to cry into his arms as loud as he can maybe since the time he found out he was having a sister and thought it meant his parents wouldn’t love him anynmore

shiro constantly says he’s okay, but he’s not

shiro and adam start to fight

they both end up occasionally at matt’s bed in the middle of the night, shiro just being done with life and needing a shoulder to cry on, adam terrified of not knowing how much left he has left to live with shiro

if matt wakes up sandwiched between his best friends he doesn’t mind

adam and matt work with the garrison on a project to create a device that would estimulate shiro’s muscles, they know its not much but its enough to make him cry, so they take it as a win

shiro and adam keep fighting

one night while watching movies adam asks matt to bring him his glasses, since shiro was way too comfortable to move from his spot sprawled across his lap apparently, matt finding a box with an engagement ring by accident

tiny teeny baby keith becomes part of this dysfunctional as fuck gay family

matt, mocking: aren’t you two too young to raise a child?

adam, sipping his black coffee not looking up from the newspaper: i don’t know. i think we’ve done a pretty decent job with you

adam sees how good shiro is with keith and fuck he just wants k i d s

shiro and adam just keep on fighting

the night after showing pidge how sam and him communicate it hits him like a whiplash, running to the garrison to find adam to tell him the good news, that the three of them will be able to talk all the way from kerberos

but he eavesdrops by accident them fighting about adam being tired about shiro constantly putting himself in danger and finally breaking up, so he keeps it to himself

when adam and shiro started to date, matt, being the overprotective best friend he is, told adam to take care of shiro, the morning before leaving for kerberos, adam asks him to return the favor

58 notes · View notes

bonkybornes · 6 years

Text

The Road So Far: Phantom Traveler Pt.2

"Thank you for taking our survey." Sam said, "And if you do plan to fly, please remember your friends at United Brittania Airlines. Thanks." He hung up the phone with a sigh. "That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway, they're not flying any time soon." Working Man played in the background as the two spoke, Dean keeping his eyes on the road.

"So our only wild card is Amanda Walker, the flight attendant." Dean stated, praying to whatever God may exist that they wouldn't have to get on a plane.

"Right, her sister said that Amanda's plane leaves at eight tonight, it's her first night back on the job." Dean internally groaned, he was completely screwed.

"Just our luck. Call Amanda again, see if we can catch her." He told his brother, gripping the wheel nervously.

"I've tried like four times, I left voicemails but she's not responding. Dean, this is a five hour drive, even with you behind the wheel." He pointed out.

"We'll make it." Dean insisted, pressing down on the gas pedal.

Sam frantically looks around as they enter the airport, hoping to find some information on the flight, "There! It's boarding in thirty minutes." The fear grew quickly in Dean's chest.

"Alright, we still have some cards to play. Where's a phone?" He muttered, spotting one a few feet away. He picked up the receiver and talked to the secretary, "Hi, gate thirteen? I'm trying to contact Amanda Walker on flight 424, she's a flight attendant." Sam desperately hoped this would work, he never liked lying to get things, even when it was necessary. "Hi this is Doctor James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital, we have a Karen Walker here?" Dean covered his face with his hand, a headache forming.

"Karen?" Amanda wondered.

"Yes, she got in a minor car accident. No serious injuries but-"

"Wait, that's- that's impossible!" She exclaimed, "I just got off the phone with her." Shit. Dean thought.

"W-What?"

"Five minutes ago, she was at home cramming for a final. Who is this?" She said suspiciously.

"Uh, well there must be some mistake." He tried his best to keep his composure, failing miserably.

"And how would you even know I'm here?" The gears turned in her head. Sam snuck around to the other side of Dean to listen, "Is this one of Vince's friends?" Dean licked his lipe, getting into character.

"Guilty as charged." He lied easily.

"Unbelievable."

"He's really sorry." At this point Dean was just pulling things out of his ass and hoping he wouldn't have to go any higher than the ground.

"Well tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life." She gritted her teeth.

"Wait! Come on, you gotta see the guy! Really, he's a mess. It's- It's pathetic." He bullshitted.

"Really?"

"Yeah, totally." His face was screwed up in concentration. Amanda sighed on the other side of the phone.

"Just, tell him to call me when I land. I have to go." She softened. Panic took over his voice, but she was already hanging up the phone.

"Dammit! So close." Dean exclaimed. Sam sighed shortly.

"Alright, time for plan B." He declared, "We're getting on that plane." Dean widened his eyes, the panic showing clearly now.

"Woah, wait! Just hang on a second. There's gotta be another way!" A nervous laugh left his lips.

"Dean, if we're right, that plane is gonna crash. It's got over a hundred passengers on it!" Sam argued.

"You're right."

"Okay, I'll go get tickets, you get stuff out of the trunk, whatever will make it through airport security." Dean looked to the side nervously, "You okay?"

"Not really." He admitted.

"What is it?" Sam rushed, they didn't have time for this.

"I kind of have this problem with-" Dean trailed off.

"With flying?"

"Yeah." Sam gave him a bitch face.

"You're not serious?"

"Well it's never been an issue until now! Why do you think I drive everywhere?" Dean asked him, nerves taking over.

"Fine," Sam sighed at his brother's fear, "I'll do this one on my own."

"No!" He exclaimed.

"Well we don't have another option, Dean!" Their speech was getting faster, either from nerves or lack of time.

"Come on!" Dean shouted. He was going to have to get on this plane.

"Are you humming Metallica?" Sam asked. They had taken their seats on the plane and Dean was near a panic attack, his breathing heavy.

"Calms me down." He rushed, trying to picture himself anywhere but there. When that doesn't work he picks up the pamphlet on how to stay safe if the plane crashes, if anything happened he needed to be prepared.

"Just try to relax." Sam advised, pissing his brother off.

"Just try to shut up!" He shot back childishly. Sam took a deep breath, preparing himself for what would surely be a stupid conversation.

"Look, I know you're nervous, but you've got to stay focused." He told his brother calmly.

"Okay."

"We've got thirty two minutes and counting to stop this thing or the plane goes down." Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That'll be easy." Sarcasm shot out of Dean's mouth like spit, covering the sentence with a snarky tone.

"Let's just take it one step at a time. Who's it possessing?" Sam tried his best to guide him trough the panic and into the case. Dean swallowed thickly.

"It's usually gonna be someone with a chink in the armor, something the demon can worm through, someone with an addiction or some type of emotional distress." Dean rambled, sounding like a page out of their dad's notebook.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash, if I was her I'd be pretty messed up." He suggested, an idea popping into his head, "Why don't you go check on her, see what you can find out?"

"What if she's already possessed?"

"There's ways to test that." Sam offered, "If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God."

"Oh, nice." Dean nodded, standing gingerly to head towards the flight attendant.

"Dean!" Sam whisper yelled, "Say it in Latin!"

"I know that!"

The younger Winchester sat in his seat as Dean headed off. He wondered why Jay had to go, why it had to be him. It's almost like he was cursed or something. Everyone around him keeps dying. He continued on this train of thought until Dean reappeared beside him.

"Okay, she's gotta be the most well adjusted person on the planet."

"You said Christo?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. There's no demon in her, there's no demon getting in her." The plane hit a patch of turbulence, shaking Dean to his soul, "Come on, that can't be normal!" His anxiety was through the roof.

"Hey, it's just a little bit of turbulence." Although Sam was scared by it too, he was able to keep his fear under control, mostly.

"Sam this plane is going to crash okay? Stop treating me like i'm friggin four!" Dean's knuckles were white from clutching the armrests, his body was pressed to it like he was trying to glue himself to the seat.

"You need to calm down."

"Well, I'm sorry, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Dude, stop with the touchy-feely, self-help, yoga crap. It's not helping." Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Listen, if you're panicked you're wide open to demonic possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now." The older Winchester blew air out of his mouth slowly, trying with everything in him to relax his body. "Good, now I found an exorcism in here that might work." He angled the book so Dean could see it. "The Rituale Romanum."

"What do we have to do?"

Lights are flaring from all over the plane, Dean pressed himself against the wall as the nose of the plane dipped down towards the ground. If it was possible, his eyes were wider than before, almost popping out of his head. Sam took charge of the situation, searching under every seat for John's notebook. The demon had kicked it away in it's struggle to escape. Aha, He picked up the book and started reading again. Still sprawled out on the floor, he manages to finish the exorcism and send the demon back to Hell. Dean slumps to the ground as the floor levels.

"You okay?" Amanda asks him. Dean nods, his breathing getting closer to even.

~ "Nice work back there Sammy." Sam and Dean were in the Impala, driving away from the airport. They had given some crap statement to the police, they'd never figure it out anyways. Sam scoffed and put his head down a bit.

"Yeah, just another day at work." This sent a chuckle flying out of their mouths.

"I'm serious! You did a hell of a job back there. when did you learn Latin?" Sam fished a beer out of the cooler by his feet and opened it, shrugging.

"I didn't? I totally bullshitted all of that pronunciation." He said through laughter. They sat in silence for a minute, maybe more. The rumble of Baby's engine, and the soft rock coming from the radio was their only company.

"So theres this thing in L.A., June I think." Dean started, "It's called a- A pride parade." A smile broke out on Sam's face. "What's that all about?" Dean cleared his throat after he spoke.

Sam turned to his brother with an amused smile on his face. "Dean, you dont have to do this."

"What!" Dean lifted one of his hands off of the wheel, "I- I really want to know more!" Sam laughed at his brother's awkward state.

"Alright, if you really want me to I'll tell you. It's a celebration, kind of. Everyone in the LGBTQ+ community gets together and marches. They march for freedom, rights, to be proud of who they are." He trailed off with a fond smile.

"The LGBTQ+ community, that's-"

"Lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, and every other sexuality and identity there is." Dean nodded, not fully understanding but trying to, for the sake of his brother.

"Sounds fun. We should go." Sam damn near spilled his beer all over himself.

"What?"

"Yeah! Why not?" Sam scoffed a bit.

"I don't know, I guess I just thought you wouldn't be that into it." Their faces fell a bit as they remembered the day Sam left.

"Sam, I'm- I'm sorry." Sam's head perked up at his brother's voice, "I should've stuck up for you, should've said something. Dad was a dick, to say the least."

"No, there's not a ton you could've done, he did what he did. Nothing can change his mind, you know that." Sam kept his eyes trained on his lap.

"Yeah, but I could've at least said something."

"Dude, it's fine. I'm not gonna hold a grudge." They both stared at the long road ahead of them.

"Alright, bitch." The two grew smiles on their faces.

"Jerk."

#supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #destiel #sabriel #dean #sam #winchester #lgbtq #gay!sam #bisexual!dean #the road so far

4 notes · View notes

jokessho · 7 years

Text

[Fic]: Accidents happen

OTP week 2017 Pairing: Taichi and Yamato (Taiyama) Prompt: Profession AU Summary: Yamato is the victim of a hit-and-run, Taichi is the officer in charge of his case. Taiyama, Taito, AU, one-shot.

FFN

Thank you to all for all your likes and feedback for the previous fics ^^

(There’s some 3rd person limited PoV changes in this, but I’m not entirely sure how they work. It shouldn’t be confusing, but please let me know if it is.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

Yamato started to blink his eyes open. It was too bright, so he closed them again with a small groan.

“Yamato Ishida?”

Blue eyes parted at the familiar name coming from an unfamiliar voice.

A brunet with large hair was standing to his right. He himself was lying down. He frowned at that. Hadn’t he been walking home? Where was he anyway?

“Ishida?” The same unfamiliar voice as before; so it had been the brunet to speak his name earlier.

“You called?” Came yet another unfamiliar, though feminine, voice.

“Yeah.” The brunet. “He’s awake, but he doesn’t seem to be responding much.”

“Oh dear.” A dark-haired woman in white came into Yamato’s line of sight. “He might just be confused.” She turned to look at something above Yamato’s head.

“Who?” Yamato croaked out, not at all pleased with the unfamiliar situation.

“Ah, sorry.” The man spoke again. Yamato noted he was wearing a dark blue uniform—a police officer, by the look of things. “My name’s Taichi Yagami and I’m the officer in charge of your… situation.”

Yamato frowned, but was offered water by the woman before he could ask about ‘his situation.’ He sipped the cool liquid through a straw standing in a glass. He was glad he didn’t have to sit up to drink; he felt quite sluggish.

Throat soothed, Yamato coughed lightly before asking: “What situation?”

The woman—nurse, Yamato realised—placed a hand on Yagami’s shoulder. “I’ll leave this to you, Officer. He seems to be fine, but please call me again if you need to.”

Yagami nodded curtly and thanked her as she left the room. The door closed.

“What situation?” Yamato repeated.

“Well,” Yagami started, pulling up an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. “You were involved in an accident. That’s why you’re in hospital now.” He paused, observing Ishida’s reaction. He was watching for any signs of recognition or panic. Neither. He plunged on: “You were on your way home from the supermarket and were hit by a car.”

The blond frowned.

“You don’t remember?” Yagami asked, careful of not taking his eyes off the pale, though slightly bruised, face.

“No…” Yamato answered slowly. He was unsure.

Yagami pulled out a small notebook and jotted something down.

“You remember being in the supermarket?”

A nod. Another note.

“Leaving the store?”

“Yes.”

Noted.

“How much of the walk home do you remember?” Then Taichi decided to change his approach: “You were going home, right?”

“Yeah, I was going home…” Ishida paused, clearly thinking about the events of just a few hours ago. “I was almost home, I know that.” His words were careful and he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Taichi. “I don’t…” Ishida shook his head slowly. “I… It…” Again the head of blond hair moved from side to side.

“Don’t push it.” Taichi smiled, reaching out to place a tanned hand over a paler one. He pulled back and straightened his posture. “It was a hit-and-run. There were no witnesses, but we can usually find enough evidence at the scene to convict someone. You got lucky: no broken bones, no internal bleeding, no brain damage—the slight lapse in memory you’re having now is pretty common. You just have some heavy bruising, various cuts—thought nothing big—and a fractured wrist.”

Taichi watched as Ishida’s eyes widened, flying to his left wrist. Apparently, he hadn’t even realised that the wrist was wrapped up. The painkillers were doing their job.

“The doctor wants to keep you here overnight, but you’ll be released tomorrow, since you didn’t suffer any major damage.”

According to the doctor’s report, Ishida had taken most of the impact on his left arm. The bruising from the collision was limited to the blond’s right thigh and hip.

“Either you managed to avoid the car, for the most part, or it managed to avoid you slightly.”

“Who found me?”

The brunet was taken aback by the abruptness and intensity of the question, but his five years in the police force had taught him how to recover from instances like this quickly.

“An elderly woman who was on her own way to the supermarket. She called the ambulance, who then got in touch with my department.”

The poor woman had been frantic when she had dialled the emergency number. She had no idea what to do, or if the young man lying on the curb was even alive. His groceries had been unsalvageable.

“I see.”

Ishida ‘s eyes strayed off, processing all the information he had received. He still couldn’t remember the collision, or if he had even noticed a car coming at him.

“Sorry, but can you please just confirm that your name is Yamato Ishida?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is Hiroaki Ishida?”

“Yes.”

Yagami frowned, which immediately set alarm bells ringing in Yamato’s head.

“He’s okay, right?”

Again, the brunet seemed taken aback by the question.

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine.” Yagami waved a hand, brushing off Yamato’s worries. “It’s just that we tried calling him earlier—we found his number on your phone under the ‘in case of emergency’ contact. The call wouldn’t connect.”

“Hn.” Yamato said, heavily leaning back into the flat hospital pillow. “He’s been abroad on business for a few days and was returning today. He might have been on the plane.”

“Ah, I see.” Yagami jotted something down in his notebook. “I’ll try contacting him again, then.” He stood from the chair, but hesitated. “Anyone else I should contact? Wife?”

Yamato shook his head, eyes falling shut.

“Girlfriend?”

“‘M gay.” Yamato mumbled out.

A few seconds of silence followed by: “Should I contact your boyfriend, then?”

A drowsy: “No one.”

“Alright. Get some more rest. I’ll come back to see you later.”

“Hn.”

Yamato never heard the officer leave the room.

-o-

“Yamato?”

Again with the voices. Tough this time the voice was familiar: his father.

Yamato opened his eyes, seeing the familiar figure sitting next to his bed. He mouthed the word ‘dad,’ but no sound came out, which caused him to groan lightly.

“Here.” His father reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the glass with a straw. He waited as Yamato sipped at the drink, putting the glass back when Yamato released the straw. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Hiroaki inspected his son’s paler-than-usual face. There was light bruising and scrapes on the left side, where it had hit the pavement. The blue eyes, normally bright and clear, were slightly dulled; probably due to the painkillers.

“Is it really that bad?” Yamato asked with a cringe, snapping Hiroaki out of his inspection.

“Ah, no, sorry.” Hiroaki shook his head before smiling at his son. “It’s not really that bad, considering how bad it could have been.” His smile turned teary. “I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Yamato smiled back. “Me too.”

Hiroaki reached over and took Yamato’s uninjured hand into his. He had never been one to show much affection, especially not physically. He had always been uncomfortable doing so, but now it seemed so natural. He didn’t even pull back and break the hold when someone knocked on the door.

“Ishida?”

“Yes?” The two Ishida males asked simultaneously.

A police officer entered, looking sheepish as he stepped further into the room. “Sorry. Yamato?”

Hiroaki released his hold and stood, turning to face the brunet, expectant.

“I’m Officer Taichi Yagami, we spoke on the phone earlier.”

The two shook hands and Hiroaki noted the firmness of the young officer’s grip. He could be trusted.

“Right, thanks for getting in touch with me.”

Hiroaki threw a quick, questioning glance at Yamato.

Satisfied with the answering miniscule nod, he headed for the door that Yagami had just come in through.

“I’ll leave you two to it, and go grab something to eat.” His eyes went to his son. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Yamato nodded and watched as his father left, closing the door.

Yagami took the abandoned chair and flipped open his small notebook again. He paused, eyes scanning Yamato’s face.

The silence was uncomfortable, but Yamato didn’t know how to break it. Lying down, he didn’t have much choice of where to look. In fact, Yagami seemed the only possible option.

“Are you feeling better?” The officer finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Uh, yeah.” Yamato muttered, eyes flitting from Yagami’s face to the far corner of the room. The intensity in the brown eyes was just too much. He wasn’t a suspect; why was he being scrutinised to this extent?

“Good.” Yagami smiled, sitting back and relaxing. “It’s already getting late; visiting hours are almost over, so I won’t keep you for long so that your father can visit with you before he has to leave.”

“I was supposed to have made him dinner.”

Yamato had spoken mostly to himself, but obviously Yagami had heard, too. The officer looked confused, so Yamato clarified:

“The supermarket, walking back.” He shifted his position, noting the slight sting in his left wrist as he put pressure on it. “I had gone shopping to get ingredients for dinner. Dad was going to be arriving in the late afternoon and I wanted to have food ready for him. Now he had to go to the cafeteria. Or vending machine.”

Yamato didn’t even know why he was talking. So his father had to have crappy ready-made meals instead of Yamato’s home-made ones. Big deal. Logically, it shouldn’t have bothered Yamato as much as it did, but…

A gentle hand on his startled Yamato out of his musings. His eyes flew to warm brown ones, full of understanding.

“It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

Blue eyes widened.

“What?” Yamato was baffled. Of course it was his fault; he was the one that hadn’t made dinner.

The tanned hand squeezed.

“I know you might not be thinking it consciously, but this happens to pretty much everyone. All victims start blaming themselves, no matter what the situation.”

Yamato frowned at Yagami’s logic. Why would Yamato blame himself for someone else almost driving him over? Of course, he should have been paying more attention. He had been so focussed on the meal he would cook. And just because the light was green, it didn’t mean that he could cross without looking both ways.

Okay, so maybe part of the fault lay with Yamato, too…

Another squeeze. “It really wasn’t your fault, but you will blame yourself because you’re the victim and it’s what you all do.”

Yamato swallowed heavily, the corner of his eye stinging. But there was no need to cry. He refused to. He didn’t blame himself; it didn’t make sense for him to. How did one stop him or herself from crying again? Keeping his eyes open would dry them, causing tears as a defence mechanism. Blinking rapidly would cause the wetness to escape his eyes. Squeezing his eyes shut would mean admitting defeat.

“Hey.” Yagami leaned closer as he said it.

The other hand wrapped around Yamato’s as well. What the hell did he do with that little notebook of his?

“Hey,” Yagami repeated. “It’s okay.”

What was he talking about?

“Don’t cry.”

Oh.

Yamato suddenly realise that he was indeed crying. He didn’t know why, but that didn’t mean he could just stop.

The hands continued to hold, neither squeezing nor gripping; they were just a comforting weight. It seemed to help, as, after a minute or two, the tears slowed significantly.

“Sorry.” Yamato said, voice slightly choked.

Yagami just smiled, releasing the pale hand and reaching into a pocket for a packet of tissues. “Don’t worry about it; like I said, it’s normal for people in your position to react like this.”

“Thanks.” Yamato took the offered tissue and dried his face.

“Alright?” Yagami asked, head cocked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Yagami just brushed the apology off, reaching into another pocket for the missing notebook. His eyes flicked to the clock: a bit past eight. Visiting hours were over at nine…

“Listen,” The notebook flipped open, brown eyes inspecting the contents even though they knew exactly what was written on the page. “The man that hit you with his car has gotten in touch with us.”

Yamato’s eyes flew to Yagami’s face. The other man was still looking at his notebook, so Yamato couldn’t read his eyes. His face was blank.

“He panicked when he hit you and fled the scene. He felt guilty, though, so he contacted the department.” At this point Yagami looked up. “He’s willing to accept all charges, if you want t—”

“No.” Yamato lowered his gaze, staring at Yagami’s right knee. “I don’t want to make a big deal about it. I’m fine, so it’s not worth making a big fuss.”

“Right, that’s that sorted, then. But we will still fine him and he will be covering your hospital bills, including any follow-ups or therapy, if you want it.”

Narrowed blue eyes met brown again. “Why would I need therapy?”

Yagami shrugged, pocketing his notebook again. “Like I said, victims tend to blame themselves for these things, so it’s always offered. You don’t have to accept, if you don’t feel like you need it.” He stood, hesitating for a second before pulling out the notebook yet again. “I’ll just head off and give you a chance to see your father again, before visiting hours are over. But,” He opened the notebook to a blank page and scribbled something down. He tore the page out, placing it on Yamato’s bedside table. “That’s my personal number; contact me any time if you need to. I’ll be back tomorrow, but if you need anything in the meantime…”

“Thanks.” Yamato muttered, blush gracing his face.

With a final nod, Yagami left the room.

Awkwardly, Yamato reached over to pick up the piece of paper. The paper was plain white, no squares or lines. The numbers were written in the middle, slanting upwards. Yamato smiled at the paper.

“What’s that?”

Yamato jolted, not having noticed his father entering the room. He threw a glare at the older man, subtly trying to place the piece of paper under the thin cover he was lying under.

“You’re back.” He chose to say, not wanting to draw attention to the paper clutched in his right hand.

Smirking, Hiroaki marched up to the bedside, grabbing Yamato’s hand and extracting the piece of paper. His smile widened as he read it.

“Only you would manage to score a date dressed in an unflattering hospital gown.”

Yamato snatched the paper back, placing it on the table again. “It’s not a date; it’s just a number that I can call if I need anything.”

“‘Need anything,’ such as a movie and dinner?”

“Dad.” Came the exasperated warning.

“Fine, fine. It’s probably just protocol anyway.” Hiroaki cast a glance at the clock on the wall. “Listen, visiting hours are almost over, but I’ll come see you tomorrow. I have a few days off work anyway, so I’ll be here from morning until they release you.”

Golden eyebrows shot up. “They’re releasing me tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I spoke to your doctor, Dr. Kido, while I was out. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with you, but he wants to keep you overnight just to be sure.”

This time Yamato’s brow furrowed. He was getting a weird feeling about the information; a bit like he knew already, but he couldn’t know. Could he? No, he hadn’t met his doctor yet…

“Yamato?”

The blond snapped back to attention at the inquisition.

“Sorry, just…” He shook his head. “Just nothing. Tired, I guess.”

Hiroaki nodded in understanding, placing a large hand on his son’s head. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night. And sorry about dinner. There should be something in the freezer, though.”

Hiroaki ruffled Yamato’s hair and smiled down at him. “Don’t worry about something like that. I’m a grown man and therefore fully capable of taking care of myself.” He turned and took a few steps towards the door as Yamato yawned.

“Right, and that’s why you keep telling me not to move out.”

“Oi,” Hiroaki turned, pointing a finger at the bed-ridden man. “That’s because I work so much and feel bad for leaving the apartment alone for such long periods of time. It’s easier to keep you living at home than to hire a maid.”

Yamato stuck his tongue out at the elder Ishida, whom mimicked the action. They smiled at each other before Hiroaki walked out.

-o-o-o-

“Mr. Ishida?”

Yet another new voice. Would it never end?

For what felt like the millionth time, Yamato opened his eyes groggily. The face hovering over him was relatively young, framed by dark blue hair.

“Hi, good morning. I’m Dr. Jou Kido and I’ve been looking after you since you were brought in yesterday.”

Yamato stretched his back lightly, trying to stifle a yawn. “Morning.” He cleared his voice. “Thanks for looking after me.”

Dr. Kido waved a hand, brushing the comment off. “It’s what I do.” He cocked his head at Yamato. “Are you able to sit up? Mind your wrist, now.”

Yamato, whom had started moving at the question, would have probably hurt himself had Dr. Kido not reminded him of the wrist. He managed the task just fine, though his wrist was a bit tender when he moved his arm.

Dr. Kido checked him over, measuring his pulse and blood pressure and the usual. He then moved on to the wrist.

“The swelling has gone down considerably, but you still need to be careful with it and ice it if necessary. I’ll be giving you a few ice packs to go, just in case. We x-rayed it when you were brought in and it’s a clean fracture, so it’s just in a padded splint. Keep moving your fingers, so that the hand doesn’t get too stiff. I’ll be giving you the care instructions in paper form, too, but just to inform you now. Also, we’ll be in touch, calling you in for a check up or two.”

It was a lot of information to take in, but Yamato figured he’d be fine. Especially once he got the written instructions.

There was a knock on the door. A head sporting a large nest of hair poked its way in.

“Morning. Am I disturbing? Shall I come back later?”

Yagami was dressed in civilian clothes. Had it not been for the absurd hair, Yamato might not have even recognised him. The drugs he’d been on yesterday messed with his memory, it seemed.

“No, that’s fine, Officer.” Dr. Kido said, smiling at the new arrival. “I was just finishing off with Mr. Ishida. He’ll be released in a few hours, once we get all the paperwork sorted.”

“Great.” Yagami smiled, shaking the doctor’s hand as they passed each other. “Thank you for all your work.”

“Of course.” Dr. Kido nodded, walking out and closing the door.

“How are you, Yamato?”

Yamato’s eyes flickered to the officer’s brown ones. Were they on first name basis?

“I’m fine.”

Yagami grinned broadly, taking a seat in the chair he had occupied yesterday. “You do realise that ‘fine’ doesn’t answer anything, right? So how about a real answer?”

Surprised, Yamato let out a laugh.

“There we go.” Taichi said, chuckling himself. “You do seem to be doing better than yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

The two continued to smile at each other, ignorant of the time ticking by.

The door opened.

“Morning Yamato.” Hiroaki said before yawning. He stopped short of entering the room. “Ah, Officer, I didn’t realise you were here.” He cast a sneaky glance at Yamato. “I was actually just popping in to say ‘hi’ and now I need to go sort out some paperwork at the front desk. I’ll see you in a bit.” He left again.

“I like your dad.” Taichi commented, turning back to the male on the bed.

“He’s pretty cool.” Yamato agreed, then switched topics: “So, did you have something more to ask or…?”

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m not here on work-related stuff, as you can see.” He gestured to his beige t-shirt. “I’m here on my free time.” He grinned.

“Oh.” Was all Yamato managed. He scanned around his brain for a new topic, but his internal panic was increasing as he came up with more of nothing.

“I actually did come here for two specific reasons, though neither work-related, like I said. First, was just to make sure you were better. And the other was actually to talk about the number I gave you yesterday.”

“Oh.” Yamato repeated, though feeling slightly crestfallen.

Taichi reached over to grab the paper, his eyes noting the wrinkles on it. He smiled.

“I actually didn’t give this for work-related stuff.” He said, offering the paper to Yamato again. “I actually kind of wondered—since I’m off duty now—if you’d maybe like to go out for coffee or something some time? Obviously, when you’re better and out of here and all.”

Yamato’s eyes widened. Had he been connected to a heart rate monitor, he was sure it would have flat-lined briefly before jumping into high-gear.

“Oh God.” Taichi cringed. “I totally made this whole case awkward now, didn’t I? I mean, it’s fine that you don’t want to go out with me, but I really should have waited until after the case was over… I might be able to hand it off to someone else, since it’s pretty straightforward. Do you want me to do that? Then you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“What?” Yamato asked, blinking at the brunet. What had he missed? Had he given off any indication that he wouldn’t want to go on a date with Taichi? Apparently he had… “No, no. I didn’t… I mean, I wasn’t turning you down or anything.”

Taichi released a breath, shoulders relaxing. “Really? Cause you just sat there quietly for a really long time and I thought you were trying to figure out how to reject me gently or something.”

“No, no.” Yamato repeated. “I was just surprised. I mean,” He blushed lightly. “I did want to think that that was why you gave me your personal number, but then I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I let go of those thoughts and now you just surprised me.”

Taichi’s face was also tinted a bit red, though it was harder to tell on his darker skin. “You were hoping?”

Yamato’s blush intensified as he realised what he’d admitted. Thankfully, though, the conversation was interrupted by Hiroaki entering without knocking again.

“You’ve been given the all-clear now, Yamato.” He cast a glance at Taichi, then at the red-faced Yamato. He grinned. “Am I interrupting?”

Taichi just shook his head with a smile. He stretched his arms above his head, though it was an unnecessary action.

“I was just heading off, actually. I have to get to work.” He looked at Yamato out of the corner of his eye. “If you’ll be at home in a few hours, I’ll need to come over and sort out a few things.”

Yamato nodded, redness receding. “Yeah, I think I’ll be staying at home all day.” He looked at his father, nervous. “Though that means picking up groceries on the way home.”

Taichi tried to contain his amusement at the irony. Though, if Hiroaki’s nasty glare was any indication, he was fairing horridly. Yamato, on the other hand, was doing a better job at biting back his smile at Taichi’s failed attempts.

The officer coughed into a fist before grinning at Hiroaki. “Take care of him and I’ll see you in a few hours.” He glimpsed at Yamato before heading out the door.

“Hm,” Hiroaki hummed, stepping further into the room, though staring out the door. “I thought I trusted him, but this is a bit too soon to joke about the situation.”

Yamato, whom had been staring after the brunet, snapped to attention. “Who? Taichi?”

Hiroaki’s eyebrows rose and he turned to regard his son. “You’re on first name basis with him? What was that about not scoring dates in hospital gowns?”

The response was a flat look and an outstretched hand. “Did you bring me a change of clothes?”

Rolling his eyes, Hiroaki handed a small plastic bag over. “I’ll just wait outside.”

Minutes later, Yamato walked out of his temporary room, albeit a bit slowly, thanks to his wobbly, unused legs. But at least he was on his feet again, which made Hiroaki smile.

Yamato signed a few papers at reception, thanking Dr. Kido a final time, and he was out. Finally. He stretched, inhaling deeply, as he stepped out.

Hiroaki smiled at him, pressing open the doors of his van. “Glad to be out?”

“Oh yeah. It’s not as bad as people make it out to be, but I missed being able to move around.”

Hiroaki started the van and they were off. They stopped by a supermarket on the way home, picking up food for the next few days.

-o-

Hiroaki had only dropped off Yamato and the groceries before he had to dash off to work.

Realising that he should have been at work, too, Yamato picked up the phone and called his boss, explaining the situation. His boss was understanding of the situation and gave him the next few days off.

Smiling, Yamato hung up, only to jump at the doorbell ringing. Panicking briefly, Yamato checked himself over as best he could without a mirror. Not the best, but still good he figured. Not that he had time to change or anything.

Yamato opened the door with a suggestive: “Sorry for the wait, Officer.”

“Don’t.” Taichi warned with a grin, walking in and toeing off his shoes.

Yamato took his coat and hung it up, leading the way into the living room. Taichi took a seat in the armchair, leaving the couch for Yamato, though the latter remained standing.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I just have a few things to get through and then I’ll have to head back to the department.”

A bit put-off at the business-like tone, Yamato slumped onto the couch.

“First, you’re absolutely sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“Yes.”

Taichi had, yet again, pulled out his little notebook and jotted something down.

“Alright. We’ve already sent him the fine and we’re also considering removing his license. He’s an old man, so it’s safer for everyone out there.” Taichi clarified at Yamato’s confused frown.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so that’s probably happening.” Taichi mumbled, avoiding Yamato’s eyes. Then he straightened up, moving his gaze back to the blue eyes. “We’ve also given the hospital his contact information for billing purposes, and we’ll be giving you his contact information, too, if you want to go to therapy or need something else related to this incident.”

Taichi paused, plunging the two men into silence. Only the ticking of the kitchen clock could be heard.

“Your father’s not home?” Taichi asked, looking around.

Yamato shook his head. “No, he had to go into work.”

“Oh.”

Another silence followed.

“How’s your wrist?”

Yamato shrugged. “It’s alright. A bit weird not being able to use it. You wouldn’t believe how much you actually need your left hand.”

Taichi chuckled, the mood in the room lifting. He smiled at Yamato, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He stood and extended the paper to Yamato.

“It’s his contact information.”

Yamato took the parchment, but didn’t open it.

Taichi glanced around the room again, then looked back at Yamato. “I don’t actually have much more to clear with you, since you don’t want to press charges and there were no severe injuries…”

Yamato smiled and stood, contact information still clutched in his hand. “That’s alright; it’s probably best to see you outside of your work, anyway.”

Taichi smiled at that, moving towards the hall leading to the front door. Yamato followed after him.

After putting on his shoes, Taichi turned around, with a suggestive look. “I have the next two days off, so…”

Yamato smiled, Taichi’s coat in hand. “I’ll give you a call. I’ve also been given the next few days off.”

Taichi beamed. “It’s a date.”

Yamato stayed at his apartment’s door, watching as Taichi made his way to the stairs. “Drive safe.”

Taichi threw an acknowledging grin over his shoulder before he disappeared.

With a contented sigh, Yamato went back in and closed the door, leaning into it. He looked down at the paper in his hand. He unfolded it and a small envelope fell out from between the folds. Curious, he bent over to pick it up.

Inside the envelope was a gift card to a supermarket and a note written in the shaky scrawl of an old, trembling hand:

The police told me you were alright, but I still feel really bad about what I did. I just wanted to apologise. I know you might not be able to forgive me, but please at least accept the gift card as compensation for the groceries. Also, please do not hesitate to seek therapy and further medical care. Again, I am so sorry and can only hope that this incident will not scar you for life.

With a sympathetic smile on his face, Yamato walked over to his phone, dialling the number on the paper Taichi had given him.

#digiOTPweek #fic #taiyama #taito #profession au #police-Taichi

26 notes · View notes

ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash · 7 years

Text

different definitions of safe

prompt: please come back in one piece - stormpilot

Poe returns from his mission looking more worse for wear than usual, much worse than usual. Finn cries cause Poe dies (kidding he doesn’t die) but he does get hurt as hell

word count:1487

warnings: blood, injury, angst, gay (not really needed to be warned but eh)

enjoy, its gay as hell my dudes

Every time that Poe came back from a mission, Finn felt a weight come off his chest, and could finally breath properly after days of worry. Even if Poe did come back with scrapes and bruises, he was whole and safe and that meant the world to Finn.

Of course he would have prefered for Poe to not be hurt but if he had to get him back a little bruised, he would be happy.

The day he wished that Poe had never left, not because he didn’t come back, but because of the way he came back.

It had been a peaceful day, a rare occasion at the resistance base, when everyone had decided that the war could wait, that the chaos and usual chatter of the place seemed too much, and that the breeze of the summer day should be enjoyed.

Of course that happened to be the worst day of the year, simply because of what disturbed the peace.

It wasn’t TIE fighters, or any sort of bombs, or even anything threatening, it was Poe’s X-Wing coming to a peaceful stop on the landing strip, and taxying to the loading and unloading bay.

Instantly, Finn could tell something was off. Usually by this time a cocky Poe would have opened the cockpit and tried to jump out of it, despite the fact that the fall could break his ankle.

And there was a burn, on the wing of the plane which seemed way too big to have survived, much less be able to expertly pilot the X-Wing to the ground with no fault.

When they finally got to the loading bay, and one of the loaders took the top off the cockpit and gasped at the sight before him.

Poe Dameron, the best pilot in the resistance was lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood in the cockpit of his X-Wing plane, barely breathing.

Finn waded through the crowd of people gathering around the plane, trying to get a better view of what was going on, having not yet seen the sight that the loaders were not warily gazing at, and pushed away snap westly before seeing a limp form being lifted from the chair.

His heart stopped.

Blood rushed to his ears and he felt himself become lightheaded, his knees became weak and a cold sweat formed around his body, as well as his breathing becoming shallower and faster, almost like a dog panting.

A lump had begun to form in his throat by the time that Poe had been lowered onto a stretcher, his head falling limply to the side as if he were dead, and it almost seemed so until Finn saw a small rising motion of the chest, feeling him with some element of relief.

The crowd had parted to give Finn easy access, everyone had come to notice the way that they seemed to look at each other, the sort of longing or wanting stares that wouldn’t be noticed if you weren’t an oblivious fool in love, and unfortunately they both seemed to be just that.

Finn slowly stumbled through the parted waves of people, barely registering what his feet were doing until he got there. His hand subconsciously going to Poe’s normally wavy black locks, only to find it matted with dirt and blood, some of it sticking to his scalp.

The medical team lifted the stretcher and lugged it towards the med bay, making to be sure not to hit any doors and keep Poe in whatever relative comfort he could be given.

Finn trailed behind them, trying his hardest not to break down crying in the halls of the resistance base, there were already people exiting their rooms to see why 3 pairs of feet were striding down the hallways, their every movement echoing onto the white walls, cold and unwelcoming.

He was on autopilot, he couldn’t let himself think about what he was doing otherwise he would have to understand the situation, have to process it, would come up with the worst case scenarios. That was what he did every time and he was sure that if he let himself this time, he wouldn’t be able to reach the med bay.

When the double doors finally opened, and Poe was gently placed down onto one of the beds, he slumped into a chair and ran his hand over his hair, rubbing it rhythmically in an effort to calm his racing heart rate. Sure it might not help him in the long run, but for now it was keeping him distracted from the normally energetic almost corpse dominating his vision.

He focused on his breathing, letting his entire body relax into the gentle pattern of the intake and exhale of his lungs, the diaphragm making him time his breaths, forcing him to forget where he was, and lulling him into a sweet relaxing state of nothingness.

When the nurse finally placed a gentle hand on his shoulder he felt his entire body jump from its skin, his breathing forgotten and his peace gone.

“You’re Finn, right?” her brown eyes were inquisitive and calming, almost the same shade as Poe’s, except lighter.

He gave a short nod, pulling his hands into his lap, wringing his fingers together, his heart was in his throat and he felt a chill run down his back, nothing bad could happen, he couldn’t let it, not now.

“Well, Poe’s pretty banged up, ripped muscles, broken ribs, dislocated jaw, punctured lung, tons of bruising and internal and external bleeding,” Finn felt that lump settle back in his throat. In the order, anyone with those sort of injuries would be left for dead, unable to fight and possibly have to be put out of training for months, they would never allow that, why waste precious resources on a difficult case when you can just improve the cases of the fit?

“But, believe it or not, he’s gonna pull through.”

A sob of relief wracked his body, engulfing him in every emotion that he had suppressed within the last hour, the joy of Poe returning, the shock of his state, the dismay at his injuries, the panic as he paced through the halls and the complete hatred towards himself for not being able to help in any way, as well as the helplessness that came with it.

The comforting hand on his back became two arms engulfing him, protecting him, even though they had never met. Letting this random man cry on her shoulder over a comrade, and not complaining once, only whispering reassuring words into his ear over Poe’s condition as well as assuring him that it was not his fault. He could tell that she had done this before, considering that it was exactly what he needed to hear.

When his sobs slowed to hiccoughs she let go of him, keeping one arm on his bicep yet letting her presence not be over stifling. His slight sniffles had diminished and the only sign of emotional distress that he had shown was his red eyes and the damp cheeks.

She led him towards his bed and pulled up a chair for him, before moving away to tend to another patient.

Finn sat silently, taking in Poe’s usually striking features, only to see a swollen eye, split lip and a blossoming bruise on his jaw, as well as other small cuts littering his face.

He gazed lovingly at the pilot, his eyes drifting to every wound and bruise that he had obtained, and before he could stop himself, the words drifted through his lips.

“Please come back in one piece.”

He went to hold Poe’s hand, gently placing his over the one resting on the bed as lightly as possible. He didn’t want to cause any more unnecessary pain for Poe if he could help it.

He felt his lids start to get heavier, pushing him to slump forwards slightly in his seat, before he woke himself up again, trying to desperately keep awake.

Eventually, he felt his eyes close of his own accord, his head eventually resting on an empty segment of the bed, and letting the exhaustion drag him into a somewhat peaceful sleep.

By the time Poe woke up, Finn was in a deep sleep, still holding onto Poe’s hand, almost as a sort of comfort for him, a lifeline to the person using the bed.

Even though Poe came to deny it, nobody doubted that Poe had caressed Finn's hair, or eventually layed a ‘loving’ kiss onto his forehead, or that he eventually shifted to be closer to him, in almost a snuggling manner.

How did they hear this? Who knows? Its not like there was anyone else in the room… except the nurses perhaps.

One thing was for sure though, those two boys were whipped for each other, and not even General Leia Organa herself could deny that.

#stormpilot fanfiction #poe x finn #stormpilot #poe x finn fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fluff fanfiction #poe x finn angst #poe x finn fluff #much angst

9 notes · View notes

merlinficreview · 7 years

Text

Broken Chemistry Review (part seven)

What’s up, Tumblr? I hope you haven’t missed me in the several months I’ve been absent because I sure as heck haven’t missed reviewing this dumpster fire of a story, but here we are. Someday you will tire of my bitching, but perhaps today is not that day. That said, let’s get this show on the road.

We start this chapter off with Arthur angrily answering his phone. It’s Morgana on the line, which we know because he tells us and because she calls back the second he doesn’t pick up. Those pesky sisters, always blowing up your phone. Arthur gives her lip when he finally decides to answer, to which she replies, “I think the last person to feel this way on Christmas was Mary, and that was because she pushed a human being through her vaginal canal. What’s your excuse?”

I’m sure that sounded a lot wittier in your head, SCD07, but it’s really just an odd thing to say and honestly kind of gross visually. Just go with “and she was giving birth” or something if you want to insert a weirdly sacrilegious remark here. The point gets across just fine.

Arthur explains that “we have the Monday off but only because we need the day to finish work, not to celebrate the holiday,” which makes no sense because that’s the exact opposite of having a day off. Morgana starts blathering on about Christmas trees or something and Arthur interrupts her by asking if she knew Merlin was gay. She gets quiet and then asks, “What did you do?” Very perceptive, Morgana, because as far as I can tell Arthur is always in the wrong in this fic. It’s nice to have a character validate this observation for me. Good job.

Arthur is of course shocked that she thinks he might have done anything wrong, but she barrels over him and demands he start talking.

We then suddenly switch to Merlin’s point of view, which honestly took me a moment to catch because there is no break in the text to indicate this change. Merlin is waking up to a barrage of text messages from his friends and family, and I guess him not answering his phone in thirty seconds is cause for alarm because Gwaine and Lancel send him worried messages, and Lancel calls when he gets no response (even though Merlin’s phone literally just vibrated with texts from them, so I’m not sure what the problem is). Merlin picks up and tells Lancel that Arthur doesn’t like him. Lancel asks him to explain from the beginning, and the POV switches again with no warning. If this shit keeps up, I’m going to write this whole chapter off as a lost cause. POV shifts are fine when done right, but this is not one of those times, and it is insufferable because I have no idea who I’m supposed to be following at any given time. Pick a point of view and stick with it, or at the very least give warning when you are going to shift.

Anyway, we go back to Arthur and Morgana, and Morgana lays it out like it is: “you had a heartfelt moment by a lake in which you explicitly told Merlin to be honest with you in both word and emotion…and then you threw it back in his face.” It’s kind of rewarding when characters point out the hypocritical actions of each other. Someone has needed to call Arthur out on his shit for basically this entire story, so while this is admittedly late (we’re over halfway through this fucker) I’m just going to be glad this is happening at all.

Arthur admits that he might have been in the wrong for being such a dick to Merlin...

...but then he starts moaning and groaning about how he can’t date a man because of Uther and whatnot. Arthur is majorly missing the point here, in my opinion. When Morgana starts shitting on daddy dearest, Arthur gets upset, and she explodes, ranting and raving about how abusive and suppressive Uther has been to both of them (but especially Arthur) all because of his wife’s death. It’s all very dramatic, but there’s been buildup for it, I guess. It ends with Morgana saying she’s disappointed in Arthur before hanging up and leaving Arthur in tears.

Back to Merlin! Again, no indication of this POV change, and I’m starting to get twitchy about it. It appears that Merlin has told both Lancel and Gwaine (because now he’s here too, I guess) all about Arthur and his assholery. Gwaine asks if Arthur has apologized, and Merlin says that he hasn’t seen Arthur in two days. That’s an awful long time to go without seeing someone you live and work with, but that’s just me and my logic talking. What do I know, right?

Gwaine then asks what Merlin is doing for New Years, and Merlin tells him that he’s working. It’s apparently optional, but to me that seems excessive for whatever bullshit internship they have these kids doing. I’m not believing it. Lancel and Gwaine tell Merlin to take a load off and have some fun without Arthur, and Gwaine says, “Merlin, you should know that my parents are obscenely rich, and I am not above extorting their money on a plane ticket to pick your ass up. If you don’t call, I’m coming.” That’s not how you use the word extort, and I really don’t think it would look good on Merlin’s part to just up and leave before the end of an internship where they apparently want you to keep working on both Christmas and New Years, but again, what do I know?

Raiment is once again used to ill effect, and Merlin goes about the rest of his day, buying some groceries and bath bombs before coming home and using one of said bath bombs, then giving Gwaine and Lancel a check in call to wish them good night. Arthur stumbles home after dark and eats some of the chicken Merlin left in the oven. More hints are given about Merlin continuing to not eat: “Merlin had obviously picked at it, but overall it looked untouched, juicy, and beckoning.” It’s contradictory for food to be picked at and untouched at the same time, but since Merlin refuses to eat anything, I’m going to assume it falls more into the untouched category. Arthur then goes to sleep. This little section goes by very quickly, which is kind of odd given how drawn out most everything else has been in this stupid story, but the faster things move along, the sooner I can finish, so I’m not going to complain.

We jump to the next morning at the lab with Merlin and Freya on what I guess is Boxing Day. Good on you for taking Christmas off, Merlin, even if you mostly used it to mope. Bringing Boxing Day up feels like another failed attempt at a Britishism, however. No kudos for that. Freya notes that Merlin looks “different” and that it’s “not in a good way.” Ouch, Freya. So maybe he skipped his beauty routine for the day. Let a guy live. She pesters him about Arthur, and Merlin says he doesn’t want to talk about it, so the topic is dropped. So much for that. Merlin is somehow cheered up by this awkward conversation and the rest of the work day goes smoothly. When he comes home, he fully expects Arthur to be asleep (not sure why, but I’m guessing their sleep schedules don’t match now that they’re fighting, which makes no sense). But no such luck, as Arthur is waiting for Merlin in the kitchen, all while snacking on the leftover stuffing from that chicken Merlin left for him the night before. Arthur notices Merlin wearing the white scarf he gave him for Christmas and calls out to him before Merlin can angrily stalk away to his room.

It’s time for a big, dramatic Talk.

Fun times.

“’We need to talk.’

‘About what?’ he responded mutely.”

Oxymoron. You can’t say words and be mute at the same time. Mutely and quietly are not interchangeable. Your thesaurus has failed you yet again. Might want to put it away for a while.

“Arthur gave him a look that suggested he was seeking patience. ‘Friday night.’

‘I think a spelunking trip is planned—‘”

Spelunking? I don’t even know why they bother with the pretense of work for this stupid all-expenses-paid vacation. Spelunking, camping, stargazing, free food, free transportation, free (swanky) living arrangements, all while on a beach somewhere in the southern hemisphere in December…these “interns” have got it made. Sign me up for this nonsense pronto.

Arthur pretends to apologize for “judging Merlin too soon,” whatever that means in this context, and claims that he wants to know more about Merlin since they’re stuck with each other for another week and a half until this vacation ends. He then decides to bring up that rape Merlin mentioned during Arthur’s Big Gay Panic. I mean, that’s not exactly where I would have wanted to start off this conversation as it seems a gross invasion of Merlin’s privacy, but we’ve already established that Arthur doesn’t give a single shit about that, so carry on, I guess.

He asks who did it, and it turns out it was Will, Merlin’s childhood friend and really the only friend he seemed to have aside from his mutual friends with Arthur. Arthur asks how a lifelong friend could do that to Merlin, and Merlin tries to justify the whole thing:

“’He didn’t grow up in a healthy home…we,’ he shrugged involuntarily, ‘we were close…and grew closer, but when we were officially together he was bullied. We broke up, but it didn’t end. I thought he just needed to gather his courage, that if I waited, he’d move out. We went to the same university, and everything was fine…until he was bullied again.’

He inhaled and continued, ‘He broke it off, but I didn’t understand why. I didn’t understand how much he was hurt over the years and how the scars had festered. I pushed him, but he pushed back…and he felt that he needed to make a point.’

Arthur voice was just above a snarl. ‘How does rape prove a point?’

Merlin felt like his throat was swelling up; his mouth opened, trying to breath but he couldn’t get enough air. ‘He…took pictures…while he did it…and uploaded them to a campus site. I didn’t know…he misjudged the dose of the drugs and I was hospitalized, but when I was discharged…everyone knew I was gay…and…the feedback wasn’t good.’”

M’kay, so there’s a lot to break down here. First, all of the typos and errors in the above quote are actually present in the fic. The breath/breathe mix up is one of my particular writing pet peeves, so I feel it is completely necessary to bring it up as not being my doing.

Anyway, onto the meat of this passage: Merlin and Will were on-again/off-again, mostly because Will was bullied for it. Not sure why Merlin was not also bullied for this, however; if these bullies knew about Will being with a dude, chances are they knew about Merlin too. Odd that these undefined bullies would single only Will out in this situation.

I’m also not sure if Merlin is trying to justify Will’s actions to the reader or to himself. If it’s to himself, then okay, it’s problematic but kind of works with Merlin’s character so far, so I can roll with that. If it’s to the reader (which it kind of seems like it might be)…that’s really fucking gross. Rape is never okay. Raping someone because you had a shitty life does not absolve you of your crime, especially when you photograph your victim and spread the images around as a fucked up means of revenge, and even more so when it is revenge for simply having the audacity to be gay. Not okay.

It also turns out that on top of overdosing Merlin and raping him, Will was the one who gave him mono and Will was physically abusive in the relationship. This seems like massive overkill all for the sake of drama and making Merlin into the biggest victim possible. Kind of like how cartoonishly villainous Uther is in this fic, Will’s actions seem way over the top to me.

Let’s review: he’s a rapist who believes in revenge porn (even when all his victim did was be in a relationship with him; Merlin wasn’t even the one to break things off as far as I can tell, so the revenge aspect of this makes no sense to me), he gave Merlin the mono that is used to explain away the Eating Disorder We Don’t Talk About, he overdosed Merlin on date rape drugs, and he hit Merlin while they were together. Sound excessive to you? It sounds pretty excessive to me. Any of those things would be pretty fucking terrible, but we’ve got to up the ante to make Merlin the biggest damsel possible, so why not have Will do all of the above? Makes sense.

Lastly, I want to mention, if I haven’t already in a previous review, that there is no warning for rape in this story. I would be less likely to point this out had SCD07 not warned for anything, but they did warn for “graphic depictions of violence,” so this seems like a pretty intentional thing to leave off. There is the tag “mentions of rape” on this story, which I feel is woefully inadequate given the graphic assault on Merlin from Agravaine previously and how essential Will’s rape and abuse of Merlin is to Merlin’s character. Had the author put “chose not to warn” on this fic, I would be more okay with having no heads-up about the massive amounts of rape throughout this story, but since they bothered to warn for graphic violence (which we have yet to see), I’m assuming they deliberately left the rape warning off because they didn’t want to spoil it as a plot point (which makes no sense since “mentions of rape” is a tag), or they didn’t see rape as being such a big deal as to need a warning (guess which one I’m leaning towards). Regardless, it’s gross. Have some respect for your readers. Choosing not to warn on stories archived on AO3 is fine so long as your readers know that the lack of warning is a conscious effort on your part as the author, which is shown when you use the “author chose not to warn” tag. But basically writing something like rape off as being unimportant by tagging “mentions of rape” and having no warning? Especially when it’s actually one of the main plot points/character motivations in your story and has been graphically depicted? Fuck you.

Arthur tells Merlin that he shouldn’t be so “reckless” with his sexuality (whatever that means) and that while yes, Arthur is bisexual, he isn’t open about it because “of those reasons.” No reasons are given before this, by the way, so this is vague and unhelpful until the subject of Arthur’s mother is brought up: “I know she was killed in a terrorist attack against minorities, including homosexuals.” Pfft, I almost forgot about that nonsense. Still over the top and funny. Sorry, not sorry.

Merlin tells Arthur that he doesn’t get where Arthur is coming from in wanting to stay in the closet because their friends are so accepting of Merlin’s sexuality and that they accept Arthur for who he is too. (Still doesn’t excuse Lancel from blurting out his closeted friend’s sexuality to you within five minutes of meeting you, Merlin, but whatever.) Arthur’s rebuttal is that his father would disown him. But ah, Merlin has something to say about that too: “’I told you, Uther knows,’ Merlin countered wearily. ‘He’s known since you were four and marrying boys on the playground. It’s just about the only saving grace Uther has: he loves his family.’” Arthur does not take this backhanded compliment well; he is tired of people shitting on his father

Merlin again has something to say about the way the Pendragon family operates: “’Arthur, I’ve met my father recently,’ Merlin informed, ‘and already he and I act more familial than I have ever seen Uther treat you. Both you and Morgana refer to him by his name, and you do so to his face. I call my mother’s name because she can’t hear me out of all the other kids shouting Mom in the middle of the farmer’s market. Your house is a cave…a castle with cold walls; a complete contrast to the garden outside.’” That...seems kind of hypocritical on your part, Merlin. Just because you feel like you have a super close bond with Balinor for whatever reason does not mean that you somehow have a better relationship with him than Arthur does with his father. Especially considering Balinor abandoned Merlin for his entire life up until now, watching over him and sending money when he was sick but doing fuck all besides. Not exactly father of the year material.

And the whole calling your mother by her name in a farmer’s market because a bunch of other kids call their mothers Mom as well? That’s stupid as hell. My mum would be far less likely to respond to me calling her by her given name, since I’ve been using variants of mum since I was small. You can’t call someone out for using their parent’s name when you do the same thing.

They can’t come to a peace over their thoughts concerning Uther, and things remain tense between them. Merlin then says he will go on the spelunking trip only if Arthur isn’t, which seems like a dick thing to say to Arthur’s face, but whatever. They go to bed mad, end scene. This talk solved absolutely nothing and did nothing to further the plot or character development. Glad it happened.

Freya once again comments on how shitty Merlin looks, telling him that even the supervisors have started to take notice. Merlin then blabs about mind palaces and junk and says, “I don’t want to be alone in my head. I want to be with someone, safe outside my thoughts.” End chapter. I honestly have no idea what he means there, but I’m guessing it’s supposed to be angsty and leave us on a cliffhanger of sorts. Not very effective in my opinion, but then again, nothing about the writing in this story is particularly good at what it’s trying to do, so this is par for the course.

Chapter 18

We start this chapter out with Merlin moping around for a bit because of the continuing Arthur situation before he decides to text his father. Remember Balinor’s weird scone promise from way back in chapter 13? No? Well, let me refresh your memory, because this was a while back: “if you ever need anything, so much as a blueberry scone, call me.” So what does Merlin text dear old daddy but: “Hi Dad. If you’re busy, don’t worry about it, but I could use a scone.” I don’t know about you, but this, to me, is an obvious cry for help. Merlin doesn’t really want pastries; he wants his dad. But Balinor, the useless sack of shit that he is, goes way over the top and writes back: “Blueberry, strawberry, mixed berry, blackberry, or plain?” That’s…that’s not what he’s asking for. Also, not important, but there are more scone flavors than just whatever berries you can list off the top of your head. There’s lemon (all kinds of varieties with lemon), poppy seed, orange, cranberry, raisin, etc., and that’s just some sweet ones I can name off the top of my head. Savory is a whole other ball game. Balinor then has to go the extra mile and texts back before Merlin can reply: “Never mind. Yes to all.” Sure. You do you, Balinor.

Merlin tries to cancel his request, but he gets sidetracked by lab/graphics/art/science/whatever bullshit it is that he’s supposed to be doing for “work” on this all-expenses-paid retreat and forgets all about the scone business. After his lab or whatever, he goes to that magical rental store to pick up spelunking gear, which includes boots (still pretty sure that’s not a thing you can rent) and a hardhat. The cashier throws in a raincoat as well because caves. As Merlin is signing the rental agreement, guess who decides to creep up behind him? That’s right, it’s Balinor!

He came to wherever this is from wherever he was to give Merlin his scones in person. “It was only a two hour flight.” Sure it was. I honestly have no idea where these people are or what they do. Everything is so vague and nonsensical and overly convenient for the plot.

They hug, and Merlin tells Balinor that he didn’t need to come, but Daddy Dearest waves this off. You know, because his son is so important, even though he abandoned him for the past 20-plus years. Water under the bridge though, am I right?

Merlin shows some concern about Balinor’s job, since he just took off out of the blue to go be extra and deliver scones to his long lost son in person, and Balinor casually replies with the following regarding his employees: “They take their New Years celebrations seriously. For some reason they work to the bone on Christmas but New Years is strictly reserved for champagne and whatever illegal luxuries they can manage. I already have thirty drafts of dismissal emails ready.” Wait, what? What sort of “illegal luxuries” are we talking about here? Like prostitutes and cocaine? I’m confused. I’m also really confused about why this is apparently such a common occurrence that Balinor has to expect it every year and will fire people accordingly. What the fuck kind of operation is he running?

But wait, the conversation gets even stranger:

“Merlin blinked, surprised by such a bold response. ‘Do you usually sack people after the holidays?’

Balinor nodded as if it was simply a fact of life. ‘Unfortunately, yes. I can’t say I haven’t grown accustomed to it. Their families are fully compensated for their misdemeanors, though.’”

Huh? You are well prepared to fire your employees for doing illegal shit while they party and talk about it like it happens every year (why else would he be so prepared for it?), yet you claim this isn’t a common occurrence? What? And what exactly does “fully compensated for their misdemeanors” mean? He’ll pay their legal fees after he fires them? I’m so confused. I’m starting to believe that Balinor throws these wild New Years parties himself and provides guests with drugs and prostitutes which, if they partake of them, will get them fired. Because I can’t think of another scenario how this would work.

Anyway, they drop Merlin’s stuff off back at the apartment (Arthur is conveniently absent) before heading to a coffee shop nearby. They order tea and Balinor somehow gets the barista to warm up the scones he brought. How rude. Bringing outside food into a restaurant is bad enough (especially when it’s food that this particular restaurant might serve a version of), but expecting them to warm it up for you as well? Super rude and not believable at all.

Balinor asks if he can go spelunking with Merlin the next day. Merlin is (rightly) a bit baffled by this offer, and Balinor explains himself: “Obviously you need to get your mind off something. I may not be the best option, but I’ll be exuberant to explore some caves with my son. They are federally protected; it is a crime punishable by death to take or carve from the crystals in the caves.” That last bit kind of came out of nowhere, didn’t it? Not sure about its relevance but holy shit. Where are they that people are killed for vandalizing a cave? Yikes.

Balinor wants Merlin to tell him what’s wrong, and Merlin gives him a very brief summary of the whole Arthur fiasco. Balinor tells him that he deserves better (I hate Merlin, but this is true), and Merlin feels better about the whole thing before then randomly falling back into doubt: “Even so, he felt as if he were walking away from a cake he hadn’t tasted, one promising every nutrient under the sun along with the promise of no sugar crash. Merlin stymied the encroaching dark thoughts by pondering if he should just eat cake instead of pining for Arthur. It would help with my weight…” Ugh. I’m not even going to bother dissecting that. You can probably guess what I would say about it anyway. Love yourself, Merlin.

Balinor asks Merlin if Arthur gave any reasons for his Big Gay Panic, and Merlin justifies Arthur’s shitty behavior with the tale of how his mother “was killed in an attack against homosexuals” and how this has affected his family life, what with Uther going crazy and the whole threat of being disowned for being gay because of misplaced aggression or whatever. It’s all very stupid and contrived, especially since the whole terrorist attack thing is still so ridiculous that I cannot read past reference to it without either chuckling or rolling my eyes (sometimes both).

Balinor is a little surprised at this because he sees Arthur’s behavior as cowardly regardless of his justifications for it (it is cowardly, good job, Balinor), and Arthur is “more than capable of taking care of himself in the workforce.” Okay, those things have nothing to do with each other, but carry on.

They talk about classes for next semester, and it turns out that Merlin won’t really be interacting with Arthur in a classroom setting, which is bittersweet because Merlin wants to be close to Arthur but it’s painful now. Blah, blah, melodrama. Balinor tells him that Gaius will be around to talk if Merlin needs him, and that he can always arrange a plane to go visit Hunith if Merlin wants that. Merlin says he’d rather avoid going back to “that place more often than necessary.” Ouch. Kind of a weird thing to say when you dropped everything to go there last-minute in that one chapter, but if that’s where the whole rape and abuse thing happened with Will (which I guess it was), this statement makes some sense. Still no reason for his lack of hesitation in going home before.

They talk more before things wind down and Balinor drops Merlin off at home. Arthur is now there (supposedly he just woke up from a nap or something because he is described as sleepy) and he asks about whom Merlin was just with at the door. Merlin is really rude about it, and slams his bedroom door in Arthur’s face. Way to go on reconciling that relationship, Merlin.

Skip to the next day. More father-son hugging/kissing when Merlin and Balinor meet up (still feels like overcompensation for Balinor’s abandonment of his son), and they go exploring the caves. No one pays Balinor much attention as the interns all assume he’s another tour guide or something. The word japing is used instead of joking, and it really doesn’t work in context. Stop inserting words like this into your writing, SCD07; it’s really jarring and doesn’t have the effect that you think it does. Merlin gets all weird about hanging out with his father because he never had this experience growing up, and I’m getting progressively more annoyed at how little Merlin seems to care that this man jumped ship and abandoned him up until now and would probably have kept being absent if they hadn’t somehow run into each other at that party. I would be super bitter about the whole thing, not giddy that daddy dearest is embarrassing me in front of my friends by being overly affectionate.

You can’t fix years of neglect with a few hugs and some scones. Come on, now.

They start exploring the caves, which for some reason have heaters in them: “stone, water, and coldness filling their lungs except for the occasional heaters wafting warmth against their legs.” Weird. I’ve never heard of caves with that particular feature. Merlin is in awe of the crystals scattered throughout the cave, which they can see thanks to the electric lights that apparently also inhabit this cave. Also weird. But wait, these crystals aren’t just beautiful; they’re kind of magic too:

“’Here’s the best part,’ Balinor said, calling his attention to a smaller bundle he leaned over. ‘Place your hand lightly over the peaks,’ he directed when Merlin joined him.

Merlin did as his father was, holding his hand aloft and just barely touching the spires of crystal as the man hummed a note deep in his chest. Merlin laughed openly when the sound reverberated through the particles and tickled his palm. ‘Go on,’ his father suggested, ‘Sing a note.’

Licking his lips, his mind centered on a sound, and he breathed it out. The note trilled up one shaft and then another, rippling along the petals of the crystal flower. By this point Merlin was beaming like a fool and laughing merrily. ‘It is hard to hear with the commotion,’ Balinor explained, ‘but they echo the sound back to you. The tour guides don’t tell you because if they did, tourists would never leave and the shards would be sold on Amazon.’”

Um, wasn’t he just telling us a few minutes ago that taking crystals out of the caves was punishable by death? Much as capitalism rules this world, I highly doubt that massive amounts of tourists are willing to risk their lives for a quick buck on some singing crystals.

Also, sound doesn’t carry through rock like that. While it is true that crystals can carry sound—both quartz and tourmaline have been used for radio purposes—the crystals need to be flawless and cannot be twinned, meaning those lovely “flower” clusters that were described in that passage wouldn’t do jack shit. Almost all natural quartz is too full of flaws to be used for any practical purpose (though it can make for some impressive specimens and jewelry). You also need some sort of electrical current to get this to work, so just placing your hand over a rock and humming a note won’t do much, unless it’s the architecture of the cave itself causing the echo, in which case the sounds of the group talking would echo just as much as the humming. Try again.

By the way, most of the crystals found in caves are neither quartz nor tourmaline, but calcium-based minerals such as calcite, aragonite, and selenite. Some of the most impressive crystal photos you’ll see from spelunking photos are either calcite or selenite. Caves are primarily formed from limestone, of which calcite and aragonite are major components. Not much silica to be found there, hence the lack of quartz.

See, mum and dad, I took some of your geology ramblings to heart. Aren’t you proud?

Back to the story at hand. It’s time to leave, but Merlin overbalances or trips or something along those lines, causing him to fall into the welcoming arms of the sharp crystals below. His glasses fall off because of course they do (get those things properly fitted and this shit wouldn’t happen so much, Merlin), and he starts to panic and cry out for his dad. Balinor comes to his rescue, even finding his glasses for him like a good dad should. He points out to Merlin that the glasses are cracked (because Merlin never bothered to try and get that shit fixed), and Merlin brushes it away with a quip about it being Arthur’s fault. Not wrong there, I guess. Balinor finds this funny and says, “Nothing violent, I hope?” Um. Since Balinor was supposedly there to take care of Merlin after the whole Will fiasco, it’s not totally out of the ballpark for me to assume he knew about the abuse, right? This is in pretty poor taste to find amusing regardless, but it’s especially gross with a history like that and with how Arthur treats Merlin in this story. Abuse is so funny, haha.

They have an emotional moment where Balinor tells Merlin about how he’s beautiful and deserves all the good things in life because how could his spawn not be anything less than great, and Merlin is self-deprecating, but he does finally point out Balinor’s whole abandoning his family thing, which has been conveniently ignored this whole time, so there’s at least a little progress on that front. The chapter ends with the two of them singing together in the cave by themselves because they’ve been abandoned by their tour group. Not sure why this would not be a big deal considering people get killed for taking these crystals, but I guess these two are special or something. I don’t even care anymore.

#merlin #bbc merlin #Merlin fanfiction #review #broken chemistry #daddy issues #rock facts #making my parents proud #this story never ends #I've created my own hell

3 notes · View notes

textales · 7 years

Text

“Cut Bank Cop”

“Oh god, we’re not stopping?!” This can’t be happening. I shook off and zipped up, slammed the restroom door open, grabbed my bag and ran toward the nearest exit. Trying not to whack into the other passengers, I shrieked “I have to get off here!” as the train known as the Empire Builder moved slowly east toward Chicago. What the hell?

I’m supposed to get off in Essex, a teeny town of less than 50 people, smack dab in the middle of the Rocky Mountains on the west side of the Continental Divide. I made the trek from California to surprise my father on his 80th birthday. The party would be at my step-sister’s cabin, just down the hill from the train station, perched on banks of the middle fork of the Flathead, directly across the river from Glacier Park in Montana.

My step-brother Mark and his wife drove over from Bend, Oregon. The three of us were going to be surprise guests at the party - they’d pick me up from the train and we’d show up at Jane’s place for the big reveal around noon. I couldn’t wait to see the look on my father’s face when we piled out of the car, since for weeks I’d been apologizing for how I couldn’t be there. Truth is, I wouldn’t miss this for the world – I mean really, it’s not every day a dad turns 80, right?

Our clandestine plan was working perfectly until that moment. Just an hour earlier, I called Mark from Whitefish to let him know the train was on schedule. “Grab a cup of coffee and hang out on the front deck….we’ll be there soon,” he said.

As I ran through the dining car I watched the pine trees slowly moving by. “Oh shit,” I thought to myself. “Where is the next stop? Is it Shelby? Holy fuck…this can’t be happening. I am a fucking idiot.” I pictured Mark and Andrea waiting at the train station as I’m nowhere to be found, with no way to communicate since cellphone service is nonexistent in this part of the planet.

Trains, Planes and Automobiles

I was so proud of myself for making this happen, finally. This was Take Two - just one year prior I’d planned the same trip with a nearly identical itinerary, but then to surprise my step-mother on her 80th birthday. On that trip my sister was the co-conspirator and the only one who knew I was coming – oh, besides my friend Tom who drove from Helena (a four hour trip each way!) to shuttle me around. But that plan never got off the ground – literally – since the plane never left Oakland. There was something wrong with the front landing gear, and without parts to fix it or a replacement plane to send (and after making us wait for hours while they tried to sort it out), the airline canceled the flight and refunded our money.

Since I couldn’t find another flight to get me there in time for the surprise (short of hiring a private jet), I canceled the trip entirely. It’s not like I was going to Los Angeles – trying to get from the Bay Area to the Glacier Park International Airport is never easy, let alone on the last minute of a Fourth of July weekend. Fast forward to a year later and here I am thinking to myself: “Not again!”

Do the gods just not want me to be here? It’s one thing to miss a trip due to a mechanical problem completely beyond my control. But missing the party because I decided to use the bathroom on the train (especially since I knew we were so near the stop) would be downright idiotic. I’d made my way from Oakland to Kalispell by plane, and then caught the train from Whitefish to Essex, and now I’m going to miss my dad’s birthday party because I was listening to “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” while standing there with my dick in my hand?!

It’s not like I’ve never been on a train. To the contrary, I take trains all the time and figured I had plenty of time to pee. But it didn’t stop at the station. What gives?

“I have to get off the train!” I screamed, passing by the Forest Ranger tour guide with a headset who just minutes ago was touting the rugged splendor of the American West to attentive tourists in the Sightseer Lounge car.

Now we’ve stopped…whew…the tour guide guy must have called the driver dude. Seeing desperation in my eyes, one of the uniformed attendants said “Go to the last car and they will let you out.” His reaction suggested this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

I could hear mutterings of other passengers who were understandably annoyed. “Why have they stopped?” “They stopped twice.” Blah blah blah. I don’t care if they’re pissed – I am NOT going to miss my dad’s 80th birthday.

I made my way through the aisles carrying the only piece of luggage I had. It was a messenger bag I borrowed from my big gay husband. It had “Gladiator” embroidered on the side and was a souvenir from a trade show he’d worked. It didn’t matter what I’d done or how far I’d travelled or if I missed the train or even if I ended up in jail: if I lost that bag I might as well not come home. As instructed I ran to the end car. It was the sleeper car, all dark and quiet with a sign on the door that that said you can’t be here unless you have a ticket. At first the woman running the sleeper car was about to shoo me away. “I’m not sure I can let you out here.” Then her radio crackled, she mumbled something, grabbed a key and pulled a lever. “Watch yourself” she said as I stepped outside onto the gravel. It was a maybe three feet off the ground but it wasn’t like I was jumping out of an airplane. Whew….I was out of there and on solid ground.

Panting and out of breath, I noticed the conductor guy I spoke to in Whitefish. Now he is standing on the cement platform maybe three cars from the sleeper car where I’d just jumped out.

“Didn’t you hear? We called twice,” he said as he pushed a button on a hand-held scanner thing that I assume registered some sort of passenger count.

“I’m sorry, I thought I had a minute” I said apologetically.

As it turns out, while I was taking a pee and listening to Dionne Warwick on my iPod, the train had slowed to a crawl as we passed the Izaak Walton Inn, moved another few hundred yards and landed, as planned, at the official platform where it was going to stop anyway. Had I paid attention and been at the intended exit door when they called I could have gotten off the train sensibly and without all the panic and drama.

I later learned that Essex is a “flag stop”, meaning the train stops there only if someone has pre-arranged to get on or off at that station. The conductor did have me marked to get off there which is why, thankfully, they stopped as scheduled. All of my freaking out was so unnecessary.

I thanked the conductor guy for managing the situation and apologized for causing a commotion.

Then just like magic, out of nowhere appeared a young dark-haired girl in a red Ford van.

“Do you need a ride?”

Oh, duh, I completely forgot…I’d pre-arranged the hotel shuttle from the Izaak Walton Inn to pick me up.

Good lord…what just happened? My head was spinning. But I had that Gladiator bag on my shoulder so I knew all was okay. Whew.

Meet Me in Montana

The Izaak Walton Inn is a charming, rustic Tudor-style 33-room hotel built in the late 1930s as lodging for railroad workers. Looking a lot like a gingerbread house plucked from Switzerland, it’s listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is situated in what could be some of the most remote wilderness in the continental United States. Cell phone service is non-existent and there are no phones or TVs in the rooms (although there is a payphone in the lobby and limited Wi-Fi for hotel guests). For years I’ve wanted to stay in the main lodge or in one of the nearby cabooses which have been converted into mini cabins – and part of the appeal being the freedom from being reachable by cellphone. There’s a cute little bar with a pool table and seating for maybe a dozen or so, and there’s a phenomenal restaurant serving surprisingly sophisticated food for such an outpost. Not that I’d eat it, but the menu had Trout Almondine with cranberry wild rice and littleneck clams steamed in white wine with garlic.

With just two Amtrak stops daily (the morning train heading east from Seattle to Chicago, evening going west,) you’re hundreds of miles away from any “real” city and you could almost forget about civilization, except for when the freight trains rumble by. Everything from cows to cars ride on those rails, and the freight trains run almost constantly, even in the dead of winter.

Mark and Andrea met me ten minutes or so after I checked in….a woman named Marta (imported from one of those northern European white places where people ski) helped me get settled.

I squished into the back of Andrea’s two-seater and seven minutes later we arrive at the cabin where my dad and stepmother greeted us with the anticipated amount of surprise. Red even cried a little. Bingo! Now that’s the reaction I was hoping for!

Finally, after all the chaos, I’m here at my destination and I can spend time with my dad and parts of the family I’ve not seen in decades. Of course I’m still amped up on adrenaline from thinking I’d missed the train stop, so when Mark invited me on a hike to check out the old swimming hole I happily said yes. Besides, there will be plenty of time to relax when the sun goes down. I’m so looking forward to telling stories around the camp fire.

It’s almost criminal how little I know about my home state. Even though I was born, raised and lived in the Treasure State until I was 22, I’d been to the Flathead area less than a handful of times. When asked about Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks I’d reluctantly have to admit I don’t really have much experience in those places. When I was a kid I avoided those tourist traps. Oh sure, I knew about moose and grizzly bears and mountain lions and other potentially life-threatening critters that could eat you, but my Montana was less hunting and fishing and more neon and parties. The only other time I drove on Highway 2 was maybe 15 years ago, so it’s not exactly familiar territory. Now I’m curious – there is still a sense of mystery about this land and so much of it I haven’t yet seen. I’m not expecting to see a grizzly bear, but it wouldn’t kill me to put my feet in the water.

The river was higher than usual because there had been an abnormally high amount of snow over the winter. Even though it was July and the sun was gleaming and it was in the 80s, the water was maybe 33 degrees. There were groups of people floating on rafts and although it looked fun I thought they were crazy…just a minute or two in that almost freezing water would put anyone into shock. Call me a pansy if you must, but I think I’ll stay on dry land.

As we rounded the curve near the old swimming hole we noticed a yellow kayak on the rocks of the river bank. Who would go kayaking in this water? Are they nuts? And where did that come from?

There was no paddle to be found. And Mark noticed there was no skirt (something I wouldn’t know to look for but he knows what he’s talking about). We yelled to see if the owner was nearby, maybe taking a pee. “Is anyone out there? Yo, is this your yellow kayak?” Silence. Nothing.

The kayak looked newish. There was no license sticker like you need with a boat, nor was there anything to suggest this thing was owned by a guide or a place that does organized rafting trips. I figured we should just leave it there. We could come back in an hour. But Mark was insistent that because there was no paddle and no skirt there had been a situation.

He peeled the cover off and tipped the kayak upside down to drain the water. It was full - clearly it had been completely submerged. “What’s that?” I asked as he pulled out a bundle that looked like a rolled up raincoat. “It’s a dry bag” said Mark as he ripped open the Velcro to look inside.

I noticed a cocoon attached to the outside of the dry bag. Clearly, this cocoon or spiders nest or whatever it was - this was proof this kayak and its contents had been here for a while. Mark opened the thing which clearly hadn’t done its duty as a “dry” bag, since the contents inside were all soaking wet. Inside was a wallet, a set of car keys, and a cell phone.

Mark checked…the last time the phone had been turned-on was six days ago. The wallet had a Driver’s License and credit cards. Oh shit…now this is serious. We yelled out again, “Hey….is anyone here?” Again, silence, except for the sounds of the gentle rapids of this river that was barely above freezing since it’s technically runoff from a glacier.

Mark and I returned to the cabin with the dry bag and its stuff. We’d go back later to retrieve the kayak. Peggy and Jane were prepping for Red’s big birthday party as Mark explained what we’d found on our short hike.

“Don’t touch anything, that is evidence” Peggy stated calmly.

Jane picked up the landline to call Flathead Search and Rescue. She wondered who might be on duty this weekend (everyone knows everyone in these parts) and kept her cool while making the call.

“No, call 9-1-1. This is an emergency” screeched Peggy.

“Oh Mom. It’s not that big of a deal,” said Jane.

“It is if there’s a dead body,” uttered Peggy with all the wisdom of an 80-year-old grandmother.

As I stood there envisioning divers in scuba gear dredging the river bottom, I couldn’t help but think that if there’d been a report of a missing kayaker from six days ago it would have been all over the news by now. Wouldn’t there have been search parties and helicopters? I vaguely recall a report of a guy lost in the Bob Marshall Wilderness….it was on the TV news in Kalispell and in the Daily Interlake newspaper and I knew about it through Facebook. But that was months ago…this guy’s phone was hot just six days ago.

Mark paid no attention to his mother’s warning and was still digging through the wallet. Behind the driver’s license was another ID: this guy was a police officer for the small town of Cut Bank, about 75 miles east of where we were.

A Cop? Oh my…the plot thickens.

While Jane talked to the dispatcher at Search and Rescue, Mark and I took the Rhino (a 4 wheeler ATV) up river to get the kayak - they’ll certainly want it as evidence. And now that I know missing guy is a cop my mind starts to run amok with all kinds of conspiracy theories and potential plots and outcomes. This is thrilling. And I thought almost missing my stop on the train was a rush.

We returned to the river bank where we left the kayak. Much to our surprise, now it’s gone. What the hell? Mark yelled out, thinking kayak guy might be close. Again, nothing but the sounds of the rapids.

Had Cut Bank Cop busted someone who really wanted him gone? Did he or an accomplice plant this as evidence, hoping someone like us would stumble upon it and call the authorities? After several months or years would someone be collecting the insurance money and he’d surface in Mexico or Belize? If we were to believe the cell phone we found in the dry bag, he had literally been up the creek without a paddle for six days.

With no kayak in tow Mark and I took the Rhino back to the cabin. I was anxious to hear what the Search and Rescue people had to say. Would they be sending a team with scuba divers and cadaver dogs? Why don’t I hear helicopters yet?”

Meanwhile, not to be bothered by any of this commotion, Red was sitting on the front deck, leisurely whittling away at a piece of wood he was carving for one of the grandkids. “Hey look,” he said, calmly glancing toward the river as a guy in a yellow kayak, with a paddle, made his way down the river. Remembering dude’s name from his driver’s license and Cop ID, Mark yelled out “Hey, are you (so and so)?”

“Yes…..oh wow, is that mine? Did you find that floating in the river?” he asked, referring to the dry bag Mark had in his hands. “We found it in the kayak and noticed there wasn’t a paddle or a skirt and were afraid of the worst.”

Cut Bank Cop, so very happy to have his wallet, keys and cell phone back, explained that he and his wife were up river when she lost control of her vessel, flipped over and managed to get herself to the shore. Watching it all happen, almost in slow-motion, he beached his kayak and walked up to meet his wife who was clearly now done with this river ride experiment. Fuck this…she’s going back to the car. She left in a huff, headed to wherever they’d left the car, a place called Payola. Oh, and now, well, she’s technically missing and so is her kayak. But dude wasn’t the least bit worried. “She’s got a gun” he said. “She’ll be fine.”

I can’t help but think about the document I sign every year that says I won’t take money under the table for playing someone’s record – but this is different Payola and not even spelled the same way.

Anyway, he’s cool as a cucumber. Shouldn’t he be at least a little worried? His wife is stumbling through the wilderness in a place where grizzly bears eat people. Just earlier this year some bicyclist ranger dude ran across a bear and met his demise on a trail less than a mile from about right here. Would she make it to Payola? Jesus…this is getting crazy. If he isn’t going to worry about her, well, I will.

After thanking us profusely for fetching his wallet and phone, Cut Bank Cop went with Jane to get his pickup truck a few miles up the road while Mark and I went looking for the wife’s missing red kayak.

As we were bombing down the road in the Rhino we ran across a neighbor who mentioned he found a woman walking around, all soaking wet and pissed off. She wanted a ride to Payola. Whew, okay, she’s not bear food and she’s not dead.

A couple minutes later, after Mark and I observed a red kayak ditched at a neighbor’s private beach, I noticed a pickup truck approaching with # 38 on the license plate. “That’s a 38-Special,” I thought to myself. In Montana a 38 on your license plate means the vehicle is registered in Glacier County – the same county where Cut Bank is located. Sure enough, the driver is Cut Bank Cop, out looking for his wife’s missing red kayak that Mark and I spotted at just that moment.

“As luck would have it, we found your other kayak too!” Mark uttered. He then helped load it in the bed of the “38 Special” as Cut Bank Cop kept thanking us for saving his ship.

“I can get another wife…but the kayak, can’t lose that.”

He was so very grateful and offered us a reward for finding his missing stuff.

“Absolutely not,” said Mark. “We are Montanans, after all, and we look out for each other.” We said our goodbyes and returned in the Rhino to the cabin.

As I glanced at the Gladiator bag sitting on the deck, next to my dad who was still carving the wood thing for the grandkid, I took stock of the day. No missed trains, no dead bodies, no grizzly bears gnawing on wayward kayakers.

Okay, enough adrenaline rush for the day. Finally, it’s time for that beer and a chat with the old man around the campfire. After all, this is what I came here for in the first place.

#montana riverstories copsarecool

0 notes

almostafantasia · 6 years

Text

Lancelot (5/14)

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 5/14 read on ao3

“A lesbian bar?” Lexa asks incredulously. “You brought me to a lesbian bar?”

As Lexa peers around the bar, with its grungy lighting and soft background music, her immediate thought is that she should have picked a gayer outfit. A lot of the women in the room are dressed in flannels or shirts or v-neck tees, and Lexa feels a mournful pang for the shirts back in her hotel room. The outfit she’s wearing is nice - a sheer, sleeveless top paired with dark skinny jeans - and her winged eyeliner game is on point, but she dressed for a generic night out. Had she known that Anya had a lesbian bar in mind, Lexa would definitely have dressed a little differently, and she is left feeling like she doesn’t quite look gay enough to have earned herself entry to this bar.

Which is ridiculous, Lexa is fully aware. She knows that there’s no such thing as “looking gay”, and her wardrobe back in England holds everything from dresses to tuxedos, from sweatpants to a three-piece tweed suit, but Lexa finds that the way she dresses affects her mindset. When she wears a crisp shirt and a tailored suit, the perfect knot of a tie sitting neatly at her collar, she’s Agent Lancelot, ready to think quickly on her feet to save the world; when she wears jeans and a casual tee, she’s just regular Lexa doing her supermarket shopping or reading a book or hanging out with her thirteen year-old brother on the weekends, a normal twenty-two year old living a normal life. It’s only a little thing, but it works mentally, it helps distinguish the different parts of Lexa’s life.

And it seeps into other things too, enough that Lexa feels out of place right now, like she’s dressed up for the wrong night out.

It’s a good job that she has no intention of pulling tonight. Lexa feels a little bit too off-balance to even consider bringing out her charm and using it on any of the girls in this bar tonight.

Noting Lexa’s surprise, Anya asks, “Would you rather I took you someplace where we’ll get hit on by gross college boys all night?”

Lexa thinks back to her previous experiences of entitled straight men and grimaces when she imagines what they might be like on this side of the Atlantic, where infant boys are weaned off their mothers’ breast milk onto a diet of misogyny and toxic masculinity before they can even say their own names, to an even greater extent than Lexa is used to back at home.

Conceding that perhaps Anya’s idea to come to this particular bar may not have been a terrible one after all, Lexa says, “No.”

“Good,” grins Anya. She wraps a playful arm around Lexa’s shoulders, forcing Lexa’s body to lean into her side as they walk up to the bar, then asks cheekily, “Buy me a drink?”

“Really?”

“Yes, because I’m a better agent than you.”

Lexa tries to find within her the strength to dispute Anya’s point, but following her abysmal performance in the White House two nights ago, she really doesn’t think that she can put together much of an argument.

“For once, I don’t think I can disagree,” admits Lexa, too tired to be bothered by any gloating that Anya might do.

They reach the bar and Lexa orders drinks for both of them, while Anya starts scanning the room. Lexa knows exactly what Anya is doing, searching for a potential bedfellow for the night, but she refuses to join in. Lexa doesn’t want to become a cliche, a tourist in a strange city looking for a one night stand to quell a hunger for adrenaline.

“Okay, the hottest girl in the room is definitely the one over there,” says Anya, nodding to the corner of the bar furthest from the door. “Dibs.”

“You’re welcome to her,” shrugs Lexa, quickly thanking the bartender, before picking up both glasses and passing Anya’s drink over to her. “I’ve got no interest in having a meaningless one night stand just because we leave the country in the morning.”

Beside her, Anya has fallen oddly silent, still staring out in the direction of the girl she’s eyeing up. Lexa rolls her eyes, slightly frustrated by the fact that Anya has dragged her out of the hotel, only to take interest in somebody else straight away, and she finds herself hoping that Anya can get a move on so that Lexa can retire to her hotel room once more, earlier than planned.

Anya laughs breathily, almost in disbelief, then says, “Lex, you might want to revisit that plan. Look who is sitting next to Hottie.”

Lexa follows Anya’s gaze, quickly locating the girl that her best friend has got her eye on. She’s easy to spot, exactly Anya’s type - dark hair and dangerous eyes and a trace of a smirk tugging at her lips. She sits at a table with three others, and though two have their backs to Lexa, there is no mistaking the third. Lexa doesn’t think she could forget that face in a million lifetimes.

Clarke Griffin is here.

The very same Clarke Griffin that Lexa made an idiot of herself in front of two nights ago.

The very same Clarke Griffin who watched her get tasered and dragged out of the White House in handcuffs by several members of the Secret Service.

The very same Clarke Griffin that is so incredibly beautiful that Lexa literally forgot how to function as a human being in her presence the last time they were in the same room.

“What the fuck?” Lexa exhales in disbelief.

“I knew that going out tonight would be a good idea,” grins Anya.

“Did you know she was going to be here?” asks Lexa, because it’s not completely out of the realm of the possibility that Anya spent the time Lexa was in a cell to track Clarke’s movements specifically so that Lexa is forced to confront the girl she made such a terrible first impression on.

“Of course not,” says Anya, shaking her head. “I think the universe is sticking its middle finger up at you, and I’m one hundred percent here for it.”

Lexa takes a long sip from her drink, then lets out a groan as she says, “I can’t believe she’s here. In a lesbian bar!”

“Well, she is bi,” says Anya.

Lexa hates how fast her head snaps up at this revelation, hates how it betrays her thoughts and hates the knowing smile that Anya gives her in response.

“How do you know that?” asks Lexa, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible even though her mind is running a marathon as she thinks of all the possibilities now that Clarke is here and apparently interested in women.

“Because she came out in a magazine interview last year during Abby Griffin’s campaign,” explains Anya. “I’m pretty sure I sent you a link to the article when it was published.”

“You know I don’t pay attention to celebrity gossip,” shrugs Lexa.

“So are you going to say hi to her?” asks Anya

“How can I?” groans Lexa. She uses the fingers on the hand not holding her drink to count as she continues, “One, she thinks I’m in jail, and two, she thinks I’m a fucking moron!”

“Then she already has low expectations and it can only go up?” suggests Anya. “I’m going over there with or without you, are you coming?” Anya pauses for Lexa’s response, and when she doesn’t get one, continues persuasively, “I’ll put in a good word for you. The very best for my very best friend.”

“Fuck it,” concedes Lexa, downing the rest of her drink for courage and waving at the bartender to get her another. Turning back to Anya, Lexa says, “Though I won’t let you forget you said that. Last week you said I was - and I quote - tolerable.”

“Tolerable as a best friend,” says Anya, with a grin. “Because nobody else is good enough.”

With a fresh drink in her hand, Lexa follows Anya across the room to the table where Clarke and her three friends sit. Lexa tries not to let herself panic too much, deciding that throwing herself into the situation without thought is probably the best option. That particular tactic usually works pretty well in the field - jumping out of a plane, for example, is something that Lexa finds much easier to do if she doesn’t give herself the time to remember that a fault with the parachute could result in her crumpled body hitting the earth from ten thousand feet - and Lexa hopes that it works with pretty girls too. Specifically, that it will work with Clarke.

“Do you ladies mind if we join you?” asks Anya, turning her charm dual up to the maximum as soon as they reach the table.

All four pairs of eyes snap up, focused on Anya at first, but they drift to Lexa soon after. Lexa tries to look anywhere but at Clarke, feeling her eyes watch her with burning intensity long after the other three return their attention to Anya. Instead, Lexa looks at the girl closest to them, the one that Anya has got her eye on, who pushes out the empty chair closest to her and gestures for Anya to sit in it.

“Be my guest,” says the girl, a small smile on her face as she appraises Anya with curiosity. “Is that a British accent I hear?”

“It is,” nods Anya, taking her seat, “and before you ask, yes I have met the Queen.”

Anya quickly launches into a true anecdote that seems to capture the girl’s attention, carefully omitting the part where she foiled an attempt on Prince William’s life.

While Anya makes herself at home immediately, Lexa is left standing beside the table like she’s a little bit in the way. She dares to spare a glance in Clarke’s direction, only to find steely blue eyes staring at her with the kind of intensity that could bore a hole straight through Lexa’s skull. Clarke’s expression contains mixed recognition and confusion, and Lexa feels herself getting very self-conscious the longer she stands there.

Luck, as ever, is working against Lexa, and the only spare seat at the table is the one to Clarke’s immediate right. The only thing working in Lexa’s favour is that the empty seat is as far away from Anya as possible, as she is grateful that Anya is probably going to miss a lot of Lexa’s future embarrassment in front of Clarke.

Clarke, understandably, has some questions.

“Aren’t you…?”

“Later?” Lexa asks, her tone pleading, not wanting to get into the gritty details so soon, especially while the two friends of Clarke that aren’t being charmed by Anya are watching Lexa with intrigue. “I promise I’ll explain.”

Clarke hesitates for a long moment, then nods.

“Okay,” she says, conceding even though there’s a sharp look in her eye that promises Lexa she won’t forget that she wants an explanation. “Well, this is Monroe and their girlfriend Harper. Talking to your friend is Raven. And, well, you know who I am.”

Lexa greets Clarke’s friends with a smile and polite nods of her head.

“I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“So what brings you to America?” asks the girl that Clarke introduced as Harper.

“Just work,” answers Lexa, keeping her answer as vague as possible, though she can feel Clarke’s watchful eyes burning into the side of her head once more. “We fly back in the morning so Anya thought it would be a good idea to enjoy our final night in D.C.”

“Oh, what do you do?” asks Harper.

Lexa feels Clarke fall still beside her, as if waiting to hear how Lexa will choose to answer that question, and Lexa wonders how much of her altered truth Clarke has managed to find out.

“Nothing exciting,” Lexa answers vaguely as possible. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Tell me, how do you all know each other?”

Lexa’s deflection works, or perhaps Clarke picks up on the fact that Lexa is deliberately avoiding talking about her work and jumps in to save her, because Clarke is quick to offer up an answer.

“The three of us went to high school together and Raven is a college friend of mine,” she tells Lexa. “Harper and Monroe live here in D.C. and Raven is staying with me for a week or so during spring break. We thought it would be nice to go out and here we don’t have to deal with gross men hitting on us.”

Lexa nods understandingly, and says, “That was Anya’s reason for choosing here too.”

Clarke pauses for a few seconds, watchful eyes not leaving Lexa’s face once, before she replies in a voice that is a little lower than before, “Well I’m glad that she did.”

It’s almost intangible, but Lexa feels a spark crackle between them, and it causes the breath to hitch in her throat.

Lexa’s mouth is dry as she replies, “So am I.”

Lexa thinks that she can see the corner of Clarke’s mouth twitch as if going to smile, but then it’s gone, perhaps just a product of Lexa’s wishful imagination.

Though there is a seed of doubt in Lexa’s mind, wondering whether the chemistry between them is something she’s made up in her mind, it must be evident enough for the others around the table to notice it, because Monroe asks, “You and Anya aren’t dating then?”

Beside Lexa, Clarke glances across to where Raven is laughing at something that Anya has said, one of her hands resting on Anya’s forearm, then looks back at Monroe as she answers for Lexa, “I doubt Anya would be hitting on Raven quite so blatantly if she was dating Lexa. Unless that’s what you’re into?”

Clarke arches a questioning eyebrow in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa shakes her head, because although there was a girl in Bali that proposed a threesome with them both when they visited, Anya is too close of a friend for Lexa to even consider seeing her in that kind of way. Besides, while the jury is still out on Anya, Lexa is definitely the monogamous type.

“Nope, definitely not dating,” says Lexa, wincing at the thought. “Anya is more of an annoying older sister.

“Anybody else special in your life?”

Clarke reaches for her drink as she asks the question, and Lexa has to fight back a smile, experienced enough at reading other people’s body language to know that Clarke is trying to pass her question off as casual curiosity, which probably means that she’s actually got a personal interest in Lexa’s answer. Which probably means that…

Lexa shakes herself out of her thoughts, trying not to get ahead of herself. If there’s anybody with a personal interest in the other, it’s definitely Lexa, and she tries not to let her attraction for Clarke project unrealistic scenarios onto her imagination.

“No,” answers Lexa, now doing her own best attempt at trying to remain casually unaffected by the conversation. “What about yourself?”

“Nobody,” answers Clarke. “Still waiting for the right person to come along.”

Lexa nods and tries to act unaffected by this new piece of information, though she files it away in her mind as she tries not to get too caught up in hope that maybe the right person is her. Instead, Lexa turns her attention to Harper and Monroe.

“So how long have you two been dating?”

Harper and Monroe bid them farewell after they finish their drinks, claiming that they have an early start to visit Harper’s parents the next morning. Raven and Anya are absorbed in a conversation of their own at the other end of the table, and they soon disappear to the bar for another drink, where they stay, finally leaving Lexa alone with Clarke.

With some newfound privacy, Clarke wastes no time in questioning Lexa about the other night.

“So I heard a rumour that you’re MI6,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she regards Lexa with curiosity.

Lexa hesitates before she answers, wondering whether she should go along with the lie or construct an entirely new one for Clarke’s benefit. But there are still twelve hours until her flight out of the country, twelve hours in which Clarke could easily contact somebody very important and let them know that the intruder from the other night is not who she claims to be. It’s easier to go along with a lie that has a few forged documents to support it.

“Well, yes,” nods Lexa.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing inside the White House?” Clarke asks.

Her eyes are full of intrigue, her really gorgeous eyes, and Lexa has to remind herself that confessing all her secrets to a new acquaintance who happens to be the daughter of a powerful world leader would probably not be her cleverest idea.

Instead, Lexa leans back in her seat, looks Clarke in the eyes and then, using a line that Lexa is pretty certain she picked up from a movie, deadpans, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Clarke’s reaction is worth it. Her face cracks open into a smile and a bubble of laughter leaves her throat, and though Lexa’s words were intended to be aloof and mysterious in a way that she hoped might charm Clarke, Lexa is the one that is left feeling disarmed.

“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” says Clarke.

“Only the pretty ones,” Lexa quips back.

“And does it work?”

Lexa feels her entire body relaxing because this, this is how you flirt with pretty girls, not whatever bumbling mess she made of herself the other day. She reaches for her a drink, taking a sip and savouring the moment as Clarke watches her and waits for Lexa’s answer, then glances up at Clarke with a trace of a smile on her lips.

“I don’t know, does it?”

Why, oh why can’t Anya be here now to witness her charm Clarke with carefully chosen lines?

Clarke looks away shyly, picking up her own drink as a way of giving herself something to do. And with Clarke caught off-guard, and her own confidence spiking, Lexa presses on with the apology she’s been so desperate to give ever since she saw Clarke across the bar and realised she might have a chance to redeem herself after their first meeting.

“Clarke, I really must apologise for how I came across the other night,” says Lexa. “I promise you, that’s not normal behaviour for me. Obviously I had a lot going on and then you showed up and took me completely by surprise.”

Clarke looks back up at Lexa, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and she says, “Normally when girls fall for me, it’s not because they’ve been tasered.”

Lexa’s cheeks flush pink, though she thinks that Clarke’s teasing is flirtatious rather than actually mocking Lexa.

“Hardly my finest moment,” admits Lexa.

“I know there’s probably a lot you can’t tell me, but I’m curious about one thing,” says Clarke. She leans a little closer, then asks, “How do you get into being a secret agent?”

Lexa relaxes somewhat, because she doesn’t need to construct elaborate lies to answer this question. She can just be herself and tell the truth, and hope that Clarke likes the real Lexa.

“I joined the army straight out of school at eighteen,” answers Lexa. “Well, I tried to. I shattered my kneecap during basic training and had to drop out.”

Lexa grimaces at the memory. One moment she had been pushing herself to complete the obstacle course in the best possible time, and the next, one of her fellow trainees’ hands, slick with the rainwater that pounded down relentlessly over the training compound, slipped through her own while helping her up a sheer wall and she was falling from the high obstacle. The only thing that Lexa can remember from that point with any degree of clarity is the sickening pain, and she feels a twinge of pain in her knee as she recalls the horrendous agony.

“I had surgery on my knee and lots of physiotherapy,” Lexa continues to tell the story, while Clarke listens and watches with concern on her face. “I was just thinking about starting training again when a friend recommended me for a vacancy in intelligence. I went for it and I got it and now here I am.”

“Wow,” says Clarke, appearing impressed. “That all sounds way more exciting than my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” says Lexa. “Your mum is the first female President of the United States!”

“Mum,” grins Clarke, mocking Lexa’s accent.

Rolling her eyes and pretending to be offended, though she secretly thinks that Clarke’s playful teasing is the best thing to happen to her all year, Lexa asks, “Did you ever think that your life would end up like this?”

The smile slides off Clarke’s face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She pauses for a few seconds before she answers.

“In a way, no,” Clarke tells Lexa honestly. “Obviously she’s always been in politics, but this is completely different. But also, it feels like this was always supposed to happen. I have a really vivid memory from my childhood - I must have been, like, six - and I got mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let me play outside after dinner. My dad pulled me aside and said, ‘Clarke, you have to listen to your mom. She’s going to be the President one day.’ And I think I believed him.”

“And now here you are,” concludes Lexa. “She’s the President.”

“She is,” nods Clarke, smiling proudly. “I’m so proud of her, proud of everything that she’s achieved and everything that she wants to do in the future. She’s been President for two months and she’s already leading that new global climate change initiative. There’s so much more that she wants to change. She’s the most amazing woman and the best mom I could ask for. But I do miss my old life sometimes.”

“That’s completely understandable,” says Lexa.

“God, you must think I’m such an ungrateful shit,” groans Clarke. “Complaining about being the President’s daughter when there are millions of people around the world who face real struggles every day. I’m so grateful for my life and everything in it. I mean, if my mom wasn’t President, there’s no way I’d be having a drink with a mysterious spy!”

“Mysterious?” smirks Lexa.

“You broke into my house and I have no idea wh-” Clarke trails off mid-word and Lexa thinks she can see everything click into place in Clarke’s mind and the understanding wash over Clarke’s face. “It’s to do with those other problems with the security, isn’t it?”

Lexa can’t help but smile to herself. As much as she feels as though revealing the exact details of her top secret mission to the very person whose untimely interruption the other night led to its catastrophic failure, Lexa is impressed with Clarke’s intuition and intelligence.

“Not just a pretty face,” teases Lexa.

“So,” says Clarke, her face burrowing into a frown of deep concentration, as she asks, “were you the one responsible for the others or were you trying to stop them from happening?”

“Trying to get an idea of what was behind them so we could stop them from happening again,” answers Lexa. “Unfortunately, somebody showed up before I could actually do any investigating.”

Clarke grimaces and mumbles an apology, before she tentatively asks, “You’re not going to get fired, are you?”

“No. Just demoted to the really menial missions where there are no beautiful girls to distract me.”

Clarke blushes and replies, “I knew you were secretly a charmer. Nobody looks that good in a shirt and tie without being a smooth operator.”

Once again, Lexa feels a pang of sadness for the more dapper side of her wardrobe that she left behind in the hotel room. Knowing that Clarke is into that kind of look only makes Lexa more frustrated with herself that she chose not to dress up a little more for her night out.

Lexa is also worried about Clarke’s words. Though she thinks she’s doing a pretty good job of letting Clarke see the real her, she wants to make sure that Clarke knows that it’s just Lexa’s job that is extraordinary, not her.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” Lexa tries to explain to Clarke. “I don’t want you to think that I’m this international super spy who travels the world and beds a different woman in each city.”

“So I’m special?” asks Clarke, a hint of a teasing smile crossing her lips.

Lexa relaxes a little, then answers breathily, “You have no idea.”

Lexa is like a glass of ice cold water in the middle of a desert, like the sun on Clarke’s face on the first day of spring after a cold winter. Clarke has met a lot of people in her twenty years of life, and particularly in the last few months as her position in the public eye has grown, Clarke has met a lot of people who decide to try their luck at getting it on with the President’s daughter. But there’s something unique about Lexa, a burst of something refreshing, that makes her stand out from the crowds of mediocre frat boys that usually approach her in bars.

Perhaps it’s the fact that she comes across as so quintessentially British. Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa is a typical example of her people, having not met a Brit in the flesh before, but Lexa has a delicate politeness interspersed with delightful charm that has Clarke warming to her immediately.

Of course, that’s ignoring the obvious magnetism of Lexa’s job. Clarke can hardly believe that she’s sharing a drink with an actual secret agent, her very own female James Bond, and the few anecdotes that Lexa shares from her career are so shrouded in combined excitement and intrigue that Clarke can’t help the way that she drinks up every single word, wanting to hear more.

Clarke realises very quickly that she’s attracted to Lexa, but who wouldn’t be? Lexa is gorgeous, a face that is two-thirds cheekbones and the rest lovely lips with a slight natural pout to them. Clarke has been attracted to Lexa since their first meeting, despite the awkward blunders from Lexa, though Clarke realises now that their initial encounter only endears her to Lexa more, knowing that even an international super spy is a flawed human. Clarke is slightly sad that Lexa isn’t wearing a shirt and tie again, having always had a little bit of a weakness for ladies in suits, but the top that Lexa wears tonight shows off toned biceps that cause Clarke’s mouth to dry out every time she ends up looking at them.

Like now.

“You’re staring,” says Lexa, her words snapping Clarke sharply out of her drooling trance. “Have I got something…?”

Lexa glances down at herself, searching for whatever imperfection she thinks might have caught Clarke’s eye, and Clarke is quick to correct her.

“No! There’s nothing.” After two and a half drinks, Clarke feels bold enough to add, “You have very nice arms, that’s all.”

“Oh,” responds Lexa, eyebrows raised in apparent surprise at Clarke’s compliment. “Thanks.”

Seeing Lexa a little bit flustered has Clarke momentarily regretting her decision to voice the truth. But arms have always been a weakness of Clarke’s, on both men and women. There’s just something about seeing a pair of strong arms and the implication of what those arms could do to her in the right situation, and all the moisture leaves Clarke’s mouth and moves south as she tries not to picture Lexa’s body above her own, one arm pinning Clarke’s hands above her head while the other does wicked things between her legs.

Clarke hasn’t had enough to drink to process thoughts like that.

Arms are Clarke’s weakness but so are tattoos, which Lexa also has. There’s an intricate, almost tribal-style tattoo curling around Lexa’s right bicep, and Clarke likes it very much.

“What does this mean?” asks Clarke, reaching out to trace her fingertips across Lexa’s tattoo.

Clarke doesn’t miss the way that Lexa shivers slightly at her touch and she watches a ripple of goosebumps erupt across Lexa’s forearm. The bar is warm, almost too warm now that it’s getting busier, and Clarke knows that Lexa can’t be cold. The realisation that Lexa is reacting that way to her brings a smile of satisfaction to Clarke’s lips.

“It doesn’t really mean anything,” answers Lexa. “I got it when I was eighteen. I was about to join the army and I was worried about being surrounded by men twice my size so I got it because I liked the design and I thought it might make me look tougher than I felt.” Lexa pauses, and then adds, “I know this is stupid, but I also hoped that getting a tattoo would make me look gayer.”

Clarke laughs at Lexa’s reasoning, though she understands completely. She’s been guilty of adjusting her own appearance depending on whether she wants to be considered attractive by men or women, though nothing ever as extreme or as permanent as getting a tattoo.

“I like it,” she tells Lexa, brushing her fingers over the tattoo one final time before she lets her hand drop back into her own lap. “Have you got any others?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out, won’t you?” replies Lexa.

The elusive response is laced with flirtation and Clarke can’t help but hope that Lexa is implying that there might be a continuation of this conversation later, only with much fewer clothes. The thought is enough to render Clarke dazed and speechless.

When Clarke makes no immediate reply, Lexa seems to interpret her silence as something that it isn’t and starts apologising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t actually talk to girls very often,” admits Lexa. “Well, I do, but never like this.”

“Like what?” asks Clarke.

Lexa hesitates and frowns, as if trying to find the right words to explain what she means, and then starts talking.

“I’m not a stranger to talking to girls as part of a mission,” she tells Clarke. “Sometimes I get given a mark, I flirt with her a bit, tell her everything that she wants to hear, and get information out of her.” Lexa pauses momentarily again, chuckling softly under her breath, then continues amusedly, “You’d be surprised how easily some people will tell you exactly what you want to know after you tell them their hair is pretty and give them a couple of orgasms.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush at the thought of Lexa giving girls orgasms, and it takes a few seconds for her to realise that the girl she’s picturing in her head is her, with her fingers fisted through Lexa’s brown hair and her back arched off a bed as Lexa’s mouth works its magic between her legs and oh wow, this got inappropriate fast.

Clarke reaches for her drink and takes a long sip to cool herself down, hoping that the lighting in the bar is dim enough that Lexa won’t notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

“But that’s work,” continues Lexa, apparently oblivious to the truly debauched direction of Clarke’s current thoughts. “I can do all that with my eyes closed because there’s no attachment there. It’s just another mission. A routine, a certain state of mind.”

“Okay, ladykiller,” teases Clarke.

Lexa shoots Clarke a look, something almost like a glare but ten times more devastating and with a hint of ‘done with your shit’ to it. If Clarke wasn’t attracted to Lexa before, then she definitely would be now, with the slightly aloof stare that Lexa gives her that is equal parts arousing and intimidating - exactly what Clarke likes in a girl.

Lexa finally relaxes, though Clarke doesn’t think she will be able to follow suit, and continues talking.

“I never really let myself talk to girls for me, you know?” says Lexa, and Clarke nods to show that she understands. “So when I do, I’m sort of completely out of my depth. You’re here, and I like that, and I like you, but internally I’m panicking because I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

There’s something endearingly attractive about Lexa’s honesty. And even though their lives are completely different, Clarke’s so regimented by the security measures in place and her desire to stay out of the public eye while Lexa’s life is full of thrills and uncertainty, Clarke thinks that this might be an area where their lives share a similarity. Because Clarke never really allows herself the luxury of getting close to other people too. Since coming into the spotlight in the last year or so, Clarke’s sexual encounters have been sparse and only with people that she implicitly trusts to remain discrete, while the possibility of romance has been so distant it might as well be on another planet.

Something about being here with Lexa, about flirting with Lexa, just feels right. Clarke can only hope that trusting her intuition won’t become something she regrets.

“I’d say you’ve done pretty well so far,” says Clarke flirtatiously.

With the slight buzz from the alcohol, it’s easy to speak her mind, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by Lexa.

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” confesses Lexa.

Clarke realises that Lexa is watching her, green eyes full of an intensity that Clarke thinks she recognises as desire. Lexa’s gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, and Clarke smiles in triumph.

“See?” says Clarke, exhaling softly as she turns slightly in her seat so that she’s facing Lexa properly, rather than just sitting side by side. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”

Lexa shakes her head and starts to lean in, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to keep watching Clarke’s lips. Clarke lets her own eyes drift closed, tilting her head slightly to the side in anticipation of their lips meeting. She feels Lexa’s breath hit her face, still warm, and knows they they must be an immeasurably small amount of time away from actually kissing.

And then Clarke’s phone goes off.

“For fuck’s sake,” groans Clarke.

She can’t believe that they were so close to kissing. Their lips must have been only a hair’s breadth apart. If only they had spent less time flirting in the lead up to the kiss and more time just getting the fuck on with it.

“It’s fine,” says Lexa, who looks disappointed about the interruption but still leans back to put enough distance between them to clear Clarke’s head. “It might be important.”

It’s not important. A text from Raven lights up the screen of Clarke’s phone and she unlocks her phone to read it, her heart still aching with disappointment.

Raven Reyes Left with hottie. Don’t wait up.

“Your friend has made quite the impression on Raven,” says Clarke as she taps out her reply - a thumbs up followed by a series of lewd emojis. “They’ve gone.”

“Anya has never been one to mess around,” shrugs Lexa. “If there’s something she wants, she’ll make sure that she gets it. I think that them leaving together was inevitable from the moment…”

“Lexa, I don’t want to talk about Anya and Raven,” says Clarke, switching her phone off to avoid any further interruptions and placing it face down on the table.

“No?” asks Lexa, her breath hitching in her throat.

Clarke shakes her head and just goes for it, reaching up with one hand to cup Lexa’s face and using it as an anchor to draw Lexa’s mouth to hers, even as she leans in herself.

Lexa lets out a little grunt of surprise as their lips collide, then relaxes, one of her own hands coming up to tangle into Clarke’s hair. Clarke coaxes Lexa’s lips, softer than she could ever have imagined them to be, open with her own and swipes her tongue into Lexa’s mouth, while her fingertips traced a gentle path along the sharp plane of Lexa’s jaw.

Kissing Lexa is unlike anything Clarke’s has experienced before, and certainly seems like it is realms away from the other slightly tipsy kisses she’s shared with strangers. There’s a certain familiarity to kissing Lexa that feels as though Clarke has done this a thousand times before, yet the thrill of a first kiss is still there.

And a really good first kiss it is too. Clarke has experienced her fair share of first kisses before, and the thing that most of them share is awkwardness. Noses that bump together as they get used to new angles, teeth that are a little too sharp and tongues that are too invasive - all things that Clarke has come to expect from kissing somebody for the first time.

But this feels as though Lexa has read and memorized a manual entitled How to Give a Great First Kiss. Because that’s exactly what this is. It’s by no means a perfect kiss, but as first kisses go, Clarke finds it hard to imagine how it could be improved. It’s just the right amount of tentative, Lexa’s lips are curiously explorative, and her hand in Clarke’s hair keeps Clarke anchored to reality when she feels so giddy that she could soar away and leave the entire world behind.

Even though Clarke was the one to initiate the kiss, she feels as though she has relinquished all control. Clarke is glad she’s sitting down because her entire body feels as though it has gone slack beneath Lexa’s lips. Lexa must have magical kissing powers, because Clarke doesn’t want to stop doing this ever.

And maybe Clarke can’t do this forever, because she will eventually need to do things like eat and shower, and she has responsibilities like college and showing her face at the right times to support her mom’s political career, but fuck if she isn’t going to try to keep doing this for the foreseeable future. Which is why Clarke lets her free hand drop to Lexa’s thigh, running her fingers in light circles across the rough denim of Lexa’s pants. She gradually pushes the patterns she draws higher and higher up Lexa’s thigh, not with the intention of actually touching Lexa there, because even though this is what she wants, even Clarke has a boundary of what she’s willing to do in public with a virtual stranger. But she pushes her hand high enough to just give Lexa a hint about where Clarke would be very happy to take things tonight.

Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect, because Lexa pulls back from the kiss and rests her hand over Clarke’s, stopping its movements.

“Clarke, we shouldn’t…” gasps Lexa, letting her forehead drop against Clarke’s, her eyes still close as if she’s trying to will herself not to succumb.

“I know,” agrees Clarke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Lexa lifts her forehead off Clarke’s and puts a bit of space between them, staring down into her own lap as if trying to avoid looking at Clarke’s directly in the eye.

“No, I meant that we shouldn’t … you know,” says Lexa, letting Clarke fill in the end of the sentence. “I fly back to England in the morning.”

Clarke’s heart feels heavy with disappointment as she tries to wrap it up in a layer of humor.

“And you’re worried that after one night with you, I’ll be hopelessly in love with you and heartbroken when you leave,” teases Clarke. “I’m a big girl, Lexa. I can manage my own feelings.”

“Actually, I was thinking of how early the flight is and the fact that I still need to pack. But you’re right. We’re never going to see each other again. It’s probably for the best that we leave it at a kiss.”

Clarke can’t help but find herself wondering how many times Lexa has bedded a woman for one night in a foreign city, only to never see her again. At least a few, Clarke decides, if not countless times. The thought brings an unwelcome sting to Clarke’s eyes as she wonders what is different about her compared to all those other women for Lexa not to want to sleep with her, and she quickly blinks away the tears before they can even start to glisten in her eyes.

“That’s probably sensible,” Clarke says, her words agreeing with Lexa even though her mind is screaming the opposite.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you though,” adds Lexa, reaching out with one hand to lace it through Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke has a horrible feeling that Lexa is trying to let her down gently, but she squeezes the fingers back anyway and tries to keep her emotions in check.

“Yeah, same.”

Lexa tilts her wrist, glancing down at the chunky - and probably very expensive - gold watch that she wears.

“It’s late,” she tells Clarke. “I’ve had a wonderful evening but I really do need to go back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay getting back on your own? I can call you an Uber if you like. I’ll even go with you on the way back to…”

“No, it’s fine,” says Clarke, shaking her head conclusively. “There’s a car waiting a couple of blocks away to take me back to the White House.”

“Good,” nods Lexa. Her gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, like she’s about to lean in for another kiss, but then she looks away, getting to her feet and saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”

Clarke masks her disappointment with a smile, standing up and picking up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of her chair. Clarke slips her arms into the sleeves, knocks back the rest of her drink in a single gulp, then nods to let Lexa know that she’s ready to leave.

The walk to the car is a silent one. Clarke wants to reach for Lexa’s hand, or to loop her arm through Lexa’s, perhaps under the guise of being a little unsteady on heels after a few drinks, but she chickens out at the last minute and they end up walking side by side without saying a word until they reach the vehicle.

“Well, here we are,” says Clarke, filling the awkward silence with unnecessary words.

Full of chivalry, Lexa reaches for the back door and opens it up, holding it open like a chauffeur so that Clarke can get into the back seat. Right when Clarke thinks that Lexa is going to close the car door and leave without saying even goodbye, never to see each other again, Lexa speaks up.

“Can we swap numbers?” she asks Clarke, taking her own phone out of the pocket of her jeans and tapping on the screen a couple of times, before holding it out to Clarke with a new contact open, ready for Clarke to input her details. “If you’re ever in London, I’d love to show you around.”

“Sure,” nods Clarke, accepting the phone and typing her number. “And if you’re ever back here…”

“I’ll give you a call,” promises Lexa.

Clarke can’t help but wonder how much truth there is to that promise, whether she will ever visit London or if Lexa will ever return to D.C., how quickly Lexa will forget about the few hours spent in Clarke’s company that will probably become an inconsequential dot in a life that is a constant whirlwind of adventure.

Lexa takes her phone back from Clarke and presses the green call button, and Clarke’s own phone starts to ring in her pocket, giving her Lexa’s number to add to her contacts later.

“I guess this is goodbye,” says Lexa, as she tucks her phone back into her pocket and takes a step back, her hand still resting on the open car door. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

It’s all a little too formal, like they didn’t spend the night flirting and then end up kissing. It’s like a business transaction, not a goodbye to a person whose tongue was in Clarke’s mouth not even ten minutes ago.

But that’s how it ends, Clarke’s brief encounter with a gorgeous British spy. The car door slams shut and the engine rumbles to life as the driver pulls away from the side of the road. Clarke lets her head drop against the window, trying her best to ignore the fact that Raven is somewhere in the city getting it on with a hot woman of her own, while she has been sent home without so much as a parting kiss.

It’s going to be a long and lonely night.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #kingsman au

74 notes · View notes