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herrmannhalsteadproduction · 1 year

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There's a Way (Chapter Five)

Summary: This is Part Thirteen of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Teen Audiences and Up

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz & Original Female Character, pre-Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes

Warnings: Stress over coming out, discussion of past abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, Pat Halstead being a horrible human being, homophobia, homophobic language, brief description of violence, angst with a happy ending.

A/N: I'll post the link to the ao3 page at the bottom. This story has not only an OC character, but some quirky elements which may or may not be everyone's jam. Just FYI. Updates will be slow coming as I pick away at them during breaks from work. I couldn't take a full break from this though - I'm too excited to write it so I made working on this series my reward for when I get stuff done, lol

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Jay

He had no idea what was going on, but Bex sounded pretty urgent on the phone so after shovelling some breakfast into his mouth, he made his way over to the apartment she shared with Will. She ushered him inside as soon as he arrived and directed him to the living room where a pale, nervous-looking Will stood.

“Hey, man.” Jay made his way over to give him a hug, not pleased with how much shakier Will looked up close. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Jay.” Will returned the hug quickly before pulling back. “Have a seat. Everything’s fine, I just need to talk to you and Bex about something.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jay said as he sank into the spot next to Bex on the couch.

“Jay,” Bex chided him quietly.

“Well, he doesn’t.” Jay waved a hand at Will. “He looks like he’s gonna puke.”

“I might,” Will muttered.

“It’s okay, Will,” Bex said. She nudged Jay and gave him a look that he was pretty sure meant shut up and listen. “We’re here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Now Jay was feeling like he was going to puke. What the heck was going on?

“Okay,” Will said quietly, more to himself than either of them. He turned to face Jay. “Do you remember awhile ago when I said there was a reason why I left like I did? Why I stayed away for so long?”

Oh. Oh. Jay nodded, not wanting to stop Will when he was finally starting to talk.

“So—” Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “God, why is this so hard. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Hey,” Jay reached up to snag the end of Will’s shirt and pull him down to sit between him and Bex. “Start wherever you want. Bex and I are pretty good at following along. We’re listening, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Will took a deep breath and let it out. “So, first of all…I’m gay.”

Oh. Okay. That was—big news. Maybe not surprising news, going by Bex’s face, but still big news. Important news. He didn’t want to mess this up. This was a big thing for Will to share. He didn’t want to make him feel—

“Oh, my god, Jay, please say something,” Will burst out.

“I’m thinking!” Jay exclaimed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing here and screw up. I don’t want to say ‘okay, no big deal’ because it’s a part of you and I don’t want to dismiss that. And I don’t want to say ‘I love you no matter what’ because that makes it sound like I love you in spite of this and that—that’s not—I just—I love you, man. And I’m proud of you and the person you are and I’m grateful that you shared this with me.”

Bex and Will stared at him for a moment. “That was pretty good,” Will said finally.

Jay leaned around him to give Bex a look. “And? Bex?” he prompted.

“Oh! Yes,” she said, squeezing Will’s arm. “I love you, Will. I’m proud of you and the person you are and I’m grateful you shared this with me.”

Will laughed and patted her hand. “Thank you, Bex.”

She shot a grin at Jay and he resisted the urge to flip her off. He wasn’t going to ruin the moment, even if she was a brat. A brat who had made Will relax a tiny bit further with his laughter.

The three of them sat in a little huddle on the couch, much more comfortable now that the tension wasn’t quite so thick in the room. Jay didn’t want to risk bringing it back to full force, but he had to know.

“Is that why you didn’t come home?” he asked Will. “Did you think I wouldn’t—”

“It’s more than that,” Will sighed.

***

Will

Will took a deep breath. So far, so good. Time for the rest of it.

“Near the end of my senior year, Coach Meyer caught me and Mark McKechnie making out behind the equipment shed,” he said, remembering that day like it was yesterday. “He freaked out on us and called our parents. Mark’s parents came and got him and Dad came to get me.”

Jay let out a soft curse and Will couldn’t look at him. Not yet. Not when there was still so much to get out.

“He was—is—every flavour of bigoted you can imagine,” he said for Bex’s benefit. God, she was so lucky to have not grown up with the man. The jealousy he felt over her freedom from Pat Halstead’s clutches was one that had burned in his gut for the last twenty-plus years.

Maybe after this, he could get a taste of that freedom.

“I don’t think I’d ever seen him that mad,” Will continued. “He would get loud and sharp, but he usually burned out pretty quick. This time…he was so quiet. He was vibrating beside me as he drove like it was taking all of his energy to keep his focus the road and not exploding.”

Bex untangled his hands to take one in hers. He’d been twisting his fingers again.

“We got home and he parked in the garage and he just sat there. I wanted him to yell and get it over with, but he wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t even look at me. I tried to apologize and that’s when he punched me.”

Bex gasped quietly and he felt Jay tense beside him.

“It shouldn’t have shocked me,” Will continued. “He’d smacked us before and honestly, I figured I wasn’t coming out of that discussion without a hit or two, but this was a punch. I couldn’t even see for a second.”

Will could see it all play out in his memory. Remembered that moment of absolute shock followed by the sinking dread that this was not going to be a normal scrap with his dad.

That this was Pat Halstead finally over the edge.

“By the time I realized what had happened, he was already out of the car and opening the passenger door to yank me out onto the floor,” Will said. “He was screaming at me. How disgusting I was. A pervert. And he started hitting me, over and over. I couldn’t get up. He kept knocking me down and kicking at my sides, my legs. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to die in this fucking garage over a shitty kisser like Mark McKechnie.’”

“Christ, Will.” Jay dropped his head into his hands. “Where the hell was Mom? Where was I?”

“Mom was at work,” he said. “You were probably at the Herrmann’s.”

Bex gave a small cry at that. “Will—”

“No, listen,” he patted at her. “No one was going to stop him from giving me that beating. I know that for sure. If someone had been home, he would have found a way to do it later. Then there would have been the added torture of knowing something was coming and having to wait for it.”

“That—that doesn’t make it better, Will,” Jay choked out.

“No, I know.” Now that he was getting the story out to his siblings, he was feeling weirdly calm about the whole thing. He’d have to tell Connor how much practicing helped.

“Will?” Bex’s quiet voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay? We don’t have to keep going. You can take a break and we can talk about it later if you want.”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to reassure her with a little smile, but his mouth felt weird.

“You’re shaking,” Jay said. He reached behind them to grab the couch blanket and wrapped it around Will’s shoulders. “Bex is right. We can take a break.”

Will shook his head. He needed to get this all out. “No,” he said. “I’m—” Good wasn’t the word he was looking for. Not even okay. But he did need to get this all out. It felt…cleansing.

“There’s not much more to it,” Will said. “He left me on the floor of the garage for a bit and came back with a towel. Told me to clean up the mess. And then while I was scrubbing my blood off the cement, he told me, quite clearly, that what happened with Mark could never happen again. That no son of his was…I’m going to say gay, but that’s not word he used.”

“Did it start with an f and end with my name is Pat Halstead and I use horrible slurs?” Bex asked.

“That’s the one.” Will nodded. “He said that, uh, I couldn’t tell anyone about what I was and if I did, I would never be welcome in his house again. I would never get to see Mom or Jay. And if he heard about me doing anything like that again, he would give me another beating, until it sunk in. And that maybe, he should start giving Jay the same treatment, just to make sure he didn’t go down the same path.”

He took a shaky breath. “And I wanted to be strong. I wanted to tell him to fuck off. But the thought of him keeping me from Mom or Jay. Poisoning them against me. The thought of him hurting Jay just in case he might be gay too? I just…I broke.”

“Will.” Jay’s voice cracked on his name. Will felt tears hit his hands, not sure of where they came from.

“I promised him everything,” Will said. “That it would never happen again. That I would leave to go to school and only come back for holidays. That I would never show that part of myself to anyone back home ever again. And I didn’t.”

“God, Will.” Jay scrubbed at his eyes and let out a frustrated grunt. “Why didn’t you say anything? I remember this. I remember how beat up you were and you told me it was a fight with another football team and I believed you. Why didn’t I see—Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought about it,” Will admitted. “But later that week, I heard you and your friends…calling each other homos and I—didn’t want to risk it. As much I wanted to believe you’d be on my side, in that moment, I was worried Dad had gotten to you.”

“Fuck,” Jay said softly. “I—fuck, I’m so sorry, Will. I was a stupid little asshole. You know Cindy heard me saying that too? She sat me down and told me how disappointed she was in me for using language like that. I tried to tell her it was just a joke and she said talking like that was never a joke. That I could be hurting someone.” Jay shook his head. “I told her I didn’t even know any gay people and she called bullshit—well, not bullshit because you know Cindy—but she said, odds were I did. But that they would never tell me because I was proving I wasn’t a safe person for them.”

Jay’s eyes filled with tears. ��And that’s exactly what I did. I am so fucking sorry, Will.”

“I know,” Will said, giving Jay’s knee a squeeze. “It was just that followed by a summer of Dad saying vile shit to me anytime we were alone and threatening me and drilling into me to never, ever let anyone know—by the time I moved to New York, it was like breaking free from my own personal hell. For the first time in months, I could breathe again.”

“It was safe,” Bex said, snuggling in beside him.

“Yeah,” Will sighed. “I could be myself. Slow at first, but more and more as time went on. I dated. Never anything serious or long term because they always started asking questions about my family and wanting to meet them. But it was okay. I still living my life more freely than I ever had back home.”

“Sounds lonely,” Bex whispered and wasn’t that a punch in the gut.

It took Will a minute before he could nod. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “It was.”

“I’m so sorry you were all alone, Will,” Bex said as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Kept myself alone for a long time there though, didn’t I?” He thought of all the times he could’ve accepted Bex’s overtures or reached out to Jay.

“I think,” Bex said slowly. “It’s hard to do anything when you’re that scared. To break free from that fear.” She sat up to face him.

“You will never be alone again, okay? I promise you.” She wiped at the tears running down his face. “This is the one and only moment in my life I will be glad that Pat Halstead is my father.”

“What?” Will looked at her, shocked by those words. He could feel Jay freeze beside him.

“Because it means you and Jay are my brothers and I would never give that up in a million years,” she said. “Bringing me into your lives is the one thing he did right.”

“She’s not wrong,” Jay said with a little chuckle.

“You have us, Will.” Bex took his face in her hands and held it until he looked up at her. “You have me and Jay and Chris and Cindy and so many other people who love you for exactly who you are. I can’t imagine going through what you did and I know it’s going to take a long time to process, but we are here for you every step of the way.”

“When I came back,” he said, sinking back against the couch when she released him. “I thought I would be able to talk about it with you guys. Like I should be over it by now and I should be able to be open, but every time I tried, it felt like I was right back in the garage with him. Feeling so small and powerless. I want to move past it…I just haven’t been able to figure out how.”

“Working through, uh, working through PTSD,” Jay said, haltingly, trying to find his words. “It’s a process and it’s not a straight path, but I can help…if you want. I can connect you with some people and we can talk. Any time.”

Will felt himself getting choked up again. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Whatever you need,” Jay said seriously. “I’m here for you.” He hugged Will tight and Bex joined in. The three of them stayed like that for a moment and Will felt…safe. Loved. More at peace than he had in the past twelve years.

“I think we need cookies,” Bex murmured into his shoulder.

“Oh, my god, yes, please,” he agreed. They untangled and moved to the kitchen, getting out an assortment of cookies and making coffee (and tea for Bex.)

“So—” Jay took a bite of cookie, clearly thinking over his next words. “How do you want to handle things going forward?”

“What do you mean?” He wasn’t quite sure what Jay was getting at.

“A few things,” Jay said. “You’ve told us, but are you comfortable with other people knowing about your sexuality? Are you there yet? I don’t want to push you one way or the other.”

“I don’t want to hide it,” Will said. “But I don’t want to make it a big announcement either.”

“You don’t have to do anything, but live your life, Will,” Bex said. “People will put it together…especially if you start seeing someone. Or you know, when you and Connor have to fill out HR forms when you guys start dating.”

“Bex!” Will choked on his sip of coffee. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing,” she said, not looking nearly as sorry as she should have. “There is a vibe though,” she whispered.

“She’s not wrong, dude,” Jay piped up.

“Okay, you are the last person to tease me about vibes,” he said with a warning finger pointed at Bex. “What about you and—”

“Ah-hahaa, you know what, you’re right, never mind, I was teasing, let’s drop it.” Bex said, eyes wide.

“No, no!” Jay exclaimed. “That’s right. Let’s talk about that!”

Will could swear he saw Bex’s heart stop in that moment.

“What is up with you and that Beau guy?” Jay asked and Will burst out laughing.

“Seriously?” Bex threw her hands up. “We’re just friends! Men and women can be friends!”

“That’s probably good because I’m pretty sure Chris has adopted him,” Jay laughed.

Bex narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“He was talking to Chris about what a great venue Molly’s was and how they should think about having live music there and how he could connect him with local bands and then Chris started talking about building an outdoor patio and then I stopped listening, but they definitely exchanged numbers.”

“OH, my god,” Bex stood up from the table. “Where is my phone.”

He and Jay laughed as she stomped off. “Who do you think’s getting yelled at? Chris or Beau?”

“Probably both,” Jay laughed. His chuckles died down and he settled back into his seat, giving Will a serious look. “I have another question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you want to do about Dad?”

Click here for Chapter Six. Click here for Chapter Seven - Bonus Content

Click here to read There's a Way on ao3:

And here is the tag list (let me know if you wish to be added or removed): @sorry-i-spaced, @iunnowatuwant, @lexhalstead3, @multifandomgrl08, @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived, @ivyalmighty, @thewannabewriter

#chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #one chicago #christopher herrmann #jay halstead #will halstead #halstead brothers #oc character #rebecca 'bex' herrmann #halstead sister #angst #hurt/comfort #alternate universe #not canon #not beta read #my first fanfic series #A Herrmann/Halstead Production

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captainimprobable · 2 years

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It’s midnight and I can’t sleep so here’s the latest draft of my Sashannarcy fic! If you want to wait until it’s done and actually good, I’m finishing it tomorrow and posting it to ao3. If you’re ok with an unfinished draft, read on! ~ At the age of twenty three, Anne Boonchuy has kissed exactly one person.

She doesn’t remember it very well- it was in the midst of a lot of stronger emotions, after all, and didn’t feel like a big deal until afterwards, but hell, it feels like a really big deal right now.

She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews halfheartedly, lost in the memories of the girl she’d been nine years ago.

It was the night before the one year anniversary of their last trip to Amphibia. She still remembers the feel of the grass under her back, of the stars hiding behind the light pollution of the LA night, of how sweaty and gross and perfectly at home she felt, out in the middle of the field.

She always found herself drawn to nature, when she was missing them. It usually helped.

But that night, it just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to feel the dirt under her fingernails. It wasn’t enough to walk around with one shoe, a pathetic attempt at becoming an echo of who she had been. It wasn’t enough, because when she looked up, the moon wasn’t the same, and when she looked down, her family wasn’t by her side.

She sniffled, surprised to find tears in her eyes for the first time in a year.

Her therapist had assured her that not crying was a perfectly acceptable trauma response, but warned her that if she did find herself crying one day, it would probably be intense, a buildup of everything she hadn’t been letting herself feel.

So now here she was, a lone fourteen year old girl sobbing in an abandoned field in the middle of the night because of what was, and what could never be again.

God, she missed Amphibia. She missed the plants, even though half of them could have killed her. She missed the animals, even though half of those could’ve killed her, too. But most of all, she missed her family. She wondered what they would say if they were here. Hop Pop would pat her on the back. “It’s okay, kiddo,” he’d say. “Family always finds each other.”

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? They’d never actually find each other again. She’d never have more than memories of the Plantars.

Polly would tell her to quit crying, while pretending not to cry herself.

And Sprig. Man, Sprig. Sprig would just hug her in that way he did. She could almost feel his perpetually sticky hands now.

What she wouldn’t give for a Sprig hug.

Her tears began to fall faster, until she could no longer even see.

She felt a hand land on her shoulder, and before she could even register what was happening, she’d turned around, kicked the feet out from under the stranger, and was reaching for her sword.

Her sword…that wasn’t there.

Right.

“What the hell, Boonchuy?” Sasha asked from the ground, blowing hair out of her face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Sash,” Anne sniffled. She reached out a hand, which Sasha took, helping herself stand back up.

“It’s cool,” Sasha said quietly, not letting go of Anne’s hand. “I understand.”

She reached up and brushed a tear off of Anne’s face. “I miss it, too,” she said brokenly.

Anne buried her face in Sasha’s shoulder, and Sasha held her as she shook with sobs. “I know,” Sasha said. “I know.”

After awhile, Anne’s cries finally subsided. She picked her head up off of Sasha’s shoulder, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said. I-”

“Hey.” Sasha said, leaning in until her forehead hit Anne’s. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know how much you miss them. But don’t forget, you still have us.”

She looked into Anne’s eyes, like she was searching for something. Anne didn’t know what it was she was looking for, but at that moment, she’d do anything to be able to give it to her.

“You still have me,” Sasha whispered.

Anne can’t remember who leaned in first, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that their lips touched, only for a second, and then it was over.

“We should get back home,” Sasha said after a beat. “Marcy’s coming in tomorrow and we don’t wanna be too tired to hang out with her.”

Anne had followed her wordlessly, too stunned to do or say anything.

They never talked about it again.

She’d woken up the next morning certain that she had a big fat crush on Sasha Waybright.

She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it earlier, honestly. She knew all the hallmarks of a crush- the sweaty palms, the butterflies, all that jazz. Which is exactly how she’d been feeling around Sasha for the better part of a year.

When they picked Sasha up from her house a few hours later, Sasha smiled at Anne from the backseat, and Anne pretty much melted.

Okay, Anne thought as they waited outside the airport for Marcy. So I have a crush on Sasha. That’s fine. That’s cool. I’m fine. I-

And then Marcy walked through the doors.

She’d gotten taller since the last time she’d visited, and her hair had gotten longer. But that wasn’t what Anne noticed. No, the first thing Anne noticed is that her stomach felt like it was filled with a million bees dancing in a conga line.

She put a hand to her stomach while Sasha ran towards Marcy to give her a hug. This wasn’t right. Something was very very off.

“Anne, come here!” Marcy yelled from across the street. Anne shook her head and ran towards her two best friends, grabbing Marcy in a tight hug.

God, I could just kiss her right now, Anne thought, and then: What the hell, Boonchuy?????? Don’t you like Sasha?

She pulled back from Marcy and watched as her girls chatted about something she couldn’t follow, and tried putting the facts together.

First, she liked Sasha. She was pretty sure about that.

Second, she liked….Marcy. But that couldn’t be possible. She couldn’t like two people at once, it didn’t work like that, did it?

And then it hit her- since she couldn’t have a crush on both Sasha and Marcy at the same time, that must have meant that she didn’t have a crush on either of them.

This was just how friends felt about each other. It made perfect and total sense.

She felt a sense of relief wash over her. Okay. This was fine. This was great. Everything was normal.

Anne Boonchuy was fourteen years old when she learned how to lie to herself so thoroughly that even she believed it.

This lasted for three and a half more years, until her college roommate introduced her to both their boyfriend and their girlfriend. She’d never heard of polyamory before, but as she did her research, something clicked. And, yeah.

Yeah.

She was just stupid. Stupid, and in love with her two best friends.

Still.

She shakes herself out of her memories and throws the sandwich out in the garbage. One more presentation, and then she’d get to see her girls again.

Not that she’s going to say anything to them. Sure, Sasha is openly bisexual, and Marcy’s had girlfriends before, but polyamory is a different beast. Not everyone knew about it, and even fewer people accepted it.

What if they thought she was weird? What if they thought she was gross? No. It was better to leave things as they were.

When Sasha and Marcy walk into the room an hour later, it takes everything in Anne not to run over and kiss the both of them. But she’s a grown up now. A scientist. A voice of reason. So instead of kissing her best friends silly and ruining the time she has with them, she runs over and scoops them up into a group hug.

“I missed you so much,” she says, breathing in the smell of them.

“Aw, Anna Banana, I missed you too!”

“I saw you, like, a month ago, but whatever, Anne.”

“Sasha!”

Sasha laughs fondly and ruffles Anne’s hair. “Okay, fine,” she admits. “I missed you, too.”

“Come on, come on, I’m dying for some boba,” Marcy says, grabbing her friends’ hands. She pulls them outside to Sasha’s car, and Anne smiles at the familiarity of it all. Marcy hasn’t been in LA in six months, and she barely gets to see Sasha, what with both their work schedules. But it doesn’t matter. Because every single time they come back together, it’s like no time has passed at all.

Marcy chats animatedly the entire way there, and Anne is content to just sit and listen. She can’t believe there was a time she would have found Marcy ranting about her latest D&D campaign boring. Marcy is just so happy and lively, and Anne takes it all in. The way her hands move as she speaks. The way her eyes light up when she talks about her character. The way she has one small hair out of place, just in front of her hair clip.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Anne is reaching out and tucking Marcy’s hair behind her ear.

“And she’s a paladin because, you know, I’ve only played paladins like three times before, and I…” Marcy stops talking when Anne touches her. She’s staring at Anne now, and Anne is feeling extreme and total regret.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “You just…your hair was in your face, so…”

“Y-yeah,” Marcy stutters. “Thanks for that.”

The silence is broken only by a giggle from the front seat. “Okay, babes,” Sasha says with a wicked smile, like she knows something they don’t. “Let’s go have some tea.”

“Gosh,” Marcy says, fiddling with the green straw sticking out of her cup. “This place has a lot of memories, huh?”

“Yeah,” Anne smiles and looks around the store. There’s the bathroom that Sasha threw up in because Anne and Marcy dared her to drink ten milk teas in one go. There’s the table they were sitting at when Sasha nervously came out to them, only for Marcy to say “Oh, yeah, I like girls, too. Can we go to the bookstore later?”

“We had a good time as kids, didn’t we,” Anne says.

“Uh huh,” Marcy answers distractedly.

“Got into some crazy adventures.”

“That’s right.”

Anne narrows her eyes. “Remember that time Hop Pop and Grime kissed?”

Sasha chokes on her boba. Marcy doesn’t even react. “Sure, sure,” she says distractedly, her eyes somewhere else.

“Okay, Marcy, what’s going on?”

Marcy starts. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been totally out of it since we got here. Spill, Marce.”

Marcy gulps, and, for some reason, glances at Sasha, who impassively sips her taro tea.

“Yeah! I’m fine! Everything is great and fine.”

“Marcy.”

Marcy sighs. “Okay, fine. I was just thinking of our history and everything, and how close we were as kids, but there was something I never told you. And I wanted to, but I thought it might be weird so I didn’t. And now it’s, like, ten years later and I never said anything and-”

“Oh my god, Marcy, just tell her already,” Sasha cuts in. “It’s not a big deal.”

Anne looks back and forth between her best friends, thoroughly and utterly confused.

“Marcy…” she says slowly, “What’s going on?”

“I- I- Okay. Ihadabigcrushonyouwhenwewerekids.”

“What?”

Marcy takes a deep breath and screams “I HAD A BIG CRUSH ON YOU WHEN WE WERE KIDS.”

The other patrons glare at them, since Marcy’s voice is basically echoing through the entire place, but Anne doesn’t even notice, because, what?

“You what?” Anne says, much more quietly.

“Yeah.” Marcy blushes and attempts to hide behind her cup. “It’s kind of embarrassing now. I was, like, obsessed with you.”

Sasha snorts, and Anne glares at her. “It’s not funny, Sash! Don’t be rude!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sasha says, still laughing. “It’s just-” She looks Anne in the eye. “I had a crush on you, too.”

If Anne wasn’t already sitting down, she sure as hell would need to right now.

“Excuse me?” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yep,” Sasha says with a shrug. “I was suuuuper into you. You were actually the person who made me realize I was bisexual”

Anne goes bright red. Is she really hearing this right now?

“I-I was?”

“Well, yeah,” Sasha takes a sip of her boba. “Who could blame me? You were, like, a total badass in Amphibia.”

Anne sits back. Blinks. Sits forward again.

“You’re telling me you both had crushes on me in middle school?”

“Middle school,” Marcy says, twirling her straw.

“High school,” Sasha continues, sharing another look with Marcy.

“College,” Marcy says.

“.....Now,” Sasha finishes.

Anne needs a moment. She blinks in an attempt to reboot her brain, because there is no way she is hearing this right. There’s just no way.

“This…this isn’t funny, guys,” Anne says. “Are you messing with me right now, or-”

“The surprised look on your face is so cute, oh my god,” Sasha says, a little red in the face. “I told you this was a great idea, Marcy!”

“Aw Sash,” Marcy giggles. “Okay okay let’s just tell her, we’re torturing her!”

“What is going on????” Anne almost yells.

“Weeeeeeell,” Sasha drags the word out, and Anne swears she is going to rip her own hair out if Sasha doesn’t hurry up and explain, already.

“Marcy and I were talking in the car on the way to pick you up, and we kind of realized we had feelings for each other.”

It hits Anne like a truck. Marcy and Sasha. Together. Sasha and Marcy. Without her. She tries her hardest to keep smiling, but she knows it won’t last very long.

“Oh,” she says in an attempt at joviality. “So…you guys are dating now?”

“Well, no,” Marcy says. “Not..not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Marcy looks nervous again. She’s playing with her fingers, but finally she takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Anne’s. Anne starts at the contact.

“You, Anne,” Marcy finally says. “We’re waiting for you.”

“What???”

“Oh my frog this is going on for too long,” Sasha groans. “Anne,” she says, taking Anne’s other hand. It’s remarkably gentle, considering the determined look on her face. “Anne,” she repeats. “I’m in big gay love with you.”

Marcy squeezes Anne’s other hand. “Uh huh,” she says quietly. “Me, too.”

Anne’s eyes are wide as saucers, and she’s briefly worried they’re going to fall right out of her face. “I thought…I thought you had feelings for each other…?”

“We do,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes. “We like you, too, dumbass.”

“So you’re saying-”

“We were wondering if. Um.” Sasha is suddenly shy, looking away from the both of them. Marcy swoops in and saves the day.

“If you’d be our girlfriend?” she says sweetly, and the world stops.

“You want to date me?” Anne asks. “Both of you?”

“Is that…too weird for you?” Sasha asks, looking unsure.

“No! Oh my gosh, no,” Anne says quickly. “I-I just- I had no idea you both felt that way.”

“You’re so stupid,” Sasha says fondly. “Why do you think I kissed you that one time?”

“No fair,” Marcy cuts in. “You guys kissed???????”

“We were fourteen,” Anne says. “And I thought it was some kind of fever dream.”

“Awww, Mar Mar, do you feel left out?” Sasha teases.

Marcy pouts. “No,” she says. Nobody believes her.

“Would it help if I kissed you?” Sasha asks, and both Marcy and Anne look at her in shock.

“You…you want to kiss me?” Marcy asks, unsure.

Sasha rolls her eyes. “Only since middle school,” she says, and Anne blinks.

This is real. Her best friends are in love. With each other. And…with her. Holy shit.

“O-okay,” Marcy says, more shy than she’s been the entire day.

Sasha wastes no time. She leans over Anne and kisses Marcy firmly on the lips.

“How was that?” she asks.

“It- it’ll do,” Marcy says, stars in her eyes.

Anne wonders if she should feel jealous. She does have feelings for both of them, after all. But for some reason, watching them together just feels right. She can’t help but smile.

“You guys are perfect for each other,” she finds herself saying, and she means it.

Marcy and Sasha both go red. It’s adorable.

“We’re not perfect yet,” Sasha says. “Not without you.”

Her best friends are both looking at her now with questions in their eyes. Anne doesn’t even know what to say. She just nods.

“Does that mean yes????” Marcy asks. “Does that mean we’re all girlfriends????”

A smile breaks out on Anne’s face, larger than life. “I guess it does,” she says, and Marcy squeals.

“Okay, okay okay,” Marcy says. “There is so much fun stuff we’re gonna do together! I already have plans for our first date, it’s gonna be amazing!!!”

“I’m sure it will be,” Anne says. She can’t stop cutting her gaze between both Sasha and Marcy. She probably has the sappiest smile on her face.

“Oh, wait, hold on,” Marcy says. “I forgot one thing!”

“What’s that?”

“Well,” Marcy says, twirling her hair. “You’ve kissed Sasha, right? And I’ve kissed Sasha, but….we’ve never kissed each other.”

“Th-that is correct,” Anne says. “So?” She knows where this is going. Obviously. But she wants to hear Marcy say it.

“So….um.” Marcy glances at Sasha, who gives her an encouraging thumbs up. Marcy looks into Anne’s eyes. “Anne Boonchuy,” she says, “Can I kiss you?”

Anne just nods. Marcy leans in while Sasha wolf whistles.

At the age of twenty three, Anne Boonchuy has kissed exactly two people.

The first one was a tall blonde, in a field far away from home.

The second was a long haired artist, in a place that was finally starting to feel like home again.

Hop Pop, Polly, Sprig, Anne thinks as she walks out of the shop holding her girlfriends’ hands, I love you, and I miss you, but…I think I’m gonna be okay.

#amphibia #sashannarcy #writins #idek what the title for this is yet #whatever here have it anyway

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clockworkowl · 2 years

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So, in the last couple weeks I made the happy mistake of discovering Ryuu Ga Gotoku and now have a feral obsession (and a PlayStation5 and 7 games to play when I am not actually very good at normal video games [I have always been a button masher]) and it’s really funny because somehow this wasn’t the first time I’d run into the series because I remember reaching a certain point in the let’s play channel I was watching them where my brain went ‘Wait! This is the game with the adult baby fetish gang fight isn’t it?’ Which means I have to have seen the original PS2 version of Yakuza 2, so how, how did I somehow manage to watch someone play this game without realising how amazing they are? (Logically I’m guessing I only saw side quests and not the actual plot, and that perhaps I only saw parts of 2, but still.)

At any rate, I have come to quickly realise that Goro Majima is on the very short list of my favourite fictional characters of all time, and that he and Kiryu hold the same level of OTP ship truth for me that Phoenix and Edgeworth do (funny how the only 2 ships I actually feel strongly about being OTP are ones where one of the pair reads very strongly as ace, so strongly that it doesn’t even feel like projection). I’ve been down the AO3 Kazumaji tag rabbit hole and this weekend I found this fic, which is not just incredible in how amazing the writing is, and how perfectly in character every character feels, and every scene feels to the game where if I hadn’t just hyperfixation watched 3.5 games worth of play-throughs back to back to back just before starting I would think they were things I I had 100% just watched (and I will now probably end up Mandela effecting them into the game. ) (and good thing I am far enough and know which ‘fix it’ things that mattered are changed cause I may have been extra sad to find out that’s not how some characters stories went.). But it is also one of the best treatment of a ship where a character is on the ace spectrum and the fic is interested in exploring the experience of that character figuring their sexuality out and where the boundaries of it are that I have ever read. It seems to have been in limbo for a couple years, but the author did give it a final finished chapter that functions as a closed gate (not a conclusion, but not cliffhanger in an abrupt sense, more like a post credits sequence where you know they want a sequel in the works) I truly hope that the author feels the urge and inspiration and everything to once again come back to it, as much for my own selfish desire to get the full happy ending it seems was originally in the works and to just keep reading it, but also because it sounds like the 2020s have been as much a baseball bat to the emotional skull for them as they have me (and many others) and that was what happened to the planned chapters, so I hope that they heal and come through whatever it is they were going through happy, or at least happier, and well. (I know I get weirdly invested in AO3 author notes, and the culture on the site of people providing us all free creative output to consume their labours, but yet pleading our forgiveness for not posting for awhile or being a day later than they guessed on a new chapter dropping, and sharing all kinds of reasons for it like we deserve an explanation and they’re worried we’ll be angry.) So basically all that was just to drop the link to the work here, so someone who stumbles across my blog here might also find it. (And I guess it’s a sneak peak of my inevitable rambling explanation of how come it’s taken/taking so long to finish the next part of the class trial AxF comic. :) )

#other people's fic #fics i love

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helennorvilles · 3 years

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fic: Custard Creams

Summary: The custard creams have mysteriously ended up on a shelf too high for the Doctor to reach. Good thing Ryan’s so tall, and with such strong shoulders.

On AO3 here.

#dw #dw fic #thirteenth doctor #thirteen #ryan sinclair #fic tag #finally remembered to post this to ao3!! i did post it here awhile back but now it's on ao3 and much safer than just tumblr lol #anyway ryan and thirteen are BFFs and will be forever <3<3<3<3 #and one day ill write more thirteen and ryan bff content bc i truly thrive on it

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kiribaku-fics-whatever · 2 years

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Hello, everyone! I don't know if anyone still really keeps up with this account, but I feel like I need to explain my long abscence, and apologize.

So, I have been reading fanfictions of this ship for quite awhile. Years, even. It started on, I kid you not, fanfiction.net, then evolved into wattpad, and finally into ao3, my beloved. I remember being always starved for new content. At one point, my first ao3 account had over 2500 bookmarks, and have it in mind that I only bookmarked some of the works I read, not all of them. That meant one day, I was bound to look for other, different things.

And thats what I did. I should have left a note here about it, but at the time I genuinelly thought my abscence would be short-lived. I thought I'd be back to posting about this ship in a few weeks.

Well, that didn't happen, as you can tell, lol. Months passed, and I forgot about this almost completely. To me, it was something that was over and done with. To some of you guys, it might have seemed like the door was still been left half-open, taunting. You couldnt have know there was no one behind it- I moved out without a word, and left you hanging. For that, Im sorry.

The reason why I even remembered this was because of a phrase I've read in a kiribaku fanfiction, that I decided I wanted to read again. It brought me a feeling of nostalgia, a bittersweet little thing. This ship made me really happy at the time, and even if I left the fandom, the talented people I met here are not to be forgotten. Some of them really shaped my writing style, my taste. Thats not something you just forget.

Anyways, thats it. Now, all there's left for me to say is thank you. I received a lot of support along the way here, and this little hobby grew bigger than I ever imagined. My goal was 100 followers in the beggining, you know? I thought if I could help 100 people, I would be happy about that.

But I came back, and there were over a 1500 people accompanying my posts. Laughing at the stories I laughed at, crying at the same scenes I cried at. Finding all those amazing writers, and loving their works, in the same ways I did.

The hapinness that this thought brings to me is unbelievable. I hope all of you are well, and I promise, if I ever come back to this ship, I'll tell you about it. Sorry for the radio silence. Goodbye :)

#not a fic rec #kiribaku #bakushima #bnha #sorry guys #and ty #oh and i forgot the last tag #the writer rocked #writers #in this case #couldnt not have put it i mean #its tradition

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kylorengarbagedump · 3 years

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Defy Your Authority: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: You’re a Lieutenant, stationed on Orinda. You’re content with your trustworthy crew, but issues with a certain ship (spoiler alert: it’s the TIE silencer) end up trapping you on the Steadfast, instead. Your relationship with Kylo Ren isn't how you left it. How many more messes can you stand to clean?

(Yes, this is the sequel to Fix Your Attitude.)

Words: 4500

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Umm... hi!! I don't have much to say other than I'm very excited to post this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I love you all so much. I'm genuinely lucky and grateful to have you in my life.

You weren’t ready.

Since the alert had come in that the First Order would be sending a transporter to Orinda, your hands had been jittery. There’d been no indication, no hint as to what your team should be expecting when they arrived. In the four months since you’d arrived at the fuel post, you hadn’t received a single visitor from the brass.

“Hey, Chief.”

The voice called you as you were chest-deep in a pile of fuel-cells. Grunting, you wrenched yourself free, patting the reactor dust from your uniform. Certainly there was some in your hair, too.

“Hey, hi Tonis, what’s up?” You tried to restrain your anxiety to the perimeter of your mind. “Can, uh, can I help you?”

Tonis, your third engineer, sighed, wrangling his hands together as he looked to the ground. “Do you know what’s going on with this transport unit arriving?” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “They’re saying that they might be shutting the post down.”

“Oh, jeez.” You shook your head, grabbing a rag from the terminal and wiping your hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I really, really, really don’t want to be moved. Again.”

Grimacing, you looked at your reflection in the terminal facade. “I know.”

“Orinda’s really great,” he said. “All the different ships we get to work on. And it’s so quiet. And our team is so great--”

“I know.” You mussed your hair, as if shoving dirty fingers through it would improve its appearance. Incredibly, it did not. “They’re only sending three people. I’m sure it can’t be that big of a deal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he said. “Don’t you think that a transport unit with only a few passengers must be here for something super-official?”

Your chest seized, and you cleared your throat, turning back to him.

“Maybe.” You ignored the hot burn of your cheeks. “Guess we’ll see when they get here.”

The terminal blipped, a familiar pattern that indicated the atmosphere had been breached. It’d been awhile since you’d felt like you had the power to summon anything of importance with a single thought. The reminder tweaked your heart.

“Or… I guess we’ll see now.”

Tonis squealed, running through the post. “Hey! Hey guys! The First Order’s here! The First Order’s arrived!”

Sighing, you looked into the terminal again. Four months hadn’t changed your appearance too much. Not that it mattered. Or it might. But you wouldn’t worry about it. Only a little.

You steeled your nerves and walked out of the hangar into the dusty outcropping of the fuel outpost. Flat land stretched for miles in diameter from your station, a rolling pitch of blue mountains in the far distance, the wind whipping across the plains, rustling the dry grass. Shielding your eyes with a hand, you gazed up and spotted the transporter, a blooming black spot in the cloudless sky, quickening the pace of your pulse with every passing second.

It was just a transporter. He wouldn’t be on it. There was nothing to freak out about.

Tonis had gathered the rest of your massive crew--all three of them, him included--and they surrounded you, faces taut with anticipation.

“What do you think it is, Chief?” That was Mirna, your second engineer, a short, wide-set thing, with buzzed hair and a gruff voice. “You think they’re shutting the place down?”

“She already said she doesn’t think it’s that,” Tonis replied.

“Well, yeah, but then, why are they just sending three people?” said Lin, your mechanic.

“There’s plenty of reasons they could send three people,” Tonis said, as if he hadn’t just been agonizing over that very issue just minutes ago.

Mirna snorted. “Like what?”

“An announcement,” Lin said. “Maybe they’re canvassing all First Order planets.”

You nodded, chewing your cheek. “Sure. That could be it.”

“Or maybe it’s a survey!” Tonis was almost wiggling with excitement like the little nerd he was. “Does anyone else love filling out those weird surveys?”

“No, nerfherder,” Mirna teased, grinning. “Just you.”

“Could be an escort.” Lin shrugged. “Maybe they’re here to pick someone up.”

Mirna laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Who in the stars could they have an interest in on this planet?”

Blood blazed your face. “It’s a mystery.”

You hadn’t told anyone since arriving what had brought you there or why you’d come. You hadn’t told them when you’d first landed that you still had the cum of the Commander of the First Order leaking out of your cunt. You hadn’t told them that just hours before, he’d held you in his arms, brought you into his mind, and shown you--with a breathless, crushing tangibility--how utterly and completely he loved you.

You hadn’t told them, either, that in the days, weeks, months following your arrival, you hadn’t heard from him at all.

With a dying wail, the transporter hovered and landed, spitting up a ring of dust that smacked you in the face. You sputtered, wiping your eyes, the rest of your crew apparently victims too. Frowning, you crossed your arms, brow cocked as the ramp whined and descended. Something akin to fear needled your heart in the empty space between the sound of footsteps and the emergence of two Stormtroopers stomping to the ground.

Something that was definitely fear gripped it as those two troopers were followed by a man you’d hoped to never, ever see again.

“Engineer.” General Hux had somehow lost none of his smarmy, pink-cheeked smugness--his refusal to say your name was out of petty spite at this point. And his face was just as punchable as you remembered. “I see you are, for once, prepared for our arrival.”

“What sort of facility chief would I be if I didn’t stay on top of our arrival queues?” You hid your hands behind your back to hide their quaking. “Though I believe my rank is Lieutenant, now, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied, with the same amount of disdain he’d probably afford a crying child. “I imagine it’s the lack of distraction.” He smirked. “I loathe to think of the productivity you would’ve had on the Finalizer with a similar environment.”

“Oh, as do I, sir.” You offered him a gleaming smile. “I can’t imagine a punishment worse than being in your good graces.”

“Chief,” hissed Mirna. “That’s a General of the First Order. What are you doing?”

Cursing internally, you pinched yourself, stood straighter. Your team would have no idea why you felt so comfortable mouthing off to a man who, otherwise, might’ve had you thrust into the bowels of space by now--and to be honest, you didn’t have much of an idea why at this point, either. Your presumed protection was hardly a current presence in your life.

You shook your head, wagged out your hands. “Let me try again, sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “General Hux, sir. To what do I owe the honor?”

Hux smirked. “As much as I hate to interrupt, Lieutenant,” he said, continuing to let the word drip with more venom than a snake ever could, “I’m here to order you to come with me onto the Steadfast.”

“The Steadfast?” Obviously the name of a ship, but not one you were familiar with. No news bulletins had made their way to Orinda in the time you’d been stationed. “Why?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter has ceased functioning. Every engineer we’ve brought to it has failed to diagnose the issue.” His jaw tensed in real, actual reluctance. “We were at the border of the Rim, and unfortunately, I thought of you.”

You blinked. He wanted you to work on Snoke’s TIE fighter?

And then another question: Snoke had a TIE fighter?

“Uh…” Frowning, you glanced around at your crew. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them for days on end. “How long will I be gone?”

His face betrayed nothing but pure disgust. “As long as it takes you to fix a TIE fighter.” He watched as you paused in thought. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant. We’re leaving now.”

With that, he turned on his heels, marching up the ramp. A long, slow breath left your lungs, and you turned to your team, scanning their faces for any reaction. To your surprise, everyone but Tonis seemed rapt in excitement, eyes wide and chins wagging in awe.

“I had no idea you were such a big shot!” Lin grinned. The other two nodded in agreement.

Blushing, you rubbed your arm in embarrassment, looking between them. “No, no,” you said. “Nothing like that.”

“You have to tell us the story, one day.” Mirna was smirking.

“Uh… Right.” You coughed. “So, hopefully I’ll only be a day or so, max,” you said. “Mirna, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Chief,” she said. “Tonis, my first order is for you to please calm down.”

He shot her a glare. “Good luck, Chief!” He offered you a salute, which was both strange and unnecessary. “We’ll be thinking of you!”

Warmth spread in your chest. “I’ll be thinking of you guys, too. Don’t make too big of a mess, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied in unison--and then broke into laughter.

You shook your head, finding yourself laughing with them. “Okay. See you guys soon.”

Bowing your head, you trudged up the ramp into the transporter, taking a seat far away from Hux and the two Stormtroopers. You wondered why he’d bothered to bring them to a tiny outpost like Orinda, but you supposed that self-importance and paranoia knew no bounds in the higher ranks of the First Order.

As the door closed to the transporter, your heart wrinkled. In the past few months, despite your open ache, Orinda had become your home, your crew had become something akin to your family. You hoped the issue with the TIE fighter was something stupid, like a busted hyperdrive. They were simple to repair, but most engineers wouldn’t mess with lightspeed travel--the mechanisms were so delicate that even a simple mistake could result in splitting the ship.

The transporter rose into the air, and in seconds, it burst into the sky. A windowless cargo meant you could only imagine the faces of your crew as you disappeared into the horizon. You sighed, watching your feet as they jostled with the jerking of the ship. You weren’t sure what the Steadfast was like, but apparently Snoke had moved his operations there. Though you still had no clue what Snoke looked like, you’d never imagined him to be the type to fly--but perhaps a Supreme Leader required multiple skillsets.

The awkward ride finished without a single word being exchanged between you and Hux, which was fine by you, and possibly finer by him. When the ramp lowered, he speared you with his gaze, waiting for the troopers to exit before standing and ordering you to follow him with only his eyes.

You tromped down the ramp into the hangar on the Steadfast--it looked almost identical to the one on the Finalizer. The ceilings stretched high, like a giant’s mouth, the magnetic shields glowing teeth at the lips of the bay. Ships buzzed above you, racing in and out of their docks, the floor crowded with soldiers and officers alike.

The rush hit you--sure, the time on Orinda had been fantastic, engaging, rejuvenating. But it would never match the thrill of working in the presence of fleets and fleets of warships, surrounded by the heady spell of urgent, prestigious labor. You sucked it through your nose, held it in your chest, unable to stop your eyes from lingering on every busted ship they saw. In the distance, a team huddled around the smoking wing of a TIE fighter--you bit your lip to prevent yourself from racing over, from tearing it apart for them.

Another thing you weren’t able to stop looking for was any hint, any presence of the Commander--but in the bay, you didn’t even catch evidence of the Command Shuttle. It was a huge assumption to guess he’d be on the Steadfast to begin with, but part of you hoped he’d trailed his precious Supreme Leader to any place he was ordered. It figured that the one time you might have been within thinking distance, he’d managed to make himself scarce.

Another twine in your heart snapped, joining the collection that’d been unfurling since you’d departed the Finalizer.

Yes, he’d said he would find you. You still believed him now, even.

But really. What was taking him so damn long?

Hux led you to a wide dock toward the very front of the hangar. The crews you spotted along the way seemed detached, working without words, communicating with gestures and mirthless expressions. Tonis’ silly salute would never happen here. You frowned. The lack of thrill was worth your autonomy.

“Lieutenant.”

A snap of your head, and you blinked. You were in front of your charge.

This TIE fighter was unlike one you’d ever seen. Instead of the flat panel wings, this one bore talons, sharp knives capable of cutting space and possibly any ship in its way. Red-paned transparisteel formed the cockpit into a muzzle, imitating an animal instead of a sphere. And it wasn’t a ball suspended on plates, but was rather tucked tight into the body of the ship, creating a seamless, dynamic transition that to you, seemed so new, so modern. It was almost--sexy?

You looked to Hux. “Are you sure this is the one that isn’t working?” Lips parted in awe, you stepped up to it, placing a hand on the solar array. “It’s gorgeous.”

“The Supreme Leader has been unable to fly it for cycles, now,” said Hux. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” You rolled your eyes. “Got it.”

What you needed was a post-flight report. You strode over to the nearest terminal and entered your credentials--thankfully, as a Lieutenant now, they were universal to the entire First Order system. Only one ship was logged underneath the access: TIE/vn space superiority fighter: SILENCER.

“TIE silencer?” you mumbled. “Where do they come up with these names?”

You investigated the reports in the past several cycles that detailed the attempts by engineers to get the thing working: thrusters aligned, check. Solar lines flushed, check. Refuel port cleansed, check. Heat calibration reset and replaced, check.

And yet with each new repair--engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail, fail, fail.

Screwing your lips in thought, you landed on the post-flight report, hoping it would provide you with insight. If he knew what was good for him, Supreme Leader Snoke would be thorough.

You opened the report, and paragraphs of information flooded the screen. Your jaw dropped. Every single system had been left with a meticulously in-depth account of its status before, during, and after flight. The level of specificity contained within each sentence astounded you. It was almost unbelievable that a single person could remember this much, let alone regurgitate it with any level of accuracy. You groaned, lost in Basic.

Hux cleared his throat. “How long do you anticipate this taking, Lieutenant?”

“As long as I--...” You stopped yourself with a grumble. It would be much easier to hear it from the tauntaun’s mouth, instead of pouring over and cross-checking every single detail. “I’m not sure, General. Is there any way I could speak with the Supreme Leader?”

A strange, smug look passed over his face. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”

You blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. “Uh… okay.”

Hux turned on his heel, clipped stride cutting through the hangar. You hadn’t been prepared to meet the Supreme Leader when you woke up this morning, but you supposed anything was possible when working for the First Order. Swallowing, you shut down the terminal, and followed him into the halls.

Returning to a Star Destroyer, in a way, felt like home--the glossy black tile passed like a familiar path beneath your feet, and you spared fleeting glances to the Stormtroopers who passed you. The halls of the Steadfast maintained their similarity to everything else on the Finalizer--though that did nothing to assuage your anxiety about the memories you’d had on that ship. Or who may or may not be on this one.

“Do you work on the Steadfast, now, sir?”

Hux was silent for a moment, gaze trained forward. “Yes. The Finalizer was decommissioned.”

“Wait, really?” Your heart thumped. The only datapad message you’d received from your friends had come in the first few weeks after your departure. You just assumed they’d been busy. “What happened?”

“A Resistance attack left it crippled,” he replied. “Leadership and surviving crew were transferred to the Steadfast.”

Terror seized you, your pace quickened. “Sur-surviving crew?” you asked. “Sir?” More silence. You stumbled to catch up with him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “Sir--”

“Engineers Foster and Loren were transferred to this vessel unharmed, Lieutenant.” He leered at you. “Satisfied?”

You heaved a massive sigh, hands falling to your knees. They were here. You’d have to catch up with them, soon.

“Yes, sir, thank you--”

By the time you’d finished, he’d already managed to make it what seemed to be fifty paces ahead of you, and you scrambled to keep up with him.

As you did, a grey-haired man emerged from the corner in front of you both, and Hux stiffened, cursing under his breath. Raising a brow, you tried to meet this man’s gaze, only to bump into the general, who’d stopped, limbs pinned to his sides.

“Shit!” Your face burned, and you jumped back, snapping to attention. “I mean, uh, sorry, General, sir.”

The look Hux offered you was similar to one a parent might offer a simpering child. Right before they murdered that child in a fit of blind rage.

“General Hux,” said the grey-haired man. “Just the one I was looking for.”

“Allegiant General Pryde.” Hux’s chin jutted to the ceiling.

The Allegiant General Pryde turned his attention to you, glimpsing your uniform before meeting your eyes. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted, Lieutenant…”

You gave your name. “Sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “I’m Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“Ah.” His gaze lingered on the fuel cell filth smattering your chest. “Of course.” Something within his eyes categorized you in league with rodents--and something else within them told you he crushed rodents for sport. “Interesting.” His attention whipped back to Hux. “General. Regarding the Council meeting…”

“I plan to present the Supreme Leader with my plan, sir.”

“I know you do,” Pryde replied, “but you failed to run it by me.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. You wished you were anywhere other than this extremely awkward hallway meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“Forgive me, Allegiant General,” Hux said, “but I didn’t think a basic unit efficiency research required your approval.”

“Everything requires my approval, General,” he said. “Lest we forget the errors of Starkiller Base.”

That was a low blow. You gulped. They both looked at you, and you cleared your throat again, throwing your hands behind your back. The energy radiating from Hux could be classified as skin-scorching.

“Of course.” Hux’s tone grew tighter with each word that left his lips. “I’ll remember that next time, sir.”

“Good.” Pryde glanced between you. “What brings a facility chief from her station all the way to the Steadfast?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter, sir,” Hux replied, still staring into the air. “She may be the only engineer capable of repairing it.”

The Allegiant General frowned. “Really. How many resources did you expend picking up a single person from a remote outpost?” he asked. “Do you not consider this to be something I should know?”

“It was a brief excursion,” he said. “I took two Stormtroopers and a single transport unit.”

“Was that unit’s excursion approved?” He circled Hux, a silvered predator, sizing up his prey. For once, you almost felt bad for the ginger bastard. “What if Resistance staged an attack while you were gone? If we needed that unit for more than a handful of bodies?”

Hux’s lips pursed, chin dimpling with tension. “I don’t know, sir.”

“And how do you think the Supreme Leader will feel knowing you acted without approval, all to retrieve a single engineer?”

Silence drifted like fog over the three of you, thickening as this grey-haired power-laden dickhead glared at General Hux. But Hux’s back had aligned, parallel to the wall, every flicker of frustration fled from his frame. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled at his mouth.

“I think he’ll be just fine with it. Sir.” Hux’s brow quirked. “We’re on our way to speak with him now, if you’d like to accompany.”

Pryde grinned, a serpent’s twist to his smile. “Your confidence has failed you in the past, General,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

You trailed behind the Allegiant General and Hux, fingers starting to quake. Now, you’d not only be meeting the Supreme Leader still smothered in space dust, you’d be meeting him accompanied by the two biggest assholes in the First Order--second only to one other, perhaps.

Unfortunately, that particular asshole was a ghost to this ship, and there wasn’t anyone in particular you felt comfortable asking about him. If Hux had been superceded by this new jerk, the last thing you wanted was another opportunity for someone with rank greater than your own to question you about your personal relationships.

Dread pooled in your belly. Supreme Leader Snoke did know about your personal relationship with the Commander. In fact, Snoke had been the one to insist you be his conduit, among other insulting things. You imagined him bringing it up: Ah, yes, the engineer, the distraction… and how have you been, without his cock inside of you?

You shook your head. No, it didn’t make sense for him to bring up his apprentice’s dick at your first meeting. Or any meeting, for that matter. You hoped.

The two men led you through the rest of the journey in silence, animosity prickling like durasteel barbs in the air between them. At least your own team didn’t regard you with vibrodaggers behind their backs--as far as you knew, anyway--and the realization, against the backdrop of your current situation, had you aching to leave. The discussion with the Supreme Leader would be swift and succinct; you’d get the information you needed, diagnose the problem, and be on your way back to Orinda.

In front of you, a massive turbolift sang its arrival, blast door whirring open. You followed the two men inside, heart tingling. Maybe part of you had been hoping that your long-awaited reunion would have occurred during your time aboard--as you thought it, you tried to stymie the resentment that you’d waited this long at all. The rational part of your mind reasoned that he was a busy man, that lack of contact didn’t indicate lack of thought.

But every other part of your mind was staving off bubbling despair. Four months had felt like four years, and you’d only grown more desperate, more anxious for his embrace--then furious that he didn’t appear to return the sentiment.

You knew how he felt. So it didn’t make sense, then, why he hadn’t acted on it for even a single, solitary night in the past sixteen weeks.

When the blast door opened, you crossed the threshold into an obsidian sanctuary. The floor gleamed, a black lake of glass sweeping into high ebony ceilings that twinkled with artificial stars. The only other illumination came from two enormous spheres that hung, suspended in air at opposite ends of the room, their surfaces a swirl of white-grey light, imitation suns with colorless coronas. At the far end of the room was a hovering stone throne, six dark figures crowding it in a crescent.

Your heart stammered--you’d seen them before. In memories that hadn’t belonged to you. All of them were outfitted in clothing that seemed familiar, helmets that hid their identities, and each of them possessed a weapon meant explicitly for assassination. The only conclusion you could draw was that they were the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards.

Whoever they were, to you, they were ominous.

The two men in front of you strode forward, and you followed, catching your reflection whispering by your shoes: your hair was mussed with evidence of engine exhaust, your uniform still glowing with smears of ionization. Internally, you cursed yourself. Yeah, this was exactly how you’d wanted to look when meeting the Supreme Leader of the First Order--like complete shit. Stomach sinking, you sidled behind them as they stood at attention.

“Supreme Leader,” they said simultaneously.

As if on command, the wall of shadowed soldiers parted to reveal the throne.

But no one was there.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Hux’s head swiveled between the strangers in front of you. “Where is he?” He turned to Pryde. “These are his receiving hours--”

“Yes,” replied the Allegiant Asshole. “But perhaps he’s departed early for the Supreme Council meeting. We’d be better off--”

The turbolift doors wailed behind you, and like synchronized chronometers, you, Hux, and Pryde spun to meet the new arrival.

Your brain went blank.

Kylo Ren crossed the shimmering sable floor in a confident stride, his robes replaced now with padded armor that clung to the contours of his powerful, thick chest, his broad shoulders covered with a hooded cape. His fists, still bound in leather, flexed at his sides--and his face...

More beautiful, more arresting than you could have conjured in any memory, his lips still pink and plush, his nose still a long line, his hair still rolling in waves, like black silk-velvet at his shoulders. You met his eyes as he advanced, finding them guarded, resurrecting every fear and insecurity, tempering them with hidden warmth.

“Generals.”

The voice was lightning through your limbs, its owner a perfect match to the soft baritone you’d replayed in your dreams for the past one hundred and fifty two days. All of your systems leapt to life at once: brain spinning, heart soaring, adrenaline coursing. Sweat soaked your neck, your figure thrust whole into a furnace.

“Sir!” Both bowed their heads.

Gazing at him, then, you realized what was happening. This was his throne. You were working on his TIE fighter. Kylo Ren, your lover, your obsession, your galaxy was now the de-facto leader of the actual galaxy. You weren’t in love with the First Order’s Commander, anymore.

You were in love with its Supreme Leader.

Shock anchored your mouth open. Your eyes welled with latent tears. You grinned in disbelief.

“Dude!” You laughed. “What the fuck!”

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fanfiction problems #fya2 #SLAPS THIS ON TUMBLR AND RUNS AWAY

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sapphicneverafter · 3 years

Text

a fix-it fic/drabble (???? i might write more if people want it and post it to ao3) for acosf because i got through 7 chapters and gave up. it was that bad. i worked really hard on this so feedback is very much appreciated <3

Exiles of Light and Flame

Nesta was being sent to the human lands as punishment by her sister and her mate. No, she was being banished. Banished to a place where she was feared and forced into isolation. Her sister hadn’t even bothered to drop her off herself, she’d had Morrigan do it. The blonde hadn’t made the trip pleasant, to say the least. She knew that Lucien and his human friends had taken up residence in the area, she just didn’t expect it to be so far of a walk. Nesta rubbed her hands together to keep the biting wind at bay. Perhaps she should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

“Nesta.” Lucien greeted her with a guarded nod, stepping aside to allow her in. He didn’t ask why she was there or how she got there. He simply led her to the sitting room where Jurian and Vassa were sitting on an atrocious pink couch. The couch was gaudy and loud and unlike anything Feyre would’ve chosen to decorate with. Her lips upturned in a small smirk at the thought. Maybe a banishment to the mortal lands wouldn’t be the torture she’d first imagined.

“That’s an ugly couch. I like it.” It was the first thing she said. Blunt and rude, something her sisters found disgraceful. Jurian barked a laugh at her comment, obviously not taking it to heart. She tilted her head to the side in calculation, gauging their reactions to her presence.

“Nesta Archeron. No longer welcome among the Night Court, I presume.” Jurian was more perceptive than he let on. Nesta wondered if spending all that time on Amarantha’s finger had taught him how to find hidden emotions and intentions.

She’d heard Feyre speak of the three of them before, disdain evident in her tone. Lucien and his new human friends called themselves the Band of Exiles. It was a better name than Court of Dreamers but Nesta knew better than to voice that opinion to her sister and her temperamental mate. Sometimes she forgot that her sister had once been human. That she had once been human. That life seemed so far away now, not that it was only two years prior.

“Do I get a room?” Nesta had decided she’d stay awhile, if they’d have her. Though she was fairly certain none of them actually owned the home they were residing in. Jurian and Vassa exchanged a look, with each other and then Lucien. Lucien who had only said one word to her, her name.

“I’ll show you to it.” He finally breathed, his auburn hair resembling living flame beneath the faelight. He wasn’t what she expected, what she remembered. His steps weren’t deep and commanding like the Illyrian males of her sister’s new family, instead they were quiet and calculated. She followed him silently, unbothered to find conversation to fill the silence.

Nesta nodded a thanks as she entered her new room, shutting the door and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She ran a finger through her long hair, it surprisingly still holding a semblance of shine despite her horrid eating habits. It was the High Fae genes she now had that kept it so. Her pointed ears came into view, a stark contrast to the ears she had grown up with. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to them, to her new body. Nothing felt like it was her own anymore, especially not the power she’d stolen and kept buried deep inside. She needed a change, something to take control of.

It was Jurian who found her digging around in the kitchen searching for scissors, arriving just in time to see her hold them up triumphantly. He chuckled at the sight, his eyebrows raised in question.

“I’m cutting my hair.” Nesta explained, not that she owed him an explanation. She didn’t owe explanations to anyone. Her sister and her husband didn’t agree with that sentiment. Hence, her banishment. “Well, I was going to ask Vassa to do it. I saw that she cut hers.”

“I cut her hair.” Jurian corrected, holding his hand out for the scissors. Nesta clutched them closer, unsure at the prospect of the former general cutting her hair. “Her Majesty would hack your hair, you think she’s ever lifted a pair of scissors herself? There’s no one to cut hair for you on the battlefield, you learn to do it yourself.”

Nesta nodded, handing over the scissors and plopping herself into one of the dining chairs. When Jurian asked how short, she pointed to halfway up her neck. She wasn’t expecting how much lighter she felt the more he snipped away. It was like she had been tied to a weight upon the ground and she was finally freeing herself.

Elain would have fainted at the sight of most of her hair upon the floor. What Cassian would think of it briefly drifted across her mind before she shut it down. He had agreed to send her here, to uproot her small sense of normalcy and send her away. She wouldn’t forgive that. She couldn’t forgive that.

If Lucien was surprised at her dramatic hair change, he didn’t show it at breakfast. She was surprised at the comradarie he shared with Jurian, treating the human as an equal. She still remembered how her sister and her court had looked down upon her when she was human, how they still did. How they reviled her with fear and distaste. An embarrassment to our reputation, Feyre had said. As though the Night Court wasn’t already hated long before her.

“Your eggs are getting cold.” Lucien reminded her with a surprisingly warm tone, taking her out of her thoughts once again. Jurian had since left the room, something she hadn’t even noticed. She pushed around her eggs and took a small bite.

“Thank you, for breakfast and for letting me stay here.” She forced a small smile, taking another bite of the eggs before pushing the plate away. Lucien didn’t comment on her barely touched plate, he simply took it and added to the pile of dishes he was washing.

“It’s no problem, wouldn’t want you out on the streets.” Lucien shrugged as he washed the dishes, looking up to meet her eyes. The scar across his metal eye was striking in a surprisingly handsome way. It was only then that she’d noticed he had tied back half of his hair. It wasn’t a bad look on him, he almost looked relaxed. “There’s a library in the house, second door on the left from the foyer.”

The red-headed male remembered how she had spent most of her time within the House of Wind. She was so sure no one was paying any attention to her there. Although his reasons for remembering could have to do with the fact that she was often with Elain then. She nodded and headed towards the library, it was empty when she stepped inside but magically warmed like the rest of the house.

Nesta ran a finger along the spines of the books, feeling which books were more worn than others. Whoever had previously owned the home had an extensive collection. It had been a while since she had read anything, too busy trying to bury her thoughts beneath alcohol. She picked a random one with a worn spine, her dress falling over her feet as she curled up in one of the chairs.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but soon she noticed the laughter coming from the living room. Vassa must have returned for the evening. A glance outside confirmed it, catching the end of the sunset. It was her plan to avoid her new housemates and retreat to her room but then there was a knock at the door.

Somehow the knock sounded and felt so familiar, but it couldn’t be. She hated herself a little for hoping that maybe it was the person she thought it was. That he’d come to save her. That he had defied his High Lord and decided she was worth it, even after how she’d treated him since the war.

Lucien got to the door before she could make herself move, opening it to find a broad shouldered Illyrian male. Nesta peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. When Lucien stepped aside, she saw what he was holding and the hope in her heart shattered. Cassian was here, but he wasn’t here for her. He was here to bring the last of her things and to be rid of her. Nesta didn’t need to listen to any explanations or ramblings, she didn’t have it in her. So, instead she turned her back on Cassian and walked away.

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detectivereyes · 3 years

Text

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03 for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond.

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down.

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that.

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues.

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side.

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?”

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright.

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men.

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

#i've posted too much today #but i need share before i end up deleting it #but actually if it flops i may just delete anyway #whatever at this point #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #my fic #usersaaya #userbones #reyeslonestartag #pragmaticoptimist34 #tuserpaige

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tellmealovestory · 3 years

Text

Planning

Summary: Planning for the wedding has begun with choosing a color palette.

Notes: Also posted on my ao3. Part of Something More

I know that it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted and even longer since I’ve updated this and for that I am so sorry. The past few months have been rough and I’ve been struggling to write anything, but I’m trying which is what counts I guess.

I haven’t forgotten about Something New - there’s for sure one more part, possibly two, but for now here’s something and again I am so sorry for how long it’s been taking me to get these posted.

Warnings: Surprisingly none - unless you count idiots in love falling more in love.

"Black and yellow?"

"No."

"Purple, orange and black?"

"No."

"Red, white and blue?"

"Bucky, no!" Laughing at his suggestions you playfully shoved his shoulder as he shot you a grin full of mischief. “Besides, I think those are more Steve's colors."

“You opposed to pastels?" His grin only widened when you wrinkled your nose in distaste. "Red and pink?"

“Red and pink isn't the worst idea you've had," you mused, a thought working its way into your mind as you eyed the mess that surrounded you.

“Sweetheart-,” he started, but you silenced him with a look.

Reaching for a bridal magazine, one of many that laid scattered across the floor of the living room where you were both currently seated you flipped through it while Bucky continued to rattle off suggestions. Frowning, you pushed it aside before grabbing another one. Finding what you were looking for you showed him a spread with dark reds and pinks and a gold that had the barest hint of a shimmer. It was for a Valentine’s Day wedding and while you weren’t getting married on that date you still thought it was pretty.

One look at his face told he wasn’t impressed.

"Neons would be better,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, his fingers flicking a brightly colored post it note that was sticking out from the magazine.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Maybe."

“James!”

And this time he was the first to laugh, the richness of his voice filling up the room and drowning out the sitcom dialogue that drifted from the television a few feet in front of you.

He made it difficult at times like these to get and stay annoyed at him, but nevertheless you made an attempt with a glare shot in his direction. It was useless though when he was looking at you like that. All bright blue eyes shining with a love that still managed to steal your breath anytime he glanced at you. Laugh lines around his mouth and before you had a chance to warn him that he was seconds away from not having any say in your wedding colors he was tilting his body towards yours, lips landing on the side of your head. An innocent kiss, but it sent your heart spiraling.

Almost as much as when he murmured against your skin with breath that was warm and smelled of the chocolate ice cream you’d been sharing, “Alright, show me what you were thinking.”

Waking up your sleeping laptop that rested on the coffee table you expertly navigated the rabbit hole of Pinterest. Scrolling past boards you had created for flowers and centerpiece ideas, dresses and cakes you found the one titled colors.

A sea of palettes stared back at you; turquoises, magentas, oranges and yellows. Mints and whites. Pastel purples and soft pinks, creams and pale blues that screamed romantic. Greens and blushes. Purple and grays.

And finally, towards the bottom of the board a mix of navy blues, grays and burgundy. Burnt oranges and peaches. Sunflower yellows and dusty blues.

A collection of colors that reminded you of him.

“Something like this I thought.” Chewing on your lower lip you glanced from Bucky to the screen and back again. Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you waited for him to say something.

“It’s a lot of blues.”

“You look good in blue.”

“All the burgundy?”

“You also look really good in burgundy.”

“You really picking colors based on how I look in them?”

“No,” you scoffed with a quick roll of your eyes that he saw right through. “Okay, fine, but it’s not the only reason.”

“You gonna share those other reasons?” He asked, leaning forward to take a closer look.

"Um... I... like those colors?" Even to your own ears the words rang false. "And they're a better choice than the random ones you were shouting out." There another reason added to your list.

"Y/N," Bucky said, amusement dripped from his voice and he bit back a smile as he pushed the laptop towards the middle of the coffee table.

For a moment the only sound in the apartment was that of a commercial advertising pizza.

Turning to you he cradled your face in his hands. "You know no ones gonna be looking at me," he said softly, the pad of his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. "They're all gonna be looking at you and how beautiful you are."

"I haven't found something to wear yet."

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart."

Biting your lip your eyes danced between his and you couldn't help asking, "What if I get a really poofy dress and I end up looking like a cupcake again?"

It was a struggle for Bucky not to laugh at the mention of a cupcake. A million memories ago, but he could still remember that night. Your fathers wedding to his new, younger bride, the hideous pink dress she had made you to wear, the endless teasing you had endured from him, the new nickname he had bestowed upon you before you banned him from ever calling you that again. In his mind it didn't matter if when your wedding came you wore a dress that made you look like a cupcake, drenched in pink that looked as if it came from a jumbo sized bottle of pepto-bismol you'd still be beautiful in his eyes.

Dipping his head down he brushed his lips against yours in a kiss sweeter than any cupcake he had ever tasted.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered again, his mouth moving over yours slowly. "You’re still gonna be the most beautiful person in the room, cupcake."

It was hard to kiss him back when your lips were curling up into a smile, a laugh bubbling to the surface followed by a rush of memories at the mention of cupcake. He hadn’t called you that in years and though you still hated it you didn’t have it in you right now to tell him to shove it.

“Is that your way of telling me you hate my choices?” You asked, breathless from the feeling of his lips against yours. “No,” he laughed, stealing another kiss. “It’s my way of saying you should really give my suggestions another chance.”

“Buc-,”

“I’m kidding!”

Another kiss, this one to your forehead as the commercial ended and the sitcom returned. Turning your attentions back to the screen at the same time you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes scanning through the options again, his for the second time and yours for what felt like the hundredth since first compiling the list.

“I really do like these colors. Especially this one,” you said, bringing up a palette with dusty and navy blues, marigold and a hint of dark green.

No matter how many options you had looked at you kept going back to it. It was pretty and it was an added bonus that he looked in most of those colors.

“That the one you want?”

Biting your lip you switched back to your second choice. Navy blue, maroon and gray. More colors he looked good in, more colors that you had been drawn to, but in your heart you knew which one you wanted.

“Yeah, but what do you think?”

“I like it,” he said.

“You agreed to that awfully quick.” Your tone was light and you couldn’t help asking, “Are you only saying that cause you’re tired of looking?”

“No. ‘M saying it cause you like it.” His eyes darted down to the shiny engagement ring that sat pretty on your ring finger. Lifting his gaze up he continued, “And cause I don’t care about the colors.”

No sooner did the words leave his mouth and he was left scrambling to explain when he saw your widened eyes.

“Sweetheart.” His hand slid along your cheek. “Whatever colors you choose are gonna be fine, but I’m not gonna be paying attention to them. Our friends and family might, but the only thing I’m gonna be paying attention to is you and how I’m finally marrying the woman of my dreams.”

His words sunk in amid the closing credits of a sitcom and as tears welled in your eyes and your laptop drifted off to sleep the only words you could manage were a breathless, “Oh, Bucky.”

You had never thought planning your wedding would be so emotional.

You kissed him softly, savoring the way his lips moved against yours in a practiced ease that still made your stomach fill with butterflies. Just as he was about to deepen the kiss you pulled back with a start and a flurry of questions.

“Wait, if you don’t care about this why did we spend two hours looking and why did you offer such awful suggestions?”

Bucky swallowed, his cheeks flushing deep pink. “You asked me to,” he said simply, before adding on as his cheeks turned even darker, “Maybe I wanted to make you laugh a bit.”

Mission accomplished.

Parting your lips to speak he beat you to it saying, “I also wanted to spend time with you and I know how much planning this means to you.”

It felt as if your heart was going to burst right out of your chest. You didn’t know anyone who would willingly want to spend that much time going over colors, debating between two shades that were nearly identical when they could have been doing something they enjoyed.

Searching for the words to tell him all of that you came up empty, settling with a simple, but true, "I love you, Bucky."

Which you followed up with another sweet kiss, once again marveling at how lucky you were to be marrying him.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #my writing

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averykedavra · 3 years

Text

A Conversation I Overheard (1/5)

It’s been a while since one of these, hasn’t it? A little one-shot turned out not-so-little and I figured it was about time to give multi-chapter fics another shot. This self-indulgent little beast is courtesy of a prompt by the lovely @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, which you can find here! The title and plot are entirely their creation. @sleepless-in-starbucks encouraged me to write this awhile back (read: months and months ago, because I’m slow at writing) and here I am! Finally! Better late than never. So...commence fic!

Update schedule is to be determined. This fic is on Ao3 here!

Pairings: romantic LAMP

Warnings: insecurity and self-hatred, anxiety, depressive symptoms, spiraling, a crap-ton of miscommunication, and mentions of kissing

Summary: When Roman eavesdrops on a family meeting post-wedding, he hears the last thing he expected--the sides confessing their feelings for each other. Which is lovely for them, but it means Roman is stuck as the fourth wheel. Helpful, quiet, and doing his best to keep them from remembering that they're still mad at Roman.

And doing his best to keep himself from dwelling on the heartbreak. Because of course they don’t love him. Why would they?

(or: the four times the sides tried to tell Roman they loved him, and the one time he finally believed them.)

Chapter One: Denial

First. Next. Masterlist.

Roman knew it was petty. He knew it was a petty, selfish, unchivalrous thing to do. He should treat his fellow Sides with more respect. He should own up to his mistakes. He should make like the fabulous prince he was and lead the discussion, fix everything, listen to the people who knew him best.

Roman knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t force himself to answer the door.

“Kiddo?” Patton asked for the third time. “Did you hear me? I said we’re all going to have a--family meeting. To talk about what happened. I think it would be a good idea for us all to...get things off our chest.”

Roman clutched at his sash and stared at the ceiling. If he called out, Patton wouldn’t hear him. He’d have to walk over to the door and open it. That was one excuse to stay still. That was one excuse to keep quiet.

“I know you’re upset,” Patton said. “It’s okay. We want to hear you out. Maybe we can help you work through some things.”

Roman would cry if he tried to work through things. He would start blubbering in front of everyone he knew. That was one excuse to keep the door locked.

“You don’t have to.” Patton sounded upset. He always sounded upset these days--maybe it was the door muffling his voice, or just because he was talking to Roman. “You really don’t have to, kiddo, it’s okay. I get it. You’re--perfectly within rights not to come. I don’t want to pressure you.”

They didn’t want him there. Roman would ruin the whole thing, say something cruel and hurtful as he always did, and leave the situation worse than it started. That was one excuse to stay away.

“I get it,” Patton said, his voice barely making it through the door. “Janus won’t be there, and it will be calm, and we’ll talk things out. I get your hesitation, kiddo. It’s okay. I’d just--love if you gave us a chance.”

Would they give Roman a chance? How many chances were left until Roman ran out? What were the conditions of this chance--did he need to look better, act better, be better? He’d barely managed to put on makeup this morning. That was one excuse to stay inside.

“I guess that’s all I have to say.” Patton laughed a bit. “Maybe you’re asleep, and I’m just talking to myself. That’d be pretty silly of me, wouldn’t it?”

Roman was tired. He’d been tired for weeks. He was always tired. That was one excuse to avoid the meeting.

He had so, so many excuses.

They were probably the only things he was creative at.

“Well...goodbye, I guess?” Patton hesitated. Roman could see his shadow under the door. “Talk to you later, kiddo. My invitation stands.”

The shadow flickered and vanished. Roman didn’t move from his bed, splayed on the red-and-white quilt, staring at the ceiling.

They’d be arranged on the couch when the meeting started. He could picture it well enough. Logan in the armchair, Patton on the couch, Virgil on the arm of the couch--or, if he was stressed, the top of it. He probably would be stressed. They all would be. Patton would be worrying the sleeves of his hoodie, and Virgil would be chewing on his nails, and Logan would be shifting his thermos between his hands or drumming his fingers on his knee. Maybe they’d invite Thomas. Maybe Patton would double back and invite Janus after all.

It didn’t matter, though, because Roman wasn’t going.

Patton would start the family meeting. He always read the minutes, as it was, and thanked everyone for coming. Virgil usually bristled at the gratitude. Logan always returned it. Roman always bowed with a little twirl of his hand--ridiculously dramatic--and if Thomas was there, he’d smile with his nervous smile. It was a combination of Patton’s optimism and Virgil’s anxiety. Roman could always see them in Thomas, because he knew them so well, he knew where every jagged edge fit together.

Roman remembered how the family meetings always went. A problem, a discussion, a solution. It wasn’t like it was in videos. Videos were for Thomas issues. Family meetings were for family issues. There was often overlap, which made it common to pregame a video with a quick discussion, or to pile onto the couches when a video was concluded. In Roman’s memory, which was often wrong, this meeting was almost two weeks after the disastrous wedding. Two weeks was the longest time between a video and a meeting that Roman could remember. Two weeks was far too long, and yet, not long enough.

He’d known this was coming. He’d prepared himself. He’d even rehearsed apologies, perfectly crafted to gain sympathy--and what kind of manipulative person did that? Who tried that hard for affection? He couldn’t be truly accepted, truly loved, unless they knew the truth about Roman.

Except Roman couldn’t bear to let his walls down. He couldn’t bear to see the looks on their faces, if they knew everything--how much he failed, how much he wasn’t who they needed, how much he felt for them.

He couldn’t even imagine apologizing without his stomach flipping.

He wondered what they would talk about. He knew how the meetings usually went, but he wondered what would fit into the format, what would make Patton wince or Virgil shift on the couch. He wondered what solution they would find. They always found a solution. Sometimes it took several hours, but they did. Roman was usually the largest obstacle.

Maybe they would solve things easier, if he wasn’t there.

Or would they? If Roman was the problem, could they really find a solution without talking to him? Would they pass judgment on him while he sat in his room, alone, or would they dance around the issue? Pretend they weren’t missing anyone? Pretend everything was fine?

Roman glanced at his closed door. Patton would be downstairs. The meeting would be starting. He could picture the way they’d tug each other into a group hug at the end, or the way Virgil curled into himself when anxious, or the cute way Logan always bit his lip when thinking--he knew them so well, but he could see a million ways for the conversation to go. There were too many blank spaces between lines. Too many ways for the story to end.

Would they knock on his door later? Tell him what happened? Tell him--tell him they’d decided, that Roman needed to leave, that he was better off on the other side of the Mindscape? That they’d made a mistake in trying to be his friend?

Roman ran his hands down his arms and pressed his fingers into his skin. Chin up. Act like a prince. He wasn’t in the mood to cry again, although if everyone was busy downstairs, he had the least odds of being heard.

He felt greasy. Maybe it was because of the clothes he’d slept in for three days, or his unshowered and unbrushed hair, or the distinct lack of vegetables in his recent diet. He’d avoided eating with the others. He’d avoided the others in general.

He had no idea what they were talking about downstairs. What was so unimportant--so important--that Roman didn’t need to attend? Perhaps they were simply nice enough to leave him be, but he could hardly believe there wouldn’t be another shoe to fall.

Something would happen. Roman just couldn’t decide on what.

Curiosity gnawed at his empty stomach.

He didn’t want to be unprepared. He should get ready, should prepare an apology, should pack his things--his room was teetering with cushions and lace, and he winced at the prospect of cleaning it out. If he knew what they were planning, if he knew who he would face, he’d be ready.

Patton would be painfully nice. Roman could talk him out of banishment if he tried--a horrible thought. An evil thought. Roman could never manipulate Patton like that, could never take advantage of his trusting nature or the guilt he was sure to feel. So he’d stay silent. He’d let Patton stumble through platitudes before saying “sorry, Roman, but you have to go.”

Roman would smile and nod. He’d let Patton hug him, if Patton wanted, if that made Patton feel better. Or maybe Patton wouldn’t touch him. He certainly hadn’t in weeks.

Roman rubbed his arms.

Logan would be painfully clinical. If Logan decided something, it was almost impossible to change his mind--see every argument Roman had with him ever. He’d share his evidence, if Roman asked, if Roman was brave enough to ask. Maybe he’d even let Roman argue a point or two. But it wouldn’t change anything. It never did.

Roman would bite back his retorts. He’d avoid saying goodbye. If he did, he’d get choked up. Crying in front of anyone would be humiliating, and Logan would be more so.

Roman swallowed.

Virgil would--he could barely imagine a scenario where Virgil would have the courage to kick him out alone. But maybe Virgil wanted to do it himself. Maybe Virgil would shuffle his feet on the carpet, hands deep in his pockets. Maybe he’d chew his lip. Roman would reassure him, calm him down, coax a relieved smile out of him--and then he’d tell Roman to leave.

It was more likely that Virgil would have backup. Maybe Logan and Virgil, since Logan always calmed Virgil down--or Patton and Logan? Patton might want that logical reassurance. Or Patton and Virgil, if they wanted to be as emotional as possible. Or all three.

Roman didn’t know. It could be any of them, and Roman wasn’t ready.

If only he knew what to expect.

Roman glanced at the door.

The hallway was quiet. Roman slid on his socks past the doors, and paused at the stairs to gather information and courage. He could hear murmured conversation below--stops and starts, sounding hesitant. How long had it been since they started? He’d forgotten to check the time. All he could make out were singular vowels. Nothing concrete.

Roman inched closer to the top of the stairs, trying to stay out of sight. If he could get to the kitchen, he’d be hidden, but how could he get past--

Oh. Roman almost laughed at his stupidity. The next second, he appeared in the kitchen.

To avoid being spotted, he’d decided to sit on the floor, leaning against the counter. The kitchen tiles were cold under his feet. He wrapped his arms around his chest. With bated breath, he waited, but nobody entered the kitchen. Nobody said his name. The living room was silent.

Roman let out a long breath. He was already regretting this. What prince eavesdropped on his companions? If he was caught, he’d get an earful. Or worse--a disappointed look from Patton. Roman shuddered at the thought. Patton was exceedingly good at the disappointed look.

He didn’t want to move, or he might alert them. That was enough of an excuse to stay still and listen.

“...can’t keep putting this off,” Patton was saying when Roman tuned in. “I’ve given you all time, and I get that you need it, but we can’t just glare at each other forever! We have to actually talk about this.”

“Not now,” Virgil argued. “Roman’s not even here.”

“Roman--needs space.”

“So Roman gets space, but I don’t?” Virgil didn’t sound angry, at least to Roman. He just sounded upset. “How’s that fair?”

“You agreed to be here,” Patton said, with patience. “If you want to leave at any time, you can--”

“Cool--”

“But I think it would be a good idea for you to stay. If you want.”

“This is highly confusing,” Logan said. Roman tried not to overanalyze the entire situation, but Logan’s voice was clipped, strained in the wrong ways.

“Look,” Patton said with a sigh, “I’m trying to find a compromise. This isn’t easy and I’m pretty sure I’m messing some part of it up, but even an imperfect conversation is still a conversation. And we need one of those, guys. We really do.”

Roman heard the sound of a zipper. Virgil was probably pulling at the zippers on his sleeves.

“You’re doing fine,” Logan said. Reassuring and reluctant and quiet.

“Thanks,” Patton said. Reluctant and quiet.

“What now?” Virgil asked. Quiet.

It was just quiet for a long time, long enough for Roman’s knees to start aching. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to break the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Patton said.

Both Logan and Virgil started to say something, but their words jumbled together and they both went quiet.

“I’ve messed up a lot,” Patton continued, chuckling a bit. “Gosh, it’s been a lot. And that’s hurt you guys, and I’m sorry. So--maybe I’m going about this all wrong. I know you don’t really want to be here, but...I want to listen to you more. All of you. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Virgil mumbled something that Roman didn’t catch. It must have been something self-deprecating, because Patton clucked at him, and Logan murmured something back.

“So I’m giving you the floor. Even though it’s Thomas’.” Patton chuckled more at his own joke. Roman caught a snicker from Virgil as well. “Just...say what’s on your mind, okay?”

Another long moment of silence.

“Uh, who goes first?” Virgil asked. “Do we like, pick straws, or--”

“You can go first,” Logan said quickly.

“Dude! Don’t feed me to the wolves!”

“No wolves,” Patton reassured them. “You can go in any order you want.”

Virgil huffed. “Shouldn’t Princey be here?”

“If Roman doesn’t want to be here, we can’t make him,” Logan said with a touch of irritation. “I’d rather have a calm conversation with three people than an argument with four.”

Roman curled a bit further into a ball on the kitchen floor.

“Jury’s still out on calm,” Virgil muttered. “Yeah. So--me?”

“You don’t have to,” Logan said.

“But go for it,” Patton added.

“Yeah. Okay.” Virgil took a deep breath. If Roman listened closely, he could hear the faint rasp of an echo in his voice. “So--the wedding, huh? That was something. That happened.”

“Yes,” Logan said, when Virgil didn’t continue. “It did happen.”

“Yeah, I--ugh.” Virgil groaned. “I don’t know where to start. What to talk about, or whatever. Don’t you guys have any specific questions?”

“Uh--” Patton made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t wanna limit you, Virge.”

“I could use some limitations right about now.”

“Alright.” Roman could picture what Patton was doing--gesturing at Virgil like he was handing over his words on a platter. “How did the wedding make you feel?”

“Bad,” Virgil said.

“Good start,” Patton encouraged. “And?”

“It was like--” Virgil sucked in a breath and let it out. “Like I didn’t want to get involved, right after, ‘cause you guys seemed pretty busy and all. I was just trying not to freak out. Logan let me in his room, which was nice--”

Logan made a small noise. Maybe of surprise.

“--and that helped, but he was also talking to you guys so I couldn’t really avoid the whole thing, and then--” Virgil paused. Roman could just make out a muttered four-seven-eight, maybe from Patton, maybe from Logan. “And it was. Not fun. I wanted to help out, Pat, you seemed so upset and I really did want to--and--and Roman was upset, and Logan was telling me he could handle it--”

“That was…” Logan paused, but Virgil didn’t say anything else. “A bit of an error on my part.”

“Not your fault you got impersonated, L.”

Patton made a small noise. “I am really sorry about that, Logan.”

“Not your fault he got impersonated, either.”

“I could have noticed,” Patton said unconvincingly. “And I did press the skip button.”

“You did,” Logan said.

Silence fell.

“Uh--is it still my turn?” Virgil asked. “Did I--am I done?”

“I don’t--” Patton sighed. “This isn’t working either, is it.”

Nobody argued with him.

“Have we ever found a conversation tactic that does work?” Logan pointed out, sounding uncharacteristically glum. “Have we ever managed to fix every problem at hand, without simultaneously exacerbating several others?”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil said.

“It was rhetorical.” Logan sighed. “My point is that we’re stuck in a loop. We do this every time, and we’ve never managed to successfully communicate the root issues.”

“We’ve gotten better,” Patton said.

“Have we?”

Quiet again. Roman was beginning to stiffen in his position, and one of his feet was falling asleep. Roman shifted it as quietly as possible. It tingled.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist,” Virgil teased. It fell flat. “Look, L, I don’t think we should scrap the whole thing just because it doesn’t fix everything flat out--”

“But there has to be something we’re missing.” Patton’s voice was determined. “Logan’s right. There’s stuff at play deep down here, and we’ve never talked about it, because--because we don’t know how to get those real answers. Because we don’t know what questions to ask. So we need answers to the questions that we don’t know need answers.”

“You lost me,” Virgil said.

“He’s saying we should try to cut to the figurative heart of the issue.” Logan paused. “I agree, in theory.”

“Oh.” Virgil paused. “Stop--lying?”

Roman gripped his knees tightly.

“Lying has a place and time,” Patton said. “But--you know, there’s a reason why I didn’t invite Janus, right? He’s a good friend and an important part of Thomas. But he’s not--you guys. You guys are different. And--and I don’t think we can have true love if our relationship isn’t based on truth.”

“True love,” Virgil repeated with a snicker. “We’re not each other’s Disney princes, Pat.”

Logan snickered too. “I’m sure Roman would disagree.”

“We love each other!” Patton protested. “I--I love you guys, at least. I love you.”

“I know,” Virgil said after a moment, his voice bittersweet. “I know, Pat. You’re a good friend.”

A very long pause.

“We ought to do something about that,” Logan said, “shouldn’t we?”

“Do something--” Virgil laughed. “What are you--”

“Patton said we ought to be honest,” Logan said. Pointedly. “I also think it would be a good idea. For both of you.”

“What?” Patton sounded confused, but it was only the sound of confusion, not the real thing. “What’s up, Lo?”

“Yeah, L,” Virgil said, both an invitation and a warning. “What are you saying?”

A brief pause. Roman pictured Logan fiddling with his glasses and almost smiled.

“I have to admit this is not my area of expertise,” Logan said, his voice quiet. “However, I think observations have painted a clear picture of the situation. Our--issues with each other are myriad, and stem from a variety of sources, but it is as Patton said. We need to be honest. I believe there’s a very clear culprit for some of our communication issues, and I think you know what it is.”

Silence. Roman’s stomach was slowly dropping to the floor. He bit his lip and tried to stop himself from sinking out. He still needed to hear what they decided--although, the more the conversation continued, the more he felt like he was intruding. Things were getting personal. This wasn’t his place.

As if he heard Roman’s thoughts, Virgil blurted out “Should we really talk about this right now? While Roman’s--”

“We can think about that later,” Logan said. “I think the three of us need to admit a few things.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Patton giggled weakly. “We can’t all keep up with you and your brain, Lo.”

Logan paused for too long to be natural. He was worried. Roman wondered what worried him--he should sink out now, before things got personal, but his feet were rooted to the kitchen floor--

“We aren’t friends,” Logan said.

“Uh, dude,” Virgil began, “you might wanna--”

“We aren’t just friends.” Logan let out a breath. “You know that.”

Roman needed to go. He wasn’t meant to hear this part. His breath was already catching in his throat. How dare he ruin this moment, how dare he toss himself into a private conversation, how dare his legs refuse to move--

“What are you talking about?” Virgil’s voice was harsh. Too harsh, not only for the conversation, but for Virgil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Logan said. “You know there are other things at play, it’s foolish to deny--”

“I’m not denying anything!”

“We’re not just friends!” Logan almost yelled. “The evidence is practically a mountain--we have sleepovers every weekend! We eat breakfast together!”

“Yeah, we’re friends!” Virgil fired back. “That’s normal friend stuff!”

“We’re family,” Patton amended, the first time he’d spoken. His voice was hollow. “Besides, it’s always just been us, of course we’re different.”

“We’re different,” Logan agreed. “Virgil falls asleep on your shoulder. You give us forehead kisses. We cuddle. That isn’t platonic.”

“And what’s your evidence, wise guy?” Virgil’s voice pitched upwards. “Platonic is weird! Romantic is weird! How are you supposed to instantly tell the difference?”

“I’m simply stating that there could be something else at play!”

“You’re my only friends!” Virgil burst out. “I don’t have anything else to compare it to--it’s normal. All of it. How I feel--it’s normal.”

Logan’s voice suddenly quieted. “And how do you feel?”

“Normal,” Virgil said.

Patton still hadn’t said anything else. Roman would have peeked around to see if he was okay, if he could remember how to move, how to think.

“Normal,” Virgil repeated. “It’s--we’re friends. We love each other. It’s normal.”

Logan hummed. “You were friends with Deceit, correct?”

“Janus,” Patton said faintly. Nobody acknowledged him.

“No,” Virgil said. “Yes. Kind of. It’s complicated.”

“Would you ever be comfortable with cuddling him?”

“I hate him.”

“We’re working under the assumption that you do not.”

“Look, I--it’s complicated.” Virgil huffed. “I wouldn’t be, but that’s because I hate him, and I’ve always been way more comfortable with you guys anyway, ‘cause I don’t have to act--mean, or whatever. You guys are different than him. Always have been.”

“Different,” Logan said.

“Yeah, because I literally hate him--” Virgil groaned. “Look, L, don’t make patterns where there aren’t any. It’s fine. We’re--we’re friends.”

“Logan has a point.” Patton’s words came out in a rush, like he’d been bottling them up. “He has a point.”

Logan made a surprised noise. “I do?”

“Et tu, Brute?” Virgil’s voice softened. “You think so?”

“Janus is really nice,” Patton said. “We’ve been talking for a while now, ever since--well, everything. I’ve appreciated his support. He makes me laugh. And--and he’s not like you guys. Not just because he’s a newer friend. You’re all different.” His voice dipped. “You’ve always been different to me.”

A long, long silence. Roman couldn’t feel his legs, or his lungs, or his heart.

“This isn’t my area of expertise,” Logan said. Quietly, quietly. “I suppose there really isn’t any way to tell, objectively, what we--are to each other. All I can say is, to me, you are a lot. Not everything--I don’t believe anyone could be everything--but...more than on average. More than I’ve admitted to myself.”

“You’re kidding,” Virgil blurted out, an edge of hysterical laughter in his voice. “You’re--that’s not it, that can’t be it, you can’t--”

“Doesn’t it make sense?” Patton pleaded, his words all in a rush again. “It--it doesn’t have to, gosh, I know it doesn’t have to, but if you could give it a chance--”

“A chance?” Virgil repeated incredulously. “We’re not--we’re not--”

“I’m sorry,” Patton said. Quietly. Roman was so tired of quiet. “I’m really sorry, Virgil.”

“You’re--you’re serious.” Virgil sounded inches from a panic attack. “You’re--”

“We can all take a moment to think,” Logan suggested, sounding inches from his own. “We can--we can take time to process, it’s fine, we don’t have to work this out right now--we can forget this ever happened--”

“It’ll be okay,” Patton said. Maybe to Virgil. Maybe to Logan. Maybe to himself. “We’ll handle this. We always do.”

“You’re--” Virgil’s voice broke. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Virge,” Patton said. Quietly, quietly, too quietly for Roman to sneak away. “You’re the coolest emo around.”

“No.” Virgil’s voice pitched frantic again. “No, no--I love you guys, don’t I? I--you’ve always been there for me, and you always looked after me, and Logan always calms me down and Pat, you always make me smile, and--”

“You don’t have to do this,” Logan murmured. “I understand that I miscalculated, you don’t need to--”

“No!” Virgil might have laughed. Or sobbed, it was hard to tell. “No, L, you genius, you got it exactly right.”

Roman swallowed and realized his mouth was dry.

“I love you!” Virgil said, triumphantly, like he’d solved everything. Like everything made sense. Maybe it did. “I love you, I love you so much--what am I even saying, this is so stupid--I love you, I was an idiot, I didn’t--”

“I--” Patton laughed breathlessly. “Virgil--”

“Do you--” Virgil’s voice dipped. “Do you--”

“I love you too,” Patton said, as if it was the first time he’d ever said it. Maybe it was.

“I--” Logan coughed awkwardly. “Not to seem obtuse, but can we clarify if--”

“If you’re included in the ‘you’?” Virgil laughed. “L, obviously, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Ah.” Was Logan blushing? He sounded like it. Roman would be ecstatic to witness a flustered Logan, if he was not currently frozen and terrified. “That--ah. I...likewise, I hold an amount of affection towards you that is commonly considered romantic. So to speak.”

“Aww!” Patton cooed. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Logan said. “I think we’ve established that we all love each other! I think that’s clear!”

“Always has been, I’m just an idiot.” Was Virgil smiling? He sounded like it. Oh, if only Roman was able to appreciate it. “Y’know, it’s been...an understood thing.”

“Yeah,” Patton said. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Silence.

“This doesn’t solve anything,” Logan said, as if he was obligated to point out the flaws. As if he couldn’t let himself enjoy the moment yet. “We still have much to discuss, not least--”

“I know, I know.” Patton was smiling, Roman could hear it, and it made Roman’s chest hurt. “But it’ll help, that we were honest--and aren’t you guys happy? That we can--”

“Do what?” Virgil asked, when Patton petered out.

“Be...together,” Patton finished. “If you want.”

Roman’s stomach twisted in Celtic knots. He shook his foot, almost hoping that they’d hear him and stop talking--and then he could distract them, remind them of him and why they’d started this meeting in the first place, ruin their moment like always--

“I’d like that,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Me too.”

And then it was entirely the wrong kind of quiet. A movement or two, then quiet--and Roman could come to all sorts of conclusions, imagine them clearly in his head, but he settled on the obvious one. He cursed his mind for supplying him with a clear mental picture. Oh, so he couldn’t think of a video idea in a week, but now his imagination worked?

The quiet stretched on longer. Too long. Too long and Roman was itching at the seams, thumbing at his sash, regretting ever stepping foot out of his room.

But it was fine. It was fine. He’d just leave now.

If they were doing what he thought they were, they probably wouldn’t notice.

Roman steeled himself, pushed himself onto his knees, and stood up. As quickly as possible. Raise his hand. Teleport. It was easy--like reaching out and plucking a string, tensing a muscle, lighting a fire. A flourish of the hand, and the kitchen slipped out of reach, and he didn’t want to see the others, but he did--Patton beaming, and Virgil covering his smile with his hand, and Logan tilting his head forward and then Roman closed his eyes because he didn’t want to see, he didn’t--

But, well, he could imagine.

His room was empty. When he flopped into the same position he’d started the day in, and covered his head with his blanket, he could almost pretend he hadn’t left. That he’d dreamed the whole thing. That they weren’t downstairs, right now, holding hands, cupping cheeks and--

Roman yelled something inaudible into his pillow.

He should be happy for them. He should be happy--and he was! He was happy for them. They deserved each other. They were his best friends--his friends--his--

They were...something, that was for sure.

They deserved each other.

Roman should be happy.

It would be good for the family, now that they were no longer on bad terms. Roman couldn’t count the number of awkward glances they’d had over the years. Maybe this had finally helped to clear the air. That was one excuse to be happy for them.

Roman thrived off romance. He could hardly turn down the opportunity to support such a cute couple, especially when they were so adorably awkward in their confessions. That was another excuse to be happy for them.

It would take the pressure off him. They seemed to have entirely forgotten their meeting’s goal, which included deciding whether Roman deserved to stay. Maybe they’d keep forgetting. Maybe the beauty of love would soften their hearts towards him, and Roman could scrape by on table scraps and glancing smiles, surviving on the edges once again. They’d tolerate him. They’d forget he existed, because they’d be enamored with each other, exactly as they deserved.

That was another excuse to be happy.

And they wanted this. They’d clearly pined for so long, and now they had what they wanted, they had each other--Roman was thrilled for them, ecstatic, over the moon. It felt right, somehow, to see them all together. The perfect fairytale ending. If this was their happy ending, who was Roman to stand in their way?

Did he want to be more of a villain?

No. He couldn’t ruin yet another perfect thing. He just had to suck it up and be chivalrous. He wasn’t their hero, wasn’t their friend, wasn’t their--wasn’t theirs. He was nothing but a fourth wheel.

We love you.

Right.

Roman pressed his hands to his eyes to stop the tears. There was no reason to cry. This was fine. He should be happy. He’d faked happy for years and years, why was this what he couldn’t handle? What had he expected? He didn’t get a consolation prize after what he’d done. He didn’t rescue the dashing princes. He hadn’t earned his happy ending, and now he was alone in his room, while the three most important people in his life found solace in each other.

And it was fine.

They were happy.

So Roman would be happy, too. Roman would be everything they needed him to be. Roman would make the most of this, and he would be a good friend and a good person, even if it killed him. No bitterness. No jealousy. No longing for something he knew he didn’t deserve.

No excuses.

They were in love. They were happy. And that was enough.

If Roman truly loved them, he would let that be enough.

But, well, Roman didn’t truly do much of anything. And he spent most of the day in a pile on his pillows, ignoring the knocks on his door, and getting absolutely nothing done. He was out of ideas and out of passion. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could imagine was being shoved out his door, and the soft look in his best friends’ eyes as they kissed each other on the living room couch.

But it was fine, Roman was fine, and everything was fine.

Princes didn’t complain. Princes moved on. Princes were gracious and helpful in the face of true love.

Princes got true love.

Roman wasn’t much of a prince, though. And it was fine. He was fine.

Everything was so incredibly fine.

When Roman finally fell asleep, his last thought was worry--that he’d summoned Janus with all his lying. But Janus didn’t appear. It was just Roman, slipping into dreams on his rumpled quilt, glad of an excuse to stop thinking.

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authenticcadence18 · 3 years

Text

“Can’t Help Falling in Love” Ch. 11

AO3

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

…

HIIIII HELLO EVERYONE!!!!!!! It’s been. Quite some time. 😅 If you’re still here THANK YOU!!!!!! It is greatly appreciated!!! I hope this chapter was worth the wait, lol!!

I posted the first chapter of this fic one year ago yesterday! Consider this chapter a celebration of that 😊. The past year has been…wild, to say the least, but writing this fic and getting to share it with you guys has been one of the biggest highlights of it!!!😁💕

Thanks as always to my lovely beta and friend @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal, and thank YOU so much for reading! I hope you enjoy!!!

...

“Wait a minute!!!”

Phineas froze in place (which was ironic, considering his realization struck in the middle of removing the crumb cake from a very hot oven).

“You called me your little crumbcake in your letter! And we just made a crumb cake! That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“It was 100% not a coincidence!” Isabella called over her shoulder as she rummaged through a cabinet across the kitchen. “I wanted to make a crumb cake with my little crumbcake!”

A handful of silent seconds passed. And then she shuddered, a frothing wave of decade-old secondhand embarrassment cascading violently over her shoulders.

“Okay, I’m never calling you that again,” she announced dryly (since said frothing wave of secondhand embarrassment was purely metaphorical). “It’s way too weird.”

“What?? No!!” Phineas gently set the crumb cake on the counter, taking care to make sure it wasn’t going to fall, before turning to face her. “Isabella, it’s not weird at all!! I think it’s cute.”

“You only think it’s cute because you like me so much,” Isabella replied with a grin. “Trust me, there’s PLENTY of better pet names out there. I’ll think of some new ones for you.”

She crossed to his side of the kitchen and set the plate she’d retrieved on the counter. “Alright, all we need to do now is add powdered sugar. Do you have a sifter?”

“I sure do!”

Phineas retrieved said sifter from a drawer and turned it over in his hands a few times.

“….I’m actually an expert powdered sugar sifter, you know….” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Oh, really?” Isabella replied amusedly.

“Yeah! A few years ago, my mom put me on beignet duty for the Mardi Gras block party,” he explained. “I built a machine to actually COOK the beignets but figured out pretty quickly I’d have to powder them by hand to avoid making a huge mess…it took FOREVER. Aaand I still ended up making a mess. But now I’m an expert!!”

“Those beignets DID taste really good,” Isabella mused. “I remember thinking the powdered sugar to dough ratio was perfect!”

(She wasn’t just saying that for Phineas’s benefit, though she knew he would appreciate the compliment. As a former-Fireside Girl and baked goods’ extraordinaire, identifying quality desserts was practically in her blood!)

“Thanks!!!” Phineas replied. “I’m surprised you remember that!”

“Well, YOU made them. Everything you make is extraordinary. Of course I remember,” Isabella replied with a soft grin.

“Well, I’m not sure I’d say they were EXTRAORDINARY…” Phineas chuckled sheepishly. “…but thank you.”

“They WERE extraordinary,” Isabella insisted. “And you’re welcome!”

“It actually took awhile to get the ratio right, I’m flattered you noticed!” Phineas replied. “I did a bunch of calculations to figure it out…”

Isabella just listened with a smile as Phineas rambled on about the intricacies of beignet preparation and set to sifting sugar over the crumb cake.

And if his focus faltered a little when she hugged his middle from behind and nestled her head on his shoulder to get a better view, he didn’t show it.

….perhaps getting a better view wasn’t Isabella’s primary motivator in this situation. But she’d been waiting over a decade to indulge in coupley activities with Phineas as an actual couple: she wasn’t going to let this opportunity to do so pass her by!

She was so enamored with his closeness and the gentle lull of his explanations, so caught up in the sweet domesticity of the moment, it took her a few minutes to realize…it had been a few minutes.

Was Phineas taking his time with this (relatively simple) task on purpose?

“…hey, how long does it take an expert powdered sugar sifter to sift sugar over a crumb cake?” she murmured into his ear.

“Normally? I assume it would take about half a minute,” Phineas replied matter-of-factly. “ …but . If said expert powdered sugar sifter is being hugged by the love of their life, it usually takes longer. Could take minutes. Hours, even.”

Isabella giggled (and bit her tongue to keep from squealing at being referred to as the love of Phineas’s life because aAAAAAH!!!!) and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back and standing at his side. “As much as I’d love to hug you for hours, we don’t want the crumb cake to get cold.”

“Eh, I’d take a hug from you over warm crumb cake any day. But you do make a good point.”

Phineas gave Isabella a smile before pouring the excess sugar into a bag and setting the sifter down. Then, his eyebrows shot up, seemingly in realization.

“Hey....what if I started calling you ‘my little crumbcake’?” he asked. “Or just ‘crumbcake’? I don’t mind if you don’t want to call me that, but would be a shame to let such a cute nickname go to waste.”

Isabella hit him with a playful glare. “If you do that, you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of an ominous patch-related threat. Just because you’re my boyfriend now doesn’t mean you’re exempt from them.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Phineas grinned, not deterred in the slightest by Isabella’s ominous patch related threat-threat. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that!”

“Well, we’ve known our feelings are mutual for...what, over half an hour now?” Isabella shrugged. “And we’ve already talked about being in a relationship, so I figured you being my boyfriend was implied.”

(She definitely hadn’t been trying to figure out how to casually call Phineas her boyfriend without outright asking him if he WAS officially her boyfriend. And she certainly wasn’t very relieved that he’d taken being referred to as such well. No way.)

“Soooo…” Phineas slid his hand across the counter until it found Isabella’s. “…if you’re officially referring to me as your boyfriend….does that mean I get to officially refer to you as my girlfriend?”

He’d WANTED to be the picture of suaveness in this moment, to state the obvious as succinctly and matter-of-factly as possible.

…..but the quiver of excitement in his voice had likely ruined any chances of that.

Isabella beamed down at their entwined fingers and then back up at him.

“…yes. Yes it does.”

For a handful of seconds, they just gazed at one another fondly, hands still together, neither trying to conceal how happy they were.

Maybe titles like “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” were arbitrary, especially for two lifelong best friends who were already well aware of how much they meant to one another (both in a platonic and romantic sense).

But….it still felt incredibly special to finally get to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Partners. Together. Officially.

Isabella eventually broke the awe of the moment with a wry smirk and a joke.

“I like ‘girlfriend’ a lot better than ‘crumbcake,’ that’s for sure!”

Phineas’s eyes lit up at the latter nickname, and Isabella groaned as she realized what she’d done.

“....why did I say that...” she grumbled. “We’d moved past the crumbcake thing, why did I say that???”

“I think it’s because you secretly like that nickname and wanted to remind me of it...crumbcake,” Phineas replied with a playful nudge to her side.

“WELL….maybe you’re not completely wrong there…” Isabella admitted, resting her head on his shoulder with an over-dramatic sigh. “I guess it’s kinda cute.”

(She had to admit it was sweet that Phineas was fond of a silly nickname she’d come up with so many years ago. Perhaps it was a little embarrassing, but in a nostalgic, sweet way. And she knew Phineas wasn’t teasing her maliciously...it was all in good fun. And he genuinely thought her childhood antics were endearing!)

“I knew it!” Phineas exclaimed. “You like when I call you ‘crumbcake’!!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” Isabella replied, leaning back and reaching up to ruffle his bright red hair with a chuckle.

“Too late, it’s already up there!” Phineas gestured to his head matter of factly.

“Well! I guess I’ll just have to stand here until your brain short circuits and it leaves your head, then! Because, in your own words, your brain short circuits if you look at me for too long because I’m just soooooo beautiful.”

“True as that may be, if you really want to short circuit my brain, I think a kiss or two from you would do the trick faster.”

Phineas said this without thinking about it.

And subsequently flushed beet red once his brain caught up to his tongue.

…perhaps his lack of a filter would be enough to short circuit his brain.

Isabella, fortunately, didn’t seem phased at all by his suggestion. “Hmmm….” she murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully and scooting closer to him. “In that case, I guess I’ll have to kiss you. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

“Uhhh…yup! It’s only logical!” Phineas agreed, trying his best to play nonchalant as Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a knowing smile (and failing pretty miserably at nonchalance because HE STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE SHE WANTED TO KISS HIM, HOW COULD HE PRETEND TO BE PLAYFULLY NONCHALANT WHEN ALL OF THIS WAS SO MONUMENTAL???).

Isabella burst into laughter at his thinly veiled enthusiasm.

Because this moment—this entire evening—was full of moments she’d always dreamed of but that had seemed like just that: dreams!

PHINEAS FLYNN was asking her for kisses, and he was smiling at her as if sharing a brief romantic moment together in the middle of his kitchen was as exciting and enticing an idea as, say, building a super-computer in his backyard.

It was so incomprehensible, so utterly opposite from the oblivious-to-a-fault Phineas she’d grown up with, that she couldn’t HELP but laugh.

Phineas laughed with her, though he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.

(Her joy and close proximity were more than enough to give him butterflies, though, so he didn’t mind.)

“Sorry, sorry!!” Isabella managed to breathe between giggles. “It’s just!!! If I could tell my younger self that you’d actually be asking me to kiss you someday, I think her head would explode.”

“I get that!!” Phineas replied. “If I could go back in time to last night and tell my slightly-younger self that I’d be asking you to kiss me this time tomorrow, I think his head would explode.”

He chuckled before getting a far off look in his eyes.

“Huh....I COULD do that…” he mused thoughtfully. “Go back in time. Talk to my past self about all this. It would certainly alleviate a lot of the anxiety I experienced before I confessed to you.”

“But you shouldn’t do that,” Isabella replied quickly. “Because it could change this timeline or zap us out of existence. I’d rather not be zapped out of existence. Especially not right now. And, besides...getting to confess to one another was worth all it took to get there, right?”

“You’re right…getting to learn about your feelings from YOU was the best!” Phineas assured her.

(This was one of the reasons he needed Isabella, to keep some of his more extreme ideas in check.)

“And I’d hate to zap out of existence. But….”

He blushed a little, suddenly feeling a bit bashful as he recalled why Isabella’d begun laughing in the first place.

“…..I’d still like a kiss from you, if that’s alright.”

“Just one?” Isabella teased.

(She hadn’t forgotten why she’d begun laughing in the first place either.)

Phineas blushed more than a little.

How could Isabella be so coy and collected about all this??

(And why was he even so flustered right now? They’d kissed a handful of times at this point, so there was no legitimate reason to get flustered….but Phineas was flustered anyway. Maybe because he’d never outright asked Isabella for a kiss before? And the mere fact that he could do that at all was a tad overwhelming?? And every few minutes he had to keep reminding himself that all this was really happening because he was still getting the hang of this whole relationship thing and despite everything it still felt too good to be true??? …who knew.)

“Well, more than one would be just fine! But—but at least one!! If that’s okay.”

VERY smooth, Romeo. Fantastic job. A+ flirting technique.

“It’s definitely okay,” Isabella whispered with a smile, tenderly cupping his face in her hands and drawing him close. “Though I appreciate you asking.”

Not much took Phineas’s breath away. He’d spent his life making the impossible possible, after all!

…but Isabella’s kisses did the trick.

And they weren’t just kisses, anyhow. They were promises, assurances, declarations of love he could feel, warm grins and soft caresses and genuine affection courtesy of his best friend (and girlfriend, now).

….frankly, he noted as said-girlfriend gingerly pulled away and coaxed his eyes open with a lilting giggle, it was a miracle he still remembered how to breathe at all.

She was smiling at him, the same smile he’d felt nestled against his and heard in her bubbles of laughter only moments ago.

He’d never realized how versatile smiles could be before today.

“Hey…guess who has hearts in their eyes now?” Isabella crooned, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb.

Phineas blinked, taking a bit longer than normal to come up with a suitable answer.

(He wasn’t used to thinking on his feet in situations like this. He wasn’t used to situations like this at all.)

Isabella’s pupils appeared to be heart-free. So she must have been referring to….

“….me?”

“Yup!” Isabella grinned and gave his nose a playful “boop!” “It’s like they always say: couples who break the laws of physics together stick together.”

She brushed a final kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away from him entirely and turning towards the counter.

Phineas trailed behind her as she cut a slice of crumb cake (presumably for the two of them to share, as it was quite large) and slid it onto a plate, still a little dazed.

He was also interested in discovering a scientific explanation for the heart-eyes phenomenon he and Isabella had both experienced in the past half-hour…but he’d save solving that mystery for another day.

“…..how are you so good at this?” he managed to ask.

“At what? Cutting crumb cake?”

“No, I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “…the flirting, the banter, basic relationship stuff.”

(Because Isabella WAS good at basic relationship stuff. All of it was seemingly effortless for her, especially considering she’d never even been in a relationship. Phineas supposed he himself wasn’t COMPLETELY hopeless when it came to flirting—his comment about Isabella’s kisses earlier was proof of that—but he’d done that without thinking.)

“I’ve just had more practice!” Isabella replied cheerfully. “Waaaaaay more practice. I flirted with you a LOT when we were kids, you just never noticed.”

(That was probably good, all things considered. Isabella’s attempts at flirting when they were kids had left her with quite a bit of retrospective embarrassment.)

Phineas winced at the reminder of all he’d missed out on, on all the pinpricks of affection that he hadn’t caught and had instead flown far over his head.

“….sorry about that….” he mumbled.

“Hey, wait a minute. We’ve already been over this!” Isabella said sternly.

(She’d just been trying to offer him a logical answer to his question, not make him feel guilty.)

“There’s absolutely no reason to be sorry, romantic feelings are never an obligation. And besides!!”

She took a step closer to him…then another step…then another…until she was near enough to turn Phineas’s stomach to Doonkelberry jelly because was she planning on kissing him again???

But she didn’t kiss him again, instead just smirking and whispering, “…you’re very cute when you’re flustered…” before leaning back with a bright laugh.

For a few moments, Phineas was struck with the desperate need to HIDE and ESCAPE before Isabella noticed how red his face was.

…but then he remembered that she was, in fact, his girlfriend (a minute ago they’d been smooching, after all) and that his undying love for her wasn’t a secret anymore.

And, since he apparently looked cute when he was flustered, she was likely enjoying this immensely.

Whew.

“Well, I mean, you’re ALWAYS cute, don’t get me wrong,” Isabella continued. She grabbed the crumb cake-laden plate and two forks. “But when you’re flustered you’re ESPECIALLY cute.”

“Oh yeah?” Phineas countered. “Well…uh….you’re always especially cute!!! So there!!”

Isabella slowed to a halt and tilted her head at him with a chuckle. “Wait….are you trying to one-up my flirting? Or…are you trying to fluster me?”

“…..mmmaybe?” Phineas replied hesitantly. “…why, is it working???”

Isabella considered his question, taking note of the cheerful warmth spinning in her chest (and likely reddening her face a bit).

“…maybe just a little.”

Phineas didn’t attempt to hide his excitement this time, pumping his fist in the air with a whispered, “YES!!!!”

He quickly regained his composure, though.

“Well it’s GOOD that it’s working, because if it wasn’t working, I’d have to remind you that your cuteness is a scientific fact.”

“BELIEVE me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget about that,” Isabella replied with a snicker. “That was the closest you ever got to calling me cute when we were kids.”

“Hey! The mere fact that I acknowledged your cuteness at all when we were kids is a testament to just how cute you are,” Phineas stated matter-of-factly. “Because, well…you might not have noticed this, but I was just a tad oblivious to romance when we were that age.”

Isabella feigned a gasp. “WHAT???? No way, I had no idea.”

“It’s true!!!!” Phineas insisted. “….just like your cuteness being a scientific fact is true.”

The two of them burst into giggles at that.

“You know…” Isabella pointed out with a wry smile, “…for someone who claims to be bad at flirting, that was some pretty good flirting.”

(She was quite impressed, actually!)

“Well, I’ve got someone incredibly special to flirt with,” Phineas replied cheekily. “I couldn’t have done it without her.”

Isabella’s eyes widened at that, cheeks flushing bright red (because PHINEAS WAS TALKING ABOUT HER!!!!! HE THOUGHT SHE WAS INCREDIBLY SPECIAL!!!!!), and Phineas grinned eagerly before placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her.

That seemed like the right course of action here, to follow up a jovial round of flirting with a kiss.

(And it was the right course of action, judging from the way Isabella smiled and kissed him back.)

Perhaps he was getting the hang of this whole relationship thing after all.

…

Isabella took a moment to catch her breath as Phineas gently pulled away from her and gave her the world’s most adorable smile (and to overcome the temptation to just forget about the crumb cake and indulge in more kisses instead).

“…alright,” she exhaled. “…as lovely and sweet as all this flirting has been, are you ready to go outside?”

“Oh, definitely!!!!” Phineas replied, taking a step back. “I mean, it feels like it’s been ages since we made this crumb cake, it’s about time we actually eat it. You go on outside, I’ll clean up a bit! Just in case Ferb and my parents get back while we’re out there.”

“Sounds good!!”

Phineas made his way to the living room a few minutes later….only to find Isabella standing in front of the screen door, a blank expression on her face.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asked as he walked over to her. “I thought you were going to go outside.”

“Well…I was,” Isabella articulated slowly. “But….”

Her voice trailed off, and Phineas followed her gaze into the backyard as he finally came to a stop at her side.

“…..oh.”

The backyard was empty.

No stars.

No lanterns.

No light.

Even the picnic basket was gone.

All that remained was their blanket, still laid out beneath the tree, the only remnant of the last hour.

“Well.” Isabella cleared her throat. “I suppose we should’ve seen this coming, huh?”

Phineas didn’t respond, instead sliding the screen door open and stepping past Isabella and into the yard.

He just focused on walking, step by step by step. It was easy to keep his mind occupied with the mechanics of movement...that is, until he knelt beside the tree to collect the blanket.

Because tonight he’d had a second chance at a longer picnic with Isabella, which he’d initially chosen not to pursue when they were kids due to worries he hadn’t been able to explain back then...but the universe had taken that second chance away.

And now he had nothing tangible to express his affections to Isabella with. No inventions, no cozy sanctuaries for the two of them to snuggle up in, no physical manifestations of how much he loved her.

All he had was a blanket. Which hadn’t been enough to prolong their picnic when they were kids. And it hadn’t been enough now.

Their first moments as a couple were gone forever. He couldn’t get them back.

And this wasn’t the first time he’d built something for Isabella, only for it to disappear.

...why did it hurt even more now?

Was this going to be a normal occurrence for them? Phineas creating things, only for the world to irreverently take them away with no explanation as to why?

Because it was one thing to muse that kisses were as meaningful as big ideas while sharing a kiss with Isabella amidst one of said big ideas.

It was quite another to face Isabella without a big idea to prove the authenticity of his feelings.

And perhaps he could build something else right now, but….what would be the point?

A few tears stung at his eyes, throat burning and chest tight.

How could he build a relationship with Isabella if the world was just going to tear down his attempts to show her how much he cared?

“Gosh…it kinda feels like we’re kids again, huh?”

Phineas flinched as Isabella’s voice drew closer. He hugged the blanket to his chest as he stood, willing himself to not cry because he couldn’t cry, it would be silly to cry, all these thoughts of his were illogical. Isabella didn’t sound upset, and she hadn’t been upset when her birthday party disappeared all those years ago, she was fine, and this WAS a pretty regular occurrence for them in the grand scheme of things, so he needed to be okay. Plus, he KNEW she knew how much he loved her, he didn’t need inventions to tell her that but…..a part of him still hurt just the same.

“I mean, it genuinely takes me back! I feel like your mom’s about to offer us pie. And…..”

Isabella’s voice trailed off as she reached his side.

“Phineas?”

Phineas shut his eyes, but he could hear the rustle of grass as Isabella moved to stand in front of him.

“...Phineas, what’s wrong?”

Now her hands were on his shoulders.

He could’ve tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, to smile and laugh it off.

But...Isabella would probably see right through that.

And he was tired of keeping secrets from her, anyway.

“It’s just…..”

His lip quivered, and he sniffled before finally opening his eyes.

“....it’s gone. I planned everything and set up the picnic for you, so you’d know how much I care about you….but it’s gone…..and I wanted to keep spending time with you out here, at our picnic, because the last time we had a picnic it ended too soon and….I thought this time would be different, that we’d be able to end it on OUR terms and not because of it getting dark or anything. But it’s not. It’s like last time, and all the other times inventions disappeared before we were done with them and, I JUST!!!! I just….I’m sorry, Isabella….. I’m so sorry…..”

“Phineas Flynn. Look at me.”

Isabella took his face in her hands and gazed at him intently.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s okay! These things happen! And we still have the memory of our picnic, right? Didn’t you say that memories are your favorite things we made when we were kids?”

Phineas pondered that for a moment.

“.…yes…” he finally whispered.

“This is the same,” Isabella insisted. “We’re building memories! The inventions may come and go, but the memories will stay. And I will stay. Believe me, if disappearing inventions bothered me, I wouldn’t be your best friend.”

She smirked a bit and added, “And I wouldn’t be your girlfriend now, obviously.”

“I know, and you’re right!” Phineas replied quickly. “….but…..I just…..I wanted to show you how much I love you, Isabella. That’s what the picnic was for, really. I mean, I know I TOLD you how much I love you too, but for me, it’s always been easier to say that kind of thing when I’ve got an invention to back my words up….I guess, it’s a little scary to say those things when it’s just me. You’re braver than me in that regard.”

“You HAVE shown me how much you love me, Phineas…” Isabella whispered, caressing his cheek with a gentle grin. “You’ve been showing me since we were kids. And, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t love you because of your inventions and big ideas. I love you because you’re YOU. You’re Phineas Flynn! The kindest, most creative, most caring person I’ve ever met!! Everything that makes you you shines through in all your inventions, they’re an extension of who you are; but they aren’t you, you know? If I had to choose between spending a day using one of your most amazing inventions alone OR spending an invention-free day with you doing something super boring, say, watching paint dry, I’d choose the invention free day every time. I just love spending time with you….”

She trailed one of her hands down his arm till it found one of his, twining their fingers together with a comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry our picnic disappeared, though. It was important to us, and it’s okay to be sad about it. ...do you want to set up another one? I can make paper lanterns, and I’ve got to have a picnic basket at my house. And there’s plenty of stars in the sky if you don’t have any more to spare.”

Her offer lingered in the air for a handful of seconds, and she herself seemed posed on the tips of her toes, waiting for Phineas’s answer.

“….no…” Phineas finally whispered. “….it’s okay. I know we have homework to do, building another picnic would take too much time. ….and you’re right. Spending time together….that’s what really matters. And you being willing to rebuild our picnic means a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Isabella replied with a gentle smile. “And we can just sit at the table, it’ll be like…an elevated picnic! With homework! So…an elevated study date picnic!”

She patted his cheek before withdrawing her hand from his face and turning towards the door.

But Phineas wasn’t ready to go inside just yet, wasn’t ready to put aside all the emotions tumbling around inside of him.

“Wait!”

Isabella whirled back around, head tilted ever so slightly.

“Yes, Phineas?”

Phineas took a deep breath.

How could he even express how he was feeling? How could he express his gratitude towards Isabella, express how loved and cherished she made him feel, express just how much her willingness to recreate their picnic meant to him?

“I…I just…...thank you, Isabella. So much.”

To punctuate his gratitude, he lifted the hand he held and pressed a tender kiss to Isabella’s knuckle.

“I’m really, just, so lucky. Lucky to be your friend, lucky to be your boyfriend…you know that, right?”

Butterflies whirled in Isabella’s stomach, stirred by the sincerity in Phineas’s voice and the warmth of his lips still lingering on her hand and the way he was looking at her.

She eased in closer, close enough to lay a reassuring hand on Phineas’s shoulder.

“…..we’re both lucky. Incredibly lucky.”

Phineas and Isabella weren’t sure who kissed who first. Perhaps neither of them kissed first, perhaps it was simultaneous, both of them knowing instinctively what the other wanted.

This kiss was different from their first, which had been a rush of new, giddy emotions, a celebration of their reciprocated feelings, the resolution to a lifetime (or, more specifically, nine chapters) of longing.

And it was different from the playful, giggly kisses they’d given one another inside.

It was slow, purposeful, intentional. A way to say thank you, for Phineas to convey to Isabella just how much he cherished her, and for Isabella to do the same for Phineas.

It wasn’t a happy kiss, necessarily. But it wasn’t sad either. They stood nestled within the complicated space between those emotions, mourning the loss of their picnic and summers gone by even as they celebrated them.

And though the ache in Phineas’s chest didn’t disappear completely, even after Isabella murmured a reassuring, “I love you...” against his mouth as she kissed him, it faded a little with every instant he spent close to her, memorizing the way her words felt and made him feel.

“I love you too.”

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

Ardently, incredibly, deeply so.

Perhaps someday, he’d find a way to express that love flawlessly, with an invention or words so breathtaking and perfect, he’d eliminate the ache, the feeling of misunderstanding, the disconnect between his affection and his ability to convey it, forever.

But for now. Beneath the stars…in this quiet, plain, utterly ordinary backyard…..Isabella seemed to understand well enough.

For now, just Phineas was enough for her.

And, though he hadn’t grasped it just yet (and perhaps wouldn’t fully grasp it for quite some time), just Phineas would always be enough for her.

…

Ferb spent the ride home from regionally-renowned restaurant The Boiling Pot trying not to laugh as his parents discussed how the complimentary breadsticks had tasted good but not great and how it sure was a shame that Phineas and Isabella hadn’t tagged along with them because they would’ve loved the fireworks! And where had those fireworks even come from, anyway? What did “Gitchee Gitchee Goo” mean?

Ferb, of course, knew Isabella and Phineas were likely getting along just fine on their own.

He also knew precisely where the fireworks had come from. And what they meant. (He was a founding member of Phineas and the Ferbtones, after all.)

But he wasn’t about to spill the beans to his parents: Isabella and Phineas would have that honor.

“Have you heard from Phineas at all?” Linda asked.

Ferb glanced down at his phone and cracked a smile while scrolling through the messages he’d sent to Phineas over the past hour.

Phineas hadn’t responded to any of them, which wouldn’t have been a surprise even if Ferb hadn’t known he was spending time with Isabella. His brother wasn’t the greatest at replying to messages that didn’t need replies, especially when he was attending to other matters.

“I have not. I’m sure he’s fine, though.”

Ferb had done his best to stall at the restaurant, to be quite indecisive about his order and insist on buying dessert and give Phineas and Isabella as much time alone together as possible to figure out their feelings (because it was Phineas and Isabella: they needed all the time they could get), but one could only prolong the inevitable for so long.

Thankfully, the inevitable was about to happen.

(Well. Technically the inevitable had likely already happened, considering the fireworks. But Ferb couldn’t be absolutely sure until he got home because, again: it was Phineas and Isabella.)

“I wonder what Phineas and Isabella have been up to…” Laurence mused as he pulled in the driveway.

Ferb stifled a snicker in his elbow.

“Probably smooching,” he thought. “Or having heartfelt conversations about their feelings. Or just being sappy and sweet. Actually, it’s likely a combination of the three.”

He sent a quick text reading, “We’re home!” to Phineas before climbing out the car and heading for the door.

(Just in case they were partaking in the first of his proposed activities.)

Fortunately, Phineas and Isabella were not, in fact, partaking in the first of his proposed activities.

…but Ferb was more than a little perplexed by what they were up to instead.

He found Isabella and Phineas huddled over a textbook, graph paper, and calculators at the kitchen table, with an empty plate and two forks strewn off to the side.

Ferb’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, confusion and apprehension prickling at his gut….because all of this seemed suspiciously platonic.

Sure, his brother and neighbor were seated QUITE close to one another. And the single plate and two forks seemed to indicate they’d shared food.

Both of those activities could be interpreted as romantic.

But they could also be interpreted as totally platonic (or, well, “totally platonic” in Phineas and Isabella’s case).

And Ferb also couldn’t be sure Isabella had seen the fireworks. Maybe they’d gone off too soon. Or too late. Maybe she’d been inside while they went off. Or asleep. Anything was possible in Danville.

Thus, Ferb couldn’t be absolutely, assuredly sure Phineas and Isabella were officially together until they told him. Or he asked them.

But he knew he shouldn’t just ask them, because if they hadn’t figured things out yet, asking them would just ruin the surprise and the four years he’d spent in silence about their mutual feelings would be for naught and HE WAS INCREDIBLY TIRED OF ALL THESE SECRETS—

“Woah! Hey, Ferb!!! I didn’t even hear you walk in the door!! How was the restaurant? .…and….how long have you been standing there?”

Phineas’s words rang hollow in Ferb’s head. He only barely comprehended his brother’s final sentence.

“….long enough to wonder whether you two have finally figured things out….” he muttered.

“OH! We sure did!!!” Phineas replied eagerly.

He gestured to a particularly complex-looking equation and continued, “This problem right here stumped us for awhile, but Isabella finally figured out we have to use the general Leibniz rule to solve it!!!! Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner, though I guess my brain has been a little preoccupied tonight…”

Ferb was going to fall over. He was going to fall over and then stand back up and grab a pillow and wack Phineas over the head with it because HE’D HAD AN ENTIRE ROMANTIC PICNIC AND FIREWORKS AND CONFESSION PLAN AT HIS DISPOSAL, HOW COULD HE BE TALKING ABOUT CALCULUS RIGHT NOW???? HOW HAD HE AND ISABELLA NOT FIGURED THINGS OUT YET??????

Isabella, meanwhile, glanced between Ferb (who looked about ready to snap something in half) and Phineas (who seemed blissfully unaware of that) before giggling. She placed a hand on Phineas’s shoulder and patted it gently, prompting him to look back at her.

“Phineas, sweetheart,” she voiced matter-of-factly, “I think Ferb is trying to ask if we started dating.”

She turned to Ferb and brightly added, “We DID start dating, by the way!!!!”

“Oh!!! Right!!”

(Phineas felt a little silly for not grasping that on his own, but it was alright.)

“Yeah, we started dating!!! Surprise!!”

And just like that. Relief. A mountain’s worth of pressure, over a DECADE’S worth of pressure, lifted from Ferb’s shoulders.

He sank into a chair opposite the happy couple and exhaled.

“….oh thank the stars.”

…

At last….Ferb can rest 😌.

ALSO MASSIVE SHOUT OUT TO MY BETA FOR COMING UP WITH “THE BOILING POT”!!!! I wanted to make a pun based off “The Boiling Isles” for the restaurant name (any Owl House fans here? 👀), and she came up with that and a couple other options and I LOVE HER THANK YOU FRIEND.

I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! (And I sincerely hope the next update doesn’t take so long😅. But no promises, lol!) The end of the story is in sight…might take a couple more chapters to get there, but WE WILL GET THERE👏

As always, comments/reblogs/tags/likes are very much appreciated 😊💕

EDIT: OH ALSO!!!!! I owe a massive shout-out to @palizinhas. They write FANTASTIC Phinbella fic, and their story “Another Plan” inspired me to add the hurt/comfort scene into this chapter (I’d previously written it and decided to cut it).

#It’s been so long since i formatted a fic chapter for tumblr it feels weird #Not bad weird #But #weird #lol #anyway! Thanks for reading!!!#Chfil #Can’t help falling in love #Phineas and ferb #phinabella #phinbella #phineas flynn #isabella garcia shapiro #cadence writes #pnf fic

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

baby, in your kingdom (for valentine’s <3)

read on ao3 tagging: @today-in-fic @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor @scullllaaaaayyyy

Mulder proposes to Scully during the Requiem bed scene.

So you may have seen the text post I wrote imagining a version of Requiem where Mulder proposed and didn’t go off to Oregon at the end...I couldn’t stop thinking about that, so it turned into this. This is my favorite prose that I’ve written for a fic, and it might turn into a series someday because this concept is just so rich and worth diving into. Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy a treat on me to numb the pain hehe.

T, 1.7k, more angst than fluff (oops) but the tenderness is there too

----------------------------

He needs to tell her one thing and ask her another. Should be simple enough, except it never is when it comes to words passing between them. It's in both their natures to leave the sweetest sentiments unsaid lest they lose their luster when voice meets air. And what he has in mind is not exactly the easiest of utterances, neither the former nor the latter. One is the kind of admittance we fear when the phone rings unexpectedly, the other a declaration the unluckiest people go to their graves without getting. Delivering both at the same time is a sin if he’s ever committed one. And for once, he cares what count God has against him. What if he isn’t able to see her again, even in the afterlife?

He’s been weighing one decision for awhile, looking for the balance between his conviction and her virtue. He could have done it when she came back to him with her baby-faced blush, accepting the cross he clung to in lieu of her. Or when she showed him the x-rays, and they spelled out no hope. When he cried by her bedside and she didn’t stir--he could have done it then, she wouldn’t have known. But it means nothing unless it means everything to both of them, and she wouldn’t have--no, couldn’t have--given him the answer he wants back then. He holds this as the sacred truth that governed him then and will govern him now. He has no room for regrets.

The scuff of their shoes against the baseball diamond was the first time he realized that maybe, maybe this manic impulse of his had some basis in reality. Not a solid one, nothing they could cross a canyon with, but in time…

And then he was inside her brain, privy to her thoughts, and what was an unsound bridge had become a stairway to Heaven only they could climb. Fuck a safety net, he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.

Then he got the call from Billy Miles, and he thought of her ouroboros, and isn’t that what they’ve been doing this whole time? Circling some greater truth that they’ve always known?

Every circle ends where it begins and begins where it ended. This is what he’s thinking when he spots Billy’s badge, and they glide over the X he painted when they didn’t yet trust each other (but so badly wanted to), and when he lays eyes on Teresa Nemmans and she is not Nemmans but Hoese, and there is a child in her arms.

Seven years. And what do they have to show for it? What they mean to each other has changed, but it’s not like anyone can tell. He called Scully his partner then, and he calls her his partner now. Oh, the time they have wasted.

But it will be wasted no more. Seeing her with the Hoese baby, cooing a lullaby into its precious ear…seven years ago, he told her of the government’s conspiracy and how nothing else mattered to him. That is no longer the truth.

There is a truth they both know that is stronger than anything. When she appears at his door, flushed and shivering like a puppy left out in the cold, his head and his heart finally hit the same wavelength. He will shy away from fate no longer.

She doesn’t wait to be invited in, she knows his bed is hers for the taking. He lifts her shoes off her feet like he’s kneeling at an altar, wraps his arms around her as if it’s what he was put on this Earth to do. Contrary to popular belief, he has quite a reverence for domestic bliss. He’s been searching for it since his own reflection of it was shattered at twelve years old, and it has finally come to him.

He is scared to death that he’ll fuck it up, but not so scared that he’ll back away. In other words, his approach to everything in his life. It occurs to him then, with his lips on her temple, that he would set his own flame to the office and every X-File in it if she asked him to. If that’s what she wanted. He wouldn’t even have stepped foot back in that haunted place after its first burning if she’d given him an indication that it was not her desire.

“Scully,” he starts, nuzzling her neck, “I was thinking about when you asked me if I ever wanted to stop...if I ever wanted to get out of the car.”

“Uh-huh,” she breathes so faintly that he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t felt it in her lungs.

“Well, I do want that. I’ve always wanted that. Remember when we were in Home and I said I’d like to settle someplace like that?”

Scully chuckles against him.

“Obviously not in Home, but you know, some place with the small-town sentiment without the, uh, familial connection.”

“Mm-hm,” Scully murmurs, sensing a larger point that he has strayed from.

“I just never knew how to get to it--I never thought that I could get to it, because I grew up thinking my parents had that, and then I saw they never did at all.”

Scully tucks his open palm under her chin, listening contentedly.

“So I spent my time chasing apparitions,” he continues, “things I couldn’t see, because I stopped believing in the things that I could. It’s like…the invisible things could surpass my expectations easily, but the visible ones could only disappoint.”

Scully feels cocooned, protected, and warm. She latches her attention to Mulder’s voice to keep from drifting off, kissing his knuckle to show that she’s listening.

“And I’ve realized, Scully,” he says, an edge in his voice, “that it’s a fucking waste of time to live like that. Like doing laps on a lazy susan and wondering why you’re never getting anywhere.”

“I know,” Scully says, her voice quiet but certain.

Mulder laughs lightly. “I know you do, that’s what you’ve been saying all this time...I just didn’t see it before.” He kisses her shoulder, lingering in the final moments before doing what cannot be undone. “And so I have something to ask you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” Rawness permeates his voice.

At the sound of this, Scully cranes her neck, her gaze falling upon his face for the first time since they laid down. She can barely see his hazel irises through the reflecting pool in his eyes.

“What is it, Mulder?” she asks, concern pressing up against her urgent need to know.

He closes his eyes, the sight of her too much for him in this moment. What he wouldn’t give to feel like he could live with himself if he kept this a secret.

“I’ve seen a neurologist, I’ve had MRIs, it’s all conclusive. My brain is diseased from whatever Cigarette Smoking Man did to me. Fatal, my neurologist says.”

“Mulder…” Scully sits up, her whole being gravitating toward him. She runs her fingers along the space where she knows he bears his scar.

“Who told you this? And when? Have you had symptoms…?”

Clearly, she does not want to believe him, and he understands.

“I’ve been going back and forth to appointments for a few weeks. It was just confirmed the other day, I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more.”

“And your symptoms?”

He recognizes the darkness in her eyes and pucker in her forehead that forewarns tears. “Disorientation, dizziness, memory loss...sometimes I feel like I sleepwalked right through my day. “

‘Why didn’t you tell me?” her voice crackles.

He kisses her hand. “I thought you might go to some dark places if you tried to diagnose me.”

“Well, you’ve just turned the lights out on me with no warning!”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I didn’t know how best to approach it, I just knew I wanted to cause you the least pain possible.”

“You wanted it to be nothing so you wouldn’t have to tell me,” she notes, not accusing, just speaking plainly.

“Well, yes. That would have been ideal.”

She swallows back tears, wrapping her arms around his neck with grave sincerity. “But now I’m here to fight right alongside you.”

This is what they do--have done, for years. Make his pain her pain and vice versa. Hurt hurts less when shared.

Mulder pulls away first, and it feels like peeling off a layer of his skin. Still, this is as necessary as anything he has ever known.

“That’s why I was wondering--and listening to it now, I realize this is probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t know, I thought you might understand...will you marry me, Scully?”

Her breath catches and before she can think of anything else, she is careening toward his t-shirt to cover her tears. She clutches at the material, pulling it from his midsection to her face.

As far as Mulder’s concerned, there’s an elephant stuck in his throat. “I really don’t know what that means,” he stammers.

Scully lets him see her, tear-stained skin and all. “Yes, Mulder, my god yes! Do you honestly think I’d say no to you?”

“I would, especially in this situation.”

It’s a classic Mulder comment, but Scully’s not laughing. She pulls him in again, just wanting to feel his skin against hers. Their breaths slow in time with each other’s, their heartbeats matching pace. Scully’s lips brush his mole.

She speaks into his skin. “You saved me when it was impossible. I will do the same for you.”

Mulder thought he might hold it together until those words slipped from her lips. The elephant in his throat turns to stifled sobs.

With silent tears still streaking down her cheeks, Scully runs her thumbs along his lips. Just as she did when they thought his brain was getting better. The love in her eyes is equal to then too.

“My constant, my touchstone, remember?” she professes. “Then, now, and always.” She presses her lips to his forehead, and he thinks she must be healing him.

#yes it's valentine's but it's a pandemic valentine's #so have some angst with that fluff #the x-files #txf fic #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #requiem

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ayo-cowbelly · 4 years

Text

Anakin Everlasting

read on ao3 here

wowww look at me, posting writing two days in a row... here’s to being productive

again, blame discord. those amazing angst-lovers keep inspiring me to write and make everyone sad.

hope you enjoy!

p.s. pretty sure it's a thing that jedi live a lot longer than average people, usually over 100 years. so that's why that's in there.

***

Anakin wandered throughout the temple. Not the Coruscant one, as you might think- no, he was on Yavin IV now. Years ago, the Jedi had decided to expand and, seeing as there was an unused temple on a lush planet, a planet that was strong in the Force- it was perfect for a new branch of the Order.

He stared out at the greenery, so different from what he had been used to. Even though he came to this place almost 100 years ago, Anakin couldn't find himself getting fully adjusted to the new environment.

Anakin was now surrounded by greens, blues, and browns, so different from the golds and tans he was used to. Those colors represented everything he loved, everything he'd lost, and that which he could not bear to see taken from him. That was why, even if it was a bit uncomfortable, Anakin had moved to Yavin IV. He has lost so much- and Anakin had never been good with loss.

Yes, time heals all wounds, and of course he'd spent time meditating with Yoda, learning how to let go; Yoda was the only one who could even begin to understand Anakin's plight. Despite that, however, he still found his heart aching when he thought of his friends, his family, and how they had left him.

Padmé had been the first to go. She lived to be 97, and Anakin never stopped loving her. As she got older, Padmé had insisted on Anakin moving on, finding a younger person who could keep up with him, now that she was too frail to even leave the apartment most days. He knew she'd be gone soon, so he promised he'd try to find someone.

It was the only promise he'd ever broken.

"I don't want you to mourn the moment you spent with me for an eternity," She had told him.

Anakin, tears in his eyes, whispered back, "You are my eternity, Angel."

That, even 1000 years later, was still true. He loved her, as many others in the galaxy had loved someone; fiercely, eternally, even if she was dead. Anakin and Padmé had a love that would always be real, be true, as long as he kept her memory alive as he traveled across the stars.

Anakin cried for days when Ahsoka died.

His first and dearest Padawan lived to be 117, and she had been feisty until the very end (only Leia had been able to keep up with Ahsoka in that regard- oh, Force, Leia-)

When she left, laying in her bed with soft condolences and gentle teases and whispers of "Don't forget me, Skyguy," Anakin had thought that would break him, as he held her now-limp hand.

Obi-Wan was worse. Obi-Wan, the oldest family member he had left, had been gone for a long time. His brother had lived to be around 124 (or maybe not, Anakin seemed to be getting worse at keeping track of time the longer his life went on). Obi-Wan had lived a long life, a happy life; and when his time came, he learned enough of the Force that he could still visit Anakin, sometimes.

Every once and awhile, the two could talk (it used to be always, back when Obi lived- but Anakin would be the only one who would get an always). But it wasn't the same. Not even close.

He'd never admit it, but Anakin cried for over a week when Obi-Wan faded away. At that time, he was sure he would shatter; If Padmé hadn't broken him, if Ahsoka hadn't, surely his older brother would.

Obi's death had to be the worst, he was positive.

He was so, so wrong.

Nothing could compare to the pure heartbreak that came with the death of his children.

Luke, who was bright like sunshine and serene like water- and Leia, who was pure fire and somehow engulfed everyone she met. They were the brightest parts of Anakin's life, both in the Force and not. They were the best parts of him and Padmé, and he loved them so incredibly much. And, being twins, Luke and Leia spent almost every moment together since their birth. Throughout their lives, it was rare to see one without the other, for nobody was as closely intertwined as they; save for Anakin and Obi-Wan.

So, when Death came for his children, Anakin had to watch as they left together (there was no other way they could go). He'd had them for an amazing 156 years, years he would forever cherish.

Now he didn't have anyone. But somehow, he was still whole. He hadn't broken then, and he hadn't broken when his later Padawans had died (death was hard for Anakin to think about. Even though he somewhat feared it, he also wanted it, if it meant he could see his dearest ones again). But Anakin knew Death would never claim him, so he made the most out of his eternal life (but it was a half-life, for what is a life without love?)

He took other Padawans, trained other students and treated them as his own. Though he knew it was a bad idea, as nobody could stay forever, they became his family. Just as Ahsoka once had, when she'd stepped out of a shuttle on Christophsis.

Anakin also found he was good at storytelling. Every night, he made his way to the Crèche and regaled the younglings with his stories. The now-legends of a beautiful queen, a wise Jedi Master, a snarky Togruta (who had become a Master in her own right), an exasperated clone captain; and later the stories of a brave young man and his fiery twin sister, the smuggler she fell in love with, and how through it all were two droids who were the best of friends.

He told the next generations about their adventures, how they found joy while fighting a war, and he told them of how they had managed to discover and overthrow the Sith. He taught them how to find the Light, find love, even when hope seems lost.

The younglings loved the stories, ate them up until Anakin had no more, so he'd retell them again. He told them to the children, to the Padawans, to the Knights, and even the Masters (even if they were old, most had grown up hearing of Anakin's adventures). His only rule for those who heard the tales? Pass them on, so the memories stay alive.

He taught them a truth he had discovered: Nobody is ever really gone, as long as you keep on telling their stories.

Anakin forever would.

He made his way to a special room he had reserved for himself in the Temple, for as Grandmaster (now that Yoda was gone, Anakin had become the Grandmaster. Yoda's death, of all people... that had hit Anakin harder than he'd thought it would. When someone who seems to be forever dies, said death is shocking) he could do such things.

When he entered, he looked around the room. He surveyed the pictures and trinkets that lay there, waiting for him.

By Padmé's picture, there was the old Japor snippet necklace- along with a small flimsi paper flower he'd once made for her, onboard a Star Destroyer while thinking of how he missed her.

Beside Obi-Wan's, there was a lightsaber that hummed. It seemed to have a mind of its own now, and the buzzing got louder as Anakin approached- or rather, his own blade did. Just as their users were connected, these lightsabers were as well. There was also a small holo of Anakin and Obi-Wan on Cato Nemoidia, just after that "business" that Obi-Wan always said "didn't count". In the picture, Padawan Anakin is grinning widely, arm slung around a very disgruntled Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Next to Ahsoka's lay her two lightsabers and the golden headdress she'd worn since she was young. Anakin remembers how he'd gently lifted it off her head at the funeral, for if he couldn't keep his sister, his beloved Padawan, then he would keep this small part of her.

Alongside Luke and Leia's (their pictures were one and the same, since they almost never did something without the other) there were their own 'sabers and two drawings the twins made when they were toddlers. If Anakin remembered correctly (as time went on, he found it harder and harder to look at such things) the pictures depicted their family- which of course included Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, R2 and 3PO.

The two droids had been shut down long ago, finally going out of use just after Padmé's death.

The room housed other pictures, which showed the rest of Anakin's Padawans- including Ahsoka, there were six in total; But even though he kept all their lightsabers, he only had trinkets for two of them.

Uchani, who had been his second Padawan about 40 years after Ahsoka died, had been a quiet but strong Zeltron. She was a calm person, but there was spunk in her that rivaled Leia's. Uchani was amazing at calming Anakin down when he was angry, the gentle waves of her Force presence dousing out the embers in his. She had become his little sister as well.

Then there was Myn. A young Tholothian, Myn was brave and outspoken, and him and Anakin fit well together. He was the sixth student Anakin had taken, and though he loved all his students, Anakin remembered Myn vividly.

In all his eternal years, Anakin had not been prepared for seeing his Padawan die young. In battle, no less.

Myn was slain by a Darksider in the catacombs of Akiva. Anakin had been too late, moments too late; after cutting down the enemy, he watched as Myn's life dwindled.

Knowing Anakin well after ten years of training, Myn had wheezed, "Don't- Don't do anything- anything reckless, Master."

Anakin refused to look at the wound on his apprentice's stomach. "Myn, we need to get you to a healer-"

"Master- Anakin-" Myn coughed, and Anakin felt the tears in his eyes overflow and run down his face.

"No, please, not you too," Anakin said, but he already knew what the outcome would be.

"It'll be okay, Anakin," Myn murmered, and then he was gone, just like all the others.

Anakin shook off the memory of his last Padawan, and he sat down in the middle of the room. Rex's helmet (Rex, who had lived to be 105 once the accelerated aging was healed, had never stopped standing up for what was right. When his body failed him, he switched to words, fighting until the end. Anakin missed his twin so much), which Anakin had kept in as good condition as possible, stared back at him as he told his family of his day.

When he finished, he felt a presence behind him, and wasn't surprised to see the faint blue glow of Obi-Wan's ghost.

"It sounds like you had a good day, Anakin."

"I did," He said back happily. "But it's not over yet. I'm about to go see the younglings- care to join me, Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "I'd be delighted, Padawan mine."

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muchamusedaboutnothing · 2 years

Note

I was on your Masterlist, but I haven't seen anything from you in awhile. I found you again, and I can't find myself tagged in any category. I adored your Heart of a Hunter story and read until the baby was saved. Did you add anymore to it? I can't find any but the first 4.5 chapters, though I read all of them. I never got a chance to read your other stories. I've only had my Tumblr for about a year, give or take. I'm an older reader and discovered the series 4 episodes before the series final episode. I've watched a lot of the most popular shows, but I love reading FanFiction stories about the brother's relationship with each other, their dad (and mom), their relationship with girls and the inner turmoil they're having to go through in their lives about their past and what the job they're pretty much forced to do. I wanted to know how to get to your newer stories and chapters of Heart of a Hunter. In fact, all of your stories, including how to find each chapter of each story. I don't know how to easily get them, even when you were reminding me since I was on the list. In fact, I have a lot of trouble finding stories about Supernatural and others shows I really loved like Timeless. Is there a way to find these stories, and would you know how to find stories on FANFICTION and AO3, if I remember correctly. I save stories now, but when I first started reading them on all 3 sites, I didn't keep up with them, then changed phones, etc. I have no idea what the names of these stories I loved, but I could give a summary of many of those stories. I read somewhere that there was a way to find stories a reader has forgotten the name of, etc. Would you know about it, or do you know how I can find out about it from somewhere else? Sorry for all if the questions. My youngest kid left for college, and it's hard for me to figure this stuff out. Lol! Thanks for all of your hard work because even though we love it, writing is a pain and very difficult to do correctly. I actually am a TV scriptwriter. I moved back to Texas from LA to marry and raise our 3 kids here. I'm getting back into it since my youngest moved to college. I also work as an editor to several authors. I'd give anything for Jensen and/or Jared to read my pilot script and/or series bible and want to play the leads. It's a Western set in 1867 Texas. I know Jensen and Danneel are leaning toward him playing superhero type roles like Soldier Boy and more Supernatural, but I wish he'd consider another Western after he went through that terrible tragedy in Rust. He was so excited to be in a real Western! Jared is playing a modern day cowboy as Walker, so I don't know if he'd ever what to do a limited series real Western. Although they still both look very young which is amazing, I'm afraid they'd be older than the main characters who are both in their early 30's. There's quite a few flashback scenes showing them at all ages, but the current years of their Ives are from their early 30's to however long it would last. I just wanted you to know that you have the talent to make your living as a writer, but it can be hard to break into it. Most of the authors I help started by writing Kindle books, but some have become NYT and USA TODAY Best Selling Authors. Thanks for Heart of a Hunter! I hope to hear from you. I'm on my phone and couldn't figure out how to make new paragraphs, so sorry its running all together.

Hi nony,

I wasn't trying to ignore you (and your other post, since I assume that was you as well.) My Tumblr just doesn't like to tell me I have a message in my inbox and I need to be better about double-checking it.

Happy to have you here on Tumblr, and as a member of the SpnFamily.

I do have a masterlist that breaks down my series (including Heart of a Hunter) into smaller lists that contain each Act, and then each Act has its own list of chapter. It can be a bit overwhelming, but hopefully, this helps:

Mobile Masterlist: https://muchamusedaboutnothing.tumblr.com/post/173163761461/much-amused-mobile-masterlist

Regular Masterlist (complete with pictures): https://muchamusedaboutnothing.tumblr.com/post/157716599666/much-amused-masterlist

And if you'd like just the Heart of a Hunter Masterlist, you can see that one here: https://muchamusedaboutnothing.tumblr.com/post/166233817716/heart-of-a-hunter-saga-masterlist

That last one breaks down each Act in the Heart of a Hunter Saga, and it sounds like you were reading Act VI from what I can tell, but you should be able to find your spot and finish that Act by visiting that masterlist.

I'm so happy that you're enjoying my writing.

I have been writing for years (finished my first novel at 19) and have been studying screenwriting for several years now. I am currently working as a Reader/Script Analyst, so I think it's amazing that you're writing pilots and have gotten back into things after the kiddos moved out of the house. I can only imagine what a dream it would be to have your show picked up for production, so wishing you the best of luck with that!

I, too, would love to see Jensen in a western role. I read a screenplay recently for a feature that he would be fantastic for, but all I can do is hope he gives it another try someday.

Thanks for getting in touch. I hope you'll stick around, and there is more Heart of a Hunter coming in the near future, so watch for an announcement in regards to that soon.

#MuchAmused Answers

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thechangeling · 3 years

Text

Enough.

So a while ago I made a headcannon post about Ty's sexuality and the autistic exploration of sex and sexual desire. I have now written a fic about it. This ones for Alex @bedspells my very own Alyssa. Also side note I want to make it clear that yes, I still ship kitty 100%. But I've seen plenty of people write fics and headcannons about Kit exploring things with other people. There's no reason why Ty can't do the same.

Edit: Ok a long time ago this fic actually got a hate comment on Ao3 saying that I was erasing Ty's sexuality by having him hook up with a girl because he was cannonly gay due to a tweet CC made in 2013. Now I don't even have twitter and I wasn't a part of the fandom back then. Despite all of that I actually don't really consider that to be the basis of canon? And in the books he doesn't really express interest in anyone except for Kit. So as far as I'm concerned this was fair game. Not to mention gay people sometimes experiment before they realize they're gay. Especially autistic people!! And that was actually kind of the point of this fic. So maybe just keep that in mind going forward. Thanks!

Tw for mentions and discussions of sex.

Ty could count the instances he hadn't been bothered by another person's touch on one hand. This was certainly one of them. It was so late into the night it could certainly be considered the next morning. Anush, Ty and Alyssa had been doing research on Livvy and the effect she seemed to be having on a serge of demonic activity in the area.

Ty was fairly stressed about the possibility to say the least. It felt like everything was spilling away from him. Livvy, his family, his career.

Kit.

He really didn't want to think about Kit but it was difficult. It was like trying to ignore a bleeding wound that everyone kept referring to as a paper cut.

The shining lights in all of this were Anush and Alyssa. Befriending both of them had been the best part of coming to the scholomance.

Especially Alyssa.

Meeting someone who shared some of his thoughts, feelings and experiences was more then refreshing. It was liberating. Talking, laughing and crying with Alyssa about the things that no one else would understand was like a balm for Ty's soul.

At a certain point Anush had announced that he was retiring to bed and they should both probably do the same. Livvy was still floating around the room observing their work. But as time went on Ty had stopped paying as much attention to her. Now he was resting against Alyssa with his head in her lap. She was sitting on the couch in the library, carefully running her fingers through his hair and rambling on about something, Ty wasn't exactly sure what.

Ty reached up to wrap a lock of her long dark hair around his finger, then watched it spring back into place again. Alyssa's hair was wavy but not curly like- like some peoples. So it didn't spring and bounce very well. That was the interesting thing about Ali in general. So many parts of her dress and appearance were so neat and polished and well put together that Ty almost wondered what it would be like to see her more disheveled. What would it be like to grab and twist and pull until she was left with something that wasn't glossy perfect waves.

Ty panicked a little at that thought. Where exactly had that come from? He was now more then ever painfully aware of the fact that he was lying in an attractive person's lap. And his sister was still in the same room.

Ty looked up to search for Livvy but realized that she was gone. Guiltily he realized she could have been gone for awhile now. But he hadn't noticed. Lately he had been feeling further and further away from his twin and he hated it.

"Do you think stars have feelings?" Alyssa asked wistfully. Ty laughed joyfully, feeling so light and and so far away from every bad thing that had happened three years ago.

"Because I was just thinking," she continued. "Like, what if they're lonley you know?" Ty had to smile at the Alyssa charm of it all. Also the autistic perspective might have had something to do with it.

"I don't know," Ty said, sitting up. "Maybe they're like us. Maybe they like being alone." Alyssa pondered this for awhile.

"Well no one can be alone forever," she pointed out, then laughed, rolling her eyes. "God how did we get here? Remember when we were supposed to be doing actual work Ty?"

"Well we were stupid to think that would last," Ty announced matter of factly. Alyssa shrugged and leaned back against the sofa.

"Probably. Once the neurotypical left it was all downhill from there."

"I disagree, Ty said softly, meeting her gaze. "I enjoy spending time with you." Alyssa instantly smiled, the kind of beautiful, honest, heartfelt smile that allistic people wrote poetry about.

Instantly Ty was reminded of someone else, another brilliant smile.

He shook it off.

"Me too," Alyssa finally answered. Then she shook her head. "Ugh feelings. Gross."

Ty rolled his eyes at her and laughed.

Then Alyssa sat up again as she seemed to remember something. "Oh yeah I meant to ask you about Anush. Do you like him?"

Ty shrugged. "Yeah he's really nice. He's become a good friend."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no Ty, I mean-" She paused. "I mean do you like him like you wanna date him? Or do you have romantic feelings for him?" She asked.

Ty paused. He honestly wasn't sure. He had been trying to avoid thoughts of those types of feelings for a very specific reason. A Herondale reason. But the truth was he did like really like Anush. He enjoyed being around him. Ty just wasn't sure what that meant.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Maybe." Alyssa fiddled with her hair, rubbing it between her fingers.

"Hmm. Well do you even like boys?" She asked. "I just realised I've known you for five months now and I dont really know what your deal is," she said contemplating. "Like sexual orientation wise. I mean not that it matters, it totally doesn't," she stammered.

Ty shrugged. "It was never really relevant before. But I'm not really sure. I guess I'm fine with whatever." Alyssa beamed.

"So I guess that means you're kinda like me huh? She said happily. "I'm pansexual. Women are so beautiful and angelic and soft and squishy and awesome, but men can be good too," she mused. "I mean men are......men, but some of them aren't so bad. I mean look at you!" Alyssa tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Thanks," Ty responded dryly.

"Anyways you know what I mean," Alyssa waved her hand. "So are you attracted to him at least?" Ty sighed.

"Yeah I am," he admitted. "But I don't- I don't want a relationship Ali. I just can't."

Alyssa studied him for a moment. "Does this have anything to do with the Herondale pendent you wear that you always tell me never to ask questions about?"

Ty scowled. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it." Alyssa rolled her eyes and put her hands up in surrender.

"Fucking shit fuck! Fine!" She complained. "Anyways, my point is you dont need to date him neccesarily. Just have sex with him and see how you feel?"

Ty sat up and faced her. "What?"

Alyssa laughed. "You heard me. There's nothing wrong with causal sex between consenting adults. I mean, if you want to."

Ty felt the urge to stand up to try and aliviate some of the anxiety he was feeling, but he stayed sitting.

"I've never done it before," he admitted. Ty was 19, he knew most of the people his age had already had some sort of sexual experience. But he had always been too afraid. Too afraid of people touching him and demanding things from him with harsh vague bullshit. In Ty's mind it was just another social interaction that he could screw up and then pay the price for it.

Alyssa shrugged. "It's no big deal. Virginity is just a social construct anyways." Alyssa was playing with her hair casually and biting her lip slightly, to indicate that she was mulling something over.

Ty shook his head trying to explain it. "No, it's- I mean see, you say that, but, one of the things I've learned about this world is that social constructs kind of matter to a lot of people." Ty was taping his fingers against his leg and trying to stop himself from shaking. Alyssa noticed this.

"Because people tell you that's it's no big deal and not to worry, and then other people make it into a big deal like it means something, and then everyone's telling you to do something different," Ty explained with a panicked, rushed voice. "I don't know who you listen to, or what to do!" He was moving his hands frantically while he spoke to emphasize his points.

"Hey it's ok," she cooed, inching towards him. "Trust yourself. Or if you feel like you can't, then trust me." Ty felt a pang in his chest. A cacophony of conflicting emotions erupted within him. But mostly he found that despite his better judgement he actually believed her.

They had created something different between the two of them. Something that almost transcended labels or rules or traditional allistic boundaries. Alyssa was like the armor he put on every morning, with the strength and confidence that he wasn't alone in this world. In the midst of all of their jokes and late night heartbreaking conversations. In the midst of this fragile peace they had created, there was something there. Something indescribable.

Something like the sound of the page being turned in one of his Sherlock novels, or the sound of their favourite songs. A connection. A lifeline.

Ty looked over at Alyssa's concerned face and smiled softly. "I trust you," he promised. "I don't really trust many people, but I've always trusted you," he admitted. Alyssa inhaled sharply. She made an interesting facial expression that might have been a facial stim and then gaped for awhile before finally closing her mouth and avoiding Ty's gaze.

"Yeah that's cool. I trust you too," she said casually. She had gone back to pulling at her poor hair which was shedding everywhere. Anush always joked that he could always tell where Alyssa was by following the trail of hair.

"So, about the whole sex thing," she continued rather unceremoniously. Ty had to laugh a little. "Do you think it's something you're actually interested in? Or do you just feel like you have to?" She asked.

Ty pondered this for a moment. "I think I might want to. I just want to be with someone that I trust. Someone who will be considerate of my boundries, you know?" Ty did a quick glance around the room to make sure Livvy was still gone.

"Wait she's not here right?" Alyssa asked anxiously, catching on. Ty shook his head.

Alyssa paused for a moment, looking lost in thought. She was flicking her fingernails against each other and continuing to murder her bottom lip by chewing on it. Finally she looked up at him, looking rather amused.

"Ok. This might just be the exhaustion talking, or the autism, or a combination of both. So if you feel uncomfortable with what I'm about to say, then afterwards we can just forget it ok?" Alyssa sounded serious. Ty just nodded, trying not to be concerned.

Alyssa gave him an interesting look, one that he was pretty sure he had never recieved before. Her eyes scanned him up and down, then she smirked.

"I could potentially offer my services," she said innocently. Ty blinked a few times, then continued to stare at her. She stared back unflinching.

Wait. What?

Ty shook his head in confusion. "Hold on. Wait. You mean-?" He cut himself off. Alyssa nodded with that same smirk. "Yeah I mean why not right?" She shrugged, relaxing back against the sofa. "But if you dont want to then that's totally fine."

"Wait." Ty attempted to clear his head and stay focused. He stayed frozen for awhile, thinking. Then he folded his arms around himself, applying pressure. "Why exactly?"

Alyssa shrugged again. "Well why not? You're hot. I'm hot, and besides you know me," she pointed out. She paused, and then giggled.

"Four hours into investigating the paranormal phenomenon of his dead twin sister and chill, then she offers to take his virginity," she cackled. "I so enjoy our quality time together."

"The way your mind works really concerns me sometimes, you know that?" He asked playfully. Alyssa rolled her eyes at him and shoved him gently.

"Hey you don't have to, it was just an idea," she said, raising her hands in defense. Ty was silent. He was still thinking about it.

"Most people don't really do stuff like this right?" He asked warily. "Like most friends don't just randomly hook up and then laugh it off later."

Alyssa shook her head slowly. "Honey do you see me laughing?"

Ty was conflicted. There was something in him, a new, complicated feeling. A burning desire that nagged at the back of his mind everytime Alyssa bit her lip or pouted.

If he was really honest with himself. Ty could remember another time when he felt this way. But that was different, that was-.

He shook his head. No. Ty wasn't thinking about that anymore. He needed a distraction.

"God I can practically hear you thinking over here Ty," Alyssa teased. "Listen. If it freaks you out to much then we can forget about it. But-." She paused and reached towards him. Their fingertips met and she slowly dragged her fingertips down the top of Ty's hand.

"I want to do this for you because I care about you," she said solemnly. "I want make you feel good. Because you're special, and I dont mean that in the bullshit ableist way. I mean I think that you're special because you have such a big heart and you care so much," she said with a laugh.

Ty felt like he was about to cry. He was taking in long deep breaths trying not to get overwhelmed. He didnt know how to respond to this, this kind of attention and praise. His heart felt warm and tight absorbed in so much fondness and melancholy and regret all at once.

He knew this wasn't anything like what had happened that day on the beach. This wasn't that kind of love that he was feeling for Alyssa and that was a good thing. Romantic love, he decided, was too complicated.

"You deserve good things and good experiences. You deserve to have your first time be somewhere familiar. Somewhere you feel safe, and with someone who loves you." Alyssa wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"God sorry for getting all emotional like that," she joked.

Ty couldn't speak, so he just squeezed her hand. He hoped she would understand.

I love you too.

Ty took a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah I want that. I want you."

Alyssa exhaled, then grinned. "Ok then. Great. I'll see if I can pencil you in sometime this week," she joked. Ty cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Oh," he murmered, suprised with how disappointed he felt. "You mean later?" Alyssa laughed.

"Well yeah, I mean aren't you tired?"

"Are you?" Ty countered.

Alyssa shrugged. "Hey you know how it is, autistic sleep cycle. I'm gonna be up for awhile. I just figured you might want some time to think."

Ty shook his head. "No I don't want to think anymore. I'm tired of thinking Ali. I'm tired of worrying and overanalyzing everything." His eyes met hers, she seemed a little worried.

She moved closer to him so that she was practically in his lap. "You need a distraction," she said matter of factly. "It's ok." She moved her hands from his arms to grasp his waist.

"Is this good?"

Ty flinched. "More pressure," he replied in a tone that was hopefully not too demanding. Alyssa pressed her fingertips down harder into his skin. A soothing feeling washed over him.

"Good?" She asked, scratching his skin with her fingernails. Ty just nodded, feeling slightly dazed.

Alyssa smiled, lowering herself gracefully into his lap. Everything she did was with precision and grace. Alyssa was a dancer. It was one of her special interests. She had stopped taking lessons a long time ago though because she found it challenging to dance in a group.

She could never copy what everyone else was doing exactly on count when she was supposed to. She was always going off and improvising on her own. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

Alyssa's weight against him was comforting. She was moving her hands up and down his back underneath his shirt while still applying pressure. Ty felt heat beginning to pool in the base of his stomach. He stared at her curiously, taking in her soft curves and her smooth golden skin.

"Can I touch you?" Ty asked, feeling his fingers twitch.

Alyssa moved her hands to his chest. "Sure." She said softly. "Just be careful. Remember pressure and all of that, and try to avoid my stomach area. For some reason it's really sensitive." Ty nodded, instantly reaching for her long wavy dark hair and twisting his fingers around it, pulling slightly. She laughed.

This drew Ty's attention to her mouth. Her lips were cracked and rough looking from Alyssa constantly biting them, but Ty still wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed anyone before. He needed to know what it felt like.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and then to her sides, pulling Alyssa even closer. "Can you teach me how to kiss?" He asked looking her in the eye briefly. She snorted.

"I don't think you'll like it very much," she murmered. "It's not really a good sensory experience. At least not for me. Allistic people seem to like it though."

Ty nodded. "Exactly that's my point," he said, using one hand to cradle the side of her neck. "I need to learn for other people later on." He absentmindedly pressed his thumb into one of the divots in her neck, just to fill the space. Alyssa sighed and dug her fingernails into his chest.

"Ok fine but you're gonna hate the tounge thing," she breathed. She leaned down very slowly and then carefully pressed her lips to Ty's, kissing him softly.

It was a weird sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Ty happily slid his hands back into her hair and began to fiddle with a few thick pieces. Alyssa moved her own hands up his chest to cradle her face, applying pressure with thumbs against his cheekbones.

Alyssa deepened the kiss and slid her tounge into his mouth. Instantly Ty winced and felt every cell in his body seize up. But he didn't stop. He was determined to figure this out. If he wanted to kiss someone who wasn't autistic in the future then he would need to. Ty relaxed his body and kissed her back forcefully, making out with Alyssa until the uncomfortable noise in his head was too much and he broke the kiss.

Ty shook his head and Ali laughed, stroking his hair. "I fucking told you so," she exclaimed. Ty shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to return to normal.

"Ok so that's something we can forget about for now, thank god. The beauty of this whole situation is that we dont have to follow any allistic script for this sort of thing." Ty opened his eyes. Alyssa was watching him carefully, still only centimeters away from his face.

"So is there anything you want to do?" She asked him. "Just tell me and I'll see if we can make it happen."

Ty saw no need to maintain any sort of filter. "Well there are a lot of things actually, but for some reason I really want to bite you," he said pointedly, glancing down at her neck. Alyssa burst out laughing, nearly falling over.

Ty glared at her. "I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm sorry it's just,-," she regained her composure, shaking her head. "I just love how we all used to be the weird kids who growled and hissed at people on the playground if they bothered us and now as adults we're just super kinky. Like it's kind of poetic in a way," she laughed.

Ty rolled his eyes. There was no need to ask what she meant by we. When Alyssa said we, it only referred to one thing.

"I'm sure it's not absolutely every autistic person," he protested. "Also we should move, on account of the fact that this is still a public setting." Alysza's eyes widened as if she had just remembered that.

"Oh right. Shit, as if these people needed any more reasons to hate me. Let's go!" She rolled off of Ty and stood in front if him, holding out her hand. "We can use my room." Ty stayed sitting, taking a moment to fully absorb it all.

He couldn't help but feel the weight of the Herondale pendent against his chest as a heavy reminder. He willed himself not to get distracted. Alyssa smiled at him slightly, almost as if she knew.

"Enough," she said softly.

Ty didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't even sure if their was anything he wanted say. Then finally he understood.

"Enough," he echoed back.

He took her outstretched hand and let her take him away.

@ti-bae-rius @eutony-in-whisper @dianasarrow @dianasarrow @stxr-thxif @talia-lightwood @doitforthecarstairs @thelandunderthehilll @zfoxdraws @waterlillies

#tda #the dark artifices #tsc #twp #the wicked powers #ty blackthorn #Alyssa Reyes #autistic representation #Fae's oc

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