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snow-lavender · 4 years

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The Last Day of Unwellness

AKA, “Henrik questions his reality and the rules that govern it.”

Word Count: 2736

And another one! Thanks for reading if you do!

AO3 Link Here

Henrik rushed into his living room. “Shit, shit, shit!”. He peeled off his scrubs and threw a button up shirt on, kicking off his shoes as he went. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 8:07. Even after explaining to his superior, he’d still been forced to work an extra half-shift at the ER. It was only because of his co-worker’s pity that he was home at all.

He rushed to his desktop, where the call was already ringing. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it down a bit, then accepted the call.

A young, grinning face filled the screen. “Papa! You’re late.” she scolded.

Henrik laughed. “Well then, you’ll have to visit soon to keep me in line.” He switched easily into French. “How are you, sweetheart?”

Natalie’s smile widened a bit. “Good! I got a 78 on my arithmetic test!”

“That’s wonderful! And such an improvement, I know you worked very hard at that.” Henrik’s eyes shone with pride. She’d been struggling a lot with the subject, seeing her succeed made his heart dance.

Natalie nodded. “You helped! I understood you much more than my teacher. Can you help me next time, too?”

“Of course. I’m your father, it’s my job to help you. Ask your mama, and I’m sure she can set something up anytime.” Henrik leaned back in his chair. “And how is the drama club coming along?”

“Wonderfully!” Natalie started bouncing with excitement. “We’re going to choose a play next week. Everyone is super nice, and the teacher lets us change things and play around if we want!”

She talked for another half hour, gushing about her friends and recounting stories from class. Henrik stayed mostly quiet, nodding and gasping at appropriate times. He hung on every word, eager to know as much as he could about his daughter’s life.

“And then Adam, you know, from last year, he talked about submarines, but he couldn’t remember-” Natalie was cut off by a chime from Henrik’s phone.

Henrik sighed as he flicked away the notification. “I’m sorry to cut you off, but it’s getting late. You need to get some rest for tomorrow.”

Natalie pouted. “It isn’t that late, Papa. I can deal with it.”

“Not on a school night. How about we compromise,” Henrik said. “We can talk again on Friday, and you can finish your story then.”

“Okay…” She perked up for a second. “Have you gotten my gift yet? Mama said she mailed it this morning!”

Henrik chuckled. “It will take a little bit more time to get here. I promise, when I pick it up, you will be the first to know.”

“Alright, if you promise.”

“Cross my heart.” He replied with a smile. “Can you put your mothers on? I need to speak with them.

“Okay. Happy early birthday Papa. I love you.” Natalie said as she slid out of the computer chair.

“I love you too, more than anything.”

She left the room, and a moment later, two women walked in. “Henrik!” Liesel sat down, smiling. “How are you doing?”

“A little tired, but not bad. And you?”

“They hired an assistant librarian, so things are a lot easier now.”

Henrik nodded. “About time. They were working you to the bone. This is much healthier.”

“See, Henrik agrees with me about that!” The other woman interrupted. “Listen to him, darling, he’s a doctor.”

“Good evening, Simone. I saw an advertisement for your latest line on the tram today.”

Liesel gasped. “All the way in Berlin?” She turned to Simone. “Dear, you didn’t tell me! That’s wonderful!” She smiled wide. “I knew your branching out would go well.”

Simone laughed. “Yes, well, a certain woman has given me an… appreciation for the more average people.” She kissed Liesel on the cheek. “They complain much less, for one.”

Liesel retaliated by kissing Simone on the nose. “I’ve already heard people talking about how nice it is to have high fashion be more accessible to them.”

Henrik felt a flash of envy in his gut, but pushed it down with a smile. “As have I. One of the ER nurses was very moved today, almost to the point of tears.”

Simone looked rather moved herself. “Truly?”

“Truly. I think she was already a fan of your work, but still. It had such a large impact on her.”

Simone just stood there, smiling. It was nearly the most emotional Henrik had ever seen her. She shook her head after a moment. “Enough of that. This is a business call.”

Liesel snorted. “Only you would call this sort of thing a business call, dear.” She turned back to the screen. “Henrik, is everything taken care of on your end?”

“Everything is good here. Vacation days taken and tickets booked.” He smiled. “I assume you didn’t actually put Natalie’s gift in the post?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” Liesel assured. “And she doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Thank you so much for coming up with this plan, both of you.”

“Of course! You only have so many birthdays left, you should take advantage of them.”

Henrik sent Liesel a look. “You’re older than I am.”

Liesel just laughed. Simone bent over. “Darling, the cake,” she whispered

“Oh! Yes, Henrik, what sort of cake do you want?”

Henrik shook his head. “Just being able to be there is enough. Don’t worry about anything else.” “Chocolate, then.”

“I will not object if there is a chocolate cake,” he relented. “But please, don’t overwork yourself.”

Liesel waved a hand. “I have the day off work, I’ll need something to do.”

Simone lent in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be there to make sure she rests. We have a busy weekend ahead of us, don’t use everything now.”

“Ah!” Henrik broke in. “I did tell Natalie that we’d have another conversation over the weekend. Just a fair warning, for excuses.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. You’ll have plenty of time to talk then.” Simone said. She checked her watch. “I’m very sorry to cut you off, Henri, but I have an emergency call with a house in LA in 10 minutes.”

“Of course, of course. Have a good night, the both of you. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Goodnight, Henrik. Sleep well.” Liesel said with a smile.

Henrik smiled back. “I’ll try.”

Both of them waved, and the call disconnected. Henrik leaned back in his chair, a grin still on his face. He knew he’d spend the next few days thinking of nothing but his departure. But he couldn’t help it. Spending time with his daughter, especially face to face, was a gift he rarely had.

The smile dropped. He knew that this outcome was for the best, that this way made everyone happiest, himself included. But still, he felt small stirrings of discontent. He wanted to have these conversations every night, to hear the stories of the day and not just of the week. He wanted ...well, he wanted more. He wanted what he had had before.

Henrik shook his head again, trying to rid it of these thoughts. Those wouldn’t help anyone. Best to move past them before he started stewing again. Personal growth, and all that.

He sniffed, frowning. He really needed to take a shower before his whole apartment smelled like an emergency room. Out of the chair he went.

Suddenly, he heard a zapping behind him. Henrik turned to see...something, floating in the centre of his study. It looked like a sort of orb made of green light, but his logical brain wouldn’t let him believe it. He definitely needed more sleep.

Henrik turned back around, starting to unbutton his shirt. He tried to weigh the pros and cons of showering versus going straight to bed. He could always just wash the sheets…

Before he could think any further, the light behind him flashed and his vision went white.

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

“Ah!”

Henrik fell backwards into a sofa. Not his sofa, just a sofa. He looked around in confusion.

He, somehow, was in another living room. It seemed normal, some furniture, a television, a few boxes strewn about. It would be completely normal, if not for the fact that he’d been teleported here, an act that was scientifically impossible.

From another room, he heard someone yell in English, “Where did you want this one, Marv?”

And another voice, slightly closer, “Just leave it in the hall for now! I’m going to add a few things to the bookshelf, be right there.”

A man entered the room, holding another box. Two more followed behind him.

Boxes, that is. Not men. There were floating boxes following him.

Henrik gaped. The other didn’t seem to notice him. He simply walked over to the bookshelf, thumbed through a box, and picked out some old looking tomes, placing them as he went.

“Was zur hölle?”

“Aah!”

The other man yelped, dropping the book he was holding. The boxes fell to the floor. He grasped at his chest, leaning against the wall. “For fuck sake, warn a guy..next..time.” He spoke haltingly, finally noticing Henrik. “Oh. Hi?”

“Hello?” he replied hesitantly. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Uh, yeah, shit. Hold on a second.” The other man walked to the door and leaned out. Henrik belatedly noticed that a porcelain mask was covering half his face. “Hey, Seán, Jackie, get in here! You were right!” He yelled.

“Right about what?” a new voice yelled back.

“The sketch! Just come to the living room!”

Mask man turned back. “Sorry about that. I’m Marvin.”

“Henrik.” He stuck out a hand to shake, but Marvin didn’t take it. Instead, he continued speaking.

“So uh, sorry, but you’ve kind of caught us at an awkward time. Sorry for the mess.”

“Mess?” Henrik looked around. “I do not understand.”

“Oh, this room is fine, but just wait until you see upstairs.”

At that moment, two others walked in, one, a teenager, and the other, maybe six, seven years younger than Henrik. The older one spoke. “Um. Hi, I’m Seán. You might want to sit down, we’re gonna be here a while.”

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

The four of them were now sat in the kitchen, a few pizzas spread out on the table. Seán and Marvin were demonstrating magic for an enraptured Henrik, who was quickly amassing a pile of notes.

“So each of you has a certain source to draw from?” he asked, not looking up.

“Sort of. Most people have one they work best with, and then talented magicians can get one or two extras that are a little harder to access.”

“Most?”

“Yeah, there are witches and wizards, not a gendered thing, by the way, and then there are mages.” Marvin explained, absentmindedly twisting plants through his fingers. “Like Seán.”

“And the difference is…”

“I can draw from all sources equally, but it’s a lot harder to get at them.” Seán spoke up through a mouthful of pizza. “And then there’s people in completely different categories, like Jackie.”

The teen waved from the counter. “I have superpowers!”

“I..okay, I am filing that away for later.” Henrik said. “...I do not understand any of this.”

Seán shrugged. “Neither do I, and I’ve been learning this stuff since I was three. World’s fucking weird. You seem to be coping pretty well, if you’re taking notes already.”

“This is my coping.” he replied, brandishing his papers. “If something is strange, I make myself understand it.” He looked over the four piles. “I haven’t even gotten into this whole character business.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” Marvin said. “Let your brain catch up, and have some pizza.”

Henrik sighed. “Alright. But I want to be able to get back to this later. There must be some sort of explanation. If only..”

“If only what?”

“Well. I would like to be able to ask questions of you all the time, to clarify this situation. These situations, rather.” Henrik said. “But with the distance between here and Berlin, this is impossible, of course.”

Seán looked at him, confused. “Is this your roundabout way of asking to move in with us?” “Perhaps.” Henrik admitted. “After a while, of course. It seems like you are in the middle of moving someone already.”

“I mean yeah, man, of course! We might have some trouble finding room for ya..” Seán looked around the kitchen. “Someone’s going to have to share rooms.”

Marvin made a face. “I can’t. It’ll already be too crowded in there with all my supplies. Another person would be dangerous.”

“I’ve got the biggest room,” Seán said, “but I go to bed super late. Would that wake you up?”

“Likely not. And I would need a job here, which means strange ER hours. Would that wake you up?”

“Honestly, probably not. I sleep pretty deep.” Seán leaned back, stretching. “So that’s that, then. It’ll take more time to move, since you’re German, right?”

“More time compared to what?” Henrik asked.

“We’re Irish, we didn’t move countries.” Jackie piped up.

“Ah. Then yes. But not much, I expect I would be settled by the end of next month.”

“Cool. The couch is yours for the night, I gotta go work.” Seán stood up, putting the dishes in the sink. “Night, all.”

Marvin and Jackie waved back. Jackie opened his mouth, but Marvin shushed him. “No way. I know you have that test tomorrow, go to bed. I’ll deal with Henrik.” The teen humphed, but left without argument. Marvin turned back to Henrik, looking mildly uncomfortable. “You all good?”

“I will be,” he replied, “after some thought and a good night’s rest. I will need to leave early in the morning, I have somewhere to be.” Thank the lord he still had his wallet on his person.

“Okay, no problem.” Marvin motioned for Henrik to follow him into the living room, then threw him a pile of blankets. “Sleep well.” he said, then left.

Henrik stood for a moment longer. “You as well.” he said to the empty room. Then he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa, settling in for the night.

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

“Papa?” Natalie gaped from the door.

“Surprise.” Henrik smiled, arms open. Natalie flew into them, grabbing his chest.

“What..you’re here!” she said, eyes wide.

Henrik laughed, lifting her up. “I’m here.”

Simone and Liesel also walked out, arm in arm. Liesel held a sloppily wrapped package. “Here you go,” she said to Natalie. “I kept it safe.”

“You knew!” she accused. Taking the gift, she walked back over to Henrik. “Mama and Mère helped me! But I did most of it.” Simone snorted. “She did.”

Henrik took it slowly. “Well, thank you! How on earth did you know I wanted a paper wrapped box for my birthday?” he joked.

“Papa! Just open it!”

“Alright, alright.” Henrik shifted and carefully unwrapped the box. He took out the tissue paper and froze. In the box was a pottery bowl. It was sloppy in some places, but fully functional. And painted over it...

Oh, painted over it was a recreation of the painting Henrik had made for Natalie’s nursery, over a decade ago. The colours were almost identical, the strokes nearly all the same. Henrik was absolutely speechless, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Natalie was looking at him, concerned. “Is it okay?”

Henrik didn't reply. He just set down the box, dropped to his knees, and pulled Natalie into a tight hug. “I love it.” he whispered, trying not to cry. “And I love you, so very much.”

Natalie hugged back, then pulled away. “Come in, it’s almost dinner time! Mama made crepes.”

“I also made a chocolate cake, as promised.” Liesel added with a grin.

Natalie turned to her. “That’s what that was for? I thought it was for your book club.”

Henrik chuckled, wiping his face. “Of course I’ll come in, if you don’t mind me weeping all over your furniture.” He picked up the gift box.

Natalie grabbed his hand, pulling him into the house, and Simone and Liesel followed.

Needless to say, it was the best birthday Henrik had ever had.

#writersofjack #writers of jack #dr schneeplestein #dr schneepelstien #henrik von schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #jacksepticeye fanfiction #fanfic #jacksepticeye egos #septic egos #my writing #the last day series

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sethrine-writes · 5 years

Text

I Will Fight This War For You (Hold On), Ch. 2

Pairing: Connor x Female Reader

Words: 5442

Chapter Warning: Fluff, Jealous Connor, Worried Connor, Serious Tones

Story Summary: “Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two.”

Your investigation into the string of deaths of both humans and androids takes a drastic turn when a victim is purposely left alive. The killer’s intent is the same, to prove a point you have yet to figure out. The change, however, is the power of choice.

Stress and exhaustion lead you astray as you and Connor are both thrust into a war between the mind and the heart. You can only hope everyone involved makes it out alive.

IMPORTANT A/N: This is a repost from my previous blog of a DBH fic I started over a year ago in response to a challenge a friend of mine posted up, at the time. I’ve also gone through and edited/cleaned up each chapter for a better reading experience! I’ll be posting a chapter or two every day until I’ve posted all current chapters, and then I’ll be updating with a brand new chapter for the first time in nearly a year!

Inspired by the song Torn In Two by Breaking Benjamin.

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Chapter 2 - A Tide of War and Broken Dreams

The park was lovely during the early evening hours, the sun barely on its ending trek toward the horizon, ready to cast the baby blue sky in brilliant colors. Rays of sunlight bounced off patches of undisturbed snow in such a way that it twinkled gently as you swayed on your feet, shivering ever so slightly.

The cold was embracing, honestly, and it had you feeling lively despite your current exhaustion. You had even taken a handful of snow earlier and pressed it to your face, the shock of the action waking you like nothing else.

Connor, however, had been unamused by your jittery antics and continued to be a worry-wart as you shrugged off another shiver. Between him and Hank, it was a wonder you hadn’t developed an ulcer on their behalf.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in the car until they arrive? The temperature is twenty-four degrees and will continue dropping-”

“I’m fine, Connor,” you assured for the third time since coming to a stop at the park bridge, huffing out a laugh at his worried expression.

He'd begun fussing over you when you had woken up from a brief nap after last night's shift and had continued to do so nearly all day, much to your amused chagrin.

As expected, you had helped Hank with his paperwork and finished a few files of your own before heading home sometime around three that morning. Once back at your cozy abode, you'd taken to reviewing the interrogation video regarding Anthony. You sat for hours trying to pick apart what he had said, using the small nuances of his voice as well as his movements to help you better understand what he was trying to tell you right before he left the room.

“Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two.”

Sleep had been hard to come by during the past few weeks, but after last night’s turn in the case, you were lucky your body allowed you a brief two hours of uninterrupted sleep over your at-home desk before you were back into the case files with restless energy. The crick in your neck hadn’t been pleasant, though Connor had done an excellent job at massaging out most of the pain, despite his initial plan to most likely put you back to sleep with the soothing pressure.

“I believe it would be best to seek someplace warmer,” Connor urged, his words coming out in a rush, almost as if he were trying to hold back from saying anything more. “You’ve been stressed lately, which has drastically compromised your immune system's ability to-"

“Connor, sweetheart, I'm fine,” you insisted with a groan, effectively cutting off his rambling by turning toward him and giving an exasperated smile. “Look, I’m all bundled up in my big coat, and a scarf, and I’ve got a nice, hot cup of honey lemon tea warming my hands, since you so vehemently urged me to lay off the coffee.”

You emphasized your words by holding up the paper container from the coffee shop you had stopped at before setting out to the park, giving the half-empty container a little shake. Connor looked sheepish, but still had the audacity to sigh heavily, the action completely unnecessary and only meant to showcase his slight frustration through action. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics, but smiled all the same.

“If it makes you feel any better, we’ll be in a nice, warm space as soon as we meet up with the others,” you placated, moving closer to place your head against his chest while wrapping your free arm around his back.

Connor returned your embrace rather quickly by pulling you even closer, snugly fitting you against him. He was warm and comforting through the thick layers of clothing separating you, and you realized a moment too late that he had planned your snuggles from the start, knowing you would want to comfort him after he became huffy over your own exasperation, and had purposely increased his core body temperature to warm you.

Having an analytical boyfriend who learned your every quirk had its ups and downs. In that moment, it had to be somewhere in the middle, seeing that you were both irked and endeared by the thought behind such a clever play of events.

“You are insufferable, sometimes,” you groaned, leaning into him more heavily. Connor only chuckled, knowing he had been caught.

“I think you enjoy it,” he said.

“Oh, no, you caught me,” you mumbled against his coat in a mock surprised tone, earning you a quick peck to the top of your head and, undoubtedly, a gentle smile.

Time seemed to slow as you relaxed fully into Connor's embrace, the warmth of his hug and the slow, smooth motion of his hand rubbing at your back lulling you with its comfort. Your eyes had slipped closed without your knowledge within seconds, and the cup of tea in your hand would have surely fallen, had your arm not been curled just so between you and Connor.

For a minute, you were blissfully falling into a fitting sleep against your clever boyfriend.

“Look at you two lovebirds!”

Startled, you pulled away from Connor and turned quickly, nearly dropping your tea with the sudden movement. Connor placed a steadying hand between your shoulders as your eyes focused fully on the small group approaching, a grin spreading across your face.

Simon was ahead of the pack, his bright blue gaze joyful as he rushed forward and pulled you into a hug. From over his shoulder, you could see North grinning at you, with Josh and Markus just slightly behind, talking to themselves as they approached.

The joyous laughter that escaped you couldn’t be stopped.

“Simon! It's so good to see you,” you exclaimed, pulling away to better look at him. He had a wide smile set in place, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked over your features with extreme fondness.

You could remember a time when he had been leery of you, as had North, and yet here they were, almost more eager to greet you as you were them.

Connor had introduced you to Markus, who then introduced you to everyone else, shortly after the revolution, and though it was a bit of a rocky start, you couldn’t dream of a better group of individuals to call your friends.

Simon had been on the cautious side, afraid to trust, and you couldn’t blame him. Now, he was perhaps your closest friend, always smiling openly and sharing his thoughts with you without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you so deeply.

“I’m happy to see you, too. It's been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Couple months, at the most,” you replied, “but who's counting?”

Simon gave a short chuckle, his hand sliding to your free one and giving it a gentle squeeze. You returned the gesture, watching his smile widen with the action. For a moment, he seemed content to just stand there, holding your hand without a care in the world.

He startled when North appeared beside him suddenly, placing a hand to his shoulder to gain his attention. She eyed him in amusement as he looked a bit flustered, his gaze darting back to you and briefly over your shoulder.

He stepped aside quickly, smiling to you once more, albeit a bit more forced, allowing North to move in and wrap you up in her arms. You returned the embrace without much more thought on the strange interaction, humming pleasantly.

She had been the hardest of the group to befriend, at first not wanting to even so much as be in the same room as you. With Markus' gentle persistence in properly getting to know you, however, North came to learn that you could be trusted, that you held no malice for android kind and only ever wanted to help and aid in their cause.

From there, a tentative friendship formed, and it grew with each passing day.

“Missed you guys so much,” you mumbled against her shoulder before pulling away with a huff of breath. She smiled genuinely at you, in turn.

“Can't believe we've been gone for so long,” she said, pulling away with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the shit we’ve had to sit through. Feels good to be back home for a little while.”

“Remind us never to go so long without seeing that smiling face of yours, again,” Josh intervened teasingly, swooping in for a hug of his own and a peck to your cheek, his attention turning immediately to Connor afterward to continue his greetings.

You grinned at the affectionate attention, recalling how easily Josh had taken to getting to know you. He always saw the good in others and believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt, which led to many a friendly conversation between you both. It was only natural that you would grow closer in such a short time, and the easy way he acted with you was proof enough.

You finally turned to face the last of the group who stood before you, patiently awaiting his moment for pleasantries.

“Markus,” you called out warmly, watching his smile widen at your greeting. A gloved hand immediately came out before him, expecting a handshake, though your pause had him chuckling. You quirked your brow at him, amused, and watched as he changed tactics and held out both arms to you. You rushed forward and embraced him as you did the others, humming delightedly against his shoulder.

“No handshakes, only hugs,” you mumbled, pulling away to give Markus a good once-over. He was dressed warmly in a long coat, gloves made of soft leather, and though you knew that androids couldn’t quite feel the cold as humans could, the look was cozy and appealing.

Goodness, but you had missed him.

“Business meetings have already trained me to greet with a handshake,” Markus said by way of explanation. “You know I meant nothing by it.”

“Of course,” you grinned, unable to keep your giddy happiness at bay. “God, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“As am I. I've missed you, just as much as the others have,” he said, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. His smile dropped then, expression a bit curious as his eyes roved over your features. “How have you been?”

“Alright,” you answered with a sigh, reaching up to pat at one of his hands to lessen any worries he might have had.

Markus was always very good at picking up on things, and it didn’t help that your exhaustion was probably more obvious than you wanted to admit

“This case has been an utter nightmare. Haven’t been sleeping as well as I could, but go figure, right?”

Markus hummed at your answer, eyes roving over your features curiously. He had always been like that as long as you’d known him, curious and eager to learn, always wanting to be better, do better, in hopes of being half the man his father figure had set him out to be.

You knew, without a doubt, Carl would have been so proud of everything he had done and what he would continue to accomplish.

“Perhaps you'll rest easier tonight,” Markus said softly, hands leaving your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how warm the leather had been against your cold skin, almost instantly missing the touch.

You watched as Markus' gaze moved and lingered behind you, his expression becoming a bit more serious. You turned to the side, finding that Connor was approaching with an equally serious look upon his face. He gave a short nod after a lingering silence.

“Hello, Markus.”

“Connor. You look well,” Markus replied, earning a small lilt of a smile. Connor then reached forward and clasped arms with Markus, a mutual greeting they had with each other, before pulling away with a more genuine grin. Any perceivable tension all but vanished between them, leaving behind a much friendlier atmosphere.

“How have negotiations been?” Connor asked.

“As well as can be expected. Our rights are within our grasp, though lacking several signatures to finalize the documents. A permanent Bill will be enacted by the end of this week, and a list of laws, including any unjust action toward androids, will follow soon after its signing.”

“Good to know,” Connor commented. “I know how difficult it must have been, but the laws couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time.”

“So I've heard,” Markus replied, eyes growing hard. “You mentioned things were suddenly more complicated with your investigation.”

“Moreso than we initially thought, unfortunately.”

“Alright, then. Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more private, and preferably much warmer for you?”

Markus' gaze fell to you at his query, and you immediately perked at the notion.

“That sounds fantastic, actually,” you answered, pausing at the affronted look Connor gave you. “What?”

“At least you take someone's advice,” he said, his tone playful despite the disbelieving face he was pulling. You rolled your eyes yet again, reaching for Connor and linking your arm with his. Behind you, Josh was making some sort of comment, most likely one at your expense, before being effectively cut off by a jab of Simon's elbow into his side.

“There's a public library nearby,” Markus spoke up. “We can talk there.”

---

The upper section of the library had its own lounge area, the perfect, quiet place to discuss things with your company without others interfering. It helped that the staff was very cooperative, ensuring that the upper floor remained off-limits until you were all ready to leave.

The group took to their own areas of comfort; Markus and Connor stood across from the lounge you, North, and Simon sat upon, while Josh leaned against the back of a chair to your left. You had even taken off your coat and scarf, placing them within the empty chair at your right.

Everyone was focused as you and Connor relayed information pertaining to your current investigation, vital info they were privy to only because of the person of interest and the victims involved in the cases.

“So the suspect is an android,” Markus stated, having processed the majority of what you and Connor had explained. “You're sure of this?”

“Anthony seemed genuine when describing his attacker,” you responded in affirmation. “We had previously profiled him as human, but Anthony was very clear to establish the suspect was an android."

“This is very unprecedented,” Markus murmured, brows furrowing in confusion. “It would make more sense if your suspect was human, but an android attacking other androids in such a manner…I can’t deny there have been a few problems with our transition into society, but nothing this extreme.”

“Problems? Have there been android-on-android attacks?” you questioned, shocked.

Surely the DPD would have picked up on some of the crimes, and even if you hadn’t been assigned to them, surely there would have been talk about androids going at each other, especially among the more intolerant officers.

“Nothing that led to any physical violence,” North spoke up from beside you, which affirmed your lack of knowledge on the matter. “Just verbal attacks on differing opinions, some minor backlash between those wanting to lash out at humans and those understanding that it will take time and careful effort to normalize our lives.”

You supposed it made sense. Not all androids would be up for a peaceful resolution, especially after the way a good majority of them had been treated by those humans they were made to obey. North, especially, had once been on track with violence, as she had believed there was no other way to reason with humans. Still, most seemed to side with Markus and the careful, civil approach he was taking to ensure all androids had all the rights of a human being.

“Ever since our peaceful victory,” Markus continued, “we’ve maintained a close network between many of our people to ensure safety. We all have a common goal, and we have, thus far, continued on the path of civility so that we may all live amongst each other comfortably in the foreseeable future."

“Well, someone obviously didn’t get the memo,” you deadpanned, throwing back the last of your lukewarm tea before tossing the paper cup into a nearby trashcan with a mild grimace.

“Hold on, wouldn’t we have heard something from one of our informants?” Josh questioned in disbelief. “I mean, it feels like someone would have noticed something off, especially to this magnitude.”

“Not necessarily,” Connor answered. “If we believe our suspect to be an android, it's highly possible he's someone within our circle. He would be harder to detect when under the trust of the very man who led the revolution, and it would be much easier to keep a low profile.”

“Is it possible that there’s more than one person behind everything?” Simon asked, throwing out an idea.

“Unlikely,” Connor shut down quickly. “No previous evidence hints at more than one suspect, and with Anthony's testimony taken into account, there is nothing else to suggest multiple offenders.”

Ideas and concerns continued to bounce around the group, valid points being brought up only to get squashed by conflicting evidence to the contrary. It was a confusing mess, just as it had been from the start, and it felt like the case was, once again, coming to a dead end.

You sighed through your nose, closing your eyes as you tried to piece together what you already knew in the vain hope of figuring out something that would help.

The suspect was currently being considered an android that was kidnapping both humans and androids. From the first two cases, there were two victims each, where the victims knew each other in some manner. The third case added an extra victim, human, but the setup was the same: one victim was tortured with small injections of blue blood while the others were made to watch.

The motive was still unclear, but to you, it felt like the suspect was sending a message. The first two cases might have been just practice rounds, and the third was possibly the suspect adjusting the variables, perfecting his method by adding something the other two cases didn’t have.

“A choice,” you whispered, eyes opening in mild confusion. Anthony's parting words to you began to play in your head yet again with the small revelation.

“Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two.”

“Hey, are you alright?”

You turned at the sound of your name and the gentle touch of a hand upon your knee, finding Simon looking at you in worry. You hadn’t realized you were being so quiet and pensive as everyone else dove into the discussion. Even now, North was bringing up some sort of misunderstanding between an android and human she had overheard, the topic clearly having redirected itself in some way, as both Josh and Markus corrected some of her exaggerated details.

“Yeah…yeah, I'm good,” you answered quietly, not wanting to interrupt the others.

Simon's light grip on your knee tightened, a gentle prodding for you to talk to him. You sighed again, smile weary as you placed your hand over his and took hold of his fingers. Your friends sure were good at figuring you out, and Simon...you could tell Simon anything.

“I'm exhausted,” you murmured sincerely, reaching up with your free hand and rubbing at your dry, aching eyes. “This whole investigation has me so anxious to solve it. I can’t sleep, not for very long, at least, without the details running circles in my head. I'm constantly queasy, and my head aches, but I just want to catch this guy before more people get hurt.”

Simon gave a small hum of sympathy, his hand twisting in yours until he was able to smooth his thumb along your knuckles. The motion was grounding, calming, something he had taken to doing during times you were in distress. The action never failed to ease your racing thoughts.

“It must be hard to have all these details on your conscience,” he said, “but you need rest. It's not safe to be so tired, especially in your line of work.”

“I know,” you admitted, words grumbling in your frustration. “I just…I wish I could piece all this stuff together and figure out why this guy is doing this. Everything’s just a big mess right now in my head.”

“Maybe you could try bouncing ideas off me? I know we’ve technically been doing that already with everyone else, but…maybe it would help having just one person to talk to, instead of five talking over you.”

You looked up at Simon, his gaze still showing concern, but just as equally, there was an eagerness there to help in anyway he could. Smiling, you leaned toward him and bumped your shoulders together in a friendly manner.

“Yeah, okay. Can’t hurt to try, I guess.”

Simon smiled gently, fingers squeezing yours before his thumb continued the slow, methodical movement across your knuckles once more.

“Okay, tell me all the details again.”

---

Across the way, Connor watched you. His eyes roamed over the scene before him as if he was looking over evidence for analysis. He lingered on your hand clasped in Simon's own, how he touched your skin with gentle, unending strokes. You were speaking quietly with him, leaned in close, body relaxed and comfortable within the other's presence.

He realized quickly that what he felt at that moment was jealousy. Connor knew that, when it came to Simon in particular, he felt jealous because of your easy relationship with the other android. He hated that he could feel such a way over someone you both considered a friend, but it was there, an ugly beast of an emotion that clawed at him from deep within, stuttering his thirium pump and twisting his inner mechanisms with vicious intent.

Connor had only felt such a way a handful of times, flashes of heated envy over something that was so trivial in every sense of the word. Honestly, it seemed petty to be jealous over a friendship that brought you ease, a friendship that you had truly felt most comfortable in.

But he could not help the way his emotions were swayed when it came to you.

He didn’t like the way Simon sent almost longing gazes in your direction, as if hoping you would notice his stare as more than friendly. He didn’t like that Simon touched you so freely, and you did nothing to deter him. He especially didn’t like how close the other android was to you at that moment, talking with you in a way that seemed much too intimate, a sight that sent his inner processors whirring with a deep seated feeling. Frustration? Maybe anger?

The L.E.D. at his temple was blipping a constant red as his mind reeled into dangerous territory.

Stop.

Simon needed to stop. He needed to stop right now-

“How long has it been, Connor? Seven months?”

Connor blinked once, twice, the clench of his jaw releasing as he registered Markus' voice from beside him. He was asking a question, a question he was easily able to pick up on.

He blinked a third time, tilting his head ever-so-slightly, though keeping his eyes on you. The red at his temple flickered to yellow, retaining the color for the time being.

“Almost eight,” he answered, voice sounding a bit rougher, the barest hint of interference stuttering his words.

He hadn’t realized how absolutely wrecked he was becoming until his thoughts were interrupted. Seething sounded adequate, but he didn’t believe he was that angry…didn’t want to admit it.

“Eight months,” Markus repeated quietly, his echoed words sounding reverently amazed in the best way. “It doesn’t seem like it's been that long, does it? Then again, it feels like forever, being with the right person.”

Markus turned to look at Connor, mismatched eyes narrowing in a serious manner as his brow furrowed.

“You’re lucky to have each other in this time of change. It's easy to see how much you care for her, how much she cares for you. As long as that feeling is there, nothing will tear you apart, not even what your eyes assume is there right before you.”

“I…”

Connor hesitated, his own brow furrowing, doubting. His gaze on you faltered, eyes closing momentarily with self-doubt. He grimaced.

“Have you told her, yet?”

Connor's eyes opened once more, his head slowly turning toward Markus. For a brief moment, Connor’s façade crumbled away, his brief expression conveying the underlying issue behind everything he was feeling. Markus' own eyes widened a fraction, understanding what Connor was saying without speaking a word.

“You're afraid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor harked defensively, looking away from Markus and hiding behind another spark of what he would call anger and definitely not embarrassment. He felt stupid for letting such emotions get the best of him, for letting such things as self-doubt and jealousy completely ravage his systems and lead his thoughts down dangerous paths of action he did not want to take.

Breaking Simon's fingers was not only uncouth and absolutely not a good thing, but it would also upset you greatly. Connor would be upsetting himself if he so much as humored the sudden, brash thought longer than the blip of a second it took to think it, and yet it was still a thought he had come to.

What was wrong with him? Was jealousy always such a potent feeling?

“Simon is a good friend,” Markus went on, ignoring Connor's outburst in favor of continuing his talk with Connor.

“I know that,” Connor conceded.

“Then you must also be aware that she and Simon have a special bond in their friendship, one that was earned mutually through trust and understanding. The best of friends, those two. They can tell each other anything without fear of judgement or worry that their secrets will be spread.”

“I'm…aware.”

“And it scares you to know she can be so free and open with someone else, can rely so heavily on someone else. Your fear holds you back, doesn’t it?”

“I…I don’t want it to,” Connor admitted softly, his voice sounding small as the root of the issue was carefully prodded and plied open by Markus' doing. He looked to you again, watching your tired expression light up at something Simon had said.

He felt helpless when there was nothing to feel helpless about. You were with him, happy with him; at least, he believed you were. You hadn’t expressed anything contrary to that belief, nothing that outwardly expressed any dissatisfaction within your relationship or a want for something he could not readily provide.

Then why was he so…so scared to lose you?

“Simon is infatuated with her,” Connor muttered, the words almost leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, an odd sensation he would have to dissect later. “He shows all the signs of interest. They would…work well together.”

“In another life, maybe so,” Markus agreed, not dissuading Connor's observation. “But she chose you, Connor. She sees something in you that no one else has. She adores you; Simon knows that. He would never hurt either of you in that way. Just like you and me, he only wants what is best for her.”

“I know,” Connor repeated quietly, and Markus smiled.

Markus was worried for a moment, but talking Connor through his feelings seemed to help the detective. He wasn’t nearly as tense as before, and though Markus could tell his friend was still suffering through a combination of emotions, he had peace of mind knowing he had helped Connor better understand the situation presented to him. Even his L.E.D. was flickering between yellow and blue, his thoughts still muddled, but calming quickly.

“You should tell her,” Markus spoke, clasping a hand to Connor's shoulder with the suggestion. He met Connor's gaze, smile quirking the corner of his lips at the hesitant nod his friend gave him.

Markus pulled away just as North took notice that something was amiss, though he gave a slow, single nod to assure her all was well. She looked relieved, though as her eyes looked behind him to Connor, she frowned in confusion.

“Connor?”

---

You looked up from Simon as North called out to your boyfriend, eyes looking to her, then Connor, who was blinking rapidly as his temple held a steady stream of yellow. You recognized the action as an incoming call and jumped up immediately, moving toward him with an anxious flutter in your gut.

Just as you reached him, he regained focus, deep brown eyes looking to you in surprise as he called out your name quietly.

“What do we got?” you asked, watching his face contort into mild concern before smoothing out into a neutral expression. Vaguely, you felt as if you missed something, but you ignored the feeling in favor of Connor's following words.

“Another murder, same set-up as last time, though the officers on-call are only confirming one dead, and nothing more.”

“Shit,” you muttered disdainfully, looking to Markus and the group with an apologetic expression.

“We understand,” Markus spoke calmly, “I'm sorry we couldn’t be of more help to the investigation.”

“Just being able to talk to you guys was enough for me,” you said, pulling him into a hug he was all too prepared to reciprocate. You moved around the room and did the same with the others, aware of Markus and Connor talking behind you.

“Please, keep us updated on the investigation. If there's anything more we can do to help, anything, you know how to reach me.”

“Of course, Markus.”

You pulled away from your final embrace with Simon, turning toward Connor and pausing. He looked hesitant, almost troubled, his brows furrowed and the slightest frown against his lips. You noticed the flicker at his temple, noting the color was still yellow, cautious and inquisitive.

“Connor, what's wrong?”

His eyes instantly snapped to you, the L.E.D. flickering once more before becoming a steady blue. His expression relaxed somewhat as he reached for your hand, your fingers intertwining with his without hesitation.

“Nothing, sorry. We should get going.”

You nodded carefully, confused by his suddenly odd demeanor. Again, the feeling of having missed something was rearing in the back of your mind, but there were more pressing matters at stake. If Connor didn’t want to talk about it now, that was fine. You knew he would eventually come to you for whatever was troubling him.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze as you pulled away briefly to grab your coat and scarf, bundling up cozily and taking his hand once more. You tugged gently as you started up a quick pace toward the stairs, giving Markus and the others a final wave as you made your exit.

“Connor, wait!”

Connor stopped abruptly at the exclamation, forcing you to come to a halt in front of him. You both turned to find Simon had rounded the lounge, seeming surprised by his own outburst. He looked almost indecisive about continuing his train of thought, eyes closing as he took a steadying breath.

“Please…make sure she gets some sort of sleep later. You and I both know how stubborn she can be, but I figured, maybe, you could be just a bit more stubborn, this time.”

The room was quiet. Connor and Simon stared at each other, and though you couldn’t see Connor's expression, the interaction made you nervous in a way you couldn’t explain. Then, Connor gave a small sigh, the action alone breaking the strange, heavy tension with ease.

“I will.”

Simon smiled at the promise, and you were sure it was a promise, unspoken but there. It was Connor's turn to lead you away, as you remained momentarily frozen in your place, unsure of what exactly had just transpired before you.

“What are you guys up to, huh? Doing some sort of secret-android-mind-reading? Conspiring against me?”

Connor chuckled, actually chuckled at your faux put-upon questions, turning to look at you with a smile as soon as you both made it down the stairs. It was a complete 180 turn from his previous mood, and it had you nearly reeling at the change.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered, and you believed him.

For whatever crazy reason, that last-second exchange had put him at ease. You would have to thank Simon next time you had the chance to talk to him.

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #dbh connor x reader #dbh markus #dbh simon #dbh josh #dbh north #reader #reader-insert #torn in two

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revolution-john · 4 years

Text

How to Get to Destin

Downtown Hillsong crawled with potential felons on Fridays. The Hillsong County courthouse was a four-story beige brick building where motion hour for criminal cases was held every Friday. That’s where Maddie planned to meet Bone Sommers. Bone practiced law, but everyone knew he didn’t try at it much. He made a run for commonwealth’s attorney about five years ago and lost. After dropping that race to a known liar and embezzler, he went back to his dad’s old scrap yard and had been living there in a trailer ever since. He was smart and under the radar enough that Maddie wanted him for their lawyer if anything started flying from Dollar Bill’s trial and landing on her.

In the past year she had made a dozen or more runs along what the local cops called the The Flamingo Pipeline. A straight shot into Florida and back, two-day turnaround. There were a scary number of doctors in Florida prescribing without care oxycodone, hydrocodone, and Oxycontin. Prescribing any and all kinds of painkillers. Then, like all the rest, Maddie didn’t take long to get greedy. After her Pipeline runs she made regular monthly rounds at four local doctors and two pain clinics in nearby Inez. A side investment. There were a lot of loose ends, loose lips. Any of this could come out during Dollar Bill’s trial and Bone was at least some hope, if he would show up.

It was early afternoon before Maddie saw Bone’s truck pull into the courthouse parking lot. It looked put together with random pieces from his scrapyard, a gray fender wall, a tomato-red tailgate, and Bone looked as poorly thrown together when he popped out from the driver’s side. A short man, his jeans were too long and the heels of his boots had ridden the cuffs frayed against the ground. He was forty-seven and looked sixty, except in the eyes. His eyes were sharp blue under mostly oil-black hair. Wrinkling his face against a shaft of sunlight, he walked slowly, and Maddie seemed to remember he usually moved faster.

“Bone,” she said and nodded. “I’ve seen you move faster. What you been up to, besides making me wait outside a courthouse for two hours?”

“Maddie. Well, honey, I’ve been having a heart attack and not giving two shits, lately. I guess I won’t ask how you been. Not so good, considering you need a lawyer.”

“A heart attack?” Maddie asked. She was looking in particular at the cigarette pinched in the fingers of his free hand. In the other was a cup of coffee. “When was that?”

“Been just about two weeks now. On my birthday, if you can believe that.”

Maddie pointed to the cigarette.

“Yeah,” Bone said in a way of acknowledgment. “You think it counts as suicide?” He pulled a four long, hard draws and flicked the stub against the side of the courthouse.

“Not really sure, but late happy birthday.”

“Ah, to hell with happy birthday,” he said, but was surprised she remembered. That was something.

He lit another cigarette.

“Okay then,” Maddie said. They had moved to the side of the entrance and Bone sat with his legs swinging off the side of the brick wall that lined the sidewalk.

“I hope it counts as suicide, cause that’s my intention.” He might have been talking to himself, eyes fixed across the street to a man selling green and red crosses made from beads. “You see that guy? His name’s Simon and he’s deaf and dumb. He hocks them bead crosses for seven bucks. I went by the Dollar General store and bought the same stuff and turns out it only costs about fifty cents to make one, when you figure it all up.”

The man, Simon, always smiled. She had seen him out here a few times. He smiled more in a day than Maddie had smiled in the last ten years. She looked again at Bone’s cigarette. “How many of them you going to smoke before we go in and get this started?”

Bone nodded, took a last drag from his cigarette, and caught up with Maggie. He hadn’t been in a courtroom in twelve years.

Maddie married badly. Her husband, Shane Younce, was a no count, quick-tempered, spoiled mama’s boy who convinced himself he was a real man by beating Maddie into the hospital about three or four times a year.. Less than three months into the marriage, It was a hard thing to handle sober and so Maddie started buying weed from the car garage just below Hillsong’s public swimming pool. And for a time the weed and the liquor and beer kept her mind just numb enough to deal with Shane and all the hell he brought. But the Younce’s were connected in the little town, and for the very same reason she couldn’t even consider a divorce, she also found it wasn’t difficult to get stronger drugs riding on their good name.

In the first week at the garage, dropping Shane’s name, she connected with Dollar Bill, a mid-level drug dealer who sold in bulk from the back of the garage. He fixed her up with whatever she needed, and for the right price, too. From there it happened fast. One buy led to others and within two months Maddie was driving the Pipeline.

The set up was a good one until an undercover fed got Dollar Bill on audio and hidden camera selling him a Ziplock bag stuffed with pills. First thing Maddie thought to do was call Bone, who was okay with getting some work. She had a few thousand saved back from buy money for her last run that never happened. It really wasn’t her money. Fact of business, she didn’t really know whose money it was, but that wasn’t going to matter if she got sent to prison when Dollar Bill started singing.

The catastrophic possibility of Dollar Bill singing to the feds was what Maddie outlined for Bone outside courtroom B on the second floor, the circuit court level. She waited for what he would say while he shuffled around the water fountain.

“Can’t for the life of me see why they never put chairs or benches or something in the hallways,” he said, squatting beside the fountain.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What about all of this, Bone? I’ve done handed you a wad of money. What are we going to do?”

“Not much to do while the judge still has court going on.”

She cracked the double doors to the courtroom and saw Judge John Carter Henley up in his high seat. He moved papers back and forth in front of him. Some blonde woman in a power suit was leaning up to talk to him so her calf muscles were nice and round and smooth. It made Maddie sad all over again thinking about her own stick legs and her belly pooch from drinking too much beer. Made her want something to drink right that second.

“I’ll have to sit down with him in chambers,” Bone said. He said his last word as if he were spitting something foul from his mouth.

“I need a drink or something,” Maddie said.

“You and me both.”

Maddie thought back to Bone talking about suicide when he first got there. “And what’s all this stuff about suicide?” she asked. “What the hell, Bone.”

He straightened up against the wall and slid to his feet. The wind escaped his lungs in a gush of air like it had been held captive, a secret from the rest of his body.

“I don’t know, Maddie, honey. I’m just tired is all. It drives me crazy that you probably wouldn’t be dealing with any of this if it wasn’t for that husband you got.”

“You might be right,” Maddie said. “But nobody twisted my arm, either.”

“Well, least you got something to get your blood going, even if it is worrying Dollar Bill Damron’s going to point his finger at you.” Bone’s face went still and serious. “The worse kind of life is one where they just ain’t nothing happening. It’d be nice to just strike out and head to the beach somewhere. Not Myrtle Beach. I mean a real beach. Some place like Destin, that town in Florida. You may even went past it or something on your trips down there.”

“Sonofabitch, I’m dead in the water,” Maddie hissed, more at the wall than to Bone.

The courtroom doors came open and three men tucked sideways past them. Maddie peeked in and saw a lot of movement near the bench. Bone asked the men before they rounded the corner if court was breaking and they told him the judge ordered a fifteen minute recess. He took Maddie’s elbow and leaned into her. When they were clear of the doors into the courtroom, Bone gave out a loud grunt.

“Maddie, honey, I just can’t do this for you. You already paid me, but I have to tell you that going up to the judge before Dollar Bill or whoever even mentions you is pretty much insane, no offense. You’re implicating yourself, understand?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I should’ve told you before now, but I’m in a rough place,” he said.

“You think?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Jesus, Bone. So what am I supposed to do?”

“Go home,” he said. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground and give you a call tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go home,” she admitted. “Let’s get something to eat or whatever.”

“Shane makes home not such a great place to be, I guess,” Bone said. “We’ll figure something out. We will.”

He turned the corner and left. The bailiff for courtroom B closed the suite doors and a quiet dropped all around Maddie.

“I don’t want to go home,” she said again in the empty hallway.

The diagnosis was exactly the same as a month ago. The heart meds weren’t doing what they were supposed to be doing and the right coronary artery had experienced too much trauma from the heart attack. It didn’t help, the doc said, that Bone hadn’t stopped eating red meat, had continued smoking, and drank more now than he had before.

“There’s something else,” Doc Bradley said just before the appointment was over. “Your blood results showed cocaine in your system, Bone. Cocaine. Are you seriously telling me you’re using cocaine?”

“Um, yeah. I snorted a little to see what it was like. Trust me Doc, you don’t really want anything to do with coke. The results are undesirable.” Bone stopped. The look on Doc Bradley’s face was too much. He had forgotten that they blood tested him every appointment. Now the whole visit was going to be about cocaine. “Let’s chalk that one up as post-traumatic stress, what’s say, Doc? I’m just trying to get my head around this thing.”

“You are not terminal, you jack ass,” Doc said. “You’re not the walking dead. It ain’t good, I’ll say that. I won’t bullshit you. But you’re not dead.”

Bone nodded his way out of the appointment, took some ass-chewing, and left the office without having changed his views on anything. He lit a cigarette and reached under the seat and found the pint of vodka. He chased three drinks with some flat Pepsi and left the parking lot driving slow and careful.

The pay lake sat like a shined plate fifty yards or so from Route 670. Bone knew Shane would be there only a short time, fishing for bluegill to rig for bait if his net gave out fishing for cat down at the spillway. There was a window of opportunity, though, and Bone knew how to make the most of a window.

He had borrowed Casey Osborne’s truck, because Casey Osborne didn’t really give two shits if he got deep into anything. He was too far gone on meth and knew eventually he would end up in prison sooner or later. Deep tint, green-maybe-blue-maybe-black paint job, easy to forget with all the other trucks at the lake. Bone parked at the edge of the dirt parking lot and took a quick inventory of who was there. Other than Shane, only three other guys were fishing the lake. He could make that work. Tucking a row of quarters into his palm, Bone made a fist, pulled the ski mask down to his chin, and got out of the truck. Soon as his feet hit dirt, he took a dead run toward Shane. His figured if the three guys noticed who he was, it really didn’t matter. Two reasons: one, he was dying and, two, about everybody sort of wanted to see somebody beat the lights out of Shane Younce’s eyes for how he always treated Maddie.

Shane hardly had time to realize he was in something deep before Bone started popping him in the chest and shoulders and then the thighs. Hooks, jabs, a lot of punches landing everywhere except his head and face. Shane wasn’t a small guy, so he fought back some, but after about five hits to the torso he mostly lay on the ground and took the beating. Bone didn’t stop until Shane threw up, a bright yellow puddle that covered his tackle box. Once that happened, Bone took off in a sprint back to the truck. In the rearview he could see the other guys making their way over to Shane. They were smiling.

Bone got a phone call from Maddie two days after tracking Shane down at the pay lake. She wanted to talk to him and asked that he come to her mom’s house on Rolling Branch. He saw Maddie first thing when he made it to the end of the long dirt driveway leading to the house. She waved from the porch steps and didn’t move when Bone got out of the car.

“You look more ragged than the last time I saw you,” Maggie said.

Bone sat down beside her. “Well, everything’s still making sense then.”

Maggie laughed, but it was weak and forced. She picked up his right hand and turned it over. His knuckles were skinned and raw.

“Destin,” she said.

“What?”

“Destin. Remember you were talking about heading out for a beach somewhere? Somewhere like Destin. Not Myrtle Beach.”

Bone took a pint bottle of vodka from his jacket pocket and took a long pull. “Absolutely I remember.”

“Be nice wouldn’t it?” Maggie said.

“That’s a fact.” He offered her the bottle. “So Destin. That’s what you called me about?

Maggie took his hand again and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let me show you something before you finally finish the world’s longest ever suicide.”

Behind the house, the yard fell off in a long grassy slope. When they made it to the edge of that slope, there was another smaller one, soft and sandy, that ran straight to the river. Maggie took small steps down the sand bank and helped Bone until they both stood on flat land at the river’s edge.

The water was usually a muddy brown, but the full afternoon sun sent flashes of white light across the surface. Maggie sat down, pulled her shoes off, and put her bare feet in the water. Bone watched the dancing light for a few more seconds and then did the same, closing his eyes so the only thing he could hear was a strong, steady current moving farther and farther and farther away.

#short story

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years

Text

Happily Ever After?

Rating: T

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word Count: 14501

Summary: Sir Snow is a heroic knight. Lord Pitch is an evil warlock who kidnaps the princess. Sir Snow defeats Lord Pitch and saves her every time. That's how the story is supposed to be. Right?

Read on AO3

AN: Hey, I did it :) It took awhile to figure out exactly what the plot should be but with some help from the amazing @carryonmylovelies, I hammered it out. I hope you guys like it :D

Tags: @sourcherrysconess @purplenarwhal19 @wo2ash @pixiecodesnowbaz @sharkmartini @alixanderthequeer @the-lincyclopedia

———————————————

Simon

He’s going to show up. I can just feel it in the air, or in my bones, or in my stomach. Though that could just be hunger. I’m always hungry. I bite into my sweet bread while my eyes dart around.

“Good Lord, Simon,” Agatha says, “what did that bread ever do to you?”

I flick my eyes over to her. She’s walking next to me through the market stalls. The sunlight glitters beautifully across her gold and diamond tiara. Wind pulls at her soft pink skirt. She looks very pretty. There are two guards walking in front of and behind us, (not that they’ll do any good if he comes.)

“He’s going to show up today, I can feel it,” I grumble.

Agatha sighs heavily, shaking her head. “You always say that.”

“I mean it this time!”

“Like you meant it last week, and the week before that, and the week before that. But when was the last time he showed up? Two months ago?”

I frown, almost bordering on a pout. “I mean, yeah, but that just means he’s due to show up again. He never goes away for too long.”

“Unfortunately.” Agatha looks like she almost has a scowl. But she’s been trained to be a proper princess too well to actually do it. “I wish he would just stop it.”

“Me too, Ags,” I sigh. “Maybe if he went away, your parents would finally let us get married.”

“Hm, yes.”

She goes all calm, proper princess again, looking out at the dirt road in front of us. I wonder if she’s thinking about our wedding. It’s going to happen someday. Everyone knows we’re going to get married. We’ve practically been betrothed since school. We’re meant to be. Princess Agatha, heir to the throne of Watford, and Sir Simon Snow, the greatest knight in the land. We’re meant to be. So we’re going to get married, someday at least. Maybe after I finally defeat him. My time is too occupied with that to think about marriage.

We start walking through the town square. The people greet Agatha, and she talks to them graciously. She’s never patronizing, just kind. Some of them come up to me, asking about my adventures across the land. I do my best to answer them but my mind is far away. I’m thinking about where and how he’s going to appear. A big explosion? Massive tidal wave? Riding a dragon? He would ride a dragon, the tosser. He likes to be all dramatic and shit. It’s infuriating how good he is at being an all powerful, majestic evil warlock.

There’s a loud crack in the sky. Everyone freezes. I look up. The sky has turned grey all of sudden, when it was clear blue two seconds ago. Thunder groans and rumbles around us all. Everyone starts gasping and mumbling. I inhale sharply, hand immediately going to my sword.

“He’s here,” I mutter.

No less than a second later, there’s another crack. The clouds part, and lightning flashes, illuminating his silhouette. He’s standing on a cloud, dressed in a glittering dark silver jacket and trousers, night black cape flapping in the harsh wind along with his hair. He poses dramatically above us all, and I can see that stupid smirk on his face.

“Baz,” I growl.

“Good afternoon, Snow,” he says smoothly, voice dripping with annoying smugness. “You don’t have to try with that sword, we both know it’s useless against me.”

Stupid bastard. I growl again and unsheathe my sword, because fuck him. He makes a dismissive snort, which just makes me more angry. “How about you come down here and fight me properly? Or are you afraid you’ll lose again?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and his thin lips curl into a scowl. It’s annoying how beautiful he still looks when he’s mad. “One lucky shot does not a hero make, Snow.”

“Says the guy who lost. So let’s have a rematch.”

Baz tilts his head to the side, showing off his long neck. He does that a lot, showing off. Thinks he’s so fucking perfect just because he’s a strong, graceful, ruthless warlock. “Now, why would I do that, when I can just do this?”

He pulls his ivory wand from his sleeve and points it downwards, right at Agatha. I look her in the eye just before she soars upwards. She screams as she zooms up into the sky, gown flapping and tiara falling onto the cobblestone. Baz pulls his arm in and Agatha zooms towards him. She floats next to him, arms and legs frozen by her side. She looks unbelievably annoyed. She used to be scared the first few times this happened, but nowadays, she just gets perturbed.

“Bring me ten thousand gold pieces,” Baz calls out grandly, “or the princess will never return. You know where to find me, Sir Snow. I look forward to your surrender and my ransom.”

The clouds pull around both of them, and the dark storm flies away unnaturally fast. I try to chase after it, but it’s past the horizon when I reach the edge of town. My lungs are burning. I heave, bent over with my hands on my knees.

“Shit,” I pant. “I need my horse.”

I turn on my heels and race back towards the castle. It’s on the other side of fucking town of course. People part for me, thankfully. They know who I am, and they saw the weird storm clouds. Everyone knows what’s going on. This has happened a lot over the last two years. Some took a few days to resolve, some a few weeks. We do this over, and over, and over again.

I shake those thoughts from my mind as I reach the castle. The stables are right there, and I can see Penelope already standing with my rucksack and holding the reins of my horse, Cherry.

“I saw the sky from my study,” she said. “Storm clouds this time? Really?”

I sigh as I take the reins from her. “Yeah, I know. His cape and hair were flapping in the wind and everything. Dramatic twat.”

Penny scoffs, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, we’re fully aware of that. When will you be back?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Hopefully a week at most.”

“Alright. As long as it’s not a month.”

“Nah, don’t worry, I won’t get lost this time. I know the route off by heart now.”

“Mhm, alright. Got your mirror?”

I pat the side of my rucksack, where I can feel something smooth in the side pocket. “Yup, always. I’ll call you as soon as I make first camp.”

“Good.” She puts a kind hand on my wrist. “Be careful out there, Si.”

I peck her hairline. “Always am, Pen.”

It’s a familiar mantra we have, for every time this happens. She knows I’ll be alright, I have been for the past two years. But it’s still nice to know she cares.

With familiar ease, I get on Cherry’s saddle. She’s a good mare, very well trained, and she likes me so that’s a plus. I give one last smile over my shoulder at Penelope, then I flick the reins. And we’re off. To get to Baz, to save Agatha, to adventure.

Again.

———————————————

Agatha

We land on the top turret of Baz’s manor, the wind dying around us with a low whine. My hair falls in my face. I try to blow it out the way but it’s useless.

“My hair’s a mess,” I grumble.

“Terribly sorry,” Baz says, voice genuine and kind. He stopped being mean to me “If it’s any consolation, my hair is a complete rat’s nest too.”

I scoff. “Serves you right for using such a ridiculous spell.

“I suppose so. Come along, you can freshen up in your room.”

Contrary to what most people believe, Baz doesn’t keep me in a dark, dirty, cold little cell in some dungeon. He tried that the first time he took me but I kicked up such a fuss he let out me out and put me in a warm little storage closet instead. After the fourth time, he gave me my own room. It’s nice. Not as nice as my one at home, but better than a cell or a closet. We walk down the hall towards it. Baz opens the door for me. He can be quite the gentleman. But he’s still my captor.

“I’ll go get supper ready,” he says. “Lamb stew alright with you?”

“Sounds lovely. My throat is dry from that stupid storm wind.”

He chuckles as he walks away. I gently close the door behind myself. There’s a simple cotton dress laid out on the bed. Baz started having clothes ready for me after the sixth time. He’s very considerate, actually, for a kidnapper.

I change out of my itchy gown into the dress. It’s soft and smells freshly laundered. Baz must’ve been planning this for a bit. I sometimes wonder how much he plans for these things. It seems he did for this one, at least.

As I walk through the halls to the dining room (I know the way by now), I look around, taking in the details I’ve forgotten over the past couple months. The house is all dark wood with intricate carvings, probably made with magic. Low burning torches burn across the walls. Portraits of very stern, proper people look down at me. Baz has told me about this manor. It’s been in his mother’s family for generations. After her death during the battle between her land and Watford, his father moved them back to his own family home. But once Baz was of age, he took back his this manor and vowed to make Watford pay. That’s when and why he first kidnapped me. Though I’m very sure that’s not the reason anymore.

The dining hall is as grand as I remember. The table is a massive ebony line. It probably could’ve fit a hundred people at it’s capacity. Now it’s just Baz and I. We used to sit at the opposite of the very long ends, but now we’re across width wise. Still apart, but closer.

Baz is already sitting, still in his silver jacket and raven cape, black ceramic bowl and red wine glass in front of him. There’s a setting for me too with white wine. Baz knows I prefer white over red by now. I take my seat, politely putting my napkin on my lap. Baz lifts his glass to me.

“Cheers, your majesty,” he says. He still says that, even though I’ve told him to call me Agatha.

I raise my own glass and clink it with his. “Cheers, Lord Pitch.”

We drink our soup and wine in peace. This used to be tense but we’ve settled down quite a bit. Though it’s more tense for me tonight, because I have something I need to say.

“Baz,” I say, “why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?” Baz replies. “Eating? I need it. Despite what Snow believes, I’m not actually a vampire.”

“No, Baz. Why do you keep doing this? Kidnapping me?”

Baz tenses up, already statuesque body going even more rigid. “You know why, your majesty.”

I roll my eyes dramatically. (Learned that Penelope, the best court mage ever.) “Yes, yes. Your land and Watford fought, your mother died in said fight, and when you came of age you returned here to get vengeance for her death and did so by taking the Watford heir. I got the whole speech during kidnapping number one.” I point my knife at Baz, which is absolutely on purpose. “But that’s obviously not working, since that speech was sixteen kidnappings ago. So, answer my question, why do you keep doing this?”

He somehow gets even more tense. I swear his muscles are made of rock. “My reasons stay the same.”

I groan and roll my eyes again. And I thought Simon was frustrating to talk to. Simon mumbles and stutters, but Baz is a stone wall. He doesn’t let anything out, even when it’s so obvious. “Drop the act, please.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says while looking pointedly at his soup.

“Stop pretending, Baz! Despite what people think, I’m not an spoiled royal moron, I notice things. Like how I noticed the way you looked at Simon when he wasn’t watching!”

He drops his spoon into the stew, making brown liquid splash up and coat his hand. He immediately goes for the napkin and cleans it off, but his fingers are shaky. Yup, I know I’m right. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

I point my knife at him again. “Two months ago, last time Simon rescued me. We were riding away when I looked back over my shoulder, just out of curiosity. You were standing there all bloody from your fight with Simon. But you didn’t look angry or defeated. You looked sad, Baz. And longing, for something or someone you were looking at. For a second I thought it was me, but I quickly realised you were gazing at Simon’s back, not mine.” I lower my knife slightly, trying to look as sympathetic as possible. “That’s why you keep taking me, right? So you can see him again.”

“That would be ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“Exactly. It is ridiculous that you insist on randomly stealing me from my home instead of just bloody talking to Simon.”

He snorts. He’s good at that. “Snow is more of a ‘hit first, ask questions later’ kind of bloke, we both know that. I doubt he’d be willing to talk to me.”

“He won’t if you keep acting like a prick and kidnapping me.” Baz doesn’t say anything. I sigh and put my utensils down. “Baz, look, I understand how hard this must be for you. You and Simon are supposed to be enemies and it’s obvious you care about him instead. That must be hell. But, that doesn’t mean this is okay.”

Baz looks up. He seems genuinely worried. “What are you speaking of?”

I glare hard at him, trying to funnel all my frustration into one look. “Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I mean. I hated being your pawn when I thought you were using me for revenge, but I’m even more annoyed that you’re using me just to see Simon again. I’m not some object for you to steal because you’re so emotionally inept that you can’t admit your affections!”

Finally, Baz’s stone face cracks slightly. He looks incredibly remorseful, which is even worse, honestly. It would be so easy to hate Baz if he was a straight up villain, but he’s not. He’s a person who has made a lot of mistakes, but still a person. He slumps a bit into his chair. It’s barely noticeable, but I notice. I’ve known him long enough.

“Look,” I sigh, “I really do understand. But that doesn’t make it okay. Using me as a dangling carrot to attract Simon is wrong. Using me period has always been wrong. You can’t keep doing it, and I won’t tolerate it anymore. I’m tired of it, Baz. So, you’ve got one more chance.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, voice slightly strained.

“It means, this is the last time you steal me from my home. Simon is going to come to get me in a few days time. You have until then to decide to tell him. If you don’t, that’s it. Because if you kidnap me again, I’ll escape again.” I stand up, leaning over the table to glare at him through the candlelight. “And then I will come back here myself, with the entire army of Watford behind me. Do you understand, Basil?”

In the years I’ve known Baz, I’ve never seen him frightened. He’s not scared now, just shocked, which is the closest I’ve ever seen. I don’t think he expected me to be so assertive. But I’m pretty sure that no matter how much sympathy I give, Baz won’t admit his true feelings. So scaring him into no longer kidnapping me and finally fucking talking to Simon seems like the better option.

I stare him down for another long minute, until the mask pulls over Baz’s face again. He dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin then stands up, straightening his coat and picking up his bowl.

“I’ll be taking my leave for bed now,” he says calmly. “Feel free to finish your dinner, your majesty. I will see you tomorrow.” He used to say, don’t try to run, but that stopped after kidnapping number ten.

Baz turns and starts walking away. He looks like he always does, graceful and poised. But I notice the small tremor still showing in his hand. I hope this wanker bloody well listens to me.

———————————————

Baz

The speed at which I walk to my room, after depositing my dishes in the kitchen, is almost inhuman. Maybe Snow is right and I am a vampire. It would explain why my heart feels dead inside. Well, it’s not dead actually, just fucking idiotic.

I enter my room and close the door a bit too hard. I immediately start pulling at my jacket frantically. Stupid thing feels like it’s choking me. I actually hate these glittery, stiff clothes, but it completes the image I’m trying to create. Luckily, I don’t need them here alone. I throw off the jacket, and the trousers, and the fucking cape. Then I flop on my bed, dressed only in my white tunic and linen underpants. Finally I can breathe.

Today has been a day. First the kidnapping, which I planned, then bantering with Snow, which I looked forward to, and then Wellbelove giving me an ultimatum, which I did not expect. I know she’s not the weak flower others think she is, but that was still a surprise. She’s right though, kidnapping her all the time is very wrong. She deserves better than being my pawn. I should have stopped ages ago. I didn’t though, all because of my...feelings.

Fuck my feelings. They’re stupid. I’ve known that since the moment I saw Snow for the first time, when he first rescued the princess. He burst into my manor in all his golden glory. He was beautiful, brave, strong, fucking perfect. Even when he was yelling at or fighting me I was so dazzled by him. But it was stupid, and I instantly hated myself for it. I still do.

What would my mother think? Falling hopelessly in love with the champion of the kingdom that killed her. And can I even call it love when I haven’t talked to him properly once?

Looks like I’m going to have to now, or lose my final chance.

After magically snuffing the torches, I curl under my thick fur blanket, nearly in the fetal position. I close my eyes and try not to think of him. But my dreams are still filled with blue eyes and bronze curls.

———————————————

Simon

I don’t make camp until well into nightfall. Probably not a good idea, but I want to cover as much as ground as possible. I want to be back in a week, like I told Penny. We ride until we reach the edge of the plains that mark the end of Watford’s territory. All flat grass with few trees, but there’s one tree, which is my spot. It’s all dirt with a bit of blackened wood from my last fire. I won’t start a fire tonight. It’s warm and I’ve got some snacks that Penny packed.

Cherry and I stop next to the tree. I throw her reins over a branch even though I know she won’t leave, it’s just to be safe. I stroke her mane as I feed her a carrot.

“Good girl,” I whisper, “you did a good job today.”

She neighs happily. If she were a person, she’d be grinning.

I set up my own cot on the dirt and immediately flop down. My legs and arms throb with exhaustion from riding for so long. Two years later and the first ride still wrecks me. I can feel exhaustion start to seep into my bones, but before I pass out, I grab a packed scone and my mirror. While I’m eating the lovely treat, I tap the mirror twice. Magical ripples go across the glass. Soon Penelope’s face appears in front of me.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I reply.

“It's late. You shouldn’t wait this long to make camp, Si.”

I sigh, rolling onto my side. “I’m fine, Pen. I’ve done this before.”

Her lips twist a bit. That’s her worried friend face. “Yeah, you have. Aren’t you getting tired of this?”

I shrug and take a violent bite of my scone. “I have to do this. If he keeps taking Agatha then I have to keep going to get her.”

“That’s not what I asked, Si.”

Fuck. I know that she’s right, but I don’t know what to say. I look down at the ground. “I should get some sleep. Night, Pen, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Simon-”

I swipe across the mirror and Penelope’s face ripples away. I eat the last chunk of my scone, then roll on to my back. The stars are beautiful tonight. They sparkle like the gems on Baz’s jacket. Stupid wanker, thinks he’s so great because he’s so powerful and gorgeous. I’ll show him. I’ll defeat him and get Agatha back. Again. Like I’ve done sixteen times before. Like I’ll probably do for sixteen times after.

The thoughts start to creep into my mind again. I turn on my side and force myself to bed, just so I don’t have to think about it.

———————————————

I wake up before sunrise, barely having slept four hours. My eyes feel gummy and my muscles feel tired. Nightmares again. I’ve had them my whole life. Usually they’re of Agatha and Penelope dying because I couldn’t save them, or the kingdom falling to pieces, or worst of all, the orphanage. The memories of that place will never go away, I guess.

Cherry is just waking up as well, whinnying and shaking her light brown mane. I calm her down easily. Luckily she likes me quite a bit. (Can’t say that for a lot of humans, unfortunately, but I prefer my horse over them anyway.)

It only takes a few minutes to pack everything up. I’ve gotten good at it over the past two years. I get on to Cherry’s back again, stroking her neck.

“Good girl,” I coo.

With one flick of the reins, we’re off again. We fly over the grass with the wind whistling in both our hair. I try to let the air wash away the nightmares and remind me of my mission. Get to Baz, get Agatha back, be a hero. Just like always.

———————————————

Baz

I bet Snow has many theories on what I do when I’m not kidnapping his princess. Probably that I conjure dark forces or sacrifice tiny animals or drink blood. Well, contrary to his beautiful pea brain, I don’t do any of that. Blood would be disgusting. Usually, I’m just in my garden.

It’s a lovely place, filled with bright flowers and useful herbs. It was an overgrown mess when I first came back here, but two years later and I must say, I’ve done a bang up job restoring it. Everything is thriving and the plants are each put in a good place, yet it all still retains its wild charm. I’m quite proud. And I just like gardening. I like maintaining the greenery, making sure everything is growing right, using the herbs for potions and remedies. It keeps my mind off everything, especially him.

I’m in the middle of the garden, watering the lilies. The sun is beating down on me brutally. I pull at the tight collar of my scarlet jacket, feeling drops of sweat roll under it. Usually I’d be wearing simple linens for gardening but with Wellbelove here I need to keep my ‘grand warlock’ image up. Though tending to pretty flowers might hurt that appearance already.

“It's looking lovely.”

I turn to see Agatha standing behind me, wearing a cream dress and her golden hair in a braid. She's beautiful, the kind of girl my father would want me to marry. And I would, if I had any interest in women. (Or anyone besides Snow.)

“Thank you,” I say. “The lilies turned out well this season.”

“They certain did.” She walks forward, arms swinging at her sides. “So, are we going to talk about last night?”

In lieu of answering, I turn my back and march towards my rosemary plant. It needs watering too. Unfortunately I hear her steps follow me.

“You can’t run from this, Baz,” she says.

“Watch me,” I grumble.

She scoffs very loudly. “You kidnapped me and now you’re avoiding me? That’s rich.”

“If you’re going to keep bugging me, then yes, I will avoid you. I’d rather talk to my plants.”

“They won’t give you any advice.”

“And you will?”

“Yes!” I hear her get closer. “My advice is put down your wand, tell him to put down his sword, and just try to actually talk.”

I snort as unkindly as I can, just to get my point across. (Though I’m not sure what my real point is beyond “that’s impossible” and “I don’t want to.”) “Like the great hero will want to talk to me.”

“Yeah, I think he actually will.”

What? I look over my shoulder at her curiously. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

She sighs, fiddling with the end of her braid. “I was going to tell you this last night, but you left before I got the chance.”

“Tell me what?” I’m getting frustrated, and concerned.

She chews at the corner of her lip. “Well, I don’t want to get your hopes up too much, but I will tell you that Simon talks about you an inordinate amount.”

I snort again. “Yes, because he hates me.”

“I don’t think you spends ages going on about how pretty the hair and clothes are of someone you hate, Baz.”

My head snaps up and I inhale sharply. What?! I spin around to look at her. “Wait, seriously?”

Agatha nods slowly. “Honestly, most of his conversation topics revolve around you. When you’ll strike next, what you’ll do, and definitely how annoyingly perfect you are. It’s a miracle if I can get him to talk about anything else. I promise that your obsession isn’t one sided, Baz.”

My cheeks become more red than my jacket. It’s involuntary and completely fucking stupid. Wellbelove obviously notices, shown by her tiny smile. I can’t tell if she’s happy for me or mocking, but either way it’s not good. My feelings are far more obvious than I ever wanted them to be.

“He wants to marry you,” I blurt out defensively.

She shakes her head. “No, he thinks he’s supposed to marry me, because I’m the princess and he’s the knight. But he definitely thinks about you a lot more than he thinks about me. More than a hero should about his rival, I think.”

My stupid fucking blush gets even worse. The very thought of that makes my heart nearly explode. Agatha can clearly see it. I should talk to her about it. I haven’t talked to anyone about it in the past two years.

But unfortunately, I’m a certified coward.

“I have tonics to make for the townspeople,” I quickly say. “Feel free to roam the garden, and your books are still in the library. I will see you for supper.”

Once again, I run away. I walk calmly while the princess can see me, but the second I’m alone, I sprint across the stone. I stop only when I reach my lab/study. There are three shelves of pristine leather bound volumes and multiple many shaped glass bottles filled with iridescent liquids lining the walls. Papers with multiple notations are spread over my dark wood desk. There’s quite a lot of paper. It’s either a beautiful testament to my intelligence, or strong evidence of my growing insanity. Most likely a horrifying concoction of both

I sit heavily in my desk chair, staring blankly ahead at the large chart in front of me. (It’s sixty five different tonic recipes. I’m more than a bit obsessive.) I’m still processing Agatha’s words. So, Snow never stops talking about me, be it about my plotting or apparently my hair. What does that mean? Is he just a hero obsessed with his villain? Or...could he possibly feel something close to the horrible, wonderful things I feel?

No, never, not really. Why would he? I’m his evil warlock who kidnaps his love. I can’t be anything else. And it’s not like I’d actually know what to do if he wanted me back. I’m not capable of even showing affection properly. I’m so emotionally stunted that I kidnap a princess just so he’ll come to my manor again. How could I ever give him the caring and kindness he deserves?

I can’t. I never could.

———————————————

Agatha

I just watch him as he literally runs away from his problems, again. I hoped telling him about Simon’s obsessiveness would help, but it seems to have just made him panic more. Honestly, I do feel a bit bad for him. He’s obviously extremely tortured by this. Which makes sense. I’d be tortured too if I was in love with my mortal enemy. He must be in agony.

Still, it doesn’t excuse what he’s doing to me. I shouldn’t have been part of this game to start with, and I refuse to continue. I hope he figures out his own heart soon. I don’t want to storm his manor because he’s a lovesick moron, but I’ll have to if he doesn’t stop.

———————————————

Simon

Cherry and I make good time. She must just as determined to get to Baz as I am. We get past the plains and reach the edge of the Wavering Wood. It’s a massive old forest, filled with ancient trees, hanging vines, and sparkling lights. It’s a treacherous, horrible place. The first time I came in here, I fell in a bog. The smell didn’t come off me for a two weeks. Baz called me a smelly troll with that stupid pretty smirk.

Fuck the Wavering Wood.

I slow Cherry to a trot. There’s one good path I’ve found through a lot of trial and error. It’s thin, but mostly free of poisonous animals or fucking bogs. Cherry carefully walks across the dirt. I keep an eye out for any wayward wildlife, hand on the handle of my sword. Luckily, nothing decides to jump at me for once. Compared to my previous treks through here, this is quite peaceful.

That is, until I get to the end.

There’s only one exit for the Wavering Wood. Well, unless you want to cut through a mass of overgrowth that could hide any number of horrible magical things. It’s the one little open archway made of bending branches. I don’t know if it was made by sword or magic, but I don’t care. I just want to get out. However, one wor: bandits.

He’s right in the middle of the exit, wearing a brightly coloured coat and holding a curved sword. He's young but looks full grown, with strong, visible muscles. This guy must be new, I’ve never seen him before. He’s got his chest puffed out ridiculously big. Cherry and I approach him slowly.

“Who goes there?” he announces grandly.

“Sir Simon Snow of Watford,” I reply. “I’ve already paid the toll here before.”

“Not to me.”

I groan. “Look, sir, I’ve been through this bef-”

“Silence.” He points his sword at me with flourish. “If you won’t pay in coin, then pay in blood.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Fine, if you insist.”

I get off Cherry and lead her to the side. She’s seen me fight before, so I know she’ll stay calm. I take out my broadsword, swinging it back and forth lazily. It’s a heavy sword but I’m strong. (I may or may not be showing off a bit.) We both raise our weapons and take stance. I already notice that his legs are too wide. Pfft, amateur.

“En garde,” I say.

He doesn’t reply, just goes straight for a swing down. Wow, very rude. Guess young bandits don’t like dueling etiquette. I easily block his swing, despite the strong arms, then push back. His poor stance makes him stumble and flail like a turned over bug. I step forward, going for a more direct swing at his weapon. I’m really not trying to hurt this kid, I just want to disarm him. He blocks me with far more force than necessary. Again, amateur. One quick twist of my foot and I have the upper hand, pushing him back again. Dueling is like dancing, and- Well, I’m a shit dancer, actually, but dueling comes way easier. The rhythm of the fight flows through me like a rushing river as I parry every one of his hits and keep forcing him to give ground. This is good actually. I’ve been tired, and this is something I still enjoy.

We go back and forth for a few more minutes. He screams in frustration and throws a huge swing. It breaks the rhythm but I block it. He puts all his weight behind it, which is his mistake. I hold back for a few short moments. And then I step to the side.

“Gah!” he screams before falling face first into a mud puddle with a resounding splat. I can’t help but snort and giggle.

“I think I won this duel,” I say.

“No,” he growls, “this fight is not over. I will-

“Niall! Enough!”

We both turn to the voice. I grin ear to ear. There she is, with two guards around her, in all her golden coated glory, the Queen of the Bandits. She walks with her cane in one hand and sword in the other. She looks amazing as always.

“Miss Possibelf,” I say, “good to see you.”

“And you too, Sir Snow.” She glares at the mud covered boy. “Apologies about Niall. He’s new and still learning.”

I shrug, the smallest pleased smile on my mouth. Kinda the way Baz looks at me sometimes when I mess up. It’s infuriating but I sort of admire it too. “I think I taught him a few things.”

Miss Possibelf grins too. “I certainly think you did.” She pats my shoulder. “Get a move on. You’ve got your princess to save.”

For some reason that makes my chest strain. Right, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Saving Agatha, being the hero, fighting Baz. I can’t stay here, even though I want to chat with Miss a bit longer.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “I should go. See you next time?”

She pats my shoulder once again, looking at me with a soft smile. “Yes, we will.”

I get Cherry and remount on her. I give one last wave to the bandits (Niall glares at me) and ride off back onto my path. I refocus my brain on my quest; Get to Baz as soon as possible.

———————————————

I try to ride all the way to the Pitch land border, but Cherry gets tired. I can’t push her any further without hurting her. I won’t do that. Luckily, we get to my favourite inn, Pritchard's. I put Cherry in the stable next door, bringing her to the feeding trough, then go in the grand front door. I open them with a bit more flourish than I meant to. It’s a lot like Baz, honestly.

“Simon!” The patrons cheer happily. They come up to me, ruffling my hair, hitting my back a bit too hard, asking many questions about my most recent quest.

“Same old, same old,” I chuckle. “Baz has taken Agatha again.”

“Such a strange bloke, that one,” a man grumbles.

“Very pretty though,” a barmaid comments.

“Definitely,” I say, “it’s so annoying. Evil people shouldn’t be allowed to be beautiful too, it’s not fair to us good guys. Their prettiness makes it hard for people to stay on the good side.”

That makes both of them laugh. At least my sense of humour is appreciated here.

I go up to the bar, where Cook Pritchard is. She smiles at me happily. “Hello, Simon, nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Cook.” I put some coins on the table. “Got a pint for me?”

“Always.” She pours a large wooden mug for me. I drink down a few large, throat burning gulps, and let out a sigh. I don’t have much of a taste for alcohol, but Cook Pritchard makes it very well.

“Thanks, Cook.”

“No problem, Simon. Need the bed for tonight?”

“Yes, please. I can’t feel my feet anymore.”

She chuckles and pats my head. “Of course, I’ll get it ready for you. Always glad to see you again, Simon.”

I smile back. Even though this quest is tiring, there are some good parts. This is one of them. I just wish I didn’t need an evil warlock and a kidnapped princess to be here.

———————————————

Baz

Over the years, I’ve found walks help clear the mind. Or at least quiets it for a few moments. I walk around the walls of the manor. I put them here two years ago, in theory to keep the princess inside, but really it’s to keep everyone else out. Perfect metaphor for my life, I’m aware.

Out here, I like to practice my magic. The nice kind, not the scary kind I use with Snow. I’m waving my wand around, creating patterns of light in the air. Sparkling streams of violet, crimson, and rose fly through the air, then dissolve into the wind. I smile to myself. Part of me wishes that Snow could see my magic like this, not the frightening way I show it to him.

I just finish a rainbow figure eight when I hear the smallest sound. I freeze, immediately thinking something nefarious has reached my family home’s walls. I spin around, wand outstretched.

“Who goes there?!” I shout. “This is my property, you will not get through!”

There’s nothing for a long moment. Just the whistling of wind through the branches and nighttime hoots of owls. I stand there still, a fixture in the nature around me. Until there’s a rustling behind me.

I whip around so fast my hair hits me in the face. I spit out the strands in a very undignified fashion. And when my vision is clear, I come face to face with with a pair of bright yellow eyes.

“The fuck?” I say.

It blinks up at me. For a second I think it’s a wolf or a raccoon, but as it steps into the dim moonlight, it’s all too clear; my intruder is a cat.

It’s very, very small grey cat with incredibly fluffy fur, limping it’s way out of a bush towards me. Those big yellow eyes keep blinking at me. It makes the tiniest little meow up at me. And I must say, it’s adorable.

“Hello,” I say, lowering my wand, “who are you?”

The cat meows again. It sounds weak, and there’s blood on it’s left leg. Injured, probably by some larger, stronger animal. My magic feels a storm coming very soon. Without help it’s not going to survive out here in the cold rain. Logically, I know it’s my responsibility to help. It’s a cat, it’s nature, shit happens. I don’t have to do anything. I’m busy, I shouldn’t.

It blinks it’s big, glowing eyes up at me and meows pathetically again.

Fuck.

I take off my black cloak, sweeping it off my shoulders. I reach out my hand to the little thing. It sniffs my hand for second, then gets closer, nuzzling it’s tiny fuzzy head against my fingers. Slowly, I pick it up, wrapping it up in my cloak. The cat burrows down into the fabric, and I can feel it purring softly.

Fucking hell, what am I doing?

———————————————

Agatha

“For fuck’s sake, stop scratching me, you brat!”

When I hear Baz shouting from the kitchen like that, I assume he’s working with some sort of hell creature he’s summoned from the dark depths. What I don’t expect is to see Baz, all powerful lovesick warlock, trying to put bandages on a very small cat.

“Baz,” I say surprised, “what are you doing?!”

He looks over his shoulder with wide eyes. He looks incredibly embarrassed. “Um, I found something outside.”

“I can see that, but what you doing?”

“The animal is injured. I’m trying to bandage it’s legs.”

I raise my eyebrow. “You can’t use magic?”

He shakes his head. “My healing spells are meant for larger human limbs. I don’t know any animal ones. So, bandages.” He tries to leg again, but the cat scratches at him, and he yelps. “You little rat,” he grumbles.

I sigh, shaking my head this time. “Hold that cat’s paw out, I’ll do it.”

He blinks at me in surprise. “You know how to do this?”

“Yes. I work with animals. Mostly horses, but I’ve helped the castle veterinarian with cats too. So gently hold the cat down on their side and I’ll take a look at the wound.”

Baz still looks doubtful but thankfully does what I say (that’s a first). The cat squirms and whines, but doesn’t escape. Baz isn’t too forceful though, just holding them gently on the table. I take a look at the cat’s little paw.

“Alright,” I say, “it’s not a deep wound, just a scratch. You’ve got skin cleaner?”

Baz pushes me a little glass vial and linen bandages. I rip off a tiny piece, soak it in the clear liquid, and put it against the cat’s paw. The poor thing yelps and whines. I’m about to reach out to pet them, but Baz beat me to it. He brushes the back of his long fingers against their tiny head. The cat bends towards his touch, even closing their eyes.

“There there,” he says quietly, “it’s alright, you rat. It’s helping. You’ll feel better soon.”

The cat doesn’t struggle at all as I wind the bandage around it’s leg, not even a little. I’ve never seen an animal so calm without the use of a tonic or a spell.

“Okay, all done.” I’m a bit curious, so I lift the cat’s leg slightly higher. “And this cat’s a girl, by the way.”

“Good to know,” Baz replies. He carefully gathers her back up in his black cloak. The cat snuggles into the fabric, closing her eyes and audibly purring.

I look up, and Baz’s expression is complicated. His mouth is a tense, thin line, the muscles in his jaw obviously straining with effort. But his grey eyes are incredibly soft. The only other time I’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable was when he gazed at Simon’s back.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Because something’s wrong, I know it.

Baz rolls his lips together. “I don’t know why I did it.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Did what? Brought the cat inside?” He nods slowly, still looking pained. “She was injured and she’s small. Taking her inside was the right thing to do.”

“I don’t do the right thing,” he grumbles. “I hurt other people for my own means. I’m not even nice, I’m a class A arsehole.”

“You help the people in your town.”

He shakes his head, clutching the cat closer. “I do that out of duty. They’re my subjects, I have to care of them. This was just a random animal wandering around. I almost left her. Why didn’t I?”

Baz looks so distressed. I’ve never seen him so...not scared really, just perplexed, and anxious. This little cat is causing him so much confusion.

“Baz, it’s called compassion-”

He scoffs. Not at me, I think, more at the concept. “No, no, I can’t. I’m evil and cold. I’ve had to be. I can’t be anything else.” He scratches behind the cat’s ear. “I’m not good...”

I sigh again, but less at Baz and more at this situation. He doesn’t think he’s capable of being a good person. So that’s why he refuses to talk to Simon. Idiot. I stand next to him, arms over my chest.

“Baz, you don't think you're a good enough person to be happy, right?” His silence and lack of eye contact is a good enough answer. “Well, here's a revelation; you don't have to be cold and evil if you don't want to be. You can be a person who takes in injured cats, helps others out, doesn’t hurt people for his own ends, and lets himself show his love for someone.”

His face tenses up. If it were anyone else, I would say he was on the verge of tears. He pets the cat, probably without even thinking. I walk up to him and put my hand on his arm. He flinches but doesn't pull away. That’s an improvement.

“I know that terrible things have happened to you,” I say as kindly as I can. “Your mother dying must have been awful, along with losing your home and whatever else you went through. You don’t have to pretend all that doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t make you too broken for happiness either. You’re obviously miserable living like this. So maybe it’s time to start trying something different.”

Baz stares down at the little grey cat like it’s a piece of the universe itself, beautiful and terrifying. I scratch on her chin, making her lift her head. I flick my eyes up to see Baz smiling softly.

“Think of a name?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Maybe Rat, because she’s grey and kept scratching me.”

“That’s a mean name.”

“Rat it is then.” I give him a deadpan look. The bastard is still smiling. “My cat, princess, I get to pick the name.”

I smile back. “Your cat, huh? So she’s staying with you?”

He nods slowly, petting Rat’s head. He looks me in the eye without any sign of fear or cold mask. “No matter what happens with Snow, I won’t take you ever again, Agatha. I promise.”

His voice is firm, and his expression is serious. I know he’s telling me the truth.

“Good,” I say. “I hope things go well with Simon.”

Baz’s smile is a bit strained, but his eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them before. He’s trying. That’s good. That’s very, very good.

———————————————

Simon

It takes awhile to get out of the tavern. Cook Pritchard gives me three scones to keep me fed on my way, making me promise I’ll eat them. Then every tavern patron wants to say goodbye to me. I’ve gotten to know them quite well. Maybe I should come here when I’m not on a quest. That would be nice, to be here without the weight on my shoulders.

I give Cherry a thorough brush before we go. She deserves it for being so good through all this. After she’s well cleaned and fed some carrots, we set off again.

Luckily, there aren’t anymore bandits or treacherous magical forests on the path to the Pitch Lands. It’s mostly tall grass and a few trees. There’s only an occasional garter snake that spooks Cherry a bit, but she’s good. She’s faced dragons and giants. Snakes are nothing for my brave girl.

At late evening, we crest over a hill that marks the border of the Pitch Lands. I see a small cottage in the distance with little white dots around it. I grin ear to ear, then spur Cherry into a run. The wind rushes through my hair as we descend. I can’t control the rapid beating in my heart. As we get closer, the little white dots come into focus. Their fur, hooves, horns, and finally their adorable faces. I stop Cherry and swing off her with ease. I kneel down, scratching their little heads

“Hi, kids,” I coo, “good to see you again.”

“They’re happy to see you too, Simon.”

I look up and see exactly who I expect. Ebb looks about the same. Old red sweater, large wooden staff, and short blonde hair. The dying sun lights her up perfectly so she looks like an angel. Which she is. Ebb is probably the best person I know.

I stand up. I’m a bit taller than her, which makes it easier for me to hug her tight. She chuckles and hugs me back. “Hi to you too, Ebb.”

“Hi, darling.” She pulls back but keeps a hand on my arm. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” I sigh. “Could use some tea if you got any.

"Course I do. Want to tie Cherry to the post?”

I look over my shoulder. Cherry is happily prancing on the grass. “Nah, she’s fine. She won’t go too far.”

“Alright. Let’s get some soup and tea.”

We walk in to Ebb’s little cottage. It’s a wonderful place, made of softwood and covered in vines. There’s a main sitting area that takes up most of the place. It’s got a stone fireplace, two wicker chairs, and a very colourful rug. There’s a small kitchen to the left and Ebb’s room to the right. Her brother’s old room is behind the wall with the fireplace. That’s where I stay when I’m here. It means a lot that she lets me, considering what happened to him.

After getting the fire started, something I’m good at now, I sit in my usual chair, putting a knitted throw blanket over my knees. My muscles throb with the exhaustion of the past few days. Even resting can’t get rid of the persistent ache in my bones. I sigh, sinking into the cushion. I hear Ebb chuckle.

“Tired, Simon?”

I crack my eye open. She’s smiling at me from over the kitchen counter, where she’s magically heating up some bowls and cups. “Yeah,” I sigh. “I’ve done this so many times but it still takes a lot out of me.”

“Hm, yes, it is quite a journey. All the more reason you need some sustenance.”

She puts the tea blocks in the water, then walks over and places the clay bowl in my lap and the mug in my hand. Heat tingles through my whole body. “Thanks, Ebb.”

“How are you doing?”

Ebb settles in her own chair, placing her staff next to her. “You’re welcome, dear.”

We drink the soup and sip on the tea. It’s a warm vegetable broth with potatoes and carrot bits. It tastes so good. I love Ebb’s soup. Once I’ve drank the entire bowl, I put it down and turn to Ebb, who’s softly blowing on her tea.

“How are you doing, Ebb?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m doing alright, love,” she says. “Me and the kiddies have been okay. Delilah is doing very well.”

I smile brightly. Delilah was born the last time I was here. I even helped Ebb deliver her. But she was born very weak. We did our best with her magic and my bandages, but when I left to fight Baz there was still a chance she wouldn’t make it. Two weeks later, I got a letter from Ebb saying Delilah was getting much stronger. I was so relieved. I’d fought dragons and saved a princess more times than I could believe, but hearing that I helped a little baby goat survive felt like my greatest victory

“That’s very good to hear,” I sigh.

She smiles as she sips her tea with a smile. “How are you, Simon? Off to save Princess Agatha again?”

I groan, letting my head loll back on the chair. “Yeah, again.”

“How many times has it been now?”

“Sixteen or seventeen, I think. I met you at number five.” My weight shifts forward, making me curl in on myself, clutching my mug tighter. “I don’t get it. Why does he need to keeping doing this? He’s got a huge manor and amazing magic and perfect clothes. He doesn’t need Agatha or the money.”

Ebb shrugs. “Maybe it’s just to hurt Watford. Your kingdom did kill his mum.”

That makes me wince. It’s not a nice reminder that the kingdom you fight for killed someone, especially the mother of a five year old boy. (I’ve read a lot about Baz. That’s how old he was at the time, apparently. Only five.) Watford has fought a lot of wars in a lot of places, actually. Watford has caused a lot of pain...

“But why doesn’t he just blow us all up?” I blurt out the second the thought comes into my mind, drowning out everything else. “If he wants revenge, he could just make the castle explode. Wouldn’t that be easier? Does he just like torturing me and Agatha particularly?”

Ebb shrugs again. “Don’t ask me, Simon. He’s your villain. You know him better than anyone.”

“Exactly! But I don’t get it!” I groan, slumping forward even more. “I’m just not sure what he wants anymore, Ebb.”

“Maybe you could ask him.”

I whip my head to look at her. She’s actually being serious. “What?! No! I can’t do that! I-I can’t just ask him. He’s the villain, I’m the hero, so I stop him. W-We’re not supposed to ‘talk it out.’ That’s not how it works!”

She gives me a look of genuine concern. “But Simon, is that what you really want? Just doing this over and over forever without knowing why?”

I open my mouth, but no words come. My entire body deflates, like every bit of strength has been sapped out. Honestly, I’ve been feeling like that for awhile, it’s just easier to collapse right now because of how safe I feel right now. Ebb’s cottage has always felt safe.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I just do it. I’ve tried not to think about it, but I just...don’t know. All I know is that I’m really tired.”

“Long ride today?”

I shake my head. “No, not just that. Everything feels tired.” I sink into the chair. I want to sink into it forever. “I’m so tired, Ebb.”

Suddenly, something touches my knee. I crack an eye open. Ebb’s hand rests on me, patting me kindly. “Then you should get some rest, dear. Sleep on all of this.”

I nod slowly. I push myself up and out of the chair, taking my rucksack with me. We go to the room behind the fireplace. Ebb’s hand is shaky as she pushes the door open. It’s just like her own room, cozy and nice. The bed is in pushed against the left wall, right near the fire. It’s always warm at night.

When I look at Ebb, I see a few tears fall down her cheeks. I put an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me. She used to pull away but not anymore.

“I still miss him sometimes,” she whispers. “Poor Nicky. He should still be here.”

I hold her tighter. Nicodemus, Ebb’s twin brother, died years ago, but Ebb still gets sad over him a lot. He made connections between shady people apparently. And one day he crossed the wrong shady person. Poor guy was stabbed in the gut, bled to death for hours behind a building. Other people think Ebb is too weepy. But I would be weepy too if my brother was murdered in cold blood. It’s such a kindness that she lets me sleep in his old room. I wish I was as kind as she is sometimes.

“I know, Ebb,” I say. “I wish he was here for you too.”

She squeezes my hand, her calluses scratching me slightly. “Thank you, love. I’ll be alright. I’ve got the kiddies. And I love having you around when you pass by.”

Pass by, yeah, that’s all I do. I should come see her more, when I can stay longer. I want to tell her that, but I’m too tired to say the words. (And it’s not like words come to me easily then I’m alert.) So I just hold her a bit tighter. She pats my chest kindly.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Ebb helps escort me to the bed. The second I sit on the firm but soft mattress, I know I’m done for. I’m really, really tired. I flop down on the pillow, not even bothering with putting on my linens or pulling up the quilt. I just need some rest.

“Goodnight, Simon,” I hear Ebb say, though her voice is distant as I drift off.

“Night, Ebb,” I reply, muffled by pillow.

There’s the low click of the lock, and I’m shrouded in darkness. I try not to think about the stresses of the day. But when I dream, all I see is Baz’s stupid, smug, pretty face.

———————————————

Baz

The only thing I enjoy almost as much as my garden is going into town. Pitch Town was founded by one of my ancestors. Ever since then it’s been my family’s job to take care of its citizens. I take that job very seriously.

I dress in my simple clothes (no need to be flashy for normal citizens), load my bag with my wand and healing potions I’ve made, and put on my best boots. It’s a half hour’s walk and I don’t want blisters. In theory, I could float myself there, but why waste magic like that? And why intimidate the citizens? They don’t need to be scared of me. Though now I’m wondering if Snow needs to be scared of me either.

As I’m putting on my brown wool cloak, something brushes my leg. I make an undignified yelp and jolt away. I look down, and frown.

“Rat,” I sigh, “you scared me.”

She meows up at me, blinking her pretty yellow eyes like she’s done nothing wrong. Cute little brat. She keeps rubbing against my ankle, purring softly, nuzzling me in that absolutely adorable way. I try to move away but she follows.

“What do you want? I’ve already fed you, brushed you, petted you so much my fingers hurt. What else could you possibly want?”

She keeps nuzzling and blinking up at me. Fuck, I think I know the answer. I sigh, shaking my head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

I lean down and scoop up Rat, placing her in my wicker basket. She curls up on top of the soft cover and purrs happily. It’s probably a good idea to get her out of here. She used to live in the wild. The manor must be a big change for her. And it’s nice to have a companion on this trip for once. I sigh, scratching behind her ear.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” I mumble to myself more than her, “but I do appreciate it.”

She meows again in some form of answer. I do up the last button of my cloak, and we’re off.

———————————————

The walk itself is quite peaceful, save for Rat nearly jumping out of my basket to chase a butterfly. (She barely makes it out, what with the injured leg and all. Adorable moron.) Over some green hills, across flowery fields, until I see the red brick houses of Pitch Town. They’re like shining flowers on the green surface.

I walk down the cobblestone roads, waving back at the people who wave at me, writing down if they have any concerns I need to address next time I’m here. I even magically repair a wall for someone. Their child laughs as the bricks swirl up into place. It’s a lovely sound, and it reminds me of my siblings. I wonder how they’re doing. I’ve been so focused on Pitch Town and Snow that I haven’t had time to think about my family. I should send them a letter.

I go down my list of people that need potions. I knock on doors and everyone answers me with a grin. It still astounds me when people are happy to see me, but I’m trying to stomp those self loathing thoughts down more. I’m trying to let people be happy around me.

Eventually, I make my way to the main square. The stalls are colourful and bright, lots of people hawking their wares and laughing and talking. It’s so much better, so much happier. I’ve always just considered it just my duty, but maybe Agatha has a point. I’ve helped here. Maybe I should feel good about it.

I walk up to a particular stall. The man in it raises his head and then grins in full force. “Lord Pitch!” he says with his booming voice. “Good to see you!”

I shake his strong hand. “Good to see you too, Mr. Hawkins. How have you been?”

“Oh wonderful since you gave me that tonic. Leg pain is completely gone.”

“Good to hear. I’ve got some more for you.” I reach into my basket, and Rat decides this is the perfect time to wake up from her nap. She tries to nip at my hand and I yelp. Mr. Hawkins starts laughing heartily.

“I see you’ve got a new friend,” he says with his smile.

“Yes,” I grumble, “very adorable and annoying new friend.”

“She got a name?”

“Rat.”

He chuckles. “Very good. My husband just calls our cat Stupid.”

Rat tries to gnaw on my finger again, and I gently push her away. “That may be appropriate for this one too.”

Mr. Hawkins laughs at me again. He reaches out and offers his thick finger. Rat bites at it, but his calluses are so thick he doesn’t even flinch. He plays a little tug of war with her which she seems to enjoy.

“She likes you,” I chuckle. “Do you know if I should feed her anything in particular? She’s-”

“You guys got any scones? Sour cherry maybe?”

I freeze. My entire body goes rigid. Fuck, I know that voice. It haunts my fucking dreams. Sweet, lovely, strong, usually yelling at me to surrender. I flick my eyes to the left. Fuck my life, there he is, wearing his light armour with that infernal sword on his hip. Blue eyes, bronze curls, goddamn beautiful Simon Snow, standing right at the other end of the market with his bloody horse. I know I’m supposed to talk to him but not right now, I’m not ready, I need to be ready.

I quickly flip up my hood. “Sorry, Mr. Hawkins, I-I need to go. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

“Alright, have a good day, Lord!”

I wave as I dash off. Rat is disturbed by going so fast though, so I slow down to a slightly frantic speed walk. Even with magic to fly back, it’s going to take me fifteen minutes to be ready. I pray to God that Snow is as easily distracted as I know him to be.

———————————————

Simon

I’m gnawing on my scone (blueberry not cherry unfortunately), holding Cherry’s reins, as I walk through the town. It’s really nice. I’ve never been here before. I always take the more direct route straight across the fields, but Ebb suggested I try somewhere new to help get out of this tired funk. Penny agreed when I called her this morning. She was very cross that I hadn’t called her for days. Maybe I can find something to bring back for her, to say sorry.

We walk past a booth and I stop. It’s filled with lovely ceramics and glassware, twisted into wondrous shapes. My mouth hangs open as I stare.

“Anything I can help you with, good sir?”

I look up, then up, then further up. This man is huge. He’s like a giant, and I’ve seen those before. “Uh, hi. Is this your stuff?”

“Yes it is,” he says with his booming voice. “Anything you like?”

“Yeah. Like, all of it. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, Mr.- May I ask your name?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s Simon.” I hold my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

He shakes my hand, his grip firm and strong. “I’m Mr. Hawkins. Lovely to meet you too, Simon. I’ve never seen you around. New to our town?”

I let his hand go (and don’t let him see the way I shake mine out, damn he’s strong.) “Yeah, never been here before. It’s really nice.”

“Yes, we’ve done quite well in the past few years, considering what we were like before.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“Well, our town was falling into disrepair not too long ago. After Lady Pitch’s death we were easy targets. People were raiding us, looting, everything. We were getting sick too, what with no mage to help our ailments. But ever since Lord Pitch returned, we’ve been doing much better. He’s been such a big help.”

My eyes bug out and my jaw falls so far open I could catch flies. “Wait, what?! Lord Pitch helps you?!”

He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, when really it’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. “Yes, of course. His family have taken care of us for generations and he’s no exception. He does a lot for us. He just gave me some new tonic for my leg.”

“Wait, Baz was here?!”

Mr. Hawkins is taken aback, his expression saying he thinks I’m crazy. Which I don’t blame him, it feels like I’m crazy right now. “Um, yes, he just left a few minutes ago. He gave me the tonic and let me play with his cat. Very nice young man.”

My mouth falls even further open. This is completely nuts. So Baz, the evil warlock who ransoms Watford’s princess, takes care of a whole town, brings people medicine, owns a cat, and is very nice. And strangest of all, he was just here, so he must’ve seen me, but he didn’t try to attack me. Doesn’t he hate me? Why wouldn’t he try? What the ever loving fuck is going on? It feels like everything I thought I knew about Baz is shattering into itty bitty little pieces. He’s nothing like I thought, not like that at all.

“Okay,” I say quietly, “wow, that’s, uh, wow.”

“Are you alright, son?” Mr. Hawkins asks.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I just gotta, I gotta go. Have a nice day.”

“You too, Simon.”

I start rushing through, past the bustling main square and all the smiling faces. It’s astounding to think that all of this could be Baz’s doing. And in a good way. There are so many questions swirling in my head, and I need answers. So I think it’s time I ask.

———————————————

Approaching Pitch Manor feels different this time but it really shouldn’t be. It’s still the same tall, dark place, with thick woods and walls. I leave Cherry tied out front of the large entrance like always, take out my sword on instinct, and push the doors open. It’s the same receiving hall I’ve been in sixteen times, made from dark wood and filled with scary carvings. And there he is, standing in the middle of the room like always.

Baz is dressed in his bright white sparkling jacket and trousers with his black cape. It looks good on him, like always. He’s got his hand behind his back and shoulders straight. His expression is unreadable as always. But it’s less cold, I think. Just, neutral.

“Hello, Snow,” he says flatly.

“Hi, Baz,” I reply, “I’m here.”

“I can see that. And you’ve got your lovely little sword. Plan on using it well?”

I open my mouth to retort, but then I think of the smiling faces in town. And I wonder how much of an arsehole Baz actually is. If there’s something else underneath. For once, I want to know more. For once, I want to be kinder to Baz, be more like Ebb. So I toss my sword to the side, letting in clunk on the stone. Baz’s calm mask breaks, his eyes going wide.

“No,” I say firmly, “I’m not. I don’t want to fight.”

Baz looks very taken aback. “Oh? Are you surrendering for once? Makes my job much easier I suppose.”

“Actually, I just want to ask you some questions.”

“Oh,” he says, voice cracking. Baz clears his throat then straightens up again. “Well, if it’ll make this all go quicker.”

“Can you drop your wand? I don’t want to get zapped.”

Baz pulls his arms out from behind his back and shows his empty hands. “I don’t have my wand.”

He offers no further explanation even when I gape. He just stays still, though there’s a twitch to his lip that I can’t figure out. I don’t understand. But I nod and step forward.

“I’ve gotta ask,” I start, “what’s up with you?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I mean, you keep doing this whole thing of taking Agatha and demanding the ransom, but it never works. I stop you every time but you keep doing it.”

“I’m stubborn,” he replies.

“Yeah, but you’re not stupid. I’ve fought you, you’re smart as fuck. So why do you keep doing something that keeps not working?”

I start stepping closer. Baz stays still. “Watford killed my mother.”

“So why don’t you just blow up the whole bloody kingdom? You’re powerful enough, I know that too.” I’m only five feet away from him now. “Except, I’m-I’m not sure I know anything about you anymore.”

“Oh? You thought you knew me in the first place?”

“Yes! We’ve been seeing each other pretty regularly for two years now, Baz, I’ve gotten to know you. You’re brilliant, powerful, strong, and I thought you were, y’know, evil too. Now I’m not sure.”

Baz inhales sharply. I’m close enough I can hear that. “I see. You do make stupid assumptions, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “Can you stop being an arsehole to me for like, two minutes?”

I wait for a retort, but Baz’s face softens. He lets his arms fall to his sides. “I suppose I can try.”

Well, as if this say isn’t already full of surprises. I step closer. “I thought you were evil, but evil people don’t take care of a town, make tonics for them, apparently own a bloody cat, or,” I get even closer so there’s only three feet between us, “let their sworn enemy go when he’s just down the street.”

He gulps, and I think I’ve finally got to him. “So you talked to Mr. Hawkins.”

“Yeah, I did. He told me what you did for their town, and he said you left a few minutes before I showed up. You could’ve fought me right then and there, but you didn’t. Why?”

I can see and hear him take a deep breath. “Maybe, I didn’t feel like fighting then.”

My head tilts to the side in curiosity. “Do you feel like fighting now?”

The way Baz’s expressions shifts is fascinating. All those calm, unfeeling walls melt away like butter on a hot stove. He doesn’t look like the emotionless arsehole I know, or even the calm statue I saw a few minutes ago. He doesn’t look like a villain. I don’t think he’s a villain, actually. I think he’s just...a boy.

“No,” he says quietly, “no, I don’t. Do you?”

I shake my head instantly. “No. I’m tired of fighting.”

He sighs, and it sounds like relief. “Me too. I’ve been tired of it for awhile.”

Huh? That only confuses me more. “If you’re tired of it, then why did you keep taking Agatha? Couldn’t you have stopped?”

“Yes, I could have, and I should have. But I didn’t want to.”

“Why? To hurt Watford?”

“No, because...” He looks me in the eye with the most vulnerable, human expression I’ve ever seen on him. “Because, it meant a certain knight kept coming back here.”

I blink at him in utter disbelief. I hear the words but I don’t understand them, not at all. “You...you wanted me to come back?”

He nods slowly. “Yes.”

“But, why?”

Baz doesn’t answer with words. His sharp tongue seems to vanish in an instant. But I watch as red spreads across his pretty face. He’s...he’s blushing. Baz Pitch, terrifying warlock, is blushing. And I think I finally get it.

“Oh,” I squeak. “You...you feel like that?”

He nods again, eyes downcast and arms curling up over his chest. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A long time. Almost since we met.”

My mouth falls open. “Seriously?” He keeps nodding. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

He looks up again, but it’s only to glare at me. “You’re the champion of the kingdom that killed my mother. It wasn’t good, or even possible I’m supposed to hate you, and I knew you hated me.”

My feet moved forward before I realise it. I’m so close to Baz now. I can count every shade of grey in his eyes. He has really pretty eyes. “I don’t hate you,” I whisper. I don’t need to be louder, he’s that close. “I thought I hated you, but I don’t think I do now.

His gaze widens in disbelief. “You don’t?”

“No. I mean, you’re kind of an arsehole.” He frowns, and it’s kind of...adorable. “But I don’t hate you, not anymore at least. In fact, I think you’re pretty amazing. It’s annoying how great you are.”

He looks even more shocked somehow. “What are you saying, Snow?”

What the fuck am I saying? I’m not sure myself. All I know is that I’m really close to Baz right now, but I’m not scared. Actually, I like it a lot. I like having him here, in front of me. Not fighting or off plotting something. Just here where I can see him and make sure he’s alright.

“I’m saying,” I step even closer, “that maybe a certain warlock is what brought me back here too.”

His eyes are so wide they look like full moons. “Do you really mean that? Because I don’t want to be toyed with, Snow.”

“I do. I really, really do.” I reach forward, and while he does stiffen, he doesn’t flinch away. So I carefully tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. It’s soft, just like I’ve always thought it would be

“Simon...” His eyes flick briefly down to my mouth. And for the first time ever, my impulses aren’t a bad thing.

I lean forward and I kiss him.

Baz’s mouth is cold, colder than a normal person probably should be. But he’s softer too. Like a cloud made of silk. It’s such an incredible revelation, and I want to remember it forever. My eyes slide shut, trying to sink into the feeling. But Baz is still rigid under me. I put my hand on the nape of his neck, running my thumb over his sharp cheek, moving my lips more, trying to coax him to relax. And suddenly, I feel the tension seep out of him. His body unwinds, and he finally starts kissing me back.

Our lips slide together like that’s all their made to do. Baz’s arms cautiously wind around my waist. I put both my hands in his soft hair. His arms get tighter around my waist. He presses into my back, like he’s trying to get to my skin through the armour. I desperately want it off right now so he can touch me, so I can feel his long, rough fingers. We keep kissing slowly. My mouth opens and Baz follows. I nearly collapse when our tongues touch. But Baz’s strong arms keep me upright and I hold him, pull him closer. I feel like I’m exploding and falling and just...amazing. Everything just feels better than ever before.

We pull apart, but keep our foreheads together. Our breathing is loud in the echoey hall. Baz’s arms don’t loosen on me. I don’t let go either.

“I like this,” I whisper against Baz’s swollen lips. “I like this better than fighting.”

He sighs and brushes his nose against mine. “Me too.”

We keep standing there, breathing each other in. I don’t know what we’re going to do, there’s still so much to talk about. But I’m not letting Baz go.

———————————————

Four years later

I wake up and immediately reach out to my right, but instead of tepid skin, I feel something furry. My eyes blink open and I frown. Baz isn’t there, but Rat is. She’s stretched out and purring in his spot. I lean up on my elbow, giving her a long pet. She bends towards my hand. Rat is a very lovely cat. I wish Baz hadn’t given her such a god awful name.

I look around our room. The curtains are still drawn over the window, but I see a little light bleeding in. It’s barely morning. And Baz isn’t here, which means he’s in his study. The damn bastard never stops working. Unless I get him to.

Slowly, I sit up, stretching my arms up. The blanket falls down a bit too far and I shudder for a second, a bite cold air hitting my bare skin. That’s what I get for sleeping in just my pants. It’s a good thing we live alone at the top of a hill. Sometimes I’m tired after a long day of goat herding and forget pajamas. Baz doesn’t mind at all. He likes to use my warm skin as his personal heater in these colder months.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and slip on my fur slippers. They were a gift from Penny, to keep me warm in the wild. (This isn’t the wild but it’s a nice thought anyway.) Then I throw the quilt over my shoulders, pulling it around me like Baz used to do with his cloaks.

I pad through our cottage in my slippers. It’s a mile away from Ebb’s place and less than an hour from Pitch Town. Baz and I spent six months designing and building it. We made it from light wood, green painted metal, and clay tiles. It’s not very big, just enough room for us, Rat, and the occasional guest. (Though we can expand when we add little humans to our family. Which we will someday, when we're a bit older.) Others would call it cramped. I call it cozy. I love being here every day. It’s not a castle where I work or an orphanage where I was abandoned. It’s a home that Baz and I made together.

Once I’m through our living room, I enter Baz’s study. It’s made of almost all glass, so his potted plants can get proper sunlight. His bigger garden sits just outside next to Cherry’s stable. And there’s the man himself, hunched over his desk. I immediately drape myself over his back, encasing him in the quilt. He doesn’t flinch at all. It’s taken a few years but he’s not on guard all the time anymore.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“It’s too early,” I say, “come back to bed.”

Baz chuckles, leaning back into me. “I have to make a new healing potion for Mrs. Nelson, love. Her stomach is acting up again.”

“You can do that later. But right now,” I press my lips to his ear, “come,” I move to his cheek, “back,” under his jaw, “to,” and then his neck, “bed.”

I feel and hear him sigh. He leans further back, looping an arm around me to weave his fingers through my hair. “You’re a menace, Simon, always interfering with my work.”

“Mhm, and you love it.” I bury my face in his skin. He smells like his fancy handmade soaps, cedar and bergamot. His smell always makes me feel better. “And I love you.”

He sighs, turning his head to peck my temple. “I love you too, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before,” I tease.

“No I didn’t,” he says with a smile.

“Liar,” I kiss his pointy ear, “now leave your work alone for a bit.”

“I really have to do this, darling. But you should go. You have to be up in a few hours to get to the goats.”

I groan and hold him tighter. “Baz, we both need sleep. And I don’t know about you, love, but I sleep better next to you.”

It’s true. Ever since we started living here two years ago and I started sleeping next to Baz regularly, I’ve had less nightmares. And if I wake up from one, he’s right there to hold me and remind me none of it was real. I can sleep alone, but I prefer him with me.

“Alright,” he sighs, “give me a minute to finish this bottle.”

I grumble, but I know this is the best I can hope for from my workaholic healer mage lover. I press a kiss to the corner of his lip. “One minute. I’ll hold you to that.”

He chuckles, then turns his head to give me a proper kiss. My body feels like it’s melting, like it does every time we kiss. He pulls away smiling against my mouth. “One minute. I promise.”

“Mhm, good.”

He kisses me once more, and again, then we finally let go. I stand up straight and pull the quilt around myself again. Once I reach the doorway, I give Baz one more look over my shoulder. And he’s looking back. We both smile just as I turn the corner back through the cottage.

———————————————

Baz

It’s a struggle to turn back to my work. I desperately want to follow Simon, scoop him up, and snog him silly as I carry him to bed. The idea of that motivates me to finish faster though. I put the last drop of silver in the vial, then grab my wand and mumble the spell I need. It warms up and glows a soft blue. Perfect. I cork it and put it in my basket. Rat and I will make the journey into town today on Simon’s ridiculously lovely horse. No more half hour walks for us. Cherry makes the journey far easier.

I walk back towards our bedroom. When Simon suggested we make our own house, I was cautious. I spent so long trying to get back to Pitch Manor, it felt wrong to leave it. But in the end it was the right thing to do. The manor held so much pain and loss. I couldn’t move forward there. But here, in mine and Simon’s cottage, I finally feel free.

When I walk in, Simon is already mostly asleep again. He’s laying on his side with Rat next to his head on the pillow. She’s technically my cat, but I swear she loves Simon more. I don’t blame her. I love him more too. I slip in next to him under the quilt, throwing an arm over his side and pressing my hand to his chest. He’s so warm. I used to be so cold, but I haven’t been since the moment he kissed me.

“You’re here,” he mumbles.

“I did promise,” I reply.

“Hm, true.” He snuggles closer, and I hold him tighter. “We gotta start packing tomorrow, y’know. Penny expects us there for the winter solstice. The snow is gonna make the trip longer.”

“Don’t worry, love, I remember.”

We don’t go into Watford’s capital since I’m still not exactly welcome, (even though Agatha has forgiven for the kidnapping, the citizens are still touchy,) but we go to Bunce’s family home just a few miles outside it. Simon moved there after the two months he spent living with me post-first kiss. It was hard watching him leave, but we weren’t ready to live together properly then. There was still so much we had to sort out on our own. My guilt and grief, his knighthood and future. So we just sent letters, until I finally felt comfortable going to Watford.

It was very scary at first, but eventually, Watford stopped being the place that killed my mother. Soon, it became where Simon introduced me to his best friend, where he first told me he loved me, where he said he wanted us to stop just visiting each other and build our house. And on the winter solstice, it’ll be where I ask him to marry me. I’ve got the ring hidden in my study. I know he’ll say yes, he already said he wants to get married. I’m very excited.

“Mm, good. You and Pen can trade magic notes again.”

I chuckle against his neck. “Yes, I suppose we can. We can’t stay too long though, remember.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbles. “Gotta see your family too. At least they like me now.”

I can almost hear Simon grin. Though it took a bit for my family to accept Simon, they’re now just happy that I’m happy. And it does help that Simon is so good and kind it’s impossible to hate him. I figured that out years ago. “Hm, yes. Not sure about my brother though. He did spit up on you the first time you met.”

Snow makes a displeased noise. “Yeah. Luckily he’s cute. Kids are cute.”

My heart races at those words. We’ve discussed adopting children, taking in orphans like Simon. But we both want to wait until we're a bit older before taking on such a responsibility. Still, I can't help imagining it though. Little kids running across our hill, playing with Cherry and Rat, fake wrestling with Snow in our backyard, watching with awe as I create bursts of magical light for their entertainment. A big, joyous family. I never realised I wanted that kind of life before him. And now I want it so much.

But I can wait. I'm more than happy right now. And Simon isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Not anymore.

I kiss just under his ear. He lets out a happy sound. I close my eyes, pressing my nose into his neck. “Sleep, Snow. We’ll talk more about family and travel plans later.”

“Okay,” he yawns. “Love you.”

My eyes slip closed. When I first saw Simon, I assumed I’d always be looking at him from afar, never allowed to have him. But here he is in my arms, in our bed, telling me he loves me. Like he will for the rest of our lives.

We’re no longer the strong knight or the powerful warlock. Just a simple goatherd and healer. And we’re far better off for it.

“Love you too,” I whisper, before I drift off as well.

———————————————

AN: Yeah, I tried to make the ending as fluffy as possible. They deserve it. Credit to @carryonmylovelies for Rat's name. Don't let her name your pets, lol. Any who, hope you all liked that. I tried my best to show their growth which leads Simon and Baz to decide to break the cycle. And I hope you didn't mind that they weren't with each other for most of the fic, that's my biggest worry tbh. Idk, I liked it. Hope guys did too :)

So I've got a lot schoolwork (yay exams and finals) so I don't think I'll be posting anything again until late April or early May. Black Swan updates will still happen but that's all I can handle rn unforunately :/ But once exams are done, I'll be opening requests again. So I'll see you guys then :D

#snowbaz #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #agatha wellbelove #fluff #angst #fantasy au #getting together #enemies to lovers #mysnowbazfic

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hughthebeeboy · 5 years

Text

SnowBaz Crossword one-shot

You guys really liked this headcanon I made, so I wrote a little one shot for you guys! It was written at 2am so bare with me....

When Baz arrived at Simon and Penny's apartment, it was half-past six in the morning. Today was a casual day. A black t-shirt tucked into jeans kind of day. Baz loved how crazy it drove Simon to see him in jeans. He also wore thick, black sunglasses and a nice navy watch given to him by his step-mother. Father Christmas had been kind to him this year. Showered in treats (and Simon's kisses), Baz was thankful it was still holiday break. He loved his university, but he loved arriving at Simon's door at ungodly hours to wreak havoc even more. The warm feeling of spooning Simon on his dark green, lob-sided bed were the days Baz cherished the life he had most. Quit seriously (when was he going to get the bloody bed fixed?).

The boy looked around, digging his hands through his hair. "Where is that fucking newspaper?" he said to himself under his breath. "There's always a newspaper at Bunce and Snow's apartment when I arrive." He shrugged and shook it off, grabbing the doorknob. He looked around once more, and spelled the door open using “open sesame!” He knew if Simon or Penny had seen him do magic out in the open, they’d have yelled at him. And he would’ve just rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue with such imbeciles.

The door creaked open, Baz swiftly crawling through the crack. He looked around disgusted and mortified. “This place is a pig’s stock.” He sighed, taking out his wand and spelling all the dirty dishes and countertops clean. Christmas had been a week ago, yet there were still plates stained with the pizza they’d all eaten together on the couch. He sighed. “Bunce and Snow, they’re never going to change.” That Snow. Always such a messy boy. My messy boy. Baz’s cheeks grew a rich, strawberry red. They did every time he thought about Simon. Even when he thought about strangling him. His rosy cheeks were less noticeable now, he was more tanned and vibrant now-practically glowing- as Simon had forced him to eat more. “Eat more.” “And what if I don’t? What are you going to do? Spell me full?” Baz had taunted. But nevertheless, he followed the curly headed boy’s commands, and in no time, he looked less dead than ever (though it was a hassle making three meals a day. he didn’t trust Simon with making his meals; the boy could barely even use a fork and knife. As for Penny, he didn’t trust her not to use magic, even for meals. Bunces rely on magic). He took off his converse shoes, dropping them lightly on the floor and tiptoed to Simon's room. After he was done with his crosswords, he'd always get up from his favorite chair near the window and crawl into bed with Simon, careful not to wake him up and smell his morning breath. There were no crosswords today, though, and Baz was practically waltzing to Simon's door, happy to see him again. The door was open, and to his surprise, Simon was already up. Baz frowned. That means no Simon cuddles, he thought. He didn’t go in. He wanted to watch Simon for a bit. What was Snow even doing? Simon was at his brown, wooden desk, his back hunched over and facing Baz. Baz could see Simon concentrating on something, his tongue leaning poking out of his small, soft lips, and his left hand deep into his curls. Baz took a step closer. His eyes grew wider and he looked away, blushing. Simon was doing his crossword puzzles. Baz always came to do them early in the morning. That was the point of coming early to their apartment– no interruptions. Sometimes, though, Penny would be up, nagging at him to put her newspaper down so she could read the news. He’d snarl and say that if she read any more news, her head would blow up from reading so much "normal bullshit." When Simon was up, he'd leave Baz to do them, which Baz appreciated. Baz stepped just behind Simon. "So, you're the one who stole my crossword puzzle, huh, Snow?" he said, wrapping his arms around the boy and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He felt Simon practically leave his own body. “Son of a- God Baz! You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!” “That’s a relief.”

“Shut it.” Baz took the crossword, looking at the almost empty sheet of paper. Simon shook his head. “I don’t know how you manage to do these things,” he hung his head sheepishly. “I’ve been trying for an hour.” “You’ve been up since 5?” “Seems like it,” the boy yawned. Baz felt his cheeks growing hot. “Crosswords require a level of thinking,” he started pushing his fingers through Simon’s locks. “Something you obviously can’t do.” Simon swatted his boyfriend’s hand. “Not funny.” “Mmm, yeah it is,” Baz smiled warmly. “You’ve only answered two questions,” he looked closer. “And they’re both wrong.” He sat on Simon’s bed, still glued to the paper. “Idiot, across. It’s NIMROD. And what did you put?” Simon sighed. “NUMPTY.” “Numpty!” Baz repeated. “Nine-digit ID crossword clue, down. SSN. And what did you put?” he asked, hitting the paper. “911.” “911! This is a crossword. They’re only words!” “I thought it could’ve been a sudoku-crossword mashup.” Baz accidentally let out a giggle. He stiffened, then patted at the empty spot next to him on the bed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Simon yawned again and dragged himself to the bed. He tucked himself in and curled up into a ball, despite Baz sitting on the bed and weighing the covers down. Baz got in after him, making sure to take off his jeans. “Nice jeans,” Simon’s eyes were already closed. “I want to be…the little spoon today.” Baz looked at him. His caramel locks glimmered in the sunlight, Simon smiled. Beautiful boy. "Cuddle me," Simon said sternly, almost whining. "Give me love." “Okay, okay,” Baz climbed into bed. He hugged the boy, molding into his sleeping position. “Good morning, Simon,” his voice was smooth and silky as he whispered into Simon’s ear. “Good morning, Baz. And goodnight.” Baz rolled his eyes and smiled. “Goodnight.”

#carry on #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #simon snow #snowpitch #snowbaz #penelope bunce #penny bunce #fanfic #rainbow rowell

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humansunshineao3 · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Alec!

“I decided what I wanna do for my birthday,” Alec told Magnus over dinner one night.

Magnus hummed curiously, one eyebrow quirking.

“I wanna go to Pandemonium. With you. And everyone.” He explained, chewing the inside of his cheek. “When I turned twenty-one I went out for dinner with my parents and on the way home we passed this club, and I couldn’t help but think, you know? That was what I was supposed to be doing? Dancing and getting stupid drunk and kissing a guy who’s probably way out of my league in the light of day. And I wanted it so badly.”

“And you never got to have it?” Magnus guessed, and Alec nodded. “Well it just so happens that Pandemonium has a birthday package, and since I know the owner will be sympathetic to your tragic repressed past…”

“Are you sure he’ll mind?” Alec asked, batting his eyelashes pointedly.

Magnus laughed. “Consider your party planned.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec was hopping with excitement for the entire week of his birthday. Everyone was coming. Izzy, Maia, Bat, Clary, Simon… Even Aline and Helen were portalling in for the occasion. It wasn’t often that shadowhunters were allowed to party, but since Alec was the Head of the Institute, he could allow everyone the time off, leaving the office in Underhill’s capable hands.

Alec planned on getting spectacularly drunk and embarrassing both himself and shadowhunter-kind. He’d had his outfit planned for two days, and he was looking forward to seeing Magnus all dressed up in club attire, as well. Magnus had more or less stopped going out to Pandemonium since they started dating; he seemed to be taking more of an interest in his apothecary business now that the pulsing bodies in the club no longer held his interest. Alec couldn’t complain about Magnus’ devotion, but every now and then his mind wandered to the photographs he’d seen before meeting Magnus, and one in particular.

Magnus, dressed to the nines, his shirt unbuttoned to the navel, draped across beautiful bodies of all kinds of genders, sipping a cocktail and looking like he owned the place. Which he did.

A shiver ran down Alec’s spine, and he more or less leapt through the portal home.

“Happy birthday, Angel,” Magnus was standing in the living room to greet him, holding a velvet box. Alec’s stomach dropped, and his shock must have shown on his face, because Magnus’ eyes widened, shaking his head. “It’s not a ring! Don’t worry!”

“Oh,” Alec chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “Okay, good. I mean… Not that I…”

“We can have that conversation another time,” Magnus smiled, squeezing Alec’s arm. “Open it.”

The box was a bit slippery, and Alec’s calloused fingers skidded against the velvet as he tried to prise open the box, and he grimaced a little, holding it back out to Magnus. “Can you…?”

Magnus chuckled, flipping open the box and showing Alec the glints of silver inside. “I had them made special. I figured it was time that you started representing the Lightwood name the right way.”

In the box was a pair of cufflinks, square and silver, with the ancient Lightwood family crest carved into them. They weren’t big enough to be flashy, but they were clearly expensive, and Alec plucked them out of the box, looking at them more closely. The detail was amazing, and Alec lowered his hands, looking at Magnus with awe.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you, so much.” He said softly, giving Magnus a tight hug. “I love them.”

Magnus huffed out a relieved laugh, pressing his cheek into Alec’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. They’re pretty formal, but I figured they’d be a nice touch for your meetings in Idris.”

“Yeah, you’re right. They’re perfect.” Alec pulled back, putting the cufflinks carefully in the box. “You’re so good at giving gifts, how am I meant to top this?” He teased, kissing Magnus on the forehead.

“Well, considering I still carry this,” Magnus tugged the omamori charm out of his pocket, “with me everywhere I go… I think you do just fine.”

Alec smiled at him, just drinking in the sight of him for a long moment, his eyes warm. Magnus cleared his throat, a little overwhelmed by the love in Alec’s gaze, and tangled their fingers together. He leaned up for a kiss, and Alec hummed into it, sighing happily.

“I love you,” Alec murmured, making no move to pull back.

“I love you too,” Magnus returned, his free hand curling around the back of Alec’s neck. “So much. But we should get ready. Helen texted, said they’d be ready by nine.”

“Nine, right.” Alec nodded, following Magnus into the bedroom, glancing at his watch. It was ten past eight. “So… No time for making out?”

Magnus smirked at Alec over his shoulder. “If you get dressed quickly, there’ll be plenty of time.” He turned his attention to his walk-in wardrobe, lips pursed. “What are you wearing?”

“Uhh…” Alec squeezed past him to grab the maroon sleeveless tee he’d been planning to wear. He’d checked, and it matched Magnus’ one shirt perfectly. That shirt from the picture. “I’m gonna wear this with that pair of jeans we got in London.” The jeans were jet black with artful rips, embroidered with dark red roses on the left mid-thigh.

“Oh, you’re showing skin,” Magnus nodded, his eyebrow twitching, impressed. “Well, then. I’ll have to follow your lead, won’t I?”

“I was thinking… Maybe this one.” Alec picked out The Shirt, and Magnus pressed his lips together to hide his grin.

“Am I perhaps living out some fantasy or other tonight?”

Alec shrugged, kissing Magnus on the cheek. “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, I do.” Magnus assured him. “It’s just cute that you think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That is actually the first shirt I ever saw you in. It’s special.” Alec explained, wrapping his arms about Magnus’ waist from behind.

Magnus frowned. “I wasn’t wearing this the first time we met.”

“Well, no, but before me, Izzy and Clary went on that mission we were shown photographs of you, and there were a bunch of blurry old-fashioned ones, and then there was this one taken in Pandemonium, of you sprawled across a couch, wearing this shirt all open. And uh…”

“You had a little gay moment?” Magnus guessed, twisting in his arms.

Alec smiled wryly. “More like a huge one.”

Magnus laughed, raking his fingers through Alec’s hair. “I mean, I can’t blame you. That is one of my most formidable looks.”

“You looked incredible.” Alec agreed, swallowing hard.

Magnus arched his eyebrow, pressing their hips closer together, feigning innocence. “Incredible how?”

“Like I couldn’t stop thinking about you for days, incredible.”

“Mmmm… Well, the feeling was more than mutual. Despite the fact you were wearing double denim.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Will you ever let the double denim go?”

“Nope,” Magnus grinned, rubbing his nose against Alec’s. “Not ever.”

“The point is,” Alec stressed, squeezing Magnus’ hips, “I saw you in that outfit, had a mini heart attack, and then we met. And everything changed.”

The teasing glint in Magnus’ eye melted with the warmth of love. “For me, too. Everything.”

Alec smiled, biting his lip. “So you’ll wear it? We’ll be matching.”

“Of course I will,” Magnus chuckled. “I want this first birthday of you living openly to be unforgettable. Besides, as I said, it is one of my more formidable outfits.” He reluctantly pulled away from Alec to get changed, grabbing the navy suit he’d worn with that shirt from his wardrobe.

It took Alec a couple of minutes to get into the skinny jeans; his feet kept getting caught in the rips and the material was so snug that he struggled to get them up his legs, ending up hopping from one foot to the other in the most undignified manner. Magnus paused to watch him, his slacks already on and buttoned. Once Alec had zipped up the jeans, he sighed in relief.

“It’s worth the trouble; these jeans make me look like I have an ass.” Alec shrugged, turning around to look at his backside in the mirror, nodding in approval. He didn’t really have all that much going on back there, not like Magnus, but he liked the way his ass looked in skinny jeans. Magnus hummed in agreement, shrugging on his shirt.

“It looks spectacular, Angel.” Magnus told him, turning to the mirror to button up his shirt, starting from the bottom.

Alec made a noise of disapproval as Magnus buttoned the fifth one, coming up behind him.

“Oh? You can’t see enough skin?” Magnus teased, undoing two of them and tucking the tails of his shirt into his slacks. “How’s this?”

Alec swallowed hard, smoothing his hands down Magnus’ sides.

“Lower?” Magnus asked. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Alec murmured, fingers reaching around to brush against Magnus’ stomach, “I think I’m gay.”

Magnus snorted, catching Alec’s hands and encouraging them lower. “What’s the time?”

Alec dropped his mouth to Magnus’ neck. “I don’t care.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they were finally presentable again, Magnus made the portal from Alicante and Helen and Aline appeared with a bottle of gin and a classy bottle of red wine. After a round of hugs, Aline offered both bottles to Alec with a cheesy grin and a glint in her eye. Magnus and Helen exchanged a foreboding look as Alec picked the gin and winked at her.

“We’re going to have to scrape them off the pavement later tonight, aren’t we?” Helen muttered to him.

“Oh, yes,” Magnus sighed, taking the bottle of red wine. “There’s only one solution.”

Helen raised her eyebrow at him, and Magnus smirked.

“Get drunk faster than they do.”

By the time Izzy and Clary rolled up, the four of them were sprawled in an approximate circle on the floor playing some obscure drinking game Magnus remembered from the beer halls of the 1900s. Magnus’ head was in Alec’s lap, and Helen’s feet were in Aline’s, and Izzy and Clary stood there for a long moment before anyone noticed them.

“Oh, hey!” Magnus pointed at Izzy, squeezing one eye shut. “Baby, it’s your sister!”

“My sister?” Alec turned to see Izzy standing over him. “Hey! You made it!”

“You’re fucked,” Izzy pointed out, and Alec shrugged.

“It’s my birthday.” He reminded her, and she laughed, pulling Clary down to sit next to her in the Circle. “What are we playing?”

Magnus said something in what was probably meant to be German, but just came out a garbled mess, and Aline shrieked with laughter. Clary shook her head, pouring herself a large glass of rose.

“Ever played Never Have I Ever?” She asked the room, and they all looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Oh, right. No-one here went to high school. We go around in a circle and say something we’ve never done. If someone’s done it, they have to drink and tell the story.”

“You guys really wanna play that… With me?” Magnus asked, sitting up. “You just want me drunk!”

“Well, yeah, obviously.” Izzy laughed, straightening his necklaces. “You never get drunk.”

“Yeah, how are you so drunk, almighty warlock?” Aline demanded.

Magnus leaned back on his hands. “Listen. You know how many times I’ve been the adult while this one,” he poked Alec in the ribs, making him squirm away with a giggle, “got absolutely shit-faced? I’m done! I am done! I am not being the adult tonight! So I spiked my drink with magic.”

“You spiked your own drink?” Helen repeated, a little less drunk than Aline and Alec.

“It’ll wear off in exactly six hours,” Magnus explained. “And then I’ll be good.”

“You’re so good,” Alec told him, cupping Magnus’ face in both his hands. “You’re the best. At everything.”

Magnus beamed, throwing his arms around Alec’s neck. “No, you.”

Alec snorted, and pressed his face into Magnus’ neck. “God, I want you kiss you all ov-”

“I think it’s time for the game!” Clary yelped, and Alec glared at her, but accepted it, tugging Magnus to sit between his spread legs. “I guess I’ll start. Never have I ever made out with someone whose name I didn’t know.”

Helen, Izzy and Magnus drank, and after a lot of shrugging and half-assed stories about clubbing, it was Magnus’ go. He squinted up at the ceiling, wracking his brains for an experience he’d never had.

“Oh!” He held up his pointer finger, “never have I ever attended high school.”

Only Clary drank that time, and then it was Alec’s turn.

“Never have I ever…” He smirked at Izzy. “Thrown up in the park.”

Izzy clucked her tongue at him and drank.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s my birthday!” Alec told the bouncer at Pandemonium as Magnus whisked them all past the queue. “I’m twenty one!”

“Sure, man.” The bouncer replied, and Alec blew a raspberry at him before ducking through the door to follow his boyfriend into the packed club, Izzy holding onto the back of his shirt so they didn’t all get separated. Clary held onto Izzy’s hand, and Aline held Clary’s, and Helen held Aline’s, and the six of them trooped through the dancefloor to the bar, where Simon, Maia and Bat were already waiting.

“Happy birthday!” Maia was lifted off the ground with the force of Alec’s hug, and she patted his back, passing him off to Simon and then Bat. “Shots?”

“Ugh,” Alec tipped his head back, trying to figure out if he’d vomit if he had one.

“May I suggest schnapps instead of tequila?” Magnus volunteered, and Aline loudly agreed with him.

Six shots of schnapps were ordered with two shots of tequila and one shot of plasma, and the gang yelled a loud ‘cheers’ over the music before knocking them back. After they’d all gotten hold of another drink, Clary led the procession through to the VIP area, where Magnus had reserved a table big enough for ten. They all piled in to catch up, Alec and Izzy chattering excitedly with Simon and Bat about all the dirty little secrets that had come to light during Never Have I Ever as Magnus, Maia, Aline, Helen and Clary regaled each other with stories of mundane nightclubs.

Alec settled into that perfect level of drunk where he felt at total peace despite the banging music and the heat of the club, snuggling into Magnus’ side. He was so, so happy. Magnus’ attention drifted from his conversation when Alec slipped his hand up the back of his shirt, pressing a soft kiss to Alec’s forehead. They exchanged a look without words, of gratitude and acceptance and love. Alec closed his eyes, just basking in Magnus’ presence for a moment.

“You wanna dance?” Magnus yelled over the music, and Alec straightened up, nodding.

The others stayed at the table for the moment, Aline stopping Helen and Maia from following. “Let them have their fun for a bit!” She told them, and they nodded, turning their attention back to Clary, who was talking about her old fake ID and the shady deal she’d made to get it.

Alec led the way onto the dancefloor, pulling Magnus through until he found a spot near the toilets. He hadn’t been out to a club with Magnus before, but they’d done other kinds of dancing together, and Alec knew by now to let Magnus lead. Magnus pulled him close, urging Alec’s arms around his neck. He smirked like he could hear Alec’s hum of approval over the music, and Alec kissed it off him, letting Magnus sway them to the beat.

“You look amazing tonight,” Alec shouted in Magnus’ ear.

“So do you!” Magnus replied, his hands dropping from Alec’s waist to low on his hips. Alec grinned at him, his eyes crinkling. It was weird, not being able to talk normally. Usually when Alec and Magnus were out together they’d talk endlessly, about everything. It was a little nerve-wracking to communicate like this, through the touch of their bodies. At least, Magnus felt nervous. Alec, on the other hand, seemed to be having a great time.

His eyes were closed, focussed on the music and the way Magnus was guiding him to move, their bodies only a few inches apart. Alec pressed closer when a new, slower, dirtier song began to play, intent clear in his eyes. Now that, Magnus knew what to do with. He angled his head up for a long, drawn out, sultry kiss. He felt the vibration of Alec’s moan against his chest and returned it, so loudly he could almost hear it. The eyes of the downworlders around them made Magnus’ skin prickle, in the best way possible.

Alec was kissing him deep, with pride, and not one thought of who might see. It gave Magnus goosebumps, and he slowed the kiss down, making it romantic, his back arching as he pulled Alec closer. His hands crept up the back of Alec’s shirt, his fingers skating over sinewy muscle and the raised lines of runes, and back down again.

When they broke apart, Alec looked a little more sober, and hugged Magnus tightly. Magnus smiled, his eyes closing as he hugged Alec back, neither of them moving anymore. He was so proud of Alec, so glad that his risk at that ill-fated wedding had pushed the both of them to a happiness that neither could have guessed at.

“Thank you,” Alec said, right in his ear, and Magnus squeezed him a little harder.

He said thank you in the brush of his nose to Alec’s cheek, and the soft smile they shared as their friends appeared around them.

End Note: There is an E-rated version of this fic, but I'm still squicked at the way non mlm consume m/m smut in this fandom. If you're an mlm/a masc enby, and you wanna read the E-rated version (because we all have Needs, lbr) then feel free to DM me on Twitter for the link at transdudealec or message me on tumblr @humansunshineao3!

#malec #malec fanfic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters fanfic #aline penhallow #helen blackthorn #maia roberts #clary fray #Isabelle Lightwood #Simon Lewis #bat velasquez #content #writing #okay to reblog

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simonnsaunders · 6 years

Note

Simon & Jeremy go to a party with the troupe that consists of cute drunken flirting that they don't even remember the next day when everyone is making fun of them for it & saying they ship them.

WOW this ended up being a lot longer/more serious than I intended. It was still really fun to write, though, so thanks for the request! (5k+) [AO3]

Simon Saunders did not expect this particular Monday to be any different from all the other Mondays he’s suffered through this year. He assumed he would go to class and then to rehearsal exactly like normal. He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.

It all started when his alarm didn’t go off. Sadly, he woke up to the sound of his mother banging on his door.

“Simon!” she shouted. “Honey, school starts in twenty minutes!”

He had to rush through his normal routine, causing his hair to go in all kinds of directions (and none of them being the correct one). Instead of carefully selecting an outfit, he threw on the first button-down he could find. It was covered in wrinkles. Simon was disgusted.

He usually wasn’t one to speed, and if anyone asked he would surely deny it, but he definitely stepped on the gas pedal a little harder than normal to get to Lilette’s on time. It didn’t matter. He was still ten minutes late.

When his best friend climbed in the car, she did a double take. “What happened to you?” she asked.

Simon panicked and quickly checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He furiously tried to smooth his hair down before grumbling, “I woke up late. It has not been a fun morning.”

Lilette laughed and shut the door behind her. “I can see that. Just drive, dummy.”

So he did. He drove carefully (but speedily) to school. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Lilette was trying to repress laughter the whole time. It drove him crazy not knowing what she found so funny, but he was too tired and too frustrated to ask.

However, by the time he pulled into the parking lot and Lilette was still chuckling to herself, he’d had enough. “What is so funny?” he asked, stopping the car and turning to face the girl in the passenger seat.

She just put a hand over her mouth and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said through her fingers.

Simon crossed his arms. “I’m not letting you out of this car until you tell me what’s so funny.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you unlocked it, then.”

She opened the door and hopped out, slinging her backpack happily over one shoulder. “See you at rehearsal, Prince Charming!” She winked at him and walked away.

Simon narrowed his eyes. Why did that sound familiar?

Simon’s mind was starting to get fuzzy. Boy, if his parents could see him now…Robert Saunders would not be pleased.

Jolene passed him another cup, and he gave her a look, trying to maintain some self-control.

“Come on, Saunders!” she shouted at him, grabbing his shirt and drunkenly pulling herself towards his ear. “Don’t be the lame church boy everyone says you are!”

From what Simon could understand, not drinking would be a bad thing. So he raised the plastic cup to his lips and took several gulps. Everyone else began to chant “Chug! Chug! Chug!”, and when he had finished the whole thing and raised his arms in celebration, they all cheered loudly.

“Jeremy, are you sure your parents aren’t going to find out about this?” asked Lexi. She had been the one spending the whole night worrying that they were going to get caught.

Jeremy, who had been pretty far gone for a while, just laughed. “They’re out for the whole weekend, okay? Chill out a little. This house is all ours.”

He stood up and swayed a little bit. Michael, who was sitting closest to him, giggled and held his legs in support. Once he had steadied himself, he held his arms out and everyone fell silent.

“Who wants to play a game?” he asked, a stupid grin on his face. His question was met with a roar of cheering from the troupe.

“Ooh, pick me!” said Lilette, shooting her hand up in the air. “Let’s play truth or dare!”

Everyone else cheered in agreement.

Jeremy grinned even harder. “Alllllright!” he called. “Get in a circle!”

He then promptly stumbled over to where Simon was sitting and collapsed next to him. The taller boy was evidently just trying to sit down, but he was drunk to the point where his descent to the ground was much less than graceful. He fell into Simon’s side, and Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to push him away like he normally would have. Instead, he grabbed the other boy by the shoulders and straightened him up. “You’re a mess,” Simon told him.

Jeremy’s grin got even wider, which Simon didn’t think was possible. “You love it,” he replied, leaning in close so that his arm was touching Simon’s. Simon felt his stomach flip over at the touch. There was definitely a voice in his brain telling him to push Jeremy away, but the alcohol tuned it out, and he was grateful for that. Being constantly defensive got pretty exhausting after a while.

“I wanna go first!” Jolene called. She stood up, closed her eyes, and started spinning around with her finger pointed out. When she stopped, she was pointing at Maashous, who had been hiding in the corner.

She opened her eyes and they widened when she saw who she had landed on. “Maashous!” she cried, stumbling over to where he was sitting and grabbing his arm. “Truth or dare?”

“Uh…dare?” Maashous hadn’t actually drank that much, and compared to the rest of them, his head was still securely on his shoulders. He shrugged himself out of Jolene’s grasp.

Jolene put her hands on her hips, clearly thinking as hard as her incapacitated brain would allow. Finally, her face lit up and she started rubbing her hands together. “I dare you to let me straighten your hair!”

He looked genuinely surprised. “What? I - come on, Jolene, where are you going to find a hair straightener?” A look of disappointment struck her face for a moment until Simon heard Jeremy gasp next to him and say “Wait! My mom has one!”

Jolene grinned again and disappeared down the hallway. Sure enough, two minutes later, she reentered the room brandishing a hair straightener.

After a lot of fussing from all the girls and several yelps of “Get away from my head!” from Maashous, the lights boy had been given his makeover. It wasn’t the cleanest hair job Simon had ever seen, but it certainly was entertaining to see Maashous’ normally bushy hair lie so flat. Still, Simon made a mental note never to let drunk Jolene come anywhere near his head with a burning object.

When everyone had calmed down again, Maashous frustratedly wiped his now much longer hair out of his face and scanned the room. “Jeremy,” he said, “truth or dare?”

Simon felt the boy tense up next to him and realized that their arms were still touching. He didn’t move away, though. It felt kind of nice.

“Truth,” said Jeremy.

“Boring!” called Lilette, laughing. Jeremy just rolled his eyes at her.

“Ok,” said Maashous, “who’s the most attractive person in the troupe?”

There was a collective “ooooh” from everybody in the circle. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Jeremy. Simon expected him to at least think about his answer first, but he replied instantly.

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said, slurring over his words. He slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders. “Simon, hands down.”

Simon felt his face burn red. He tried to shrug Jeremy’s arm off of him, but it was no use. The boy had a tight grip.

“How so?” said Lilette teasingly. Simon glared at her, but she just winked at him. She was eating this stuff up.

Jeremy just sighed and turned to look at Simon. His clear blue eyes were a little glazed over, but they were still fixed intently on Simon’s. “You’re just so…dreamy,” he said, speaking directly to Simon. “You’ve got these gorgeous dark eyes and…and this soft hair…” (he tousled Simon’s hair with his free hand, and Simon felt his face go a shade darker) “…you’re like a real-life Disney Prince. A real Prince Charming.”

Simon watched several pairs of eyebrows go up. Several of his friends were very obviously trying not to lose it. It was clear that Jeremy was past the state of having any filter, and it sounded like his words were coming from nowhere. But Simon knew better.

“Tell us how you really feel, man,” Robbie said sarcastically. Everyone else laughed.

“You guys are so cuuute,” Gwen teased.

Simon was one hundred percent sure his face had never been this red before. “We’re not - this isn’t - ” His words were silenced when Jeremy just sighed again and leaned his head on Simon’s shoulder. Poor Simon didn’t have the heart to shrug him off. Instead he held out his plastic cup in the air, and Clark, who was sitting closest, happily poured him some more beer. He raised it to his mouth, thinking that he was going to need a lot to make it through this night.

The bell rang just as Simon made it into the biology classroom. Mr. Kranepool raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. Simon said a quick prayer of thanks that he had made it on time (his perfect attendance record was not about to start suffering now) and hastily sat down.

He was so focused on how late he was that he didn’t even think to acknowledge the boy sitting next to him. In fact, he had completely forgotten he was there until he cleared his throat rather unnecessarily. Simon turned to see Jeremy looking right at him. He felt his stomach swoop just a little at the eye contact; sometimes he felt like Jeremy’s eyes belonged to a different world.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Jeremy murmured as Kranepool started droning on.

“I woke up late,” he muttered back for the second time that day. He instinctively reached up and tried to flatten his hair as he thought about his previous conversation with Lilette.

“Don’t,” said Jeremy.

“What?”

“Your hair. It looks good messy.”

Simon slowly lowered his hand. “Oh. Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly. He turned to face forward and focused whatever energy he had into paying attention to Kranepool.

After twenty minutes of trying (and failing) to take good, coherent notes, Simon heaved a sigh of relief when their teacher closed out of the PowerPoint he was teaching from. Kranepool fumbled with a stack of papers and starting passing out worksheets. “Work on these with a partner, please,” he said. “You have the rest of class.”

Simon didn’t need to look up to know Jeremy was waiting for him, but he did anyways. The other boy was holding out a worksheet to him with a question in his eyes.

“Sure,” Simon sighed quietly. “Let’s get this done.”

He pushed his desk so that it was next to Jeremy’s and tried to ignore the fact that Jeremy Travers was very much in his personal space.

Instead of discussing biology, Jeremy asked, “So, do you remember anything from Saturday night?”

Simon startled. The question caught him completely off-guard. “Uh…we all hung out at your house?” To be honest, Simon had been thinking about it for a while. He knew there had been a troupe party, and he knew there had been a lot of alcohol involved, so it really wasn’t a huge shock that his memory was drawing a blank. Still, he had been wracking his brain trying to come up with any stupid thing he might have done, and he had come up with nothing so far. It deeply concerned him.

Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, but do you remember anything else?”

Simon looked at him, trying to read his expression. It was impossible. “No?”

“Oh.”

“Why, what do you remember?” Simon asked. His panic was increasing by the second.

Jeremy shrugged and looked down at his paper. “Not a lot. But Michael and Maashous have been teasing me about you all morning and I guess I was just hoping you would remember why.”

“About me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jeremy gave him a look that said ‘really?’, but Simon pretended not to notice. His strategy of “pretend Jeremy didn’t clearly have feelings for him” had been working out alright so far. Why stop now?

Simon cleared his throat. “Look, can we just get back to the worksheet?”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at Simon, almost as if he was caught in some kind of trance.

“Hello? Please?”

Jeremy coughed and looked down at his paper. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Simon didn’t know a simple game of Truth or Dare could get this intense. It had started out innocently enough, but an hour or so and several drinks later, Jeremy was somehow laying in his lap and Simon had no idea how it had happened. People were sharing secrets left and right, and Simon had lost track of who had kissed who.

“Maybe we should stop,” said Lexi, once again being the voice of reason. “It’s getting kind of late.”

Robbie leaned over to check his phone. “It’s only midnight,” he said. “We have plenty of time.”

“Yeah, if you’re used to doing this,” Lexi replied. “I wanna go to bed.” “Come on, let’s just do one more,” said Jolene. “Simon, you haven’t gone yet, have you?”

Simon saw the mischievous look in her eyes. Jeremy’s head suddenly felt much heavier on his legs than it did before. “Maybe Lexi’s right,” he said. “We’ve been at this for a while. Let’s just pop in a movie - ”

“Truth or dare?”

“I really don’t think - ”

Jeremy reached up and started poking his face. “Simon,” he whined. “Truth or dare?”

Simon groaned and pushed Jeremy’s hand out of the way. But Jeremy, who had surprisingly fast reflexes for someone that drunk, took the opportunity and grabbed his hand. He held Simon’s left hand with both of his and pressed it to his chest. Simon blushed but didn’t move. He felt like he was getting more drunk on Jeremy’s touch than the actual alcohol.

“Fine!” he said. “Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss Jeremy.” There was no hesitation.

Jeremy sat up, let go of Simon’s hand, and propped himself on his arm. “That’s easy,” he said. “We gotta do it for the play, anyways. Right, Si?”

Simon’s stomach did a somersault at the sound of the nickname. “Yeah, I guess,” he replied. He was too intoxicated to even think about saying no.

All the girls started squealing and laughing and clapping their hands together like this was some kind of show. People were whispering, but Simon was too focused on Jeremy to notice. His brain couldn’t come up with a single comprehensible thought. All he could see were Jeremy’s lips.

Simon grabbed either side of his face, and pulled him in close. He had no idea if it was Jeremy who initially kissed him or if Simon got there first, but it didn’t really matter. Once their lips touched, Simon didn’t care about anything else anymore.

Jeremy wrapped his arms tightly around Simon’s neck and moved so that he was full-on sitting in Simon’s lap. They kissed each other, and they kissed each other some more. At some point, Jeremy’s tongue found its way into Simon’s mouth, and Simon let it. If he had been drunk before, then there was surely no hope for him now. He was glad his back was propped up against the couch behind him. Otherwise he definitely would have toppled over.

Someone might have been shouting something, but Simon didn’t hear it. He couldn’t see; he couldn’t hear. The only thing he could do was feel. He felt Jeremy’s lips on his. He felt the soft fabric of Jeremy’s shirt between his fingers. He felt the electricty running through his body like it was on fire. He felt his heart burst from the sensation of kissing this boy.

Eventually Jeremy was forcefully pulled away from him, and Simon opened his eyes, disgruntled. Lilette was standing over both of them, her hands on Jeremy’s arms. “We’re going to watch a movie,” she said. Was she laughing? She might have been laughing. The sound of her laughter made Simon laugh out loud too, even though nothing was funny. “You two can either calm down or go make out somewhere else.”

“Let’s do that,” said Jeremy, breaking free from Lilette’s grip and leaning in close to Simon’s ear. “Come on, Si, let’s go upstairs. I wanna kiss you again.” His arms were still wrapped tightly around Simon’s neck. Simon found it impossible to focus on anything with Jeremy’s intoxicating mouth that close to his face.

Still, when he looked up at Lilette’s face, something seemed to shift into focus a little bit. The sight of his best friend reminded him that some kind of world existed beyond Jeremy’s lips. So he mustered up everything he had and shook his head. “No, let’s watch the movie with them,” he said slowly. His voice was coming out much deeper than usual, and it scared him a little bit.

“But whyyyyy?” Jeremy whined.

Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to realize that being this close to another boy went against everything he believed in. All he knew was that he was starting to get tired, and he didn’t want to make his friends uncomfortable. “Come on,” he said to Jeremy. “It’ll be good.”

Jeremy pouted for a little bit, but once someone turned out the lights and the TV started blaring music, he gave in. He turned and positioned himself so that he was between Simon’s legs and leaned back to rest his head on Simon’s chest. Simon felt giddy from the kiss, from the alcohol, and now from the feeling of Jeremy laying on him. He snaked his arms around Jeremy’s waist and buried his face in the other boy’s soft hair. He didn’t know what movie was playing. Some kind of Disney film, perhaps. It didn’t matter to him, because he had his own real-life fairytale in his arms.

“Mr. Mazzu, can we please rehearse the Word of Your Body Reprise today?” asked Michael, his hand shooting into the air before Lou even had the chance to speak.

Mr. Mazzu’s brow furrowed. “I was actually thinking we could start with Mirror Blue Night and work our way backwards through the first act. Robbie - ”

“With all due respect, sir, I think the second act is the place to be today,” said Robbie, cutting Mr. Mazzu off. Simon watched as Lilette stood right behind him and tried to stifle her laughter.

“I think Simon and Jeremy will be fine if we start with the first act,” said Ms. Wolfe.

“Oh, I think they really need to rehearse their scene now,” said Jolene. “To let off some steam, perhaps - ”

“That’s enough!” called Mr. Mazzu. The entire troupe, minus Simon and Jeremy, were in stitches over the situation. Simon could not tell for the life of him what was so funny. He tried to catch Jeremy’s eye, but the other boy’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his face slowly turning pink.

“What has gotten into all of you?” asked Tracey, putting her hands on her hips.

No one answered. Everyone tried to pull a straight face, to no avail.

Finally, Michael said, “We just think Simon and Jeremy are really good actors - ” He stopped mid-sentence, letting out a loud laugh.

“Come on, Mr. Mazzu, don’t you want to see some great acting?” asked Gwen, raising her eyebrows. Everyone else lost it at the word ‘acting’.

“You’re all great actors, now get in your place for Mirror Blue Night!” cried Mr. Mazzu, who was clearly losing it.

Simon didn’t need to be told twice. He got out of his seat and scrambled to the stage. Everyone else, on the other hand, took their time. When Lilette walked by him, he grabbed her arm to stop her. “What is going on?” he hissed at her.

She snorted. “You mean you don’t remember Saturday?”

“Lilette, what happened on Saturday?”

She shook her head. “Let’s just say your scene with Jeremy will have a lot of authenticity from now on.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She just giggled and walked away from him. Simon groaned in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried to remember anything from Saturday, but nothing was coming to him. He remembered showing up at Jeremy’s house, he remembered dancing with Lilette for a little bit, and then he remembered waking up in a bed of some kind on Sunday morning and driving home. Everything in between that was a complete blur.

Simon watched Robbie climb onto the mini-stage and begin his song. He thought and he thought and he thought, but try as he might, nothing helpful came to him.

It took Simon a full forty-five minutes to realize they were watching Tangled. Who could blame him, though? His brain didn’t have the capacity to think about anything other than the beautiful boy in his arms.

Some of the troupe had fallen asleep on the couches in Jeremy’s living room. Others were singing along loudly to every song in the movie. Simon still hadn’t moved his face from Jeremy’s hair. He just sat there, getting high off the scent of Jeremy’s shampoo.

When they got to the scene with the lanterns, Jeremy lifted his head a little to look at Simon.

“Si?”

“Hmm?” Simon murmured, moving his head back.

“That’s you,” whispered Jeremy. “The prince. That’s you. You’re my prince.”

Simon grinned like an idiot. “Jer, Flynn Rider isn’t even a prince. Not until the very end.”

“Is it the very end yet?”

“No,” Simon laughed quietly.

“Well, I don’t care,” said Jeremy, settling back against Simon’s chest. “You’re still Prince Charming to me.”

It was the cheesiest thing he had ever heard in his life, and Simon didn’t have the heart to tell him that Prince Charming wasn’t in this movie. Not by a long shot. Simon thought for a second, and then leaned down to whisper in Jeremy’s ear.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else now?”

Jeremy didn’t need to think about it. “Yes,” he whispered back.

They both stood up as quietly as they could, which to be honest, wasn’t that quiet. They were both still very, very drunk, and it took them several times of falling on top of each other before they were leaving the room. Their limbs were all tangled together as they went up the staircase, giggling sotly.

Finally, they made it to the top. Jeremy grabbed Simon’s hand and lead him into the first room on the left. “This is my room,” he said, turning on a small lamp so that Simon could see around.

It wasn’t a huge bedroom, and Simon liked that. It felt very cozy. The walls were painted dark red and were littered with various video game posters. There were dirty clothes scattered along the floor; the bed wasn’t made at all.

“Jeremy, you’re a mess,” Simon giggled.

“We can’t all be neat freaks like you, Saunders,” he replied. He quickly smoothed out his comforter and sat down on his bed, patting the spot next to him. Simon sat next to him without hesitation. Their arms touched instantly, and this time, Simon didn’t even think about pulling away.

They didn’t say anything for a moment. Simon felt like they didn’t really need to. He was happy just sitting in silence with Jeremy. The alcohol was still coursing through his body and convincing him that sitting next to this boy was exactly what he needed to be doing in that moment.

And then somehow Jeremy’s mouth was on his again. Simon didn’t know how it happened, but he responded eagerly. He let Jeremy’s tongue back in and placed his hands firmly on the other boy’s waist. Once again, everything else slipped away. He let Jeremy’s mouth work its magic. Jeremy’s lips were on Simon’s lips, and then they were trailing down Simon’s neck, and Simon felt a shiver go down his spine and shake his entire body.

After an eternity of staying like that, with Jeremy’s lips exploring Simon’s face and Simon’s hands exploring Jeremy’s upper body, Jeremy pulled away. “Simon,” he murmured.

“No, come back,” Simon whined quietly, placing his hands on Jeremy’s neck and trying to pull him back in.

“Simon,” Jeremy murmured again. “Simon, please.”

Simon finally pulled back to look at him. “What?”

“What are we doing?” Jeremy asked. “I mean, like, really. What is this?”

“It’s good,” replied Simon.

Jeremy shook his head. “Are we going to remember any of this in the morning? Are you going to care about me tomorrow?”

Simon frowned. He couldn’t think straight enough to have any conversation, let alone one about feelings. He tried to focus on what Jeremy was saying, but it was hard. He just wanted to kiss him some more.

“Yeah,” said Simon slowly. “Of course I’m gonna care about you.” It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? Why would he be kissing this boy so much if he didn’t care about him?

“Are you sure? You never did before tonight.”

Jeremy sounded hurt. He sounded sad, and Simon wanted to make him happy again. He hated Jeremy’s voice sounding so sad. He decided it was one of the worst sounds in the universe.

“Don’t be silly,” said Simon. He hugged Jeremy close to him. He felt Jeremy tense up and then relax, returning the hug. They sat there, embracing each other. The other boy felt so small in his arms.

“Ok,” Jeremy whispered back.

“I’m tired, Jer,” said Simon. “Can we go to bed?”

Jeremy pulled away from him. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s go to bed.”

He scooted back and laid down, holding an arm out for Simon. Simon gladly climbed under the covers with him and fell into his open arm. He wrapped his own arm around Jeremy’s waist and snuggled up in his shoulder. A wave of exhaustion hit him all at once, and he felt his eyelids droop shut.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he heard Jeremy whisper.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened at that stupid party?” snapped Simon to Lilette as they walked out to the car together.

“No,” she replied. “Watching you struggle is much more fun.”

“Lilette, did I - did I do…stuff? With Jeremy?”

She just laughed. “I don’t know, Simon, what do you consider ‘stuff’?” She put air quotes around the word.

Simon angrily threw open his car door and chucked his backpack in the back seat. “You know what I mean,” he muttered.

“My lips are sealed,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

Simon started his car and pulled out of the school parking lot. “Fine,” he eventually said, realizing that no amount of begging would get Lilette to spill the beans. “Whatever. But will you at least tell me why Jeremy looked so depressed?”

“Actually, I don’t know about that one,” Lilette replied. She sounded genuine.

Simon just sighed in frustration and rolled his window down. He cranked up the music, let his arm hang out the window, and tried to ignore the image of Jeremy’s dejected face that just kept popping up in his brain.

Even after he had dropped Lilette off and gone home, his mind was still spinning. He wished he remembered what had happened. He wished he knew why Jeremy was acting so strange. He wished he knew why the troupe just kept laughing and laughing and laughing.

Of course, he had his ideas. Simon Saunders wasn’t stupid. He realized that the possibility of getting carried away with Jeremy under the influence of alcohol was pretty likely. It’s not like he could totally block out the butterflies he got in his stomach every time they looked at each other. Still, maybe he was better off not remembering what happened. Maybe he was better off just pretending like nothing ever went down.

Jeremy woke up to sunlight streaming in through his window. The first thing he noticed was his raging headache. Jesus Christ, he thought, how much did I drink last night?

The second thing he noticed was the warm body pressed against his. He turned his head, and to his utter shock, Simon Saunders was laying at his side, sound asleep. Jeremy felt his heart ache a little. He didn’t think it was possible for Simon to look any more beautiful than usual, but lying there, fast asleep, he truly resembled an angel. His dark hair was tousled over his forehead, and Jeremy itched to run his fingers through it and detangle all the knots.

Jeremy wished more than anything that he remembered what had happened the night before, but his pounding headache made it very clear that there were no hopes for that. Still, something truly wild had to have taken place in order for Simon to be here, in Jeremy’s arms. Jeremy had never fathomed that this day would come.

And then he realized the panic that Simon would go into if he woke up like this. Simon had issues whenever Jeremy so much as touched him, how was he going to feel about waking up in his bed?

Jeremy knew he had to pretend like this never happened. He felt a deep physical pain like never before as he carefully sat up and climbed over Simon to get out of bed. He felt his heart shatter into pieces as he changed out of the shirt that smelled like Simon and into a clean one. He felt an ache run through his bones as he took one last glance at the peaceful, sleeping boy before closing the door behind him and tiptoeing downstairs.

Tears threatened to spill, but he forced himself not to cry. He just quietly walked into the kitchen and started pulling out stuff to make breakfast for everyone. It was the least he could do. He was a courteous host, after all.

But once he had put the bacon in the frying pan and the bread in the toaster, he couldn’t take it anymore. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks, one after the other. Stop it, he told himself. This is stupid. You can’t cry over a stupid boy.

It just hurt so much. Knowing that he and Simon had shared something special and never finding out what that was would kill him. He knew he was never going to be with Simon like that again. The boy was too proud, too naive to ever admit he had feelings for Jeremy. Jeremy was just going to have to get used to pretending like nothing was wrong.

He heard soft footsteps, and he quickly wiped his face off with the back of his hand. He turned around, but when he saw who it was, he turned back again as fast as he could.

“Hey,” said Simon quietly. His voice was low and scratchy, and the very sound of it made Jeremy want to collapse.

“Do you…do you want breakfast?” Jeremy asked, still facing the oven. He was afraid of what he would do if he looked Simon in the eye.

He heard Simon shuffle his feet. “Um, thanks, but I’m good. I think I’m actually just going to head out. I told my parents I was staying the night at Lilette’s, and church starts in an hour, so I should really - ”

“Got it,” said Jeremy shortly. “See you.”

“Bye, Jeremy.”

He heard Simon pause, like he was going to say something else, but he never did. He just left the kitchen as quietly as he had entered it.

Jeremy went back to fixing breakfast. This never happened, he told himself. That’s what he was going to say to get himself through this. Simon Saunders was never in his house. This never happened.

“Jeremy!” he heard his friends call. One by one, everyone slowly woke up and trudged into the kitchen. He just plastered on a smile and served the very hungover troupe breakfast.

This never happened.

But maybe one day it will.

#simon saunders #jeremy travers #siremy #rise #rise nbc #heyyy what's up everybody #this probably needed more editing but I have a Spanish final tonight and I really wanted to get it up before the episode airs #so enjoy! i'm still pretty proud of it #my fics

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selinavizari · 6 years

Text

A Night Out With The Girls Becomes Much More

Content: PG-13, Kissing, Flirty, SFW

Word Count: 2172

This wintry night was buzzing with energy. Usually, my body tenses to expect the cold winds but not tonight. My outfit was inappropriate for this season but I didn’t care. This look had been sitting in my closet for weeks begging me to take her out for a spin. It was an all black ensemble. Leather biker jacket and leggings. The long sleeved cotton crop top revealed my mid drift. My Doc Martens secured my feet so I could dance the night away with ease. This week has been mind-numbing and I needed to blow off some steam.

My girlfriends and I met up at my apartment to get prepared for tonight’s activities. Ana and Simone are the best friends a girl can ask for. We’ve known each other since freshmen year in high school. In our group chat, we all needed an escape from our 9 to 5 hellhole. We aided each other to make sure that our trio were serving looks to kill. When we had decided that appearances were flawless - the pre game session commenced. I turned on my favorite nostalgic playlist. The air had the sweet blends of hair product and body sprays. There was a slight smoky aroma because of Ana’s flat iron. Laughter erupted after we shared a joke after another reminiscing on the good old days. I almost forgot that we had plans to go to that new club in the city. I turned down the speakers. They quieted down and offered me their full attention. “Let’s order this uber before it starts getting expensive.” Simone nodded, “You right. Can’t wait to check out this spot!”

Once inside the Uber, I realized that I was quite tipsy. My cheeks flushed and I couldn’t stop giggling at my friend’s antics. This night was off to a fabulous start. When we arrived, I noticed there was a long line from the entry. I frowned at the thought that we'll be standing outside longer than I cared to but that didn’t bring me down from my high. We stood huddled around each other and tried to make the best of it. We even made friends with folks on the line with us. I wrapped my arms around myself when the wind began to pick up. This crop top was beginning to feel like a bad idea and I could feel myself sobering up. When we were at the front of the line, the bouncer took a quick look at us and nodded his head towards the entrance. It was him giving us the green light to get our freezing asses inside. “Wooo!” I cried out. “Finally!” We hurried inside and grinned at each other. Warmth returned to my body as I rubbed my hands together. This establishment was massive. Their were two bars with a dance floor in the middle. The floor was translucent and brilliant LED lights flashed in sync with the music the DJ had on rotation. The sea of people were all gyrating against each other. The multi colored lights illuminated their bouncing silhouettes making them appear ethereal. We strutted our way to the bar and ordered margaritas. A few rounds later...in the very corner of my eye… I thought I spotted Taron a few seats away from me. I look down into my my empty glass and shook my head. My finger pressed against the salt that trailed around the rim of glass. No way. Nope. That can’t be him. It has to be the alcohol. My curiosity peaked. I had to be sure. At the moment, Ana and Simone were busy debating each other about whether “size matters or not”. I leaned toward the bar to look over once again. We locked eyes. He smiled right at me. My eyes widen. Yikes. I jolted right back to hide behind the person who sat next to me. I became hyper aware of my appearance. My posture straightened up and I fussed with my hair. Then I started to adjust the collar in my leather jacket. I can’t believe he caught me staring at him. The girls notice my sudden change in demeanor. Ana asked, “You okay?” I blurted out without catching my breath, “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Why would I not be fine? I’m going to order another drink. Hey barkeep! Can I get long island iced tea?” I was jittery all over and focused on observing the bartender working his magic. Ana looked back at Simone and shrugged. “When you’re ready to tell me what’s going on I’m right here.” She chided. I love tapped her on the chin. “I’m good. Feeling good. Looking good. This place rocks. Annnnddd there's my drink!” I shimmied my shoulders as the bartender placed the iced tea right in front of me. I wanted to tell them who I saw but I didn’t want to draw any attention towards him. That could ruin his own night out. We chatted further while we sipped our tasty mixed drinks. The liquid courage flowed through my bloodstream. The leather jacket was becoming a nuisance. I yanked it off. I grabbed my friends by the wrists and we paraded our way to the dance floor. I found an open area and we started to rock our bodies to this infectious rhythm. I shut my eyes and lost myself in the music. I twirled around and flipped my hair. Sweat was forming on my forehead and back. My stress was melting away and it was exhilarating. I broke into a frenzy and moved with even more vigor. This DJ was on fire! I felt a hand tap my shoulder that broke my trance. Taron. A crooked smirk on his face. He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “May I dance with you?” I nodded my head coyly and he leaned in even closer. He placed his hands on my hips and followed my lead. My heart was pounding. Was this happening? I felt the soft texture of his t-shirt graze against my exposed lower back. I knew I was swaying apprehensively. Nervousness took over. Taron leaned into my ear again and whispered, “You don’t have to slow down for me. I can keep up.” I picked up the pace and he grinded right along with me. Ana and Simone took notice and gave me a not-so-subtle thumbs up. I chuckled, rolled my eyes and waved them off. We continued to let our bodies speak to each other. The friction between my slick smooth leggings and his denim jeans was thrilling. It made me wonder what’s underneath those jeans. I decided to take things a little further. I bent over and turned backed to looked at his reaction. He was completely focused on gyrating against me and bit his lip. He pulled me back up so we could be closer and wrapped his powerful arm around my waist without missing a beat. His strength startled me. I turned around so that we were eye to eye. My arms were around his neck and his face brushed past my own - a slight stubble. “Can I buy you a drink? I can take you to the VIP section if that’s alright with you?” I could barely make out what he said over the booming speakers. “Ummm…” I turned back to see if my friends were close by. They weren’t. Oh boy. “I’d love to.” His hand trailed down my arm and held my hand. “I’ll lead the way.” We zig-zagged through the dense waves of party people. As soon we made our exit from the dancefloor we met a spiral staircase that was guarded by a burly bouncer. He stood like a statue unfazed by us walking right past him. Taron released my hand and I placed it on the railing. The music began to fade away and I could hear my steps tapping on the metal staircase. When we arrived to this deluxe area, I noticed that he lighting was dim and the air was much cooler. He placed his hand on my back and gestured towards the seating, “Right here. These look quite comfy.” I sunk into this oversized maroon velvet loveseat. “This is quite nice.” I caressed the lush material. “Is there anything particular you’d like to drink?” “Yes, a margarita would be fantastic. Did you notice me staring at you?” My shyness melted away and I held eye contact. We both chuckled. “Yes, I did. I got the feeling that you recognized me and then I thought you were going to tell your friends. That didn’t happen. You just hid away and then the next moment... I see you dancing your ass off having a blast. Do you always dance like that…?” I blushed and had a brief flashback of us grinding away. “It depends on who I’m with…” I smiled and rolled my eyes. “That pretty smile is telling me that I might be the right kind of guy....” His eyes drifted away and flagged down a waiter. “Can we get two margaritas, sir?” So formal. How adorable is that? He looks back toward me with his hands resting on his knees. “Were those girls giving you the thumbs up your friends?” “Yes, they are. I’m going to text them so they know I’m still here.” “Of course, I don’t want your friends to think I stole you!” He grinned. I pulled out my phone and sent Simone a brief text, “In VIP with hot guy. Will give details soon.” As soon as I hit send, I let out a deep breath and returned my attention back to Taron. Our gazes met. He had a pleasant smile on his face and those probing eyes were studying me. I cocked my head, “What’s on your mind?” “Sorry, I’m captivated by you... Where are you from?” We went back and forth talking about our hometowns. His eyes lit up and the eagerness rose in his voice when he recalled his younger years. He began telling me about his first time acting. I even told him about the silly plays that I participated in elementary school. That tickled him. I laid back into my seat and concentrated on how melodic his accent was. The animated hand gestures emphasized every crescendo of his narration. A natural storyteller. He wrapped up his anecdote and took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I'm talking too much.” “It’s okay. I love listening to you speak. It’s like music to my ears.” “Is it? That’s nice of you to say.” He blushed. “Thank you for bringing me up here.” I surveyed my eyes around the lavish lounge. “You didn’t have to... the bar would have been fine with me.” “Oh stop it. It’s much too loud down their. I wanted to make sure we could have a little privacy. Also, it’s pretty nice up here.”“You are so right. I deserve nice things.” I responded in my finest elite voice. He reached over to hold my hand and placed a soft kiss on it. “Of course you do.” My heart fluttered. I took a deep sip of my drink. The warmth of his hands was disarming. I glanced down at my own hand thinking about the softness of his lips. It left this invisible imprint that I wanted to feel forever. “You’re so sweet.” I barely let out. “There's enough room over there for the both of us...Do you mind if I sit with you?” “Y-y-es. Plenty of room here…” I scooted over. Taron stood up from his seat and made his way toward me. I watched him intently and I placed my drink on the glass table. That hand was moist from the condensation and I wiped my hand on the love seat arm. He sat back and reached his arm over. “...Here we are.” “Yes, we are...” I exhaled. My hand rested on his lap and my eyes stayed there. This was different from being on the dance floor. This was intimate. “Did you enjoy your drink?”

“It was quite delicious.” Our voices became hushed. I felt as if the club was completely empty. Him and I. His cologne was intoxicating and my eyes trailed upwards from his arm… to his neck and jawline... to stare at those lips. He raised his hand and I felt his fingers adjust the hair from my eyes. He murmured, “Can I kiss you?” His question broke me out my trance. “Hell yes.” Our lips locked. It started off sweet and innocent. I kicked it up a notch and massaged my tongue on his. He pulled me closer. I felt his hands up and down my back. We were in throes of passion. The patrons there were definitely watching and I pulled back. I noticed a woman with a shocked expression whisper to her friend. We couldn’t stop grinning at each other. He reached his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Do you want to continue this session at my place?” “Hell yes.”

Part 2? O_O

#selina fanfiction #taron egerton #fanfic #sfw

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @averymagnificentmalec!

Of Lattes and Lawyers

Magnus hated mornings. Despised them. They were entirely unnecessary and frankly far too early, and he was utterly befuddled by the fact that it was, apparently, compulsory for human beings to be awake and living before ten o'clock in the morning. It was just uncivilised.

The morning of December the first, however, was already starting to look up—even if it had yet to reach half past eight.

Morning had brought with it a soft, shimmering blanket of snow across New York City. Magnus and glanced out of his window and felt excitement settle in his heart, bright and gleaming. It was December, and it was snowing, and Christmas was fast approaching.

The smell of gingerbread and the thick smell of hot chocolate wafting towards him the moment he'd stepped inside the coffee shop he kindly donated his mornings to (if only so he could extend the time he had available to antagonise his friends, and to help pay for his extortionate college fees) had only served to further elevate his mood.

Which, for seven o'clock in the morning, was no mean feat.

There was also, Magnus noticed, upon glancing up from making a cappuccino for a lovely old lady called Edith who loved him for his explanation three weeks about about what exactly all these funny drinks are, because I really just want a coffee, a very, very cute boy walking through the door.

The bells - an added feature for Christmas, rather than a permanent fixture - tinkled as he pushed the door open with long fingers, breath fogging in the cold winter air. A flurry of snow drifted in behind him, landing on the clean mock-wood flooring and settling in his hair.

Magnus allowed his eyes to travel upwards - subtly, because he had class, thank you very much - to take in the rest of the man. He was a little alarmed by just how far up his eyes had to roam. Was it really necessary to be that tall? Was his baby milk supplemented with steroids?

Those long fingers reached up to brush through messy dark hair, dislodging the snowflakes as they melted in the bubbling warmth of the shop. Large hazel eyes flickered up, bypassing Magnus - although he was, admittedly, somewhat concealed behind the machines - to read the menu hanging overhead.

"If I could reach him, I'd be all gooey-eyed too," Edith said from where she was sitting on a stool by the end of the counter, waiting for Magnus to finish her drink. She tapped her walking stick lightly against the floor in emphasis. "But I don't think I could get past his waist."

Magnus snapped a lid onto her drink and passed it over. "Nice pair of heels?"

"Gah, you charmer," she said, rolling her eyes but grinning. "I haven't trusted myself in heels since I was seventy."

"What was that?" Magnus asked. "Seventeen? Me neither. Although I do have a very nice collection of boots."

Edith shook her head at him. "You'll go far in life, being nice to us old folk. Thank you for the coffee, sausage."

Magnus' smile didn't disappear as he watched her go, passing by Mr Too Tall on her way to the door. Mr Too Tall blinked, and darted back to pull the door open for her so she didn't have to negotiation a coffee, her walking stick, and the door.

"You're welcome," he heard Mr Too Tall say as Raphael, two years younger than him and still surviving high school while Magnus annoyed him incessantly just for fun, passed him another order.

This guy was just unnecessary. Stupidly tall, stupidly attractive, and stupidly lovely?

Unnecessary.

Ragnor Fell, Magnus' oldest friend who had somewhat reluctantly agreed to employ him at age seventeen, and who had, Magnus was determined to think, never regretted that decision for a moment, sidled up behind him and said, "You are not subtle."

"Ragnor, when have I ever seen subtle? I don't know what that word means. It's not a concept in my world."

"We both know that's bullshit," Ragnor said, snorting. "Make the damn coffee, or I'll fire you."

Magnus grinned at him and blew him a kiss as he walked off out back, muttering about the insolence of teenagers under his breath. Clearly, Magnus thought, he was talking about Raphael—because Magnus was not a teenager anymore.

He called out for a black americano as he shoved on a lid, expecting to see a sharp suited businessman or a hipster who thought the only acceptable form of beverage was black coffee.

He did not expect to see Mr Too Tall standing by the counter, the full force of those large, bright hazel eyes trained directly on him. A small smile crossed the man's lips as he nodded once, extending a hand to relieve Magnus of the drink.

"Thanks," he said, and, god, since when were New York accents so lovely? Magnus thought that voice could probably melt chocolate.

Fuck that. That voice sounded like melted chocolate itself.

"You're welcome," Magnus said, returning the man's smile twofold, bright and confident as he always was. "Sugar by the door, if you want any."

"Got it," Mr Too Tall said, and flashed Magnus another smile before he turned and headed towards the door, coffee in hand.

As he turned to make his next drink, he let his eyes flicker up over the top of the machine to watch the man stir half a packet of sugar into his americano, push the lid back on with long, dexterous fingers, and haul open the heavy door with ease as he stepped back out into the cold, sans hat, gloves, or scarf.

The man was clearly insane, Magnus thought, as he continued working. Although, he was so pale he looked like he could be made of snow—maybe it didn't bother him.

He was also devastatingly attractive, and Magnus had a weakness for cute people.

Magnus really, really hoped that The Downworld Café had just gained another regular.

***

"Isabelle, for the last time, I do not need a date to go to your stupid Christmas party!"

Across the kitchen - his kitchen, thank you very much, which his sister was currently invading - Isabelle Lightwood narrowed her eyes at her brother and folded her arms across her chest, slowly enough that the emphasis on the movement made Alec regret his words instantly.

"I will give you one chance to retract that statement, before I tell you that your punishment is that I will dress you for my party."

Alec groaned. "Isabelle, come on. I'm sorry. Your party isn't going to be stupid, and I'm happy to go. But I don't need a date."

"Everyone needs a date," she said briskly. "I don't care who you take. Take Lydia for all I care."

"I'm gay."

She rolled her eyes, and said with the kind of patience of a person talking to a five year old, "Yes, Alec, I know. You're allowed to have a platonic date."

"Then Jace is my date."

"No," she said, "Jace is Simon's date. Come on. Be reasonable. You can't poach Simon's boyfriend. I'm going with Clary, obviously, and Max isn't coming because he isn't interested, so you need a date who's not one of us. Take a uni friend."

Alec huffed at her. He didn't want to take a goddamn university friend. Honestly, he wasn't overly thrilled about going to Isabelle's party at all. But he was, because it was Christmas, and she was his sister, and he loved her.

Deep, deep down, where she couldn't be this infuriating.

"I'm not taking Lydia. Everyone will think we're dating, and that sounds absolutely horrible."

Isabelle smirked. "I'll tell her you said that."

"Go ahead. She'll agree with me. I don't want to be a heterosexual and she doesn't want to be dating the male version of herself. She'll be called a narcissist."

"Look, Alec." Isabelle spread her hands wide. "You need a date to this party. It's non-negotiable. I have the perfect blackmail material, so this is the best opportunity I'm going to get all year to get your love life spinning again."

Alec's eyes closed, a groan falling from between his lips. Of course. He should have known that Isabelle was trying to get him to start dating again, after the utter fucking disaster of the last guy he'd dated.

"Fine," Alec said. "Fine. I'm going to get a date for your party, and I'm going to spend the night pretending to like them, and then you're not going to mention the word date in the context of me having one or going on one until Thanksgiving. Deal?"

Isabelle smirked. "Deal."

***

Alec was freezing his ass off as he hurried into The Downworld Café early, gym bag in his hand and rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He had an hour until he was supposed to be at work, and he had to be in court at half past eight to argue a case that he knew he was going to lose just by glancing at it.

Nevertheless, he'd spent the last three months solid gathering as much evidence and as many witnesses and experts as he possibly could. He wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

"Could I get a black americano, please?" he asked the woman at the counter, who had a book sitting beside her till open to a page about micro plankton. He thought, fleetingly, of Isabelle.

"Sure," she said, scribbling on the side of a cup while he swiped his credit card over the machine, flashing her a smile in thanks.

He waited by the end of the counter, and took the opportunity to scroll though his emails in an attempt to distract himself from the devastation he was sure to face from his clients later in the morning.

"Black americano," a smooth voice said, and he glanced up, shoving his phone away and—

Crap. It was that guy again. Alec remembered him from the last Tim heed been in the café—he'd thought he was gorgeous then, and he doesn't appear to have undergone some drastic downgrade since.

"Thank you," he said, mildly impressed with himself for managing to speak without stuttering. His eighteen year old self might have fainted.

The guy flashed him a smile as Alec took the cup. "No problem."

***

Magnus saw Mr Too Tall every fucking day, and it was slowly killing him.

Not only was he gorgeous, enormous, and supremely polite, but he was also more than a little intriguing. He only ever came in at extreme hours, his coffee order was beyond boring, and he clearly worked in an office, judging from his ever-perfect suit, yet he also often came in carrying what was unmistakably a gym bag, and he was nowhere near arrogant enough to be a banker.

And, of course, he never stayed around for long enough for Magnus to entice him into a conversation. Especially not in the mornings, when he was busy with consecutive orders anyway.

"He's a lawyer," Raphael said on a Saturday morning, while Magnus expressed his frustrations.

He made it his mission to know all of their regulars at least by name, and this guy, whoever the hell he was, had come out of nowhere and was evading him at every opportunity. It was beyond frustrating.

"Bullshit he's a lawyer," Magnus said, scoffing as he cleaned off the end of the machine. "Lawyers don't say thank you every single time a server deigns to provide them with their order."

Raphael shrugged. "He's a lawyer."

"And you know this how, exactly?"

"I just do."

Magnus kept his opinions about Raphael's baseless conclusion to himself, and busied himself with his work. He'd find out, somehow.

The opportunity presented itself, somewhat unexpectedly, at eleven o'clock that day.

While Raphael took the opportunity of the lack of customers to revise for his SATs in the back, Magnus wiped down some of the tables, tossing bits of debris and half-empty coffee cups and discarded napkins in the bin. Really, why people couldn't throw away their own damn rubbish was a mystery to him. Ragnor had even put up signs for what could be recycled where. With pictures.

The Christmas bells around the door tinkled softly as the door was pushed open, and the cool air that rushed in made Magnus shiver as he glanced up.

Mr Tall Dark and Handsome walked in, shutting the door behind him and looking towards the counter. Magnus watched him as his eyes roamed over the menus and the pastries and cakes in the display, seeing but not taking anything in.

Summoning the willpower to actually serve this enigma of a man rather than just stare at him dreamily from behind the coffee machine like he usually did, Magnus dropped his cloth down on the table and strode over briskly, stepping behind the counter.

"Hi," he said, smiling at him. "May I help you?"

The man hadn't moved close to the counter, instead standing still a few feet away, but he roamed closer at Magnus' words. "I—" He stared at Magnus, seemingly unable to find what he wanted to say. "Um—"

Normally, Magnus would have considered a pretty boy rendered mute in his presence an enormous compliment—even if it was a frequent enough occurrence not to be a shock. But the look on Tall Dark and Handsome's face just made sympathy shoot through him. He looked like someone had just run over his puppy.

"Are you alright?" Magnus asked him, gently.

The man shrugged. "Yeah."

"Would you like an americano? Black?"

Tall Dark and Handsome didn't appear to think it entirely weird that Magnus knew his coffee order so easily, but neither did he appear to know exactly what he wanted. Magnus couldn't help but wonder whether someone really had just died.

"Why don't you take a seat, and I'll whip you something up, hm?" Magnus suggested, offering him a smile that was a little smaller and a lot more sincere than the bright ones he usually flashed at his customers.

He exhaled. "Thank you."

Magnus set about making a drink, then plucked out one of Ragnor's mice pies, because, frankly, he was certain that they could cheer anyone up at least a little bit.

"Here," he said, setting the coffee and plate down in front of Tall Dark and Handsome. "Eggnog latte and a mince pie."

"Thank you," he said. "How much?"

Magnus deliberated. "How about you tell me your name and let me chat to you?"

The guy blinked. "Pardon?"

Magnus smiled a little. "You're a regular and I don't even know your name. It's unacceptable. I know the name of all our regulars."

"All the morning regulars?" the guy asked, one corner of his lips lifting. "I've never seen you in here in the evenings."

"No," Magnus agreed. "I work mornings before I have university classes. And Saturdays."

"I'm Alec," the guy said, prying off the lid of his coffee to blow across the top. He looked down at it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip. His eyes widened. "And that is weirdly nice."

Magnus smirked. "Never had one before?"

"Only from Starbucks. Disappointing."

"I'm Magnus," Magnus said. "Although I'm sure you know that, as you appear to be capable of reading."

A faint hint of pink stained the tops of Alec's cheeks. Fascinating. "Yeah. I- Yeah."

"So." Magnus sat down in the chair across from him, and folded his fingers together. "Bad day?"

Alec groaned. "Terrible day."

"Hm. So, let me guess. You work somewhere fancy, probably some high-end, professional sort of job, but nothing fashionable, because that suit toes the line between smart and totally inept at dressing rather beautifully."

Alec didn't appear to be offended, one corner of his lips lifting up. "I'm a lawyer."

"Damnit," Magnus said, darting his eyes to the door leading out back where Raphael was. "That means Raphael was right. How disappointing."

Alec lips turned up. "Do you gossip about all your customers?"

"No. Only the cute ones."

Magnus winked, and Alec choked on his next sip of coffee.

"So, you're a lawyer," Magnus said. "Lose a case?"

"Not yet, but I will have done by the end of the day," Alec said, shaking his head. "It was a precarious case anyway, but I thought I had it. I was wrong."

"Are you sure?" Magnus asked, tapping lightly at the table. "There's no point giving up before you've got the judge banging a gavel, surely?"

Alec shrugged. "Maybe. It's just so frustrating, because I know my client deserves a win. It should be so simple."

"I think you're selling yourself short. The facts of a case don't change. If you had it before, why not anymore?"

"I can't discuss the details," Alec said. "Attorney-client privilege. But it's a messy case. Things keep popping up."

"Well." Magnus smiled. "I'm sure you're capable of securing justice. But if things don't go your way, feel free to pop by for another coffee. We're open until late."

"I know." Alec glanced up. "How long are you here for?"

"Until four," Magnus told him, and glanced back as he heard the unhappy sound of the door opening. He stood. "You'll have to excuse me. Enjoy your mince pie, Alec."

***

At half past nine that evening, Alec Lightwood stepped into the Downworld Café, the satisfaction of a job well done and justice served sitting contentedly in his chest, and ordered an eggnog latte.

Ragnor - according to his name tag - frowned, but didn't comment. Alec wondered momentarily whether he was so predictable that everyone in the place knew what he usually ordered.

Alec thanked the woman making the coffees, and smiled to himself.

He liked this place.

***

"I wanted to say thank you."

Magnus raised his eyebrows, looking to the side at the voice as he was busy making coffee for the morning's rush of busy city commuters. A smile flitted across his face when he saw Alec standing by the counter with his arms folded across the top, eyes bright.

"I haven't made your coffee yet, darling," Magnus said teasingly as he finished a cappuccino for a woman talking rapidly on her phone.

"No. For your pep talk. I was always told that confidence is half of the job. And I was lacking it. I don't think I'd have won that case if I hadn't– if you hadn't given me a bit more determination."

"You're welcome," Magnus said, catching Alec's eye as his smile widened a little. "I'm glad it went well."

"Yeah. Hey, I was wondering—"

"Alright, alright." A stout businessman wearing a scowl that could have rivalled Raphael's best interrupted Alec before he could finish voicing his thoughts. "Enough flirting, I want my damn coffee."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "It's coming up, sir."

"Well, it's not coming up fast enough. You're here to provide a service, not stand around and chat."

Magnus gripped the cup tightly to make sure he didn't fling its scalding contents in this asshole's face. He hadn't stopped working while talking to Alec. He hadn't stopped for a second. Which, frankly, was very disappointing, because he would much rather have gazed at Alec's infuriatingly beautiful face while they conversed.

Alas, he was too much the professional. Not that this particular dickhead seemed to be capable of seeing that.

"Honestly," the guy said, to nobody in particular. "What are you people paid for?"

"I think that's enough," Alec said, shaking his head as Magnus finished up the guy's coffee and set it on the counter. "It was my fault."

"No, it wasn't," Magnus said firmly. "You've got your coffee, sir, now please let me do my job and continue making the rest of these orders. If you have a complaint, you'll find my manager at the end. The one with the green highlights in his hair."

The guy glanced over at Ragnor, balked, and turned a deep shade of puce. "You've just lost a customer."

"Have a wonderful day," Magnus said, smiling pleasantly, before rolling his eyes dramatically the moment the guy had turned his back.

All the customers waiting for their coffee, including Alec, snickered.

"What an ass," an older woman said. "Don't worry about him, sugar."

Magnus smiled at her. "I wasn't."

He found himself glancing over at Alec before he turned back to his work, and he could have sworn the way their fingers brushed as he passed him his coffee had been intentional on Alec's part.

***

By the time December made itself well and truly known, with Christmas drawing ever-closer and signs of the upcoming holidays everywhere around the city, Alec found himself looking forward to his morning coffee run far more than—

Well. More than pretty much anything else in his day.

Part of that, of course, was the unfortunate fact that he'd chosen the same profession as his parents, and his father took every opportunity to shit on which cases he chose to take. He liked his job. He didn't like the PR.

Part of that was also because his morning coffee run brought with it an upbeat, smiling dose of Magnus Surname-Still-To-Be-Discovered. Magnus moved like he had music singing through his veins and he dressed like he was aiming to front Vogue.

He was gorgeous. Their minute-long exchanges while Magnus worked a machine and Alec leant against the counter, chattering instead of hazing moodily down at his fine, sent Alec off to work with a lighter heart.

So when Alec stepped through the door of the Downworld Café one Saturday, a week before Christmas, Isabelle's arm hooked through his and snow covering their shoulders, his eyes involuntarily sought out Magnus.

Beside him, Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "Looking for someone?"

Alec glanced over at her. "What? No. You have to try the eggnog latte, they're—"

"Alexander!"

Behind the counter, cloth in hand as he wiped down the top of the glass pastry case, stood Magnus, a smile stretching across his face.

Isabelle's eyes swivelled to stare at him—probably because Alec never let anybody call him that. But when Magnus had asked him, a week ago, whether Alec was short for Alexander, and he'd proceeded to call him by his full name incessantly, Alec hadn't had the heart to tell him not to. Not when it made Magnus' eyes turn bright and his lips curl up every time he did.

"Morning," Alec said, smiling back at him - dare he say it - almost shyly. Alec was not a shy person. Shy hadn't really been a part of his vocabulary since he was a child. Something about Magnus just seemed to bring out his sheepish side.

"What can I get for you?" Magnus asked, dropping the cloth to move behind the till.

It was fairly empty in the shop, with an elderly couple seated in the corner, another barista visible out back, and young mother sitting with her baby. Alec wondered whether Magnus had time to chat. He hadn't been in yesterday, and he was sure his day at work had been less productive because of it.

"Alec," Isabelle said, emphatically, a meaningful grin on her face that made Alec want to curl up and hide in one of the delicious-looking croissants, "tells me I have to try an eggnog latte. Which is interesting, because he never used to like Christmas drinks."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Iz."

Magnus watched the exchange with clear amusement. "Alexander?"

"What was that little espresso thing called?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "It began with m and you kept telling me I was saying it wrong."

"An espresso macchiato," Magnus said, ducking his head a little as he smiled. "Coming up."

Magnus moved over to make their drinks, steaming the milk and flipping a cup over with effortless grace. Alec thought there was probably something wrong with him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the rings lining Magnus' fingers, catching the light and casting rainbows across the shop.

"So," Magnus said, as he passed Isabelle her drink. "Isabelle?"

Isabelle raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"I notice things. Is Alexander your boyfriend, husband, or brother?"

Choking on a laugh, Isabelle shook her head, while Alec felt himself recoil in abject horror.

"Brother," Isabelle said, grinning. "He's gay. And I've been getting the vibe that my brother has his eyes on someone else."

Magnus glanced up at that, something odd crossing his face as he glanced between them. "Ah. Well, macchiato for you, darling. Have a wonderful day."

With a final smile, he picked up the cloth he'd discarded to serve them, and went back to cleaning up, leaving Alec with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Clearly, Magnus had realised exactly what Isabelle was insinuating—and he didn't appear to like it very much.

***

It wasn't a habit of Magnus' to work on Sundays. He hated getting up early, and he felt he needed at least one day in a week in which he had absolutely no obligation to interact with other human beings. The only living creature he needed to see on a Sunday was his cat.

The Sunday following his conversation with Alec and his sister, however, he made the clearly misguided decision to wander down to the Downworld Café to buy himself a latte before he set himself up to spend the afternoon writing a paper due on Tuesday.

He was greeted by warm hazel eyes the moment he reached the door, and a bright smile that made his insides melt.

"Magnus," Alec said, holding the door open for him as Magnus stepped inside, taking with him a mini world wind of snow that melted the moment it hit the floor. "Good morning."

Magnus summoned a somewhat half-hearted smile. "Good morning, darling."

"I won't keep you if you're busy, but is it okay if I wait?" Alec asked, looking inexplicably nervous. "I wanted to ask you something."

Magnus shrugged, and nodded his agreement. What did he have to lose? He had a minor, coffee shop crush, and had been informed by an unsuspecting observer that said coffee shop crush was interested in someone. It was nothing he hadn't experienced before. That didn't mean it didn't sting, just a little.

Coffee in hand, Magnus turned back towards Alec, who was leaning up against the tall bar table by the window with his ankles crossed, looking the epitome of casual. Only his eyes, darting around and glimmering with nerves, betrayed him.

"So," Alec said, as Magnus approached him, curling both hands around the cardboard sleeve of his latte. "As Isabelle split the beans yesterday, I thought I might as well ask. It can't get much more embarrassingly obvious."

Alec let out a throaty chuckle; Magnus stared at him. What on earth was he talking about.

"I beg your pardon?" Magnus asked, feeling distinctly like Alec was aware of something he wasn't.

"Yesterday," Alec said, as though clarifying something. It only made Magnus more confused. "What Isabelle said. I– Well, I know you didn't exactly say anything positive, but I presumed you would have said something if it totally grossed you out, so I thought—"

"Wait." Magnus held up a gloved hand, palm forward, brain beginning to catch up to what else had occurred yesterday—not that it had seemed like a big deal to him at the time. He'd noticed Alec glancing appreciatively at a guy's ass the second day he'd met him. He'd already suspected that Alec held some male-orientated attraction. "Why on earth would I be at all bothered by you being gay? I don't think I could wear my bisexuality any more clearly if I tried."

Alec opened his mouth—

And then promptly closed it again, eyes going blank, jaw slackening. He turned his head slightly to one side in apparent confusion. "What?"

Magnus stared at him. "What? Did I hear your sister wrong? Are you not gay?"

"What– No. I mean yes, I mean–" Alec huffed out a frustrated breath through his nose, and then started again. "No, you didn't hear her wrong. I am gay. I thought that was obvious."

Magnus shrugged. "Fairly. So what are you talking about?"

"The...other thing she said."

"About your interest in someone?"

"No!" Alec laughed a little. "No, about my interest in you!"

It was Magnus' turn to gape like some sort of mutated, oxygen-deprived fish, until, faintly, he managed to get out, "What?"

Alec laughed again, and let go of his coffee with one hand to circle his fingers gently around Magnus' wrist. "I'm trying to ask you out. I thought you knew what Isabelle was insinuating yesterday."

"No," Magnus said, a confused smile starting to spread across his face as he realised what was going on. "No, I thought she was talking about someone else."

"She was talking about you." Alec shook his head, smile smaller on his lips but deeper in his eyes, making them twinkle like lights wound intricately around a Christmas tree, trained right on Magnus, pinning him in place. "She's throwing a Christmas party the weekend before Christmas. I was told I had to bring a plus one. I was aiming for coercing one of my colleagues into going, but I– I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

"Hm."

Magnus smiled up at him, pretending to think about it as he sidled closer, stepping into Alexander's space and crossing the boundaries of what was socially acceptable between friendly acquaintances. Not that Alec seemed to mind. At all, judging from the way his eyes dipped down to Magnus' lips and his Adam's apple bobbed, the hand still resting on Magnus' wrist shifting.

"I'll think about it," Magnus said, tilting his head. "And if we can go on a date before next weekend, which is far, far too long to wait, I might say yes."

Alec seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief. An easy, anticipatory sort of smile spread across his face, eyes turning to liquid, and he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good."

"Fancy going for a walk?" Magnus asked, pulling back and extending a hand.

"That sounds wonderful," Alec said, taking his hand and slotting their fingers together. He looked momentarily hesitant, eyes darting down to Magnus' lips again. Clearly, he wanted to kiss Magnus. Clearly, he also knew that making out in a coffee shop, right then, probably wasn't a very good course of action.

So Magnus went for a compromise. Leaning in close so that their shoulders were pressed together as they slipped out of the door, boots crunching in the snow, he tipped his chin up a little to press a kiss to Alec's cheek.

A delightful red rushed up his neck, and Magnus was certain that it had nothing to do with the abrupt cold. (Although, Alexander's lack of warm clothing did provide excellent options for Christmas. A scarf, perhaps, in the right shade of blue...)

Alec turned his gaze on Magnus, smiling softly, and took a sip of his coffee. "You're a force of nature, Magnus— Fuck." He laughed a little, and it sounded like the warm piano chords and tinkling bells of Christmas songs. "I don't even know your last name."

"Bane," Magnus told him. "Magnus Bane."

"Mine's Lightwood," Alec said, and Magnus grinned.

"I know. It's on your credit card."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Like I said. Force of nature."

"Oh, darling." Magnus smirked up at him, and mirrored Alec as they both indulged in a swig of coffee. "You haven't seen the half of it."

Little did he know, walking through the snowy streets of New York with their fingers tangled lightly together, exchanging jibes and flirtations over Christmas coffees, that the fond eye roll he got in response would become his favourite reply in the world.

Except, of course, the three words spoken in front of the heat of a fire the next year, over hot chocolate and between kisses, fingers caught on Christmas sweaters and feet tucked under thighs, curled together and basking in the warmth of love.

But, right then, he simply delighted in the tentative squeeze of his hand, and the light brushed of coffee-warmed lips against his snow-cooled cheek, making his lips curl up and something warm light up in the pit of his stomach.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

#averymagnificentmalec #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

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Read on AO3: here

Summary: A softer re-imagining of the morning after the forest fire. "Pulling back, I take him all in - His hair fanned out against the pillow, and a raw, dazed expression gracing his face (All traces of his usual smugness, thankfully, removed). Before he quickly snaps back into himself - Grimacing up at me, and turning his face to hide it in the pillow. The tips of his ears colouring slightly, as he does so, clearly embarrassed (I wonder if he can blush properly. He hasn’t yet, I don’t think, but maybe I just need to try harder. It would definitely be worth the effort)."

Tags: Fluff, Dramatic Tyrannus Basilton “Baz” Pitch, Morning Kisses, Morning Cuddles

Words: 2,476

Simon

Baz has barely a second to properly open his eyes, before I jump him again - Pressing him down into the mattress, and littering his face in kisses (I’ve been awake for at least an hour just waiting for him to wake up, and I’m not known to be the most patient person, so I don't want to waste a second).

Pushing his palms against my chest, he rolls me away onto my back besides him, with a groan.

“Snow. You need to brush your teeth,” he complains.

But I’m so distracted by the lushness of his voice, still deepened with sleep, that I miss most of what he’s trying to say (It isn’t my fault, though. He sounds fit. Super fucking fit). I do, however, catch that he’s gone back to calling me Snow, which is annoying. I wish he’d just call me Simon. He did last night.

“What?” I ask, dumbly.

“You need to brush your teeth.”

“Nu uh,” I argue, propping myself up on my elbows and smiling down at him. “You’re not the Queen of bloody England, Baz. You can handle morning breath.”

“I absolutely can not.”

I roll my eyes. Dramatic bastard.

“Just spell them then, fusspot.”

“God, please don’t tell me that you just spell your teeth,” he moans. “I remember your ‘Clean as a Whistle’ showering phase in Fourth year, you know? I won’t tolerate a repeat of that just because we snogged.”

“Just because we’re snogging,” I correct. “Present tense.”

He arches an elegant brow up at me, but he doesn’t argue - Which is good. We’re definitely still snogging. Whether he wants to admit it, or not.

“I don’t spell my teeth, you dick!”

“Fine. Then go and brush them.”

Pouting, I grab a hold of his wrist and squeeze. His skin cool against mine - Although, definitely warmer than it was last night (I must’ve warmed him up with all the cuddling - He slept in my arms last night. It was proper ridiculous).

“No, Baz,” I whine, shifting and straddling his lap.“I wanna’ stay here with you. So just … spell them, or suck it up.”

Scoffing, he reaches over and grabs his wand from his bedside table - Apparently unwilling to argue it any further.

“Fine, you mule. Smile.”

Pleased, I obey - Flashing him my widest photograph smile, as he rests his wand against my front teeth (There’s a slight gap between them, but he doesn’t say anything about it).

“Minty Fresh.”

“There we go,” I say, smiling down at him properly now. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Well ... you say that, but it clearly goes beyond your level of capability. So, I’d argue that it’s hard enough.”

While his words are as sharp as ever, I can tell that he doesn’t really mean them. There’s no malice in his voice, just light amusement. It’s teasing, not taunting. And I like it. I like this. A softer Baz. A sweeter Baz.

“Whatever,” I groan, leaning down towards him, so that our faces are mere centimetres apart. “Can I kiss you now?”

“If you must,” he breezes, nonchalantly (Although his voice wobbles slightly - Giving him away. He wants this just as much as me, I know).

And so I do, reaching down and pressing our lips together without further discussion. Baz falling soft and pliant, as he sighs contentedly. My chest constricting at the feel of him - All safe, and warm, and happy, with me.

And it’s all so much slower this time - Languid and unhurried where it was clashing and desperate (Last night was a bit of a fever dream) - but it’s no less good. In fact, it’s better like this. In the still daylight of morning, it all feels far more real. Far less fragile. And it’s driving me barmy - My heart swelling and racing, eagerly, with every move against him.

Shit. Maybe I am Gay? I probably wouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, if I wasn’t, right? I mean, I know some straight people, like, ‘experiment’ with stuff like this, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what I’m doing. Last night I kissed him ‘cause I wanted to, not for … science, or some shit. I just … wanted it. I still want it. So that must make me … Something?

But as I start to question myself - What all of … this makes me - My throat fills with that typical stressed tightness, and I decide to stop thinking about it (For now, anyway). There’s much better things to focus on, at the moment. Like Baz. And breakfast (I hope we’re having breakfast. Sometimes he skips it at Watford, but that’s probably ‘cause of the fang thing. Hopefully he won’t today).

Pulling back, I take him all in - His hair fanned out against the pillow, and a raw, dazed expression gracing his face (All traces of his usual smugness, thankfully, removed). Before he quickly snaps back into himself - Grimacing up at me, and turning his face to hide it in the pillow. The tips of his ears colouring slightly, as he does so, clearly embarrassed (I wonder if he can blush properly. He hasn’t yet, I don’t think, but maybe I just need to try harder. It would definitely be worth the effort).

“Take a picture, Snow. It’ll last longer,” he drones, his voice filled with, what I now suspect, is faux confidence.

And, even though he clearly doesn’t mean it, I really think that I might. He’s so beautiful.

————————————————————————————

We’ve stopped kissing now; opting, instead, to lie together, quietly. Snuggled up together under the warmth of his duvet.

We’re positioned similarly to last night - Bodies pressed firmly together, and an arm slung over his waist - Except this time, we’re facing one another. The tip of his slightly skewiff nose resting against mine, as we look at each other. Well … I’m looking at him - At his stormy grey eyes, and his slightly cut bottom lip (It must be from the fangs. It’s so fucking wicked that he has fangs). But he’s looking … somewhere behind me. His brow furrowed, and a gnarled little scowl spread across his lips (I would try to kiss it away, if I thought that it would work, but I doubt it. He seems too … stressed, for all of that).

Instead, I splay my hand out against his stomach. Tracing, what I hope are, comforting circles against the soft skin there. And it all feels a little bit strange; since I haven’t done anything like this before (Agatha wasn’t big on physical affection), but he isn’t complaining, so I think he’s happy enough. Baz is definitely the kind of guy to scold a - Lover? Boyfriend? Enemy roommate with benefits? Whatever - for doing something wrong. He’s not one to accept mediocrity (Which sort of makes me wonder what I’m even doing here at all, to be honest), so his silence must be a good sign.

“Baz,” I whisper. “Are you alright? You seem all … far away.”

“I’m alright,” he sighs, scrunching his eyes shut (Even though he definitely doesn't seem it). “I’m just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You.”

Oh. Crowley. He shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that.

“What about me?”

“About how … I’m not entirely sure that all of this, isn’t just the effect of some kind of ‘Sweet Dreams’ spell,” he says, jaw tight, and voice strained. “I hope you know that, if I wake up and I’m back at Watford, I won’t hesitate to throttle you.”

Helplessly, I beam over at him (Even though that’s probably a more-than-a-little-bit of a fucked response to being threatened).

“I know. But this ‘ain't a dream. I promise. See?” I laugh, pinching at his waist, forcefully. Pulling a girlish little yelp from his lips (Much to my delight). “If this were a dream, that would’ve woken you up.”

“Brute,” he grumbles, swatting at my wrist. “There were less aggressive ways you could’ve proved your point.”

I shrug. “Probably. I couldn’t think of any, though. And I didn’t do it that hard, you’re just being sensitive.”

“Whatever you say, Snow.”

“Yeah,” I smile. “But, uh …. Why would it be a dream, anyway? This would be a bit of a weird dream, no?”

“Trust me, I’ve had weirder.”

“Starring me?” I ask, curious (And perhaps a little puffed up).

“Starring you,” he confirms, eyes searching my face desperately.

Jesus Christ.

The absolute earnestness of his confession takes me by surprise; knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Since he definitely isn’t taking the piss (He looks much too frightened to be joking).

“Wicked,” I breathe. And I really am trying my best to be reassuring, but my apparent go-to tactic of calling things he’s insecure about ‘wicked’, probably isn’t doing much in terms of restoring his self-esteem. “I mean … not that. No, I mean that is wicked, but just … I dream about you too.”

“Yes, Snow, I know,” he sighs. “I’ve been witness to plenty of your nightmare sessions.”

“No,” I groan. “I mean … sometimes, yeah. But you’re in my nice dreams, too, sometimes. More so, recently.”

He scrunches up his face, apparently unsure of what to say (And I never thought that I’d live to see the day where I finally succeeded in leaving him speechless, but here we are).

“Baz, um … how long have you actually … wanted this?”

“Why?” he drawls, hands scrunching up into tensed fists, against my chest.

“I’m just curious. It doesn’t, like, matter or anything? I just wanted to know.”

Silently, he draws a hand up and starts smoothing the lines of my upper-arm, anxiously (I think he might have a bit of a ‘thing’ for my arms, to be honest. He kept on squeezing them last night, like he couldn’t get enough. And, I suppose that, with all the sword-wielding I’ve done over the past few years, they’re pretty alright. If he didn’t have his vampire super-strength bullshit, I reckon that I could have him in an arm wrestling match).

“A long time,” he mumbles. “I … figured it out for sure, in Fifth year. But it started before then. Long before then.”

“How much longer?”

“Basically the day we met.”

“Oh,” I gasp.

And I know that I should probably think of something better to say, considering that he’s just fessed up to having had a crush on me for the better part of a decade, but I’m feeling a little ... overwhelmed, to say the least.

“Yes. ‘Oh’,” he spits, all bitter and sulky.

And while I do understand his frustration with my … underwhelming reply, I’m really not sure what else he was expecting. We both know that I’m no good with words, and it’s not like he spent all his time at Watford writing me love letters (Pretty much the opposite, actually).

“Don’t be like that,” I groan, reaching out and brushing a stray wave of hair away from his face. “I only realised yesterday, but … I think that it’s been longer than that for me, too. Penny may have had a point about the football matches, you know.”

“The football matches?”

“Yeah, um … you know how I used to go to all of your games?”

“Of course. Simon Snow: my greatest enemy and number one footie supporter. Bit of a contradiction.”

“Yeah, well … Penny said that she thought it was weird. Not in like a … homophobic way, or something-” He snickers then, put I press on, regardless. “I’m not even … you know. But she said that I should think about why I really wanted to go to them so badly, considering that there was pretty much no chance of you plotting while you were on the pitch-”

“Which I tried to tell you, several times,” he interrupts (Apparently incapable of stopping himself from butting in, for even a minute).

“- Yes, which you tried to tell me ... Anyway, back to what I was saying! I never really listened to her when she said it - I just got all stroppy with her ‘cause she was always complaining about me being obsessed - But … I think maybe I should’ve. ‘Cause, I think she may have had a point. I’m not so sure that it really was about the plotting. I mean, I think even I knew, deep down, that you couldn’t have been doing that. And … I always kind of, secretly, wanted you to do the thing where you lifted up your shirt to wipe your face. I never really thought about it at the time, ‘cause it stressed me out a little bit. But it definitely used to confuse me. I … just tried put it down to jealousy, and all that, at the time, but I’m pretty sure that I was wrong, given … recent events. I think I probably just thought you were a bit fit, to be honest.”

The last few words come out horribly stumbled and rushed, and I’m definitely blushing like an idiot, by the time I’ve finished. But then he’s grinning up at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up cutely (And it’s still a weird to think of him like that, since he could probably drain me dry in half a second, but it’s definitely fitting when he’s like this. All joyful and barbless), and my humiliation is suddenly all worth it.

“Is that so?” he purrs.

“Yep. Definitely.”

And then he’s muttering something in Italian (Mera-viggy-soemthing-or-other), and pulling me back down towards him by the back of my neck. Shutting me up in the absolute best way possible - Pressing his lips against mine greedily. And it’s all a little apprehensive - Breaths stuttering, and a slight tremble running up his spine - But what he lacks in confidence, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm (He’s always been a quick study, but I can finally appreciate his, oftentimes annoying, meticulous nature, for myself). And soon enough I’m just fucking melting into his touch - So hot and insistent - But I still can’t stop the words from bubbling up inside me:

“Baz,” I sing, sitting back and cupping his face in my hands. “You know that this isn’t fair at all, right?”

“What?” he startles, a worried twist overtaking his brow. The concern on his face so genuine, that I almost feel guilty for what I’m doing … Almost (He definitely still deserves it for being so bloody prissy all the time).

“You didn’t spell your teeth. It’s well harsh making me all Aero-y, if you’re not willing to do the same yourself. Both disgusting and grossly unfair,” I tease, doing my best to mimic his signature ‘I’m Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and I think I’m better than everybody else’ voice.

Glaring up at me, he grabs at his wand and fires out another quick “Minty Fresh”, before reaching out and grabbing at my curls, giving them a not-so-gentle tug.

“Happy now, ‘fusspot’?”

“Oh yeah,” I glow. “More than.”

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz fic #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #my fic

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vizhi0n · 7 years

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Sawney - Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This fic is finally on my Ao3 - Imma make a page with like links 2 everything so yall can go

If u wanna be untagged or tagged lemme know, loves!

Homies:

@doyouhaveavacancy @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @crzcorgi @i-am-negan-trash @lucifers-trash-stash @kellyn1604 @jasoncrouse @genevievedarcygranger @superprincesspea @jeffreydeanneganstrash @darkangel66a @backseat-negan @heartfulloffandoms @hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @gremlinfuck @negans-network @melodicdolls @mcnegan @mypapawinchester @my-achilles–heel @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @manawhaat @kijilinn

WARNINGS: RAPE AND GORE. LIKE…BAD.

“This is your reward. Take it and be grateful.”

Desa was vomiting for a second time. Hunched over in the bushes, emptying her stomach. Father’s fingers had left bruises on her breasts and neck. She could still feel his release trickling from her. They hadn’t even let her come. She didn’t get that luxury. Neither did the other four people in the room with her, all of whom were being rewarded. Some of them got off on it, others didn’t. Desa didn’t.

She’d planned on going to Negan, but she couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t work right. She could only lay in the grass, desperately trying to regain her breath. She turned when she heard footsteps, whipping her head to the side in fear that the person was Jack. He didn’t need to see her like this.

It was Mason. His cheery disposition from earlier was gone. He was scowling, though it was a patronizing, almost mocking scowl.

“Have fun in there?”

“Did you?” Desa nodding towards the fly of his pants — his zipper was down. “Mason, please go way. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“I can tell. That’s why I’m messing with you. Lighten up,” Mason rolled his eyes. “Go tend to your catch. He probably pissed himself again — oh, yeah, I heard all about that. Father likes to brag, and he brags to me.”

“Ain’t you special.”

“Careful. All that backtalk just might get you sent downstairs,” Mason grinned even wider. “Not that I’d ever tell Father that I saw you getting all cozy with what’s-his-face.”

“Negan,” Desa murmured.

“You’re on a first name basis with him? That’s telling,” Mason leered. “Listen, I’m kidding, alright? Kidding. You do your job and I do mine.”

“Sure,” Desa nodded slowly. “And speaking of jobs—”

“You have to go see him, don’t you? You look stressed. Why don’t I deal with him tonight, let you get some rest,” Mason shrugged. “I don’t mind cleaning up shit for someone I care about.”

“I’m fine, Mason. I can do it on my own. I’m not even seeing him tonight,” Desa scratched the back of her neck. She glanced over Mason’s shoulder, at the wide crevice where the pool was once located. She remembered Negan’s words.

Lucille.

Desa had no doubt that the barbed bat was down there somewhere, waiting to be distributed to whomever earned it. By all intents and purposes it should have been hers. Negan was her catch.

He’s also your way out of here.

“I have to go, Mason,” Desa murmured. She began heading towards the pool, aware that Mason was watching her. When she finally felt it safe, she looked behind and saw no sign of Mason. He’d lost interest, leaving the area pretty much clear.

Desa hopped lightly down the pool steps, creeping across the concrete. Crates and boxes were stacked in the deep end, some covered with a tarp, others left bare. She spotted Lucille immediately — the bat was uncovered, handle poking from one of the bins. With shaky legs, Desa hurried over.

She freed Lucille with a few tugs, testing the weight of the bat in her hand as she maneuvered through the maze of stacked boxes and discarded debris. She only stopped when she heard footsteps approach from the right side, remaining frozen in place.

Father whistled.

He, like Desa, looked thoroughly fucked. But he’d enjoyed it. That post-sex, hazy smile was still on his face, sweat cooling against his skin. Desa grit her teeth but stayed still as he walked up to her, stopping just short of a foot.

She would be punished for stealing.

So she stood and awaited it.

“You could have asked,” Father said languidly, nodding towards Lucille. “It’s a beautiful weapon, and its former owner was your catch. All you had to do was ask, yet you didn’t.”

“I’m asking now.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking now,” Desa said shakily. “I-I’m a-asking you n-now. Can I have it?”

Father remained silent for a beat. Then, letting out air through his nose, he said, “Yes. But you still attempted to steal. You did not consult me first — you always consult me or Mother, first. You know that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m disappointed,” Father was an inch away, now. Desa kept her head ducked, unable to bear the thought of meeting those bright blue eyes that she saw in her nightmares. She felt his calloused hand wrap around her wrist as he murmured, “You know better than this. I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Father—”

“Get on your knees.”

No. No, no, no—

“Father, please. No. No—”

“Get on your knees, or else Jack will find himself in the cellar. On your knees, now. Accept your punishment. Accept your wrongdoings. Better yourself.”

Desa sunk to his knees, lips kissed by her own salty tears.

“A good Father always disciplines his children.”

I have blood on my nice pants.

That was Negan’s reality, now. It kept him sane. Worrying about such mundane, trivial things distracted him from the pounding agony in his head, and in his arms and legs and, well, everywhere.

That girl, Desa, hadn’t arrived. She typically came three times a day with some sort of sustenance. Good sustenance — he wasn’t eating slop, yet. Even if it was out of an old dog bowl, it was still good to Negan. Probably because he’d learned to drastically lower his standards during the past few days.

Desa was sneaking in some extra snacks. Negan could tell because she’d look around, almost out of habit, before pulling a few extra morsels from her bag.

She didn’t once touch him. She didn’t once make a crude joke or shove her hands down his pants, or lick him, or…

She’s not crazy like them. Yet.

His chains had been left slack, giving him room to rest his arms and lay slouched against the wall. He had no clue where his jacket was, and Father had destroyed his shirt. For now his bare skin was exposed to whatever elements were in this old, poorly maintained room.

He thought about Simon. It hadn’t been long. Hadn’t even been three full days — if the troops were scattered, they’d have to regroup or try and head back to Sanctuary alone. Without a car. Some probably injured.

Rescue would come. But not soon enough.

Negan was jolted from his thoughts by a smooth voice.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about how much I want to fucking strangle you. All of you,” Negan replied. “You’re not Desa.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I’m Mason. I’d shake your hand, but, uh…”

“I’m tied up. Funny fucking joke, asshole. Where’s Desa?”

Mason came to a stop before Negan. The door shut with an audible clang, before tapering off and leaving them in silence. This guy was way, way too close.

“Desa isn’t here. It’s just us.”

“Aren’t I fucking lucky. Tell me, what the fuck do you want?”

“I like you. I like the way you operate — or the way you used to operate,” Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “You used to be something. I could tell. Now look at you.”

Negan said nothing. He glared as Mason continued to run his stupid little mouth — Negan wished he could smack it right off his smug face.

“Desa told us about your community. Pinpointed right where it was,” Mason spat. “So…we know. We know all about you. How many people you have, how your system works…”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Desa mentioned names. Simon. I saw him, when you came to attack us. Big dude with a mustache. Arat. Regina. Gavin. Dwight. Laura,” Mason pressed. He paused, cocking his head to the side. “How many of us can you name, other than Desa and I?”

Negan growled. “Mother and Father.”

“Obvious,” Mason rolled his eyes. “Who has the upper hand, here?”

“Is this what you came to fucking tell me? That you have the upper fucking hand? Waste of my fucking time, you know that—”

The sole of Mason’s boot planted hard against Negan’s sternum, in a kick that surely broke his ribs. Negan wheezed, spittle running past his dry lips. With a flushed face, he mustered the strength and snarled at Mason.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m kind of glad Father didn’t decide to put you in the cellar,” Mason rolled his shoulders, winding up for another hit. Negan barely felt the man as he cuffed him in the cheek, splitting his lip. Another kick to the chest had him hunched over, panting loudly, trying not to cry out in agony. He wouldn’t give Mason that satisfaction.

Negan’s body was broken, weak and ten times frailer than it had been before his capture. Despite the fact that Negan dwarfed Mason in size, he was easily overpowered by the smaller man. Hands grappled at Negan, nails raking across his cheek and shoulders as Mason straddled him, keeping a knee planted against his injured chest. His hand wrapped tightly around Negan’s throat, squeezing the rough skin, hard.

Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’t—

Mason leaned in close, breath wafting across Negan’s face.

“I’m not going to touch you like Father did. I’m not like that. That’s not the type of touching I enjoy,” Mason breathed heavily, rummaging through his pocket while Negan watched. He smiled, flipping open a pocket knife. He held the blade with a trembling hand, easing the tip against the skin beneath Negan’s eye. A little pinprick, and Negan felt the small drop of blood fall down his cheek.

“What the fuck are you going to do?”

“I’m taking your eyes. As a trophy. I’m giving them to Father,” Mason murmured. “That’s his favorite part of your body. He told me.”

“Fuck you,” Negan croaked. It’s all he could muster. The pocketknife was hovering just an inch from his retina, the blade strikingly clear. And sharp. And coming closer —

“Hey!”

Mason turned. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room as Lucille’s barbed end connected with the side of his face. The sheer ferocity of the hit split his skull and, to Negan’s amusement, popped an eye from his socket and crushed Mason’s jaw to a paste.

The body slouched, like a marionette with its strings cut. Ever so slowly, Negan felt Mason’s blood as it spread across the floor, brushing his fingertips.

When he looked up he saw Desa. Standing over him like some avenging angel, Lucille in her hand.

“I’m fucking extremely attracted to you right now,” Negan wheezed. He coughed, biting out a laugh. “Holy shit.”

Desa didn’t look amused. In fact, she looked distressed, eyes trained on Mason’s corpse. In a small voice, she said, “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“Well, you did,” Negan pushed himself against the wall, sitting up. “He’s dead as shit.”

Desa dropped Lucille, letting her clatter against the concrete. Negan made a noise in the back of his throat, ready to chastise her for just…dropping Lucille like she didn’t matter. He never got to it, because Desa was kneeling in front of him, close enough that he could smell the soft perfume she wore for some ludicrous reason. Her hands examined his torso, before moving to the tiny little cut beneath his eyes. The pad of her thumb wiped away the blood, and he could only watch as she sighed, ducking her head in embarrassment.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have gotten here sooner. I brought you food,” she gestured behind her, to the bag discarded next to the door. “Shit. I didn’t know he was down here…he’s not supposed to be…”

“He doesn’t make for good fucking company. Not like you,” Negan grinned, hissing as his split lip stung. “I’m being flirty as fuck here because I don’t know what else to fucking say. Watching you swing Lucille got my dick hard.”

“What doesn’t get your dick hard?” Desa murmured.

“Father,” Negan answered truthfully. Letting out a sigh, he said, “I’m all for some good dick. But that guy…fuck no.”

“I didn’t know he—”

“He did. And it sucked,” Negan bit his lower lip, pushing those recent memories down. He could still feel the soreness — everywhere. Thinking about Father sent flashes of rage through his body. When he escaped, he’d be sure to hunt that demon like a bloodhound. Tear him limb from limb.

“He fucks everyone. Literally and metaphorically,” Desa said, eyes tired. Those dark eyes, like Negan’s swirled with fatigue and faint distress. She finally sat on her hunched before Negan, legs crossed. “I don’t even think he and Mother were married before. Nobody knows. Nobody knows who they are.”

“Does it matter? None of us were the way we were before,” Negan replied. “Some of us are still fucking human inside. Some of us fucking aren’t.”

“Are you human, still?”

“Fuck no. I’ve done some bad, bad shit. I’ve made other people do bad shit. And I’ll take that shit to my grave.”

“So have I. I’m just as guilty. I did the bad shit Mother and Father told me to. I did it without thinking because I knew that if I didn’t, Jack would end up in that cellar. It’s not that I didn’t have a choice. I did. For all I know Jack would be better off in that cellar, because the minute we try and escape, he’s dead. He’s dead meat.”

Desa was crying. Negan hadn’t even realized the tears until he looked up. She had Lucille back in her hands and was shaking.

“Maybe I should kill them.”

“Desa,” Negan said slowly. He didn’t like how she was holding Lucille. Her knuckles were turning pale. Her face was pale, dark skin clammy. He was sure she’d shatter her teeth from how hard she was gritting them. “Desa. Fucking calm down. Look at me.”

She did. Then, in a soft voice, grip on Lucille slacking, she said, “I need to go get Jack. I…they’ll kill me. They’ll kill him. An eye for an eye,” she jerked her chin towards Mason’s corpse. “I killed someone.”

“I’ll take this one.”

“What?”

“I’ll take this one. I’ll fucking tell them that it was me. Get the fuck out of here, go be with your brother. There’s nothing else they can fucking do to me,” Negan said. “Go. Shit’s fucked up, anyway. Go. Clean Lucille off, and take her with you.”

“I can’t—”

“You can, and you fucking will. If you die, I have no fucking chance. I’m not going to stay here and let that shit happen. Now go.”

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad #tw: rape #tw: torture

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creativitytoexplore · 4 years

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Swim by Christopher K. Miller https://ift.tt/3757ycN Christopher K. Miller's character is tired of ageing and called by the sea.

Every February, for the past nine years, you and your second husband, Jack, drive down from Ottawa to Anna Maria Island. Official snowbirds now. Always stay at the same rental semi on the beach: a well-appointed cabin, really, with cable TV and high-speed internet. Central heat and air - most days you need both. Shared cedar deck with a big gas barbecue, saltwater pool, and hot tub, too, of course. Mornings you drink coffee with whipped cream and watch pelicans dive-bomb for fish. Last year, a woman you met on an island boat tour said she'd heard they eventually go blind from all those eyes-wide-open impacts, and starve. So no pelican ever dies of old age. Afternoons, it's burgers and beer at Skinny's. A snack shack with a bar. Close enough to walk. Decorated totally with dollar bills. Thousands of them. Like the owner tacked up the first one he made, but then couldn't stop. Then, after a nap, dinner someplace nice. Evenings, unless it's cloudy, you watch the big orange blob of a sun sink into the Gulf. Drink pink Zinfandel you buy at the local Publix for twelve dollars a gallon. Lean on the railing. Talk to the couple next door. Last year, dairy farmers from Wisconsin. From the moment the sun's orb touches the horizon until it's completely gone takes only a few minutes. You can stare without hurting your eyes. Second time you watched, you took a cell phone video and posted it on YouTube. You don't want to die of old age, either. You've given this some thought. Every day on the road is one less day in Florida. Plus you and Jack both hate motels. Always seem to have this musty smell, even the non-smoking units. Noisy heaters mounted beneath dirty windows overlooking parking lots. Crappy TVs, usually bolted onto something. Flimsy doors that either stick or refuse to latch. Shallow tubs with gritty anti-slip tread strips. Leaky toilets. A waste of time and money. So you just drive straight through. Easy in the Caddy. GPS. Cruise. OnStar. Jack, who used to work for QNX, says it's just a matter of time until the car'll drive itself. Still, it's a long haul. Twenty, maybe twenty-two, hours speeding down I-79. Depends on pit stops. Between Jack's prostate and Sheetz's bottled cappuccinos, you take almost as many exits as you pass. The first Waffle House is in Philadelphia: Welcome to Waffle House! Tim Hortons as far south as Georgia now. Not as busy as the Canadian franchises, though. Last year, driving back through Summersville, West Virginia, you thought your headlights weren't working. It was raining and, between the slick and the glare, you couldn't see the center line. Jack does all the driving now. Says he doesn't mind a bit. The trick's to not eat too much. And pacing the caffeine. This year's neighbor's a financial planner, also from Ontario. Works for one of the big banks. Maybe CIBC... or could be the Royal. Hands Jack his card. Tells him he oughta consider moving some of those GICs when they mature into oil and precious metals, maybe even cash out early if that's an option, pay the penalty. The mighty "petrodollar" is gonna crash soon. He uses his fingers to indicate quotes. Like didja see where Germany wants its gold "repatriated." Again with the fingers. But The Fed don't have it. Can't produce it. Prolly sold it to the Asians. No wonder they refused the Germans' request for an audit. Been wallpapering the Globex with naked shorts, unredeemable gold warrants, since Christ knows when, trying to drive the price down. Quash interest rates. Desperate to sweep Obama's latest QE clusterfuck under the rug. To mask inflation. Prop up the nation's credit rating. His wife, who looks maybe half his age, hasn't said a word. Probably heard it all a million times. Appears stoned in some asocial way, or maybe just super bored, as she watches the sun set, dusk fade. No breeze. The ocean looks coated in orange plastic. Like a giant sheet of Canadian fifties. You've heard that a good way to die is to swim out as far as you can. At first, you'd turn on the car's defrost. Then you blamed cataracts for the fog. Jack had them a few years back. Half your friends already, too. Really, nowadays, almost everyone gets them. Even babies. Jack thinks it has to do with all the cell towers and microwave radiation around. A million texts a minute zapping through your body. Fortunately, an easy fix. You researched it on Wikipedia. How they used to slice open the eye. Replace the lens. Stitch it shut. How you'd spend three days flat on your back in a halo hoping your retina didn't detach. Now it's a topical anesthetic. In-and-out with a needle. A simple ten-minute procedure. OHIP's rates lag the technology. A good ophthalmologist can do thirty a day, make three million a year easy. After dark the neighbors join you in the hot tub. Dip their toes in. Ask if you mind. She's fit enough for a two-piece. But he's too big for a speedo. How is it men are oblivious to their fat? The water rises with his entry. There's a restaurant/bar with an outdoor patio maybe half a kilometer down the beach. Semi-live music. Just a guy singing karaoke, really. Maybe a guitar. Everly Brothers. Simon & Garfunkel. Beach Boys for the younger set. Drowned out when Jack turns on the jets. He and the financial planner are working on a happy drunk. A loving drunk. Guy's explaining derivatives trading. How today, thanks to computers, that's where ninety-eight percent of the market is, and how a wise money manager uses 'em to hedge, not leverage. His foot keeps touching yours. The stars look out of focus. The moon's full and low, but murky. As if shrouded in smog. You point to where you think a city-sized cruise ship's lights decorate the horizon. But no one confirms. Jack says the stock market's always frightened him the way casinos should compulsive gamblers. Even after RIM bought QNX and handed out call options like Halloween candy and made him and everyone he worked with rich, he never cared for it. You wonder if he's playing footsie, too. Surprised that you don't care. What at first you think's a falling star turns out to be either a satellite or some high-altitude plane. Or maybe the space station. Even looking at it out of the corner of your eye, where objects are at their clearest, it's impossible to tell. Might just be something floating across your cornea. You were a pretty decent swimmer back in high school. Swam men's varsity your freshman year, only girl on the team. Still remember your times. Fifty yard freestyle: twenty-three seconds flat. Two-oh-nine-seven once in the two-hundred individual medley. Coach Burton's face in yours every time you breathed: Swim! Last year, at your eye appointment, you wondered if all the chlorine might've caused your condition. Dr. Hopfner, the optometrist, thought not. Anything's possible. But AMD's a genetic thing. More common in women, eh? Your mom died in a car crash when you were sixteen. On her way home from a Christmas party. Drunk. But you remember her mother as seeming kind of blind, always trying to see you better, always pulling you a little too close but never looking straight at you. Back then you figured it was just an old person thing. Like wrinkles. Like bad hair and teeth. Dr. Hopfner advised you not lose hope. Leafy green vegetables. Intravitreal injections. An SSRI if necessary. Though you were right about the cataracts. Just not mature enough to be operative yet. Better to take a wait-see approach. Weigh the risks down the road. The financial planner's wife steps into the pool. Says she needs to cool down. Her breasts are too big for the rest of her. Her swimming looks like some combination of doggie paddle and sidestroke. And drowning. The way she rolls and gulps. Appendages flailing. All working against each other. You almost want to rescue her. Takes forever to swim two laps. You can tell she's proud of her aquatic prowess, though. The way she leans over the shallow end's gutter drawing deep, even breaths. Like hyperventilating. Like she's just crossed the English Channel. Jack asks the financial planner why he thinks it is the US still hasn't gone with plastic money or chip cards, and why you gotta pay cash in advance at the pumps, which is a total pain the ass. This causes the guy to launch into a diatribe about the US economy being so bust now that it actually relies on a certain "manageable" level of forgery and identity theft. He puts his drink down to do the quotes. No one could even begin to counterfeit a fraction of what The Fed does each and every day. Not even close. So who cares, right? And did you know they get most of their oil from us? So how come gas is so much cheaper here? He advises Jack terminate any exposure his portfolio might have to US currency. Not just cash, but any mutual funds containing US bonds or equities he might have kicking around in RSPs and whatnot, too. He places his hand on Jack's shoulder. Giving free advice seems to evoke in him a sense of largesse. The ocean is black and smooth. Like an oil slick. Swells and ripples instead of waves. You wonder if dolphins sleep at night. Sometimes, in the morning, a pod will swim by, surfacing and diving. Up and down, up and down. Like swimming the butterfly. As if stitching invisible seams. You used to rush out to see. Peer through the binoculars. Though not anymore. It's funny how the amazing blurs into the commonplace. How you can become inured to anything. Like the sun. The good life. The whole universe. But probably not blindness, despite Jack's theories about its leading to enhanced spatial and eidetic memory, better hearing, and probably better sex. At first you thought they were sharks. You climb out of the hot tub's fever-temperatured water. Say you think you'll try a swim, too. But in the ocean. The financial planner seems actually impressed. Are you nuts? What about undertows? What about sharks? You tell him there's no such thing as an "undertow." Only rip currents. They'll drag you out, but never down. And that you're more afraid of jellyfish. Jack brags you're an unbelievable swimmer. A regular fucking dolphin. Sounds a little inebriated. Glances at the woman, again floundering in the pool. Looks a little worried. What about cramps, though? You take off your ring. Wouldn't want to lose it. Four flawless carats. Wouldn't want to attract barracuda, either. Jack's glad to hang onto it till you get back. No worries. Your muscles are limber. You haven't eaten in hours. Your fingers graze his palm. A kiss might seem too final. There's a gate, then a path leading down to the sand. Scrub grass on either side. You close it behind you. South on the beach, the entertainer's singing an old Lou Christie hit. Faraway voices blend with the nearby lapping of water. Two Faces Have I, but not quite Christie's keening falsetto. High tide. Probably headed out soon. The ocean's cool, but not much cooler than the air. You're still hot from the tub. The sand's soft and smooth. Early every morning a grader truck rakes up all the stones and shells. Someone said they use them on driveways. It seems to take forever until the water reaches your knees. The moon is almost straight ahead. You recall reading somewhere that its orbital period and women's menstrual cycles are identical in length. When the ocean tickles your thighs, you dive, and swim for it. But after only a dozen strokes your hands grab sandbar. Standing makes you feel heavy. Unwieldy. Removing your suit helps. You surrender it to the tide. Now the air seems cooler than the water. After the sandbar, the bottom drops away quickly. As if on the edge of a steep underwater hill. Or cliff. You raise your arms up over your head and perform a standing surface dive. The deep water's colder. But your feet don't touch bottom. So you kick back up. Swim for the moon. Effortlessly. Like flying in a dream. You wonder if you should pace yourself. And, if so, how? For the mile? Your personal best was 17:59. But that was in a twenty-five yard pool. A long time ago. Sixty-five flip-turns. Coach Burton screaming himself hoarse the entire final hundred yards. Bringing you home. Every breath to poolside, screaming in your face: Swim! Both Jack's sons are visiting next week with their daughters. No wives, though. Separated. The three girls call you Gamma. Like the radiation. Your step-sons call you Jeanne. Always have. You're glad they don't call you Mom. Even though you've known them since they were little. Kissed their owies. Helped with their homework. And, later, their finances. Even though you love them, and you're pretty sure they love you, you suspect it's not the same. Sometimes you wish you'd had children of your own. Though not right now. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Steady flutter-kick. Goddamn your feet are big. First thing Coach Burton ever said to you. Regular flippers. Mermaid feet. Huge smile on his face. Stroke stroke stroke. Your armpit forms an air pocket. Breathe. Stroke stroke stroke. You skip a breath, laughing. Never paced yourself for maximum distance. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Guessing eighty-second hundreds. Pulse maybe picking up a little. Sixty-eight or so. More from exhilaration than effort. The current seems to carry you. Even when you stop and tread water. Your longest competitive open-water swim was five kilometers. Organized by Swim Ontario. Then there were boats and buoys and other swimmers to guide you. You seem to have drifted south a little. Toward the open Atlantic. Toward the restaurant, which is almost directly behind you now. The singer sounds tinny. Lost in the tide. Strings of red, white and blue bulbs outlining the patio look like violet webbing. To the north, past your rental, past your husband and the financial planner bonding in the hot tub, a hotel's pool lights leer aquamarine. Ahead, the moon seems to have drifted to your left. Surely an unreliable guide. You've never heard of sailors navigating by it. Only the stars. Fuzzy and faraway. You wonder if it's really true that if all the stars visible to the naked eye were grains of salt, they'd only fill a teaspoon, whereas all the stars you can't see would fill a lake. The sun's amber glow still lingers on the horizon. Like a tease. You swim for it. Coach Burton always thought you had a shot at Lake Ontario. Would've gladly helped you train. You wonder if he's still alive. He was about the age you are now. So how old would that make him? Probably too old. It occurs to you, and for the first time, that maybe it wasn't all about mentorship. Maybe his will to your athletic success was mired in something more. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Of course. He had a crush on you. You with your big feet, flat chest and pimples. He just wanted to be with you. Even if it meant sitting for days in a small boat, gripping a sputtering outboard's steering arm. Tossed about. Hour after hour. Occasionally vomiting into Lake Ontario's rough, cold water. Just to watch you swim. He also taught Health Ed. Breathe. Stroke, stroke. Breathe. Only to the left now. One reason you never took on Lake Ontario was all its lamprey eel. Maybe the ugliest creatures on earth. Long, slimy suction cups with needles for teeth. Love to attach to swimmers. But the real reason, the main reason, was those who'd gone before. You wouldn't have been the first, the youngest or the fastest. Though now, it occurs to you, you could be the oldest. Something slick and firm bumps, really more like nudges, you on the thigh. As if to remind you that you're not alone. Maybe a manatee. You pause for a rest. Look around. Pee. That last glass of Zinfandel. The air's much cooler than the water now, which is cooler than your body. Your urine. You relax. Float. Easy. Seawater's buoyant. You settle into it, only your nose and mouth exposed to the chill air. Feel the ocean's rise and fall. As if breathing. As if in a deep sleep. You listen for the eerie howling moan of whale song. Hear only the drone of some faraway ship's engines. Then surface. Look around. Ears and cheeks cooling. All horizon now. Everywhere you look. You wonder if it's true that sailing ships of old always carried swine. That a pig, thrown overboard, will always swim for the nearest land. You feel a little dizzy. A mild vertigo. Disoriented. Faraway lights could be a ship, or a pier. Or an illusion. But the moon seems real. And about where you remember it. You've always had a good sense of direction. You consult your inner swine. Then do the opposite. Swim for the farthest shore. You're in the Gulf. So somewhere on the coast of Mexico. Or Texas. Or even Louisiana. Cuba, if you're way off course, would be much closer. But still far enough. Switching to backstroke works a different set of muscles. Gazing up into the night sky is not unlike gazing down into the deep. Both are unfathomable in their way. You imagine Jack has lost interest in matters of national economic import by now. Whatever buzz he's managed to tie on, you've probably killed. But surely the other couple hasn't gone to bed. Left him standing alone on the beach. You wonder how long he'll shout your name before he breaks down. Calls 911. The coast guard. No. It'll be someone else who does. Maybe someone from the restaurant. Americans are way friendlier than Canadians. Especially in the South. What's the problem, buddy? What? How long did you say? Oh man! Jack might even argue a little. A few hours in the water ain't diddly. Not for you. Hell, there've been Lake Ontario crossings took over forty. Some who've swum across and back. Even after the call is made, he'll keep trying to find you. Run up and down the beach all night. Screaming like Coach Burton. Like you're not the one who's lost. You stay on your back, but switch to a frog kick, with a lazy underwater double-arm sweep. Not a competitive stroke. Well maybe in synchronized swimming. Super easy. Have to be careful not to kick too hard, though. Don't need a calf cramp. But you have to keep moving. You've heard sharks have to swim to breathe. If you stop swimming, you could freeze. Seems funny someone could freeze to death at room temperature. Because that's what the water is. There's a kind of tension, a clenching, that precedes shivering. The air seems colder now. You push a little harder. Just enough to get warm. You don't want to sweat. You don't want to cry, either. The ocean is big enough. So you stop thinking about Jack and the kids. Roll over. Get back to some serious swimming. Count your strokes. In a pool it's about fifteen hundred per mile. In open water, usually more. Depends on waves and current. There are no waves out here. Not the breaking kind. Only swells. You rise and fall. Rise and fall. It's made you a little queasy. You also have a niggling headache. Like someone's squeezing your eyeballs. Dr. Hopfner mentioned glaucoma. Not to worry. You don't have it. But your IOP's at the high end of normal. Both eyes. Could complicate things down the road. Something to keep on top of. Did you know swimming goggles have been shown to raise intraocular pressure? Do you still swim? Goodness! No wonder you're so trim! You start over every thousand strokes. But was it nine or ten? Your arms are heavy. Burning. And, at the same time, a little numb. Breaststroke's just as hard on your lats, but easier on your shoulders, and better for looking around. Not a lot to see, though. Water. Sky. Stars. The spoonful that are visible, anyway. Tough on the knees. For about a hundred strokes, whenever you pull up to breathe, you think you hear a helicopter. Far away. And getting farther. Till it's just your heart thumping in your ears. Seems a waste of energy to try to shake or knock the water out of them. Should've worn earplugs. Sustained, breaststroke's hard on the neck. It's made your headache worse. Rolling to your back turns your stomach. Turns your queasiness into full blown nausea. Thinking about Skinny's onion rings doesn't help. What goes in a veggie burger? Do meats ever masquerade as vegetables? You need to shit. On the road, you're at the mercy of public washrooms. Restaurants, gas stations and service centers. You can usually hold out longer than Jack. But you get less warning. Still, you both try to sync washroom breaks with refueling. If you don't need gas, you buy an Almond Joy and something to drink. You feel like you should pay something. You wonder if whales ever hold it in, either as an exercise or out of some sort of marine etiquette. But you're just visiting. No holding back for you. You push. Sync it with your whip kicks. No wiping after. Nice thing about being naked in the middle of the ocean. Cleans you right up. Like a giant bidet. It helped. You feel less nauseated. Less bloated. But your head still hurts. All the way down your neck and back, really. Whoever said swimming out into the ocean as far as you can was a good way to die probably never tried it. Or wasn't a very good swimmer. Think about something else. You don't believe Coach Burton had a wife. A family. You remember how obsessively he bit his nails. Probably from being responsible for things over which he had no control. Like your times. Gnawed them till they bled. Right down to the quick. Right into the meat even. Had to have hurt. Probably be prescribed an anticompulsive today. Except when screaming, always had a finger in his mouth. Angry scabs oozing yellow pus. Especially his thumbs. You wonder if they ever got infected. Seemed to infect his breath a little. Your own, too, when blown back into your face. Bile rises up into your throat so, instead of air, you inhale that. And cough. And cough. Makes your head pound. Once, at the YWCA, you took a lifesaving class. Got your certificate. What you're doing now is called a jellyfish float. Tucked into the fetal position, curled like a question mark, you cough into the ocean. Gulp your own saliva and stomach acids. And seawater. Brackish and warm. Like blood. Like urine. Underwater, you vomit. Heave. Bits of veggie burger and deep fried onion and whatever it was you had for dinner... spinach salad and blackened ahi tuna... it all spews from your mouth and nose. Swirls around you. Like chum. But again, you feel better. Cleansed. Lighter. And thirsty. In lake crossings there's juice and pop. In country crossings there's bottled waters. Sweetened teas. Flavored coffees. Whatever you want. Everywhere you stop. But here there's only your saliva. You swallow. Roll to your back. The stars are gone now. The moon, too. You forge ahead, nonetheless. Feel for the farthest shore. Trust your inner pig. Ignore your thirst. The ache in your shoulders and back. Think about something else. Maybe Coach Burton's eating his fingertips was just his way of sharing your pain. How can you expect to push others to maximum endurance if you aren't willing to suffer yourself? Bleed yourself? That reminds you. He had a scalp condition, too. Maybe eczema. A wreath of scratches and pricks. Always a few tiny flakes of skin sprinkled on his glasses. Thick bifocals that made his eyes look as if they were floating in water. Try sidestroke. A lifesaving stroke. But, unless you're carrying someone, an inefficient stroke. Asymmetric and slow. Or maybe you just never practiced it enough. Butterfly is almost as fast as the crawl. But more demanding. A woman did once swim Lake Ontario using it, though. Land mammals all instinctively swim doggie paddle. But you wouldn't. Not if your life depended on it. Switch back to breaststroke. Then freestyle crawl some more. Then just lie on your back and kick those big feet without using your arms. Your mouth is dry. A kickboard would be nice. All the salt you've gulped. You feel weak in a way that transcends mere muscle fatigue. Drained at the core. Your headache is back. But you're almost there. Once, in a psychology class you took back in university, they showed a video of an experiment some psychologists had performed to determine how long rats would tread water before drowning. Some lasted as long as ninety-six hours. Four days. How this knowledge could possibly ever benefit anyone was a complete mystery to you then. You stop. Tread water. Ahead in the distance, you think you see the lights of that city-sized cruise ship again. But then it's gone. The sky and the ocean are black. But with different textures. Seem to reflect one another. Each distorting the other's image. Again and again. Over and over. Like floating between two vast funhouse mirrors. An assistant coach, whose name you forget, once told you Coach Burton had swum for the University of Michigan. On scholarship. Even qualified for Olympic trials. Made it all the way to the finals despite a very tough field that year. Then missed the two-hundred meter freestyle cut by less than a tenth of a second. Tragic in a way. The relay team took gold that year. All that hard, hard work. You think high school workouts are tough? You have no clue what tough is. Heat after heat, with only a few breaths to recoup. Then, after all that hardship and pain, to lose by a fraction of a second. Difference between a six-figure Wheaties endorsement and coaching high school. So maybe Coach Burton just wanted for you what he couldn't give himself. You wonder if he chewed his nails off to keep from scratching his head. Funny how a man can come into focus after so many years. Be seen clearer at a distance. You always wondered why you never saw him in the pool. Never saw him swim. Maybe the chemicals. You try a few more strokes. But, no. Nothing left. And so here you are. Finished. You made it. As far as you can go. So thirsty now. You look up at the starless sky. Feel like you should say goodbye or something. But instead say, Help. Not loud. Not to attract attention. Not even as a prayer. You don't pray. Wouldn't to save your life. You say it only as a kind of joke. Between yourself and the universe: Help. Still you can laugh. A hissing sweeps across the water. You hear the rain before you feel it. Then splashing all around you. Mottling the ocean's smooth surface. At first you think it's a bad thing. Just more water. You feel hope sink. Yourself, too. From below the surface, the rain sounds like it's shushing you. Telling you to listen. Then you realize: it's a gift. And rise up as from the dead. As if reborn. Lie on your back. Feel it pelt your eyes and face. Open your mouth and drink. And drink. Drink until all is quiet. Until the stars return. Again you try to swim. To forge ahead with your plan. Again your limbs refuse to obey. Your arms are numb. Legs, too. Only your lungs still burn. Only your heart still aches. Everything else feels like rubber. So this is it. This really is as far as you can go. Behind you, as if to agree, and to confirm the correctness of your course, dawn shimmers on the horizon. Offering guidance. Promising warmth. In a few minutes the entire sun will peer up over the edge of the world. Rising as it fell. You wonder when humans stopped worshiping it, and why. You feel a warm gust of wind in your face. Like Coach Burton's breath. Feeling has returned, accompanied by a prickling in your extremities. Still, you cannot swim any farther. Not another stroke. Not ahead. And so there you are. Two directions remaining. Down into the unfathomable. The inevitable. Or back into the morning's light. And whatever else awaits. All or nothing, now. Nothing, or all... And so you pirouette. Turn. Reverse course. Breathe. Stroke. Roll. Breathe. You probably look like the financial planner's wife. The way she does her laps. Stroke. Roll. Breathe. Still, progress is progress. Pain a blessing. Endurance unfathomable. This you have learned. This he has taught you well. Crab-walking along beside you. With that awkward crouching stride that must've killed his knees. At times, stooped almost as in prayer. Keeping pace. Bringing you home. Just as you remember. Bent down with that thorny crown. Those drowning eyes. Leaning right out over the water. One hand on the deck for support, and, in the other, holding forth, clenched in bloody fingers - not for you to read, but only to emphasize the importance of time remaining - his silver stopwatch. Screaming, blowing your breath back into your face. Every time you breathe: Swim goddammit! Swim!

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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