#and so he just melts. he melts when he realizes how much he missed clarke and what it was like to be truly understood

[bellamysgriffin]

BELLAMY BLAKE WEEK 2023 ⇢ DAY 4: Favorite Comfort Moment

#bellarkeedit #bellamyblakeedit #clarkegriffinedit #the100edit #the100daily #bbaw23 #tuserheidi #usersmia #usermoonchild #* #this is THE blarke hug for me!! #first of all bellamy really did not have the right to be so mad at clarke buuuuttt #its the way he instantly caves and lets his anger go #once she comforts him in the way that only SHE can #and the way she's been doing unconditionally for the past few days #after he's living with so much guilt and wretchedness #and she still believes so fundamentally in his goodness and redemption #and so he just melts. he melts when he realizes how much he missed clarke and what it was like to be truly understood #whew... 3b u will always be famous #wish i could have captured every single beautiful facial expression but #this scene is long enough as it is

[thirstnotes]

|Rivals To Lovers - Clark Kent - Part Seven - Cooking Class Clark|

Pairings: Clark Kent x AFABBlackPlusSizedReader

Warnings: possessive Clark, Clark Kent in love, language, dirty thoughts, typos, more smut eventually, minors DNI, morally gray Clark, Dark Bruce

If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

You needed to get it together. He wasn't there for you. He was there for her. This was a favor for a friend. You were being used to get to Lois. Which was whatever. So long as you remembered that this little thing with Kent wasn't real, you could maintain a sense of control.

Shit, dude. This was getting too heavy.

Clark eyed you when you caught up. "You okay?"

You shrugged him off and flashed him a smile. "Yeah. Of course. Just getting into character."

It came out a bit more sarcastic than you intended it to be and you could tell he picked up on it, but maybe that was a good thing. It made things a bit clearer. He didn't say anything more, but you noted the small frown, entering when he held the door.

The couples you had made friends with were scandalized when Luke showed up with another cooking partner

Almost as scandalized as they were to see you arriving with Clark’s hand on your lower back

Which was valid. You weren’t fully believing it yourself

"I'll get set up. We're kind of early, so you can mingle if you want," you explained, tying on an apron, eyes darting to Lois on the other side of the room. The strings were obnoxiously long, so you always had to double them around your waist. But before you could tie a loose knot, he used as leverage to pull you closer before you had a chance.

"Shouldn't I be helping with prep?" he purred down at you and you hated how much of a bitch your body was being. You melted like ice on a hot sidewalk.

"I mean, yeah. But I can. I mean. The ingredient list is on the fridge over there."

You watched his smirk deepen before he went to collect the items. A familiar hum reached your ears and you looked to the station across from yours.

“What in the Gordon Ramsay’s Hell Kitchen is happening up in here?” Dolores laughed discreetly as you got your pots and pans ready for the dish of the day. Clark was casually chatting with a couple of others who were also gathering items, so she and Henry, her husband, thought it was the perfect time to grill you a little.

“It’s…complicated,” you laughed back, keeping the lies as short as possible. The last thing you needed was to get caught up in some elaborate story. Besides, it wasn't entirely false since it was getting pretty complicated.

“Well to me, it looks like Luke did you wrong and skipped his happy ass up in here with Miss Thang over there.”

Your spirit swelled with appreciation for Miss D—what you affectionately called her. She was honestly the blueprint: a wealthy Black woman, retired from sex therapy and married for thirty glorious years to an absolute babe of a English professor who worshipped the ground she walked on. He was a man of few words, but you understood the classic extrovert/introvert dynamic. Both of them were fond of you, which explained why Luke was apparently getting the cold shoulder from them. Excellent.

“It’s alright. We just realized we weren’t compatible. No biggie.”

“Yeah but your new man certainly is. A biggie, I mean. Real biggie,” she smirked, handing Henry the mixing bowls. She gave you a look that made you snicker with her amorously.

True enough, your brain was racing with thoughts of him lifting you onto a dresser, skilled tongue deep enough in you to make your mouth hang open from the ecstasy. But you weren’t a fool. The attention was nice and all, but you weren’t about to waste your time thirsting after a dude that was gone over your coworker. The same coworker. Not again.

Across town, you had a hot billionaire craving another taste of you and to be honest, you were seriously considering giving him another. So you were solid.

“He’s aiight,” you lied with a smirky side-eye. She looked at you over her lenses and you laughed. “What? He is.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed clamming up when Clark came to meet you with another smooth peck on the lips. What the shit?

It might've been your imagination, but you could swear there was a spiteful smirk on his face. How in the hell did he have an attitude? You narrowed your eyes at him a bit.

“Ready to get started?” he asked, the loaded question not lost on either of you as he tied his apron on.

“Ready when you are.”

The lie detector test determined that that was a lie.

You were a bad bitch, but you were not ready at all. His kisses almost short-circuited every cell in your body.

Darn you Clark Kent

Darn you to heck

But anyway class was going fairly well, starting off a main course day with baking prepped sourdough bread bowls to hold the stew you were learning to make later that day

You were working on kneading the dough that had been settling in the fridge for days prior to this class

Clark was prepping for the stew in the meantime, skillfully chopping vegetables and chicken breasts into chunks.

You looked up casually and caught his deep blues observing you long enough to make you curious.

"What?"

His smirk widened and his eyes lowered back to his work. "Are you mad at me?"

"Should I be?" you laughed off-handedly, pushing away the list of reasons you wanted to list that you were annoyed with him about.

All practically baseless since they had something to do with this whole facade.

But in his defense, it was your own fault for agreeing to all this in the first place.

"I did kiss you without permission."

Oh right. That.

You snorted a laugh. "It was just a kiss."

Lies

Lies and slander

"That broke rule number two."

He had a point.

"Are you trying to make something of it?" you asked, turning to face him, flour-covered hand on your hip. His smirk stayed the same, but there was a bit of spice in your tone that made his eyes narrow a bit.

"Just asking."

Now you felt like an ass. You didn't mean to snap at him. But you felt a bit edgier now that you were caught up in your thoughts. Fuckin Clark.

"Look. Your girl's free," you deflected, your eyes flickering to Lois going to the pantry. His eyes lingered on you while he washed and dried his hands. You pretended not to notice. You couldn't ignore, however, when he moved to help you knead.

"I've got bigger problems if you're mad at me," he said, smooth tone over your shoulder, large hands covering yours to help you knead.

“I. Hm. You must think a whole lot of yourself,” you sputtered, tryin to maintain your sense of control. It wasn’t easy. He towered a bit above you, face hovering near yours as he used your hands to knead the long forgotten sourdough on the surface. No, your focus was on homeboy behind you. Milking the situation entirely in front of your friends and coworkers, trying his damndest to give you a coronary.

You knew this was all for show, but fuck, man

Homie was showin out

"I don't know what else to think until you tell me," he said, holding your hands ransom. His golden opportunity had passed and Lois had returned from the pantry.

Per your observation, she did wager a few glances in your direction

Possibly, scandalized at the sight of you being a "couple", considering you “bickered” and competed so much at work

You sure as hell didn’t expect to be Patrick Swayze in Ghost’d by somebody who, a month ago, you thought you couldn’t stand outside of work

But man. The grovelling.

Miss D was living, you hear me?

Living

You tried not to laugh when his nose nudged your neck tauntingly. You failed. Miserably.

"I'm not mad at you, you dweeb," you exhaled in an exasperated puff of breath as you turned to face him. He kept you caged against the surface, blocking you from any hope of escaping. "I'm...trying to give you space to do your thing."

You forced yourself to keep eye contact with him to keep from looking suspicious.

He breathed a smile.

Which you mistook for relief.

"Right. Well, at least you're not mad at me."

You swallowed when he pulled back and tapped your chin, moving to walk with Lois as she made another trip to the pantry.

You felt like a dumbass.

While he was gone, you took a walk to your car. You needed air. While you pretended to look for something in your trunk, your pocket vibrated and you pulled your phone out.

Were the flowers too much?

Bruce. You breathed a laugh.

A bit

Don't tell me you're mad at me?

Undecided

Maybe I can make it up to you in Prague?

You frowned in confusion.

Prague?

Didn't you get the card?

You paused.

I did, but I didn't open it. Mr. Wayne, are you telling me you sent me a ticket to Prague?

My face was between your thighs. I think we can go beyond honorifics. Unless that's what you're into.

You laughed out loud.

Go away. I'm busy.

Is that an order?

Yes

You rolled your eyes and closed your app. Your phone buzzed and you couldn't help but open it to look.

Bossy is a good look on you.

You bit your lip and took a deep breath, mood suddenly lifted. Slipping the phone back into your pocket, you went back inside, spotting Clark back at your station, next to a warming pot of stew. He rested against the edge of the surface, arms folded, watching you approaching.

"Where'd you disappear off to?"

You washed your hands again before kneading the dough one last time and setting it into the oven. "Just getting some air. How'd it go?"

His eyes rolled from you to Lois, who was feeding Luke something. You looked from them to him with a frown.

"Not well?"

His eyes floated to the oven where the dough was slowly rising. "Very well, actually. She informed me that she and Luke aren't actually official...thennnn, in so many words, she asked me out."

Your eyes widened at the tea he was pouring. "Get out. What did you say?!" you hissed quietly, like a hopeless gossip.

"I...told her that I was deeply in love with my girlfriend," he heaved with a weighty breath, his eyes meeting yours.

Were any of those ovens hot enough for you to throw yourself into?

(Part 8) (Part 6)

#clark kent #clark kent x black reader #clark kent x black plus size reader #clark kent x black curvy reader #dc comics #image

[cutiecorner]

I haven't done one of these in a while but this was in my drafts: its cg alfred time babey. Three cheers for our fictional grandpa.

Wow Alfred how come DC let's you adopt (checks notes) ALL the babies

If someone regresses he knows about it. Don't ask how he just knows

And he WILL start subtly babying them. Most heroes are stubborn af and struggle to accept even butler help, but Alfred has a talent for easing them into it. Come up to Wayne Manor feeling stressed and 2 hours later you're surrounded by blankets on your second plate of cookies. How'd you get there? Nobody knows

Subsequently there's like a lot of heroes who only accept help from Alfred, especially regression related help. The original Justice League come to mind, he eventually made a point of checking in on them all once he realized how Pointedly Fatherless they all were. They may be too proud to tell their team they're struggling, but no ones too stubborn for Alfred. The doors always open for them and they do use it, liberally.

Like I mentioned before, Diana, Clark, J'onn, John, Shayera, and Wally are all very much adopted by him, and are the ones he cares for the most.

Alf loves having the league around when they're small. Parenting is his passion and the more the merrier, especially when the objective is to keep the stakes low and relaxed. Raising his kids often involves more world ending threats than he'd like, so he always welcomes a respite where he can just coddle them.

And coddle them he does, kiddies under Alfred's watch are the definition of spoiled materially speaking. He is always there for whatever they need, and he takes great pride in his attention to detail. He knows just what shows everyone likes, their favorite pajamas, their stuffies names, their go to treats - everything they want, he will provide

Behavior wise though, Alfred keeps thing just as in line as usual. He's certainly not hard on anyone, but he is an authority for sure. He loves to keep a schedule, and he finds it often necessary for little ones who are used to being in a survival frame of mind. Rules and guidelines always brought him a lot of comfort, and he hopes to bring the same grounding affect those he watches over. Though of course, he's nowhere near immune to puppy dog eyes.

He tries to be in tune with everyone's emotions and help them work through big feelings. He himself struggles with Alexithymia and mild emotion in general, but he's learned strategies to pick apart feelings and deal with them. He knows a lot of therapy techniques from dealing with Bruce, and teaches them whenever he can

He uses a lot of strategies from raising Bruce with regressors, especially those who are autistic. He knows how to best communicate without words, how to figure out what parts of the environment are stressful, and how to keep a space not over or under stimulating. They have lots of tools like headphones, eyewear, communication cards, etc.

Despite being usually formal, something about having regressors around flips a switch on the affection meter. Suddenly everyone is only referred to by sweet nicknames. And he's just general less butler more dad. He's open to snuggles if they're requested.

He's very patient. Takes all the time his little ones need to collect themselves. Most if not all regressors in his care find him profoundly calming, even while not in the headspace. But holding their hands and encouraging them softly definitely does help.

He loves making little outfits for his regressors, especially when they're based on clothes they miss from their childhoods. The look on their face when he recreates their favorite shirts or jammies is pure dopamine, and they look so sweet in their cute little outfits.

Alfred loves to create games and structured activities, one of his favorite things to do is create mysteries for the little league to solve!!

He's welcoming to any nicknames - Alfie, Bubba, Dada, Mr. Pennyworth - but he's especially partial to "uncle alfie". It makes him melt.

#i am so tired and burnt out so this is a lil short #but still #if anyone wants to hmu with alfred headcanons 👉👈 that'd really make me happy #agere #fandom agere #agere fandom #dc agere #batman agere #little league #agere headcanons

[queenscharacters]

"I've missed you so much..." Elin to Xavier

If Xavier got any closer to Elin, he would practically be melting into her skin. He was still going to try, though. The past few months had been absolute agony for him. All he had wanted was his girlfriend, but she was the one thing seemingly out of reach and now that she was here again? He'd be damned if he let go of her again. He was honestly dreading the moment they had to separate again, even if it was for an afternoon. They had just been ripped apart relatively quickly - it could happen again.

Xavier had to force himself not to think about that. He was finally happy again; he didn't want to ruin this evening after so long apart with Elin. It was just in his nature to dread what had yet to come, especially when he felt like the likehoof of said thing happening was high. He had once told himself Elin would w ever leave him and, well...there they were.

He didn't need to think about that, though. Now was a happy time. "I missed you more." His voice was soft, but not in a sad way. Even though he was clearly drained and things clearly couldn't immediately be how they used to, he tried to tease her like he had just started to before everything went to hell. "I started to think I might never have a moment like this again and it was..." A shudder ran through his spine at the thought. He didn't care to elaborate. "It was absolute hell, Elin. I could've sworn I was going crazy..."

He didn't say this to upset her; but later, when he thought back on what he said and realized he probably had to, he would be extra upset with himself. Xavier really hoped she believed him when he said that he wasn't upset with her in the slightest. He just hated the situation and Clarke fucking Jolly.

"I love you so, so much." His voice was just barely above a whisper. He was practically speaking into her skin, he wasn't sure if she could even hear him. "That has never and will never change, okay?" Xavier vowed. "I don't want a future that doesn't involve you, especially after seeing what one might look like."

#ask: Xavier #xavier and elin #ch: xavier owens

[morgansunflower]

My Heart

Batman/Bruce Wayne X Superman/Clark!Sister Reader

Batmom! Reader

Warnings: non only some nursing, so much fluff!

Words:1402

Y/N is Superman's twin sister and wife of Batman. Both her and her husband embark on a adorable journey of the first weeks of their daughter's life.

Bruce's P. O. V

After a long night of patrol I stood in the Bat-cave. Before I go to my bedroom to see my wife and daughter. I stand in front of the Bat-computer. Y/N, walked in wearing her pajamas, robe and slippers. She stretched her arm's upward

"there's my darling hunk of a husband. Just put our little munchkin to sleep" she said relieved smiling as she wrapped her arm's around me humming. She kissed my neck "I missed you"

I held her hand and kiss her knuckles "and I you my love, you have not had any rest since we've been home. Given you are a Kryptonian I still deem it wise you get some rest, Darling"

"you know I don't sleep without you"

I stood she kissed me deeply. Then I realized how much I truly missed her. We went to our bedroom. I glance at D/N sound asleep in her co-sleeper crib. I feel a wave of complete genuinely happiness. I took my uniform off and changed into my boxers. We laid in bed together her head on my lower chest and arm across me.....I awoken from my relaxing slumber do to I feel a small being laying on my face. I grunted, I open my eye's seeing D/N. Her small legs laid across my neck, the side of her body on the bed and hand across my face. I don't know if I'm mad or if this is the most heartwarming thing to have happened to me. I moved my small daughter to my chest. I stood and laid her in her co-sleeper crib, that was by the bed on Y/N's side. I gently smiled laying a blanket on her and kiss her face. I walked back to my side of the bed. I laid in bed laying the covers on me. I look at my wife as she slept soundly. I lean over and kiss her face. I see, D/N finally sound asleep and hopefully will remain such until morning. I take a relaxing breath and move laying on my back. I shut my eye's.... I awaken again hearing Y/N huffing. I open my eye's seeing D/N flying. Y/N sighed heavily

"not again" she says in a tired state

She flew and held her I sigh deeply she's dreaming again. Y/N yawned I grasp D/N from my wife holding her close. I lay her on my chest and shut my eye's. Y/N, laying right next to us......

Y/N P. O. V

I open my eye's from slumber to see my husband and baby girl sound asleep. My heart melts I kiss Bruce's head. Bruce opened his eye's I gently rub his little cheek. He touched my chin and smiled

"you look beautiful" he mumbled

I chuckle "yeah totally beautiful with my beautiful hair" I say sarcastic my hair a complete wreck

"you'll always be beautiful to me" he genuinely said

"oh that definitely deserves a kiss"

I kiss Bruce he deepens the kiss we stop as our daughter, began to cry hunger for breakfast

"shhhh, dear" Bruce said softly

He gave me D/N I moved my shirt and nurse her. Bruce kisses my cheek and got off the bed. I hear my phone ring I look, Clark. I answer my older brother's.

-"hey baby sister, how are you doing? I kinda already know from checking earlier this morning, but I just haven't heard from you in a while"

"I know I've been a little bit busy to say the least" I sighed I miss my brother, he's my best friend.

-"I know believe me. When the twins were born. Conner and Kal were quite the demanding type well more Kal. I think he gets it from you" he chuckled

"watch it Supe's I'll heat blast your ass from here" I watch my husband dress into his suit

-"touchy touchy" he mocked "anyway I really miss you all. We should get together soon"

"yeah I'd like that" I look at my daughter smiling "you really need to soak in D/N's cuteness wall she's still this little"

I lift my head seeing my husband in his suit.

-"I'll be looking forward to it"

"me too bye Clark love you"

-"see ya, Y/N love you too and give my love to all my niece's and nephew's"

"will do"

I hung up and toss the phone. Bruce leans down and kisses me. I hear footsteps by the hallway and then a knock on our bedroom door. Bruce parts from my lips gently smiling. He opens the diaper bag on the dresser and tossed me the nursing cover. I put it on for modesty. Bruce put his robe on and opened the door. I rest my head on the wall.

"Damian, Titus"

"father am I interrupting?" he asked

"no kiddo just feeding your sis but I'm modest, come on in" I said

Damian, walked in with Titus "Mother, D/N"

"hey" I yawn nursing always put me to sleep "how's your day been"

"tt Grayson insist that I confess my affection that does not exist to Rachel" he said with a slight redness to his cheeks

"oh, well I am not trying to be nosy but I think she's lovely"

Damian, groaned pinching the bridge of his nose "why did I open my mouth?"

I chuckled my daughter finished nursing. I move my shirt back down and take the nursing cover off. Damian, looked at D/N I gently smiled. It's rare moment's that Damian is genuinely in a good place that I cherish. Dick, walked in stretching and groaned with a tired look on his face.

"hey guys!" he yawned

"morning sleepy head" I said chuckling

He plopped on the bed. I help D/N lay against my stomach. She reached for Damian. Damian rolled his eye's and moved closer. She began cooing and touched his face.

"Aww" Dick mocks

"tt shut up, Grayson your just jealous because I'm her favorite not to mention blood brother"

"oh, please I'm everyone's favorite" Dick says with a grin

As Bruce went off to work moment's later, Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara, Jason, and Tim we're all in the room enjoying each other's company. It was nice to see all the kid's in one room getting along, well for the most part. It makes me feel whole having all the children in one room. Afterwards I carried my daughter downstairs to the kitchen needing something for myself to eat. I grabbed a my favorite fruit from the fruit bowl. Alfred, walked in he gently smiled.

"miss Y/N I'd be more than happy to accommodate your lunch and bring it to you in your room" he insisted

"oh, Alfred I'm fine just needed a snack, speaking of lunch I actually need to eat lunch"

"miss Y/N you are a very strong woman, but caring for a child's needs is not a task to take lightly plenty of rest is always advised"

"oh, alright Alfred but only be I absolutely love your cooking!"

He gently smiled "thank you miss Y/N now upstairs and I shall be up with your lunch momentarily"

That night Bruce off on patrol I sat on the rocking chair nursing, D/N. She's been awake for hours. Finally she detached her mouth I sigh in relief needing sleep. She looks at me eye's wide open. I lean my head back in defeat

"goodness gracious child will you go to sleep" I begged

I hear the batmobile D/N began cooing recognizing that her, father as returned. I gently smiled she's so sweet. I move my shirt back. I went to the Bat-cave as I burp D/N. I see my husband. He had a soft smile with concern

"D/N won't sleep" he states taking his cowl off

"nope nata not even a little I've nursed the little angel forever but nothing"

She reached her arm's out to Bruce. Bruce held her D/N rested her head in the crook of his neck. D/N, shut her eye's as she faded to sleep. I take a relaxing breath and kiss my husband.

"she just wanted her daddy" I chuckled

"I believe we all need a good night's rest" he suggested reading my every look since the day we met

#batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #batfam #Bruce Wayne X Reader #Batmom! Reader #Batman X Batmom #Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader #Superman X sister! Reader #Clark Kent X sister! Reader #Clark Kent X Reader #Batfamily X Reader #Baby girl #Nursing #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Big brothers #Sweet Bruce Wayne #Kryptonian! Reader

[coeurdastronaute]

Nerd 17

Previously on Nerd

“Do we just hide upstairs?” 

“We could go out.” 

“Like on a date?” 

“I know it sounds appalling, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.” 

“And leave a gaggle of hormonal teenagers here?” 

“To watch a movie.” 

“I thought we’d have to worry about this with Anya, not Lexa,” the mother sighed and toyed with a pen, tapping it against the notebook in her lap. From the other end of the couch, her husband turned a page in the newspaper and went about this day, her feet firmly in his lap, his arms resting on her shins. 

Outside, the backyard was becoming its own theater, complete with screen and various seating arrangements. The fire pit had been dug out from a shed and filled with wood, ready to warm the spring evening. Beth could not remember a time when so many kids were going to be over her house, and all of a sudden, the same kids who came by for an eighth birthday were tall, gawky teenagers. Somehow, she missed it all and wanted it back, but realized she was stuck, and was ready to be apart of whatever was happening, even if she occasionally missed the quiet days of not having to worry so extensively about Lexa. 

Clarke, Lexa, and Luna continued to move about the yard when she snuck a look through the window, tilting her body to get eyes on. While Luna worked on the computer, Lexa leaned on Clarke’s shoulders, her chin near her neck. She looked happy and carefree, while her girlfriend smiled, only moving and ruining the moment when Lexa tickled her side. The burst of laughter led to Lexa draping herself over the blonde and it reminded Beth that she might not get to see Aden, she still had so much joy around her that she just had to pay attention to. 

“I guess it would be irresponsible to leave them unsupervised completely,” Lexa’s father decided, adjusting his glasses as he put down the paper. “What if we went out for dinner and then came back, but not too late.” 

“Trick them. Give them some freedom but not enough to do any real damage with.” 

“Exactly. Plus, it’s Lexa,” he shrugged. “Girl couldn’t unhook a bra with an instruction manual and flashlight.” 

“And she can’t get pregnant from Clarke.”

“And she’s excited about her movie. You’ve seen her watch one. She’s immoveable. Even with those teenage hormones, I don’t even think a girl sitting beside her completely naked would distract her from the screen.” 

“A date might be nice,” she wagered. 

Tim saw the crack forming and rubbed his wife’s feet, making her melt to his whims. 

“There’s that sushi place I’ve been wanting to try. I could pry you with a nice bottle of sake and we could come back and supervise these nerds.” 

“God that feels nice and sounds amazing.” 

“Let me take you out, Bethy,” he grinned and she was convinced. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ve been known to put out after a date.” 

“As if I needed a date to get you to put out,” she scoffed. 

“I’m a classy man. I need to be wined and dined from time to time or I won’t feel very pretty anymore.” 

“But you’re such a handsome fellow.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he pretended to be disinterested until the body half atop him pulled away and his wife sat beside him. 

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek before putting her arms around him. 

“You know, I find you to be a very pretty guy. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel that way recently. I frequently check you out.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed against his neck. “And when I see you with Lexa and how much time you’ve been spending with her and how much you’ve helped me grow, it just fills my heart completely.” 

“She’s fun to hang out with.” 

“You’re a great dad and an amazing husband. Can I take you out for sushi? Will you wear something sexy for me?” 

“I did get some new khakis.” 

“Say no more.”

They both chuckled at their little play and relaxed together on the couch, inhaling the moment, and separately remembering to savor it because they’d been through hard, and they knew this would sustain them if it ever came back around. 

“You should leave some room for the Lord,” Lexa complained as the gaggle of teens walked into the house. 

“Stop. They’re adorable.  You’re adorable, Mr. and Mrs. Woods,” Clarke insisted, nudging her girlfriend who just rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself. 

“Thank you, Clarke,” Mrs. Woods nodded, giving her daughter a face. “We were just setting up a date night. You two have really reminded us how important it is to go on dates.” 

“We do have some good dates,” Clarke nodded as Lexa leaned against her pretending to be bored of the conversation. “What are you going to do for date night?” 

“There’s a new sushi place downtown. Dim lighting, expensive drinks. Really romantic stuff,” Mr. Woods explained. “Take notes, daughter.” 

“Going to wear those new khakis you’ve been saving?” 

“Maybe a sweater to go with it,” he nodded. 

“Nice.” 

Clarke looked between them and saw so much family resemblance she was curious if she would be dating a clone in fifteen years. She wasn’t against it. The love between Lexa’s parents was easy and palpable. She was against the khakis though. 

“We will leave you to your movie,” Mrs. Woods walked around the living room, following her husband toward the bedroom to change. “But we’ll be back soon. And no funny business.”

“Like what?” Luna finally piped up. 

“If you have to ask, I’m truly not worried,” the mother called down the hall. 

Clarke snorted and Luna shot her a look. Lexa didn’t notice, just let her girlfriend drag her toward the garage in search of more stuff. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“I think this is what your mom meant by funny business,” Clarke gulped as hands slid around her waist. Lips moved to her neck and she gripped shoulders. The cold of the wall made her back shiver. 

“Don’t tell Luna. Can’t have her figuring out what it is. She’s so pure,” Lexa explained as Clarke tugged on her shirt. 

“And you’re so experienced?” 

“I’m getting there.” 

The light in the bathroom let Clarke finally take the time to appreciate a shirtless girlfriend. The window was cracked and they could hear the murmuring and laughter of their friends outside as the second movie started. She ran her hands over Lexa’s chest and smiled, because she wasn’t wrong. Lexa was growing bolder and it was torture. 

“The movie was amazing. You should be proud.” 

“I am. Thank you for your help.” 

“Anytime.” 

Clarke pulled at her girlfriend again, settling her between her legs, squeezing from her seat on the bathroom counter. She moaned slightly at the way Lexa’s back felt under her fingertips, and how her mouth felt on her own. It felt like being lost in a fog or tornado, but not wanting to escape it. 

Somehow, she undid Lexa’s pants. Somehow. She couldn’t remember how, just that Lexa’s stomach clenched at the contact and she pulled away slightly. 

“Is this--”

“Yes,” Lexa gulped, kissing her again, even more eagerly than before. 

Clarke let her hand slip lower until Lexa moaned against her ear and arched slightly. Lexa cupped her cheek and her neck and hitched her breath. 

“This is okay?” 

“Mmmm,” Lexa nodded, slightly dazed. 

Without stopping, Clarke moved her fingers, chasing the little hitches in her girlfriend’s breath, chasing the sloppiness that Lexa now moved against her. 

The door echoed as someone pounded on it and Lexa tensed as Clarke froze. 

“Hey, uh, I really--” Gus’ voice boomed on the other side. 

“For the love of God use the one upstairs,” Lexa called out.

The garage door opened, signaling a return of parents who specifically mentioned that all forms of funny business such as being fingered in the bathroom should be strictly avoided and Lexa groaned as Clarke moved quickly, sliding off of the counter after retrieving her hand. She paused only for a second before buttoning her pants and tugging on her shirt. 

Despite the quickness they moved, Clarke caught how puffy Lexa’s lips were and how messy her hair now seemed and looked in the mirror at herself just as quickly, hoping that pulling her hair up would hide some of the evidence. 

“Thanks,” Lexa complained as Clarke opened the door and Gus came in. 

“Hey, I saw your parents lights in the driveway. You’re welcome for the warning, and you can tell me about it later.” 

Clarke was already nearly back outside, giving Lexa an apologetic smile. Her parents appeared a second later after Gus closed the bathroom door, nudging her away. 

“Hey kiddo,” her father boasted. “How’d the movie go?” 

“Real good,” she nodded, skating toward the door to rejoin the group. “I’ll show you later. You guys are heading upstairs right? We’ll keep it down. Night. Love you!” 

The pair stood in the kitchen and watched her escape before looking at each other and shaking their heads. 

“I really wanted to see it,” Tim sighed. “Maybe she’ll actually show me tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure she will, darling,” his wife promised, patting his shoulder. 

The bathroom door opened and a hulking boy walked through sheepishly, the one they recognized from Anya’s tenure in the same high school. Somehow he had gotten bigger. 

“Looking good, Woodses,” he gave them a huge smile. “Thanks for having us over.” 

“Anytime, honey,” Mrs. Woods called as he escaped. 

“That kid was huge,” Tim whispered. “Thank goodness he’s Lexa’s friend.” 

“No wonder she made us buy extra snacks.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was too early to get out of bed, even for a hike, but Lexa found herself unable to sleep any longer than she already had. Instead, she just laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling, with the sliver of light cutting across it from the lamp outside. 

Her head raced. It always seemed to race. Even when she was in the middle of everything, she felt the spinning sensation of life happening too quickly and she was unable to get a grip on it. She desperately wanted a grip on it. 

There was a story inside of her that was marinating. She wasn’t sure what it was going to be, but she could feel it, and it made her anxious. She was ready to write it, whenever it was ready to be written. It made her antsy, with her head constantly humming beneath the daily activity she engaged in, just waiting to ding, and she felt like she was watching the seconds tick down on the microwave and she was starving. 

Costia had praised her work, and Lexa felt like there was a little bit of pride attached to the fact that she would occasionally give criticisms on a college film students work. She enjoyed their back and forth. She enjoyed having someone to talk to creatively without the pressure that Luna came with, especially when their visions often differed more and more lately. 

College applications were next falls problem. 

What concerned Lexa most was the impending summer before her senior year. 

She had a girlfriend, and that was wonderful. She had a girlfriend who stuck her hands down her pants and that was new but incredibly amazing. She had a girlfriend who she would get to hang out with, and her parents were generally okay with her readjusting her priorities away from nine extra curricular activities. 

But for the life of her, Lexa couldn’t understand the spinning sensation. 

Maybe it was finals. 

Maybe it was the overwhelming desire to make everything stop. 

Maybe it was the fact that in nine months her entire world was vastly different, and she hadn’t had a chance to come to terms with it, good or bad. 

Maybe she was getting used to being happy, in ways she never thought possible. 

It was very early, but the sun was starting to come up, changing the darkness to pale grey, and Lexa looked at her phone and saw the picture of her and Clarke on it, and she smiled to herself, because somehow, ever since she went to that diner and got a cherry coke, she felt like the entire trajectory of her life changed. 

Her alarm went off finally, and Lexa silenced it before sending off a ‘good morning, beautiful’ to her girlfriend before getting ready for the hike with her dad. 

Maybe this was how it could always be, she wondered. 

XXXXXXXXXX

For some reason, Clarke had found herself doing her own thinking. It wasn’t as early, but it was still a random moment of thinking about everything in her life and trying to get a grip on what was happening, because the entirety of it felt like holding water. 

There was a cold front that existed that Clarke was almost grateful for between herself and her mother, both avoiding each other with huge success. Still, Clarke spent time with her father when she could, developing a schedule and adhering to it. If she kept to strict hours, her mother would know when to not be there. It was a symbiotic distrust that worked well if everyone kept to it. 

But despite it, and even worse, she felt like she couldn’t stand to be in her own house, dreading the hours spent their, even asleep. The taste of freedom she had with Lexa, the escape across the country, it was too wonderful and too delicious, and it ruined the stale normalcy of her current predicament. 

And that was how she found herself at Lexa’s house in the mid-morning, knowing full well that her girlfriend was halfway up a mountain. It didn’t matter. She wanted to leave her house, even if that meant fabricating an errand of dropping off a textbook that Lexa wouldn’t need until the week. It was all she wanted to do, disinterested in seeing her friends and counting down the hours until she had a shift at the diner. 

 She only hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. 

“Hey honey, Lexa’s not here. She went up to creek trail with her dad. I think they’re doing some trail running or something as equally atrocious sounding,” Mrs. Woods smiled as she leaned against the door. 

“I know, I just wanted to drop this off,” Clarke held up the stack of binders, notebook, and book that Lexa had let her borrow to study for a history final. 

She must have been busy, Clarke realized, feeling guilty for her intrusion and selfishness. There was music playing throughout the house, melting sweetly into the air. It smelled like cleaner, like she’d been working through a list of chores now that the other two were out of the house. And here Clarke was, standing with a pile of junk in her her arms. 

Lexa had her mother’s eyes. They were pale green and amber, mixing between the two depending on the weather or the season or what they were wearing or how they were feeling. Clarke looked away as she pushed some messy hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She was wearing an old concert t-shirt from some band Clarke had never heard of, but was clearly well-loved, with a bleach spot near the hem and a hole tattering the collar. Another hole had been sewn at some point near the sleeve. 

Mrs. Woods pushed her glasses into her hair and reached for the books after searching the girl’s face on her doorstep. 

“I was just going to make something for lunch. Would you like to join me?” There was a moment of hesitation. “It’s too quiet without those two running around.” 

“I don’t want to impose.” 

“Come on. I want to hear what you thought about your trip to CMU.” 

Clarke smiled softly to herself before trailing along behind the already retreating figure. She kicked off her shoes and closed the door, climbing the half set of stairs toward the kitchen. 

She had been cleaning. The floor was still slightly wet and the mop and bucket rested near a corner while the record player was up louder than normal and a basket of clothes to be folded sat on the couch. The cupboards were wide open and the fridge was nearly emptied, but still, Mrs. Woods dug through it for the fake lunch she was allegedly preparing for them. 

“It was so nice having all of you kids over the other night for the movies. Lexa showed us the next day and it came out like a real movie. It blew my mind.” 

“Yeah, she’s like super talented,” Clarke agreed as she took a seat on the stool opposite. “I remember the first time she showed me something she did and I had expected like a youtube clip or something but it was like a short film. And then she showed me scripts. Like she writes scripts. And reads scripts. For fun.” 

“I know. She’s a huge nerd in almost every sense of the word,” Mrs. Woods sighed but smiled, pulling out some bread and fixings for a peanut butter jelly sandwich. “Movies were like an escape for her when Aden was sick. They worked their way through the entire top 100 films of all time list and then started making their own. She filmed the entire thing, from date of diagnosis to the day after the funeral.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Strawberry or grape?” 

“Oh, uh, grape please,” Clarke nodded and accepted a glass of iced tea slid across to her. 

“Lexa is a good kid,” she decided for herself as she began to spread peanut butter on some bread. “She’s happy, right?” 

Clarke only met her eyes when she realized she was being looked at. 

“I think so,” the cheerleader agreed. 

The mother smiled and went back to her work. 

“How was the trip for you?” she ventured, licking her thumb between spreading the jam. 

“Honestly?” 

“Of course.” 

“A bit scary. Amazing. Fun. All of it rolled up into one thing.” 

“College can be a scary time. But I’m sure your parents were excited you were looking?” 

“My moms only been on my case since I was twelve,” Clarke shrugged. “Thanks,” she smiled and accepted the sandwich. 

“Can’t say I haven’t been on Lexa’s as well. But I’ve come to see how driven she is and I have a bit of faith. You’re a driven girl. And smart. You’ll do well.” 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“Well the only alternative is to stay here forever.” 

“Yeah I don’t want that.” 

“Would it be ridiculous for us to move across the country if Lexa got into school with Anya?” 

“Maybe a little bit. But also kind of sweet.” 

“Northeast, Northwest. What’s the difference?” she mumbled with a cheek full of food. “All it does is rain anyway.” 

Clarke snorted slightly and took another bite while watching the mother across from her lean against the counter. The shirt cut right to the edge of her jeans and when she moved skin appeared. Clarke found herself incredibly impressed yet again by the genes in that family and wondered what Lexa would look like in her mid-forties. 

There was such a stark difference between Lexa’s mother and her own. Clarke could almost see the life drained from her own mom, while Mrs. Woods felt fresh, as if she were just figuring it out and found contentment and ease within herself. Perhaps it was because she was over the pain, or at least removed from it, while Clarke’s family was in the thick of a never-ending onslaught. Clarke kind of hoped that was the case, because maybe there was hope. 

“Any idea what you want to study?” 

“Neurological research.” 

Beth stopped chewing for an instant and looked at the girl across from her with a new tinge of admiration. 

“You know, you don’t have to try to cure a disease to do something that would make your father proud.” 

“I know. I just always liked that stuff anyway. My mom wanted me to follow in her footsteps, but I don’t really want to be a doctor. I don’t want those hours forever.” 

“Understandable.” 

“I haven’t told anyone this yet.” 

“I won’t tell,” she grinned as she took another sip of her iced tea. 

They sat in the kitchen quietly and enjoyed their lunch together. Both knew it was an escape and both were okay with it. Clarke had come to know Mrs. Woods over the past six months and had come to like her and enjoy seeing her. She was quickly learning that adults were incredibly flawed beyond compare, but there were ways to grow from it. 

“I hope you don’t mind me telling you a story, but just bear with me while I talk about nothing in particular, and especially not about you,” Mrs. Woods finally broke the quiet as she watched the cheerleader nibble around the crust. “When I was young, I left high school about your age. I was going to model and follow around rock stars and such.”

“Seriously?” 

“It’s not that farfetched.” 

“Kind of.” 

She ignored the comment and rolled her head so it rested on her shoulder wistfully. 

“My parents didn’t really care. They were really stuck in their own lives, just going through the motions. Never took much notice of me. I think it’s why I do care so much about my daughter wasting her life. I lasted about eighteen months before I broke down and got my GED. Immediately got into college and the rest is history.” 

“What happened though, in the eighteen months?” 

“I was a waitress and sunday school teacher and I did about six gigs, got paid for two of them,” she chuckled to herself. “Made some great friends. Squatted in a two bedroom apartment with six other girls. But never once did I feel like I could go anywhere else. I couldn’t go home. I didn’t have any other family.” 

“So how did you do it?” 

“Luck.” 

Clarke shook her head. 

“It’s true. Those other six girls weren’t as lucky. Let’s see. Two are dead. One is in jail. One’s heavy into drugs and gets clean every few years to check in with me. And the other two are off in the midwest somewhere. They hate their husbands and kids and lives.” 

“I don’t want to be a model.”

“That’s not my point, darling,” Mrs. Woods said as she grabbed the plate with the crusts on it. “I know you’re going to graduate. I know you can be a researcher or an astronaut or a teacher or a plumber if you really wanted to.” 

Clarke blushed slightly at how nonchalant the praise came at her. 

“Lexa told me about some of what is going on at your house. I’m sorry that you have to deal with it. I went chasing problems but yours just settled in. But no matter what,” she craned her neck, waiting for Clarke to meet her eyes. “Our door is always open, no matter what you need. No matter what would ever happen between you two. No matter,” she repeated, reiterating it fiercely, “no matter anything at all, anytime. I don’t care if I hear from you twenty years from now. I mean it because I didn’t have that. I clearly beat the odds of my housemates. But barely.” 

Clarke looked away and nodded. 

“I mean it.”

“That’s very kind.” 

“It’s the least we can do for each other.”

“Thank you.” 

“If you don’t take me up on it, and you get into trouble, I will actually beat you.” 

Clarke chuckled and shook her head. 

“Come on and help me dust. You’re young. You can climb the ladder.”

NEXT

[karanna1]

AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for. 

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder. 

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it. 

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.” 

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...” 

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone... 

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words. 

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely. 

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away. 

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.” 

At last she admits it. 

In the quietest whisper. 

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her. 

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully.  “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fic #supercorp fanfiction #dont read this #im sorry #it was a rambling stream of conscious moment

[zevexsii]

eli clark x reader sfw + nsfw hcs (gn s/o)

obligatory mention of how much i LOVE this man

cut for length and nsfw content

sfw

mom friend energy. eli probably has some of the healthiest behavior, at least comparatively, considering the rest of the manor is an absolute trash fire(loving). 

not saying that eli hasn’t witnessed his fair share of trouble! there’s a lot that he has to deal with- mainly guilt, considering he has a fiance and… feelings for someone else. any sort of relationship would happen very slowly, and you would have to be very open and honest- communication is absolutely key. 

eli lowkey worries that his feelings for you are temporary, seeing as he has no communication with gertrude, the next thought he has is that he’s using you in place of her. it’s terrifying for both of you. 

he isn’t, though! it’s definitely hard to stop thinking about; eli can tell when you’re upset or worried (part of his abilities is being able to perceive the emotions of those around him, to an extent), so please sit down with him and talk it out. eli’s anxiety rises with yours, and it pains him when he can’t comfort you :((

eli would like to continue wearing his engagement ring if you're alright with that. the entire arrangement is complicated and needless to say, eli has a lot of feelings about the subject.

moving on! eli's favourite forms of intimacy involve physical intimacy and words of affirmation <3 i hc that seeing through brooke rose saps a lot of energy out of both eli and brooke, so eli likes to keep his arm linked in yours, even if it isn’t all about having a guide. so pda… but not really? he isn’t opposed to sweet kisses on the forehead or cheek in public, just nothing big. 

eli kind of zones out a lot?? you’ll be in the mess hall, and eli will abruptly lean his head on your shoulder, no matter what you’re doing, humming contentedly under his breath. he’s not trying to stop you from eating, no, not at all! eli just has airhead tendencies and you love him for it. 

if you tend to overwork yourself, or just have trouble taking care of yourself in general, eli won’t be having any of that. since you can’t prioritize yourself, he’ll have to do it for you. 

when eli goes to bed or notices that you haven’t eaten yet, he’s right at your side, gently tapping your shoulder and handing you a glass of water or offering to bring you something up from mess hall. eli understands if you’re working on a deadline, but it’s still concerning enough for him to drag you off for a short nap or two. 

eli is the best cuddler around. lay down with him once, he’ll be pretzeled around you in no time- you’ll never want to get up and that’s the point. he’s not really picky about positions, but his favourites involve ones where he can gently run his fingers along the outline of your facial features (if you’re alright with that, of course). his smooth fingers ghost the outline of your lips, and eli’s smile outshines the sun.

he isn’t the best cook, but he’s more than willing to help out or learn! it’ll be a little more difficult, but eli isn’t opposed to trying things that make you happy or help out.

it may not be too noticeable under eli’s thick robes, but he’s got a really soft tummy and is pretty chubby! his cheeks are real round too- hold them and he’ll lean into your palms, nuzzling gently into your touch. 

pull him onto your lap or hold him!! please don’t let him pull the “i’ll crush you,”. if he does, simply shush him and rest your arm around his waist, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head every now and then. he’ll be asleep in no time. eli goes soft if you want to hold him on your lap or vice versa. when he’s got you in his arms, your head nestled in the crook of his neck, there are no words for the warm, protective feeling he gets in his chest.

he prefers holding you most of the time, but if eli’s craving reassurance and comfort, your arms are his hideaway. 

eli is an oblivious petname enthusiast (going both ways), his favourites being dear, darling, and love. hearing the soft tone of your warm words alone makes his heart melt- regardless of what you’re saying. 

another thing that makes eli indescribably soft is seeing you interact with brooke rose. if eli’s companion isn’t with him, it’s common for miss rose to be found perched near you, either being fed or keeping a careful watch over your shoulder. 

brooke also keeps a close eye on you during matches! she knows eli holds you in high priority. if you’ve perfectly timed a calibration or kited the hunter for an impressive run, you’ll hear a faint hoot of support off in the distance as brooke flies back to eli. 

eli is normally very confident in his qualities as a partner, but every now and then, something completely throws him off and into a puddle of self-doubt and crippling fear of inadequacy. during these times, eli needs a lot of one-on-one attention and verbal reassurance. 

he’s also sort of obtained the role of “therapist friend” among the manor inhabitants and sometimes finds himself bending over backward to help others. this trait is exposed in the way that eli will try to brush over the severity of his emotions and problems when he vents to you. 

make sure to interrupt him there and encourage him to discuss things thoroughly. he’ll be truly grateful that you noticed. 

eli really enjoys couple baths :) he’s a little insecure about his body at first, but reassure him, or give him privacy to join you in the sea of bubbles and sweet-smelling oils chosen specifically for their relaxing aromas. 

nsfw

eli is a very soft lover. rather vanilla, but isn’t opposed to indulging you in any of your lighter kinks. he’d rather not touch anything that requires a safeword. sex with eli is about love and pleasure, going both ways. 

big switch energy and will take whatever role his partner needs for the time being. eli’s a little hesitant about initiating, but he’s stellar when it comes to picking up on seemingly minuscule hints- the lingering touches and hazy look in your eyes when you look his way. it drives him insane, but eli waits for the safety of a  private space to nestle himself close to you, his hands slipping lower and lower before one of you finally plants your lips on the others.

as far as libidos go, eli’s sort of casually horny all the time. he’s not going to pressure you into doing anything prematurely though, don’t worry- it takes a while for him to even consider having sex with you, and even longer for the worst of the guilt to subside. 

loves it when you ride him. especially after a difficult match; eli is sore and tired, all he wants is your warmth and a reminder that you adore him. 

seeing as his sight definitely isn’t the best, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to bring brooke rose into this, eli would prefer a more vocal partner. whimper about how good he feels as you bounce up and down on his cock. eli lives to have you go to town on him, using him completely for your own pleasure, milking him for all he’s worth, while your mindless whimpers give away how close you are to cumming. 

eli has an obvious praise kink. worship his body or murmur out your need for him, and his round face flushes completely, precum drizzling from the tip of his dick. he’s decently sized too, roughly fifteen cm in length and twelve cm in girth.

not too fond of oral- receiving, that is. it feels too harried and impersonal for eli to be satisfied with it completely. the only time he’ll ask you to suck him off is when he’s completely exhausted or he’s jealous. on the other hand, one of eli’s favourite places to be is between your legs, caged in by your shaking thighs and driven on by your gasps and moans of pleasure. eli is completely enamoured by all parts of your body, but your thighs are one of his greatest weaknesses. 

when eli tops, he prefers missionary. that way, he’s got the sight of your beautiful face pinned down beneath him burned into his brain, your mutual devotion to each other immortalized in indescribable ecstasy. he has to be as close to you as he can get, too. 

without realizing it, eli begs for you quite often. neither of you really see it as begging, but either way, eli’s breathless pleas of “y/n, please, i need you,” send you reeling. 

eli’s pace is slow and sweet, gaining momentum as he reaches climax and/or you signal him to speed up.

can go for a max of three rounds. eli’s massive creampie kink is activated when he pulls out; the sight of his seed leaking from your soaked hole leaves him seeing stars. most times this leads to an impromptu second, or even third round if you’re up for it.

if you’re feeling a fair bit more dominant, eli is completely fine with penetration. he’ll be extra vocal if you tease him lightly while you prep him. every curl of your fingers inside of him coaxes breathy whines and desperate groans from eli’s heaving chest, and he wouldn’t have it any other way <3

interlock your fingers with his while you milk eli’s prostate, his chest heaving with heavy pants and moans in perfect tandem to the rocking of your hips. remind him how beautiful he is, totally full of you and lost in every slight shift of your cock or strap-on. 

eli won’t bring it up, but it becomes pretty obvious early on that he’s super into overstimulation. you’ve corrupted his thoughts entirely, every sense has been washed over by mindless requests of “more, more, more, please, and oh god i can’t take it anymore, y/n, please-,”

yeah, you’ve completely destroyed him. 

aftercare is tender and sweet, just like eli. depending on who’s subbed, eli will softly work shampoo into your hair, letting you lean back against him, or you’ll gently run a washcloth over eli’s back, applying pressure to any residual tightness in his shoulders. afterward, offer to grab some snacks or water from the kitchens and crawl into bed with your exhausted lover, snoozing off to whispered praises and lovely nothings.

#catch me adding ANOTHER character to the comfort list #eli clark x reader #idv #identity v #identity v x reader #idv x reader headcanons #idv x reader #identity v x reader headcanons #eli clark #eli clark idv #idv seer #identity v seer #idv seer x reader #identity v seer x reader #eli clark x reader headcanons #seer x reader headcanons

[nevertheless-moving]

thanks again to @dykerory and @willowcrowned for this genius au. this is an incomplete collection of very specific set of headcanons/daydreams i had about a tangential version of your au that made me emotional in the middle of the woods. whenever you feel the time is right, i’m very eager to hear your og version on the ‘but obi-wan, tho!’, because i admittedly pushed this one’s resolution really far chronologically because i wanted batman to be involved.

continuation from here

note: my understanding of dcu is as sporadically informed as my understanding of the gffa. 

newly graduated clark kent gets his first journalism job and starts settling more and more into the superman thing. the rest of the justice league has been around but his entrance onto the scene is the one that really inspires the various heroes to actually start coordinating to deal with the weirdness magnet that is dcu Earth. Clark is in his early 20s. Anakin is in his late 30s.

He’s been living on Earth, without the force, for nearly 2/3rds of his life. He has a close knit circle of friends who were kind to him even when they thought he was just a weird and crazy emo cult victim (the gradual increase of public encounters with aliens and superpowers sparks some awkward apologies, Anakin at 38 just waves his friends off, smiling and changing the subject, neither confirming nor denying his high school ramblings of spaceships and magic. it doesn’t really change anything).

He lives an hour’s drive from smallville, and runs a successful auto shop. people travel from pretty far to check out some of his more wild and specialized motorcycle abominations. makes enough money selling them to rich idiots to fund his free auto-class and auto-repair programs for impoverished communities.

It took a while but he eventually came around to the idea of helping people without physical force (ironically, this is happening around the same time Clark is coming to the realization that he can help people with physical force). Generally respected as a pillar of the community. When people start to realize how profoundly weird he is as a person in a number of inexplicable ways, someone will generally pull them aside and quietly whisper that he was in a cult at a child, no one really knows much about it except that it’s what inspired his anti-modern-slavery work, which is a little telling. Not married. Was in a long-term relationship for like 9 years. It didn’t end well but no-one knows the details.

Has several cats. 

He’s- wistful but settled. He’s been through a lot of therapy. He meditates every morning and night, clearing his mind and examining his emotions in the way Obi-Wan taught him. He thinks Obi-Wan would be proud of him. He know his Mom would be.

Once he gets used to the idea, he never really stops loving the concept of learning just because. Duel bachelors degree in in african american history and american literature, masters in engineering, masters in astrophysics a phd in theoretical physics, another phd in medieval folklore. He’s worked a lot of jobs. 

He was already pretty well versed in astronavigation back at the temple. Over the course of his time on earth, he gets more educated in earth astronomy and physics. With is increased knowledge, his theory for ‘how did i get here’ shifts from slight hyperdrive miscalculation, to big hyperdrive miscalculation, to some sort of hyperlane incident. he realizes that none of the stars he knows are familiar in any NASA database. He must be beyond wildspace, which helps him let go of the last bit of hurt he felt that Obi-Wan never found him.

Then he really learns physics- and- light doesn’t exactly work like that right? He thought it was just primitive Earth understanding but... he gets a phd more or less accidentally, trying and failing to disprove that the speed of life is constant constant.

Get’s another even more accidentally, explaining how alternate universes might form if we assume slightly different universal constants. He publishes his thesis anonymously around the same time metas are becoming a household term, and at least one science journalist speculates on it and how alternate universes might explain the increasing prevalence of wildly different superpowers. He doesn’t claim credit for the honorary diploma awarded to the unknown theorist- he doesn’t want to risk drawing any attention to him and by extension Clark, who’s alien differences are far more of the ‘military experiment interesting’ variety then his.

He stops tinkering with Clark’s ship. He finally gets how it works. Now that he realizes how FTL travel has to work in this universe, tinkering with the mechanical generation and harnessing of the massive quantities of energy necessary to do is startlingly familiar. But it doesn’t matter. No matter how far and fast he travels, he’s never going to be able to get back to the life he used to know. 

Perhaps this is what being the chosen one actually means- he’s meant to live a life without the force, so that when he returns to it in death he’ll be able to somehow...educate? the force? maybe?

Ok, he’s not great at the metaphysical spiritual side of things, but he does accept that going back is out of his control, and he’s doing good here, even if it’s not galaxy altering.

Despite all the therapy, he never doubts that his early life was real. He has his saber and deep, deep down he can feel a spark in the kyber. He can’t do anything with it, but it’s there. There’s also pieces of the utter wreck that was his ship in the cellar, next to the sleek unblemished pod that Clark arrived in. Shortly before Clark becomes Superman, he asks for his help in melting down his old ship to make unearthly alloys. 

He’s not surprised when Clark tells him he met a ‘real’ ‘magic’ user- it stands to reason that considering how relatively easy it is to convert energy from one form to another in this universe (Clark can fly), at least one kind would bend to sentient willpower in a similar way as the force does.

It’s still a little nervewracking showing his lightsaber to someone new for the first time in a decade. Zantana scrutinizes, bewildered. 

“There is some sort of power locked within, but it’s unfamiliar to me,” she admits finally. “I could probably brute force it and force the energy to release itself, but it would likely destroy the container.” Anakin politely refuses. 

Later, after the justice league’s formation, Clark mentions to J’onn that he has a friend who might be able to work on his ship. J’onn is extremely doubtful when he’s brought to a bizarre autoshop in the midwest that looks half-like a roadside attraction. Anakin sighs and digs his hands into the guts of the craft, muttering incomprehensibly and yelling at clark to melt down some pieces from the special scrap pile. A few days later he explains the patches he’s done to an impressed J’onn. When he asks how a human came to learn such things, he’s absently informed that,

“I used to work in a junkshop in Tatooine. All sorts of ship parts came through.”

“I’m unfamiliar with this world.”

“Tell you what, if you ever meet anyone who’s heard it of it, send them my way, and I’ll make your next repair free.”

“Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have any earth money...”

“Ugh, of course you don’t. it’s cool, capitalism sucks anyway and everyone’s entitled to free transportation, regardless of the area they happen to live. I do ask that if you can’t pay for the repairs that you spend an equivalent number of hours either attending one of my free auto classes, or volunteer at a community-led charities of your choice, here I’ll get you a pamphlet-”

So the Martian Manhunter becomes a weekly volunteer at a Midwestern Food Waste Reclamation Facility. J’onn J’onzz ends up becoming Anakin Skywalker’s friend well before he becomes comes truly comfortable around Kal-El. For a telepath, 39 year old Anakin’s Jedi orderly mind is a soothing relief.

(again, Anakin has spent far more time meditating on Earth then he ever did at the temple. Before all this, spent five years dutifully memorizing the Jedi way even as he struggled to live up it’s basic practices. For the first few years on earth, religiously practicing every meditation technique Obi-Wan ever taught him, thinking obsessively about the philosophies he never had time to really process, is just a desperate attempt to reconnect with the force, prove himself worthy of it. But even after he gives up on ever touching the force again, he keeps up the practice, he can’t release his emotions exactly, but he does find peace. The tendency to stop mid-rant to earnestly pronounce made up zen bullshit and then sit quietly for an hour before picking up on his tirade again as though there was no interruption is one of the things many things people find profoundly weird about him)

Kal-El doesn’t stop asking new aliens and dimensional travelers if they’ve ever heard of Coruscant, or Hutts, or the Jedi Order. Anakin might have given up, but Superman remembers his older brother scrubbing away his own tears to focus on helping Clark calm down enough to touch the floor again. The more the Kryptonian’s powers developed in alarming ways, the more Anakin set aside talk of missing his home galaxy. Anakin might have claimed it wasn’t like that, but Clark was determined to take every chance his increasingly weird life threw at him, no matter how vanishingly small.

In the middle of his first battle with Braniac, Clark starts insulting his incomplete database. The world collector pauses, demanding a more precise explanation. Clark complies, giving his best technical description of Coruscant’s cityscape, Tatooine’s binary star system, and so on. Braniac is so distracted that Superman recovers completely from his kryptonite poisoning and easily saves the day.

Neither the lantern corp or the denizens of the neutral zone have the answers. Superman doesn’t mention it it Anakin, but he never stops looking and listening.

“How did you even meet that guy?” Flash asks curiously after stopping to say hello on one of their after work laps of the country. 

“Aliens among us support group,” Kal-El responds deadpan. 

“Oh. Wait, what? He’s an alien? I thought he was from the future or something! You’re messing with me. No way that’s a thing. How many people are in the support group? This is a joke, right?”

“Sorry, most of them aren’t out and I don’t want to violate their privacy- a lot of them have high profile jobs. How do you think I met J’onn?”

“SUPES I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW YOU’VE GOTTA STOP”

Anakin is just sort of vaguely known by a solid chunk of the super community as ‘that one midwestern zen space mechanic’ and no one really questions it because everyone’s life has just gotten so goddamn weird. A few of them know he used to be a space wizard of some kind. Space wizards now being a regular hazard of life on earth, no one has reason to doubt this, and it’s as good an explanation as any for Anakin’s general vibe.

well. almost no one doubts this. Batman does not simply accept Anakin’s general bullshittery without carefully investigating and drawing his own conclusions. He does not share these with anyone.

But one day Clark- this is well after Superman became Kal-El to him, and not long after Kal-El tells him to call him Clark- comes up to him and asks for his help finding about an alternate universe. Knowing and dreading where this is going, Batman stalls,

“Shouldn’t you be asking one of the league members who regularly travels between universes?”

“I have, over the years,” Clark admits, awkwardly scuffing a boot on the floor of the cave. “But no one’s familiar with the exact one I’m looking for, and I thought since you’re a detective, and also one of the smartest people I know, you might be able to help me...”

“You’re an investigator yourself, and you can survive the vacuum of space,” Bruce shoots back flatly. “I’ve told you before Gotham is my priority, and this has ‘personal project’ all over it.”

“Come on, B, please,” Superman pleads, trailing Batman around the cave like an overgrown puppy. “In a few months it will have been 30 years! He’s my brother! Just let me see the research you’ve already done!”

“Who says I’ve already done research on your brother?”

Clark shoots him a look. And Bruce concedes the point with a grunt.

“I’ll need need to talk with him first,” Bruce finally concedes. “Bring him by the cave. Take the-”

“Take the tunnel entrance, I know, I know,” Clark agrees with a grin. “This doesn’t mean he’s authorized to know your secret identity. Thanks Bruce, this means a lot. I’ll ask him tomorrow about his schedule.”

Superman flies off and Batman scrubs his face with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulls up Anakin’s file on the main monitor. Bruce honestly respects and likes the man, as much as he respects and likes anyone who’s not family. He admires his sense his style, appreciates his upgrades to the batmobile, and is impressed by both this civil rights work and his additions to the scientific community.

That doesn’t mean he’s not convinced that Anakin’s brother is a bit insane. Again, he’s not judging! He dresses like a bat to scare random henchmen and beat up actual demigods! He wishes his rogues gallery was as capable of directing their ptsd-inspired delusions and staggering intellects towards such productive pursuits!

Bruce was already in quiet awe of the Kent’s ability to raise an outrageously superpowered being without blowing up a chunk of the country; their success in derailing a supervillian origin story just puts him over the edge. He stares at the three most likely profiles he’s pulled together. Christen Jones, from a negligent family, death certificate filled out suspicously sloppily at age 3. Earl Lucas, went missing at age 9, both parents dead in a violent assault. And Jake Hayden, who at age 5 disappeared along with the rest of his family in a seismic accident later linked to Luthercorp.

Anyone of them could have suffered on the streets for years and coped by establishing an elaborate fantasy world, aided by self medication, only to eventually be picked up by the Kent’s and start healing. Certainly Anakin had the intellect to create worlds in his mind. All his rogues were smart enough to create their own little realities in their heads- it doesn’t mean they were actually reachable. 

Unfortunately Anakin had a Kryptonian younger brother who was determined to actually find the space wizard knight homeworld, even as the 'Jedi’ in question had slowly moved away his reliance on the delusion as an adult. Batman really didn’t see any way bringing up his conclusions to Anakin or Clark could possibly be helpful, and so many alien allies had a ‘If you find about the Jedi please contact Kal-El of Krypton on Earth’ pamphlet that it would be excruciatingly awkward to try and discretely correct anyone.

Bruce was not looking forward to this conversation.

#star wars #star wars au #dc #crossover #batman #anakin skywalker #corn boy anakin au

[cursestothemoon]

I Need You To Kiss Me

Bill Weasley x Gender Neutral!Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1847

This is rather short and unedited but i thought it was cute so i hope you guys like ittt ❤️

***

Bill watched you with a look of interest, the bright yellow accents of your house robes seemed to glow in the morning stream of sunlight that entered the great hall. You laughed at something Charlie was saying, his hands coming out to mimic the flap of what Bill could only assume was a dragon. It was his favorite part of the day, watching you talk to his brother. Unlike usual sibling rivalry, Bill was rarely ever jealous of other men, especially his own brother, and Charlie was well aware of his brother's feelings for the giggly Hufflepuff.

Charlie Weasley attempted to make a shadow puppet of a dragon, the look of determination and the awkward hand gestures made you erupt into a fit of giggles making Charlie shove your shoulder. You two had met in the year prior, you had been asked to be the study partner of a boy in the year below you, a Gryffindor nonetheless. Charlie was the one who walked into the library the next day, glowing ginger curls sat messily atop his head and freckles littered his face and neck. He was also ridiculously tall and burly, but his goofy smile and energetic wave was enough to prove he’d be good company.

You two had been friends since then, and as if it couldn’t get any better Charlie’s older brother Bill would often come by the library to meet with his brother after the study sessions. Bill was overtly handsome, he had the same red hair- though it fell in a more relaxed wave and was just long enough for the bottom layers to brush his shoulders and the top layers his ears- and freckles that kissed the tip of his nose and scattered across his cheeks. Confidence oozed out his pores like honey, Bill Weasley was the most intimidatingly gorgeous man you had ever seen.

“Oi, Bill! What about it then?”

Bill turned toward the sound, coming face to face with Calvin Clark, a fellow Gryffindor and quidditch teammate. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking to be filled on what he missed while he was doing his morning ogling.

“You’re not still hung up on that puff, are you?” Leonard Throndson asked, another teammate of Bill’s.

Bill chuckled, moving to fully face his pestering friends, “And would that be so bad?”

His facial expression was playful, but his tone let the boys know he’d do as he pleased regardless of what they said.

Calvin was the one to answer, “You’ve never been this interested in someone before and not tried asking them out before.”

“Is it cause they’re screwing Charlie?” Leonard asked, mouth fuller than his focus in the conversation.

The question earned him a whack to the back of the head by Bill making him pout and reach a hand up to rub the back of his head.

“They aren’t screwing Charlie, but they are his friend and we don’t really know each other. Reckon, it would be rather awkward if I just up and snogged my brother’s best friend.”

Calvin and Leonard nodded in agreement but Bill continued, “Maybe I’ll ask Charlie about them…”

“That’s great and all Bill, but back to my question. You up for a party this Friday?”

A sound of shock came out of Leonard’s, once again, full mouth making Bill and Calvin watch him muscle down the large helping of eggs he had shoveled into his mouth just minutes before.

“You should invite Y/n, then bam! Make your move at the party.”

Bill thought for a moment, considering the plan, “Not a bad idea.”

The boys were then immersed in party planning, Bill feeling his excitement start to simmer at the mere prospect of asking you out.

---

You were leaving transfiguration when Bill Weasley pulled you to the side, a gentle arm guiding the small of your back. Once he came to a stop in front of Professor Binns classroom, you face him with a small smile.

“Everything alright, Bill?”

Bill leaned on the wall next to the door, his shoulder propping him up as he crossed his shins loosely and the best nonchalant expression he could muster fixed on his face.

“There’s a party this Friday in the Gryffindor common room, you should come.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, eyes glancing down at your feet, “Yeah that would be-that would be great I’d love to come.”

“What if I asked you to come with me, as my date.”

You gave him an incredulous look, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find something to say.

He was incredibly forward and his confidence was exhilarating, not at all a turn off, and of course he was devilishly handsome and you’d want nothing more than to be his date but you didn’t talk to him much, and you thought he didn’t really pay attention to his brother’s friend.

“You wanna go on a date with me?”

Bill chuckled, hand coming up to comb back his hair and you felt your knees wobble at the sight, “Yeah, if you’re comfortable with that. If not you should still come to the party.”

“I’d love to come to the party, Bill, as your date.” You smiled, cheeks starting to ache.

“Brilliant, I’ll come pick you up by the barrels at 7:00 Friday night.”

You nodded, words seemingly having escaped you as your eyes followed his retreating frame, only to be startled by another Weasley. Charlie impressively snuck up behind you, successfully making you just when he popped into your eye line.

“What was Bill saying?” He asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Charlie had been made aware of Bill’s plans to ask you to the party by the man himself, and he couldn’t be happier at the thought of his older brother dating his best friend. He thought you two would be a perfect match far before any feelings were realized between Bill and yourself. Bill’s rugged exterior would compliment the softness of your being, and vice versa. Not to mention, you were both rather attractive people and Charlie was sure the sight of you two as a couple would be the talk of the school.

“He just asked if I would want to go to the Gryffindor party with- you knew!” You gasped, hand shooting out to smack Charlie’s shoulder.

He just nodded with a blinding smile, “He may have mentioned wanting to ask you out.”

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to keep yourself from laughing, “Get to class you ninny.”

Charlie jogged off, dodging another hit from you as he chuckled, his laughter being heard through the corridor.

---

Friday night arrived faster than anticipated, and your nerves were barely still intact. You had planned and replanned how the night would go over and over again in your head, praying to any celestial being or otherwise that you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Bill.

6:58

That was the time you left your common room to wait for Bill, only he was already standing by the barrels with a smile playing on his lips.

“Was afraid you’d stood me up.” He laughed, hand moving to intertwine with yours as he led you to the Gryffindor towers.

You averted his gaze as you responded, “I thought about it, but felt bad in the end.”

Bill slapped his hand to his chest and he let out a dramatic gasp, “You’ve wounded me, Y/n. I thought Hufflepuffs were meant to be kind?”

“Guess I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.” You teased, glancing to see Bill looking at you with a smile and eye crinkles that made your heart leap.

“Perfect.”

The party was already in full swing by the time Bill ushered you through the portrait hole, hand finding its way around your waist and unmoving from the spot making unruly butterflies erupt in your belly.

He guided you toward a couch in the middle of the room where Charlie was sitting with a few other quidditch teammates of his and Bill’s that you could vaguely recognize, but they all greeted you with smiles.

“Y/n! How are you? It’s so much nicer seeing you in person rather than hearing Bill describe your dazzling smile or twinkling eyes.” Leonard spoke with such intense honesty, deriving from the few drinks he had before you arrived, it made you giggle as you turned to Bill who was now glaring daggers at Leonard.

“Twinkling eyes huh?” You asked Bill.

He smiled down at you, ignoring the way Leonard was now trying to push his way to the dancefloor, and gave a flirty response, “They are quite the sight, ‘specially when you’re laughing.”

Charlie smiled at the sight of his brother and his best friend getting all cozy on the couch as the party raged on. Bill’s hand resting respectfully on your knee, his thumb rubbing small circles.

It seemed you had melted into the couch and Bill’s side, he had one arm around you while the other rested on your leg that had been pulled to cross over one of his legs. You were completely facing him as you two talked, his hand that was around your shoulder coming up every so often to play with the ends of your hair as he spoke. He was more than happy to talk about his big family, and all his brothers. Charlie you knew, but he told you about Percy, the reserved adult trapped in a boy, then there were Fred and George, the wild twins that had a knack for causing trouble, and Ron, the youngest brother who had a new found love of food after a picky few years. But his smile widened and eyes crinkled with glee as he told you about the youngest, Ginny, his only sister.

“Poor girl’s only going to have brother’s growing up, but I reckon she’ll be able to take care of herself alright, she’s already pretty good at it.” He chuckled thinking of seven year old Ginny telling off Ron for eating her chicken wing.

And you told him about yourself, your family, and your fondest memories all while Bill listened carefully, a fond smile on his face as he watched your eyes twinkle just as he had described to Leonard and Calvin.

Soon your voice started to fade as you, quite literally, lost yourself in his eyes. Both of you leaned closer, at such a slow pace it was almost undetectable but the invisible pull was definitely noticed by you and Bill.

He stopped just before his lips reached yours, his hand coming up to hold your jaw as he looked into your eyes as he spoke, “Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to kiss you right now?”

Words, yet again, escaped you and left a simple, almost desperate, nod as your only answer to his question as you tried to lean closer to his lips.

“I need your words, love.”

Your voice was needy and whispered, “I need you to kiss me, Bill.”

He didn’t hesitate.

#bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x gender neutral! reader #Harry Potter imagines

[aellynera]

Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil​ 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane​ for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination. 

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it. 

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap. 

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow. 

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu.  Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh. 

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

#llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #valentine's fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #samrockweil

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

#whumptober 2020 #no.28 #accidents #batfamily #batfam #duke thomas #dc signal #batman and the signal #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #cassandra cain #black bat #batgirl #orphan #tim drake #red robin #idiot duckboy #stephanie brown #spoiler #damian wayne #robin #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

[komfortkiri]

QUIRKLESS!KATSUKI BAKUGO x QUIRKLESS FEM!READER x QUIRKLESS!EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

WORD COUNT: 1,362

TW/CW: GUNS, GUN WOUND/BEING SHOT, MENTION OF DEATH, CURSING, DEPRESSION, PANIC ATTACK (If I missed anything, please let me know).

NOTES: I submitted this from my iPad so if anything looks funky, that’s why. I’ll fix it tomorrow. I just really wanted to get the second chapter of this series out.

It was Friday morning, 7 AM. Your hundreds of alarms already sounded starting from 6:30. You were supposed to already have been at work but dread took ahold of your emotions because you knew that you’d have to look at somebody new by your side for however long. Your boss had already texted you but he knows how hard the last several months have been so he takes it easy on you but you know that won’t last forever.

You rose from your bed, getting ready. You put on your usual button up, white, collared shirt that was long-sleeved then slid on a pair of black dress pants, tucking your shirt into it. After, you stepped into a pair of black heels that weren’t too high and then put on a black blazer. You looked into the mirror, sighing heavily. You looked like shit, you knew that. The dark circles were becoming more visible. It was so hard to sleep at night when all you saw when you closed your eyes was Bakugo.. lifeless on the floor. You couldn’t even begin to count how many nights you woke up screaming or hyperventilating. Even meetings with a therapist weren’t helping you and you didn’t know what to do anymore.

Without further thought, to prevent yourself from crying till your eyes were bloodshot, you threw your hair up into a ponytail and headed to work.

Once you arrived and walked through the doors, the front desk woman gave you a smile and a good morning. All you offered in return was a small smile that was clearly forced. Once passing the front desk, you walked to where your desk was but found that someone had made their self at home. Kirishima was sitting in your chair, working on some paperwork that was attached to a clipboard. “Are you lost, hot tamale?” You said as you approached him, standing directly in front of the wooden furniture, eyeing the red head with curiosity.

“I’m starting to think that you find me hot.” He responded while writing something down then sat back in the chair, his eyes meeting yours. You raised your brow, “Please don’t flatter yourself this early in the morning. I’m more likely to tell you to fuck off.” A smile formed amongst his lips and that confused you. Did he think that was funny? “Why are you smiling like that?” You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for his humorous response.

Kirishima turned to the side, grabbing a Starbucks coffee cup from the small table next to the end of your desk. “I asked Clark if you liked coffee since he knew you so well and he told me your favorite place to get coffee and what you preferred.” He held it up toward you, flashing a bright white smile. “Hazelnut coffee, extra sweet.” You felt heat rush to your face almost instantly. Damn him. You were such an ass to him yesterday and just a second ago and he turns out to be.. a sweetheart? You cleared your throat, hoping that the shade of red on your cheeks would go away. “T-Thank you..” That was all you could say because you were so surprised that you really couldn’t say much else. With how you acted yesterday, you felt like you didn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from him. “Not a problem at all. I wanted to do it.” His response made your heart race but in order to calm it, your mind wanted back to you being unsure as to why he was sitting at your desk.

“So.. Were you just waiting for me or did you just coincidentally pick my desk to sit at?” You took a sip of your coffee, internally melting over the fact that it was the right amount of sweetness that you liked. Impressive. “Well, I wanted to personally give you your coffee so I guess you could say I was waiting for you. Clark gave me some paperwork to fill out but after I’m done with this, we are heading to the gun range.”

Your body froze. Gun. Shooting. You didn’t even realize but your body went into shock. Your face became pale and images of that day flashed through your head. From your gunshot wound to seeing your significant other dead on the floor… You forgot how to breathe.

Kirishima noticed and immediately jumped up, putting the clipboard down and circling around to grab you as softly as he could. You felt his touch and you snapped out of it, taking a huge gasp of air. “Y/N, are you okay?” Your eyes filled with tears but you looked up to keep them from falling, answering in a soft, shaky voice. “Y-Yes.. I’m okay.” It was clear that you definitely had something wrong mentally and it was becoming more obvious now.

You looked up into Kirishima’s eyes, noticing the panic in them. Was he really that worried for you? I mean, someone having a panic attack is scary but it seemed like something more. Maybe you were overthinking it. “Do you want to skip that part for today?” He knew now what had just happened so he avoided saying anything related to guns again, to prevent another attack. “I can’t skip it. If I do, it’ll prove I’m not ready to go back out onto the field and I’m ready.” You nodded, knowing this could be detrimental to your health in the long run but you felt there were some risks worth taking.

Although your new partner wasn’t entirely sure continuing was a good idea, he didn’t want to step on any toes so he nodded, hoping you were right.

You both walked to the gun range part of the building, both suiting up into the appropriate gear. You took long, deep breaths to calm yourself because the last thing you needed was to have a panic attack while firing a weapon. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you jumped some, looking over to see that it was Kirishima. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to ask if you were ready?” His tone was soft, it was almost endearing. You nodded and you both started your training.

Surprisingly, you made it through without losing your cool but you were shaking pretty badly afterward. You took off the range gear, returning it to its designated spot then took a second to sit down. Being around guns again after so long, in your eyes, was a big step. So big that you literally had to take time to really process it. Kirishima approached you, sitting down in the chair next to yours. “For what it’s worth, I think you did great.”

His voice snapped you out of your train of thought and all you could offer him was a small grin. Your emotions were on overload so you didn’t say anything to prevent bursting into tears. He took a large breath before saying anything else, “I’d like to get to know you since we’ll be partners. That’s only if you’re okay with that. Maybe we can go out for lunch tomorrow since it’s Saturday and we both have the weekends off?” It was nice that he was trying and you’d feel like an awful person if you turned him down. “Yeah, sure. I normally spend the weekends hiding out in my apartment anyway.”

Your apartment may have been a constant reminder that you were now alone, but it honestly was a place you could just cry as much as you wanted without fear of judgement. “If your apartment is your comfort zone, I would hate to bring you out of it so.. why don’t we order pizza and chat?” Kirishima seemed like a good guy and when he offered that, you didn’t feel like he was trying to make any type of move on you so you nodded. “I don’t see why not. I guess it couldn’t hurt to have company over.”

You gave your new partner a soft smile, reassuring him that you were serious. Maybe having some type of socialization will help you start to heal.

#mha x reader #kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima #katsuki bakugo x reader x eijiro kirishima #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader

[redhoodssweetheart]

L.O.V.E.

Genre: Fluff

Relationship: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes by @marshmallows-and-champagne​ (REQUESTS ARE CLOSED)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Fluff

Description:  Clark Kent has been in love with the reserved rich girl since college.  Ever since meeting you and becoming friends his feelings have grown, and he’s hoping that when he confesses you’ll feel the same about him.

Clark had known you since college.  The two of you had been paired for a project and from there had become unlikely friends.  He was the farm boy from Smallville, and you were the rich girl from Metropolis.  Complete polar opposites, but there was just something about the two of you that worked.

You weren’t into going wild like most people in college did, instead you preferred to sneak over to Clark’s dorm so that the two of you could watch movies.  Then there were the days when you would go to the coffee shop on campus and just sit quietly and work on whatever projects and homework the two of you had.

Now the two of you were older and still close.  Clark had moved to Metropolis to become a reporter for the Daily Planet and you had gone to work for your family’s company.  Seeing each other had become few and far between with how busy life had gotten for you.  Clark missed the days when you could see each other on a daily basis.

If he were being honest it wasn’t just because he missed hanging out with his friend, it was because he had fallen in love with you.  He wasn’t sure how it had happened, he wasn’t sure when he had even realized he had fallen in love with you.  He just remembered thinking, “I’m in love with her,” and that was that.  

You had no idea about his feelings for you.  There had been a couple of times when Clark had gone to tell you the truth, but had chickened out at the last second.  He was afraid that he wasn’t enough for you.  You had grown up with everything and he was just from Smallville, USA.  What could he give you?

“Clark?”  There was a hand waving in front of his face and he blinked several times realizing that you were sitting in front of him.  “Earth to Clark Kent, anyone home?”  You smiled when you realized he seemed to be coming back to reality.  “Where’d you go, Clark?  You’ve been lost in thought since I got here.”

Clark hadn’t even realized you had arrived for your coffee date with him.  You had rescheduled four times prior, but today you finally had an opening and called to tell him.  “Sorry, I was, uh, just thinking about a story.”

Chuckling you sipped on your drink, “So dedicated to your craft, that’s what I love about you.”

Clark’s heart seemed to have skipped a beat when you said ‘love’.  “Well, I’m not the only one Miss I have to reschedule our coffee date because there’s a meeting today at three and it’s a big one.”

You looked down and tried to hide your embarrassment, “I’m sorry.  Really, the board members were insistent that I needed to be there.  Although I think it could have been put into an email.”

Clark knew what those meetings were like, “In my experience most meetings could be summed up into emails.”

“I think some of the board just likes to hear themselves talk,” you confessed.  “Mr. Moore is always droning on and one, I swear one time I almost fell asleep.”

That wasn’t a surprising fact, you hated it when people droned on and on about things.  He had once nudged you awake in class because the professor had bored you half to death.  “Do you need me to sit in on those meetings and make sure you don’t fall asleep?”

“Would you?”  You said half jokingly and half seriously.  “Plus we could pass notes like a high schoolers.”

Clark shook his head, a wide smile on his face, “Don’t ever change, Y/N/N.”

You smiled shyly at him and changed the subject to see what he had been up to recently.  He told you about his trip to Gotham to see Bruce Wayne for an interview.  You knew Bruce was notoriously private and it was a huge score for Clark to get the interview like that.  He had come a long way since college and you were glad that you had gotten to see that growth.

When your lunch breaks were over, you went your separate ways promising to try again soon.  You hoped that you would have more time to spend with him in the future, and Clark wished the same as he watched you get into your car and drive off.

Two weeks passed since you had seen Clark at the coffee shop.  You were standing out on your balcony with a glass of wine in hand admiring the city below.  Skyscrapers rose high above the ground, cars drove by lazily, their tail lights casting a red glow down the street as lights flashed from green to yellow to red and then back to green again.

This was the first time you had actually made it home at a reasonable hour and got to spend some time to yourself.  You fiddled with you phone wondering if you should call Clark or if he was too busy for you.  Chewing on your lip you opted to text him instead, asking if he was free.

You waited but there was no response and you let out a little sigh.

“Hello,” the voice startled you so much you almost dropped your drink.  Looking up you saw Superman floating in front of your balcony.

“You’re… you’re Superman,” you sputtered.  You had seen images and videos of Superman, but you had never seen him in person before.  “What’re you doing here?”

“I was flying by and you seemed lonely,” he told you, he landed beside you on the balcony and you turned to face him.  “I just thought I would say hello and keep you company for a few minutes.”

Looking at him now up close and in person there was something familiar about him.  “Do you do this often?”  You asked.  “Landing on people’s balconies and saying hello?”

He chuckled sheepishly, “No, I must say I don’t often find myself doing this.”

“Then what’s so special about little old me?  I’m sure there’s plenty of people down there that need you right now,” you told him as you gestured out over the city.

“It’s a slow night,” he told you.  “Plus I look out for the wellbeing of everyone in this city and that includes when people are lonely.”

You moved close to him, your eyes narrowing, “You look familiar….”

Superman seemed to become nervous at that, “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.  I don’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

You searched his face for something that would clue you in on who he was.  Your eyes landed on a little scar on his lip.  It was inconsequential for the most part, but you knew someone with that same scar.  “Clark?”  Your voice came out a little above a whisper.  “Oh my God, Clark is that you?”

Superman’s - Clark’s - eyes widened and you knew you were right.  “I’m sorry, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.  I should go, I just wanted to see if you were all right, and you are, so now I’m going to go.”

He went to leave, but you caught his arm with your hand, “No!” He turned to look at you and saw a look of desperation on your face.  “Is this where you go at night, Clark?  And don’t tell me you’re not him, you have the same scar as him.  And I’d know my best friend anywhere.  So tell me the truth, are you Clark Kent?”

Clark closed his eyes and nodded his head, “It’s me.”

You took a step back and covered your mouth with your hand.  “How did I not know?”

“Well I mean it’s a secret identity for a reason,” he told you.

You frowned at him, “I’m your best friend!  How could you not tell me?!”

He flinched, “Because I was trying to protect you, Y/N.  I didn’t want something bad to happen to you because you knew I was Superman.  I hated keeping the secret from you, but trust me when I say that I did it because I wanted to keep you safe.”

“I know I’m not the most outgoing or spontaneous person, Clark, but I still have a right to know about this part of you.  I can take care of myself.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked away from him, you were feeling very conflicted at the moment.

Your best friend, the man you had known since college, was Superman.  Clark on the other hand was feeling guilty for having you finding out in this way.  He had wanted to tell you so many times, but his fear had held him back.  Movie toward you, he gently lifted your face so that your gaze met his, and he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “Let me show you something.”

“What?”  You asked curiously.

“Do you trust me?”  He held his breath waiting for the rejection from you, for you to shout that you couldn’t trust him now.  But then you gave a nod of your head and Clark gently lifted you into his arms bridal style.  

“Clark,” you said hesitantly. The two of you were beginning to float off of your balcony and your arms tightened around his neck.  “What’re you doing?”

“It’s okay, nothing bad is going to happen,” he promised.

“If you drop me--”

“I won’t drop you,” he was enjoying this too much, the way you clung to him and your warmth pressed against him.

Together you began flying over Metropolis, seeing it from a bird's eye view.  Your fears slowly melted away as Clark carried you across the city.  You could see everything from the Daily Planet to LexCorp to your own company.  People looked small compared to the towering skyscrapers you were flying between.  The sky was even more spectacular as you looked up, there were a few stars twinkling in the distance, and for a moment you believed you could reach out and touch them.

Your eyes landed on Clark next, he was focused on where he was going that you took this time to study him.  Clark had always been handsome, he had those boy next door looks, and a smile that made your heart flutter.  There had been several occasions where you had come close to asking him on a date, but thoughts of rejection kept you from doing so.  Plus you didn’t want to risk losing your best friend.

Soon Clark was taking you home and setting you down on your balcony once more.  His eyes searching your face to see what you were thinking about.  “What?  Do you have mind reading powers now too?”  You quipped when you caught him studying you.

“No,” he assured you.  “Nothing of the sort, I was just trying to see if you liked it.”

“I did, once I let go of the fear that you were going to drop me,” you poked him in the chest and he laughed.

“I told you I wouldn’t do that, Y/N.  I wouldn’t dream of it.”

There was a soft smile on your face, “I guess this is good night then.”  It was a disappointing that he had to leave, you wanted him to stay, you wanted to spend more time with him.

“I should go,” he said hesitantly.  Clenching his fists at his sides he turned to leave, but paused.  He looked back at you and said, “There is something else that I should confess.”

“Oh?”  What else could there be?  Was he secretly married as well?  God you hoped not.

He walked back to you and he couldn’t quite meet your gaze, he was growing fidgety and you knew whatever this was, was important to him.

“Take your time,” you told him softly.  “We’ve got time.”

“I’m just scared of how you may react,” he finally looked at you and saw the same patient expression on your face you had had on your face when you had come home with him one break and he was trying to explain how farm equipment worked.  It was the look that said you could listen to him talk for as long as he wanted or wait until he worked up what courage he had to tell you what he needed to.

“Clark, I just learned that you’re Superman, anything else will seem like a cakewalk from here on out.”

“Yeah, you did handle it better than I thought you would.”  Taking in a deep breath he gathered his courage and said, “Remember when we were in college and we would go to that coffee shop on campus?”  You nodded your head, you could almost picture and smell the coffee shop he was talking about.  The two of you had spent so much time there that you don’t think you could ever forget it.  “Well it was senior year and you were working on a project.  You had your pen cap in your mouth, and you were so focused on what was in front of you.  And for some reason it was like the world slowed down and it hit me that I was in love with you.”  You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening.  “It came out of nowhere and I’m not even sure when I started developing feelings for you, but it was at that moment I realized that I was.”

“Why did you never tell me?  Why now?”  Could it really be true that the two of you had been in love with one another this entire time, but too afraid to admit it to the other?”

“I just never felt like I should.  You were from this influential family and I was just a small town boy from the middle of nowhere, USA.  I wasn’t ready to take a chance and tell you the truth,” he let out a deep breath.  “But I guess tonight, you learning my secret, and me carrying you across the city made me want to confess this to you.  And you don’t have to like me back or say anything.  I just wanted you to know.”

You looped your arms around Clark’s neck taking him by surprise.  “How is it that we’re both complete idiots that we never realized how the other felt?”

“Well I mean people still haven’t made the connection that I’m Clark Kent and all my disguise is, is a pair of glasses - wait how we both felt?”  His brain finally caught up to the meaning of your words.  “You love me?”

You laughed and rested your head against his chest, “Clark what am I going to do with you?”

He once again lifted your face so that you were looking at him, “Please say it.”

“I love you, Clark Kent,” you whispered to him.

“I love you too,” he whispered back before leaning down and kissing you, it was soft and sweet, and sent shivers down your spine.  No matter how much you had imagined this nothing could compare to actually kissing Clark.  “I still need to go,” he told you when he broke away.

“Okay,” you were only slightly disappointed by this.  “Can we see each other tomorrow night?  We can make dinner.”

“I’d love too,” he kissed you one last time before he began to float away.  “I’ll text you when I get home.”

You waved goodbye as he took off into the air and flew away from your apartment.  You still we’re sure that this had all happened and that you weren’t actually dreaming, but when morning came and Clark checked to see that you were still on for that night you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.  

Even the long day of meetings ahead of you couldn’t sour your mood.

#Clark Kent x Reader #Clark Kent x Fem!Reader #Clark Kent x Reader fluff #Superman x Reader #Superman x Fem!Reader #Superman x Reader fluff #Clark Kent #Clark Kent fluff #Clark Kent fanfic #Clark Kent fanfiction #Superman fluff #Superman fanfic #Superman fanfiction #DC Comics #DC Comics fanfic #DC Comics fanfiction #DC Comics fluff

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 7, Number 8

Big Thief

Our August collection of short reviews contains more big names than usual with singles from Big Thief and Dry Cleaning, a digital compilation from Thou, live music from Obits and a side project from members of the Bats and the Clean. Never fear, there are obscurities as well, including an improv guitar player even Bill Meyer had hardly heard of, a Norwegian emo artist in love with Texas and a death metal outfit verging into psychedelia. Our writers, this time including Tim Clarke, Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ian Mathers, Chris Liberato and Jonathan Shaw, like what they like, big or small, hyped or unknown. We hope you’ll like some of it, too.   

Marc Barreca — The Sleeper Awakes (Scissor Tail)

The Sleeper Wakes by Marc Barreca

Odd connections abound here. One might not expect the usually acoustic-oriented Scissor Tail Recordings to make a vinyl reissue of an electronic ambient music cassette from 1986, any more than one would expect its maker to currently earn his crust as a bankruptcy judge. So, let’s just shed those expectations and get to listening. Unlike so many lower profile electronic recordings from the 1980s, which seemed targeted for a space next to the cash register of a new age bookstore, this album offers a profusion of mysteries that compound the closer you listen to them. It’s not at all obvious what sounds Barreca fed into his Akai sampler. Japanese folk music? Church chimes? A log drum jam? Tugboat engines? One hears hints of such sounds, but they’ve been warped and dredged in a thin coat of murk, so that the predominant experience is one of feeling like you’re dreaming, even if your eyes are wide open.

Bill Meyer

Big Thief — “Little Things” / “Sparrow” (4AD)

Little Things/Sparrow by Big Thief

Who knows how much more music Big Thief might have released in the last 18 months if the pandemic hadn’t tripped them up? Given the creative momentum generated by 2019’s UFOF and Two Hands, it’s fair to assume the band have plenty of music waiting in the wings. “Little Things” and “Sparrow” arrive with no sign of a new album on the horizon, so are probably being released to promote Big Thief’s upcoming US and European tour. Both songs clock in at around five minutes and handle musical repetition in different satisfying ways. Reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everything,” but hyped up on caffeine, “Little Things” feels like an exciting new direction for the band. It cycles through its whirlpooling, modulated acoustic guitar over and over, the frantic little sequence of chords never changing; the interest comes from the ways in which the rest of the instruments bob and weave in the ever-shifting, psychedelic mix. “Sparrow” is a more traditional Big Thief song, sparse and sad. Its melancholic sway is enlivened by some beautiful wavering vocal harmonies as Adrianne Lenker paints a picture of a Garden of Eden populated by sparrows, owls and eagles, culminating in Adam blaming Eve for humankind’s fall from grace.

Tim Clarke

Simão Costa — Beat Without Byte: (Un)Learning Machine (Cipsela)

Beat With Out Byte by Simão Costa

Piano preparation often makes use of modest resources — bolts and combs, strings or maybe just a raincoat tossed into the instrument’s innards. By contrast, Simão Costa’s set-up looks like took all of the entries in a robotics assembly competition and set them to work agitating a snarl of cables that met the pirated telecommunication requirements for an especially crowded favela. But whether it’s twitching motors or Costa’s own hands doing the work, the sounds that come out of his sound remarkably rich and cohesive. He stirs drifting hums, metallic sonorities, and stomping rhythms into a bracingly immediate sonic onslaught.

Bill Meyer

Cots — Disturbing Body (Boiled)

Disturbing Body by Cots

Disturbing Body is the low-key debut album by Montreal-based musician Steph Yates, who enlisted Sandro Perri to produce. Where the songs are pared back to mostly just vocals and peppy major-seventh chords on nylon-string guitar — such as “Bitter Part of the Fruit” and “Midnight at the Station” — comparisons with bossa-nova classics such as “The Girl From Ipanema” inevitably arise. Where the tempo is slower, the chord voicings are less sun-dappled, and Perri’s arrangements call upon a wider palette of instrumental colors, the songs venture into more interesting terrain, calling to mind a less haunted Broadcast. There’s an eerie sway to the opening title track, backed by rich piano chords and clattering cymbal textures. Fender Rhodes and the light clack of a rhythm track give “Inertia of a Dream” an uneasy momentum. And forlorn trumpet, percussion and piano situate “Last Sip” at closing time in a forgotten jazz club. There’s something evasive yet subtly intoxicating at work here, the album’s ten songs breezing past in half an hour, leaving plenty of unanswered questions in their wake.

Tim Clarke

Dry Cleaning — “Bug Eggs” / “Tony Speaks!” (4AD)

Bug Eggs/Tony Speaks! by Dry Cleaning

A few months on from the release of their excellent debut album, New Long Leg, Dry Cleaning have put out two more songs from the same sessions, which are featured as bonus tracks on the Japanese edition. For a band whose unique appeal is mostly attributed to Florence Shaw’s surreal lyrics and deadpan delivery, it’s heartening to hear further evidence that it’s the complete cocktail of musical ingredients — Shaw plus Tom Dowse’s inventive guitar, Lewis Maynard’s satisfyingly thick bass, and Nick Buxton’s driving drums — that alchemizes into their winning sound. The verse guitar chords of “Bug Eggs” are naggingly similar to New Long Leg’s “More Big Birds,” while the instrumental chorus has a yearning feel akin to album highlight “Her Hippo.” Maynard’s bass tone on “Tony Speaks!” is absolutely filthy, swallowing up most of the mix until Dowse’s guitar bares its teeth in a swarm of squalling wah-wah, while Shaw’s lyrics muse upon the decline of heavy industry, the environment, and crisps.

Tim Clarke

Flight Mode — TX, ’98 (Sound As Language)

TX, '98 by Flight Mode

In 1998, well before he started Little Hands of Asphalt, Sjur Lyseid spent a year in Texas at the height of the emo wave, skateboarding and going to house shows and listening to the Get Up Kids. TX, ’98 is the Norwegian’s tribute to that coming of age experience, the giddy euphorias of mid-teenage freedom filtered through bittersweet subsequent experience. “Sixteen” is the banger, all crunchy, twitchy exhilarating guitars and vulnerable pop tunefulness, its clangor breaking for wistful reminiscence, but “Fossil Fuel” waxes lyrical, its guitar riffs splintering into radiant shards, its lyrics capturing those youthful years when anything seems possible and also, somehow, the later recognition that perhaps it isn’t. It’s an interesting tension between the now-is-everything hedonism of adolescence and the rueful remembering of adulthood, encapsulate in a chorus that goes, “Well wait and see if there’s no more history/and just defend the present tense.”

Jennifer Kelly

Drew Gardner— S-T (Eiderdown Records)

S/T by Drew Gardner

Drew Gardner has been popping up all over lately, on Elkhorn’s snowed in acoustic jam Storm Sessions and the electrified follow-up Sun Cycle and as one of Jeffrey Alexander’s Heavy Lidders. Here, it’s just him and his guitar plus a like-minded rhythm section (that’s Ryan Jewell on drums and Garcia Peoples’ Andy Cush on bass), spinning off dreamy, folk-into-interstellar-journeys like “Calyx” and “Kelp Highway.” Gardner puts some muscle into some of his grooves, running close to Chris Forsyth’s wide-angle electric boogie in “Bird Food.” “The Road to Eastern Garden,” though, is pure limpid transcendence, Buddhist monastery bells jangling as Gardner’s warm, inquiring melodic line intersects with rubbery bends on bass. Give this one a little time to sit, but don’t miss it.

Jennifer Kelly

Hearth — Melt (Clean Feed)

Melt by Hearth

This pan-European quartet’s name suggests domesticity, but the fact that none of its members lives in the country of their birth probably says more about the breadth of their music. The closest geographic point of reference for the sounds that pianist Kaja Draksler, trumpeter Susana Santos Silva, and saxophonists Ada Rave and Mette Rasmussen’s make together would be Chicago’s south side. Their dynamic blend of angular structures, extended instrumental techniques, and obscurely theatrical enactments brings to mind the Art Ensemble of Chicago, even though the sounds on this concert-length recording rarely echo the AEC’s. But it is similarly charged with mystery and collective identity.

Bill Meyer

Klaus Lang / Konus Quartett — Drei Allmenden (Cubus)

Drei Allmenden (translation: Three Commons) treats the act of commission as an opportunity to create common cause. For composer and keyboardist Klaus Lang, this is a chance to push back against a long trend of separation and stratification, with musicians bound to realize the composer’s whim, no matter the cost. Invoking works from the 16th century, he penned something simple, flexible and open to embellishment. Then he pitched in with Konus Quartett, a Swiss saxophone ensemble, to get the job done. The three-part piece, which lasts 43 sublime minutes, amply rewards the submersion of ego. Lang’s slowly morphing harmonium drones and Konus’ long reed tones sound like one instrument, enriched by tendrils of sound that rise up and then sink back into the music’s body.

Bill Meyer

Lynch, Moore, Riley — Secant / Tangent (dx/dy)

Secant | Tangent by Sue Lynch, N.O. Moore, Crystabel Riley

Electric guitarist N.O. Moore is barely known in these parts. I’ve only heard him on one album with Eddie Prévost a couple years back, and the other two musicians, not at all. But on the strength of this robust performance, which was recorded at London’s Icklectick venue, it would be a loss to keep it that way. They combine acoustic sounds with electronics, courtesy of guitar effects and amplification, in an exceedingly natural fashion. Each musician also gets into the other’s business in ways that correspond to the one spicy suggestion made by one cook that elevates another’s dish to the next level. Susan Lynch’s clarinet and flute compliment Moore’s radiophonic/feedback sounds like two flashes of lightning illuminating the same dark cloud, and her vigorously pecking saxophone attack mixes with Crystabel’s cascading beats like idiosyncratically tuned drums. This is one of the first albums to be released on Moore’s dx/dy label; keep your eye out for more.

Bill Meyer

Maco Sica / Hamid Drake Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones—Ourania (Feeding Tube)

OURANIA by Mako Sica / Hamid Drake featuring Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones

Ourania is named for the muse associated with astronomy in Greek mythology, and the album has an aim for the stars quality. In 2020, Chicago’s Mako Sica lost not only the chance to play concerts, but one third of its number. Core members Brent Fuscaldo (electric bass, voice, harmonica, percussion) and Przemyslaw Krys Drazek (electric trumpet, electric guitar, mandolin) could have just hunkered down with their respective TV sets. Instead, they booked themselves three other musicians who make rising above circumstances a core practice. The duo convened at Electrical Audio with Hamid Drake (drums, percussion, Tatsu Aoki (upright bass, shamisen), and Thymme Jones (piano, organ, balloon, trumpet, voice, recorder, percussion), rolled tape for a couple hours, and walked out with this album. The 85 minute-long recording (edited to about half that length on vinyl, but the LP comes with a download card) exudes a vibe of calm, even beatitude, with twin trumpets and Fuscaldo’s echo-laden, nearly word-free vocals weaving though a sequence of patient grooves like migrational birds on the glide.

Bill Meyer

Mar Caribe — Hymn of the Mar Caribe (Mar Caribe)

Hymn of the Mar Caribe b/w Rondo for Unemployment by mar caribe

Some musicians burn to make something new; others generate attention-getting sounds designed to maximize the potential of their other earning activities; and others, well, they just want you to sway along with their version of the good sounds. Mar Caribe falls into that last category. This Chicago-based instrumental ensemble has spent most of the last decade maintaining a robust performance schedule, and it would seem that recording is pretty much an afterthought; a photo of the test pressing for this 7” was posted in May 2019, but the release show didn’t happen until August 2021. Sure, COVID can be blamed for part of the delay, but one suspects that mostly, these guys just want to play, and they didn’t bother to stuff the singles in the sleeves until they knew when they’d next be leaning over a merch table. The titular suspends anthemic brass and pedal steel over a swinging double bass cadence, and if there was a moment during the night when the band invited the audience to pledge allegiance to their favorite drink, this is what they’d be playing while they asked. Guitars lead on the flip side, whose busy twists and turns belie the implied laziness of the title, “Rondo For Unemployment.”

Bill Meyer

Mint Julep — In a Deep and Dreamless Sleep (Western Vinyl)

In A Deep And Dreamless Sleep by Mint Julep

These songs traverse a hazy, dreamlike space, diffusing dance beats, dream-y vocals and synth pulses into inchoate sensation that nonetheless retains enough rhythmic propulsion to keep your heart rate up. “A Rising Sun” filters jangly guitar and bass through a sizzle of static, letting tambourine thump gently somewhere off camera, as voices soothe and reassure. “Mirage” pounds a four-on-the-floor, but quietly, angelically, like a disco visited through astral projection or maybe a really rave-y iteration of heaven. There’s an ominous undercurrent to “Longshore Drift,” in its growly, sub-bass-y hum, but glittering bits of synth sprinkle over like fairy dust. This is indefinitely gorgeous stuff, ethereal but surprisingly energizing. Dance or drift, take your pick.

Jennifer Kelly

Monocot — Directions We Know (Feeding Tube)

Direction We Know by Monocot

Directions We Know is an LP of free-form freak-outs generated by an instrumental duo that includes one musician who you might expect to perpetuate such a ruckus, and one that you might not. The more likely character is drummer Jayson Gerycz, who may be known for keeping time with the Cloud Nothings, but has shown a willingness to wax colorizing in the company of Anthony Pasquarosa, Jen Powers and Matthew Rolin. The happy surprise is Rosali Middleman, whose singer-songwriter efforts have kept her guitar playing firmly in service of her songs. She doesn’t exactly abandon lyricism in Monocot, but the tunes serve as launching ramps for exuberant lunges into the realm of voltage-saturated sound. On “Ruby Throated,” the first of the record’s four extended jams, Middleman lofts rippling peals over a near-boil of  drums and churning loops. By the time you get to “Multidimensional Solutions,” the last and longest track, her wah-wah-dipped streams of sound have taken on a blackened quality, as though her overheating tubes have burned every note.

Bill Meyer

Obits — Die at the Zoo (Outer Battery)

Die At The Zoo by Obits

Few aughts rock bands held more promise than Obits. The four-piece headed by Hot Snakes’ Rick Froberg and Edsel’s Sohrab Habibion emerged in 2005 with a stinging, stripped-back, blues-touched sound. Froberg’s feral snarl rode a surfy, twitchy amplified onslaught, that was, by 2012 a finely tuned machine. I caught one of the live shows following Moody, Standard and Poor at small club in Northampton the same year this was recorded (so small that I was sitting on a couch next to Froberg, oblivious, for 20 minutes before the show), and what struck me was how well the band played together. The records sound chaotic, and that was certainly there in performance, but the cuts and stops were perfect, the surfy instrumental breaks (“New August”) absolutely in tune. At the time this set was recorded in the Brisbane punk landmark known as the Zoo, the band was near the peak of its considerable powers—and regrettably near the end of its run. Die at the Zoo is reasonably well recorded, rough enough to capture the band’s raucous energy, skilled enough so you can understand the words and hear all the parts. It hits all the highlights, blistering early cuts like “Widow of My Dreams,” and “Pine On,” the blues cover “Milk Cow Blues,” and later, slightly more melodic ragers like “Everything Looks Better in the Morning” and “You Gotta Lose.” The guitar work is particularly sharp throughout, its straight-on chug breaking into fiery blues licks and surfy whammy explosions. It’s a poignant reminder of a time when American rock bands played ferocious shows halfway across the world (or anywhere) as a matter of course and a fitting eulogy for Obits.

Jennifer Kelly

A Place To Bury Strangers — Hologram (Dedstrange)

Hologram EP by A Place To Bury Strangers

A Place To Bury Strangers returns with a new rhythm section and renewed focus on the elements that made its version of revivalism the loudest if not brashest of the New York aughties. Sarah and John Fedowitz on drums and bass join Oliver Ackerman on the five track EP Hologram which is the most concise and vital APTBS release for a while. For all the criticism of copyism thrown at the band since their early days, APTBS has always been as much about Ackerman’s production skills and feel for texture as musical originality and the songs on Hologram sound fantastic at volume. Beneath the sonic onslaught of fuzz and reverb, not a brick is misplaced in this intricately constructed sonic wall. True “I Might Have” is pure Jesus & Mary Chain and “In My Hive” a Wax Trax take on Spector but Hologram is an endorphin rush of guitar driven noise bound to make one forget the world, if only for a while.

Andrew Forell

Praises — EP4 (Hand Drawn Dracula)

Jesse Crowe’s work as Praises has been ongoing since 2014, but has shifted in tone, instrumentation and emphasis since then. While the first two EPs have more of a full, rock band feel, the third one and 2018’s full-length In This Year: Ten of Swords took things in a more electronic, sometimes industrial direction. It was an even better fit for the rest, probing creativity evident in Praises’ work, and 3/4s of the new EP4 are in a pleasingly similar vein. The echoing, ringing denunciations of “We Let Go” and “A World on Fire” are fine examples of Praises’ existing strengths, but the opening “Apples for My Love” is immediately captivating in a very different way. Gauzy and rapturous, it’s a reverie that keeps the satisfying textural detail of the other songs but turns them to different ends. It’s not something that was missing from Crowe’s work before — again, the other tracks here are also very good — but a reminder that what Praises has shown before is not the extent of what they can do.

Ian Mathers

The Sundae Painters — The First SP Single (Leather Jacket)

“This is a supergroup, is it not?” someone asked the Sundae Painters bassist Paul Kean on social media last year, to which he responded, “Some may choose that title. We prefer superglue.” Kaye Woodward, his wife and longtime bandmate in both The Bats and Minisnap, takes the lead vocal on “Thin Air,” one of the pair of A-sides found on their new band’s debut seven-inch. From the outset, Kean’s unmistakable bass playing and Hamish Kilgour’s (The Clean/Mad Scene) drumming lock into a psychedelic march, with the other instruments weaving like kites above, vying for position on the same breeze. “You fight your way down/You fight your way up/You wait for the dust to settle,” Woodward sings. A few gentle strums cut their way through the parade, and a guitar calls out gull-like from above, before everything trails off as if something potent has just kicked in. On the flip side, “Aversion” has an old friend-like familiarity to it, soundwise (if not lengthwise) sitting somewhere between VU’s “The Gift” and “Sister Ray.” Things begin a little stand-offish, though, like you’ve interrupted a guitar pontificating to a rapt audience — it turns its head to look you over, falling momentarily silent, before picking right back up where it left off. Kilgour’s spoken vocals join the conversation, as the song builds towards a groovy kind of fever pitch. “You look a little stoned,” he says, before responding to his own observation. “Well me I’m a little bit groggy/But it ain’t too foggy/I can see some way of getting out of here.” By this point, both guitars (played by Woodward and Tall Dwarfs’ Alec Bathgate) are full-on screeching and howling, and as the song sputters to a sudden finish, our man’s left waiting for someone to buy him “a ride out the gate.”

Chris Liberato    

Thou — Hightower (Self-released)

Hightower by Thou

Hightower is the latest in a string of digital compilations from Thou, most of which collect songs that have been previously released on small-batch splits, 7” records and other hyper-obscure media that briefly circulated through the metal underground. You might be tempted to pronounce that a cynical cash-grab, but Thou has posted Hightower (along with previous compilations, like Algiers, Oakland and Blessings of the Highest Order, a killer collection of Nirvana covers) on their official Bandcamp page as a name-yo’-price download. Thanks, band. Beyond convenience, Hightower has an additional, if a sort of inside-baseball, attraction. The band has re-recorded a few of its older songs with its latest, three-guitar line-up. Longtime listeners will recognize “Smoke Pigs” and “Fucking Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean,” which already sounded terrifyingly massive back in 2008 and 2007, respectively. The expanded instrumentation, new arrangements and better production give the songs even more power and depth, all the way down to the bottom of the effing ocean. Yikes. And there are a few additional touches, like K.C. Stafford’s clean vocals on “Fucking Chained…,” which provide an effective complement to Bryan Funck’s inimitably scabrous howl. Rarely has being pummeled and feeling bummed out been so vivifying.

Jonathan Shaw

Tropical Fuck Storm — Deep States (Joyful Noise)

Deep States by Tropical Fuck Storm

Fueled by exasperation as much as anger, the new album by Melbourne’s Tropical Fuck Storm rounds on the myriad ways in which the world has become a “Bumma Sanger” as leader Gareth Liddiard puts it on the eponymous song about COVID lockdown. A roiling meld of psychedelic garage garnished with elements of hip hop and electronic noise it’s close in method and mood if not sound to another Australian provocateur JG Thirwell whose Foetus project girded maximalist surfaces with rigid discipline. If the Tropical Fuck Storm sought to mirror current conditions, they succeed but lack of clarity in both production and intent makes Deep States a frustrating experience. Backing vocals from Fiona Kitschin (bass), Erica Dunn (keys and guitar) and Lauren Hammel (drums) leaven Liddiard’s blokey pronouncements and there are some good sounds and biting words but the band’s determination to overelaborate and underdevelop musical ideas makes this album seem like a lost opportunity.

Andrew Forell

Marta Warelis / Carlos “Zingaro” / Helena Espvall /Marcelo dos Reis — Turquoise Dream (JACC)

Turquoise Dream by Marta Warelis, Carlos "Zíngaro", Helena Espvall, Marcelo dos Reis

Turquoise Dream documents an example of an encounter that is a mainstay of avant-garde jazz festivals, in which out of towners mix it up locals that they may or may not know. This particular concert, which took place at the Jazz ao Centro Festival in 2019, is one such encounter that deserves to live past the night when it transpired. It featured three stringed instrument players who live in Portugal and a Polish pianist who is based in Holland. But they don’t sound like strangers at all. Violinist Zingaro, cellist Espvall, and guitarist dos Reis blend like flashes of sunlight reflecting off of waves, adding up to a sound that is bright and ever-changing. Warelis, who is equally resourceful with her head under the lid of her piano as she is at the keyboard, adding fleet but substantial responses to her hosts’ quicksilver interactions. The result is music that is resolutely abstract but closely engaged.

Bill Meyer

Wharflurch — Psychedelic Realms ov Hell (Gurgling Gore)

PSYCHEDELIC REALMS OV HELL by Wharflurch

Wharflurch is just plain fun to say — but there are at least two ways in which the name also makes sense for the band that has chosen it: it has a bilious, nauseous quality that matches the vibe of the pustulent death metal you’ll hear on Psychedelic Realms ov Hell; and if you separate the words, you can conjure a sodden, rotten wooden structure, swaying vertiginously over a marshy expanse of water, which is filled with alligators and decaying organic material. Imagine that sway, and that stink, and then imagine yourself collapsing into the viscous fluid, soon to be gator chow. Sounds like Florida, and that’s exactly from whence Wharflurch has emerged. Which also makes sense. Is Wharflurch’s music “psychedelic”? Depends on what you hear in that word. If you want to see hippies dancing ecstatically on a verdant, sun-drenched stretch of Golden Gate Park, then no. But if you have spent any time in the warped, dementedly distorted spaces that psychedelics can open (less happily perhaps, but very powerfully), then yes. Wharflurch likes to accent its meaty riffs and muscular thumps with weird flutters and electronic effects that frequently have a gastric, flatulent quality to them. The saturated and sickly pinks and greens on the album art do a pretty good job of capturing the music’s tones. So do the song titles: “Stoned Ape Apocalypse,” “Bog Body Boletus,” “Phantasmagorical Fumes.” Still game? I’m sorry. But I’ll also be standing right there next to you, on that wobbly, lurching wharf, watching the gators swim near.

Jonathan Shaw

Whisper Room — Lunokhod (Midira Records)

Lunokhod by Whisper Room

That the title of Whisper Room’s fifth album is taken from Soviet lunar rovers makes a certain sense, given how potentially frustrating it might have been for the trio to be working at such a distance. Generally their other records are recorded live, in one room, seeing Aidan Baker (guitar), Jakob Thiesen (drums) and Neil Wiernik (bass) exploring simultaneously, hitting whatever junctions of psychedelic/shoegazing/motorik sound come to them. With Baker in Berlin and travel understandably limiited, this time they recorded their parts separately, layering them together (and bringing in sound designer Scott Deathe to add the kind of pedal processing their sound engineer normally does live). The result certainly sounds as collaborative as ever, seven seamless tracks making up nearly an hour that makes the journey from the friendly, clattering percussion of “Lunokhod01” to the centrifugal ambience of “Lunokhod07” feel perfectly natural. Even though it explores just as much inner and outer space as Whisper Room ever have, there’s something very approachable about Lunokhod that makes it one of their best.

Ian Mathers

#dust #dustedmagazine #big thief #tim clarke #Simão Costa #bill meyer #dry cleaning #flight mode #jennifer kelly #drew gardner #klaus lang #konus quartett #mako sico #hamid drake #mar caribe #mint julep #monocot #praises #ian mathers #the sundae painters #chris liberato #thou #jonathan shaw #marta warelis #carlos zingaro #helena espvall #marcelo dos reis #wharfluch #cots #marc berreca

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [51]

vi. we will rise

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: angst, language, fighting, death, violence, sad goodbyes,  blood and a v bloody death. 

Summary: an important trip to deliver the last few barrels of hydrazine to becca’s island is met with some unexpected challenges.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

March 20th, 2150; Arkadia (what’s left of it)

It’s late, or early, depending on how you look at it, when Kane pulls you, Bellamy, Clarke, and Monty into the Chancellor’s office for a quick update. “Most of the fire is out, and we’ve salvaged what we can. Monty, I need you to run diagnostics and do a damage check on all of Alpha Station, report back to me in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Griffin girls and Bellamy, I need the three of you to get some rest, because when daylight breaks, I'm sending the three of you out.”

“To do what?”

“Abby radioed. They discovered that Becca went to space to make Nightblood, because the lack of gravity helps everything to bind properly. Becca has a rocket in the lab, and they need all of the hydrazine we have to get that rocket into the air and back down again with the Nightblood solution. I need the three of you to deliver that hydrazine.”

All three of you nod in agreement, and he gives a single resolute nod. “Good. Now get some rest, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“See you then.”

The three of you leave the office in a quiet group, silently walking back towards your rooms. Luckily, your room and Clarke’s are among the ones spared by the fire, though others weren’t so lucky. You feel guilt at the thought of walking back to your room and sleeping in your bed while others can't, but the soreness in your legs and feet prevents you from thinking about it much further. When you reach the junction in the hall that takes you your separate ways, Clarke pulls you into a hug and whispers, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

She smiles at you both before turning and heading down the hall towards her room, and Bellamy reaches out for your hand and intertwines your fingers before leading you back to your shared quarters. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, despite sustaining no damage, reminding you of the blow you all received. You trudge into the room, exhausted, and as soon as Bellamy closes the door behind you, the weight of the world comes crashing down on you. Your near death experience, the realization that you’re a killer, the loss of Alpha Station's safety from the death wave, it all weighs down on you, and you drop to your knees. 

The tears are falling from your face before your knees even make contact with the ground, and Bellamy is at your side in a flash. He doesn't say anything as a sob breaks free from your chest, he just pulls you into his arms and rubs comforting circles onto your back as he hums Clair de lune. 

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms on the floor of your home, crying for everything that happened today, yesterday, the week before, while on the ground, up in space. You cry until you’re utterly exhausted, slumped over in Bellamy’s grip, ready to fall asleep right then and there. But Bellamy, ever caring, doesn't allow that. He carries you over to the bed and sits you on the edge, before kneeling down in front of you to rid you of your boots. He tosses them to the side, before walking to your storage area and grabbing one of his spare shirts. He comes back to you and pulls off your jacket and then your shirt, before tugging his shirt down and over your head, wrapping you in his comforting scent. Then he gently eases you backwards and shimmies your pants down your legs, leaving you in peak comfort. 

He quickly undresses down to his underwear before sliding into the bed beside you, tucking both of you under the blanket until you’re wrapped inside a cocoon of comfort. He turns until he’s facing you, his mouth lifting at the corners as he takes you in. Despite your swollen eyes and tear stained face, despite the quiet sniffles that slip from you, he whispers, “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. That’s probably the first thing I ever noticed about you.”

Your nose scrunches, disbelieving, “Really?”

“Really. That and your strength. When I saw you in the hallway with Shumway that day, I could tell you were scared, but you didn't let that stop you. You took your fear and turned it into strength, and used it as a weapon against him.”

You feel yourself melt a little, and he reaches up and pushes back the hair around your face. “I’ll always be in awe of the anger you possess. I don't know how so much anger can exist in one person, but even when it was directed at me, I was always in awe of the electric energy that seems to reside within you. And despite having all that anger, you’re one of the kindest people I have ever known. It would be so easy for you to let your anger rule you until you are nothing but sharp edges and harsh words, but you don’t. You manage to see the good in everyone, even when they're trying to kill you.”

You shake your head. “Not with Pike.”

“That’s because he threatened your family, and that's an entirely different story. You’re loyal and fiercely protective over the ones you love. I pity anyone who threatens your family, because I know their outcome isn't favorable. Your kindness sometimes allows you to forgive others more than they may deserve, but that ends when it comes to your family.”

“You’re my family.”

He softens at the words, something unfamiliar to him in the last few years, as his family was torn apart. “And you’re mine.”

You smile at him, and he leans forward slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away to look at you again. “My blainen natshana, my protective spitfire, my love, my forever.”

“I love you, Bellamy Blake.”

“I love you more than the stars, in this lifetime, and in the next.”

“Forever.”

Both of you smile at each other, everything okay for a little while. Because for now, you can ignore the impending doom and the desolation of your home, everything blocked out by the strength of Bellamy’s love. You fall asleep smiling at each other, basking in that warmth, at peace and full of love.

-

Clarke looks at you, a mischievous look on her face, “Put it on.”

You eye the long sleeve top and gray overall dress, the same clothes she wears to school everyday. The clothes you've never been allowed to wear, because you’re not supposed to exist. You stare at your twin, at the missing tooth in the front of her smile, identical to the missing tooth in your own grin. The second Clarke saw the gap in your grin, she messed with her tooth everyday until it was loose enough to pull out, refusing to look any less identical than you do right now. Neither of you know it yet, but as you grow older, you’ll become less and less identical. Enough similarities remain that some people know, right off the bat, and some people only guess because they’ve heard the stories. But right now, in your youth, in the time before anything seems serious, you look like copies of each other. Any differences you have right now are so subtle, no one could tell the difference. 

Which is exactly why Clarke is holding her school clothes out to you. “Just one day, la lune! You’ll get to see the Ark and meet Wells. It’s field trip day today, and we’re going on a tour of the ship, so no one will be paying any attention to you.”

“But then you’ll miss out on the field trip.”

“I’ve seen everything already, but you haven’t. You deserve to see the Ark.”

You eye the clothes again, before taking them from her grip. She gives you a triumphant smile as you dress quickly, and she changes into your clothes as soon as you’re out of them. Then she helps you braid your hair before turning you around to look at the small mirror you share. “I look just like you.”

Clarke laughs, loud and bright, her joy always so infectious. “Of course you do, we’re twins.”

You give her an annoyed look. “I know, but mom and dad can still tell us apart. Maybe this will actually fool them.”

“Stop worrying, this is foolproof.”

You start to counter her argument, but your mom bursts into the room, waving her hand towards you frantically. “Clarke, why aren't you out here, honey? We’re going to be late.”

“Sorry mom.”

You walk towards her, waiting for her to notice that you’re not Clarke, but she never does. She takes your hand when you reach her, and leads you straight through the living room and to the front door. Once you’re out in the hall, her hand doesn't drop yours, and you relish in this small moment with your mother. Something so common for Clarke, because this is a walk they take together everyday, but so rare for you. You turn and look at every surrounding as you walk by, but you stop when your mom tugs on your hand and asks, “What’s wrong with you today?”

You don't get to answer, because a man turns the corner and starts walking down the hall, and your mom stiffens at the sight of him. She freezes in place when he stops in front of her. “Abby.”

“Marcus. Heading to the meeting?”

“Yes. Are you?”

She motions towards you. “I have to drop Clarke off first, and then I’ll be right there. If I’m a little late, start without me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.” The man, Marcus, turns his attention to you. “Clarke, I heard there’s a field trip today, a tour of the Ark and its jobs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing the Medical Facility, since Abby here says you want to be a doctor.”

“I don’t want to be a doctor.” You pull a face and add, “Besides, I want to see the library.”

Marcus gives you a weird look, and you feel your mother turn towards you sharply, and only then do you realize your mistake. Clarke does want to be a doctor like your mom, and right now, you’re supposed to be Clarke. Your mother gives Marcus a polite smile. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

She pulls you around him, practically dragging you down the hall, until she reaches an abandoned corridor. And then she drops to her knees in front of you, reaching out and tugging the chain from under your shirt, exposing the small moon charm that hangs there. She whispers your name in disbelief, and she is livid as she looks at you. “What are you doing?”

“Clarke said I should get to see the Ark. I just wanted to explore, that’s all.”

Someone walks down the hall, past you and your mother, and your mom eyes them warily before standing and leading you straight back home. As soon as the door is closed behind her, she storms to the bedroom and grabs your twin, pulling up the sleeve on her wrist and exposing her star bracelet. Clarke’s face falls, knowing that you’re both caught, further confirming your mother’s suspicions. She leads you both to the couch and points at it angrily, before whisper yelling, “What were the two of you thinking? Do you know how dangerous it is for the two of you to switch places? We have talked about this before, if anyone finds out that you’re twins, our family will be punished. They will kill me, they will kill your dad, and they lock the two of you up, separating you.”

Your lip starts to quiver, upset that your mother is yelling at you, but horrified at the thought that you would be separated from your twin. Clarke experiences the same horror, because she tugs you into her arms, and starts to cry. “No, no, no, they can't take her from me!”

Your mom looks at Clarke in surprise, as she rarely has emotional outbursts, and she starts to soften, realizing she may have been too hard on the two of you. As you cling onto Clarke and she clings to you, your mother drops down in front of you, and puts a hand on each of your cheeks. “I know that it’s difficult that one of you gets to leave and the other can't. Me and your father try to keep things as even as we can with you two, but one of you will always be the twin that gets to go outside and meet people, and one of you will always be the invisible twin.”

She turns to look at Clarke. “Clarke, I know that you always want to fix things, and make your sister’s life better, but there are some things she won't get to experience, and there are some things you can't fix.”

She turns her gaze towards you. “I’m so sorry that you don't get to experience the world the same way that Clarke does. Maybe your father can figure something out and take you on a tour of the ship. Until then, the two of you need to be there for each other. Share your hardships, and give each other strength when you’re having a hard time, because you’re stronger together.”

“I’m sorry, mommy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”

“I know you are. Now, go switch clothes. Clarke, I want you at that door in two minutes. Don't make me come get you this time.”

-

It’s still early when you wake, the light of the morning barely kissing the horizon, and Bellamy is already awake when you pull your eyes open to the hungry world. You both get ready in quiet contentment, tossing things into your packs and dressing in an easy silence, your words from last night still hanging in the air. When both of you are ready and standing by the door, Bellamy turns to look at you. “If you’re not up for today, I can take the hydrazine by myself.”

You shake your head and press a quick kiss to his lips. “No need, I’m okay.”

He nods before leading you out the door and straight to the Chancellor’s office. You and Bellamy get there before Roan does, but Monty and Kane are already there and waiting when you arrive. As soon as you step in the door, Kane motions the two of you over, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The hydrazine is being loaded now, but before you leave, you need to hear this. Roan sent most of his army back to Polis to keep the peace now that the secret of Praimfaya is out, but on the way there, many have deserted the army and taken to burning Trikru villages to the ground. Your journey today will take you right through some of those territories, and it’ll likely be dangerous.”

You and Bellamy exchange a worried look, but the conversation is stopped from going any further when Roan steps into the room. You nod at each other in greeting, and everyone gathers around the table covered in maps, notes, and schematics, and Kane nods at Monty to begin. “Clarke said to get started without her since I already passed along this update. Sectors, 3, 4, and 5 sustained the worst damage. We lost the server room, all of our processors and life support systems, and half of our living quarters. Now, backup power will keep the lights on at night in the rooms that survived, but we'll have no heat or running water. And no way to restore it or reseal the ship before the radiation gets here.”

You shake your head, the extent of the destruction hitting you hard, despite the things you've had to endure on the Ark, both when it was in the sky and on the ground. You stare at the map of Alpha Station, and the big blocks of red that now cover most of the map, signaling their damage. “Is there any good news?”

Kane sighs, looking up from the same map you’re staring at. “Well, no one died.”

Clarke walks into the room just then, smiling at you in greeting before stopping beside Kane. “Forget the Ark, it was never gonna save us all anyway. We need to focus our resources on the Nightblood solution. Is the fuel loaded?”

Bellamy gives her a serious look. “It's in process, but, Clarke, it isn't gonna be an easy ride.”

“What don't I know?”

You all turn to Roan, knowing that the danger stems from Ice Nation, and he sighs, “With the secret of Praimfaya out, I sent Echo and my army back to Polis to keep the peace.”

“That's good. We need peace to distribute the cure.”

“More than half of them deserted on the way. With the end coming, they want to be home. I don't blame them.”

Bellamy quips, “Do you blame them for burning Trikru villages as they go?”

Roan gives him a sarcastic smile. “That's funny, coming from you.”

“Enough.” Kane looks between the two men, letting them know this is not the time. “We know the woods are a war zone. And after the attack on Ilian this morning, I can't spare many of the guards to protect you.”

Roan shrugs, “My security detail can protect us.”

“Thank you, that's very generous.”

“We are all in this together now.” Roan looks you all over once, before he turns to leave, signaling the end of the meeting. Kane glances between you and Clarke, and asks, “Can I talk to you two?”

You both nod, and you turn your gaze to Bellamy, who smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I'm gonna check on Octavia before we go. I’ll meet you at the truck.”

You nod, and as soon as he clears the room, with Monty right behind him, Kane turns to look between you. “I'm going with you.”

You and Clarke are already disagreeing before he even gets all the words out, both of you shaking your heads to let him know this isn't the right idea. “You can’t.”

“I'm the Chancellor.”

“That's why you can't.” You push the map of Alpha Station, mostly covered in red now, towards him, reminding him. “After everything that happened this morning, our people need you here, now more than ever. I know you're worried about our mother.”

“She's going into space...in a 100 year old rocket. Do you have any idea how many things could go wrong?”

Clarke takes over, more knowledgeable about the discussions from Becca’s Island. “Raven says the rocket's intact. She'd like a little more fuel, but as long as we get her what we've got, she said she'll get them both back down safely. Look, we have to try.”

You reach out and squeeze his arm. “I'll send her your love.”

He smiles at you, nodding in thanks. “Yes, please do that. And I'll make sure there's something left to save...when all of you get home.”

He reaches out and hugs Clarke, who seems surprised by the gesture at first, but eventually hugs him back, finding comfort in him. You watch them with a smile, and he reaches out for you once he pulls away from her. You hug him back just as fiercely as he hugs you, your connection to Kane much deeper than Clarke’s, considering the few near death experiences you’ve both shared. He pulls back and looks at both of you in admiration. “I know your father would be so proud of you both.”

You both smile at him, the mention of your dad making you a little teary eyed. He smiles back, before remembering the time sensitive journey ahead of you, and he motions towards the door. “Go. Radio when you make it.”

“Will do.”

You follow Clarke out the door as she leads you to the mini caravan set up for your journey. She glances at you as you walk that way, before turning to look back in the direction of the Chancellor’s office. “Do you think Kane is good for her? Mom, I mean.”

“I think so.” You think of all the comfort he offered her in the chaos of Pike’s Arkadia. “He’s come a long way since landing down here a few months ago. He’s definitely not the man he was on the Ark.”

“I can definitely agree with that.” She nods to someone in the distance, and you follow her gaze to the Ice Nation King. You still feel a little anger at him for taking you hostage, but it’s overshadowed by the importance of your trip today. Clarke nods towards the vehicles. “We’re going to lead the way in the Rover. You and your men will ride in back with the fuel.”

One of Roan’s men, who is lingering nearby, overhears this and immediately protests. “The King of Azgeda follows no one.”

Roan turns to the man, pacifying him. “It's all right, Seiku. Best we stay out of sight for now.”

He heeds the king’s words and steps away slightly, but his gaze is locked on you and Clarke, eyes hard and angry. You get the distinct feeling that you wouldn't want to cross him in a fight. Before he turns his gaze away from you, he growls, “Wanheda and Wanlida.”

You turn and look at him in confusion, the second time you’ve heard that name, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s a nickname, and it’s been given to you. Based on the tone he said it in, you don't think it's a compliment. You turn to Roan, brows lifting, asking him to translate, but the moment is ended by Bellamy's approach. “It’s time to go.”

You look at him, the tension in his jaw and shoulders, the hurt expression on his face, and you gather his goodbye to Octavia didn't go well. He doesn’t give you time to question him because he continues his stormy walk to the rover, and he is quickly replaced by Monty, who is now jumping out of the truck loaded with the fuel, and headed your way. 

“All set?”

He nods, “Locked and loaded. I do, however, feel the need to reiterate: you're about to drive the last 10 barrels of hydrazine known to man, a cargo which Raven needs every last drop of, through hostile territory, packed with warring clans, over uneven roads, where one serious bump could cause an explosion that would not only kill all of you, but would wipe out mankind's only remaining chance for survival.”

You glare at him. “Comforting.”

Roan muses, “What could possibly go wrong?”

You and Clarke exchange quick goodbyes with Monty before helping to load Roan and his men into the back of the truck with the hydrazine. Before you turn away, Roan grabs your arm and mutters, “Wait.”

You look at him, and he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a knife, situated inside a thigh holster. You smile at it, forgetting that it was in Echo’s possession last, and Roan hands it to you. “Echo said this belongs to you.”

“It does, thank you.”

He nods at you and then releases his hold on your arm before stepping away from you, deeper into the truck. You nod at Clarke and the two of you head to the rover, where she jumps into the back and you jump into the passenger seat. Bellamy turns to you, expression expectant. “Ready?”

“Good to go.”

He starts the rover and directs it towards the camp’s exit, pulling away from your home and leading you towards possible salvation. As he maneuvers through the woods, you watch him closely, not missing the way his hands keep fidgeting on the wheel. Your voice drops low, trying to keep the conversation as private as possible. “Is it Octavia?”

“Keep your eyes on the trees.”

You ignore the attitude in his voice, knowing it’s not meant for you. “She hasn't forgiven you, has she?”

His jaw clenches, answering the question for you, and you glance back at Clarke, remembering the tense relationship you had with your twin when you landed on the ground. “Relationships don't fix themselves overnight. It’ll take time.”

“We don't have much of that left now, do we?” You shrug, knowing he’s right, but also knowing he can't force Octavia’s forgiveness. You open your mouth to share that with him, but the thought dies out as the rover turns the corner, revealing a group of Trikru members standing in the middle of the path. Bellamy lifts the radio to contact the truck of fuel behind you. “We got a situation, looks like a Trikru checkpoint. Stay alert, show no weapons. Keep your passengers on ice.”

“Copy.”

Clarke leans forward, between you and Bellamy, peering out the windshield at the group. “Wait, it's not a checkpoint. They have wounded.”

And before either of you can say anything to her, she turns and jumps out of the back of the truck, leaving you and Bellamy staring after her, dumbfounded. You turn and meet each other’s eyes, and he gives you an exasperated look. You nod in return, waving him off. “I know, I know. I’ll go get her.”

You hop out of the rover after her, while Bellamy updates the other vehicle, and you jog to catch up with your twin. As the two of you approach, a man turns and looks your way, running over to the two of you, looking pleased to see you both. “Wanheda. Wanlida.”

Same nickname. Said with a lot less hatred though. Clarke nods to the group. “What happened here?”

“Azgeda burned our village to the ground. My father caught an ax with his leg, and we can't stop the bleeding.”

The man motions towards the bleeding man on the ground, and as you and Clarke walk that way, you hear the door of the rover close, indicating that Bellamy is out of the vehicle and heading your way. Clarke bends down and inspects the wound, and you feel a hand at the small of your back, Bellamy, letting you know he's right behind you. It only takes a second for Clarke to realize that the femoral artery has been cut, and there’s nothing she can do to save him. She turns to look at you, expression grave, but then you see her eyes widen slightly at something behind you. 

You turn and follow her gaze to a young Trikru boy, standing beside the fuel truck, looking up at the drivers. Clarke abruptly turns and looks at the man who greeted you. “I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do.”

Bellamy motions towards the Trikru men still spread out along the road, blocking your exit. “Think maybe you can clear the road?”

“Everyone, move!” The man follows you as you all hurry back to the rover, eager to get away from them before they realize their enemy is in the back of your second truck. “If you're headed to Polis, we could use a ride.”

Clarke scrambles into the back, shutting the door behind her, and you slide into the passenger seat quickly. Bellamy, however, is reaching for the door handle when he replies, “We're not headed to Polis.”

“Broadleaf and Plains Riders are moving against Azgeda, we want in.”

Bellamy ignores him, yelling to the kid who has now inched dangerously close to the back of the fuel truck. “Hey, kid, get away from there!”

The boy puts his hands up in surrender, taking a step backwards as he does, his eyes now falling on Roan and his men in the back of the truck. He immediately takes off running, screaming as he does, “Azgeda! Azgeda!”

“No!” Bellamy yanks the door open and scrambles inside, yelling, “Damn it!”

He puts the car in drive and takes off without a second thought, pushing his way through the people who have tried to gather in the road again. Arrows whiz past your vehicle as you make a hasty getaway, and there's nothing any of you can do but hope that the hydrazine is safe as you barrel through the woods as fast as you can. 

Bellamy pushes the rover as fast as he can, trying to put as much distance that he can between you and the Trikru warriors. All of you sit in tense silence, the stress of the situation failing to dissipate, even as you reach the edge of the woods. The trees abruptly end and open up into a small, sandy shoreline, a quick moving river flowing in front of you. You and Bellamy exchange a look, knowing it shouldn't be there, before Bellamy radios, “Looks like we got another problem.”

Bellamy stops the vehicle before you all hop out, standing on the river's edge and watching the water move downstream. Clarke shakes her head. “Murphy didn't say anything about a river.”

“What else could go wrong?”

The sound of approaching footsteps in the sand alert you to Roan's presence before his voice does. “Ice melt. I'll find us a place to cross upstream.”

He starts to walk away, but Clarke calls out to him. “Wait, take the Rover. You'll cover more ground, and it'll be safer.”

Bellamy looks over at Roan, and then to Clarke, in disbelief. “With him?”

“We have to get across the river. The rest of us will stay here and guard the fuel.”

Bellamy’s eyes fall to you, and you give him a sassy smile. “You guys could use the bonding time. I’ll stay here, keep everyone out of trouble.”

He looks hesitant, and makes no move towards the rover. You step forward and kiss him, before pushing him away, towards the vehicle. “I”ll be fine. There’s a radio in the truck, I’ll call if we need help.”

He nods, but still seems unconvinced that he should leave you behind. Despite that, he gets inside, and calls out to you through the open window, “We won't be long. Eyes sharp.”

You and Clarke step away from the rover, moving to its other slide to be closer to the fuel truck. From this side, you’re able to see Roan as he moves towards the passenger seat, and when he reaches for the door handle, Seiku calls out to him. “Ai haihefa, osir beda goch yu op.”

My king, we should go with you. Roan shakes his head, turning his full attention to the man. “Non bilaik mou meija kom disha shimon, teik em klir. Emo sentaim.”

Nothing is more important than this cargo, keep it safe. Them too. He says the last words with his eyes locked on you and Clarke, and Seiku nods, accepting the order. And then Roan pulls open the door and slides into the seat beside Bellamy, yanking the door closed again just as the rover starts to drive off. You watch the vehicle until it disappears from your sight, hoping that the two men find a place to cross and they find it fast. 

The two guards Kane sent with you spread out, weapons drawn, facing the trees and keeping an eye out for any sign of the Trikru warriors. Clarke walks over to the truck, keeping close to the cargo, while two of Roan’s guards linger nearby, whispering back and forth in Trigedasleng. You linger a few steps away from the truck, closer to the water, watching the river as it rushes nearby, and Roan’s third guard, Seiku, hovers nearby. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you, and feeling brave, you turn to face him. “Wanlida; what does it mean?”

A look flashes across his face, but it happens so fast you're unable to pinpoint what it means. He eyes you for a long time, and you start to turn away, thinking he’s not going to answer, when he replies, “Wanlida, the Bringer of Death.”

“That’s what people call me?”

“Yes. Wanheda commands death, giving the final blow. But you, you bring her to us, to the villages, to the mountain. You lead death straight to us, and she does the rest.”

Azrael and Azazel, twins of death and destruction. Cursed, bringing death wherever you follow. Because wherever you are, Clarke is never far behind. The nickname conflicts you, as you're sure it conflicts others. Some say Wanheda with awe in their voices, some fear, some anger. You imagine that the same conflict remains when they talk about you. The thought of being a killer, a monster, comes back to you again, reminding you of who you’ve become since landing on the ground. Wanlida, the bringer of death. Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sounds of conflict that reach your ears from nearby. Seiku’s too, because both of you turn to face the noise, just in time to watch the two Azgeda guards kill the two Skaikru guards. 

Seiku grabs you without warning, and you think he is about to kill you and add your body to the growing pile. Instead, he drags you over to the truck, pushing you down by its side, beside Clarke, who is looking at both of you in alarm. “What’s going on?”

“Quiet. I’ll handle this. When I tell you to run, run.”

You and Clarke both nod, acknowledging his command, watching as he faces the two men and yells, “Chit yu dula? Haihefa biyo na shil shimon.”

What are you doing? The king said to protect the cargo. You can't see which of the men is responding, but he answers in English, making sure you all get the message. “We are. That's why we’re taking the cargo. If nothing is more important than this, then our people deserve it.”

“No, the king wants us to protect it, so he can save everyone.”

“The king has been blinded by his loyalties to Skaikru, despite the lies they tell. Now stand aside Seiku, and give us the girls.”

“No.” He pulls out his sword, and stands at the ready. “If you want them, you’ll have to kill me.”

You hear a short laugh, and then the sound of all three men coming together, clashing in a chaos of sound. As soon as Seiku starts to fight them, he turns and yells, “Run, now!”

You stand and start to take off, but Clarke lingers, eyeing the fuel. You turn and wave her towards you, “Clarke, come on!”

“But the fuel!”

“The fuel won't matter if we’re dead and unable to deliver it! Let's go!”

You grab her wrist and pull her after you, and she relents and allows you to lead her towards the river. Your plan is to cross the water and duck into the trees that start along the other side, keeping you and Clarke hidden until you have back up or a better plan. You’re closing the distance between you and the river’s edge when you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. When you turn, you see one of the men running after you, trying to catch up. Seiku knocks the man he is still fighting away from him, and turns to pursue the man after you. Unfortunately, the man in pursuit reaches you first and tackles Clarke to the ground. You fall with her, your hands still connected, but you roll over and recover quickly when you realize that he’s pulling out a knife to stab Clarke. 

You jump up and knock the weapon out of his hand, sending it flying, and he turns and hits you hard, knocking you away from the two of them. You scramble back to your feet and run at the man, tackling him to the ground, forcing him away from Clarke. As you do, Seiku reaches the three of you, and pulls the man off of you before he can harm you, knocking him out quickly. Seiku pulls you to your feet, and you nod in thanks, before he motions to Clarke. “You should check on her.”

Clarke is sprawled out on the ground, panting hard, trying to catch her breath after being choked. As you start to move towards her, she screams, “Look out!”

You turn, watching as the other guard looses an arrow, now heading straight towards you, and for some reason, you freeze in place. You hear Clarke scream your name in a panic, and your brain tries telling your feet to move, but instead, your feet stay resolutely in place, determined to let your body catch this arrow. Except, the arrow never reaches you. Seiku sees all of this happening, and he runs towards you, wrapping his arms around you just as the arrow lands in his back. He grunts, and starts to sway on his feet, and you stumble, trying to keep him upright. But amongst all the commotion, you don’t realize that the guard Seiku knocked out wasn't knocked out at all. He rises from his place, closes the space between you, and pulls Seiku’s head back, slitting his throat while Seiku’s arms are still around you, trying to protect you. You scream as blood spills from his neck, some of it hitting you, and he becomes dead weight on your arms, causing you to fall backwards and crash onto the sand below. He dies seconds later, the blood leaving his body at a rapid pace, and you feel emotion rise in your chest for this man that tried to save you and keep you safe, despite the curse around you. Bringer of Death. And here he is, now dead in your arms.

Your mourning for the loyal Azgeda guard is short lived though, because you hear Clarke let out a cry of pain, before she hits the ground beside you. You scream her name in horror and pull yourself from beneath Seiku, scrambling over to her and checking her pulse as fear practically chokes you. You let out a sound of relief when you feel the strong thud of her heart beneath your fingertips, and once you get the confirmation that she’s still alive, you look up and around for the two guards. They’re close, weapons trained on Clarke, and you have only a few seconds to decide your plan before you execute it. 

You pull your knife from your holster and stand, holding the weapon to your throat. “That vehicle will not move unless one of us drives it. Clarke’s gonna be out for at least a few hours, thanks to you, and I suspect Roan and Bellamy will be back here before she even wakes. Any chance you have to get the fuel away from here, rides on me. But if you kill Clarke, I will slit my own throat, leaving both of you without a driver, and with an angry king to deal with.”

The two men share a look, both of them eyeing the knife gripped tight in your hand, sure that you'll do it if they threaten Clarke. Because you will. “Fine. Wanheda gets tied up, but she goes with us. First, we wrap up Seiku.”

You nod in agreement, following one of the men to the truck while the other watches over Clarke. You get one of the tarps out of the vehicle, Mount Weather’s finest, and hand it to the guard that lingers close to you. He motions for you to follow him back towards the body and you do, helping him wrap Seiku in the tarp while the other guard binds and gags your twin. The guard starts to drag him closer to the water, placing him just on the water’s edge, slightly hidden behind a large fallen tree. When he turns his back to head towards the truck, you stab your knife into the ground beside Seiku’s head, a message for Bellamy that you’re still alive, before whispering, “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

Then you turn and head back towards the truck, sliding into the driver’s seat as one of the men climbs into the back with the fuel, and the other lifts Clarke into the passenger seat before squeezing himself into the middle. He pulls the cords from the radio, ceasing any potential communication with Bellamy, as you start the truck and pull away from the river, following the directions that he grunts out periodically. You drive for a little while, hoping that Bellamy and Roan will find you soon, since you haven’t gone too far from your original location. As you’re driving in an open field, surrounded by trees on either side, you suddenly catch a glimpse of something moving closer to you in the side view mirror. As you do a double take and look again, you realize that it’s the rover, and Bellamy has finally caught up. You hold back your sigh of relief and the smile that threatens to break free, not wanting to give him away. Instead, you slowly ease your foot off of the gas and let the vehicle start to slow down, so Bellamy can catch up. The guard in between you notices the slowing vehicle, and he looks out the back and sees the approaching rover, before yelling to the other guard, “Stop them!”

Then he spins around, pulls out a knife, and holds it to Clarke’s throat, slamming his foot down on top of yours and yelling, “Keep going!”

There’s nothing you can do but drive, and watch the rover get closer and closer to your vehicle. As Bellamy pulls up beside you, you glance at him, and his eyes are locked on you, looking worried. His eyes fall to the blood all over you, and you don't have enough time to tell him it’s not yours, because the guard at your side moves the knife from Clarke over to you, pressing it against our neck as he glares at your boyfriend. Bellamy yells, “Give me a clean shot!”

He doesn't wait for your answer, he just pushes the rover to its highest speed, quickly moving past your vehicle and pulling away from you. He puts as much space as he can in between you, before he abruptly yanks the wheel of the rover and stops the vehicle in your path, his driver’s side door now facing you. He flings the door open and you can see the flash of his gun in the light of the sun as he aims right towards you. The guard beside you grabs the wheel, trying to yank it from your hands and maneuver the vehicle out of Bellamy’s path, and you struggle against him, not giving up. But the space between your vehicle and Bellamy’s is rapidly closing, and you know that if you hit him, he’ll be dead on impact, before the crash knocks out the hydrazine and wipes out the rest of you. 

You swing your elbow towards the man, knocking him away from you, giving Bellamy the space to shoot him without hitting you. A second later, the glass on the windshield breaks, and the guard lets out a cry of pain before slumping over. You look at his dead body in shock, before turning back to the front, watching as you’re about to slam into the rover. You slam both of your feet onto the brakes, hoping it’s enough, and Bellamy pulls himself back into the rover as you come sliding towards him. Somehow, the vehicle stops just short of crashing, saving all of you, and you lock eyes with Bellamy through the glass, both of you smiling at each other in shocked relief.

-

Despite a few hours of the journey still ahead of you, you all wait around until Clarke wakes up, and you know she’s okay. She's a little banged up, a little bruised, but she passes all of the concussion tests that you give her, and repeatedly insists that she’s fine. Bellamy anxiously scans your body, looking for injuries, despite your insistence that the blood on your clothing does not belong to you. You pass along to Roan that Seiku was loyal until the end, defending the cargo, and you and Clarke, just like he asked. Roan thanks you for the message, and you catch the first glimpse of emotion from the king when he turns away, looking sad, but he quickly tucks it away when he catches you watching. 

Clarke insists on driving the fuel, and Bellamy insists that you ride in the rover, not wanting you out of his sight again, so Roan agrees to ride with Clarke, splitting the party evenly into two vehicles. When you slide inside the rover, Bellamy hands you your knife, now back to its rightful owner for the second time in less than 24 hours, and you give him a grateful smile. The rest of the ride passes quickly, which you’re thankful for, and a few hours before sunset, Bellamy guides the rover from the trees, out onto a beach. “We’re here.”

In the distance, you can the approaching boat, your ride to Becca’s Island, this terrible trip nearly finished. Bellamy parks the rover and you both hop out, stepping onto the shoreline and watching the boat as it slowly moves closer. Bellamy reaches out for your hand, and then takes a deep breath, seemingly coming to a decision. “I'm gonna take the Rover back to camp.”

You turn to look at him, at this deviation from the plan, and though you don't want to be separated from him, you know exactly why he wants to do this. “Octavia?”

“It's pathetic, right? She hates me but I keep coming back for more.”

You squeeze his hand, offering him comfort. “She's your sister, she's blood. She'll come around and see how special you are.”

He nods, and you turn and look at him, both of you locking eyes. “But that’s exactly why I have to stay with Clarke. I’m worried about the hit to her head that I was too slow to stop, and admittedly, I’m worried about my mom going to space in a century old rocket to create Nightblood. I need to be there for them. Both of them.”

“I understand.”

You start to say your goodbyes to each other, but you’re interrupted by Clarke yelling, “We've got a problem.”

You both run over to the truck, meeting Clarke and Roan there, and the king is in the back, beside one of the barrels of hydrazine. He slides it to the end, turning it around, revealing an arrow sticking out of the bottom. “Trikru arrow.”

Roan kicks the barrel off the back, and you all watch in horror as it tumbles to the ground, bouncing twice, knocking the lid off. Not a single drop of liquid spills, indicating that it has long been drained, and there's nothing any of you can do except stare at the empty barrel in disappointment. 

Clarke is the first to break the silence, muttering, “I’ll go radio the others.”

You, Roan, and Bellamy work in silence to unload the barrels, checking the rest of them one by one, making sure they’re intact. Jackson and Miller arrive on the boat a few minutes later, and after you relay the news to them, you load the rest of the hydrazine on board, before Clarke and Roan board the ship behind them. You and Bellamy linger on shore, not wanting to say goodbye, yet knowing that you have to. He pulls you in for a passionate kiss, long and slow, dripping with love and adoration, saying everything you need to say. 

“I love you, blainen natshana.”

“I love you more than the stars.” He gives you a sad look, and you lift a hand to his cheek, resting it there. “I’ll see you in a few days. We’ll figure this out, get Nightblood made, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

He nods, tears shining in his eyes, bringing tears to your own eyes. He repeats his words from the night before back to you, bringing a watery smile to your face. “In this lifetime, and in the next.”

You whisper back, “Forever.”

He kisses you one last time, and hugs you tight, before pulling away and helping you onto the boat. You stand at the back, eyes locked on him the entire time, watching him as the boat pulls away. Your eyes never leave each other, both of you waving and watching, only stopping long after he’s disappeared from your sight. You remain at the back of the boat, watching the sun sink lower in the sky, until it kisses the horizon, the sky erupting in a beautiful painting of colors. And as the moon eventually takes her place, rising into the sky as a guiding light, you watch it, drawing comfort from the crescent shaped beauty. And somewhere, sitting along a sandy shoreline, Bellamy Blake sits, watching the same moon in the sky as the love of his life. 

-

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#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 4x06