#madi but i call her madi cat in the full just to make sure she knows shes a cat

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #my fic #ans #mitsuhide gets so few POVs in the fic I can't help but let them get away from me okay #he's a gift #the actual six flags chapters are gonna have rotating POV #and it was just supposed to START with him #but then i was like WHAT IF I INCLUDED THE SCENE FROM BEFORE THE CANON DATE #and now we are here

[evengayerpanic]

The Nomon Trap [1 of 9]

In celebration of finishing my first fic, combined with the start of season seven of The 100, I’ve decided to branch out and write a little fic for one of my other truest loves, Clexa and their little family of Madi and Aden. This fic is going to be extremely AU, a little crack!fic-y and based off the movie, The Parent Trap.

I’ll repeat, this is NOT supposed to be a good or accurate representation of either The 100, Clarke and Lexa, Madi and Aden, or the movie The Parent Trap. It literally was written to give me a little break from heavier and more intense fanfiction ideas, so please take it with a grain of salt. It’s all AU and just for fun.

_______________________________________

The sun arose on the mountain-side Camp Weather. Dozens of young nightbloods ran around the camp grounds, packs of clothing and weapons were slung over shoulders, as the children ran group to group, trying to find their bunk assignments, their friends and anything that would make them feel at home.

As the camp counsellor father-son duo of Thelonious and Wells Jaha went into their opening speech, followed by Wells calling out bunk assignments, a young girl watched as her bright yellow pack was brought from the camp buses to a pile of other packs.

“Good, found my pack!” She exclaimed, pushing dark brown hair out of her eyes, reaching in to grab it before suddenly six other packs were dumped on top. “Great, now the only question is how to get it.”

A small laugh was heard beside her, the young girl turning to find a similarly aged boy standing beside her. “You must be new here.” He fixed her a smirk.

“How could you tell?” The girl groaned.

“You didn’t know enough to grab your pack before it joined the pile. I’m Jordan Jasper Green, it’s my third year at Camp Weather... and I think, you might need help getting that pack out.” He explained with a grin.

“Madi Griffin, and yes please.” Madi smiled, as the two of them grabbed a hold of her pack, and pulled.

It did not budge an inch.

As the two watched, confused on how to pull out the bag, they saw from across the pile as a girl with her hair in pigtails and a jeweled wire headband was able to grab her own pack with one hand effortlessly.

“Now that’s my kind of Nightblood.” Madi remarked.

Jordan nodded his head, cupping his hand to his mouth. “Diyoza! Can we get a little help over here!”

The girl looked up, smile on her face. “Sure!” She moved over to them with a smile. “I’m Hope.” 

“Madi. That yellow pack is mine.” She responded, watching in awe as the slightly older girl pulled it out quickly, handing it to her quickly. “Thanks!”

“Woah, you’re from the Ark?” Hope’s eyes went big, Jordan following suit as they hounded with questions.

“Did you guys really live in the sky?”

“Do you know A.L.I.E.?”

“Woah, woah, guys! I’ve never even met A.L.I.E. before! I live in Arkadia, it’s the camp that was made when the Ark fell? I never lived in the sky.” Madi smiled, throwing her arms up to stop more questions.

“That’s still so cool.” Hope murmured, Jordan nodding his head in agreement, before the sound of Wells Jaha calling Madi’s name had her ears perk up.

“Griffin. Madi?”

“Right here!”

“You’re in Skaikru!” He announced.

Jordan and Hope high-fived Madi with an excited shout of “That’s what we’re in too!” Before the three kids, cheered, and began marching off to their cabin.

_________________

As the three children clambered on, an expensive looking car pulled up to the main cabins, opening the door to reveal a well-dressed man in strong looking armour helping a young boy get out of the car.

The boy was also quite well-dressed, his own armour on prominent display as he turned to face the man.

“Well, here we are, Camp Weather... Are you sure about this Aden?” The man questioned, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the cabins and children around him. “We traveled all the way from Polis for this?”

Aden could only laugh, fixing the older man with a bright smile. “Lincoln, Camp Weather is supposed to be one of the best for training Nightbloods.”

Lincoln frowned as he glanced around at the accommodations around them. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Besides...” Aden piped up, interrupting him. “Nomon went to Camp Weather when she was a bit younger.”

Lincoln bowed his head at his statement. “Speaking of your Nomon. She gave us a very specific list to check off once we got here.” He pulled out some paper, glancing it over quickly with a short grimace.

“Chainmail?”

“Check.”

“Gauntlets.”

“Check.”

“Swords and Shields.”

“Check, check.”

Lincoln stared at Aden with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Check for Swords, check for Shields, go on.”

“Breast plate, medium helm, sketchbook drawings of your Nomon, Fleimkepa, War Chief and of course, your trusty Scout... me.” Lincoln read the rest.

“I think I’ve got just about all of it.” Aden smiled, looking back at the man who served as beloved scout, body guard and strong male influence to him.

Lincoln put his arm out, the young boy immediately dashing into it as the guard crushed him to his chest for a tight and emotional (to Lincoln) hug.

“I will miss you hainofa.” 

“Not as much as I’ll miss you, yontsleya.” 

Aden grabbed his bags from Lincoln, and then grabbed the older man’s forearm, the man immediately grabbing his in return, their heads bowing together to just a touch before Lincoln pulled back. “Alright, Aden... Go on. Just remember, if you want to come home, I can be back to get you quickly.”

Aden smiled. “I’ll be fine, I promise, maybe I can find someone here who also plays Karnöffel besides me?”

Lincoln let out a laugh, opening the door to the car and responding as he got in. “Maybe you can find someone who will kick your ass at it, hm?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!”

_________________

That night at dinner, Madi was in line for dinner with Jordan and Hope. The three were piling on the different pasta salads, and chicken skewers, and grilled vegetables when Thelonious Jaha got beside Madi to help himself to the tuna salad bowl.

“Oh, sorry there kiddo. Just had to get some tuna salad. Try some!” The camp owner exclaimed.

“No thank you, I’m allergic to tuna.” Madi replied, flashing him a smile before running off to her table.

With that, Thelonious turned to his other side. “How about you, would you like to try some tuna salad?”

Aden looked up from where he was piling hot dogs and some macaroni onto his plate, his friends Adria and Tris seemingly having disappeared to their table. “Oh, sorry, I can’t... I’m allergic, but thank you!”

Thelonious narrowed his eyes, staring for a second. “Weren’t you just... I’m sorry, you look very similar to a little girl that was just here.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he turned to check behind him as well. “Do you have a sister or something?”

“I’m an only child, sir! Aden Woods, from Trikru!” The boy immediately stood in a salute, before grabbing his plate to go join his friends. “Good day, Sir!”

Thelonious shook his head for a moment before returning to the tuna salad, scooping another spoonful onto his plate before he murmured to himself. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this?”

“Pardon me, sir?” A voice broke out from his left, the older man turning to see the first girl with him again.

“Now wait a second, weren’t you just a boy from Trikru?” Thelonious’ mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Madi’s eyes widened. “A boy?! You’ve lost it, Mr. Jaha.”

Thelonious turned once more, away from the girl to check behind him for the boy and when he couldn’t see him, he turned back to Madi mid-sentence to say “Yes, I suppose I ha-” only to find that she had also left him as well and he was alone.

“Thelonious, you are losing it.” He murmured before scooping one last spoonful of tuna salad on his plate.

_________________

It wasn’t until the next morning that Madi Griffin and Aden Woods came face to face with each other.

It had been a rather uneventful morning; Madi, Jordan and Hope had been in swordplay all day with Madi kicking every challenger’s butt, being declared the victor over and over again to her delight.

Aden, Tris and Adria had decided to go for a canoe ride before their way back to the mess hall saw Wells Jaha declaring Madi Griffin the winner again, and asking if there were any more challengers for her.

“You should do it Aden!” Tris exclaimed, nudging him.

“Oh Aden, you’d totally kick her butt!” Adria agreed.

He shook his head with a laugh, turning down their offering. “Nomon taught me that the blade was only for killing, not playing.” He repeated solemnly.

“It’s like training, come on Aden!”

Throwing his hands up, the eleven year old boy lamented. “Okay! I’ll do it, I mean, Nomon never has a problem with training. It builds character!”

Moments later he was suited up properly, a full helm and chainmail on his frame as he was handed a blade.

The fight was a lengthy one; Adria, Hope, Jordan and Tris all cheering on their respective friends as the two danced across the battle ground, both showing a large amount of skill and strategy in their swings.

Every lunge that Madi made was effortlessly sidestepped by Aden, and every swing that Aden made was easily dodged by Madi. As Aden caught Madi’s blade with his, the girl quickly spun and he fell into a haystack, his blade getting caught for a moment as she quickly tried to land a thwack onto his armour only to fall short as he diverted backward. 

Catching his blade and pulling it free of it’s hold, Aden jumped to an upper deck of the battle ground, Madi leaping seconds later. The two played cat and mouse, twisting and turning to switch who was on the offensive and the defensive until Aden was backed into a corner. Madi lunged forward with an “Got you!” Aden dropped to the ground as Madi sent herself flying overtop the bannister and into a water trough.

“I am so sorry!” Aden immediately shouted, leaping forward to help Madi out of the trough, only for the girl to grab his forearm and drag him in after her.

As the cheers of the crowd died down, Wells Jaha pulled the two children out of the trough, holding Aden’s arm as the victor to the screams of his friends.

“Okay, you two, that was a great match. Shake hands!”

The two grumbled, pulling of their helms and dropping them with a gasp as steely eyes met steely eyes. The crowd of children around them went silent, watching as the two stared at each other in shock.

“Hayon!” Aden murmured, as Madi glared at him.

“What’s everyone looking at?” She said coldly.

Aden raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you see it?” At her blank look, he continued on, his heart racing in his chest. “We look just like each other! Same eyes, same jawline, same freckling and complexion.” 

Madi laughed, taking a step forward, her arms crossed over her chest. “You think that I look like you?”

The boy nodded, shrugging his shoulders, as his two friends joined in standing behind him supporting.

“You wish.” Madi practically growled. “My eyes are most crystal than yours, and my jaw... definitely more defined. You have far too many freckles, and as for your complexion?” She paused, as Jordan and Hope stood behind her as well, glaring at Adria and Tris. “You look like you’ve been in the sun too long, you’re blotchy.” She finally smirked.

Tris let out a hiss. “Want me to rearrange her face?”

Aden held out his hand, stopping her immediately. “I’ve got it... you’re right Madi, we could never be like each other. I mean the real difference, is that I know how to swordfight better than you... or maybe it’s the fact that I have honour and you don’t.”

With tension so thick you couldn’t cut it with a chainsaw, the two preteens glared daggers at each other as Wells held his hands out to stop their fight. “Come on guys let’s break it up... Aden, Madi... Madi, Aden... Woah, you do look really alike.”

#The 100 #fanfiction #fanfic idea #AU fanfiction #crackfic #Clexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa #lexa woods #aden #madi griffin #aden woods #The Nomon Trap #the parent trap au #dont take this seriously

[chasholidays]

For the 2018 Holiday ficfest please: a Bellarke version of Enchanted. And if you need a wiki reference, let me know because the askbox won’t let me leave a link for you

Clarke has a headache even before Madi jumps out of their taxi at eight o'clock at night, but that really is the last straw, the thing that takes her from “long day at the office” to “how drunk can I get before social services decides it’s a problem.”

That’s assuming, of course, that social services lets her keep her foster daughter, instead of deciding that a truly responsible guardian would have made sure that Madi never jumped out of the taxi in the first place, which is already a big ask. Not that Clarke thinks she should have predicted it, but still. She could have been paying more attention to Madi’s excited chattering, and realized that she was really worried about the prince she saw.

Oh god, Madi is going to chase after a homeless guy she thinks is a prince. Clarke can’t catch her soon enough.

Madi is small and her legs are short, so Clarke gets to her before she actually starts talking to the unknown stranger, but still close enough that she can get a better look at him. He is a real person, not part of the display like Clarke thought, dressed like the richest guy at the renaissance fair, like someone in a movie.

He also looks completely despondent.

“I told you he was real,” Madi says, petulant, and Clarke hugs her around the shoulders. Her head still aches, but parents don’t get time off.

“You did,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have listened to you.” Her eyes flick back up to the guy. It’s hard to make out his features in the dark, but she can see his dark eyes watching her, too. “You okay?” she asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Any reason you’re on a billboard?”

He huffs. “You know how things look small when they’re far away?”

“I’ve noticed, yeah.”

“I thought this was a castle that was far away.”

“And you didn’t notice it was still too small?”

“Clarke,” says Madi. “He’s a prince.”

“Not a prince,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated. But once I figured out this wasn’t a castle I still didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Great,” says Clarke. Madi is still watching the guy with big, concerned eyes, and their taxi is still idling at the side of the street, probably getting impatient. “Can we give you a ride somewhere? The Y?”

“Arcadia Castle.”

“Which is in–”

“Arcadia.”

She sighs. “Just come down, okay?”

“Thank you,” he says, to her surprise, and climbs down from the billboard. It was raining earlier and he’s still damp, black curls pasted to his forehead, overly fancy clothing hanging heavy on his frame. “I appreciate your help. You’re the first friendly people I’ve met since I arrived here.”

“From a castle,” says Clarke, just so she has whatever is happening straight.

“Arcadia,” Madi insists, and the guy smiles at her.

“Arcadia Castle,” he agrees. “I was supposed to be getting married.”

“Of course you were.” She sighs. “Sit in the front seat, okay?” she tells the guy. “You don’t have an address we can send you to? A phone number?”

He seems to be thinking, finally settles on, “No, I don’t have either of those.”

She sighs. “Okay, fine. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Just keep going,” she tells the driver, and he nods.

Clarke listens with half an ear as Madi starts grilling the guy. His name is Bellamy, he’s not a prince, but he is marrying a prince, which is at least a pretty progressive delusion, and he fell into a wishing well and ended up coming out in what sounds like Times Square.

Even if the whole thing is somehow completely true, Clarke can’t have him hanging out in her apartment with her daughter. There’s a line, and she has to draw it, and that line is “strange man she found on the street in the same apartment as her eight-year-old child.”

But there’s another consideration to be made, a deeper one, the one that has had Clarke feeding stray cats and trapping hurt squirrels in the park to bring them to the vet. Clarke has only had Madi for six months, and Madi still isn’t sure that Clarke really wants to keep her, or that she really wants to stay. And if Clarke decides they can just abandon this guy, it will mean something, something about Clarke and about Madi and what kind of person she is.

So she texts Miller.

Me: Can we sleep over at your place tonight?

Miller: 48 hours notice for babysitting, I keep telling youWhat if I’m doing something?

Me: Sounds like you’re notAnd it’s not babysitting, I’ll be there too

MillerMe: Madi found this homeless guy who thinks he’s a prince trying to get into a castle on a billboardHe’s not giving me a last name or an address or anywhere I can take him

Miller: So you want to take him to me?

Me: You know how Madi getsIf I send him away she’s just going to think I’m giving up on him

Miller: So how do I factor into this?

Me: I don’t want me and my daughter alone in my apartment with a guy I found on a billboardI don’t really want him to know where we live at all, but we need to grab stuff

Miller: So if he’s going to murder someone, it’ll be me

Me: Please?I know it’s a big ask, but I’m exhausted and I need to deal with this in the morning

Miller: Yeah, of courseYou need me to get anything set up?

Me: Your couch, I guessMadi and I can share the guest bedSeriously, thank you so muchI owe you a six pack

Miller: He better at least be cute

Clarke glances up to look at Bellamy without even realizing it. The street lights blinking by illuminate his profile in waves, the strong features and slight smile, the small, unexpected scar on his lip. His hair is drying off, curling more, and cute feels inadequate. Official title or no, he has the whole handsome prince thing down.

Me: You know I’d never bring an unattractive weirdo to youSee you soon

*

Clarke brings Madi up to their apartment to grab an overnight bag, leaving Bellamy waiting in the cab. He’ll still know which building is theirs, but he doesn’t know her last name, and she’s hoping the darkness and the general confusion of the city means he won’t be able to figure out exactly where they are, even if he tries. It’s not ideal, but it’s about the best she can do with the situation.

“Why are we staying with Uncle Nate?” Madi asks, as Clarke checks to make sure she’s got everything.

“Because I want to believe Bellamy is a nice guy who needs our help, but he might not be, and if he’s not, I don’t want him to be able to do anything bad to us.”

“But he can do something bad to Uncle Nate?”

“He could, but men are a lot more likely to hurt women than other men,” she says. “So Uncle Nate said we could stay with him. Don’t forget to bring stuff for school tomorrow.”

“I know. I don’t think he’s going to hurt us,” she adds.

“I don’t either, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.”

“But you’re going to help him, right?”

“I’m going to try.”

They head back down to find Bellamy chatting with the cab driver, asking about his family and life, the driver showing off pictures of his kids with a wide smile on his face. Clarke’s never been good at being friendly with strangers, doesn’t know how to just start talking to people, and it’s weird to see a guy who doesn’t even know where he is fitting in better than she does. Not that she necessarily wants to start up random conversations with her cab drivers, but she definitely wouldn’t know where to start if she did.

“So, we’re going to my friend’s place to sleep,” she explains to Bellamy, once she’s given the driver the address. “He’s got a little more room, as long as you don’t mind couch-surfing.”

“I’ve never done it, but I don’t mind. I always like to try new things.” He pauses. “What is it?”

“Sleeping on a couch,” says Madi.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Depends on the couch,” says Clarke. “But Miller’s is nice.”

Bellamy glances over his shoulder, giving Clarke a warm smile. “I can’t thank you enough for all your help. You’re the first person who’s showed me any kindness.”

The gratitude is genuine, but it just makes Clarke’s stomach churn. She is showing him kindness, but under duress. And this isn’t normal for her. She doesn’t do much for people she finds on the street, and if Madi wasn’t here, she’d be dropping him off at a homeless shelter.

The more she talks to him, the more she doesn’t think that’s where he belongs, but still. If not for Madi, she wouldn’t have even stopped. She never would have known he needed help.

“You’re welcome,” says Clarke. “I’ll find you somewhere better in the morning.”

It takes only ten minutes to get to Miller’s building, and Clarke makes sure to give the driver a hefty tip on their way out. He was getting paid for the whole thing, but having to drive around bunch of people having a weird crisis probably sucks anyway. Nothing wrong with showing a little extra consideration.

Clarke met Nathan Miller when she was in college, although the two of them didn’t become friends right away. They moved in the same circles and liked each other well enough, but it wasn’t until they were both moving to New York after graduation and decided to room together that they really bonded, and now he’s one of her best friends and most dependable babysitters. When most people were telling her that she had no business taking on a foster child, he got it and supported her.

This is still above and beyond.

“Hey,” she calls, unlocking his door with her spare key and pushing her head inside. “We’re here.”

“Hey,” Miller calls back from somewhere in the kitchen. “I figured you guys were hungry so I went and grabbed some mac and cheese. It’s nothing special, but it’s almost done.”

“You’re the best! Madi, we’re going to share the guest room, will you go put our stuff in there?”

Madi takes off and Clarke turns her attention back to Bellamy. It’s her first time seeing him in full light, and she has the chance to study him as he’s distracted taking in Miller’s apartment. He’s got this awestruck expression that’s really selling the idea that all of this is new to him, like he didn’t even know places like this existed, and he could be going through some serious mental shit, but there’s a part of Clarke that wants to believe–

Believe what? That he fell into a wishing well and ended up in an alternate reality? That he really doesn’t have a clue where he is or how he got here?

He turns his attention to her and smiles, the full force of it hitting her like a wave. She can see all the details of him now, under Miller’s energy-saving light bulbs, the brown eyes and the freckles and the increased curl of his now-dry hair.

When he catches her eye, his mouth twitches up in a sheepish smile. “This place is unbelievable.”

“If you think this is impressive, you’re going to overload when you see the rest of the city.”

He goes over to the window, looking out at the array of lights. Miller does have an amazing view.

“It’s huge. I’ve never been around so many people. It was always just me and my sister.”

“What about the guy you’re marrying? The prince?”

“What about him?”

“How did the two of you meet?”

“He went through the kingdom looking for someone to marry. When he came to us, it was–magic.”

There’s a catch in his voice that Clarke finds a little troubling. They’re strangers, and he doesn’t owe her his life story, but in spite of all the outlandish things he’s said, this is the first time she’s thought he was being dishonest.

“He’s a good prince,” he adds, brightening. “And I met a fairy godmother who told me I was destined to marry royalty, so this is it. My one true love.”

“Sounds like you had everything you wanted.”

“I did.”

“Then what were you wishing for?”

“What?”

“You said you fell into a wishing well. You must have had a wish.”

“Dinner’s up!” Miller calls, and Bellamy jerks his attention away from the question immediately.

He clears his throat, awkward. “We should eat.”

“Yeah,” she says, and lets it go.

He and Miller get along easily, to Clarke’s surprise–she’s starting to think she’s the only one who doesn’t just immediately get along with him. Not that they don’t get along, exactly, but she feels like everyone else has a better idea of what to do with him than she does. Then again, he’s a little different with Miller too, falling into easy banter, talking shit even if Clarke’s pretty sure the word “shit” would freak him out. But with Madi around, everyone keeps their language G-rated anyway, so it’s just a nice, shockingly normal meal, all things considered.

Clarke gets Madi put to bed while Miller gets Bellamy some pajamas to borrow, and then it’s just the three adults awake, their most awkward configuration yet.

“So, Arcadia, right?” Miller finally asks.

“Yeah.” Bellamy rubs his face. “You’ve never heard of it, have you?”

“There are definitely places called Arcadia in the world,” says Clarke. “But none of them sound like the one you’re talking about.”

“No.” He sighs. “I have no idea how to get back. I don’t even know where I came out of there. I ended up on this–metal thing underground?”

Clarke boggles. “The subway? How did you get on the subway? You have to pay for it!”

“I don’t know! There were a lot of people and they were all pushing me and I just went with it.”

“And you ended up on a billboard with a castle on it.”

“Apparently.”

“So, what next?” Miller asks, the million-dollar question. “What’s the plan?”

Bellamy looks to Clarke, surprising her and warming her all at the same time. “Unless you have any better ideas, I’m waiting for Prince Roan to come rescue me.”

“Prince Roan?” asks Miller, looking Bellamy over again, the familiar hey-you’re-queer double-take.

“His fiance,” says Clarke.

“He’ll be looking for me,” Bellamy says. “And his mother was a sorceress, so he might actually have some background to draw on. But I’ll still need somewhere to stay until–whatever happens. So if you have suggestions–”

“We’ll figure it out in the morning,” Clarke says. “Miller, can you help me get the rest of the stuff for the couch?”

Miller already got basically everything, but he’s also smart enough to know what she’s really asking, and they step into his bedroom for a quick conference. “You believe him?” he asks.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I think I might.”

“Me too. Am I a terrible parent?”

“No. Not sure social services would be great with this, but–he can stay with me, don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “Chip in for food and I don’t mind giving him my guest room until I find a roommate. And I can pass his information along to my dad, see if there are any missing persons or anything. Maybe it’s just an acute psychotic break or something, I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” says Clarke, absent, and he shoots her a sharp look. “I don’t want it to be.”

“I get that. Who doesn’t want to think there’s some magic in the world? And a queer Disney prince, on top of that.”

Clarke smiles. “Pretty much. Thanks for backing me up in believing in the weird hot guy.”

“Any time.”

*

“So, tell me about your prince.”

It’s Friday and Clarke’s done with her meetings, so she took the afternoon off to show Bellamy the city. She called her mom and asked some vague, “hypothetical” questions about amnesia, and while she doesn’t think Abby bought that she was just curious, she didn’t figure out the real reason, so it’s fine. She can show Bellamy around the more famous parts of the city, hoping to jog his memory, maybe find out more about him. If he’s not legitimately a universe-hopping future prince, that story might be based in whatever the actual truth of his life is. Maybe he does have a significant other named Roan, maybe he’s nervous about getting married, hit his head on something and invented this whole new life for himself as a stress reaction.

Which is why they’re going to Central Park. If there’s a real-world equivalent to a wishing well in New York City, Clarke’s pretty sure it’s here. And it’s a nice day for a walk. Part of her wishes she’d taken Madi out of school to join them, but that’s definitely the kind of thing that social services would frown on.

“There’s not much to tell. He was looking for a spouse, he found me, our eyes met, he started to sing, I joined–”

“Wait, stop. Sing?”

“Yeah.”

“You sang a song and now you’re getting married?”

“How do you do it?”

“Get to know someone and decide if you’re compatible? Just a thought.”

“That’s fine for ordinary people,” he says, with a shrug. “That’s how my parents met. But with royalty, there’s usually destiny involved. You want to be sure.”

“And it works?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He sang a few bars, you harmonized, and that’s it? You’re meant to be together?”

“You make it sound easy. It’s work, relationships are always work. Does yours work? What happened to Madi’s father?”

“Her parents died in an accident,” says Clarke. “I took her in last year.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay. You’re right, none of my relationships have ended in happily ever after, but I don’t think it’s because we didn’t sing together.”

“So what did happen?”

“Let’s see, first serious relationship was Finn, in college. I found out he was still dating his high-school girlfriend when he was home for breaks, and we both dumped him.”

Bellamy winces. “Yeah, okay.”

“Then my other serious relationship was Lexa. We went out for a couple years, but it didn’t work out.”

“I need more information. You can’t just say you didn’t get along. What happened?”

“We wanted different things, I guess. And every time it came up I just thought, well, that’s not a big deal, we can compromise. And then I thought about all the things we were compromising on. Some of it really didn’t bother me, like food preferences, but some of it was big.”

“Like Madi?”

“That was the last straw, yeah. When we met, neither of us wanted kids, and then Lexa decided she did. And I didn’t. Fostering was the compromise I came up with–I didn’t want to be pregnant, I didn’t want to have a baby, but taking in an older kid who needed a family really appealed to me. Lexa wanted biological kids, and I still don’t. So we broke up and I started fostering.”

“Maybe if you’d sung a song about kids, you would have known sooner,” he says, but his smile is warm and his eyes are teasing. “I’m sorry,” he adds, just to drive it home.

“It’s been two years, I’m not still heartbroken.”

“But you’re not in love.”

“No. You’re not either,” she points out, shooting him a glare. “Don’t pretend you are.”

“I’m going to be.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I wanted it to be my sister. I figured she could marry the prince, I’d meet some relative of his and marry them, the prophesy would be fulfilled and O would be set.”

“O’s your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?” She frowns. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-eight, my sister’s twenty. You?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“And Madi?”

“Eight.”

“And you’ve had her for two years?”

“One. There’s a pretty long wait between applying to be a foster parent and getting a kid.”

“Is it competitive?”

Her face twists into something she knows is technically a smile. “It shouldn’t be. There are lots of kids who need someone. But there are a lot of hoops to jump through.”

“Like what?”

They talk about the logistics of adopting and raising children in their worlds as they walk through the park, and while Bellamy sees nothing to jog his memory at any point, Clarke learns more about him and where he comes from, and he somehow leads an entire crowd of park-goers in a rousing song about non-traditional families that everyone but Clarke somehow knows, which makes her a lot more confident he’s on the up and up.

Not a bad day, all things considered.

*

Prince Roan shows up on Sunday morning.

They’ve moved Bellamy from Miller’s place to hers, which still feels risky, but there isn’t really a good way to deal with this whole thing, and Miller’s been busy with work, so Bellamy hasn’t spent a lot of time with him. He knows Clarke a lot better, and Madi likes him, and it’s really not Miller’s responsibility to put up this random guy.

And Clarke kind of likes having him around. He’s smart and interesting and good with Madi, and she does trust him, as stupid as it feels. Even if what he believes to be the truth somehow isn’t, he’s got a good heart and he isn’t going to hurt them.

Roan, she feels less sure about, given he shows up in her hallway bellowing, “Bellamy!”

Bellamy looks about as spooked as she feels. “Roan?”

Clarke’s hand hovers on the doorknob, but she doesn’t open it until Bellamy nods, and she barely has any time to look at the prince before he’s got a sword out and pointed at her throat.

Which is not really the best first impression.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding him,” says Roan, low and dangerous.

“I wasn’t hiding anyone, he’s sleeping on my couch,” Clarke protests. “Bellamy, can you–”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” he tells Roan. “She helped me.”

Clarke and Roan stare at each other for a minute. Bellamy’s been wearing clothes he made out of bed sheets for the last couple days, definitely not trendy, but not as anachronistic as his original outfit. He doesn’t look like a normal guy, exactly, but this is New York. He can pass as a hipster.

On the other hand, Roan looks like a pirate who accidentally gained control of a country and is still trying to fuse his personal style with his royal title. He’s got long hair and an earring and an outfit that makes him look like Jack Sparrow’s richer nemesis. It’s a lot to take in, but the first thought that crosses her mind is actually that he looks all wrong for Bellamy.

Roan recovers first, moves his sword from her neck. “Then I thank you,” he says, sweeping into a fluid bow. “For caring for my fiance. You will be handsomely rewarded, once we’re home and wed.”

“You can come back?” she blurts out. Roan raises his eyebrows, and she clarifies, “To reward me. The portal doesn’t–close, or whatever?”

“We’re still determining how the portal opened,” says Roan. “But even if it closes, I’m sure we’ll be able to show our appreciation somehow.”

“You should at least stay for dinner,” Clarke says, too quick. “Madi’s not even here to say goodbye.”

Roan raises his eyebrows at Bellamy, and he clarifies, “Clarke’s daughter. I’d like to see her again before we leave.”

“Of course. It must have been very difficult, being stuck in this–barbaric city. I’m glad you had some allies.”

“It’s not all bad,” Bellamy says. “I’ve had a lot of fun, honestly. I’ve seen some good stuff too.”

“Perhaps you could show me.”

He glances back at Clarke, but the last thing she wants to do is third wheel on a date with Bellamy and his pirate prince. “Go ahead,” she says, with a smile. “I need to pick Madi up anyway. Be back at six-thirty and I’ll feed you.”

“Sure,” he says. “See you in a couple hours.”

Once they’re gone, Clarke flops onto her back on the couch, unintentionally getting a nose full of Bellamy’s scent from the sheets he left neatly folded. It feels stupid, to be already missing him, to be missing him at all. She had herself convinced that he was telling the truth, but that conviction hadn’t taken the next step to thinking his prince would ever show up to bring him home. She doesn’t know what she thought would happen, but she thought she’d have time to figure it out.

Me: Bellamy’s prince showed up

Miller: Seriously?HuhIs he hot?

Me: He looks like he’s cosplaying a fancy pirateBut he’s making it workMostly

Miller: So is he leaving?

Me: After dinnerHe’s showing Roan the town

Miller: Madi’s at karate?

Me: Yeah

Miller: You want me to come over?

Me: If you’re not busy

Miller: Yeah, I’ll see you in like half an hour

He gives her a hug as soon as he shows up, adds, “I knew this was going to happen.”

“What?” she asks his shoulder.

“You got a crush on the hot queer boy who thinks singing equals true love.”

“Oh, yeah. That happened.” She swallows hard. “I don’t think he really thinks that. I don’t think he’s in love. I think he got here because he comes from a–fucking magical kingdom, and he made a wish to get out of getting married, and the magic sent him to New York and–”

“And you want him to stay.”

“I do. It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not. You like him, you want to spend more time with him. It was pretty obvious.” He gives her a squeeze and then lets her go, smirking. “Why do you think I wasn’t flirting with him?”

“He’s engaged.”

“Not married. And it’s just flirting. If he was just engaged, I would definitely have been hitting on him.”

Clarke sighs, loud and long. “I keep thinking he’s only known Roan for like a day, he can’t marry him. But he’s only known me for a couple days too, and I want him to leave his whole life behind and stay with me? That’s a lot more of a commitment than getting married.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Of course not.”

“This is the very definition of nothing to lose. Apparently he’s going back to another dimension tonight, so if he says no, that’s it. And if he says yes–”

Her mouth twitches. “Yeah, what happens if he says yes? I’ve got a guy from another dimension living with me, maybe my boyfriend, with no social security, no birth certificate, and if he doesn’t like it here–”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’d figure it out. Look, he’s an adult, he knows what’s up. Just because he’s from kind of a weird place doesn’t mean he doesn’t get it. He can make up his own mind.”

“He can. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I want to see the prince, so yeah, I want to stay for dinner. I’ll even distract him so you can talk to Bellamy.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and he smiles.

“Go get him.”

*

Dinner is awkward. Madi has a billion questions for Roan, and Miller has fewer, but all of his are very pointedly about how long Roan has known Bellamy and why they’re getting married, and Roan definitely notices what’s going on. It culminates in Roan starting to sing their song–I’ve been searching my whole life for a partner to stand by my side, catchy, but nothing to write home about–and Bellamy, distractedly listening to Madi explain the book she’s reading, misses his cue.

“And after so long, I’ve finally found,” Roan sings again, pointedly, and Bellamy blinks.

“What?”

“Did you lose your voice?”

“No, sorry, I was just–” He clears his throat. “People don’t really do that here.”

“I had no idea. Maybe they should.”

“I got them going the other day, but apparently it was a first. At least Clarke has a very nice voice,” he says, apparently without thinking, and Roan shoots her a glare that suggests he wishes he’d stabbed her when he had the chance.

Madi lights up, though. “Clarke sang?”

That revelation carries them through the rest of the meal, but Roan’s expression gets darker and darker, and as soon as they’re done, he says, “Time to go?”

Bellamy hesitates. “We should help with the dishes.”

“I’ll show the prince how those work,” says Miller, clapping Roan on the shoulder. “Come on, kiddo, you can dry.”

Roan doesn’t protest, but the silence when they’ve all gone to the kitchen feels huge and heavy, a physical presence in the room. Something that could crush her.

“I’m going to miss you,” she finally offers.

“I know I was a headache,” he says, with a smile. “I appreciate all your help.”

“You figured it out pretty quickly. You’re pretty good at New York, honestly. You even yelled at someone on the subway.”

“His legs were spread so wide he was taking up three seats,” he grumbles. “It was inconsiderate.”

“It was.” She wets her lips. “You still never told me what you were wishing for. When you got here.”

“To fall in love,” he admits. “To be happy.”

“Did it work?”

“Not how I planned.” He pauses, eyes flicking over her. “It was supposed to be with Roan.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him either.” But that’s not enough; she makes herself go on. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

“I don’t?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

He worries his lip. “I have to go back,” he says. “Talk to my sister. Make sure everything’s good, put everything in order. But–I could come back?”

Clarke’s smile feels like it might split her face. “That would be nice.”

He doesn’t kiss her goodbye, but it’s only been a couple days; she can live with that.

Besides, he kisses her hello, and that’s even better.

*

Three weeks later, he’s her plus one for a party, and Murphy asks, “So, what did you do to win the princess of New York City?”

“The what?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “It’s just a stupid nickname. Don’t be a dick, Murphy.”

“If I can’t be a dick, I won’t have anything to do. That’s my whole thing. Seriously, how did you guys meet? I feel like you came out of nowhere.”

“Internet,” says Clarke, following their script, but Bellamy is weirdly quiet, lost in his thoughts, apparently not even listening as Murphy teases her.

“You okay?” she asks, tugging him aside once Murphy has gone off to bother someone else.

“Princess of New York City, huh?”

“Yeah, because of my parents. We don’t have a royal family anymore, but we’re rich and Murphy and I grew up together, so–” She shrugs. “Just him being a dick. Does it bother you?”

He leans down and kisses her. “No, it’s awesome. My fairy godmother told me I was going to marry into royalty, remember?”

She laughs. “Are we getting married now?”

“Not now. But someday, right?”

She squeezes his hand, leans against his shoulder. It’s definitely been weird, tough logistically, and nothing like what she expected. But it’s good, too. So much better than she could have imagined.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We’ll get there.”

#sophoslight

[wipstoriesandart]

W.I.P. Chapter 10

Sorry it took so long, I have a few other chapters already wrote out just have to find time to type it out. ____________________ Mady Made her way back to her apartment. Her purse had not been large enough to carry the Bed boxes, clothing, and toys. So the Shelter had provided her with a toat. “Madam, i assure you such extravagance were unessasarry,” Alpha sighed from her shoulder looking upon the bags once more.

“I know they were not necessary, but i thought this stuff might help make my home more like your home to,” She smiled. “I’m sure i could have acquired the needed items for the pups and i,” He looked at the new plastic carrier in her arms ware Stretch and Button slept. “I’m more than sure you could have, but i wanted to help. After all you’ve done so much for the boys already when keeping them safe on the streets I don't see any harm in me getting you all some basics,” She shrugged feeling everything she got was justifiable. “Ordering a Large cat house styled activity center, dishware, signing Alpha up for a Bitty Book club, and a full on wardrobe for all three of us, despite your sewing abilities, that all counts as basics?” Stretch asked from his “sleeping” spot without opening his eyes. “Ok so i lavished a bit. But if it ends up no one likes the bitty tree i'm sure we can find someone to buy it. Plus i need to practice making cloths again and from the ones i bought i can get some patterns, plus you three will need something to wear in the meantime.” “Just try not to spend what you can’t afford to get. I do not want you wasting Money you worked so hard to get,” Alpha sounded as if he were disappointed. “I spent it on you three, yout three needed these things. So it wasn't a waist. Though i'm surprised Button didn't get meany toys.” She looked down at the sleeping Bitty child. “He was far more happy to have been able to visit others like us, and thrilled over the cloths. Plus he already has a plethora at home,” Alpha stated. “True, I still thought he would want more than just a teddy bear his size.” She gave a partial frown as she entered her apartment building. Snow gave a happy wave as Maddy approached her. “Miss. Drake do you need anything?” She held her smile as she gave a nod in greeting to Alpha, who returned the nod like bow. “Sort of. I ordered a Bitty activity center. It was to big for me to carry so it will be delivered here. I still have a few errands to run but was wondering if i left my key with you if you wouldn't mind letting them up the elevator?” Snow’s ears perked up, “Oh! Of course!” she smiled. “Thanks snow, i'm going to drop this stuff off up stairs then i will bring you the keys.” Maddy placed the items she had gotten, at least in the areas they were meant for the clothing and bed boxes in the bitty room, along with the books she got for alpha and extra bedding she purchased She placed a few extra teddy's she got Button on his bed, she managed to sneak them into the basket while he was playing with a foot tall Papy Mini-marrow. With the extra items free from her purse the carrier case fit snugly inside she opened the top so if button or Stretch wished they could come out should they wake or chose to look out.  She took a small dolly cart she had purchased to help mostly with laundry or for helping to bring up items to much for herself to carry. She dropped off the key with Snow and looked upon the list as she walked. Everything alpha had put for supplies he or the other two would need had been brought along with far more than he asked. Only thing left was food shopping. Upon reaching the grocery store she left her empty baggies and dolly cart with the cashier as she always did on their very rare days she would go shopping. She set her purse holding the carrier into the shopping cart seat ment for children, making sure it was safe  and unlikely to fall over. Button was still curled up asleep beside Stretch. Maddy placed Alpha in beside them as she looked over the list. “There are a lot of fruit and Veggies on this list…. I thought you ate raw meat?” Maddy questioned heading to the fresh produce area. “Yes i do need raw meat, i still enjoy a salad and fresh fruit. But given what i seen of your old diet. I made a weekly meal plan that should be easily enough to fallow. And given your work schedule I plan on making them. And i refuse to feed my pack junk.” He seemed very adamant about on the subject. “Alright… though i hope your weekly meal plan accounts for Bi-weekly pizza night alternating taco pizza and sausage-mushroom,” she started picking up different veggies and fruits all that were on the list, even a large 10 lbs of potatoes… though she hadn't bought them in a long time she did know somewhat of how to tell if food was ripe or not. Alpha gave a single nod in approval, “yes i can accommodate for that. Two pizza’s a month should be pred out enough not to be come to unhealthy.” “Your really going to take turns Mamma?” Button sat up rubbing his eyes. “Of course. I told you we can get it once in a while, So now we each can have the pizza we like once a month,” she spoke as she examined the green peppers. Maddy caught sight of a woman staring her and her cart down. With a Glaring stare Maddy slowly pushed her cart further down the aisle. She didn't know that woman and didn't like how she was staring. Maddy was nearing the end of the fresh produce section, but let out a groan as it seemed the woman didn't get the hint and was now walking toward them. She scooped up alpha and set him in the carrier with Button and Stretch. “Mother what's wrong?” Button asked hugging Alpha. But before Maddy could answer the woman was there. “Do you have a Bitty in there?” She gave a smile that reminded Maddy of the plastic debutantes on beauty pageants. “Three. Is there something i can help you with?” Maddy had a expression of less than pleasantry. She was not in the mood to deal with people. She didn't take her eyes off the woman as she closed the carrier hatch roof blocking the three from the woman's sight. The Woman smiled, “Well my sweet little Yanny is an only bitty,” Her pristeen makeup and flawlessly done hair only added to Maddy’s irritation, and the overly perfumed area was not helping ether. “Well good for them,” Maddy attempted to walk away but the woman put a hand upon the shopping cart holding it in place. “He is such a sweetheart,” She smiled at Maddy beaming as if waiting for Maddy to respond to a unasked question. After a moment of Maddy’s eye twitching and the idiot woman just smiling at her Maddy asked, “Lady, What Exactly do you want?” her patients were wearing very thin. “What do you mean?” she looked agasped and confused as if maddy asked if she ate babies. “I mean nothing of my demeanor should have read “Please-come-over-i-care-to-waste-my-time-talking-to-an-idiot” I try to walk away you grab ahold of my cart. Look i work double shifts down at the hospital, my free days are few and far between. I don't like wasting my free time babbling and chucking like a chicken. I have shopping to get done so unless you have something useful or actually worth my time. Let. Go. of My Cart. So i may finish shopping.” The woman let go of Her cart to place her hand over her chest in a gasp, someone snorted though who went unseen as maddy took the opportunity to walk off, letting out a mutter of idiotic Morning people. “Mamma.. That wasn't nice…” Button muttered. “True, But she had a point. That lady was a stranger and had no right to hold onto the cart and try to keep her there like that.” Maddy smiled, “Nice to know i have your approval in that Stretch.” Finishing the list quickly, grabbing a few Microwave meals to take with her to work. In the check out, Maddy seen the Woman checking out. She stuck her nose up in the air with a hurummf, before paying and leaving. Thankfully the walk back was uneventful, though Alpha Insisted upon sitting on her Shoulder for a better vantage point again. “Ugh, I’m getting a headache , You boys mind if we stop at a coffee shop on the way home?” “What is so great about a coffee shop?” Stretch asked. “Well they have different coffees, and types of drinks, even Muffins and some baked goods. The one i like even has ice cream for milk shakes, sandwiches and soups,” Maddy explained. Alpha was silent on the matter. “I want some ice cream!” Button called. “I’m sure Alpha had dinner planned so i don't think we can stay long, but i don't think a cup of coffee and a bit of ice cream would take to long.” She was thankful she didn't splurge on the freezer goods as she walked up to the orders here counter. “I’ll have a Grasshopper Mochachino, and a trial size cup of ice cream with three small spoons of… What flavor do you boys want to try?” “I-i’ve never been aloud ice cream…” Button looked nervous… “Me ether,” stretch shrugged. Maddy didn't notice the man looking very confused as she talked into her purse, “well then why not try vanilla this time? Then if you boys like it we can try another flavor next time?” “OK!” button exclaimed vibrating happily. “One try me sized vanilla,” Maddy smiled to the Barista who seemed rather spooked but quickly got the small cup. Maddy paid for the drink and took a seat. She opened the carrier and helped Button out smiling as Stretch also climbed onto her hand. “Madam… are such sweets necessary?” Alpha asked teleporting beside the two. “Maybe not necessary. But the boys did behave well at the shelter. Plus it does have a lot of calcium in it. So not only is it a treat but it can help with the order Doc gave,” She smiled. He sighed in defeat, “Very well Madam.” Maddy watched smiling as Button took one of the spoons and a small poke of a dot of the ice cream and licked, his eye pupil turning into a heart shape. “It's cold!” he explained. “It is. It's a frozen sweet cream… though i think they add a few other ingredients,” Stretch was just as cautious at first, but then seemed to enjoy it as he ate, He wasn’t as visually thrilled as button though, as the younger bitty seemed to be getting more on him then in him. Maddy’s drink was brought to her in a to go cup, as she watched the cute sight before leaving. …. It was a mistake. The ice cream was a Massive Mistake. Button not only was covered in ice cream causing Maddy to need to clean the inside of the carrier, but the small bitty was bouncing around wanting to play fight, talk a mile a moment, and poor stretch was groaning from a stomach ache. “Maddy!” Snow greatted happily. “Oh! Snow hi.” She paused though felt she should get the boys home. “They delivered your package, Is everything alright? You look ready to sprint..” “I gave the boys ice cream and it seems the ice cream isn't agreeing with Stretch, and Button is-” “Mamma … i don't feel so well…” the noise that followed caused Maddy to cringe. “-is in need of a bath…” Maddy finished. “Oh my… well here is your key. I won't keep you,” She looked at the carrier pitifully. “Thanks snow. Oh and if you have time later on, I need to get a few recommendations on stores where i can get the boys some magic infused Foods, The doctor at the shelter suggested for the boys diet.” The rabbit Monster’s ears perked right back up, “Oh of course dear! I’d even be willing to take you one of these days.” She smiled handing Maddy her key. “That sounds great, thanks. And i'm sorry to just dart off.” Maddy apologized. “Oh no worries” the rabbit woman assured as Maddy darted to the elevator. As soon as they got into the apartment, alpha turned into his larger size and took the carrier from Maddy, He pulled each of the two out and set them gently on the counter as he started the water. “I will clean the pups up Madam,” Alpha gave a nod as he set to work, Maddy felt guilty and useless but a thought came to mind and she quickly went to the bathroom. Then darted to the Bitty room. Gathering pajamas for each of the two. And Brought them to the kitchen. “Um… Alpha?” her voice was quiet and unsure. He looked over at her confused. “I brought some sleepwear for the boys. And put a hot water bottle under their bedding. I don't fully know if it will help them but i know it helps me when i get an upset stomach.” Alpha looked at the cloths in her hand then to her face and her worried expression he lowered his hand and cupped her face lifting it up to bring their foreheads together. “That is wonderful. Thank you Madam.” He gently nuzzled her before taking the cloths and setting them aside. To keep from going stir crazy, Maddy began putting away the food trying to be as organized as she could. “Mamma,” Button called out for her weakly. “Yes Baby?” Her attention snapped to him. “Can Stretch and i sleep in your bed with you?” Alpha had cleaned and dressed them, but was waiting for her reply. “Of course you can sugar skull. Does stretch want to go thought? I don't want to stress-” “It's fine,” he bit out, almost irritably. “Well alright then, i’ll go get the heating pad i put in your room and bring it to mine.” Maddy was quick to set up their bedding and hot water bottle into her own bed. “Madam, i'm sure you're tired, perhaps you would like to dress for bed as well,” Alpha suggested a pair of Pj’s sitting upon her bed, “I will wake you when it’s time to eat.” “Thank you Alpha,” she took the cloths and changed in the bedroom. She opened the Medicine cabinet to grab pills for later on, only to find… they were gone. Her sleeping pills were missing. “Madam?” Alpha called from outside the door. “Ya just second Alpha… I'm just looking for something,” had she misplaced them? She could have sworn the bottle was near full… strange. “Madam?” ALpha had teleported into the room. “I can’t seem to find a bottle of pills i had, i use them to help me sleep.  I was going to set them on my nightstand for later. But the whole Bottle is gone.” “I am aware of those poisons and their absence,” he gave a single nod. “Oh? Did you move them?” She asked, again a nod from Alpha, “Oh ok, Well ware did you put them?” She felt a bit calmer knowing she hand forgotten ware she placed them. “I destroyed them,” He stood his arms behind his back reminiscent of a military “at ease” pose. Maddy blinked unsure she heard that right, “Y-you destroyed them?” again a nod, “Why? I need those to help with my weird sleep schedule.” “If i recall Madam, you only had a strange sleep schedule due to how much you worked. And only worked so much so you didn't have to come back to an empty Den. I’m sure you are more responsible than to leave your den and pack for as long as you claimed,” He spoke almost Matter of fact, “Besides i am more than confident in my tea and aroma methods, but should they falter…” He closed his eyes with a huff as if the words were painful to say, “i will get you more of that filth.” She paused frowning, “Alpha, as i'm sure you felt yourself justified in your actions. Next time you go to get rid of something of mine, that I do not deem garbage will you please ask me first? Or at least check to make sure if it can be tossed out. I'm willing to make changes and compromises but i do not appreciate a decision like that being made for me without having a say in it.” Alpha stood taking in what she said his eyes having shown ralization upon her getting near to the end of her rant, “My deepest apologies Madam,” He gave a bow, “I had not meant to rob you of your choice. I will try to be more considerate of such things in the future.” he gave another bow. “Thank you,” she walked back into her room and laid down near Button and Stretch. Before to long Button had moved and curled up within the crook of her neck. Alpha watched as the three rested Once he was sure all three were asleep he seat out to search once more. ___________________ Next First Previous

#work in progress #Chapter 10 #rewrite w.i.p.

[prosciuttoe]

Hey! For your halloween celebration! :) "My hot neighbour has been looking for her black cat since yesterday and I just found out that my kid stole him for her witch costume. Well, this is embarrassing"

It doesn’t even occur to Clarke that something’s amiss until she hears it: the unmistakable sound of a soft, plaintive meow, coming from beneath her desk.

There’s actually a moment where she thinks, it’s just the cat before memory and coherence all comes rushing back, and she realizes, with a impending sense of horror, that they don’t actually own one— before she’s scrambling off her seat, dropping into a crouch to get a better look.

And, yup, there it is— a cat; all sleek black and amber eyes and staring at her a tad reproachfully.

“Shit,” she mutters, bringing her palm up to rub at her face. “Shit, shit, shit.” There’s a moment when she actually entertains the possibility of it managing to sneak in, somehow, locked doors and all, when it dawns on her that there’s a lot more of a plausible explanation.

Specifically, one involving Madi.

“Madi!” she thunders, hauling herself upright. “Get in here, now.”

A beat, the sound of footfalls growing louder until she emerges at the door, jaw set and arms over her chest, as if braced for a fight. “Yeah?”

“Tell me that this isn’t Mr. Blake’s cat.”

She shrugs, the motion flippant. “I don’t know. I just picked her off the street, so I guess it could be a possibility.”

“Madi!” she huffs, pressing her fingers against the side of her temples, where she can feel a headache rapidly forming. “There are missing posters plastered all over the neighbourhood. The guy’s probably freaking out, and you’re telling me that you took her?”

“It’s not like I broke into his house and grabbed her,” Madi points out, petulant. “She was just hanging around the alley by Lincoln’s, so. It’s not like I kidnapped her.”

There’s a part of her that’s tempted to mention the whole concept of intent, right about now, but the cat is currently making small, yowling noises of distress, and Clarke can barely think beyond it. “Let me guess,” she says, with exaggerated slowness. “You took her out trick or treating, because she matched your costume.”

She actually preens a little at that, until Clarke’s responding glare stops her short. “I got a lot of compliments,” she mumbles, before averting her gaze guiltily. Then, biting at her lip, “Besides, I fed her and gave her water and everything, okay? I was fully planning on returning her after the recital, but she just took off the second I got home.”

“Right,” she says, forcing a deep breath through her nose. In, and out. “Fine. Head over and return her now, and I’ll keep the grounding to a week. Deal?”

“I can’t, Anya’s mom is coming over right now to drive us to the recital, remember?” A honk sounds at that, right on cue, and Clarke can’t help her grimace at it. The look Madi shoots her is distinctly pleading. “Can’t I do it when I get home?”

The cat is currently winding around her legs now, wailing, and it takes everything in her power to keep from pulling away, really. She’s never been all that great with animals, and there’s something about her distress that sets her on edge. “Forget it,” she says, making up her mind. “I’ll do it. But you have to write him an apology letter when you get home, which you will deliver personally tomorrow. Okay?”

That gets a half-hearted nod out of her, but it’s an agreement all the same. “Okay.”

“Good,” she says, dropping to her knees and picking her up carefully, trying not to show her surprise when she immediately curls up against her, purring. Huh. “What’s her name?”

“Artemis,” Madi calls out, already half way down the stairs; the jingle of her keys echoing throughout the house. “I’m going!”

“Tell Anya I said hi,” she manages, descending the stairs just as Madi barrels out, waving behind her. “And be safe!”

That earns her some sort of mumbled response in return, followed by the slam of the car door as it peels out of the driveway, taillights fading into the distance.

Biting back a sigh, she drops her gaze back down to the bundle in her arms instead. “Time to get you home, I guess,” she says, easing the front door open with her foot. It’s a bit of a struggle, with her trying to keep her movements as minimal as possible (lest she wakes her) but she manages, somehow, jabbing at the doorbell with her thumb.

The thing is, it’s not like she knows Mr. Blake personally. They’ve been neighbours for all of two months, and they never really crossed paths, in that time. She’s caught glimpses of him, before— his profile as he ducked into his car, or the back of his head when he fetched his mail— but the most she’s gleaned about him is that he’s a History teacher over at the local high school, and that he was from the city. (It certainly fits into the whole middle-aged, experiencing a midlife crisis and moving to the suburbs sort of narrative she has going for him.)

So, yeah, she’s definitely more than a little surprised at the ridiculously attractive individual that gets the door.

“Oh,” she says stupidly, trying not to stare at the acres and acres of bronzed skin, the unruly mess of curls and freckles, of all things. “Mr. Blake?”

“Bellamy,” he corrects, frowning slightly; his expression quickly brightening when he spots Artemis. “Hey, you found her!”

“Uh,” she makes a helpless gesture with her shoulders, careful not to let the movement dislodge her from her perch, “kind of? It’s a long story, actually. It has to do with my daughter, Madi.”

The confusion in his eyes is clear, but he doesn’t interrupt, which she can’t help but feel grateful for. “Right, uh,” she clears at her throat, willing the flush rushing across her cheeks to abate, “so, Madi is about twelve. And you know, they’re doing the whole trick or treat spiel today, and she’s dressed as a witch, see? So she saw Artemis over at Lincoln’s, and she thought it would be a great idea to bring her along, and it’s just— so irresponsible. I always tell her that she needs to check if—”

“Madi,” he echoes, tilting at his chin. “Oh. Oh. She likes to wear braids in her hair, right?”

“Yeah,” she exhales, her breath escaping her in a rush. “I’m just— I’m so sorry on her behalf, Mr. Blake. She’s—”

“Bellamy,” he corrects, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s only Mr. Blake when I’m at work.”

It’s highly possible that he’s just being friendly, but she still blushes anyway. “Bellamy,” she says, with a nervous laugh. “Right. Anyway, I’m really sorry for the scare we gave you. I can’t imagine how worried you must be.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, leaning up against the doorway. Then, shaking his head ruefully, “I’ve seen her playing with Artemis, the few times she wandered out to the garden. I should have figured.”

“Yeah, she’s been trying to persuade me that a cat would be a good addition to our little unit,” she says, groaning. “I told her I would think about it, but I didn’t think she would resort to cat burglary, if I’m being honest.”

The smile he shoots her is distinctly conspiratorial, warming her down to her toes. “Kids, right?”

“Kids,” she repeats, lifting her shoulder in a small shrug. She’s wracking her brain for the next thing to say when Artemis makes a small noise, then, uncurling herself to leap gracefully onto the ground, purring as she rubs up against Bellamy.

“Oh,” she says lamely, watching as he reaches over to pet her affectionately, her tail curling in the air as she strides past him and into the house, making small contented noises as she goes. “That’s my cue, I guess.”

“Or you could come in,” he adds hastily, straightening. “I mean, only if you want to. Artemis seems to, uh,” he pauses, rubbing at the back of his neck, “she seems to like you.”

She’s not sure if she’s imagining it, but the tips of his ears look a little red. Ducking at her chin, she bites at the inside of her cheek to keep a full-blown grin from showing. “I’d love to,” she says, extending a hand out. “I’m Clarke, by the way.”

“Good to know,” he tells her, taking it; his grip warm and firm in hers. “Come on in, Clarke.”

#bellarke fanfiction #ems writes #bffnet #prhalloweenbash2k17 #anon #asks

[queerwalrus]

So a while back I asked people which of two (then supposedly) short fics they would like to see first. My brain got sidetracked by Bastard Hamilton and then Thanksgiving break so they got temporarily sidelined, but now I’m back to working on the one people seemed to like the most - the modern AU where Billy is the Jets QB (which is now shaping up to be long as hell). I’ve got a snippet more of that here!

“Go bother them.” Gates instructs. “And don’t let Thomas give you too much red wine – you’ve got an early practice tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dad.” teases Billy, and then he swings himself out of the car just in time to loop an arm around Abigail’s waist.

“Billy!’ she says, delighted, and flings her arms around his neck to hug him. He carries her halfway up the stairs while she shrieks and the wine she’s brought Thomas bounces against Billy’s back. Thomas’ voice through the intercom speakers is crackly and so cheerful Billy will happily guarantee there’s a glass of wine waiting for him when he gets upstairs.

There is. Thomas hugs him with a glass in both hands before he passes one to him, and kisses Abigail on both cheeks before he gives her the other. He looks like he’s about to do a GQ shoot and the gigantic loft apartment looks like it belongs in an interior design magazine. Billy so badly wants to be Thomas Hamilton when he retires.

“There he is!” says Flint, emerging from his study. Madi is trailing behind him with three print journals in her hands.

“Hey, Billy.” she says, distractedly, pouring over a marked page in one of them. “Please tell me you’re writing a refutation to this, James.”

“Of course I am.” says Flint. “It’s fucking bullshit is what it is. He’s fucking Gal-Pal-ing matelotage - I’m going to tear him a new one.”

Thomas, beaming, passes him a scotch.

“Want to co-author it?” Flint asks Madi, glass raised in a half-toast. His sweater has elbow patches. Billy can’t decide if he hates that he loves it or he loves that he hates it.

“I’ll leave this one to you.” Madi says, grinning.

“Well, the next article I marked you need to refute – sit down, have a look, what do you want to drink?”

Abigail crosses the room and sits on the arm of the wingback Madi has settled into to read over her shoulder, sipping at the wine Thomas has given her while she does.

“How’s that chapter looking?” Flint asks Billy, propping his hip on the huge recycled wood dining table.

“I’ve got a draft for you to look at.” Billy says, pulling the print copy out of his satchel.

“A full week early!” says Flint, delighted. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Abigail flips him off with a finger that shimmers thanks to her gold-glitter nail polish.  Billy grins again.

“What’s for dinner, Thomas?”

“John’s bringing Thai.” says Thomas. “From that place we like near your place.”

“Oh – it’s going to be one of those nights.” says Billy. “I have an early practice, I probably shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Too much.” says Thomas. “You probably shouldn’t be drinking too much.”

“What happened at the office today?” Billy asks, taking a sip from his glass. It’s good wine. Billy’s always had a weak spot for good wine.

 “Debates happened.” says Thomas, fake-cheerful. “Fuck the entire Republican establishment. I hate all of them.”

Billy is very happy to drink to that, and he ends up calling Ben to tell him that the pick up address for the next morning is going to be Flint and Thomas’ place. He steals Thomas’ sweatpants and Harvard Law hoodie and refills the thermos at six in the morning while Thomas and Flint’s cats make pitiful noises at him and Thomas yawns over the last six months of the city budget.

“Bye, Thomas.” says Billy, leaning down to give him a one-armed hug.

“I’m going to fix the subway.” says Thomas, only half-awake.

“Of course you are.” says Billy, and then plays keep-away to ensure none of the four cats escape into the hallway.

***

Practise is less gruelling than it usually is after a night and Thomas and Flint’s, in part because Madi and Abigail absconded with the wine before Thomas got too far into his debate recap, an exodus prompted by Madi’s wife Miranda summoning her home. Billy had snapchatted Abigail a fifteen second video from the car in the morning to demand answers and it hadn’t been opened by the time he walked into the locker room. The door to the rest of the training complex slams open the second he arrives, and his coach appears with his hands on his hips.

“Bones!”

“What did you do, Billy?” asks Muldoon. “They’ve been muttering all morning.”

“I told Sportscenter I have a boyfriend.” says Billy, tossing his bag into his locker and putting his thermos down.

There’s a moment of stillness in which the entire room falls silent.

“Do you, you know, have a boyfriend?” asks Logan.

“Yes I fucking do.” says Billy.

“What about Abigail? Weren’t you dating her?” asks Dufresne, the backup QB.

“Abigail and I get coffee so we can complain about our occasionally crazy and always eccentric PhD supervisor.” says Billy. “Also going by the fact she -” he glances over at his phone “- just broke our snapchat streak I think she’s managed to land herself a pair of girlfriends.”

There’s another temporary silence while Billy’s teammates seem to process this.

“What does eccentric look like on a University professor?” asks Muldoon, with some trepidation.

“It’s Flint, what do you think it looks like?” asks Billy.

“Hold up, James ‘I can drink the entire Jets O-Line under the table’ Flint is your thesis advisor?”

“On international talk like a pirate day he came up with an entire backstory for what would drive him to piracy in the eighteenth century and spoke like he was that character.”

“What did drive him to piracy?”

“He’s gay.” says Billy.

“And? What does that have to do with his pirate backstory?”

“You got hung for being gay back then. Also Pirate Backstory Flint’s beloved Thomas had been imprisoned in a place he couldn’t be rescued from and Flint had turned to piracy as a means of revenge. It was all very melodramatic. Silver got a cameo as his one-legged cook, if I recall. I was the bosun. I’m pretty sure he and Thomas had kinky roleplay sex afterwards.”

“Your life is bizarre.” says Logan, and Billy checks him with his shoulder on his way over to his coach.

#my fic

[medusinestories]

I saw this prompt from @marinarasarah and thought it was a great idea for a first Black Sails fic on tumblr:

a Silver/Flint, Flint/Hamilton or a Silver/Flint/Hamilton where Silver and/or Thomas is watching James trying to learn to knit or crochet. James fails of course and curses are thrown around, and the one watching is really struggling trying not to laugh

I don’t know if the prompt was inspired by this, but it certainly inspired me:

Pairing: Silver/Flint/Thomas. Their relationships with Madi and Miranda are mentioned but whether they are romantic or not is left up to the reader.

Verse: This is set post-S4, in a verse where the OT4 finally ends up back in England. This story stands alone, but it comes after my Mending Bridges series.

Rating: T for language and naughty innuendo.

Word count: 1573

Bonus: You can also read this story on AO3 and it is now part of a series. Here is Part 2, where Thomas tries to cook.

It had been a bloody long day and Silver's back was killing him.

Some big merchant ship had come into Bristol and many of its sailors had wandered into the Spyglass Inn. Silver had done his best not to complain, but the strain of running around and staying on his feet behind the bar all day progressively took its toll. Madi had finally spotted him cringing as he bent over and sent him to sit down.

They'd made a small study next to the kitchen. It was supposedly for Madi's accounts, but since the room tended to be inhabited by the inn's resident bookworms, it had slowly grown into a small library with armchairs arranged around the fireplace.

Silver pushed the door open and stood gobsmacked for a moment. Flint was sitting there, a pair of knitting needles in his hands and a guilty look on his face, like a child caught doing something really naughty.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Well dinner's over and the dishes are done, so I'm whiling time away before we close up,” Flint answered, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“That's not what I asked.” Silver gingerly took a seat by the fire and stretched his cramping shoulders.

“Well what does it look like I'm doing?” Flint snapped back, clutching his knitting closer to his chest. The wool was bright green, and looked more like a random tangle of yarn than anything else.

Silver was saved from having to answer by Thomas coming in with a pair of steaming cups. The cat – which wasn't allowed in the room in case it damaged the books – slid between Thomas' legs and shot under an armchair before it could be shooed out. Neither Flint nor Thomas seemed to notice, and Silver didn't much care right then.

“Oh James, not again,” Thomas said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes, again. Do you know how much mitts cost?”

“Surely not the price of your sanity?”

Flint scowled at him. Thomas handed Silver a cup of tea, and put one down beside Flint.

“Well at least with such a glowing green you can spare yourself the cost of a lantern.”

“It's Lincoln Green!” Flint protested.

“Really? I could have sworn I saw that exact colour in the gutter after a drunk disgorged his pea soup.”

The open-mouthed, wide-eyed affronted look on Flint's face was priceless. Silver was glad to be able to hide his amusement behind his teacup.

“Anyway you're not going to be wearing this, so kindly–” Flint snorted angrily as all his work slipped off the needles and into his lap. “Kindly fuck off.”

One nice thing about having Thomas around, Silver mused as he sipped his tea, was that he always spoke his mind. It was refreshing for Silver to watch Flint being teased mercilessly without having to suffer the consequences himself.

As Flint clumsily attempted to cast on, Silver noticed that he was conspicuously glancing at a book on his lap.

“Don't tell me you're learning from a handbook,” Silver said, trying to keep a straight face.

“No,” Flint growled back. “I learned with Miranda. This is just to refresh my memory.”

“What he's not telling you,” Thomas said while he perused the bookshelf, “is that Miranda used to despise needlework. Her knitwork was only surpassed in unsightliness by her cross-stitch. And believe me, her cross-stitch was deplorable.”

Silver stifled a chuckle, just as Flint glared daggers at both of them.

“All right, all right,” Thomas said with a placating grin. “Fucking off, now.” He pulled a book off the shelf and stopped by Silver on the way to the door, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“John,” he said solemnly. “I do trust that you'll protect James from himself, as you have always done.”

Silver felt a nervous smile coming on. Even though they'd come far since the early days of their reunion, this kind of joke still made him uncomfortable, as Thomas was likely aware, the bastard.

Thomas smiled, more kindly. “By that I mean, please make sure he doesn't poke an eye out with those needles.”

“I know where I'll shove them if you keep this up,” Flint muttered, half to himself, grappling with the yarn.

“My dear, considering their girth, you could barely call that foreplay.” With that, Thomas left, chuckling.

Silver shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. Flint ignored him, fiddling with stitches that were obviously too tight, clucking his tongue at the twisted yarn and snorting loudly every time he dropped a stitch. The sounds were quite soothing, and Silver felt the ache in his back slowly drain away.

Then a large tabby paw reached out from under Flint's seat and grabbed the bright green yarn. Flint didn't notice it, too busy counting stitches under his breath. Silver watched the cat play with the wool, marvelling at the domestic picture laid out before his eyes.

Flint sat by the fire, copper hair glinting in the soft light, his face deeply focused as he bent over his knitting. Beneath him a plump tabby tom played with a ball of yarn, holding it between its front paws, biting at it and kicking it with its hind legs. It could have been a Flemish painting.

When the cat rolled over with the ball of yarn still in its paws, Silver foresaw what was about to happen without being able to do anything to prevent it. All of Flint's knitting got pulled out of his hands, off his lap. The clatter of the needles on the stone floor startled the cat, who rushed away, entangled in yarn, dragging all of Flint's work and both needles behind him.

“Wha–! Fucking bastard!” Flint wailed indignantly, shooting up from his chair just as the cat disappeared under another armchair. Silver burst out laughing.

Flint looked down at Silver, face reddening with anger, a scowl deepening on his forehead, and Silver's laughter reached a hysterical pitch. The more Flint's eyes narrowed furiously, the harder Silver laughed.

“Sorry,” he gasped between giggles. “Sorry! It's just… you and… and the cat–”

“Oh, what's the point,” Flint groaned and flopped down into his armchair.

It took a while and a few deep breaths for Silver to recover from his giggling fit. Flint still looked dejected, as he always did when he was frustrated for not being immediately perfect at every single thing he tried.

“You do know that to knit good mitts you need at least three needles forming a circle, right?”

Flint looked up at him, mouth falling open. “I… really? I thought I could just sew parts together.”

“You could, and the seams might dig in and rub at your hands in all kinds of unpleasant ways by the end of the day.”

“How on earth would you know that?” Flint asked, forgetting to be sullen now that his curiosity was piqued.

“I know a lot of useful things.”

The cat chose this moment to shuffle out from under the chair, yarn twined around his paunchy middle and one of its back paws. He hopped comically forward, dragging the clinking needles behind him and looking terribly sorry for himself.

“Come here, you stupid motherfucker,” Flint told the cat in an exasperatedly fond tone, then lifted him onto his lap. Silver still marvelled at the contrast between Flint's harsh words and the gentleness he used to disentangle the cat from the yarn.

Flint carried the cat out once he was done, and closed the door after him. Then Silver felt the weight of Flint's full attention on him; that piercing gaze still made him squirm, sometimes.

“I suppose you aren't going to tell me how you learned to knit, then?”

Silver rolled his eyes. “As you said, mitts are expensive. They can also be sold at a pretty price, and,” he added, smirking, “knitting is so easy that even a child could do it.”

Flint just snorted and picked up the half-unravelled ball of yarn, carefully working out the tangles. Silver watched his hands, wondering how someone with such talent for making and undoing knots could be so terrible at knitting.

“Thomas is right,” Silver said after a while, “that's really not your colour.”

This earned him a glare, and Flint stubbornly continued winding the wool back into a nice regular ball.

“And mitts? Really ambitious as a first knitting venture. I'd try a scarf or a shawl.”

“Yes, I'd look very fetching in a bright green shawl,” Flint grumbled.

Silver smiled. He knew – and Flint knew that Silver knew – that Flint would rather freeze to death than waste his time on making clothing for himself. Silver also knew that, while Flint avoided bright colours like the plague, this shade of green would flatter Madi's complexion. And she would certainly welcome any warm clothing, considering how often she grumbled about the cold Bristol winters.

“Well?” Flint's sharp voice cut in, “are you going to show me how to knit this shawl, or are you just going to sit there grinning like an idiot?”

Silver shifted his seat closer to Flint's, so close that their arms and shoulders touched. He took up the needles, brushing his thumb along Flint's hand as he did so, and smiled when he saw Flint's irritation subside, leaving softness in its wake. As he gathered his materials, Silver felt Flint's palm rub between his shoulder blades, easing the tension that still lingered there.

Silver wondered when he'd stepped into a Flemish painting, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

#silverflinthomas #silverflinthamilton #silverflint #black sails fanfic #Madi #in which #flint is not a natural knitter #thomas is a little shit #silver never fails to surprise #a wild cat appears #and everyone is quite domestic #prompt fill #my fic