#i just want to point out that i have not yet finished reading lincoln in the bardo ldshfjads

[twdmusicboxmystery]

hello. i’m the nonny who sent you the interview with kirkman where he talks about tys hallucinations. i’ve recently been rewatching twd and just finished 5x09. i just wanted to point out a couple things and give a quick analysis.

the constant use of the line ‘it went the way it had to, the way it was always going to go’ is very telling i think. it says that what happened to beth was inevitable, and it HAD to go that way. in that’s in favour of the storyline, and what beth will become. if she stayed with the group, she might of stayed the way she always was, with the protection of rick and co, she wouldn’t of got the development she needed. hence why it had to go that way to further beth’s character and develop her further. pair this with ‘it’s better now’ which could refer to that her fate will be better in the long run. 

we see multiple shots of a walker in a car, the camera focuses on it not once but TWICE, once at the start and again later in the episode. the group stares at it uncomfortably, adding credibility to the theory of her being left in a car. 

beth is also the last person to appear in the hallucinations, in a different scene. usually the best is saved for last or it could be a hint that one is not like the others. the whole episode is very strangely edited unlike any other in twd. it was purposeful to make audiences who aren’t paying as close attention to think the funeral at the start is beth’s, but we see at the end it’s tyresse’s when they show the exact same shot from the beginning at the end.

i think after reading your post about the leak of daryl listening to the radio and looking shocked. you speculated that maybe he heard beth on the radio or something about her. which is a parallel to tys hallucination where beth’s singing comes through the radio. it’s weirdly shot in the way that we first heard he radio glitching, then beth’s singing coming through it. but we see her singing in person, yet her voice still comes through the radio. this is really strange as they have a visual of her singing, yet her voice is coming through a different outlet.

another thing that i wanted to mention but didn’t know where to fit it in was the yellow sun on the ground that was focused on. beth’s signature colour to me is yellow as it was the colour of her top in still, she’s blonde, and she’s sort of seen as a ‘ray of sunshine’ in the apocalypse. this to me is hinting at beth still being alive and present in the apocalypse

let me know your thoughts💗

I completely agree with all of your analysis above. I think 5x09 is one ginormous hint to Beth's future arc, and it's all tied up with the CRM (we see lots of hints of them in the room where Ty is hallucinating, though at this point in the series, we had very little knowledge of them).

I also remember someone--I want to say Andrew Lincoln, but don't quote me on that--saying this was one of his favorite episodes that they ever filmed. Given how strange and abstract the episode is, I really side-eyed that. Don't get me wrong, it's one of my favorite episodes, too. I love it, but mostly because of what I think it foretells for Beth.

To have one of the actors say an episode that, as you say, is strangely edited and largely unexplained, is their favorite, makes me think they know things that we don't. I totally want to shake them and make them tell us why. But of course they're not going to do that.

So yeah. Like I said, I totally agree with everything you said. I liked how you explained the weirdness of both seeing Beth AND having her voice come out of the radio. I hadn't thought about it quite like that before.

Here's to hoping we finally get a fulfillment of this strange episode in the Daryl spinoff. Thanks so much for your thoughts and analysis. Xoxo! ☔️💝

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

I. “Sorry,” the guy says, his voice deep and sun-warmed. Dean steps back, extending his hands as if to say no problem, and then he recognizes the guy--it’s Castiel, the dude from the campus coffeeshop with the weird name that made a bunch of people look up, Dean included. 

“You’re Castiel,” Dean says. “I’m Dean.”

“I’ve never been introduced to myself before,” Castiel replies, but he’s grinning, and he sticks out his hand for Dean to shake. Dean helps Castiel pick up the papers he dropped when Dean ran into him, and they walk to their next class together, because it turns out Religion 101 and Intro to Philosophy are in the same building. Castiel tosses Dean a peace sign as he turns towards his classroom, and Dean waves back. 

II. A week later, Dean's outside his history professor’s office to get feedback on a paper when Castiel walks up, his head buried in a book. He looks up when Dean coughs, and then a smile grows on his face.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel asks, as if there hasn’t been a gap in their conversation at all. 

“I’ve been better. Dr. Turner is about to ream me over this essay. I may have...left it until the last minute.” Dean paused. “How are you?”

“Trying to finish reading this book before my next class. I may have...also left it until the last minute.” Castiel’s smile grows broader. 

Just then, Dr. Turner opens his office door, and Dean smiles at Castiel ruefully. 

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel says, just as Dean follows Dr. Turner into the office and is about to close the door, “I never got a last name.”

“Winchester. You?”

“Novak.” 

III. “Who the hell would drive this monstrosity?” Benny, Dean’s coworker at the auto shop he works at after class, asks. They’re both staring at a massive gold Lincoln Continental from the seventies that has a popped tire and is, according to their boss, making “funny noises.”

“That would be me,” a familiar voice says, and Dean turns to see the shock of dark hair and vibrant blue gaze that indicates Castiel Novak. 

“Oh, hey, Cas--Castiel,” Dean says.

“Cas is fine. But yes, I drive this...’monstrosity.’” Cas uses finger quotes and everything. 

“You and Dean should get along, then,” Benny quips, “He acts like his car was God’s gift to mankind.”

“Hey!” Dean protests. “Baby demands respect.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “You call your car Baby?”

“So what?” Dean frowns at Cas, although it’s difficult, what with the twinkle he can see in the other guy’s eye. 

“So can you fix my car?”

“We can,” Benny says. “For sure.” 

After Cas leaves, Benny elbows Dean and winks at him. Dean decides to pretend not to know Benny for the rest of their shift. 

IV. They see each other all the time after that, almost like the universe is pushing them together. When Cas sees Dean’s car, his dad’s old 1967 Chevy Impala, he tells Dean it’s a “ridiculous” car, and Dean only doesn’t write him off completely because he’s starting to like Cas.

They run into each other in the student union or the library and do homework. If they’re both at the coffeeshop where Dean first heard Cas’ name, they sit together. Cas shows Dean pictures of his cats and Dean tells Cas stories about what his little brother, Sam, who’s still in high school, has been up to. He learns that Cas’ whole family lives over five hundred miles away, that Cas chose this university to get away from them. Cas learns in turn that Dean is only thirty minutes from his hometown on purpose, in case his mom or brother need him. 

Cas is a member of their university’s beekeeping club and he’s double majoring in philosophy and English. Dean doesn’t know what he wants to major in yet, maybe social work, so he’s getting all his pre-reqs out of the way. Cas says that it’s okay to not know what he wants to do, and Dean believes him. 

This goes on for a couple of months, and at some point hardly a day goes by where they don’t see each other, and it’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to Dean. 

V. Dean doesn’t often go to parties, but his friend Charlie who he met in DnD club found out about some frat having one this weekend and apparently they had to go, which is how he’s found himself standing awkwardly in the hallway of a random fraternity, nursing a potentially hazardous red Solo cup of jungle juice. 

“Well hey there, stranger.” 

Dean turns to see Cas holding a beer. “Hey,” Dean replies, feeling his face warm. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Cas, but Cas is his friend, and besides, Cas is cool. Interesting. He writes poetry and wears vintage button-down shirts and paints his own Converse. Dean feels like he himself is what would happen if you made the midwest a person: flannel, leather, ripped jeans, work boots, none of it to be aesthetic. This is just what he looks like.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, takes a sip of his drink.

“Come here often?” Cas asks after a moment. The hallway is dark, the music audible even though they aren’t in the main room.

“Ha.” Dean swirls his jungle juice. “Charlie--I’ve told you about her, I think--she dragged me here. Pretty sure she’s making out with her girlfriend on a couch as we speak.”

“She threw you to the wolves?”

“A little.” Dean smiles ruefully. “I’m usually reading mystery novels on the weekends and she told me I was boring.” “That’s funny.” Cas smiles with just his eyes. “I would say you’re anything but boring.” 

Dean shrugs. He’s glad for the dim lighting because he just knows his face is getting redder the longer this conversation goes on. He fidgets with the cuff of his flannel with the hand not holding his drink and stares off into space. 

“Hey Dean?” Cas says suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Do you like me?” Cas tilts his head slightly, like he always does. 

“What?” Dean sets his cup on the windowsill next to him. “Do I--what?”

“Just wondering. It’s alright if you don’t.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Do you...like me?” God, this feels like he’s in eighth grade again, crushing on the guy that would always let him borrow a pen in science class. 

Cas considers for a moment. “Definitely.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

Cas somehow tilts his head further. “Well?”

“Uh, yes. I, uh--” Dean fumbles, but he can’t take his eyes off Cas, who knocks back the rest of his beer and sets the bottle on the floor before stepping into Dean’s personal space. 

“Can I kiss you?” Cas is smiling.

“Please.” 

At first, it’s gentle--just a tentative press of lips, Dean can feel the upward curve of Cas’ lips. Then it turns into something a little heavier as Dean’s brain gets back online and he remembers that he has hands, and that’s Cas’ tongue, tentatively exploring, and then not-so-tentatively exploring, and Dean’s pretty sure he might explode.

Eventually they part--Cas has backed Dean against the nearest wall, and Dean has his hands on Cas’ hips, pulling them together, and then Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s.

“Hey Dean?”

“Mmm-hmm?” “Do you think I could get your phone number?” 

#ahh please no one hate that I kinda made dean shy here but shy dorky college au dean is my 1 weakness #destiel #mutual tags pls tell me if I'm annoying anhhhh bye #cillabee #usersheya #userstarry #casthyelle #offbeatwrites

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 104

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,120ish

Summary: Y/N’s return to SHIELD is not what she wanted it to be.

The “new” SHIELD’s border members, Gonzalez, Oliver, and Weaver were in the room, along with Bobbi and May. There was little time for chitchat, the meeting began right away. Y/N and Coulson started with the news footage, playing on stations around the world.

“Cards on the table,” Coulson said, throwing an access lanyard for the helicarrier onto the table.

“Obviously, you and Fury have been keeping busy,” Gonzalez commented.

“What can I say? I’m a company man. With the fall of SHIELD, Fury felt we needed a failsafe. Something completely off the books, a break in case of emergency type of thing.”

“Seems like you broke it wide open,” Weaver replied.

“And saved the day in the process,” Bobbi added. Y/N immediately noticed the look Weaver and Oliver shot Bobbi.

“Excuse me, but you weren’t there,” Y/N said, anger lacing her words. “If it weren’t for the helicarrier, hundreds of thousands of people would be dead. Breaking it wide open was the only option.

“What Agent Rogers is trying to say is that, what’s transpired over the last week is a lot to take in,” Coulson said. “We know. When I found out that this ship had survived HYDRA’s attack, and still had that classified cargo on board, that you placed spies on my base, that I couldn’t keep my own people safe…I felt like I’d failed as director. And the truth is, I did.” He laughed a bit, looking down. “A coup will make you think about things like that. I tried to do it all alone. That was a mistake. Even Fury had a world council watching over him, providing guidance.”

“What are you suggesting?” Gonzalez asked.

“One SHIELD, where I operate as director under your advisement.” Gonzalez shared a look with Bobbi, Weaver, and Oliver. “This way, we’ll have a cool underground base and a boat.”

“It’s hard to argue with a man who helped prevent Ultron from killing thousands of people. But there are plenty more battles to be won and one closer to home that I fear the helicarrier won’t solve.”

~~~

After the meeting, Y/N escaped to the medical wing for some medication for her leg. May had followed her there.

“You okay?” May asked, folding her arms as she watched Y/N.

“I’ll live,” Y/N responded with a wince. 

“Fury make you come here?”

“What do you think? He couldn’t stand the thought of Phil getting pushed out of the director’s seat. You still mad he kept Theta Protocol a secret?”

“I won’t be forgiving him that easily.”

“He did help save thousands of people.”

“So did you.” May silently observed Y/N as she rewrapped her injured leg. “Does Stark know you’re here?”

“I couldn’t disappear after a world ending fight without telling him.”

“Hmm,” May hummed with a nod. “Something’s different,” May thought. “Something happened.”

“Aren’t you intuitive,” Y/N laughed out loud.

“What?”

“You noticed something is different.”

“How did you—“

“What’s different is that I can now read minds.”

“What?” Coulson questioned from the door way.

“The Mind Stone in Loki’s scepter. I can also control minds. Came in handy when Steve and Tony started at each others throats.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?” Coulson stepped forward.

“Um… no. I did only get these abilities a few days ago and I was asked to come here, unwillingly, and was forced straight into a meeting. Sorry I was too busy saving the world and helping that group of people understand why we hid Theta Protocol.” Y/N groaned as she stood back on her feet. “You know what, I am done helping all of you. Don’t come in attacking me like that, when you don’t know what kind of hell I’ve been through this week. I’ve already gotten all this from my brother, I sure as hell won’t take it from you!”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to—“

“I’ll be on the base, packing my things and saying my good byes to the team. I’m done being questioned for everything that happens.”

“Come on, Y/N,” May said, stepping closer as a portal formed behind Y/N. “He didn’t—”

“I don’t care.”

Y/N rushed through the portal, closing it before Coulson and May had a chance to do or say anything else. She looked around, letting out a sigh of relief when she realized she was in her bunker on the base. Leaving the room, she wasn’t surprised to find her teammates in the lab. 

“Guys,” Y/N called softly. 

Skye and Fitz-Simmons turned there attentions from what they were focused on to Y/N at the doorway. Her eyes quickly filled with tears.

“What happened?” Fitz rushed up to her. “Are you okay?”

All Y/N could do was shake her head as the sobs began. Fitz quickly brought her in for a hug. Simmons and Skye rubbed her back as Fitz tried to calm her. When they calmed her down, they helped her into a chair and then she told them about her new powers, the events of Sokovia, and what had happened on Gonzalez’ ship.

“I know it probably sounds like I’m over reacting,” she said. “But I’m so tired…. So tired of fighting and people questioning me…. Just so tired.”

“Understandably so,” Simmons said, rubbing Y/N’s leg.

“So that’s why I’m… I’ve decided to take a step away from the team.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed.

“You can’t do that,” Skye said, clearly hurt. “What if I need you?”

“Oh, Skye,” Y/N cooed, grabbing her hand. “You will always be welcomed at the Tower and I will always be a phone call away. I just… I need some time for myself. I really haven’t had any since I was found. I’ve always kept myself busy with missions and taking care of people. And… I need a break.”

Suddenly, Skye’s phone began ringing. She sighed upon seeing it was Coulson before answering it. He told her of the classified cargo in Gonzalez’ ship. A rectangular shaped stone with carvings on it, in a large glass box. It frequently turns into liquid, sloshing around a few times, before turning back into a stone. Coulson asked if Skye, Y/N, or Lincoln knew why Gordon and Raina would be after it.

“I have no idea,” Skye stated. Coulson and May showed up at the base about an hour after his call, pulling Y/N and Skye into Coulson’s office. “Seriously, Y/N and I have never heard of anything like that before and neither has Lincoln.”

“And you believe him?” Coulson asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You barely know him.”

“I know enough. He and Jiaying helped me. They never tried to hurt me—“

“Though they did try to hurt me,” Y/N muttered. 

“—Th-they taught me to channel my power so I wasn’t hurting myself. These are good people, Coulson.”

“Are they? People, I mean.”

“What?” Y/N questioned.

“I mean, look Skye, I know you feel connected to this group, but you won’t tell us much about them, you’re keeping to yourself—“

“I’ve been taking care of Lincoln,” she argued.

“Okay, but from our perspective, we don’t even know what to call them.”

“Inhumans. Our ancient ancestors called themselves Inhumans, and we just want to be left alone.” 

“We?”

"If they want to be left alone, then why infiltrate a military vessel?” May asked.

“You’re assuming that this thing is a weapon. Well, it’s in SHIELD’s possession. Maybe they’re just afraid of it – afraid of what Gonzalez might do with it.”

“We’re not the enemy here,” Coulson stated, standing up from his desk.

“This man teleported onboard, Skye,” May defended. “He’s clearly very dangerous.”

“I portaled my way onto the ship as well,” Y/N said. “And have other abilities now too. You going to lock me up and question me? And you can be just as dangerous May.”

“I heard about what happened to that little girl in Bahrain,” Skye stated. “Jiaying told me the whole story. Did you know that she was Inhuman?” May looked at Skye, clearly shocked, as both Coulson and Y/N looked between the two women. “They both were. So you, of all people, should understand why they’d want to keep their location a secret…what they’re so afraid of.”

~~~

It was the morning and Y/N hadn’t gotten the courage to leave just yet. She was walking towards the lab when she saw Gonzalez and his crew. Lookin into Gonzalez’ mind, she learned that him and his crew were headed to Coulson’s office and that they had found the location of Afterlife. She portaled herself in Coulson’s office.

“Y/N, I’m about to have a meeting,” Coulson started, “is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I’m still the assistant director, aren’t I?” She responded. “I should be in the meeting as well.”

“I don’t know—“

“Rogers, Coulson, May,” Gonzalez greeted upon entering, his crew behind him. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Coulson quickly replied. “Agent Rogers was just leaving.”

Throwing a glare at Coulson, Y/N looked at May for some help. She didn’t give any. With one more look at Coulson, she noticed him subtly pointing to his head.

“Leave and portal into the secret stairwell behind the monitor,” Coulson instructed. “You’ll be able to listen in from there.”

She quickly did as she was told. Gonzalez and his crew explained that they had found the location and put the map up on the large wall monitor.

“What’s our plan of attack?” Gonzalez asked.

“Who said anything about an attack?” Coulson fired back.

“These people are a threat.”

“We don’t know that,” Bobbi retorted.

“We don’t know anything about them.”

“They could teleport into this room right now and leave a bomb behind,” Oliver said.

“We’ve seen what Skye is capable of. Lincoln could short out our entire system,” Weaver stated. “And then there’s Y/N, who can now also teleport into places.”

“I understand your concerns, but the last thing we need is to start a war,” Coulson said. “We just finished one for God’s sake.”

“Action needs to be taken, Phil,” Gonzalez argued.

“Which is why I’m proposing a sit down with their leader, this woman Jiaying. We’ll call it a fact finding mission.”

“They’d need to agree to that first,” Weaver said.

“We could use Skye is a liaison,” Bobbi suggested. “She is a SHIELD agent.”

“Is that still true?” Gonzalez wondered.

“Of course it is,” Coulson replied.

“Now’s a good time to find out where Skye really stands,” May added, seemingly doubting Skye’s loyalties.”

~~~

Y/N made sure she was walking down the hallway with Skye when Coulson told her they were going to the Afterlife.

“No, you cannot go there,” Skye said. “Listen, secrecy is what they value most.”

“We can’t ignore their existence,” Coulson reasoned. “They’re not ignoring ours.”

“Please!” Skye hurried to stand in from of Coulson, stopping him from walking.

“Look, at the very least, we need to find out how many people we’re dealing with, assess their powers, place them on The Index. You know how this works. You’re a SHIELD agent.”

Skye took a second before answering. “I-I don’t know what I am anymore.” Coulson seemed taken back by this. “Okay, just…let Lincoln and I go first. They’re probably worried about us. Y/N can take us. I’ll talk to Jiaying, explain why you’re coming, that you just want to help. She’ll listen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she’s my mother.”

~~~

“I’m leaving after this,” Y/N said. It was just her and Coulson headed towards the lab. “I need a break.”

“No,” he answered.

“No? I’m sorry, what?”

“I can’t let you leave… I can’t lose you.”

“As in your agent or your friend?”

“Both.”

“Too bad. It’s time for me to slow down, figure some things out. Like you’ve suggested a few times.” Coulson sighed. “My heads falling out of the game, Phil. I need to leave it before it costs someone there life.”

“I understand. I’ll just…. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” The two entered the lab.

“Time to go,” Coulson said.

Fitz-Simmons, Skye, and Lincoln turned to look at them. Skye closed her bag, zipping it, before sharing one last look with Fitz-Simmons and walking towards Coulson and Y/N. They exit the lab, Coulson and Y/N leading with Skye and Lincoln following, side by side.

“How’d it go?” Skye asked Lincoln.

“The Indexing?” Lincoln clarified. “They just asked a lot of questions. But I’m sure you guys already have my blood from when I was out, right?”

“It’s protocol,” Coulson reasoned.

“HYDRA said the same thing.”

They stopped walking. Coulson turned to face Lincoln.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but you can trust us,” Coulson said. “You’ll see.” Lincoln just stared, saying nothing, so Coulson turned to Y/N. “You ready?”

“Always,” she replied with a nod.

“Okay.” Coulson looked between Y/N and Skye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Skye replied.

“Okay.”

~~~

Y/N put them in the courtyard of Afterlife. Luckily, Jiaying was there. She immediately went up and hugged Skye.

“Are you alright?” Jiaying asked.

“Yeah,” Skye responded.

Jiaying looked at Lincoln. “What happened?”

“A lot,” Lincoln answered. “But I’m okay.”

“A doctor at SHIELD patched him up,” Skye said.

“SHIELD?” Jiaying repeated.

“We need to talk.”

“Go to the recovery room,” Jiaying instructed Lincoln. “Have one of ours take a look at you.” He nodded and walked away. “Come. Tell me everything.”

Jiaying lead Skye away. Skye casted a look over her shoulder to Y/N, who nods in okay. As the two women leave further, Y/N notices Gordon and Raina near by, looking grim. Curious, Y/N peeked into Raina’s mind.

“SHIELD is coming,” Raina thought to herself. “This is my chance to be the hero.”

With that, Y/N quickly left back to the base. She put herself outside of Coulson’s office, where himself, May, Bobbi, Gonzalez, Weaver, and Oliver were in a meeting. Coulson was briefing them.

“Agent Weaver, you’ll be with me on QJ36,” Coulson said. “We’ll land a good distance from their main buildings here.” He pointed to the map on the monitor. "Now, I’ll go in first, alone, unarmed.”

“You shouldn’t be the one going in,” Gonzalez stated.

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re too close to this. Skye’s like a daughter to you and her mother is these people’s leader.”

“I’m banking on that personal connection to everyone through this safely.”

“You shouldn’t be. This is one of the greatest threats SHIELD’s ever faced.”

“I agree,” Weaver added. “A whole race of people with powers…”

“And you’ve proven time and again that you’re not objective when it comes to Skye.”

“That’s you opinion, not fact,” Bobbi retorted.

“Want to talk facts? Ultron was created because people were too close to Tony Stark. They were blinded by his charm. They trusted him. Never even thought to look at what he was working on. And The Avengers, they let one man do whatever he wanted, and the world was almost destroyed for it. We’re SHIELD We’re better than that. Or at least we should be.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N growled, stepping into the office. Everyone’s head snapped towards her. “You weren’t there. We weren’t blinding by his charm. He didn’t tell us what he was working on because he thought he was protecting us. And Tony wasn’t alone, Dr. Banner was working on it with him as well. They thought they were creating something that would allow the Avengers and SHIELD to go home. To have families. For the fight to end.”

“You aren’t suppose to be here, Agent Rogers.”

“I can be anywhere. Have you forgotten that?”

“No, I haven’t. That is why I need to meet with these people. Coulson is not objective when it comes to you or Skye.”

“No one is objective when it comes to those on their team! At least if they’re an actual team.”

Gonzalez stood up from his chair, going toe-to-toe with Y/N. “Agent Rogers, it’s time for you to leave.”

“Make me.” Guns cocked around the room, all aiming at Y/N.

“Woah!” Bobbi called. “Oliver and Weaver, what are you doing?”

“She’s dangerous,” Oliver stated. “Even without powers, she’s dangerous.”

“Y/N, stand down,” Coulson said. “Y/N… please…”

Y/N peeked into Gonzalez’ mind. “All you want it war. And from the looks of it, you might get it. But I’m not going to be here when it happens. If SHIELD involves you, I don’t want any part of it.”

“Y/N—“

“No, Coulson, I’m done. Tell the team I’m sorry that I didn’t say a final goodbye.”

~~~

Tony was in his lab, getting the final plans ready for the new Avengers Facility he was going to build in upstate New York. The construction was going to start tomorrow, and they were to work all day and night until it was finished. Tony had decided that the team needed more space and privacy to train.

“Boss,” FRIDAY called, “Y/N Rogers has returned to the Tower.”

“Already?” Tony questioned. “It must have gone well. Where is she?”

“The training room. She’s already going at it will a punching bag.”

“Okay then,” Tony stood up and headed out of the room, “it clearly did not go well.”

Tony hurried down to the training rooms. He heard your punches before he even opened the door. As Tony drew near, he could see the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Honey?” He carefully called, only to get no response. “I’m going to assume that the meeting didn’t go well.”

“It… wasn’t… the meeting…” Y/N said, in between punches. “It was… everything… else…”

Tony silently watched for a moment before completely going to Y/N’s side and grabbing her arm. “Okay, okay. I think it’s time for you to either talk about it or go to bed.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

Tony quietly led Y/N to their room. He guided her to sit on their bed before helping her unwrap her hands.

“I quit,” she whispered. “I’m done… I need a break.”

“How did Coulson take it?”

“Not very well.”

“And Skye?”

“Since there’s been no major earthquakes, then I think okay.”

“Well,” he pulled her hands up, placing kissed on them, “I think that was smart. I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about retirement too. No missions, just paying and designing everything.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it? To slow down?”

“I think that, together, we’ll be able to do anything.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask. 

#avengers x reader #the avengers x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #tony stark #Tony Stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #Iron Man #iron man fanfiction #The Avengers #Avengers #avengers age of ultron #age of ultron #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 5

A/N Now the long chapters are really starting

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Avalon’s purse was left on the kitchen island right by the door. It was on its side as if it had been thrown there in some sort of haste when she came inside. I picked it up and ruffled through the small bag; pushing aside the tube of lipstick, small medicine bottle, few feminine hygiene products, and her wallet before accessing her phone.

Her lockscreen was a photo of me, taken on our honeymoon some time by the resort pool. If I didn’t feel the breath of shame and guilt on my neck, that certainly sealed it in. I typed in her passcode but was met with ‘incorrect pin’. I tried again, only to receive the same message. Since when did she change her passcode and not tell me?

We must ignore the fact that I changed mine a few weeks back without telling her as well.

The last thing I wanted to have to do was facial recognition, but it seemed that was my only option.

So I found myself back in the studio, patting softly over the blood soaked rug to the body of my wife to stick her iPhone in her face. Jonah watched from the doorway as I crouched down carefully on the balls of my feet and held the screen towards Avalon’s blank expression. The phone unlocked and the home screen appeared. I didn’t look at her for too long – honestly I couldn’t without risking being sent to empty my stomach again – and I simply took her phone over to the studio couch and sat down on the arm. Jonah stood beside me to watch over my shoulder as I opened up her contacts app and scrolled down to J.

You can imagine my surprise when the very first contact under that letter was simply the letter itself. It was too easy. I brought up any messages she had with that person and scrolled to the top of the reasonably short text thread. They had messaged her first,

Hey. Thanks for reaching out. I’ll have the stuff together for the end of the week as promised.

Great! Looking forward to it.

When’s your fiancé out next? I can drop by your place if you want.

He usually works late every day so whenever is good. Lunch tomorrow maybe?

Yeah, sounds good. See you then :)

There was only one other date that they had messaged – at least by text – and it was also a short yet cryptic conversation.

If you’re ready today I can come by. Daniel’s held up in meetings so I’m alone.

Yeah that’s fine. I’m at the Lincoln Motel in Pasadena. Room 19. Come by whenever.

1559 Lincoln Ave

Okay! I’ll head over now. I’m excited! :)

The green monster was never a kind friend, dear reader, and I couldn’t help but feel near sick again with the question as to if my wife had been cheating on me. Sure, I was no perfect man and I seemed to put a lot of my efforts into my work – maybe more than I should have – but never would I have dreamt about being unfaithful to her. Seemed as though she had thought differently. I locked Avalon’s phone and slid it in my pocket as I stood up, trying to act like it was something that just rolled off my back.

“What the fuck.” Jonah breathed.

I pushed a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my neck tensely, ignoring his rhetorical question.

“You okay?” Jonah asked, setting his hand on my shoulder.

“Fine.” I nodded stiffly.

“Do you want to stop by the motel?”

I contemplated his offer for a moment. It was on the way out of state anyway and it would have been nice to get some answers. Maybe it would even help me figure out what happened to Avalon. This mysterious J person wasn’t necessarily in my good books at the moment.

“Yeah. We should.” I finally answered.

The first step before we could leave was to clean up the brutal scene that I had found myself amidst just in case anyone was to come past while we were gone. Our safest bet was to keep Avalon with us until we figured out what had happened; this was imperative especially if it came to the possible outcome where I had killed her. I grabbed an extra towel from under the sink in the studio and Jonah and I stood beside the body.

“Jesus Christ.” Jonah breathed as we stared at her.

I held the towel out to him, “You tuck this under her. I’ll lift her up.”

He nodded silently and watched as I stepped over my wife who was still laying out over the ruined rug. With one foot on either side of her, I bent down and slid my hands under her armpits and just around her back. She was terribly cold and I could feel it through the shirt she was still wearing. Ironic choice of words, but it was chilling.

Jonah slid the towel underneath her and the strain of me holding her limp body up caused more blood to trickle out of the gash across her neck and I looked away to keep from seeing any more. Waking up in it was enough. We moved down her body and I held up her hips so Jonah could tug the towel completely underneath her.

“Let’s move her to the hardwood.” I instructed flatly and we each took two corners of the towel to hoist her up off the blood-soaked rug.

Jonah and I shuffled across the studio and gently set her down on the hardwood in front of the front door to keep her off the rug. The knife still rested on the carpet, glinting teasingly in the late morning sun and I finally worked up the nerve to bend down and pick it up.

“I’ll leave you alone when you get it through your head what a psychotic bitch you’re being!”

“I’m psychotic?” she shrieked, whipping around to face me once we both entered the studio and I flicked on the light. The large collection of wedding gifts was piled neatly along the kitchenette counter and on the couch, the rest of the small single room building taken up by all of my music equipment. Avalon got right up in my face, pointing her finger at me behind furious brown eyes, and screaming until the minimal soundproofing almost muffled the edges of her voice, “Look at yourself! Screaming at me for simply missing my husband on our honeymoon! You’re so fucking psychotic it’s nearly goddamn comedic!”

“I’m not going to keep having this same argument with you, Avalon! I’m getting so sick of needing to defend myself against you time and time again! You just don’t respect me or my job!”

“Who even are you?” she scoffed humourlessly, “It’s nothing about respect, it’s about you being a decent human being – a decent husband – and actually showing me that you care about me!”

“Avalon, I swear to God if you don’t-”

“If I don’t what? Shut up? Be a good little wife and shut up and look pretty for you? Big important business tycoon Daniel Seavey is going to…do what exactly?”

With the knife in my hand, my eyes drifted to the stack of wedding gifts on the studio couch, the thin polished wooden box on the top capturing my attention. The lid was left open, revealing the velvet trimmed interior and the rest of the silver knives resting in a row inside. It was a wedding gift from my brother, the high-end knife set purchased and engraved with our surname on each dark wooden handle until they looked no less than ridiculously expensive and classy. The one empty slot in the velvet box had its assigned subject resting in my hand, the largest knife from the box weighing down in my fingers.

How strange and ironic it is; Avalon killed by a knife wielding her own surname. The surname only given to her a mere three weeks earlier. I had no time to stew on that, however, as I was sure that the fact she wasn’t at work that morning (and that neither was I) would start to raise suspicions. We had to get out of there before someone came looking for us.

I took the knife to the sink in the kitchenette along the far wall of the studio and turned on the hot water to rinse the blood off the blade. I found myself trembling slightly as I scrubbed, my hands struggling to keep still even under the warmth of the water. The red stained the water and flooded around the base of the stainless-steel sink as the drain pulled it down and soon my hands and the knife were left clean and spotless.

Jonah had the rug rolled up from the floor by the time I finished cleaning the knife and I thanked him quietly as I set the chef’s knife back in its slot in the wooden box. The handles stared back at me, twelve identical silver engravings of my surname staring back at me as if they knew what I had possibly done. I closed the lid and snapped the silver clasps shut.

“What do we do with the rug?” I asked my best friend.

Jonah exhaled deeply and brushed the back of his hand over his forehead. He thought for a minute before replying, “Bring it with us?”

I nodded in agreement, “Okay. I’ll grab my keys.”

I headed back into the main house quickly to grab my keys and anything else I might want to bring with me. My laptop case was an obvious and I tucked Avalon’s letter in my bag too just in case I might need it again while figuring everything out.

I was ready for a quick getaway but of course that would have been too easy. Another thing that drove my wife insane? The fact that I constantly was losing everything. My keys were usually the victim of my carelessness and this moment was obviously no exception. I couldn’t find them anywhere, along the front console table or in my laptop bag or on the kitchen counter.

Jonah stepped inside the back door again, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah.” I rushed back down the hallway to the master bedroom, scanning the side tables and the front pocket of our packed suitcase hurriedly.

Time wasn’t on our side and my tendency to misplace everything I own certainly wasn’t helping. On my way back down the hallway, I caught myself on the doorway to the walk-in-closet when I saw a glint out of the corner of my eye and stepped back to see my keys peeking out of my jean’s pocket. You would think I would have checked their first. Well, sorry to break it to you, but nothing was going as expected that morning.

I grabbed my keys from my blood-stained jeans and stuffed the hoodie and pants into my laptop bag too. I stopped to grab a baseball hat and set it on my head followed by my darkest sunglasses I had in my closet to try and keep some sort of physical neutrality for going into public before meeting Jonah back on the porch. I held my keys up to him as I walked right past him and around the side of the house to the gate. He followed right behind me with the expensive box of knives in hand.

The driveway backed right onto the side gate and I unlatched it and pulled the white pickets open to let ourselves through. Ah yes, my pretty expensive Los Angeles house and my white picket fence and my dead wife. Really living the perfect American dream, huh?

I unlocked my Tesla and yanked open the back door to toss in my overflowing laptop bag and Jonah’s heavy work bag while Jonah opened the trunk and tucked the knife set in the corner. We hurried back down the driveway towards the studio door and slipped back inside, stepping over Avalon to grab the rug first. We each took an end of the heavy rolled up vintage Persian and took it down to my car. I was lucky my car had been parked in reverse in the driveway which prevented any neighbours from possibly seeing us loading the trunk with questionable items.

The last thing we needed to take care of was Avalon but we couldn’t necessarily carry her outside in a blood streaked towel. We stood over her in thought of what to do next. We needed something to keep it discreet while still being able to keep her in one piece. There was no way I would be able to stomach cutting any limbs. I had gone through enough that morning as it was.

My eyes scanned my studio for any possible solution to our situation and quickly landed on one of the large travel cases I used for my production keyboard. I looked back down at Avalon’s body and then back to the long trunk. 

This was insane.

I stepped over her and walked over to the corner of the studio where the travel trunks were stacked up. I moved a few smaller ones from the top and Jonah came over to help me once he caught on to what I was doing. I flipped open the top of the trunk and made sure it was empty except for the thin plush padding that lined the interior. 

I refrained from making a joke about it at least being a comfortable place for her to lay.

Jonah and I each took an end of the towel again and hoisted her stiff body up and over to the trunk and lowered her in slowly. I made sure the towel was tucked inside and that her arms and legs were resting flatly before closing the lid and buckled up the case. Jonah and I met each other’s eyes over top of the trunk but didn’t speak a word before picking up either end and made our way out of the studio.

The walk down the side of the house to the driveway felt like forever. There we were, in broad daylight, on a regular Tuesday morning, carrying a dead body into the trunk of my car. The production case fit nicely into the trunk – I knew it would from the amount of times I had to bring it into work or over to Jonah’s house – and I shut the trunk over top of it. I let out a shaky exhale and Jonah and I glanced blankly at each other.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

#🔪 #daniel seavey #jonah marais #why dont we #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

[kaywinchester]

Dark Power Pt. 2

Part Two! Read Part 1 Here if you haven’t already!

Summary: Sam Winchester’s daughter was visited by a demon at a young age and shows signs of special abilities. Now he has left his past life as a hunter behind. What will he do when Y/N starts to grow up and ask questions? 

Song requested for this fic- In Control by Nemesea

Listen to it here! Song Link

Word Count: 2,161

Pairings: Sam x daughter!winchester

A/N: This part is mostly just dialogue and talking. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the spicy stuff in the later parts ;)

It had been two years since Jessica died. Y/N was now three. Sam intended to find a place after everything happened, he mainly wanted things to remain normal for Y/N, especially now that she was growing up. But, with Dean hanging around, it made the process a little difficult and he ended doing what he did not want to do in the first place. Jumping from motel to motel.

Sam knew Y/N would start to ask questions eventually, but not this soon. She had already started talking and Sam soon enrolled her in daycare. She wasn’t old enough for preschool yet, but he wanted her to start getting used to being in a school environment. It was his goal to keep things as normal as possible.

Sam had picked Y/N up from daycare and drove her back to the motel that they had been at for almost 3 months now. Y/N was getting used to their current setting.

“Daddy?” Y/N’s little voice spoke as she set her tiny backpack on the floor.

“Are we staying hewre forever now?” She asked.

“Uh, I’m not sure, sweetie. We might be here for a little bit longer.” Sam said.

Dean had been catching hunt after hunt in this town for quite some time which is why they had been there for a while. Y/N had started to get used to where they were, of course, she did not know better. Sam still wanted to move on from the hunting life and give his daughter a better chance, but it was hard with Dean constantly dragging him from town to town. Speaking of Dean, he came strolling through the motel door from doing whatever it was he was doing. 

“Unca Dee!” Y/N called out excitedly. 

“Hey, there's my favorite niece.” Dean grasped Y/N, picking her up as he smiled.

“What’s a neese?” Y/N innocently asked. 

“Nothing, uh Dean, can I talk to you?” Sam interrupted. 

Dean set Y/N down and walked over to the kitchen table where Sam was sitting. Y/N walked over to the couch to grab one of her toys.

“I really think Y/N and I need to settle down somewhere. I don't want to keep dragging her with us on hunts and having her go to a new daycare every few weeks. She’s already confused and asking me questions, I want to give her a shot at a normal life, a normal education.....” Sam explained in a hushed tone. 

“Sam, you know we’re all screwed either way, normal or not. Sooner or later, something is gonna show up and become a problem.” Dean responded.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. I don’t want her to grow up always questioning things and being worried or scared. I can already see some of that and I don’t want her to resent me when she gets older because I didn’t at least try and give her better.” Sam said. “So, you’re just not gonna hunt anymore. Is that right?” Dean started to have some attitude. 

“Dean, you know that wasn’t my plan from the start. College was my plan, and now Y/N is. I can’t let her down.” 

“You’re not concerned about looking for dad?” Dean sighed.

“I’m not even certain dad even wants to see me. Again, I think he's just off doing his own thing.” Sam scoffed.

“This is not like him.... I know the way he handles things, I would be getting a call at least once a week and now I haven't heard from him in over two months.” Dean explained.

“Well, you’ve always wanted to be second to him, I think this is you’re hunt, you’re mission. Not mine.” Sam shook his head.

“You’re just gonna give up on him! On me? On this family!” Dean started to get angry and raise his voice.

“Dean, for the last five years dad has given up on me, as soon as I said I wanted to go to college and get out of the family business, he hasn’t supported me or my choices. I didn’t have to give up on anything! He gave up on me.” Sam argued.

“Why are you yellwing Unca Dee?” Y/N spoke up.

“Dean, my point is clear. Let’s finish this discussion tomorrow.” Sam said as he realized you were listening.

“No, we can finish this right now!” Dean’s voice got louder.

“Daddy, I don’t like when you and Unca Dee are loud...” Y/N said.

“Dean, enough! I don’t want to be a hunter my whole life!” Sam snapped.

“You’re a Winchester, Sam. As far as I know, no Winchester has a choice. We’re stuck in this life so we might as well fight back and deal with it!” Dean yelled.

“I don’t have to do ANYTHING! That’s my decision if I want to hunt, and I’m done!”

“Bullshit Sam!!”

“STOP!” Y/N screamed. The lights started to flicker and the table started shaking, enough to grab everyones attention. After a few seconds, it all stopped and everything went back to normal. Sam and Dean looked at each other, and looked back at Y/N. 

“I don’t like it when you guys are loud.” She said softly. Sam looked at his daughter in utter shock. 

“Y/N..... Did you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?” She said like nothing happened.

“The lights..... a-and the table.” Sam motioned to the table.

Y/N looked at Sam with her puppy eyes and just gave an innocent shrug and walked back over to her toys.

“What was that? Has she done that before?” Dean asked.

“No. I’ve never seen her do anything like that.” Sam was at a loss for words.

...................

It had been another three years, Sam was on his own with Y/N. He had found a condo in a small town just outside if Lincoln, Nebraska. He and Dean were not on good terms after that night. They talked over the subject more and Sam had enough. He started looking for places the next morning and was able to move into the condo he found about a month after that night. 

He and Dean have not spoken since. He didn’t agree with Sam and was taken back that he didn’t want to help find John. Dean was just in a certain mind set to where he didn’t want to understand Sam. He was being his stubborn old self and refused to talk to him. Sam expected none the less as he knew that’s how his brother would react. He didn’t care and decided to move on and focus on his daughter.

Y/N was six years old now and was going to school. Y/N started to notice she was a little different from the other kids. She knew it was clear, but she didn't know exactly what set her apart. It might have not seemed that way to anyone else but she felt it. Y/N was aware that she had some abilities but didn’t know that she could control them yet. They would only come about when she would get angry at something. 

After the night she showed her abilities when her dad and uncle were arguing, Sam kept an eye on her for a while but saw nothing similar after the fact. He wanted to just believe it was something else but part of him knew where it was coming from. It was his daughter. Sam hadn't seen her do anything similar since that night, but he didn't forget about it. That thought lingered in the back of his head. Even though Y/N was aware of it, she never told her dad. She was young at the time and barely remembered when it first happened. Hell, she didn't even know about hunting, and what Sam did before she came around. 

Sam wanted to tell his daughter about his life, and Dean, and Jessica. He wanted to tell her the truth about anything, but at the same time, he wanted to keep it all a secret because he didn’t want anything happening to her. 

Y/N got off the school bus one day and came into the kitchen where Sam was on his laptop.

“Hey, how was school?” 

“It was okay, we’re doing a lab in science for the next few days and it’s kind of boring.” Y/N said.

“I though you liked science...” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, but the lab is on rocks and minerals, there’s nothing really interesting about rocks, Daddy.” Y/N scoffed. Sam laughed. 

Y/N continued to put her bag down and went to grab a juice out of the refrigerator. “Hey daddy, can I talk to you about something?” Y/N asked.

“Sure, anything.” Sam took a deep breath, hoping it was something he was ready to talk about. 

“So, I’m six and I’m getting older now to where I want to know more about some things.” Y/N sat down with her juice, trying to act mature which made Sam smile at her cuteness.

“Okay, what do you wanna know?” Sam asked.

“I want to know more about my mom. I don’t remember you talking about her a lot, except saying that she had went away for a while.” Y/N said as she tried to remember the brief things Sam had said about her. 

“I don’t know if you’re old enough for this conversation yet....” 

“Daddy, I AM! I’m a big girl, big enough to talk about subjects like these.” Y/N said confidently. 

Sam took a deep breath and smoothed his hair out. How was he going to tell his six year old that he mother was going to give her up.

“Well, uh, when I met your mom, we were both really young. We were still in high school. And she found out that she was going to have a baby.... you.” Sam explained slowly.

“So, when your mom found out, she was very worried that she wasn't going to be able to take care of you. Again, she was very young, technically she was still a kid herself. So she was going to give you up for adoption.....” Sam paused to see what his daughters reaction would be.

“Did she not want me?” Y/N asked calmly.

“No, she did want you, but she didn't want to have you and then not be able to give you the life that you deserved. So she considered adoption, but then I decided that I was going to take you and raise you. Now, I didn't have much at the time but you were my daughter, and I wanted to be able to see you grow up.” Sam explained.

“So, why aren’t you and mommy together?” 

“We were together for a while after you were born and she would come see you when she could, but sometimes, mommies and daddies don’t get along anymore. So we decided to go our own ways, and you came with me. Then your mom ended up moving away.”

“Where does she live now?” Y/N asked.

“Back then, she moved to Iowa with her family, but she probably doesn’t live there anymore.” Sam said.

“Oh.” Y/N said, looking a little disappointed.

“What’s wrong? Y/N, look, your mom loved you. But sometimes we have different paths in life and different choices.....”

“No, it isn’t that. I understand, daddy.” Y/N interrupted.

“Okay, then why do you look upset?” Sam’s brows furrowed.

“I remember when I was little, we lived with a girl. I don’t remember who she was but you and me lived with another girl. Was that mommy?” Y/N asked.

“Well, after your mommy moved away, I finished high school and then I went to college. I met another girl, and she lived with us for some time. Her name was Jessica. She helped me take care of you, she was very nice and she loved you.” Sam said, remembering the girl he thought he was going to marry.

“Where did she go?” Y/N was very curious and engrossed in Sam’s story.

“Well, she passed away and went up into the sky. That’s why we moved here.” Sam said.

“Was she my mommy for a little bit?” 

“Yeah. She was. She cared for you like any mother would and she loved you.” It saddened Sam to think about her, and about everything that happened in the past. He wanted to protect Jess as much as he wanted to protect you, and he failed. Sam started to gain a few tears in his eyes.

“You look sad, Daddy.” Y/N said as she got up and walked over to Sam.

“It’s okay. Jessica is in the sky just like you said. She’s an angel now.” Y/N said as she wrapped her little arms around Sam’s large figure. Sam hugged her back.

“I love you dad.” Y/N said.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Sam didn’t know what he did to deserve such a smart and understanding child. He was glad he had gotten out of his past as a hunter. Now it was his job to protect her at all costs. 

Requests Are Closed

Read Part 3 HERE!

Tags:

@mersuperwholocked-lowlife @gracie-and-the-superwholock-gang

#supernatural #spn #supernatural series #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural blog #supernatural fanfiction #spn blog #spn fanfic #spnfandom #sisterwinchester #sister winchester #sister!winchester #winsis #winsister #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #winchesterbrothers #dean x reader #sam x reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural one shots #spn one shots #spn one shot

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment���"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

#clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #f: a bit of clarity #w

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard. 

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody. 

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does. 

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... " 

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling. 

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them. 

Kurt doesn't answer. 

He doesn't even look at him. 

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall. 

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends. 

But Kurt is gone.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #blangst

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut: 

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation. 

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.” 

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend. 

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response. 

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship. 

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex. 

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.” 

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation. 

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.” 

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots. 

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence. 

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.” 

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?” 

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well. 

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway. 

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.” 

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.” 

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.” 

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?” 

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book. 

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.” 

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs. 

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs. 

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”    

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.” 

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”  

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?” 

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.” 

“But?” 

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.” 

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.” 

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”    

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.” 

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast. 

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later. 

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins. 

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.” 

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm. 

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.” 

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.” 

“Why do I hang out with you again?” 

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection. 

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart. 

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting. 

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.” 

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke. 

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.” 

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks. 

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t. 

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music. 

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely. 

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that. 

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt. 

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke. 

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both. 

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing. 

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers. 

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates. 

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke. 

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop. 

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is. 

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.” 

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront. 

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”  

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs. 

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending. 

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”  

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke. 

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”  

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.” 

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?” 

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space. 

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.” 

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored. 

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her. 

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip. 

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”   

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.” 

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss. 

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything. 

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts. 

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts. 

“I just wanted to … check in.” 

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp. 

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.” 

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best. 

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?” 

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.” 

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.” 

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.” 

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.” 

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.” 

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.” 

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing. 

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck. 

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea. 

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication. 

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her. 

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways. 

But, not with Clarke. 

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.  

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted. 

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.” 

“Good. Because I want to take you out.” 

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.” 

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.” 

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days. 

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship. 

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.” 

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.” 

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.” 

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.” 

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling. 

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.” 

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride. 

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.” 

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.” 

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.” 

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her. 

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure. 

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.” 

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers. 

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.” 

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.” 

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—” 

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.  

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.” 

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase. 

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back. 

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.” 

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded. 

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs. 

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.” 

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.” 

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.” 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods. 

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment. 

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her. 

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again. 

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs. 

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank. 

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later. 

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out. 

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight. 

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep. 

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.” 

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple. 

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth. 

“Yes, fuck.” 

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity. 

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back. 

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. 

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?” 

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?” 

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts. 

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.” 

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home. 

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back. 

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.” 

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.” 

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.   

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins. 

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.” 

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—” 

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.” 

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.” 

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.” 

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.” 

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate. 

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response. 

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.” 

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”   

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them. 

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles. 

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli. 

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach. 

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile. 

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?” 

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them. 

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.” 

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming. 

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?” 

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense. 

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?” 

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.” 

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.” 

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?” 

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.” 

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.” 

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers. 

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath. 

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.” 

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.” 

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame. 

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.” 

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft. 

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.” 

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness. 

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.” 

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer. 

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”   

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.” 

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting. 

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked. 

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks. 

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?” 

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping. 

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer. 

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?” 

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.” 

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away. 

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same. 

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed. 

They make it as far as the sofa. 

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water. 

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable. 

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go. 

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause. 

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.” 

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt. 

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm. 

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips. 

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.” 

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.” 

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.” 

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs. 

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.” 

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.” 

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense. 

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru! #a beer bud series #clexa fic

[oboevallis]

the diary pt 2

it’s been a hot minute, especially for this series, sorry about that, i hope everyone’s doing well and staying safe!

part 1

TW: DEPRESSION, HOPELESSNESS, SH SCARS

please reach out, my dms are open

“You don’t need to follow me around. I’m not gonna throw myself out the window.” Addie rolled her eyes at her mother as she entered her bedroom for the first time in a week.

“I know,” Amelia cringed at her daughter's words, flipping on the light switch. “just helping you get settled in.”

“You’ve been through my room.” The girl bluntly said as she looked around her room.

“We just wanted you to come home to a clean and organized space.” Amelia defended; while her daughter was at the hospital, she spent most of the time in this room, beating herself up for not realizing what her daughter was going through. Unsure of what to do with her nervous energy, she cleaned up the empty bottles and dirty dishes, then washed the pile of dirty clothes, and organized the accumulation of stuff on the floor.

“Well, I liked it how it was.”

“Babe, come on. It was practically unlivable.”

“Wow, look at that.” Addie pointed to the desk that she hadn’t been able to see in months. “You took away my scissors; I can’t even be trusted with a fucking pair of scissors.”

“Addie..” Amelia sighed, trying to pull herself together.

“Get out! Just get out.” The girl sobbed, launching herself on her bed.

“Amelia, are you okay?” Link had been standing outside the door listening to the exchange when his wife made her way out of the room.

“Do I look okay?”

“This is gonna take time. She’s not going to be cured overnight. Recovery is a long process.”

“I know.” The woman nodded as tears stung in her eyes. “I just want to go back to when she was happy and so full of life.”

“Me too.” Link sighed, pulling his wife into a hug. “Me too.”

________________________________________

“Hey champ, we’re all gonna watch a movie. Why don’t you come down? We’re gonna have popcorn; it’s going to be extra buttery.” Link stuck his head through his daughter's door, energetically tapping his fingers on the door frame.

“No thanks,” Addie grumbled, throwing and catching a rubber band ball against her ceiling.

“Come on, it’s gonna be awful, and we’re gonna make fun of it the whole time.” The father tried to persuade, knowing it was one of the things that got his daughter laughing till she hurt.

“No thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk?” Link stepped further into the room and sat at the foot of his daughter's bed.

“No thanks.”

“Champ, you can’t keep everything bottled up.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk! I’m done talking; why can’t everyone just leave me the hell alone?” Addison jumped up from her bed and opened the door for her father. He internally cringed. It was the first time he saw the scars on her legs. Reluctantly he got up and left the room, trying to keep himself together.

“Addie isn’t gonna watch with us?” Anders sighed; he was walking out of his bedroom as he heard the yelling.

“She just needs a little time.” Link mustered up a smile. “She’ll be back to laughing with us in no time. Now let’s go down and watch something with the others.”

“No luck, huh?” The mother turned around on the couch to see the pair walking down the stairs together.

“It’s her first night back; she just needs to readjust.” The optimistic side of Link shone through.

“Why is she still acting like this? She’s being a complete bitch, yelling at everyone. Wasn’t the whole point of the hospital to make her feel better?” Scout asked as the others settled down into the couch.

“First off, don’t call your sister a bitch. But the hospital visit wasn’t to cure her; it was to stabilize her enough to come home.” The mother explained to her other children.

“Well, when will she be cured?” The youngest Shepherd-Lincoln asked, making his two parents feel like they were just stabbed in the heart.

“It’s something that she’ll always have, but eventually, she’ll feel better and learn how to live with it and still be healthy and happy.” Link explained, stepping in for his wife, who was on the verge of tears. “Now, how about we degrade actors and special effects for our amusement?”

________________________________________

Amelia gently knocked on her daughter’s door, and once she heard a mumble of approval, she let herself in.

“Wow, you’ve already finished that book?” She pointed to the one on the floor that was tossed aside, indicating it had been read. “That was like 800 pages, and you just started it; I’ve gotta say I’m impressed.”

“What do you want?”

“You’ve gotta take your pill.” She placed the pill that was in her hand onto her daughter's nightstand next to the bottle of water.

“Why? It’s not like it’s helping.”

“It takes a while, but if you feel it’s still not helping, we can try something else.” Amelia watched as her daughter took the pill and laid back into bed. “If you need anything, you know where I am.” As she was about to close the door, she could barely make out what her daughter had said as it was so quiet. “What did you say, sweetheart?”

“Can you come to lay with me?” She spoke a little louder. She was causing the woman to smile for the first in days genuinely. She got into her daughter’s bed and was shocked when she was engulfed in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize; this isn’t your fault. It’s going to get better, I promise.”

“You think?”

“It will. I’m going to be here, and your dad, and your brothers. We’re here for you. Life gets so much better, I promise, you’re going to look back and see how strong you were and how worth it, it is to be alive.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. Why can’t we just all die and get it over with? It’s gonna happen anyway.”

“You’re right. We’re all going to die, but I think that’s what makes life so valuable.” Addie had a confused expression on her face as she waited for her mother to elaborate. “It’s a one in a million chance that we’re all here, and all together. And we get to experience the beauty and pain with them. Then you get to look back and see all the progress you made because you fought, and you’ll remember the memories with those people and how much it impacted you and allowed you to grow into the person you fought to become. Life is so worth living.”

“You promise?” The innocent voice sent Amelia back to when her daughter was little, and they were making a mundane promise to one another. There was significant weight to this promise, one she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep.

“I do, I promise.” Amelia finally concluded, twirling of loose strand of her daughter's hair. “It’s not always going to feel worth it, but I promise it is if you just stick around. I don’t think you realize how many people need you, even the people you haven’t met yet.”

“I love you, mom,” Addie whispered, burrowing herself further into her mother.

“Not as much as I love you.” Amelia was met with tears of relief, worry, and hurt, allowing them to fall as she tightly embraced her daughter silently.

________________________________________

“Morning.” Link smiled, stopping at his daughter’s door. “I was gonna go for a run; wanna join me?”

“I’ll walk with you.” Addie compromised.

“Sounds nice.” Link tried to contain his excitement. This was the most normal he felt with his daughter since he could remember. Addison slowly maneuvered herself out of bed and lethargically put her shoes on.

“Where are we walking to?”

“Donut shop?” Link suggested, causing his daughter to smile, signifying to him it was a plan. The two set a slow but steady pace and enjoyed the quiet of the morning. “Did you know I struggled with depression when I was a kid?”

“No, I didn’t.” This information shocked her; he was the most optimistic person she knew. Before this conversation, she highly doubted he had ever been sad before.

“It got really bad when my parents split, and I couldn’t get out of bed for the better part of a year. Everything felt worthless, I felt like a burden to everyone, and everyone would be better without me. Then I went to cancer camp, and I met this kid, he was sicker than I was, but all he wanted to do was play video games and focus on the good stuff. It’s not like that cured my depression or anything, but it helped, realizing there was good in the world, and I was lucky enough to see it if I just fought. Not the cancer but my own mind.”

“But it’s just, it’s just so exhausting; how do you do it? Just exist?”

“I found people I wanted to live for, and I found the joy of life through the little things. And I’m so grateful I stuck around because I never would’ve met your mother if I didn’t. Then we never would’ve had the privilege of having you three, which is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Back then, life felt useless, but looking back, it all led me right here, and I’m so glad it did. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was so so so worth it.”

“It was? It was worth it? Even after Scout crashed your new car? And I was sent to a psych ward? And when Anders got sick and almost ruined you and mom?”

“Yeah, all of that was worth living for. Because we overcame it and survived, those things weren’t the end of the world. Scout was okay, and we got another car. You are alive and at home. Anders is healthy, and in the end, it strengthened your mother and I’s marriage. It’s going to take a while, but I know you're going to get to a point in your life and are going to be so grateful you didn’t miss it.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” The girl’s father smiled, holding the door of the donut shop open for his daughter. Watching her walking in and feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It was going to be okay.

#tw hopelessness #tw depressing stuff #tw depression #tw self harn #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #scout lincoln #addison lincoln #anders lincoln #greys anatomy #greys fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic

[thatfanficstuff]

Wait. What? - NCIS

Pairing: Just read it.

Warning/Note: I don’t know what this is. This is Chaos in written form.

***

Tony kept glancing up from his work to watch you digging through paperwork. You were new to the team and this was your first case with them but you were no stranger to field work. Gibbs himself had recruited you from the FBI convinced you would be a better fit at NCIS. So far you seemed competent though you were a little quiet for Tony’s liking. There was also a weird dynamic between you and Gibbs he hadn’t figured out yet.

Gibbs was in MTAC while the rest of the team dug through evidence that had already been gone over twice trying to find what they needed to arrest the man they were all sure was guilty of the crime. You hopped to your feet grabbing Tony’s attention once more. You snatched a file off your desk and hurried over to sit in Gibbs chair while you sorted through the paperwork on the boss’s desk.

Oh God. Tony kind of liked you. He didn’t want you getting killed on your first case. “Probie, what are you doing?”

You ignored him as you continued to dig through files.

“Y/N,” he hissed again.

You marked your place with your finger and glanced up at him clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Were you nuts? “What the hell are you doing? Get out of Gibbs’ chair.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s fine, Tony.”

No. No, it wasn’t.

“Um…you know how much I hate to agree with Tony, Y/N, but I really wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” McGee added.

“They speak the truth. Gibbs is very protective of his chair. And his desk,” Ziva whispered from beside you. “It would perhaps be in your best interest to return to your desk with the papers you need.”

“Noted.” Your voice was little more than a mumble as you yanked a stack of papers out of the middle of the pile and scanned through them before grabbing the sheets you’d carried over with you. It appeared you were comparing the two documents. And you’d found something if the expression on your face was any indication. Tony winced as Gibbs stepped into the bullpen. Your grin wasn’t going to last long.

“Hey, boss. We tried to tell her, but she’s new, you know? Take it easy on her would you?” Tony stammered out.

“It’s fine, DiNozzo,” Gibbs answered and you glanced up.

Tony’s gaze narrowed as Gibbs handed you a cup of coffee before grabbing you chair and wheeling it over to sit beside you. “What’ve you got?”

You slid the papers toward him. “His financials. Two accounts. Business and Personal.”

“We already went over his financials. It was a dead end,” Tim argued. “It only backed up his story.”

You shrugged. “You didn’t look back far enough.”

“Lay it out for me, Y/N. What am I looking at here?” Gibbs instructed.

“Two weeks before the murder both cards were used within an hour of each other. 300 miles apart. One at a gas station, one at a restaurant.”

“Lincoln said he was the only one with access to the accounts,” Tony added.

“Are you implying the suspect lied to us, Tony? I’m appalled.” You placed your hand to your chest in faux surprise.

He glared at you. This is what you did. You were always so damned quiet but when you talked, it always seemed to be a smart remark directed at him. “Ha, ha, Y/L/N. You’re a riot.”

“Y/L/N, McGee, go pick him up.”

You hopped to your feet and went over to grab your gear.

“Nice work, Y/L/N,” Gibbs said as he pushed your chair back to you.

You grinned as you snagged it and shoved it under your desk. “See you when we get back, boss.”

Tony waited until they were out of sight before looking at Gibbs. “Does this mean we can all sit in your chair now, boss?” The look the other man gave him had Tony wishing he could disappear. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Get back to work, DiNozzo.”

***

You and McGee managed to bring the suspect Jonathan Morgan in with no hassle. He still seemed to think he could talk his way out of trouble. The team stood in the observations room watching Gibbs getting nowhere with Morgan. Tony had seen Gibbs pull some incredible tricks in his interrogations, but he didn’t think any of them were going to work this time.

Tony noticed you pull out your phone and type quickly. Almost immediately Gibbs’ shoulders went tight in irritation as he glanced at his phone. Surely you weren’t that stupid, but he was at the wrong angle to see the screen of your phone.  

“Did you just text Gibbs during an interrogation?” Ziva, who was in a much better position, asked looking between you and the boss.

“Yeah. What of it?” you shrugged and stepped out of the room.

Tony’s chest actually went tight at that. He wondered if there were any spare boxes in the copy room for you to pack your stuff in. There was no way Gibbs wasn’t firing you now. “Rule 22. Never bother Gibbs during an interrogation,” Tony said with a grimace.

Ziva frowned. “I thought that was seventeen.”

“No. That’s never interrupt Gibbs during an interrogation. Two different things. At least she didn’t break that one. Could you imagine?” Tim said with a laugh of disbelief.

Just the thought was enough to send a chill up Tony’s spine. Texting was one thing, but actually going in and interrupting his interrogation? You’d be fired on the spot even if Gibbs did recruit you himself.

Less than five minutes passed before the interrogation room door opened to reveal you with your hands full of food. Tony smacked McGee on the arm and pointed. Tim’s mouth dropped open in a mirror of his own.

You placed everything in your arms on the table.

“What do you want, Y/L/N?” Gibbs snapped.

You shrugged and chomped a piece a gum. “Boss says he’s got to eat. I’m here to feed him.”

Gibbs huffed in irritation. “Fine. I’m taking a break. Let me know when he’s done.” He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately he was in the observation room with the rest of them.

Tony’s eyes never left you. In the short time since you’d left his presence, you’d changed into heels, a skirt and a men’s button up shirt. You’d tied the shirt at your waist and left the top three buttons undone. The skirt was far shorter than what would be considered professional and he turned his head to get a better look.

A sharp slap to the back of his head had him jerking forward. He cringed and frowned at his boss.

“Quit looking at her legs, DiNozzo. And pay attention. You might learn something.”

***

Tony leaned back in his chair and played with a pen as his gaze ran between you and Gibbs. The two of you had to be dating. There was no other explanation as to why you weren’t only still employed but Gibbs was praising the information you’d gotten from Morgan. And not one comment had been made about you interrupting his own questioning.

Only good sex would make a man act like that Tony decided. He grimaced at the image that flashed through his head. Ugh. Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about that again. Tony watched as you signed off on some paperwork and reached for your coffee. You frowned when you found it empty and tossed the cup in the trash. Heading to Gibbs’s desk, you handed him the file before grabbing his coffee and taking a swallow.

Tony dropped forward, his eyes wide as he waited for the retaliation. You placed the cup back on his desk and grinned. Gibbs simply smiled back and gave a shake of his head. Tony was on his feet before he could think better of it. “Okay, what the hell is going on around here? This is chaos and I won’t stand for it.” Everyone turned to look at him with various levels of confusion. “I won’t,” he repeated pointing his pen in the air for emphasis.

Gibbs licked his lips as he stood as well. “DiNozzo, what the hell are you talking about?”

Tony stepped out from behind his desk to the middle of floor and counted offenses on his fingers as he named them off. “First, she sits in your chair. Then she texts you during an interrogation. Then she physically interrupts the interrogation, wearing clothes no one else would get away with, might I add. And now she took a drink of your coffee. All of these are killing offenses Gibbs and you just smiled at her. You smiled.”

As he took in the looks of those around him, it occurred to him that perhaps he’d been a bit more excitable than necessary. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Gibbs blinked several times before tilting his head in consideration. “You can wear the skirt if you want to, DiNozzo, but I don’t think you have the legs for it.”

Before Tony could voice the protest on the tip of his tongue another voice interrupted.

“Would you really kill someone for drinking your coffee? I feel like you might,” Tobias Fornell said as he stepped into the bullpen.

Gibbs simply frowned at the FBI agent but Y/N grinned at him. “I’m sure that was just a vicious rumor.”

“What are you doing here, Fornell? She works for me now, remember?” Gibbs grumbled.

Fornell lifted a brow. “I heard she finished her first case with NCIS. I thought I’d take her out to dinner to celebrate.”

“And convince her to come back to the FBI?” Gibbs crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Tim and Ziva came to stand beside Tony. “What is going on?” the female agent whispered.

“I have no idea,” Tony replied. And if he was honest, that terrified him.

“You can’t keep me from seeing her just because she works for you now, Gibbs.” The FBI agent stepped forward, his frown deepening.

Gibbs stepped forward as well bringing them within swinging distance of one another. Tony’s shoulders went tight as he watched this scene play out. A glance at you showed you to be extremely irritated but otherwise at ease. If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d say you’d seen this before and often. Were you dating both of them? Really? You?

“I can keep her from seeing you because I’m her father,” Gibbs snapped.

“Well, so am I,” Fornell snapped right back.

What just happened?

You sighed. “Are you two finished?”

The two older men turned to look at her and she shifted her attention to Fornell. “Pop, Dad and I were going to have steak and beer at his house. You’re welcome to join us.”

The men eyed one another before Fornell nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Gibbs nodded as well. “Okay, then.” And like that the tension dissolved.

Ziva stepped forward. “Excuse me, but what just happened? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Gibbs and Fornell both smiled slightly as you shook your head with a roll of your eyes. “Gibbs married my mom. After they got divorced, Tobias married her. I kept the step-fathers in the divorce. So, Dad and Pop.” She gestured to the respective men in turn.

“Wait, so Y/N’s available?” Tony knew the moment the words left his mouth they were a mistake. He grimaced as you and your fathers all yelled his name in unison. “Yeah, sorry.”

After the three of you gave him a glare for good measure you moved toward the elevator. The last thing Tony heard before the door slid shut was your voice. “If you two don’t knock it off I’m transferring to the CIA.”

#fornell x reader #gibbs x reader #dinozzo x reader #ncis imagine #I don't know #pure chaos #what is this #no really

[daisylincs]

Today is, officially, the last day of 2020 - so it's literally just in time that I'm getting to @aosrecweek's amazing challenge. But that does go to show the nature of this crazy year a little bit, right? Time has just been INSANE, and I honestly cannot believe it's so close to over.

That said, I want to put it out there that everyone - absolutely everyone - who created something in this mad year, is a SUPERHERO. Like. We could have hidden away in dark corners, curled into little balls, and lost touch with our creativity entirely - but instead, we made some of the most fantastic content I have ever seen. And, excuse the language, but that is fucking amazing, of each and every single one of us. We're bloody INCREDIBLE, you guys. We really are.

Now, the rules of this challenge dictate that I've got to start with some of my own things, then repeat with the same number of creations by other people. So I'm going to do that, and I apologise for the sheer length (and self-plug-iness) of what is about to follow - but, bloody incredible, remember? I really mean that. 💜💜💜

My Own:

you could call me babe for the weekend - 19k of Spideychelle being oblivious, mutually pining IDIOTS while being snowed in. And, you know, fake dating. (This thing was SO MUCH FUN to write and though, yeah, it got completely out of control, as evidenced by the 19k, I still really love it.)

'tis the damn season - my first attempt at writing a multi-chap, and, yeah, it only has one chapter as of now, but I really love said chapter. Basically, it's Daisy and Mackelena being friends, and honestly just the BEST friends - I adore the style I managed to achieve in this thing. Plus, the Skimmons I have planned up next is going to be da bomb.

the closest thing - Philindaisy plus fake family. Also; amusement parks. And for a fangirl like me - well, it was pretty much a dream come true to write!

oh valley of plenty - in this fic, I basically told myself, so AoS won't give us Huntingbird in the finale? Fine. I'll just do it myself then - in the fluffiest way possible. And that's exactly what I did - making them, and their kids, be best friends in Perthshire.

maybe life should be about more - a very angsty Skimmons and Daisy-centric AU, focusing on the internalised homophobia Daisy has experienced through her life, and shaking it off (and eventually, y'know, getting together with Jemma.)

and it's dark in a cold december (but i've got you to keep me warm) - Fitzsimmons just make such a supreme pairing for hurt/comfort, what with how insanely well they understand each other and care about each other, so I'm really glad for the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa giving me the chance to write this! Basically, this follows our science duo through a stressful mission on Christmas Eve (so yes, it's a mission fic!!) and realising that the two of them can do anything together.

july second - ahhh, one of my personal favourites to write! Daisy birthday surprise fluff will always be top-notch for me, especially for all the team-as-family fluff you can add in, especially especially that this is set in Staticquake times! Also, it's from Hunter's point of view, which will forever be the most insanely fun thing to write, I do think.

i just wanna be with you - man, I'm such a big royal fan, so getting the chance to write a modern royalty AU for my OTP was nothing short of amazing!! This is Princess Daisy and her fiancée Lincoln Campbell at their official engagement interview

see the line where the skye meets the sea - shameless season 1 bby Bus Kids fluff, featuring movie nights, singalongs and... so much fluff your teeth will rot. Also I'm really freaking proud of the pun in the title okay

'cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need - Huntingbird waking up together fluff (because, fight me, Huntingbird in their sweet moments is one of the sweetest things you will ever get to read or write.) This is also my, fluffy, take on the origin of the Franny's Saloon keychain.

we love you, we love you (and we hope you love we too) - aha, my first polyship fic! Also my first try at some actually fancy HTML formatting (forever thanks to Kat for explaining.) Both of these things combined to form a fic that even I think is ridiculously fluffy and funny, and kinda amazing, at that.

and man I don't know where the time goes (but it sure goes fast like that) - Another Bus Kids movie night fic, but this one set post-season 7, and reflecting on how far they've come. A little bit more hurt/comfort-y than it's pure fluff prequel, but still super fluffy and soft. And, of course, with a happy ending.

she shares my dreams, i hope that someday, i'll share her home - snowy Fitzsimmons fluff, complete with them falling in love at the Winter Olympics, as you do.

then you walked in and my heart went boom - 16k of Dekesy for the wife, and remarkable for that, because literally a month ago from this, I hated Dekesy with my entire soul. Then I started reading Kat's fics, and, well, fell in love with them... so much so that I wrote sixteen thousand words of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, bed sharing holiday fluff for them.

a love like that - a Fitzsimmons Cinderella AU, featuring my two favourite science babies, in true science bby style, falling in love over science and how stupid the whole courting thing is. Also, Daisy makes a brief appearance, and she's the freaking best.

ever after - ah, probably the one single fic I'm proudest of. A post-season 7 Daisy character study focusing on her emotional rollercoaster re: losing her family/things never being the same again, which just achieves... an emotional level that I have never managed to replicate again. I was full-on sobbing while writing it, and, guys, it also part-holds the Closest To Making Kat Cry prize.

blue - Daisy character study spanning snapshots of seven seasons, and before - but tied together by something blue in every moment. Researching for this, and finding all the blue moments, was very interesting, and immensely satisfying, especially since all the moments where a little bit of blue was present actually combine to chronicle Daisy's journey on the show remarkably well.

who is that girl I see - the one time I decided to write straight angst, and straight angst with no happy ending. Melinda May post-Bahrain, folks.

take my hand, take my whole life too - aww, the first thing I wrote that I really and truly loved. A Staticquake and Fitzsimmons Actors AU, featuring a proposal on set and INCREDIBLE amounts of fluff and softness.

hold out your hand, 'cause friends will be friends - the wife's favourite, and, as second fics go, pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. It's a Soulmates AU for Staticquake and Mackelena, with the focus being on DaisyMack friendship, and lots of denial, angst, and guilt about finding their soulmates. (They figure it out eventually, don't worry - it's me, of course I made them happy.)

Fitzsimmons + Fake Dating moodboard - Fake dating will always be FAB, and picturing it out in a moodboard - especially for my clueless bby best friends in love - was the best, and super satisfying.

Staticquake + Orange moodboard - One of the cooler ideas I had for Trick or Treat (which I still have not finished, heaven help me) was to make a series of moodboards for my OTP plus different colours. This orange one is just so light, and cheerful, and happy, and honestly I kinda adore it.

This Philindaisy + Family Moodboard - making moodboards can be insanely frustrating when you just can't find the photo that fits exactly right. With this one, however, I found all the pics I needed pretty insanely fast, and, better, the whole thing just worked, and really nicely so, too.

This Bus Kids + Baking Cookies moodboard - there's absolutely NO faults to be found with tiny, adorable Skye, Fitz and Jemma concocting choc chip cookies - but I'm actually doing a tiny cheat here, because, cute as my moodboard here is, the accompanying fic by my love @eowima is the SWEETEST and best thing you could ever wish for!!!

This Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week Photoset - Day 3 of Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week focused on an emotion, and I picked confidence and power, because honestly, it's nothing short of amazing how confident and powerful our gorgeous girl has become.

This Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week Photoset - One of the times I wish I could gif, because this quote about struggling though never giving up just suits Daisy perfectly. The photos I found are cool, though, and I mean, it's Daisy, so that's already absolutely fabulous.

Other People's:

I managed to find twenty-six of my own things that I liked enough to put up there (because, yes, I'm that big a dork, 26 things for me being 26 is the way to go :D) Anyway, now that gives me the amazing chance to spotlight twenty-six of my favourite creations by my FANTASTIC mutuals! 😍

To start, my wife - Kat said I couldn't put everything she's ever written on here, so, ugh, I guess I'll just do my top five then. *grumbling* Everything by Kat is on here in spirit, though!!

Chasing Cars (even after the story ends) by @aleksandrachaev - the epic Dekesy roadtrip AU and incredible Daisy character study itself, which, I do believe, finishes today!! Words aren't enough to describe how freaking AMAZING this thing is, or how spectacularly well characterised. Just: if you haven't read this yet, you are missing out. You will laugh, you will groan, you will want to wrap Daisy in a very tight hug, and you will probably cry, too. This fic just has it all, really!

there goes the maddest man this town has ever seen by @aleksandrachaev - the post-season 7 Deke-crashes-the-Framework-Zoom-call fic I didn't know I needed (but spent the next two weeks rereading every single night.) It is absolutely INCREDIBLE, with all the Deke & Team feels we missed in the final outro scene, and honestly just the most fantastic writing. I cannot recommend it enough!

To Box It Up And Start Again (everything must go) by @aleksandrachaev - bloody hell, this BROKE me. Deke never really got to say goodbye in canon, but Kat gave him the chance to do it here. And, my freaking GOODNESS, she made it so incredibly bittersweet and heart-shattering. 10/10

i am a leaf on the wind by @aleksandrachaev - a little bit of a stretched-out, reflective moment in the season 7 finale. As Daisy lingers on the edge of death, she reflects on all the lives she could have had - and, man, what a study in bittersweetness!! This entire fic is utterly incredible, and something I think all Daisy fans should read.

Falling Into Place by @aleksandrachaev - here's a tiny cheat from me (sorry, babes, lmao) because technically this isn't one fic, but a series of three. Way too amazing to miss out on, though!! Set mid-season 7, this has the Chronicoms go after a young Mary Sue Poots to kill Quake before she can become a problem for them. They stop the Chronicoms, yes, but not without a TREMENDOUS dose of feels and hurt/comfort. There's also a wonderful little dose of Dekesy friendship, and then an adult adoption (!!) that honestly made my entire day to read. Actually, that's true for the entire series - I really canNOT yell about it enough!!

destroyer of worlds by @bobbimorseisbisexual - a study in incredible parallels between Jiaying's daughters. Utterly breathtakingly done, this will give you ALL the feels for this small and complex Inhuman family.

Muscle Memory by @robotgort and @bobbimorseisbisexual - a Huntingbird!! Bones!! AU!! And also a collaboration between two of the most fabulous Huntingbird authors in the fandom - honestly, what more can you ask for?! This will make you laugh, and gasp, and wince, and keep you guessing at each new plot twist (and also screaming at your screen for Hunter and Bobbi to get their acts together and TALK ABOUT IT.) In short: it's completely and utterly amazing, and I cannot, cannot recommend it enough!!

You Belong Among the Wildflowers by @libbyweasley - a freaking incredible Scis & Spies Regency AU! I only just started reading, but I was hooked all the way through, especially on the way Libby writes all four characters' complex relationships (and their attraction, and their history!) Everything about it is just completely stunning, and I for one cannot WAIT for these beautiful idiots to figure out they all belong together.

Family Snapshot by @tomatobookworm - if it's family fluff you're after, especially Staticquake family fluff, look no further! This tremendously soft and utterly amazing fic follows a day in the lives of a pregnant Daisy and her husband Lincoln, and their not-so-little family of Inhumans, both adopted and biological. There's also shopping with Grandma May, lots of feels, lots of shippiness, and just AMAZINGNESS all the way through!!

Best Day Ever by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly - Jemma and Daisy want to adopt a pet, and make a very special trip to Wisconsin to do it. Also, whether he knows who he is or not, Jemma has an important question to ask Cal - and just, AHHHH, everything about this is utterly stunning! For starters, Aubrey's writing is FANTASTIC, and the scene she sets is absolutely beautiful, and so very bittersweet. I was actually misting up a little with happy tears towards the end of this - really, I cannot recommend this enough, to any Skimmons fan.

so why don't we go somewhere only we know by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly - more Skimmons (platonic this time, though), more hurt/comfort, and, yes, again, more absolutely INCREDIBLE writing. This one is canon compliant, following a shaken Jemma struggling to sleep after Maveth, and how Daisy finds a way to help her out. Incredibly sweet, tender and BEAUTIFULLY written, this one was an instant favourite the moment I read it!

Unspoken by @anxiouslynumbme - a birthday fic for yours truly, and, honestly, one of the most STUNNING Staticquake introspectives I've read. It follows Daisy and Lincoln in a beautifully tender missing moment in season 3, with them both realising their feelings, and just... AHHHHHHHH, everything about it is utterly incredible!! I cannot, cannot recommend this gem of a fic enough

the thing about water droplets and ruffled hair by @que-mint-tea - here's another fic that proves, once and for all, how good Kat's Dekesy is, because it managed to convert T to write some Dekesy smut. And, oh my GOSH, what Dekesy smut - so goshdarn angsty, but so FANTASTICALLY characterised and written that it leaves you more than a little breathless, and gaping at your screen. The first chapter initially left us on the most HORRIFIC cliffhanger, but then T fixed it, and it's just... this thing is really a whole new level of emotional writing, raw and gripping and intensely perfect for both of these characters. My haw still drops whenever I think of this thing, and how utterly AMAZING it was, so yeah. Fic rec!!!

beautiful stranger, there you are by @justanalto - I do believe I still owe Serena a long and very gushy comment on this thing, because, MAN, does it ever deserve that!! Pipsy and fake dating, with the most HILARIOUSLY incredible writing, plot and characterisation, and honestly just a giddy "askhdfkhsfh" whenever I think back to how much I enjoyed it. Yup, it was that good.

Jumping to conclusions by @eowima - a very special one, because it marks my love Océane's first venture into writing AoS fic! It's an AU of 1x06 (the Fitzsimmons episode of s1) where Fitz does actually jump out of the plane to save Jemma. Realisations of feelings, and some of the most genuinely FANTASTIC Fitz characterisation I've read in a while, follow - and, yup, I was shouting at my screen for them just to get together already. Amazing stuff, really!!

Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit by @eowima - okay, this. This. Another gift for me, and one that I will probably treasure forEVER, because it is just?? so?? utterly?? perfect?? Just for starters, the title is a Hamilton reference - and then the theme of Hamilton references continues into the fic itself, I'm delighted to say. There's also the most BEAUTIFUL, playful Skimmons friendship, and teasing, and then of course the bet about who can make out with their crush first... Staticquake & Fitzsimmons perfection. And all rendered in Océane's delightful, best-thing-ever-to-read writing!! I'm going into a giddy keyboard smash just THINKING about this, so yeah, cannot recommend it enough.

lullabies and clear blue skies by @springmagpies and @bobbimorseisbisexual - okay, I never thought I'd catch myself shipping FitzBobbi, let alone shipping it this hard, but... wow. Maggie and Al teamed up to completely blow me away, and MELT MY WHOLE ENTIRE HEART with the sheer cuteness of this!! It features Fitz, Bobbi and adopting two daughters, and it's just the most tender, beautiful development through that little family - I love it so, so much.

We made all the wrong choices by @browneyedgenius - the winner of the AoS Angst War 2020, how could I not include this one? It is such a well-deserved win, though, whoa - I was sobbing, full-on sobbing, at least twice while reading. It follows the season 5 team through the events of the time-loop, after they failed to save the world - and, oh my gosh, it ripped my heart right out of my chest, but beautifully so. Everything about this fic just hits so hard, and it's written so well - yeah, really a most AMAZINGLY deserved win, for an utterly SHATTERINGLY incredible fic.

I threw stones at the stars (but the whole sky fell) by @nazezdha321 - this is Z showing us all how to write a backstory for a minor character, and write it so well that everyone's hearts break all over again when she dies. This one is about Victoria Hand, and it builds a stirring and profound childhood for her, also making her rise through the ranks of SHIELD and just her entire character mean so much more. Really, fic-wise, this is goals, and I take my hat off to you, Z, 1000%, for writing it.

in which the universe is put together by @besidemethewholedamntime - Rebecca's emotional writing, particularly Fitzsimmons' emotions, is incomparable, and she proves it all over again in this fic. If follows Fitz and Jemma before, after and during the bloodwork, and I just... wow, honestly. The emotion!! And the characterisation!! Absolutely stunning, and honestly all I could wish for in a we-had-time fic.

Agents of SHIELD Season 8 by @egumal - THIS. This, this, this, oh my gosh - as fix-it fics go, this has to be the most spectacular one I have ever read. What it does is find a way - a potentially canon compliant way, too - to bring back Lincoln Campbell, and reunite Staticquake. Basically: just about as season 7 finishes, the Astro Ambassadors get an unexpected visitor from another timeline, who asks them to come help out against Hive. Case in point, Daisy meets her lost love again (... but he has no idea who she is) and also has to relive the Fallen Agent drama. It all gets even more complicated when Kora restores Lincoln's memories, and Daisy meets the full team Deke has assembled around him in the 33 years (for him) that they've been apart... in short, this is one of the most thorough, well-written and downright SHOCKING plot-twist-wise fics that you will ever read, and honestly, saying "I can't recommend it enough" is an understatement. This thing is thd BEST, plain and simple!

Black Roses aren't real (but you and I are) by @ohwriteiforgot - ahhhh, a fic that will always have an incredibly special place in my heart, because it introduced me to one of my best fandom friends. The main focus is on Clintasha, it's true, but it's also a crossover with AoS in the sense that Clint was adopted by Coulson and May. Also, Daisy is his little sister, and their bond is gold. Also - there's Staticquake!! And flower shops!! And rivals to friends to lovers!! All I'm going to say is, what more can you ask for?!

A book to shield my story by @maybebrilliant - Staticquake High School AU, ahhhhhhhh!! There are only two chapters out so far, but the way this is shaping up is making my DAY - with Daisy as the new girl who meets Lincoln and his group of friends, and, though her foster parents are absolutely shit, starts to find actual happiness in a school for the first time in her life. Also - THE REFERENCES. Guys. I'm crazy for those, and in this book, so are my favourite dorks, Daisy and Lincoln - and let me tell you, it's nothing short of the best thing ever.

This AoS Finale Gif Edit by @heysteverogers - AoS really has been the most INCREDIBLE journey through the years, but what's really made it special is the company - and that's summed up perfectly in this gorgeous gifset. Also, the graphics on this are just, ahhhh, stunning - I'm in awe, and I've spent very long periods of time just looking at this thing in a state of heart-eyes.

This AoS Finale Gif Edit by @jemannesimms - combining Auld Lang Syne and the final scenes of my favourite show was a raw emotional - but utterly brilliant experience - for me. It's just so absolutely beautiful, and perfectly suited to the team, and their goodbyes!! Breathtaking editing work here, too.

This Daisy as Peter Parker and May as Tony Stark moodboard by @agentsofcomedyandchaos - ahhhh, a crossover of two of my favourite fandoms!! And what a lovely one, too - the colour scheme, quotes, and just the whole FEEL of this is absolutely genius, and I am guilty of being inspired by way too many fic ideas by it. Stunning stuff!!

And... whoa, that was long, but I really do feel that we deserve a bit of a proper pat on the back after creating such magical content in such a messed up year. So that's the note I'm going to leave you with for 2020, my friends: hell-year or no, look at the absolute beauty we were still able to create!! We really are freaking amazing, guys.

#aos best of 2020 #fic rec #massive fic rec list #and honestly; WHAT a list!! #despite this utter hellstorm of a year #we as a fandom have still been nothing short of INCREDIBLE #and honestly; I am SO proud of us #💜💜💜

[sophfic27]

Questions (Have You Ever Wanted to be a Fly on the Wall?)

Summary: By now, you probably know the drill (his name is Bill), on their tenth birthday, the first words a person’s soulmate will say to them appears somewhere on their body. The word "hello" is one of the most common phrases in the world, so when Roman ends up with it on his wrist he decides to get creative. Everyone he meets who greets him with a "hello" he asks them a question. And he'll keep doing this until it's on someone's arm. This is literally my first ever fanfiction that I've finished and posted, so here's hoping you like it.

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality (background-ish), Dukeceit (background)

Word Count: 2870

Warnings: One instance of an F bomb, I think that’s it, let me know if it’s not

Notes:  I got the idea to write this after scrolling through soulmate POVs on TikTok with my sister for fun. We discussed how one could solve the problem of having a really common phrase, and she said "I'd just ask weird questions, because I'm really good at that." So I decided to write this. Most of the questions Roman asks in this I stole from my sister, because, yes, she really does randomly ask these wackadoo questions unprompted. She's great. Enjoy.

Read on AO3

If anyone was going to describe Roman as anything, it was fanciful. Of course most kids were excited by the prospect of getting their soulmark and meeting their soulmate, but Roman had very big plans for how he was going to meet his soulmate. He grew up with Disney movies telling stories of soulmates and star-crossed lovers and found himself mesmerized by the power of soulmates. The lovely tale of the Little Mermaid, and Ariel trying to somehow convey to the prince that he was her soulmate when she had no voice. The story of Aladdin doing all he could to survive and be worthy of his princess soulmate. When he was eight, he saw Anastasia, a story of soulmates who met before their words appeared. When she lost her memory, she couldn’t have known the boy who saved her was her soulmate, and he knew but thought that she must have died until fate brought them together again. Roman was amazed. With only two years until his words appeared, he fantasized about all the ways he would meet and woo his soulmate, what unique phrase would change his life forever. Maybe he already knew his soulmate and just didn’t know it was them! Roman counted the days until he got his words with impatient anticipation.

Roman was younger than his twin, Remus by seventeen minutes exactly. So there they were, huddling on the bottom bunk with flashlights at 3:11 am only two minutes left until Remus is exactly 10 years old and he receives his soulmark. “It’s going to be something really lame, like ‘you’re annoying’ or something,” Roman insisted. Having grown up with Remus, he found it hard to think he could even have a soulmate, but they both knew he was just giving him a hard time. “Nuh-uh,” Remus squawked in a mocking tone. “Yuh-huh,” came Roman’s equally childish reply. “NUH-UH!” “Shut up, or Mom and Dad will yell at us again!” Roman socked his twin with a pillow. He tapped the screen of the tablet they had snuck into their room from the living room. 3:12:31. They’d been checking the time obsessively, but now there was only half a minute left. They exchanged a sort of giddy look as the clock ticked closer and closer. “10, 9, 8” Remus started to count as the time came upon them. Roman joined quickly, “7, 6, 5, 4.” “3.” “2.” “1.”

They watched as two words drew themselves onto Remus’s wrist: “Um, wow.” The twins blinked at the words for a minute, until Roman broke the silence, “nice going, doofus, you’re going to weird out your soulmate immediately.” “You don’t know that! Maybe it's a good ‘um, wow,’” Remus protested. “How would that be good? ‘Um, wow, you’re so handsome, ooooh,’” Roman made a mocking kissy-face and was promptly knocked over by another projectile pillow. He laughed, “face it, you’re a weirdo, ‘um, wow’ is not a good thing.” The door swung open with a whoosh and their mother stood there, staring at them. Roman covered the tablet with a pillow to hide the stolen device, and Remus scrambled off of the bunk. “I told you boys NOT to stay up like this,” Carla snapped. Her hair was up in curlers and she had hastily pulled a bathrobe over her pajamas. “But, Mama, our soulmates!” Roman whined. “Yeah, I got my words,” Remus waved his arm around even though the light was too dim for their mother to read the words and she was too tired to humor them. “That’s nice, Remus, but I told you, Papa and I have to work tomorrow, you can’t be keeping us up like this, I told you we’d look at your words in the morning,” she rubbed her eyes, still bleary from the sleep she wanted desperately to return to. “But it is morning!” Roman cried indignantly. Carla fixed her son with a pointed glare and he looked down and climbed under his sheets. Carla sighed, “thank you. Now, you can tell me what your words are in the morning when Papa is awake, but right now I need you, boys, to go to sleep, okay?” “Okay, Mama,” the twins replied in unison. Remus climbed back up to his bunk and got under his covers. Carla nodded and departed the room for her own, her slippers making light scuff sounds down the hall. As soon as the door clicked closed at the end of the hall, Remus poked his head over the edge of his bunk and looked down at his twin, “how much time is left?” he whispered. Roman uncovered the tablet and woke the screen, “ten minutes,” he whispered back. The next ten minutes crawled by painfully slow. Roman lost track of whatever his brother was saying as his thoughts turned to what his words would be. He was pulled out of his trance when Remus broke his silence to ask “how long?” again. This time, when Roman woke the tablet, he saw that it was 3:29:22, and he became overwhelmed by the fact that there was less than a minute left. He reported to his twin and went back to staring intently at the digital clock. Each second felt like an eternity, but they dragged him eagerly forward until- The grandfather clock down the hall chimed the half-hour, and Roman tugged his pajama sleeve down excitedly and turned the flashlight onto his wrist. There a beat of silence until, “so? What does it say?” Remus asked eagerly. Roman sighed, “it says ‘hello.’” Remus stayed quiet for a second, “that’s going to be hard to find,” he offered. Roman collapsed back into his pillow. “Well, I’m going to sleep. Night, bro,” Remus mumbled from above. “Night,” Roman murmured. He looked at the singular word again and switched off the flashlight. “Hello” was one of, if not the most common soulmark in the world, because it was the most common greeting, regardless of language. At least there was that, Roman considered, his soulmate probably spoke English. But that wasn’t helpful. Remus was right, it was going to be hard to find his soulmate. Roman sighed and turned over onto his side. Okay, thought Roman, then I’ll just have to get creative.

It was common practice to try to use unique and specific greetings when meeting someone for the first time to cheat destiny and ensure an easier time finding their soulmate, but with as common a phrase as “hello”, Roman had to scrap all of his fantasies of grand romantic gestures and fairy tale meetings in favor of a way to guarantee his soulmate would recognize him. The plan was simple, if he was talking first to someone new, he stated his name first and foremost. Anyone he approached first, he greeted with “my name is Roman, nice to meet you.” The part where he got creative was with anyone who approached him first by saying “hello.” “Hello!” chirped his friendly new classmate in sixth grade. “If you were an insect, how long would it take you to die?” Roman asked immediately. The girl stared at him before replying shyly, “I don’t… know?” “Darn.” He always made sure to explain his tactic after using it to avoid further alienating new acquaintances. And thus he continued this way with every new person he met, always with a new and random question.

“Hello.” “If you could time travel, who would you meet?” “…Abraham Lincoln.” “Okay.”

“Hello.” “If you could make a new type of snowman that wasn’t made of snow, what would it be made of?” “Uh. Oranges?” “Cool.”

“Hello.” “If a bat flew into your house speaking with the voice of a cartoon, but claiming to be your best friend, what would you do?” “…What?”

Sophomore year, Roman and Remus were fifteen years old. Remus had already met his soulmate, Janus, and naturally, “um, wow” had been a response to Remus weirding him out, in addition to the realization that Remus was his soulmate. Roman, on the other hand was still trying to find his soulmate with random questions, but to no avail. The second semester had begun and Roman’s physics class was changing seats. Roman collapsed into his new spot next to a boy he knew to be Patton, but with whom he had not actually talked yet. Patton was wearing a blue t-shirt with a repeating cat pattern across it. His honey-brown hair was lightly curled, and a pair of round glasses were balanced on his freckle-covered nose. He smiled warmly at Roman. The teacher finished giving his instructions and let the class go to meet their new partners and get to work on their assignments. And thus the cycle began anew. Patton turned to Roman with a grin, “hello!” Roman huffed slightly as he quickly summoned a new question, “what’s your favorite musical?” he asked in lieu of a real greeting. Patton stared at Roman for a beat before raising a hand to his chin thoughtfully, and Roman knew that the boy probably didn’t have his question on his wrist. “Mamma Mia,” he answered finally. “ABBA. Good choice,” Roman chuckled. Patton giggled back, “Why do you ask anyway?” Roman showed Patton his wrist, and he nodded wonderingly, “I get it, you’re trying to have a unique greeting, because yours is so common.” “Bingo,” Roman said, slightly relieved that he didn’t have to explain it all again. “I’m guessing you don’t have my phrase, right?” Patton’s hair bounced as he shook his head. He presented his own wrist, marked with the word “Salutations” in unusually crisp font. “Ooh, you have a fancy soulmate,” Roman said, “that, or they’re a nerd. I’ve never seen such a professional-looking font.” “Me neither,” Patton giggled again. “At least ‘salutations’ isn’t a very frequently used greeting.” Roman nodded, “yes, a nerd like that will be easy to spot,” Roman joked. “I’m Roman by the way,” he said, suddenly unsure if Patton knew who he was or not. “Patton!” he replied with a quirk of his head and a broad smile. “Nice to meet you,” he was aware of the teacher surveying the class to see who was working and quickly added, “maybe we should get started.” Patton nodded and they set to work reading instructions and becoming friends.

Half-way through the first semester of senior year, Patton introduced Roman to his recently discovered soulmate, Logan. Upon meeting him, Roman remarked that he was exactly the kind of nerd he had expected when he had seen Patton’s “salutations” soulmark. He then lamented that he was once again left surrounded with people who had soulmates when he didn’t, at which point Logan informed his that “statistically speaking, most people meet their soulmates in their twenties or thirties.” “Thanks, pocket-protector, but that’s barely comforting. I have the most common phrase in the English language,” Roman complained. “Actually, according to most studies performed in the last 20 years, the most common phrase currently is ‘hi,’” Logan corrected him with a push of his glasses. Roman stared at him in disbelief and Patton giggled at his side.

“I’m telling you Roman, he’s actually really nice,” Patton assured him as they walked down the path towards Roman’s house. Both boys were bundled up in coats, their hands stuffed firmly in pockets to protect against the biting winter wind. Roman had a Christmas party coming up in a few days, and Patton was trying to convince him to invite the fairly anti-social kid who never got of his emo phase, Virgil. In all honesty, Roman didn’t care if Virgil came or not, plenty of Remus’s friends, who he didn’t know, were going, but Patton was determined to make Roman and Virgil friends, and as it was, Roman didn’t think he had anything in common with the emo. “I’m sure he is, Pat, but…” he hesitated, searching for some way to appease his friend without giving in. “But what?” Patton pressed, meanwhile physically pressing against his shoulder. “But you get along with everyone, and everyone loves you. You can find something in common with anyone no matter what,” Roman stalled. Patton’s eyes bore into him. “I on the other hand, don’t think I have anything in common with Virgil. I mean, he’s all surly and dark, and I’m a theater kid straight out of High School Musical,” he gestured grandly before his hand quickly retreated to the warmth of his pocket again. “Have you ever even talked to the guy?” “Well, no, but-” “Then how do you know you have nothing in common?” Patton’s voice lilted. He always gave off the vibe of a dad trying to get his child to try a new food or something. Roman shot him a side-eyed look, and Patton continued, “you like Disney, right? Well, it just so happens Virgil is into Disney, too! See? There is something you have in common?” “Yeah, sure, but… I mean, who doesn’t like Disney?” Patton just shrugged. Roman was being stubborn, but Patton knew he’d practically won. “All I ask is you let me introduce you to him at the party, okay? Just let him say hello. You can even ask him one of your weird questions.” Patton waved a gloved hand vaguely. Roman was suddenly aware that he seemed to know something Roman didn’t, but he ignored the feeling in favor of a childish groan. “Fine, you can bring him to party and introduce him to me,” defeat dripped from his voice, and Patton clapped in delight and cheered as they arrived on the doorstep of the house.

Some pop rendition of Jingle Bells played through the house as Roman made his way to the snack table. The table was draped with a festive table cloth covered in reindeer and sleighs, and it featured an impressive array of cookies and cupcakes and other holiday-themed treats. Most claimed that Roman and Remus overdid the party thing, but in truth it was mostly Roman. Classmates and friends milled around dancing, eating, and chatting happily. Roman picked out a tree-shaped cookie that he had made and started to make his way into the living room when he heard someone call his name. Roman turned to see Patton dragging a boy toward him, a broad grin decorated his face and, as usual, outshone the blinking Christmas light necklace he was wearing. They met just to the side of the entryway into the living room. “I know you said you hadn’t met yet, so Roman, this is Virgil,” he gestured to the boy standing next to him. His dyed purple bangs draped just down to his eyes, and he was wearing a dark purple sweater in place of his usual patchwork hoodie. Virgil watched Patton carefully, only looking at Roman when introduced by name. Virgil gave a wave so slight, Roman would have missed it if it was any smaller. His low voice was soft, and yet carried easily over the din of the party, “hello.” “Have you ever wanted to be a fly on the wall?” Roman said. His response was automatic. Replying to “hello” with a question had become an unconscious habit after doing it for so many years. Virgil stared. That was a standard reaction to Roman, he had hardly registered the question that had come out of his mouth. Patton’s further widening smile, however, was not a standard reaction. Roman then realized that Virgil’s stare was different from others as well. His gray eyes shone with shock instead of the confusion Roman was accustomed to. Suddenly becoming uncomfortable with the silence, he said “… What?” “… I’ve always wanted to ask, and I mean this sincerely, what the fuck kind of greeting is that” Virgil said finally as he started to tug down his sleeve, revealing the words on his wrist. Roman’s face lit up with astonishment and excitement. “No, I’ve never wanted to be a fly on the wall, but thanks to you, I’ve thought about it bordering on obsessively for almost eight years.” Roman finally broke out of his trance. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it worked,” he exclaimed as Virgil stared quizzically at him. Roman showed him his own wrist and explained the logic behind his seemingly random question. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he whirled on Patton. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” He shrugged innocently. “I knew that Virgil had a weird question on his wrist and that you have a tendency to ask such questions,” He grinned slyly, “I couldn’t be certain, but it was a pretty fair bet.” “You’re a mad genius,” Virgil cocked his head at Patton. Patton smiled brightly again, “I don’t know what you mean, kiddo, I’m just helping out where I can.” Roman shook his head and laughed, “alright, Pat, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” “That’s fine, Roman,” Patton clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ve got to go find Logan, so you guys get to know each other,” Patton waved as he stepped away. Roman and Virgil turned to face one another and stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Roman wracked his brain for what to do next, and all he could come up with was, “So… Disney?”

#prinxiety fanfiction #prinxiety #sanders sides #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #logicality #dukeceit #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #ts remus #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts janus #roman x virgil #patton x logan #remus x deceit #remus x janus #creativitwins

[supernaturaldesires]

A Descent Into Insanity - Chapter Two

Based on request by @sweetpotato-97

Could ask for a fic of Yandere Dean with a reader who sees him as a best friend and a form of brother for them, of course in the beginning Dean was not a yandere but he changed with the passage of time?

Note: the reader in a way is innocent and does not know that Dean is in love with them.

Pairing: None (yet)

Characters: Dean & Sam

Warnings: none, other than a slightly protective Dean

Word Count: 1,573

A couple of days after the incident at the bar, the Winchester brothers headed back out on another hunt. You had asked to go with them, but Sam explained that there was another case in Indianapolis that would need investigating once their case was resolved. He told you that there had been at least four cases of seemingly normal people suddenly turning violently on their loved ones, ultimately killing them. Sam asked you to do some more research before they went to investigate, to try and understand what they’d be running into - and promised that you could accompany them on that one.

After spending a day pouring over internet articles you were convinced you were dealing with a siren. The only problem though, was the article didn’t say anything about their weaknesses, only their powers. You did notice, though, that one of the articles you had read was authored by a woman in Lincoln, Nebraska, only a few hours away from the bunker.

You knew the boys wouldn’t be home wouldn’t be home for at least another day, so you decided to pay the woman a visit to see if you could find out anything else from her. You grabbed your phone, a map and a couple of twenties for gas and set off.

When you arrived at the woman’s house, she was a nice enough lady. She invited you in for tea and when you got to talking, it turned out she had crossed paths with John Winchester before. You hadn’t met the man - who was something of a legend in the hunter world - but you’d heard many a story that made you disappointed that you’d never had the opportunity to meet the man, not just because he was Dean and Sam’s father. 

After holding polite conversation with the lady for about an hour, you realised you weren’t going to get any more information than what was in the article, so you said your thank yous and made your excuse to depart. Once you got back into your car, you checked your cell for any messages. Shit. The battery was dead and you’d left your charger back at the bunker. With a sigh, you started the engine and made your way back home.

When you pulled up to the bunker, you were stiff from the long drive and cranky with hunger. You swung the door open and had barely set foot inside when Dean pounced on you, his hands gripping your upper arms and lifting you off the ground, holding you inches from his face.

“Where the hell have you been?” He roared, fury flaming in his eyes. “I have been calling you for hours!”

You struggled against him, but it was useless. Your legs flailed helplessly in the air. “Jesus, Dean, I was following up with a source about this case in Indianapolis. And since when do I have to share my whereabouts with you at all times?”

Dean lowered you to your feet, but pinned you against the wall. “For all I know, you could be in danger,” he growled. “You left no text, not even a note to say where you’d gone.”

“I wasn’t expecting you guys back yet!” You argued, still not understanding why you had to explain yourself. “Will you relax?”

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice came from behind Dean. “See, Dean, I told you she’d be fine. You were so worked up over nothing. Y/N, you should have seen him when he realised you weren’t here. I swear he lost his freakin’ mind.” Dean’s grip released you then, and within seconds he was in his brother’s face. The grin that was on Sam’s face a moment ago suddenly faded.

“Oh yeah, and what if she had been in trouble, Sammy? What if she got hurt, or worse? I bet you wouldn’t find it so amusing then, would you?”

You were a little relieved to see the same confusion that you felt fall upon Sam’s face, confirming that Dean was acting completely unreasonably. “Dude, will you chill? She’s a grown-ass woman, not to mention one who hunted alone for years before she met us. And saving your ass, may I remind you? Give her some cred, yeah?” Dean stepped back from his brother, but the scowl didn’t leave his face. 

"If you’re both quite finished,” you said sharply. “I think I know what we’re dealing with in Indianapolis. So why don’t you go clean yourselves up, then I’ll talk you through what I’ve found out. We can prepare to leave first thing in the morning.”

Dean glared at you before storming off towards his bedroom. Sam scoffed at his older brother’s behaviour before turning to follow.

“Hey, Sam,” you said softly, reaching out and tugging on his sleeve. He turned back to you. “Thanks about that. I didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean, I know he feels like we gang up on him sometimes. But I appreciate it.” 

Sam gave you a kind smile and a gentle shrug. “Didn’t say nothin’ that wasn’t true.” His smile faltered for a moment and concern tugged at the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” You probed. Dean would always poke fun at Sam for being a worry-wort, but you quickly learned that Sam worried based on his gut - and it rarely misled him.

The tall man dragged a hand through his shaggy hair. “I dunno, just Dean was acting a bit weird on the hunt,” he said slowly. “Honestly, I didn’t expect us to be back this early either. But for some reason Dean wouldn’t even sleep while were away. He was constantly checking the time, saying we needed to get back to the bunker. He wouldn’t explain why. But I guess this was our third back-to-back hunt, so he probably just wanted to get back and rest.” You could tell he wasn’t really convinced, so he certainly wasn’t convincing you, but you let it slide. You both shared a concerned smile before Sam turned on his heels and headed to his bedroom.

You followed him down the hallway then took a different turn and stopped outside Dean’s room. You stared at the door for a good five minutes, wondering if you were about to walk into another ambush. Breathing deeply, you knocked gently. “Hey, Dean? It’s me, can we talk?”

A moment later, the door opened and you realised he must have just come out of the shower. He’d thrown some joggers on, but his hair was still wet and there were beads of water dripping down his bare chest. Your mind suddenly went reeling back to that first night you met, when he and Sam took you to the bar to thank you for saving Dean. You found him incredibly attractive. You had watched how each muscle in face flexed and relaxed as he talked, smiled, laughed. Sure, you flirted with him a little, despite the age gap between you. You were closer to Sam’s age, but something in you just sparked with Dean. At some point that evening, when Sam excused himself to the men’s room, you made your move on Dean - some less-than-subtle suggestion that you had a problem with your brake light and could he come look at it. In hindsight, you realised that it was a stupid move - he and Sam had followed you in the Impala back to your motel earlier that day, so he would have known full well there was no issue with your lights. He gave you a soft smile and let you down gently - that you weren’t really his type. That you deserved to settle down with someone, and he wasn’t prepared to be that someone for anyone.

“Did you want something?” Dean’s voice snapped you back to the present and you realised you’d been staring at him in silence uncomfortably long.

“Um, yeah, just that I’m sorry I didn’t text you guys where I was,” you said, toying with a fraying thread on the sleeve of your jacket. You didn’t really feel like you needed to apologise, but you wanted to clear the air with Dean, especially if you’d be going on a hunt together tomorrow. You both needed to be focused. “I understand you were just worried about me.”

Dean sighed and stepped back from the door, letting you in. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking uncomfortable - as he always did if anyone even breathed the word ‘emotions’. “I just... when we got back to the bunker and you weren’t here, I just panicked. I didn’t know where you were, who you were with. I got sca-” he stopped himself, clearing his throat and straightening up. “Just don’t do that again, ‘kay?”

You nodded and approached him gingerly for a hug. You knew he wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. But to your surprise, he welcomed the gesture and embraced you, giving you a squeeze. If you didn’t know better, you could have sworn he just smelled your hair. You stepped back and shook the feeling off.

“Let me go make dinner,” you said with a smile. “I still need to fill you and Sam in on the Indianapolis case, and I know it’s pointless trying to hold your attention on an empty stomach.” You gave him a friendly wink before leaving his room.

Why did you get the feeling he was watching you walk away?

<= Chapter One

Chapter Three =>

Dean tags: @akshi8278

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics​

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #a descent into insanity

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [33]

iv. watch the thrones

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: mentions of blood, getting drugged, injuries, death, Lincoln gets brained with a rock (this is my brothers description, I had to include it), anxiety.

Summary: things in Arkadia are rapidly changing, and for the first time in a long time, you and Bellamy find yourselves on opposite sides. new leadership takes over, and you agree to something you never thought you’d do.

a/n: hi loves! in case you didn’t see my post at like 5 in the morning (lmao what is sleep), I finished writing s5 last night! it still needs some editing, of course, but I’m hoping to start to on s6 early next week which means we will probably be moving to three posts a week! let me know if that’s something you want! also the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

When you open your eyes to find the medical ward, you let out a soft groan. Twice in one week, great. The sound stirs the sleeping figure beside you, and you look down and lock eyes with a very worried looking Bellamy. Tears spring to his eyes as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

You reach up and brush a finger over the frown lines on his forehead, smoothing them down, and you can tell he’s been beating himself up for leaving you behind, probably from the moment he drove away. You give him a soft smile, “Getting drugged by your boyfriend builds character.”

“You’re not mad?”

You shake your head. “Gina told me not to be. Said she overheard everything. Reminded me that sometimes people do crazy things for love.”

He smiles, but you can see the guilt still there, weighing on him heavily. “Don’t carry this alone, Atlas. You thought leaving me behind meant I was safe. You had no way of knowing.”

He nods, before shaking his head as if he’s clearing his thoughts, replacing the frown with a small smile. “Look at you. Comforting me while you’re the one hooked up to the IV.”

He stands, “Let me go get your mom.”

You turn, reaching out to grab him. “Not yet, please.”

He nods and sits back down beside you, and as your eyes follow him, they pass over a yellow book with blue binding, resting on the table beside you. You smile and reach out for it, passing it to Bellamy. “I got you something.”

He smiles slightly when he sees it, and you cringe a little at the imperfections on the cover. “Sorry about the explosion damage. And the blood.”

You see the sadness in his eyes, but he laughs at your joke anyways. You scoot over to the edge of the too small bed and pat the space beside you. “Read to me.”

He looks hesitant, eyeing the small space. “What if I hurt you?”

“If I know my mother, I know there are enough pain meds in this IV that I won’t feel a thing.” You pat the bed again. “Now tell me about the gods.”

His worry softens into one of love, and you know he won’t deny the request, the same way you never deny when he asks about the stars. He carefully slides into the bed beside you, maneuvering until you’re half laying on him, with your head on his chest. He presses a kiss into your hair before opening the book, and starting at the beginning. “Sing, O goddess, the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon…”

You fall into his voice as he reads to you, telling you of the Trojan War, drawing comfort in the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. Because if the last 24 hours have taught you anything, it’s that sometimes people do stupid things for love, and you were glad that you got hurt, while Bellamy came home safe.

-

There is no privacy in the medical ward.

Your mother comes in while Bellamy is reading to you, and after some begging, she sits down beside you to tell you about the summit and why Clarke didn’t return. Kane steps into the room as she’s updating you, and as soon as she finishes, he’s muttering quiet apologies for not allowing you at the summit and leaving you at the Mountain from Hell. Raven forces her way in next, practically knocking Jackson out of the way when he scolds her about “patients needing rest”. You’re relieved to hear that her and Sinclair are okay, thanks to you she says. 

Octavia and Lincoln join the group not long after her, both pleased to hear that their training came in handy when you fought off the assassin. Your mom chases them all out soon after, lecturing them about privacy and rest, before checking your IV’s and bandages and leaving you alone again with Bellamy. As soon as the room clears out, you turn to Bellamy. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I know that no one else will either. Did you check for survivors?”

“We tried to, but the rubble was too dense. Abby said there’s no way anyone could have survived that, especially because most of the people were probably in the middle of the mountain when it collapsed.” You feel a wave of guilt rush over you, making you sick. “They’re having a memorial.”

You look up at him. “When?”

“In a few minutes, I think.”

You sit up, already tugging the IV out of your hand. “I wanna go.”

“Wait, what about-”

“I know what you’re going to say. Yes, I was stabbed three times, on top of my still healing fourth stab wound. Yes, I was also thrown backwards from an explosion. Yes, I should probably stay in bed. And yes, my mother will have a fit.” You look up at him, face serious. “But I need to be at that memorial, Bellamy.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, before going to grab your pants and jacket, most of your clothes discarded when they stitched you up. He helps you dress before kneeling down and helping you into your boots and tying them up for you. Once he finishes, he stands and helps you out of the bed, making sure that you walk slow and lean most of your weight on him. 

As you walk through the room and towards the door, you see your discarded knife and holster on a table, and you reach out for it. Bellamy stops and grabs it, helping you strap it to your thigh, and you look at the knife as he slides it into the holster, the blade still stained red. It makes you think of Gina, covered in blood, barely alive, urging you to leave her behind. You glance at Bellamy as he slowly leads you to the memorial. “Gina saved my life.”

He glances over at you, expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

“She was covered in blood, Bellamy, her shirt soaked through with it. She had at least three stab wounds to her stomach that I saw, but I’m sure there were more. She was barely alive when I got to her, and she still managed to tell me about the self-destruct. She told me to go after the assassin and get the codes, instead of staying to help her. I don’t know if she knew what she was doing, if she knew that what she was telling me to do would save my life, but it did. I’d be dead in that mountain if she didn’t send me after him.”

Bellamy stops in the hall and turns to face you, tears springing up in his eyes. His voice is thick with emotion when he chokes out, “I’m thankful for Gina, because she saved one of the most important things in my life.”

You reach up and wipe the fallen tears from his face. “I’m thankful for her too. And I’m thankful the summit wasn’t a trap, and that you came back to me safely.”

You pull him down for a kiss, pushing all your love for him into it, letting him know that you’re okay, you’re safe, and he doesn’t need to feel guilty. You pull away and whisper, “I love you.”

He whispers back, “I love you more than the stars.”

You both smile and he helps you the rest of the way to the memorial service, and you slip inside during the middle of it. Bellamy finds a pair of chairs in the back, out of view from your mother’s position near the front. Pike stands up at the front, near a table of memorial objects, and addresses the room. “All that’s certain is that we die. How we die is up to us. Who will speak for Iris Jones?”

Miller’s boyfriend Bryan stands, moving to the front of the room quickly. “Iris was strong, good with a knife. She saved my life. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do the same for her.”

He flips open a pocket knife and sets it onto the table before returning to his seat beside Miller. Pike stands again. “We will miss Iris. May we meet again.”

The room repeats in unison, “May we meet again.”

“Who will speak for Gina Martin?”

You sit up in your seat, looking around to see who will speak for her, surprised to find no one. You glance at Bellamy, finding that he’s equally surprised, which is enough to fuel your split second decision, and you stand. Pike’s eyes find you and he nods, a look on his face you can’t identify. As you walk to the front of the room, you risk a glance at your mother, who’s shaking her head in disappointment. You mouth, “Sorry.”

You turn and look at the room, suddenly nervous to speak for Gina, a woman you barely knew, but you decide that honesty is always the best. “Um, I didn’t bring anything for Gina because I didn’t find out about this memorial until a few minutes ago, so I’m sorry about that. But I just wanted to say that though I barely knew Gina, she saved my life. And until the end of her life, she tried to save the lives of her people. Our people. I’ll spend the rest of my life honoring that.”

You nod your head once, and glance out at the crowd. “May we meet again.”

The crowd repeats back, “May we meet again.”

You head back to your seat, and Pike stands and shakes your hand as you walk past, murmuring, “Strong girl.”

Behind you, the doors to the room open and a few guards step in, heading straight towards Pike. He drops your hand and steps away from you, and you walk the rest of the way back to Bellamy. You see Lincoln standing behind him, having quietly slipped in at some point, and you nod to him in greeting as you sit down. The guards are talking quietly with Pike, and as the crowd starts to murmur with worry, you turn to ask Bellamy, “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, looking just as confused, and you watch as Pike walks over to Kane and your mom, relaying whatever news came from the guards. Pike must not like what they have to say, because he steps away from them, looking disgusted, his voice rising louder. “You gave a Grounder one of our radios?”

This sends a wave of worry through the crowd and everyone stands as Hannah, Monty’s mom, asks, “Sir, are we under attack?”

Bellamy stands beside you, looking over the crowd to watch Kane, and you rise and stand next to him, trying to get a look. “No, we are not under attack. The Commander sent a peace keeping force to ensure that we can defend against any further attacks from the Ice Nation.”

You feel Bellamy tense beside you before Pike yells, “Peace keeping force? Even you can’t be that naïve, Marcus!”

Your mother snaps, “Watch your tone, you’re talking to the next Chancellor. This has been hard on all of us, but we can’t let anger drive our policy.”

“Anger is our policy!” The crowd murmurs in agreement, and Pike jumps onto a chair nearby so the room can see him. “Now if they’re here to defend us, as you say, then tell them to go home! We can defend ourselves!”

You pull a face, unconvinced, and look over to Bellamy to see if he feels the same. But his expression is passive, unreadable. You don’t have time to dwell on it any further, because one of Pike’s men, Gillmer, yells out, “You!”

You look up and see him pointing in your direction, but after a second, you realize he’s pointing at Lincoln, who’s right behind you. “You don’t belong here.”

Some of the people in the crowd whisper their agreement, and before you can even process what’s happening, Gillmer pulls his arm back and throws a rock at Lincoln, hitting him on the side of the head. You and Bellamy jump into action at the same time, both of you moving in front of Lincoln to defend him as some of the crowd turns and tries to attack. A few of your fellow guardsmen also jump into the mix, defending Lincoln, keeping back the surging crowd as they kick and punch at all of you, trying to reach Lincoln. 

You let out a yelp of pain when someone’s fist lands in the stitches on your side, and Bellamy immediately notices and punches the guy so hard that he hits the ground. You turn, ready to defend against the next person, but a high pitched whistle pierces the room, freezing everyone in place. You all turn to see Pike watching the events from his chair, disappointed. “We do not attack our own! Fighting each other only makes us weak. The enemy is not in this camp. The enemy is out there.”

You turn and glance back at Lincoln, who looks unsteady on his feet, his eyelids fluttering as he fights back the pain. He turns and stumbles out the door before anyone can check on him, and you turn to Bellamy. “Get your sister and get my mom, and meet me in medical. I’ll bring Lincoln.”

“Okay.” He leans down and kisses you quickly before making a beeline for your mother on the other side of the room. You turn and follow the path Lincoln took, coming out into the sunshine to see him kneeling on the ground. He punches the wall in frustration, and you barely hear him whisper, “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.”

You watch as he pulls himself to his feet, and you ask, “What does that mean?”

He spins around quickly, surprised to see you, and you give him an apologetic look. He translates, “Get knocked down, get back up.”

“I like that.” You peer up at the cut on his head, the blood rushing down the side of his face and onto the ground below. “Let me take you to medical.”

He shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

You lift your shirt slightly, revealing your stab wound, now reopened. “Then you should take me to medical.”

He gives you a serious look, and for a second you think he’s about to lecture you, until he smiles. “Looks like we should go before your mom and Octavia hunt us both down.”

“Agreed.” 

You both start walking towards the building slowly, partially because of your mutual injuries, partially because neither of you are in a hurry to get into the serious conversations that await you both in the med bay. You glance over at him as he stumbles slightly, and he turns to you, voice sarcastic, “This is turning out to be a great day.”

You look down at your stained shirt, now turning red with fresh blood, and then at the little patches of bandages that cover your other wounds. You laugh along with him. “You know, I’ve been getting my ass kicked ever since I got down here.”

Lincoln watches you from the corner of his eye. “Do you remember when you went into the woods the morning after you landed, and sat and watched the sunrise?”

You turn to him, suspicious. “How do you know about that?”

He looks away, watching people as they mill about the camp. “Because I was there. I think I scared you off.”

“I knew I heard someone out in the woods!”

“Sorry.” He turns towards you again, looking like he means it. “I was keeping track of the camp, trying to double check my numbers when you came marching out into the woods with a troubled look on your face.”

“I was thinking about my dad, and my shitty relationship with Clarke and my mom, Shumway...just all the bad stuff really.”

He nods, “I got to see a lot of your leadership, before you even realized you were becoming a leader. I always liked the way you lead; empathetic, but take no shit. A warrior with a heart.”

You look over at him, smiling. “Yeah, well what about you, Mr. Risk It All For Octavia? You were the first Grounder that tried to help us make peace, all because you fell in love.”

He laughs when you draw out the word love, playful, before you add, “You’re the original warrior with a heart. The physical embodiment of it.”

He shrugs, “Maybe. I was just doing what I thought was right.”

“I think that’s all we can do.”

You both fall into comfortable silence as you walk the rest of the way into the medical ward, and as soon as you’re both through the door, chaos erupts. Lincoln is swarmed by Kane, Pike, and your mother all asking him a flurry of questions. You both exchange a knowing smirk as he allows them to lead him over to one of the empty beds and look him over. Jackson walks over to you, a disapproving look on his face. “Those were my best stitches.”

You lift your shirt, exposing the reopened wound. “They were.”

He leads you back over to your abandoned bed, bringing his med kit along with him. You lean back and allow him to work, listening in on the conversation happening on the other side of the room while your mom stitches up Lincoln. “Do you want to press charges?”

You can’t see Lincoln, but his tone is firm when he answers, “No. No charges.”

“Lincoln, we need to set an example.”

Lincoln agrees with Kane, but not in the way he wants him to. “Yeah, we do.”

“The man just lost his son, Marcus.” You roll your eyes at Pike’s defense of Gillmer.

“Lincoln didn’t do that.”

The rest of the conversation is cut short as the Blake siblings run in. Octavia heads straight for Lincoln, and Bellamy comes to your side just as Jackson finishes your stitches. You smile at him in thanks, and he gives you a serious look. “No more fist fights until you heal. Please.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He smiles before turning away, leaving you and Bellamy alone. When you look up at him, you see his jaw is set and his eyes are locked on your newly stitched wound. You pull your shirt down, before reaching up and lifting his gaze to meet yours. “I’m fine, Bellamy. You can put away your ass kicking look.”

“I just got you back.”

“I know, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze lifts from yours as Pike and Kane walk out of the ward, before he looks back at you again. “I need to go talk to Pike about his men. Will you be okay?”

You sigh, because the look on his face tells you his conversation with Pike is inevitable. You reach up and grab his shirt, tugging him down until his lips meet yours. He kisses you hard, and it surprises you, the almost possessive feel of it. You pull away and whisper, “Please don’t beat anyone up on my behalf.”

His expression is unreadable when he answers, “No promises.”

He starts to turn away, but you grab his hand and tug him back. “I love you.”

The blank expression melts away, affection crossing his features, the words never failing to soften him again. “I love you more than the stars.”

He leans down and presses another kiss to your lips, this one softer than the last, before turning and leaving the ward in search of Pike. 

-

You spend most of the afternoon helping Nyko and Lincoln with the sick Grounders that Nyko brought to Arkadia while you were at the memorial service. They ask you to translate the Trigedasleng for your mother, helping you practice and correcting you when you make mistakes.

Sometime in the evening, hours after almost everyone has left, you’re sitting with Lincoln and Nyko, listening to stories of their friendship, when Harper and Monroe run in. You stand as soon as you see them, panic written clearly on both of their faces. “What? What’s going on?”

Harper shakes her head, “I’m not sure, but it’s not good.”

“Explain.”

Monroe steps forward. “We went to the mess hall to find Bellamy, to ask about you, actually, but we stopped when he realized he was sitting with Pike. Their conversation looked really serious, so we tried to listen in on what was happening, but we only caught bits and pieces.”

Harper nods, “They were talking about the Grounder army and how it’s dangerous for us to have them here because they can attack at any time.”

“And then he mentioned it would only take a small team to take them out.”

“We couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation because they started talking really quietly. But then a few minutes later, Bellamy got up and left.”

“We thought maybe he was coming here to see you, but as we started walking this way, we came across Miller.”

You look between the two girls, confused. “Okay, and?”

“Miller was guarding the armory, and said Bellamy came over to relieve him early.”

You feel your stomach sink to your feet as the pieces slide into place. “Shit.”

You look over at Lincoln, “How fast can you get to the front gates?”

“Fast.”

“I need you to stop them.”

He nods, and you turn to Monroe and Harper. “You two stay with Lincoln, back him up.”

They both nod. “I’ll be right behind you, go!”

They all turn and run off, and you jog out after them, heading towards the Chancellor’s office. Octavia finds you on the way, moving as fast as you can, clutching your side, and she sees the worry in your face. “What’s going on? I just went to medical to see you and Lincoln, and Nyko told me you all left in a hurry.”

“Bellamy is about to do something incredibly stupid because Pike got in his head. I need you to get Kane, tell him that Pike is going after the army. I’ll find my mother.”

She immediately turns and runs off, heading for the Chancellor’s office, and you turn and change course for your old residence, the one you shared with your mother. When you reach the door, you don’t even bother knocking, you just barge right in. You’re unsurprised to see her still awake, pouring over maps and notes, and she looks up in surprise at your intrusion. “What’s-”

“There’s no time. Pike is going to kill the army. Sound the alarm, shut the camp down, do whatever you need to do, but you can’t let them leave.”

“Oh my god.”

She immediately takes off running, and you turn to follow, stopping when you see her pistol lying on the table near the door, forgotten. You make a last second decision and grab it before running out the door and heading towards the front gate so you can meet Lincoln and the others. As you run up, Monroe and Harper are walking towards you, both looking defeated, and you’re about to question them when you see Lincoln standing in front of the group, blocking their path, while Gillmer points a gun at him. 

You run past the two girls and head straight for Gillmer, stopping a few feet away and lifting your gun towards him. “Stand down, Gillmer.”

He looks towards you in surprise, and you hear the sound of guns cocking as some of the people in the group lift their weapons and aim towards you. Bellamy panics and yells, “Guns down!”

They hesitate and lower them slightly, still watching you and Lincoln with suspicion. Lincoln uses the opportunity to knock Gillmer’s gun out of his hand, before pulling out his knife and holding it to his throat. The group freaks out again, lifting their weapons until Bellamy yells, “I said put the guns down. Now!”

“Do what he says.”

Everyone lowers their weapons, and Monty’s mom mutters, “So much for the good Grounder.”

You lower your weapon and turn towards Bellamy. “What are you doing?”

“I’m protecting us, like always. That army is a threat to us.”

“Bellamy, that army is here to protect us.”

Lincoln, still holding a knife to Gillmer’s throat, mutters, “We can’t let you start a war.”

Pike glares at him, “We’re already at war.”

Bellamy’s jaw sets, and you can see the muscles clench as he grinds out, “You can’t stop this.”

Seconds after he says it, the alarms in the camp start blaring, “All Arkadia security personnel, report to the main gate. All Arkadia security personnel, report to the main gate now.”

Octavia comes running up and stands beside you and LIncoln, looking at Bellamy in disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”

The rest of the guards, accompanied by Kane and your mother, arrive and target the small group. Pike yells, “Farm Station, guns on the ground. On the ground!”

Pike drops his weapon and the others follow suit, as Kane urges Lincoln to release Gillmer. He does so reluctantly, shoving him away, as your mother descends on Pike on a wave of fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What you didn’t have the guts to.”

“Guards, take them to lockup now.” She turns and yells to the gathering crowd, “Everybody back to your quarters. It’s over.”

“Nothing is over!” Pike fights against the guards at his back. “We are surrounded by warriors who want us dead!”

“That’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t. Not even close. Why don’t you show us all what you let the Grounders do to you yesterday? Come on, Kane. I think that the people who are about to vote for you have a right to know.”

Kane pulls up his sleeve, revealing the mark of the coalition, signaling Skaikru’s status as one of the clans. “It’s the mark of the Commander’s Coalition. It means we are the 13th clan. It means we are in this fight together.”

“No. It’s what farmers used to do to their livestock.”

Hannah adds, “Right before the slaughterhouse!”

Gillmer yells, “Sir, you should be on the ballot tomorrow!”

“That’s enough. Take him away.”

The guards pull Pike away, and as they lead the others away, you watch Bellamy, whose face is blank and unreadable. He doesn’t look your way once as the guards at his back start to push him forward, but as they do, he starts to chant. “Pike! Pike!”

The rest of the prisoners join the chant, accompanied by a few people in the dispersing crowd, and you, Lincoln, Octavia, Kane, and your mother all exchange horrified looks, watching as they go. 

-

You’re up all night, pacing in the Chancellor’s office as everyone discusses the possibility that Pike might be the next round of leadership. You don’t contribute to the arguments or discussions, your pace steady as you move back and forth across the office space, thinking of Bellamy. Your boyfriend, who broke the law. Your boyfriend, who broke the law to arm a rogue group. A rogue group hellbent on murder. 

You can’t make sense of it, can’t understand the thought process that led him to that point. You haven’t made sense of it by the time Lincoln and Octavia leave, promising to reconvene in the morning. You haven’t made sense of it by the time your mother falls asleep on the couch, slumped over on Kane. When the sun rises, signaling election day, you still don’t understand. Your confusion continues through your vote, Kane’s name written on a slip of paper, dropped into the ballot box. 

By noon, the votes have been counted, recounted, and checked again. The Chancellor has been chosen, and Kane is the first to find you. You’re sitting outside, carving a fourth tally mark into the handle of your knife, signalling the death of the Azgeda assassin, when he stops in front of you, pulling you to your feet. He leads you to a hidden corridor without a word, and you follow, noticing the serious expression on his face. He checks to make sure you’re alone three times before he turns to you. “Pike won the election.”

The news hits you like a bus, knocking the breath out of you and leaving you disoriented. “What are we going to do? We can’t let him lead. He’ll ruin everything we’ve worked for the last three months.”

“I know, but the people chose. They want Pike. It’s out of our hands now.”

“Kane…” You trail off, disagreeing, but he lifts a hand to quiet you. “There’s nothing we can do from the outside, but if we had someone on the inside, someone passing along information, we could change things. Sabotage them.”

You shake your head. “Bellamy is lost to us, Kane. I’ve been trying to understand it, but he has some strange new loyalty to Pike. He agrees with him, trusts him. No way he’ll turn on him.”

“I don’t mean Bellamy.”

The realization hits, and you almost laugh. “Me?”

“Pike won’t trust me or Abby, and he certainly won’t trust Lincoln and Octavia. But you…”

���I openly opposed him last night. I doubt he forgot that.”

“No, but he understands protecting his people, however misguided his attempts.”

You consider this, and Kane’s request for you to spy, a decision that will put you at odds with the love of your life. A decision that could ruin your relationship, end it, if he ever found out. But it’s also the only way to save Bellamy from himself, and from Pike. You look up at Kane with a sigh, “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’m going to tell Pike right now. You should be there to greet Bellamy.”

You nod and follow him out of the hiding spot. He leads you over to the prison, grabbing guards along the way. The walk towards the cells feels dangerous, your anxiety growing as the reality of what you agreed to starts to hit you. But you push all of those feelings away, locking them in a box deep in your mind, because they are too dangerous for you now. The anxiety, the disbelief, the disagreements with Pike’s beliefs, they paint targets on your back. 

Kane opens the door to the cell and steps inside, and you stand just outside, watching from the other side. You and Bellamy lock eyes, and you can’t read the expression on his face, something that’s only started once Pike came into the picture. You quickly conclude that it’s not something you like. Kane holds out the Chancellor pin to Pike. “Congratulations, Mr. Chancellor.”

Pike takes it as Kane adds, “The vote wasn’t close. Our people are now your responsibility, Charles. I hope you take that seriously.”

“Thank you, Marcus. I certainly intend to.” He attaches the pin to his shirt, before turning to look at his fellow prisoners. “For my first official action as Chancellor, I pardon myself and the others. For my second official action, I reject the brand that made us the 13th clan. For my third, let’s finish what we started.”

Kane steps aside as everyone exits the room, following Pike out the door and to the armory. Bellamy is the last one to leave, and Kane leaves the room to give you privacy. He stands in front of you, silent, before whispering, “Less than two days ago, I thought you were dead. You all went radio silent, and when we got to Mount Weather, Raven and Sinclair were sitting beside you, keeping pressure on your wounds. They were surrounded by ripped pieces of clothing, soaked through with blood, and I thought there was no way that you were alive.”

He surprises you by reaching out, intertwining his fingers with yours. “The whole ride back to Arkadia, I was sure that you were going to die. Your mom stopped the bleeding the best she could before we left, but you were so weak and your breathing was so shallow. When we got back and they finally got you stabilized, I swore to myself that I’d never let death that close to you again.”

“Bellamy…”

You trail off, unsure what to say, but he continues, “Months ago, I promised that I would keep you safe, and I’ve failed. You have four stab wounds right now that I could have prevented, all of them from Grounders. From people who’ve been trying to kill us since we landed. That army is a threat to us, a threat to you. I won’t let them hurt you anymore, and I won’t let them hurt our people.”

Though you understand his reasoning, his fear now ruling his decisions and causing him to believe in Pike, you don’t agree. But as a spy, you let him think you do. “I didn’t understand it last night, but then something you said helped me to. You have always done what’s best for us and our people. I’ve been skeptical of Pike, which made me lose sight of that. But I understand now. Pike is what’s best for us and our people. I just wish you had talked to me before you armed them, we could have avoided the whole misunderstanding.”

Relief floods his features. “I was so worried you wouldn’t understand. After we take care of the army, I’ll talk to Pike about your guard position, let him know you’re on our side. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Pike said we had a small window, and I didn’t want to be the reason we missed it.”

You nod, and he leans down to kiss you. When he pulls away, he glances down the hall, where Gillmer now stands, waving him over. “I have to go, but we’ll talk when I get back.”

“Be safe.”

He nods and gives you one last kiss before running down the hallway, joining Gillmer, leaving you with a sick feeling in your stomach and the weight of the world on your shoulders.

-

next chapter

-

if sub rosa moves to three posts a week, which schedule would you be more interested in? keep in mind, I post in my timezone, which is CDT, the same timezone as the city Chicago, Illinois, USA. please comment on this post, send an ask or a message and let me know!

monday, wednesday, friday

wednesday, friday, sunday

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #The 100 #the 100 rewrite #the 100 fanfiction

[halberdierminister]

2020 Year-End Goals Check-In

It’s one thing to look at it on a month by month basis. How did I do over the whole year?

1. Write 250 Words Each Day I did not do this, but I did manage to write more than just about any other year ever. I consider this a goal I did not reach, but I did do very well at the attempt. Some months I got closer than others. I think daily goals are not gonna be the way to go in the new year.

2. Read 55 Books This Year I did! And then I read another 55 books on top of that! And then I read 23 more than that! All told, I read 133 books this year! That's tremendous! I'm impressed with myself and proud of myself and willing to accept that this is something that probably won't happen again. I have conquered this goal and no longer will I set a number goal for myself! I beat the 2015 goal of a hundred books and now it's just about reading whatever books I want, quantity be darned!

3. Get A Full Time Job Y'know, I talk a lot of shit, but I did end the year with a full time job. Is it the one I want? Does it pay what I want? Maybe not. But it is a full time job and I now have insurance and if I control my spending I will be able to save up.

4. Move Out I did not. My job just won't let me do that. Not on $11 an hour. Not in Madison. This is one goal I will be taking with me into the new year.

5. Drink Less Soda I did it! It turns out the bar for drinking less soda was SUPER LOW but now I'm not even drinking soda daily, let alone a bunch of sodas each day like I was for the past couple years. I'm gonna keep at this, but I'm not gonna make it a goal.0

6. Get Something Published I did!!!!!! 1. That's Why You Remember The Name (AO3 Link) 2. Magnet Poems 2013-2018 3. Nighthawks (the website that published this is down) 4. You Are Not Cannon Fodder 5. WZRDFIC.NET Presents: The Undoing of the Complacency by Rose Lalonde (AO3 Link) 6. The People Need Poetry 7. On Working at an Enormous Chain Bookstore, or, If I Was Glenn Beck, I'd Sell Books 8. Lincoln Memorial Drive 9. On Writing a Poem a Day in November Instead, or, Nah, No Novel Writing Month

7. Finish Writing A Legitimate Businessman I did! Read it Here.

8. Write More The Revelation of Takaya According to Jin I did! I even started a couple spiritual successors.

MINOR GOALS

9. Finish Playthroughs Of 1. The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild: Yes! 2. Persona 1 Main Quest Good Ending: Nope 3. Pokemon Sword: Yes! 4. Pokemon Let's Go Eevee: Yes! 5. Persona Q2: Yes! I also completed a whole playthroughs of Persona 5 Royal, Pokemon FireRed, Pokemon Platinum and Pokemon Black. AND I got 100% goals in every park in Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 1+2 with a custom skater.

10. Record More Ukulele Videos I recorded a couple! So while on a month to month basis this didn't feel like a win, it still was a success.

11. Record Let's Plays I posted one stream of Stardew Valley AND I started work on a Persona 1 LP with my buddy Taylor! We aren’t anywhere close to posting it yet though. So it wasn't a whole lot, but I still count this as a success!

12. Duolingo? I have not lost my streak since the last few days of 2019, but that is because of a copious number of streak freezes and weekend amulets. The app is pretty generous with giving you gems for free and then not giving you anything worthwhile to buy with them except for streak freezes and weekend amulets. So I guess my point is I was kinda lazy but I still did it mostly every day. I will try to be more active in the upcoming year.

#goals #new years goals #goals check in #2020 goals

[ejzah]

A/N: Based of a post were I suggested that the team competes in various events during the downtime created by the lockdown. A full story was requested by someone. If you would like to claim it, let me know in the comments.

As you might expect, this is filled with ridiculousness.

***

“That’s it, you’re disqualified, G!” Sam declared as he yanked a throwing knife out of the wall, the handle still shaking from being recently hurled.

“Why am I disqualified?”

“You almost hit me in the head!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been standing so close to the target.” As they continued to bicker, Eric, Nell, Kensi, and Deeks sat down on the bleachers set up in the gym.

“I wonder how long this argument is going to take.” Nell said, sounding mildly disinterested. Over the course of the day, they had competed against each other in various events, including completing a hundred pushups, a 100 meter sprint, non-dominant hand shooting, and miniature basketball.

The day long competition was the result of them all having far too much idle time while most of the state was in some form of lockdown.

Sam, Kensi and Deeks had been neck and neck for the pushups. Nell had given up after 10 in favor of watching Deeks and Sam finish. In the end, Sam had beat Kensi by three. Kensi and Deeks had tied in the sprint, which had resulted in a mini argument over whether or not they could have two winners and Sam had easily won in the shooting event. Callen had won the mini-basketball round.

“Well, I’d say it depends on how quickly Sam figures out that Callen is messing with him,” Deeks said, settling in for a good half hour of debate.

“How do you guys wear this stuff all the time?” Eric asked, doing a weird half lunge thing as he frowned down at his under armor shorts. “I always feel like it’s squeezing me to death.”

“Well, it does have its perks,” Deeks commented, wiggling his eyebrows at Kensi as he glanced pointedly at her strappy black sports bra.

“Mm, yes it does,” Nell agreed, eyeing his chest appreciatively. Deeks looked down at his skin tight tank top and shrugged.

“Anyway,” Kensi said, rolling her eyes. “We should probably intervene or we’ll never get to the next event.”

“You just want to get your trophy,” Deeks teased her.

“Hey I won the knife throwing competition fair and square. No one else even came close.”

***

“C’mon Deeks!” Kensi shouted, clapping her hands as Deeks and Callen went up against each other on the climbing walls. “You can do this! Climb faster!” She’d already lost against Callen earlier and had taken sides. Nell had also joined Deeks’ side, but Eric seemed torn.

“G, don’t do this to me again!” Sam shouted over Kensi’s encouragement. Deeks thought he heard Callen mutter something sarcastic about not being a show monkey.

Deeks was about 2/3 of the way up with Callen several feet under him. He grabbed the next two handholds, propelling himself another two feet. To the sound of Nell and Kensi’s combined shouts, he climbed the last few feet and touched the top.

“Yes baby!” Kensi cheered as he dropped onto the mat below. Callen let himself fall too and said,

“Well, thank god that’s over.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam said, sounding deeply disappointed. “How could you let him win again?” Callen stood up, breathing heavily with his hands on his hips.

“Once again, he’s got longer arms and have you seen his muscles these days? His arms are like freaking trees,” Callen pointed out. “Besides, I beat you.”

“I have more weight to lift.” Before Callen could respond to that, Nell cut in.

“I believe it’s time for the three-legged race.”

“Ooh, I won the three-legged race every year at my summer camp,” Eric said excitedly. He extended his arm to Nell. “Shall we, M’Lady?”

***

“How are you this uncoordinated?” Kensi shouted at Deeks as they tumbled to the ground for the third time in a minute. Sam and Callen were only doing marginally better; if he’d been less focused on not falling, Deeks would have found the sight of them fumbling around hilarious.

“I don’t know, maybe because one of my legs is tied to yours?” he suggested sarcastically, groaning as he Kensi tried to stand up and ended up yanking at his bound leg.

“As the only married couple, we should be better at this.” Kensi sounded ready to kill him and he tried to sync his movements with hers.

Ahead of them, Nell and Eric were somehow managing to move at an impressive speed despite their vastly different heights.

Kensi growled as they fell yet again.

“This is a cruel, cruel sport,” Deeks sighed. In the time it took them to get back up, Eric and Nell crossed the finish line and immediately hugged, jumping up and down in excitement.

Deeks released the Velcro brace wrapped around his left leg, rubbing at the sore spot the rough material had left as they slowly walked across the field.

“Congratulations,” Kensi told Eric and Nell, managing a smile despite her disappointment.

“Thanks, but it was all Eric,” Nell said, giving him a proud look. “He’s a great leader.”

“Oh, I’m only as good as my partner,” Eric insisted, one arm wrapped around her waist.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam commented, trying to brush grass stains off his clothes.

***

“Nell, how often do you play mini golf?” Callen asked, sounding suspicious as Nell tapped her bright blue golf ball through a windmill and straight into a hole marked with a white 16.

“I may or may not have lived near a course when I was a kid,” Nell answered with a grin. She sank another ball with a single tap. “We played every weekend for a couple summers.”

“I should’ve known when you insisted we include it in the competition,” Kensi commented. She was a few strokes behind Nell and one in front of Deeks.

“Hey, I play to my strengths.” Nell shrugged, not seeming in any hurry to get to the next hole.

“At least the rest of us are doing better than Eric and Sam,” Deeks said, nodding to where Sam and Callen were struggling to get past a river that kept swallowing the ball and spitting it back out on the other side.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam this angry,” Callen said, his voice filled with poorly concealed humor. As they watched, Sam shouted something and threw his club across the course where it landed in the middle of a small sandpit. “I better go calm him down before we get kicked out.”

“Maybe we should cancel this event. I mean, this is just supposed to be for fun,” Kensi said, watching Sam stalk away as Callen tried to talk to him. Eric was still futilely whacking at his ball.

“Not a chance,” Nell said fiercely, pausing to line her club up to the ball. She swung, the blue tennis skirt she’d chosen to wear swishing with her movement, and smiled in satisfaction as she got another hole in one. “I won this trophy and no one is taking it away from me.”

“Nothing like a game of mini golf to foster familial goodwill,” Deeks commented wryly.

***

Beep beep beep.

“Alright, pencils down,” Nell announced to the sound of frantic scratching. Deeks leaned back, having finished his 10th Scattegories list several seconds early.

Kensi swore under her breath and tossed her pencil down, glaring malevolently at him.

“Ok, starting with Eric, gifts/presents, terms of endearment, kinds of dances, things that are black, vehicles, tropical locations, college majors, dairy, products, things in a souvenir shop, and world records,” Nell said. “And they all must start with the letter L.”

By now her voice was hoarse and she sounded like a teacher who had spent all day corralling misbehaving students. It wasn’t far off.

“Alright, I have Lady Lark, locket, love, nothing, nothing, Land Rover, Latin, nothing, leg warmers, lip balm, and nothing,” Eric rattled off, looking a little stressed. He’d taken his jacket off half an hour ago, apparently overheated by the pressures of the game.

Nell sighed, crossing a couple things off her list.

“Ok, Callen?” He’d been toe to toe with Deeks for the last five rounds and seemed pretty confident. Clearing his throat dramatically, he started reading off his list.

“Lewis and Clark, lima beans, lima beans, lima beans-“

“Wait a second, you just said ‘lima beans’ three times in a row,” Sam interrupted.

“Lima beans would make a great present in my opinion,” Callen said, leaning back in his chair and twirling his pencil carelessly.

“Well, I don’t. Besides, you can’t use the same thing more than once.” Callen sighed and tossed his paper on the table.

“Then you’re probably not going to like the rest of this list.”

“You seriously wrote down lima beans 11 times?” Kensi asked and he shrugged again.

“At this point, I just want the game to be over,” he said, earning a disgusted sound from Sam.

Kensi, Nell, and Sam all read off their lists, scratching of a word here and there. Deeks had insisted that he go last for each round, to give them a better appreciation of his brilliance. No one had argued, but that might have been more for the sake of expediency than that they actually cared. When it was his turn, he noisily cleared his throat.

“Lincoln, as in Abraham, lingerie,” he paused to glance at Kensi who rolled her eyes. “Ladybird, lap dance, lemurs, Lamborghini, Laos, law, low fat yogurt, a license, and liquor,” Deeks said, dropping his board on the table with a smug expression. “Boom.”

“Damn,” Eric muttered. “Why didn’t I think of lap dancing?”

“Because you have an ounce of self-respect,” Kensi said a little meanly, which Deeks put down to her losing another round.

“Ok, so Deeks is officially the winner,” Nell announced, to no ones surprise.

He took a bow, dodging Kensi’s elbow.

***

“G, that’s not a word,” Sam sighed, gesturing for Callen to move the letter tiles he’d just laid down. The board was covered with a grid of words. Deeks had most recently added “erotic”, built off of Kensi’s “elbow”. Sam hadn’t liked Deeks’ word either, but didn’t have grounds to protest it.

“Yes, it is,” Callen insisted. “And now I’m out of tiles too and since that’s 7 with a triple word score, I win.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Kensi argued, crossing her arms as she glared at him. She’d played extremely competitively, contesting almost as many words as Sam. “You used an already existing word, so you can’t use the ‘s’.”

“And it’s not a real word.”

“It’s in the Harry Potter books.” Callen lifted his hands like that was definite proof, leaning back with a grin. “So I’d say it’s a real word.”

“Actually “lumos” is adapted from the Latin word “lumen”, Deeks explained, “so it’s really a made up word and even if it wasn’t, foreign words aren’t allowed or I would have killed this game.”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“Let’s never do this again,” Nell said to Eric from where they were sitting off to the sides as Sam pulled out a giant dictionary.

“But we’re still getting trophies, right?” he asked worriedly. Nell snorted.

“Of course. I am the champion of mini golf after all.”

***

A/N: Just for fun little side note, I really dislike mini golf. One of the first times I played (I was a teenager), got so mad that I had a similar reaction to Sam’s. Ever since my family has been very cautious around me while playing the game.

And Callen with the lima beans is also based on a real-life anecdote.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g callen #eric beale #nell jones #ncis: games #ejzah fanfiction