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nowornever13587 · 3 years

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MCYT Oxenfree Chapter 1

Edward’s Island.

Fundy POV

“It used to be a military base. Then it became a ranching thing, then it was turned into an army thing, then it became a bird thing and a museum or whatever. Henry Fonda stationed here, I think, for a bit. Unless he was Navy.”

I listened to Tommy rattle on as I leaned on the rail of the ship. The salty smell of the ocean filled the overcast sky. But thankfully, it was only slightly cold. Just enough for a light jacket..

“Who’s Henry Fonda?” Eret asked, unaware that you should never ask Tommy questions when he’s explaining things. He had a tendency to not hear them.

“And around Christmas time, this little breakfast place used to sell these amazing polar bear sugar cookies…” Like normal, Tommy went on. I laughed to myself, peering back over the edge of the ferry for wildlife in the water.

“Hey,” Tommy poked me. “Are you still with us? You haven’t said anything for like… 10 minutes.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. My mind just drifted for a second.” I turned back, checking my watch. It was 8. Right on time.

“So, you all moved in?” Tommy continued to talk to Eret.

“Um, not really. I just got in this morning.” Eret chuckled.

“And how did Fundy’s mom meet your dad again?” Tommy was eager for gossip.

“They met on vacation in London. He got lost in a garden and thought she worked there.” Eret took it in good humor as we walked back in the boat.

I took the liberty of exploring the small craft. It wasn’t that old but still had that air to it. Slightly chipped paint and worn seats. How they got worn, I never understood. Only bird watchers and history nuts ever headed to Edward’s island anymore. Particularly not in the winter.

“Hey, there’s an old ship's wheel up here.” I called down to the others from the second story as I bent to read the placard. “It’s a replica from a… Portuguese caravel, it says.”

“Yeah! I think the Portuguese discovered the island? I dunno. I mostly slept through the maritime portion of history class.” Tommy shrugged.

“Says the kid who’s been ranting about the island for the past 18 minutes.” Eret teased. Tommy shot him a teasing glare as I came back down.

“So you guys just met tonight?” Tommy continued.

“Yeah, I was… I’d been out at school and the timing had just never worked out.” Eret shrugged.

“And what does that make you to the Furry? Second cousin or something?”

“Step bro and I am not a furry!” I groaned

“Yeah, yeah! At least you seem cool!” Tommy laughed. “Cool guy, cool eyes. You get a cool new sibling living right in your house! Wearing your clothes… eating your food ... Sharing your toothbrush.”

“Ew!” We both grimaced. The conversation dipped awkwardly.

“So… how do you two know each other?” Eret prompted us.

“Oh, from way back when, like paleozoic. Grade school era.”

“I moved from the Netherlands in the first grade and Tommy was the one I got partnered with on the first day.”

“Passengers,” Suddenly the robotical intercom kicked on, nearly scaring me out of my skin. “We’ll be arriving soon. Check under your seat-”

“Check under your seat to make sure you don’t leave behind any grandchildren.” Tommy commented over the recording sarcastically.

“And if you picked up a complimentary disposable radio, remember to tune to 102.3 at the various plaques…” It droned on.

“Ooh! We should get a picture!” Tommy suddenly stood, dragging Eret and I back to the bow of the ferry.

“Fine. Just… hold the camera out. Like… far. I don’t look my freshest right now.” I told Tommy as he pulled out his phone. I ran a hand over my ears, trying to smooth down my fur that had puffed up due to the humidity.

“It’s true, Eret. This is like B Minus Fundy.” Tommy grinned.

“Take the picture you child!” I nudged him.

“I am not a child!” Tommy retorted while holding out the camera. We all smiled as the audible click came from the phone.

“There! Great. I’ll magic erase all the warts out and stuff, so don’t worry.” Tommy checked over the photo.

Eret made a face at the mention of warts and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Furry. Did you remember to bring that radio? The little portable one?” Tommy piped back up.

“Yeah.” I sighed, ignoring the comment as I took the object out my pocket.

“Our high school has a radio station and Finn- he’s a friend of ours- he’s filling in because TapL went on vacation with his family or something.” Tommy explained as I began twisting the knob to find the station. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s gonna say something like… basically right now about our thing so…”

We all intently listened to the radio as I found the right station, 88.3.

“... Which I played because Karl wouldn’t stop singing it during math class!” Finn seemed to be talking about the song that was just on. “But… oh! Look at the time! Just after ten o’clock. Which means my dear friend Tommy and his bros are probably just touching down on Edwards island for the yearly bash on the beach…. Or whatever we call it now.”

“But anyways, I promised him that I’d play a song from his channel, so hope you're tuned in, Tommy! Here’s Able Sisters- Sable and Mable from Animal Crossing. He’s been tormenting me to play it for ages so here. Please stop.”

The familiar song came on. I groaned quickly, shutting it off.

“Haha!” Tommy crowed. “I finally got him to do it!”

His victory rant was cut off as the ferry’s horn blasted above us.

“There’s no radio reception on the island.” Tommy continued. “I’m glad I got to hear it before it went totally kaput.”

“If we can’t use it, why’d you bring it? Not just for the boat?” Eret inquired.

“Um, no. You’ll see. Don’t expect too much but… nah. It’ll be fun. I won’t undercook it.” Tommy waved his hands mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

We all shut up as the boat began nearing the dock. The old man running the ship helped us get off, before pulling away again.

“Oh boy! Smell that clean air, lads! This ain’t city livin’!” Tommy gestured to the now dark heavens. “My other friends should be up around the bend.”

“Actually,” Eret said nervously, waiting at the top of the dock stairs. “I mean, I don’t mean to be the guy to break us up already, but Tommy, could you do me a favor? Can I have two quick minutes with Fundy?”

“Uh… you sure?” Tommy hesitated. I glanced back up at Eret. The older boy seemed sincere.

“Something wrong?” I wondered.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just need a minute.” Eret glanced at the street light above.

“Alright, but- Look, I don’t wanna go up by myself. I mean, can’t we just stick together? You’re gonna have all night to say, like… whatever.” Tommy pleaded, using his puppy dog eyes.

“But you were going to meet your friends, right?”

“Yeah but there further-”

“Tommy, it’s alright. Just wait for us at the end of the town, okay? We’ll catch up with you there.” I reasoned.

“Alright.” Tommy sighed, walking off. “Though this is a really strange way to start off, splitting up.”

“Thanks man!” Eret called after him, before turning to me. “He seems nice. Funny.”

“Yeah, he’s… what did you want to talk about? Before I suspect something nefarious.” I teased, coming back to the top of the stairs.

“Listen, I just wanted to grab you ahead of time and say you’ve been…. Cool… about everything. And I guess it’s just - for me, I’ve never moved anywhere, ya know? And, like, getting a new family at the same time kinda feels like I’m skipping the training wheels.”

“Not that it’s bad! You and your mum have been great!”

“Eh, we’ll make do.” I nudged Eret playfully. “Lemons, lemonade, however that goes.”

“You idiot.” Eret and I laughed.

“Oh, thanks for setting up the attic for me, by the way. It’s cool, how it’s a little bedroom.”

“No problem…” I looked at the dark water. I really didn’t want to touch that subject. “It’s nice, at night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Not chilly.” Eret nodded. “We can- we can catch back up with Tommy now. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

We walked down the stairs into the parking lot. Commenting on the lonely car, I noticed a blocked off road. I decided to ignore it in favor of heading up the long staircase to the little shops that made the town of the island.

“Oh, what’s that?” Eret pointed at the statue as we reached the top. A bird on a pedestal with a whale below it.

“I forgot this was even here.” I chuckled. “It’s a monument to some submarine that was sunk off the coast.”

“Oh, wait. Can’t you do that radio guide thing like the boat said?” Eret looked excited. “I wanna see how it works.

“Sure.” I pulled the thing out of my pocket.

“It was…. 101 or 102, I think.”

I found the station. The voice of some tour guide came on.

“Named after the Hawiian god of the sea, the USS Kanaloa was launched on January 15, 1941 and commissioned into service at the end of that year under the command of Lt. C. Dream...”

“Never heard of this before. Kinda creepy in a way, right?” Eret murmured.

“On October 28, 1943, it was sunk by the Japanese sub chaser Tokisada some 25 miles off the coast of Washington…”

“Yeah, I hate thinking about it. It reminds me of those scenes in movies where sailors have to seal somebody up to drown or else the flooding will take the whole ship, you know?” I shivered at the idea.

“... and remains, to this day, the only submarine casualty in American waters. Eighty-five officers, as well as twelve Army passengers, were lost.”

“Yeah, no. I always thought submarine duty was, like, the worst possible war assignment. There’s no way out if something goes wrong.”

I turned off the radio as the recording began again. We continued through the town. All the stores were closed. Probably because it was starting to become winter and we took the last ferry here.

“Hello kids. The other guys and gals must be further up, so be quick now.” Tommy’s voice suddenly called from the top of a ramp. We laughed, running up to him.

“Okay, speed-read definition of Edwards Island. This is a tourist trap with shops and beach. Nobody lives here except some geriatric named Mr. Halo. But, cross my heart and hope to die, we’ll never mention him or any other old person’s name again.”

“We are here to drink and be stupid. A tradition apparently started by bored recruits in the nineteen fifties who would sneak dates over from the coastal towns. They literally called it ‘trawling’.”

“Wow, interesting.” I lightly mocked. Eret snorted behind me.

“Yeah, like kids at camp or something.” Tommy shrugged. “So, to summarize, we are not allowed here after dark. The town is shut down, and we - the L’manberg High Junior Class- have come to commit improper acts.”

We came to a fence just taller than me. I frowned, glancing at Tommy.

“The beaten path officially ends here. The beach is past the fence a way. I think Nikki told me that there’s a way that they used to get over there, but… I can’t remember how. I mean, can’t be too difficult.” Tommy looked around.

“Dumpster?” Eret pointed to the relatively empty bin sitting by the edge of the path.

“Perfect, we can push it over and close the lid.” I got beside him and helped.

“And the other thing about this nowhere island,” Tommy stayed back to finish his story. “Is the weirdo caves.”

“The weirdo caves?” Eret echoed incredulously.

“The whole reason Fundy brought the radio is because when you go to the- it’s like ‘front’--

“The mouth.” I supplied.

“The mouth of this particular cave, you can sometimes pick up frequencies to stations that don’t exist.” Tommy grinned. “You’ll hear voices or just... sounds… And they’re impossible to get anywhere else on the island. Crazy, right?”

“It’s, um, it’s pretty creepy… at least I’ve heard.” Eret and I managed to get the dumpster into place.

“I did it once. It’s amazing when it works.”

“Okay, back up a minute here. What about that Mr. Halo guy? Is he the saint for the island or something?” Eret looked back at the town below us.

“His family, I think, like owns or owned some of the island or something… he’s been shackled in the same spot for like seventy years. He’s kind of what you’d call a local legend. His house is on the other side of the woods.”

“I can’t imagine living in the same exact house looking at the same exact wall for that long a time.” I climbed up the dumpster and hopped over the fence. The other two joined me a heartbeat later.

We walked down the path, finding the trail that dipped down to the beach.

“Oh, before we get there, I should mention-”

Tommy was cut off by laughter.

“Who’s that?” Eret asked from behind me.

(Sorry if it's too long. But I shall try to post the next chapters every few days or so. Each should be around this long.)

#tommyinnit #the eret #eret myct #fundy minecraft #fundylive #tommy mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #oxenfree #oh this is going to be fun #youll see whos who over time #no ships btw #badboyhalo #i can't believe i nearly forgot bad #mcyt oxenfree

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

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Team Free Will+ Getting Stranded

Part 1

Both Winchesters would admit that the fight wasn't going well. Indeed, even with Castiel and Gabriel on their side, that ought to have been enough to stop an army of demons, they were losing. Sorely.

Dean ducked and met with Sam once again, fighting as one as the demons surrounded them. At one point, their backs were touching. Sam had the demon knife while Dean had an angel blade.

Castiel was doing his own thing, mostly with his own angel blade. He hardly had enough juice to smite one demon, much less an entire army.

Gabriel just kind of happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time. It was actually quite impressive; Gabriel was still recovering from his time with Asmodeus, and now after only burning his tormentor twenty-eight hours ago, he was smiting demons again. It was quite the unexpected turnout, considering two days ago Gabriel was a terrifed, broken victim who had suffered to an unfathomable number of years of torture.

Too bad everyone was too occupied to notice the demon painting a bloody symbol along the wall. By the time Castiel saw it, it was too late. The demon slapped their hand on the sigil, splattering blood, and Team Free Will felt the air tremble at the immense power.

Castiel's eyes had blown wide. "That sigil is forbidden!" he yelled. But since when did demons care about forbidden? He had then put his hand out, reaching for Dean's and Sam's shoulder to warm them; he had to warn them. The force of the sigil knocked the wind out of him before he could speak a word.

Castiel was in the sky, falling at breakneck speeds. He could smell the burning grace of his wings, which had ignited in the heat of the fall. He was spinning, out of control, and his wings were too broken up to cushion much of anything. He then realized there was nowhere to land except back to Earth because Heaven was locked.

Then he realized his hand was still holding on to something. A jacket… a shoulder. His eyes managed to look at who it was connected to. It was Dean, who was unconscious, likely from the unbearable G-force he was enduring. And with all the strength he had left, Castiel brought him closer, curling his wings around the fragile human, for otherwise there was even fewer a chance of the hunter surviving such a fall.

Cas frantically looked for Sam, but Gabriel's voice called out before he could worry to death over the younger brother, "I've got the moose!" The archangel was trying to sound strong, words still heavy with sass like such a fall was above him, but Castiel could hear the strain in his voice.

They were still falling, with little choice of where they were to land. Castiel could see miles of wooded area, through the blur of his vision. This was definitely far from any civilization.

The oak tree branches hit them like bullets, and they could barely acknowledge the pain of it all before they hit solid ground.

It hurt so much that Castiel didn't dare breathe. His wings unfurled on their own, revealing a mostly unharmed Dean Winchester. The hunter was still unconscious, but it relieved Castiel like nothing else. Dean was alive.

Gabriel stood, head in his hands like he was only dizzy.

Cas shouldn't have been surprised—Gabriel was an archangel, and he was not.

Said archangel eventually snapped out of his stupor, checking on his brother before letting his face show a flicker of vulnerability: worry. Worry for Castiel.

Gabriel moved Dean from off of the angel, scowling and cursing out the hunter for using his brother as a pillow. Cas tried to voice that he didn't mind, but nothing came out. Why couldn't he speak?

Gabriel was staring at his chest. "Kiddo."

Cas then realized there was a branch impaled into his sternum. Huh. He hadn't noticed before.

"Alright, alright bite onto this." Gabriel offered him a convenient stick.

Castiel did as he was told like a soldier.

Dean came to before Gabriel had the chance to work out how to remove Cas from the piercing branch. The human rolled, grunting but overall he was fine. He blinked up at the pair of angels and their situation, and suddenly he forgot his own pains. He scrambled up, stumbling over to Gabriel's side. "Cas," he breathed.

Gabriel motioned to Dean. "I need your help."

"He's… Cas, he's…God, he's..."

"He's not going to live if you don't give me a hand right now!" Gabriel commanded, the breeze coincidentally becoming heavy. His eyes were angry, tinged with gold.

Dean nodded, staring in horror at his friend.

The archangel, held the left side of Castiel's still body, and he gestured for Dean to take the right. "On three."

"Three…"

Castiel closed his eyes. He bit into the stick and it dented under his teeth.

"Two…"

He tried not to move. Tried not to feel.

"One!"

They pulled Castiel away from the offending branch, and the angel couldn't help as he cried out, slumping into the dirt a foot away. His breathing was ragged and weak.

Gabriel tenderly examined Castiel's back, staring at the invisible mess of feathers with a pained, sympathetic expression. "Ouch, Cassie." He rolled him onto his back, crouching and placing his hand on top of the wound. As golden light flooded the area, Gabriel staggered, throwing out a hand to catch himself from getting a face-full of dirt.

Dean reached out, steadying Gabriel.

"Thanks Dean-o," the archangel gasped, and then passed out. The hunter caught him, rolled him onto his back beside Castiel.

Dean, paranoid as ever, checked Castiel's injury, and was very relieved to find just a shallow wound and some bruising. Cas's chest was moving with strong breaths. The angel would be in a lot of pain for a while, but ultimately he'd be okay. Assuming they ever got out of here.

He paused, allowing himself to take a much needed breath. Castiel was alive.

"What am I going to do with you two?" He then looked to his right, where Sam was sprawled in a crater. "Three," he corrected.

Dean took a seat on a nearby log, then realized his hands were shaking. He made the mistake of looking left, where blood coated the branch, and he felt sick. He'd seen a lot of terrible things, but that might have taken the cake. Cas, that nerdy dorky little guy, should not have been strung up like that. Dean just couldn't erase the image from his mind.

He didn't know how long he sat there in shock, but eventually Gabriel stirred and sat up, groaning. The archangel spared a glance to stunned Dean, and then he stood up. "You okay there, Dean-o? Hey, your boyfriend's gonna be fine. Seriously."

"He's not my—"

"Sure, he isn't. Could have fooled me." Dean continued to protest, but the archangel ignored him. Gabriel shook his head in disbelief, then made it over to Sam, who was still out cold. He loomed over him, lightly kicking his arm. "Wakey wakey, Sammich. You missed the party."

Sam finally stirred. "What—?" Then he gasped and jolted up, wincing. "Where..?"

"Middle of nowhere," Dean told him.

"Disneyland without the Disney," Gabriel added.

Sam blinked, processing what they were telling him. He asked, "You can just zap us out of here, right? I mean, you're an archangel."

It didn't fool anyone when Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, no can do, kiddo. Would have done it already if I could. My wings are fried from the sigil. Also keep in mind that we kept you guys from roasting in that fall. I mean, my wings are in rough shape, but Castiel's are even nastier." Gabriel glanced to Castiel, and then said in a lower tone, turning to Dean, "You're lucky he's loyal, Dean-machine, because those things look like they went through a meat grinder."

"So how long will it take you two to heal up?"

Gabriel was dreading this question. He sort of wished he could just ignore it, but he knew they wouldn't let it go. Stubborn bastards. "Me? Maybe a few weeks. Him? I don't know. He may set back plans by a few months." To be honest, the archangel didn't even want to acknowledge it. Who wanted to sit around in a stinky forest for that long?

Dean's face reflected Gabriel's internal feelings and conflictions. "A few months?!"

Gabriel glared. "Hush up. It ain't all bad, I still have some mojo, yeah?" He attempts to snap a lollipop from midair, but winces when a paralyzing pain stops him, like his grace is shredding, and he staggers, blinking away the grey in his vision. "Holy—okay, maybe not. We might need to stick to hunting, boys. Literally."

The archangel lists to the side, and Dean manages to catch him again.

"Dude, sit down or something," Dean said gruffly, then guided the archangel to a clear patch of ground.

"Glad I have you holding my hand, Dean-bean," Gabriel said halfheartedly.

The hunter scoffed. "Sam, you babysit. I'm gonna quick check out the area."

"It's almost sunset," Sam reminded him. "We're probably on the other side of the world for all we know. It's not noon anymore, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I said 'quick'." And then Dean left Sam alone with the mouthy archangel. Great.

"You okay there, Samantha? Think you might be growing a worry wart." Gabriel grinned.

"Bite me."

"Maybe later."

Sam rolled his eyes. He sat himself down on a nearby log, then noticed the drying blood a foot away. Alarmed, he asked, "What happened?"

"Hot wings over here got himself impaled."

"What?!"

"Relax. I healed him. Nearly drained me, but he'll live." Gabriel paused. "He's almost human, right?"

Sam let himself relax a bit, but his stomach twisted. He felt a little sick looking at Cas. "Yeah."

Gabriel whistled. "When he fell, he fell hard, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up, expecting to see an expression of sarcasm and indifference, but the archangel was looking at Cas sadly.

"Poor kid," he said. "I hope you know what he went through to side with you knuckleheads." But then Gabriel looked up and saw Sam's face. He closed his eyes in complete exasperation. "He didn't tell you."

"What do you mean?" Sam's eyebrows went down in concern. "Tell us what?"

"What heaven did to him. Of course he wouldn't tell you. That idiot—you can't see it, so of course he wouldn't bring it up."

"What? What'd they do?"

"Just like hell, there are parts of heaven that don't obey time. What you thought was a couple days… well, they tore him up for years. They brainwashed him with simulations worse than torture. You're lucky he's so strong. Most aren't." Gabriel curled his lip in disgust at the thought. "Most are so broken they become mindless soldiers."

"Like Anna?"

"Yeah, like Anna." Gabriel said. "Heaven is corrupt, and Castiel got the brunt of it because he was the brave one." He let out a breathy laugh, "I'm supposed to be the Archangel of Justice. Funny, how he was the brave one and I was the coward."

Gabriel laughed, but it wasn't funny.

///

Dean was a bit disoriented by the setting sun. Like, he knew and understood why it was setting, but his brain just didn't like it. Dean wanted to blame it on time, but he knew it wasn't about that.

It reminded him of Purgatory.

The long shadows, the neverending trees. Dean could feel an old, locked part of him starting to creep out. Predatory and feral. Scary.

Dean gripped his gun tight, hoping that Sam was making a fire and setting camp. He didn't know what he planned to do, but he had needed to get out of there. If only for a while.

Dean lucked out big time. The sound of the gunshot reverberated off of the surrounding trees and had nearby birds fleeing their nests. He scored a big, stupid turkey, who didn't seem too threatened by Dean's presence. In its own way, that wasn't a good sign. That meant there weren't people nearby to hunt these animals. Or many predators, for that matter.

The hunter was proud to drag a turkey back to base camp, though.

He was also happy to see that Sam had built a fire. The wind was calm and it made feeding the flames easy. Sam's three layers had now become two; his jacket was draped over Cas's still form.

Dean held the turkey up by its neck, flashing a smug smile at Sam, who watched Dean, unamused.

"Wow, fancy," Gabriel muttered. "Guess we got some Dean-cuisine, huh?"

"Shut up," Dean said cooly.

Gabriel was reluctantly drifting to sleep, curled up against a log, which wasn't a very good sign at all. "Just need a big recharge. I should be a bit better by morning. So should Cassie," the archangel assured them.

The Winchesters watched over as the angels slept, and the irony was not lost on them.

"Aw, aren't they just angels," Dean said.

Sam sighed, warming his hands over the well-made fire. "So is this it? We just wait until their mojo is back?"

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Seems like."

///

Not even an hour later, they were interrupted by the rumble of a jeep off in the distance. Both Winchesters were awake and shared glances.

Soon, a man—a park ranger—was visible through the trees and eyed their camp. He then saw the dead turkey. "This is the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. You can't hunt here."

Sam's eyes widened. "We didn't know. I mean—we'd like to leave. We're lost."

"You didn't know?" The ranger was disbelieving.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Don't know how we got here, actually. We just woke up. We just want to leave, man." It was mostly true.

"Our friends are hurt. Could you help us?" Sam added.

The ranger made him way over the Cas, who was still completely out of it. Dean came over and lifted the angel's shirt to reveal the wound. For Cas, this was nothing, but for any normal person this would look serious.

The ranger's eyes furrowed. "My car is parked not far from here. Can you help me carry him?" He then looked to Gabriel. "He okay?"

"Uh, yeah, he's just a hard sleeper," Sam assured him.

Dean offered, "Here, I'll wake 'im up." He walked over to the archangel while Sam and the ranger helped move Cas. Dean prodded and poked Gabriel's shoulder. "Up and at 'im sunshine, we're gettin' outta here."

Gabriel woke with a start and scowled. "So much for beauty sleep." He took Dean's offered hand up.

"You can get your eight hours in an actual bed, how about that?" Dean said snarkily. "Now get a move on. The ranger's car is that'a way."

"Ranger?"

"We're in a National Park."

"You certainly are," the ranger answered, apparently having been listening for a while. "Your friends are in the car. If you don't mind, I'd like my own beauty sleep as well."

They complied.

Once they were settled in the car, with Gabriel in the front, Castiel's head rested on Sam's shoulder, and Dean on his other side, the park ranger sighed, looking at them through the rearview. He offered a tired smile to Dean. "So you really don't know how you got here, huh?" The man's crooked teeth gave him a slight lisp.

"Nope," Dean replied sincerely. He looked to Sammy, who was out like a light. "Look, we're sorry for hunting here. Really. To be honest, we thought we were in the boonies."

"Well, I suppose I'd rather you go off hunting in the park than the other alternative."

Dean shifted, now wary. "Why?" Dread filled his veins. That was the kind of vague thing that a monster , demon, or Anything That Wants to Kill Sam and Dean™ said before they lunged out.

But the ranger didn't attack, and Dean relaxed some. "Well, this has been going on for a couple of weeks. We've been finding people out in the middle of the park like you bunch every night"

"And they don't know how they got there, either?"

The man's lips thinned. "They're dead when we find them. Mountain lions, we figure."

Dean straightened. "You figure?"

"Yeah, well, I mean, they look like animal attacks. Big predator. But it's just strange. Mountain lions don't often come around these parts, much less attack people. They're solitary animals. Plus, there were these… fang marks on all the victims."

"Fang marks?"

"Nothing like I've ever seen. Drained each victim of all their blood. One of my coworkers swore up and down he's seen a vampire the other night. But that's crazy talk, right?" The ranger exhaled. "I just don't know how these people are all getting into the park."

"You find out who they were?"

"We've matched some people. I just don't know. I mean, one man went missing in Florida and two days later he just shows up dead in North Dakota? We matched a couple from Michigan, too. Sam deal. Where were you last?"

Dean but his lip. "Massachusetts."

"Christ."

The hunter in Dean was suspicious. This sounded like their kind of gig. Did they really just stumble onto a case? Ah, what the heck. I'll just ask him. "You know of any nearby hotels by chance?"

The tanger looked surprised. "You're planning on staying?"

"Well, I mean, we get planted in a National Park, might as well go sightseeing." Dean offered an innocent smile.

"You don't have family to go back to?"

"Nah. Just us. We like to roadtrip anyway."

The ranger nodded. "You sure everyone's in shape to be sightseeing?"

That was true; Castiel was not in any condition to be running around hunting monsters. "All the more reason to stay. I don't want to move him around anytime soon."

The ranger didn't look so convinced, but he didn't say anything.

///

Sam woke up in a hotel bed.

"You finally up, Sleeping Beauty?" Dean's voice sounded from across the room.

Sam wiped at his face, blinking until his vision was clear and he could make out Dean sitting at a table…

Researching.

"What's going on?" he asked. Because if Dean was researching, there was something wrong.

"What, I can't just read a book?"

Sam sent him a disbelieving look.

"Fine. Ranger said they've been finding more than just us. Except the people he found were all dead before they reached 'em." He closed the book, frustrated with it. "Animals attacks, he said."

"Since when were animal attacks our gig? You know this is a National Park, right Dean?"

"But this thing isn't hunting animals, Sam. It's hunting people," Dean said.

"Probably just mountain lions upping their game, Dean. Civvies aren't that difficult to kill."

"That turkey that I got? It was fearless. Like it'd seen a predator in its life. I'm just sayin'. We've looked into less."

Sam nodded. "I guess you're right."

"'Parently people are disappearing from all over the place. I've been looking into it, Sam. They're coming from all over. Not even just the states. They found two guys from Europe."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed as he thought. "That does sound like our kind of gig."

"Yeah. That's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean snapped.

"So that forbidden sigil that the demons were using… they're using it everywhere?" Sam got out of the bed, walking over to see the research Dean had been doing. "What does the sigil actually do?"

"No idea. That's why I'm researching, Sam," Dean said. "But whatever it was, it must be bad. What kind of sigil sends angels and humans away?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

"I know." Both Winchesters turned to look at Gabriel, who was sitting up in the hotel bed, stretching. "Man, this thing is just not comfortable. You two deal with this all the time?" He snapped, upgrading the bed to something better. "There."

"Thought you didn't have your mojo?"

"Let's just say that power nap kick-started some things." The archangel stood, walking over to the book. We waved his hand casually, letting the pages fly and flap until he thrust his hand forward, stopping the book. "It's a sigil of condemnation. It repels all the followers of God." He looked up at the boys. "It's not perfect. It just repels anything that isn't demonic, and send them here."

"Why?"

"Why does anything do anything? Sigils are just writing. Someone designed it for this purpose. Why? Beats me." Gabriel shrugged. "Whoever made this wanted anything that wasn't a demon to be transported onto this particular land. I'm sure it was just designed for humans, but it managed to send us away too. Probably because we're not demons. I know, it's a shocker."

Dean thought about that. "Cas recognized it too."

"As I said, it's just writing. Whoever designed this thing knew Enochian. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he did recognize it. That kid's always getting into trouble."

Dean looked to the bed, scowling, but not actually angry. "Damn it, Cas. Wake up already. We need your help."

"Really pour your heart into it, Dean-o. Maybe he'll even wake up," Gabriel said. His sarcasm was palpable.

"Shut up, why don't you."

"Make me."

Sam had had enough of this. "Grow up, both of you. Let's just work on the case, okay?" He snatched his laptop and sat himself on a bed, brooding.

Dean raised his eyebrow at his brother. "Well someone's cranky." He sighed, tapping the book as silence encompassed the room. After several minutes of awkward tension, where Gabriel played with the tips of pages, making them dog-eared while Sam put his full attention on his screen. Finally, he cracked. "Hey, Sammy."

"What?"

"What if it's the chupacabra?" Dean joked, a stupid smile on his face, vainly trying to lighten the mood.

Sam shook his head and brought his eyes back to his computer.

Dean's grin faded. This was going to be a long day.

///

"I... think I found something," Sam finally said after two hours.

Dean was grateful. He felt like his head was going to explode if he read anymore. "What is it?"

Sam sighed, visibly hesitating. "You were right, Dean. I don't know how, but you were."

Dean looked excited. "I was right?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"Right about what?"

Gabriel snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "The chupacabra."

"Oh." Dean looked almost baffled. "That was just a joke, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Sam snapped. "But apparently they've been associated with demons. Even mentioned as demons themselves sometimes."

Dean had not seen this coming. He had not expected to be right, of all things. "And it's camping out in a National Park why?"

"Honestly? That's probably the best place they could hide. People can't bring in guns, so they're left defenseless."

Gabriel hummed. "The demons are sending people to it, then. Feeding it."

"Wait wait wait. But I thought they only attacked livestock," Dean said.

"Well, it sounds like they just go after the largest prey they can find. In the lore, it was livestock because that's what was out and vulnerable at night, when the chupacabra would strike." Sam shrugged. "Sounds like they would go after farmers too."

"Humans can't be the biggest animal in that park. What about the mountain lions?"

"Prey, Dean. It goes after prey."

"But humans aren't prey. I mean, hell, we're at the top of the food chain!'

"Without tools and weapons? We're prey."

Dean scowled, but after a moment he realized something. "That's why we weren't attacked last night. We had guns, Sammy. Weapons. Last night, we weren't prey." He thought back to the turkey. "We were predators, and it knew that."

"Well, that explains some things." Gabriel looked almost impressed by Dean's deductive skills.

Dean frowned. "How do we kill it?"

"Well, it sounds like people used to stab them with pitchforks when they were found on their farms. So I'd say iron is our best bet… which would make sense if they're a demonic monster."

"Right. Okay. We know why the demons are all buddy buddy with them, then? There's got to be a reason they're feeding it. Demons don't do stuff like this for nothing."

"Dean's right. I mean, he would know," the archangel said bluntly.

Dean glared. The nerve of this guy…

Sam cleared his throat, trying to pull Dean's attention away from the source of his irritation. "Maybe? It says that… well, crap."

"What?" Both Dean and Gabriel asked.

Sam's face had frozen, staring at the letters on his screen. "Well, you know some people thought they were demons? Turns out it could also be said that they could be a type of wild hellhound."

"Well, crap." Dean echoed. "So, what, the demons lose their pet and now they're trying to lure it back with treats?"

Sam pitched a reluctant sigh. "We should probably ask Crowley."

"Crowley?! After that demon army launched us five states away? No. Nuh uh. Have a Plan B? I mean, we do have an archangel on our hands."

"I'm right here, you know," came a protest from behind them.

"Seriously, Dean. Think about it. We know how to call the actual King of Hell and ask him what's going on, and we're not going to take it?"

"Great to know I'm appreciated." There was a huff.

"Sam, what about a demon army do you not understand? I don't think anyone particularly wants to be launched out of the sky again!"

"What other choice do we have?! We can't speak with the victim's families because they're on the other side of the country, and we can't pose as law enforcement because the ranger would call us out!"

Dean looked light he was going to argue, but then he huffed. "Fine. We call Crowley."

#dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #crowley #demons #angels and demons #angels #falling angels #case fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic #destielifyousquint

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Philtatos [2/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47630773

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire--for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there's more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #gods in disguise

First Chapter

_______________________________________________________________

Predictably, Jason is the first to respond to that.

“Bullshit.”

Tim sighs and rolls his eyes because he’s sure the reaction is more Jason being oppositional than actual doubt. They’re staring at a guy that until a few minutes ago had giant black wings sprouting from his shoulders, who’s been collecting suggestive art and carving a swath of hedonism across the city. They’ve dealt with stranger things and less plausible explanations.

“God of Love?” he inquires. “You mean, like Cupid?”

“Gaia, I hate that name. Stupid little Valentine’s Day mascot. I blame the Romans. The Hellenistic was great, except for that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I mostly go by Steve these days. Cuts down on the explanation time.”

Which just…what?

“Steve, the God of Love,” Jason deadpans. “Because that doesn’t sound like a cringy mascot at all…”

“Why are you in Gotham?” Tim asks, more direct this time.

“And what the hell are you dosing people with that they’re all down to fuck without remembering it? I don’t know how it works wherever you came from, but here that’s assault.”

“I’ve never assaulted anyone!” Eros protests, all wounded integrity. “If anything, I’ve been the one people keep jumping ever since my bow and arrows got stolen.”

“Your bow and arrows? That’s seriously the defense you’re going with?”

“How does one steal from a god?”

“You wait until he’s stoned out of his mind in an Amsterdam coffee shop and knock him out,” Eros grouses. “It’s either brilliance or suicidal madness. I’ll decide which one after I track down the bastard that did it and give them a reminder that I’m Ares’ son as much as Aphrodite’s.”

“Right,” Tim says, raising an eyebrow. “On that note, if you’ve got all these divine connections, why don’t you just get new weapons made?”

“If it were that simple you think I’d have dragged myself to this armpit of the universe? The bow and arrows act as a constant diviner for my abilities. It focusses them or controls them if you will. Otherwise, my powers veer wildly out of control.”

“What powers?” Jason snorts. “If you had anything beyond your feathers, you wouldn’t have been so useless with those mob assholes and made us do all the heavy lifting.”

Eros’ eyes turn hard and his lips pull into a cold smile. He reaches for Jason’s face and wriggles his fingers threateningly. “Would you care to find out?”

Not wanting to give Jason a time to respond by breaking the digits in his face, Tim places himself in front of him.

“Both of you, knock it off—”

His move manages to divert the Olympian from losing fingers, but it also puts him straight in his path. Impossibly soft finger pads graze his jaw, and it is as if a current of electricity has been passed through his spine.

Tim seizes up, his brain going cloudy and his stomach suddenly hot and trembling. Sight and sound vanish or rather sharpen to a single point, the figure in front of him, and a visceral want edges out every other thought and impulse.

He is dimly aware of moving, of being rivetted at the individual motions that bring him into Eros’ personal space, and which have him fixing his upon the other man’s shoulders. Then he’s dragging him forward and crushing their mouths together.

The taste and smell of pomegranate and ozone overwhelm him, and he doesn’t wait for reciprocation before he’s shoving his tongue into the Olympian’s mouth, harshly trying to chase the unique flavor. All other intent vanishes in the single-minded pursuit of that goal, and he wonders if it’s not just his mouth that tastes like this, if the rest of him—

“What the fuck?!” Hands grab him roughly and he’s being jerked backward, stumbling into an unyielding armored chest. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Tim whines at the loss. “No—I need— he—”

Words aren’t really a workable thing right now, not in the face of the fact the world suddenly seems colder.

There’s a clicking sound, and then Tim’s world tilts as if he just stood up too fast. When his wits return, he realizes that Jason is holding him up with one arm, practically lining them up from ankle to armpit. His other hand is elevated, semi-automatic pointed at Eros’ forehead, glaring him down as if daring him to get closer.

The Olympian raises in slow surrender.

“Just making a point,” he tells them with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression that could do Dick proud. His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

“Try it again. See how it works out without a head.”

Every passing second brings reality back into sharp relief, and with it a mounting sense of dread.

“I…please tell me I didn’t just do that,” Tim says, mortified and still punch drunk. He was never even that forward with Steph.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a flash of irritation flicker across Jason’s face, and then the older vigilante fixes Eros with a look of utter loathing that Tim’s only ever seen when he goes up against one of the crazier rogues. Black Mask or Scarecrow, maybe. That usually precedes extreme violence, which they don’t need right now. They need detachment, to look at this clinically.

(And he needs to focus on something else to erase the fact he just tongue-kissed the God of Love in front of his childhood crush.)

“What was that?”

“I project a field across the surface of my skin that causes instant sexual arousal and frenzy in any living creature. The longer you’re exposed to it, the stronger and longer-lasting the effects—and the more the out of control you get.”

“So basically, you’re a walking Viagra date-rape drug,” Jason sneers.

“It’s not supposed to be like that…”

“Again, I call bullshit. I remember all the stories. Whenever you’re involved, someone ends up falling for someone else without having a choice and bad shit happens. Helen of Troy ringing any bells?”

Eros crosses his arms, resembling Damian at his most petulant; meanwhile, Tim stares at Jason, who notices and scowls back. “What?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have depths,” he replies, tone mildly defensive.

“The stories get so much wrong. Blame primitive writers and centuries of telephone for that,” Eros mutters. “Here’s the deal—my mother, she’s got the make-people-fall-in-love juju. The overwhelming, powerful, love-at-first-sight thing that basically causes the honeymoon period of a relationship. You know, that point where you only see the good qualities in a person?”

Tim exchanges a perplexed look with Jason; he’s never been in a relationship with anyone where he saw only their good qualities, and judging by the older vigilante’s blank expression, neither has he.

“Right, forgot who I’m talking to. You cape types aren’t exactly the hallmark of romance, are you?”

“Yeah, well, you deity types aren’t exactly the hallmark of not getting punched.”

“We’ve already established why that would be a bad idea,” Tim mutters, his ears burning.

“I’m wearing gauntlets.”

“In a healthy relationship,” Eros goes on, ignoring the byplay, “sure, you spend a bit of time totally enamored with your boo. They’re your world. But after a while, that starts to fade. Some people, okay, they’ve stuck together for the getting-to-know-you period and decide to keep going. But others—they get a very real sense of buyer’s remorse.”

“Like Helen did. Or Phaedra or Atalanta,” Jason suggests, and Tim frowns; he only recognizes one of those names.

“Exactly. They realized they’d compromised themselves and ruined their lives for some petty asshole without even knowing it. And they couldn’t exactly do anything about it—in the old days, you were stuck with the guy and you had to make the best of it since, you know, no divorce. Nowadays, it’s not so bad—those whirlwind romances don’t last, but it’s not the end of the world. Celebrities are famous for them. Literally.”

“I don’t understand what all this has to do with you being here and now,” Tim says.

“I’m getting there. I was giving you guys context, geez! Anyway, with me, it’s a little different. It’s more than just that love-at-first-sight, quick and dirty thing. It’s about desire. That bone-deep connection, all need and hunger and slow-burning.” His face relaxes, mouth easing into a fond smile. “It was a deeper thrall than anything Mom had the patience for. With my tools, I could awaken that—in a controlled fashion—and focus it. But now—well, you saw what I can do with just a touch.”

Tim’s cheeks flame.

“The longer I don’t have my tools to temper me, my abilities will become more unstable. You ever see people literally fuck each other to death?” Eros challenges. “Trust me, you don’t want to. And it’s not just sex people desire. This one guy pissed me off once and I made him develop an unhealthy desire for corned beef—”

“If you know your power is about to go Chernobyl, why the hell are you running around town robbing people? You’d think you have more important things to worry about.”

“It’s because I’m losing control that I’ve been doing that.”

Tim narrows his eyes, even if no one can see it. “Explain.”

“Over time, artists pour their souls and creative desires into their work—into the canvas, the clay, the paint, whatever. There’s a magic in the creative act that turns a medium into a vessel. I’ve been having to bleed off my power into these vessels so I can get out and search for my diviners without causing riots. The process takes hours, though, and people generally don’t like me standing in a museum touching the merchandise.”

“So you steal it.”

“It eventually finds its way back. And their original owners usually find that the pieces seem somehow more—magnetic—once I’m done with them.”

“I don’t know how you made that sound dirty, but you did,” Jason grumbles.

“Are you kidding? I created innuendo. And the double entendre.” Eros makes a dismissive gesture. “Anyhow, it’s all moot. I won’t be capable of bleeding off my powers for much longer. As you just saw, my control is slipping. So, you two are going to have to find my bow and arrow for me.”

Tim blinks at the sudden turn of the conversation. “What?”

“Right. Because we don’t have enough of our own shit to deal with, we’re going to go on a scavenger hunt for some entitled godling? That’s not how we operate.”

“You won’t have much of a choice,” Eros replies, and there’s a cruel edge to his smile now. “Not if you want to save your life.”

“That a threat, buddy?”

“Oh, I’ve no need for threats. It’s already done.” Eros points at the still bleeding wound on Jason’s shoulder. “When you saved bird-boy here, you got tagged by the same bullet I did; my blood’s in your veins now. And unless it’s because of the horizontal tango, there are some really nasty side-effects when Olympian blood gets in your frail systems.” His smile remains cold and cruel. “Mine’s particularly nasty.”

Jason crosses his arms, radiating skepticism. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been poisoned. Probably won’t be the last.”

“It’s not poison, per se,” Eros muses. “More like a virus that manifests as an intense, increasingly growing desire that will turn you mad and cook your brain unless you find a way to stop it. And the only cure, I’m afraid, is to be, heh, pricked by one of my arrows.”

“And who the hell am I supposed to be desiring? Because if it’s you, I’m going to claw my eyes out now and get it over with.”

“Thankfully that’s not the case. While I’m sure you would look amazing splayed out in my bed, that doesn’t exactly give your friend here any incentive to help me.” He considers Tim a moment, and his smile turns knowing. “Or perhaps it would.”

“Why me?” Tim asks, trying to keep his voice level. A sudden spike or worry shoots through him at one possibility. “Anyone else could do this.”

“Uh, you’re the first person Helmet Head set eyes on after being infected? Honestly, it’s right there in the myths.”

“I was never into the classics,” Tim mutters, breathing a sigh of relief; none of this has anything to do with his ill-advised crush, which means Jason doesn’t have to know about it. “If it’s just me being around him, I can stay away from him. It’s not like it’s hard.”

I wish that weren’t true.

Jason is staring at him oddly and Tim’s stomach jumps at his inability to interpret anything through the lenses of his mask.

“Okay, princess, let me know how that goes,” Eros chuckles.

Tim swallows.

He knows that Olympians have power—that their relics do, as well; how could he not, considering he’s known Cassie and Diana for so long?

Still, it’s laughable that Jason could ever desire him.

(There’s only a little pain and bitterness in that knowledge.)

Jason appears to be on the same wavelength.

“I call bullshit. I’m not in the habit of lusting after people I’ve tried to kill. Bit counterproductive, you know?”

“You might resist it for a little while,” Eros allows. “Looks aside, you capes have a lot of restraint. And it’s not like I was feeding you my blood or anything, so it might take a little longer still. But even that will fade as the infection spreads.”

For the first time since Eros’ threat, Jason shifts uneasily.

“Now,” the Olympian says, rubbing his hands together, “while watching you two get down and dirty in front of me would be good entertainment—” he leers at them both in a way that makes Jason tense like he’s going to punch him again and Tim consider letting him, “—I don’t have the time. I need the two of you on your game as much as possible if you’re going to help me.”

“Who says we’re going to help you? We could just hand you over to Wonder Woman and have her deal with this. Gods and mythological relics are more her areas of expertise.”

“Ah, but my dear cousin won’t have the same…motivation that you do, darlin’. Unless you want Prince Charming over here to get to the point of losing his mind over you?” Eros tilts his head toward Jason. “I mean, I guess that’s your choice. He is a bit of a douche—”

“I will rip off those wings of yours and stuff them up your—”

Tim grabs Jason and pulls him back a few feet so he can speak to him quietly, but keep an eye on Eros. Almost instantly Jason shoves him off as if he’s just been burned, and Tim raises his hands in surrender.

“Arguing with him obviously isn’t going to do anything,” he informs him.

“He’s obviously lying—trying to mess with us to do his bidding.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Until we know if this is truth or a bluff, we need to put him in a safe location. He needs to be tried for the thefts, regardless of his reasons. And since he has abilities, we’ll need a facility that can cancel-out meta powers.”

“Just keep him the fuck out of Belle Reve,” Jason grumbles. “We don’t need him ending up as one of Waller’s not-so-secret projects.”

“And in the meantime, we monitor your condition,” Tim goes on. “Back at the Cave, B has—”

“I’m not going to the damn Cave.”

“J—Hood, if he’s telling even part of the truth, you could be in trouble.”

“Because I’m going to lose my mind over your scrawny ass? I don’t think so.” He turns away. “Screw this, I’m out. You can figure this out. Gods are above my paygrade.”

He has his grapple gun out and an instant later vanishes into the night. And it’s like any other patrol; barely an acknowledgment of their team-up or thanks or farewell.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Eros says, shaking his head. “Bad things happen when you repress your desires. It comes out in ugly ways.”

Irritation sparks in Tim.

“That bullet that went through your wing—has it healed yet?” he asks tersely, rummaging in his utility belt as he approaches the Olympian. “I can’t see since they…disappeared.”

“It’s not gushing blood anymore, but there’s still a dirty great hole there. Why?”

Without warning, Tim turns around and sticks a syringe into his neck, careful not to brush any skin accidentally as he pushes down the plunger.

“What the fu—” Eros’ words cut off with a gurgle.

“Just need to know how much time I have before the sedative wears off,” Tim replies. It was designed with Wonder Woman in mind, so he really hopes it’s strong enough.

The Olympian pitches forward. Tim catches him, and curses at the weight he hadn’t expected; wherever those wings are, they still contribute to the body’s overall mass, it seems.

⁂

Jason makes a beeline for his safe house on the Upper West Side; the events of the night have been such a disappointment that he figures he deserves to crash at one of his more comfortable properties. Somewhere with good heating and decent water pressure and a few of his favorite books tucked away.

“Not the leftover pizza I was looking forward to, but it’ll do,” he murmurs to himself. To be honest, his appetite’s all but disappeared in the wake of tonight’s revelations.

Not that Jason is concerned about whatever Eros or Steve or whatever-his-name-is told them. Some guy calls himself the god of love and informs Jason he’s been infected with an unholy desire that’s going to drive him mad and kill him?

“Been there. Done that. And for Drake of all people? Pfft. Please.”

The Condiment King had more credibility.

Besides, even if it was a believable threat, it’s not as if he’s going to just accept it. Jason’s always had issues with other people telling him what to do, and he’s been on the wrong end of Poison Ivy’s concoctions far too often for that. If there’s a chance something’s going to impact or impair his control over his own actions, he’s got a problem with that.

And it’s just…it’s Tim Drake.

Jason has been carefully trying to reconfigure his mental categorization of the guy for years, from ‘Replacement—Must Beat To Death On Sight’, to ‘Timbers—Ally-Possibly-Friend-Kinda-Brother-Sort Of?’. It’s still a work-in-progress figuring out which category he fits in, and Jason doesn’t need to add more complications, such as those that will no doubt ensue if he considers adding any other relationship dimensions.

Not like the kid’s a terrible catch or anything. Jason saw that long before he figured out he isn’t one hundred percent straight. But that was his own discovery, born of conscious choice. Not from someone telling him in plain English that he’s got no choice but to develop a thing for a workaholic pretty-boy Bat with self-esteem issues.

Which means on principle, Jason’s damn well going to fight that. It doesn’t matter that Tim’s intelligent, sarcastic and the right kind of risky, or that he isn’t repulsive or even unattractive—

Jason adamantly cuts off that line of thinking when he realizes where it’s going, touching down on the roof of his building a little harder than necessary.

“Nope. Not going there.”

Talk about a mind-fuck. Asshole Steve got me thinking about it, and now I won’t be able to not think about it whenever I run into the kid.

And isn’t that a keen bit of psychological manipulation?

Luckily, Jason’s been trained by more than one master in the art of avoidance. He forces his attention onto the routine of checking the perimeter and disabling his security system, then slipping into his apartment through the roof-access.

“Hello, safe house,” he mutters out of habit, heading for his bathroom. Once inside, he methodically checks himself for injuries, which are overall minor. The bullet wound in his shoulder is scabbing over already.

He tries to ignore the uneasy clench in his stomach at that and the prevalent thought of that is not a good sign.

He heads for the shower and turns the water on as hot as he can stand, letting it distract him, unwinding the knots and tension holding him together. Once he’s out, he throws on a pair of boxer briefs and settles in the center of his bed to meditate. It takes longer tonight to get his brain and still-racing heartrate to ease, to remember his All-Caste training and seek acceptance in the darkest part of his soul, and the possibility that that will be enough to counteract whatever real or imagined threat was made by the so-called god of love.

Dawn is peeking over Gotham’s horizon when he finally manages to calm himself down and pass out. For once, he sleeps; for once he doesn’t dream of Glasgow smiles and green sludge.

When he wakes up, it’s with odd energy that borders on manic. He powers through his morning workout at full intensity and still has energy left over, which he uses to cook breakfast and a few advance meals that he can stick in the freezer for the next time he holes up here. All his safe houses include have decent food storage since he never knows when lying low is going to translate as ‘disappear completely off the grid for a while.

When he’s still buzzing and raring to go, he decides he can’t put it off any longer. He’s not stupid—has been in the game long enough to know it’s pointless to ignore something completely until you’ve investigated the hell out of it.

Which is how he finds himself down in his would-be-Batcave beneath One Police Plaza running a full set of blood panels and other diagnostics to see if there’s an actual sign of contamination from the tainted bullet. And when everything comes back negative, he even checks in with Doc Thompkins for her two cents worth that nothing is the matter with him.

“I’m not sure what you want me to tell you, Jason, everything’s coming up normal,” Thompkins tells him. “The only thing I can recommend is the same thing I always do—stop smoking.”

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you so you can scold me,” he grins at her, earning an arch look above the rim of her glasses.

Still, he remains antsy even after leaving the clinic and decides he needs to calm his nerves.

There’s a coffee shop on Winchester he’s taken to because they do tea as close to Alfred’s as possible, at least what he’s found in Gotham. The teenaged girl at the counter blushes and laughs nervously at him when he smiles and flirts a bit, and he makes sure to tip well because kids in the service industry are paid nothing for being treated like crap.

Still, it’s hard to stop himself from drumming his fingers against the counter, his innate impatience ratcheted up today. He knows the place is busy and they can only go as fast as they’re going, but—

“An Americano, please. Double shot.”

Jason’s looking before he even realizes it, and for a split second he expects to see Tim there, sleep-deprived and sheepish, but only finds a blond skater kid and he’s—

Not disappointed.

He’s not.

That’s all he needs, is someone in the Family finding out where he goes to get his tea. That might encourage them to try to hang out with him. Especially Dick.

So, no. Not disappointed. Relieved. He’s relieved.

(He avoids wondering when he memorized Tim Drake’s coffee preferences.)

Jason doesn’t stick around the shop like he originally planned, and the tea isn’t as calming as he intended after he practically chugs it and heads out. He spends the day running around town, checking in with his informants in the shadier parts of the city and restocking the medical supplies in his safe houses.

He’s coming out of the one near Robinson Park when he hears a kid shouting— “Mama, look at the baby bird!”—and his head whips around so fast his muscles scream in protest, and what the hell?

Jason turns in the opposite direction and takes the subway.

He’s tense and angry as he returns to the base beneath the police station and spends longer than usual letting out his feelings on the punching bag in his gym. Halfway through, his phone rings and Roy’s face blinks up from the screen.

“Please tell me you have a job,” Jason says in lieu of a greeting.

“What? No. I’m still on vacation.”

“Your life is a vacation.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s so great.”

That’s said with a bitter twist to his mouth.

“What do you want?”

“I’m working on camouflage field projector, but missing a key component that happens to be in Gotham.” Jason closes his eyes, somehow knowing what’s coming next. “And I figure, you’ve got an in—any chance you put in a good word for me with your little brother? The pretty one on all the TV commercials.”

“Ask him yourself, I’m not a fucking messenger,” Jason growls. “And he’s not my brother.”

He hangs up and glares at his phone, contemplating whether throwing it at the wall will make him feel better.

This is not happening…

The punching bag no longer cutting it, he throws on his gear and heads out for patrol, hoping that will quell the sensation of fire in his blood. Throws himself into it with brutal abandon, the only goal being to take his mind off everything. Violence is the best way to bring him back to the very basest mind frame, where he is focussed only on the thrill of the fight.

It works, for a while.

He hauls a few johns to the curb when they get too rough with the girls, gives a bunch of teens robbing a bodega in his neighborhood something to think about, puts an end to a bar fight when a customer gets handsy with a waitress, stumbles into a domestic dispute with a guy smacking around his kid—

Jason relishes in the sound of broken bones and the reminders of the fact he’s the one in control. It almost seems like he’s getting back to himself by the end of the evening. He feels more himself, less uneasy; there's still something buzzing beneath his skin, but it’s negligible.

See? It was total bull. God of love my ass, he was just messing with my head.

He takes a moment to rest, gazing out across the skyline and digging for a cigarette. One more loop around the neighborhood, and he’ll head home. He’s just turning his back against the wind so he can light the cigarette when he finds himself face to face with Tim Drake.

Or rather, a giant billboard with his face on it, advertising the Neon Knights initiative.

The cigarette drops from his hands.

“This is not happening,” he murmurs, and he’s said that at least once today already, hasn’t he?

But it’s getting ridiculous. Like he’s being shadowed wherever he goes by the specter of Tim, and all because someone else decided to play mind games with him.

Well, screw that. My head’s been messed with enough.

He takes a running leap off the roof, deciding to forgo anymore patrolling. It might be an idea to get out of Gotham for a few days if only to take a break.

But no, he’s not being chased out of his own damn city. No one chases the Red Hood out of Gotham, except on occasion Batman, and that’s not chasing so much as Jason telling Bruce to fuck off and making a pointed exit. And Steve is no Batman.

I’m going to take off a few days. Been wound up the past few weeks anyway, it’s getting to me. Things will go back to normal as soon as I—

His shoulders tense as he recognizes the sensation of eyes on him.

Someone’s following him.

It’s reflex to melt into the shadows of the next building, slipping around so that he can get a good vantage point. If someone’s planning an ambush, he’s more than happy to turn it around on them. And the mood he’s in tonight if it’s someone that can give him an actual fight—

There’s a sound of someone landing on the rooftop, and the whirring of a grapple line retracting. And then Jason zeroes in on the familiar figure in black and red. That strange knot of anxiety he’s been carrying around the whole day lets go as he recognizes him, and in its place, something else springs up, almost like…relief?

Which, no, he should not be relieved to see Red Robin. The only time he should ever be relieved to see the Tim is if he’s in the middle of a duel to the death with the Joker and needs back-up from someone capable of thinking a dozen steps ahead.

Relief is replaced with anger, and Jason lies in wait until Tim alights on the same roof, and then slips forward to grab hold of him. He neatly dodges the other vigilante’s attempts to free himself from the hold and drags him over to the edge of the roof.

“Jason? What the hell—?”

He ignores him and dangles him over the edge, forcing Tim to grasp at his wrist and hold on tight.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t drop you for not following the rules—you remember, the ‘no bats in my territory’ rule? I get that it’s unofficial and all, but it’s still there,” he snarls.

“I—I wanted to check on you!” Tim grunts. “It’s been twenty-four hours, and—”

“And what? Wanted to check if I was ready to jump your malnourished bones yet? Wouldn’t looking for me be a monumentally stupid thing to do if that were the case?” Jason yanks Tim back over the edge and tosses him back onto the roof, gratified to see him stumble as he tries to regain his balance. “I don’t need you pretending you give a shit to ease a guilty conscience of because you think checking up on me is something B would want you to do. Go back to California, Replacement. If I need help, I’ll ask. And chances are, I won’t be asking you.”

Tim’s fists clench, and he’s tense like he’s priming to argue, but after a beat, his shoulders droop and he huffs.

“Fine,” he says in a neutral voice. “Just as long as you ask someone.”

And then he’s grappling off without another word, and it isn’t as cathartic to see the back of him as Jason figured it would be.

Like he has any right to sound concerned…

He should feel better, now that he’s gotten his message across, but he doesn’t. The foul mood continues for the rest of his patrol, which he ends up cutting short because his head is just not in it tonight.

He is deliberate in choosing his safe house in Coventry, figuring he’s less likely to run into Red Robin on patrol there or in general. It’s nowhere near his usual patrol route, or the apartment he owns on Park Row—and fuck him for making Jason want to avoid his own stomping grounds!

It’s just for one night. Until I calm down and can be trusted not to shoot the kid.

But the nervous, frustrated ball of discomfort in his gut doesn’t go away as he settles in for the night. He doesn’t bother with a shower or cigarette, or—well, his normal way to wind down when feeling like this, because he doesn’t trust himself not to let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t while his hand is on his dick.

It’s more difficult to meditate tonight, and he remains aggravated and angry as he drifts off to sleep.

It should be no surprise that that night, he dreams of Tim for the first time.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #batfic #tim drake #jason todd #eros (new earth)#mythology #gods in disguise #violet writes #drama #angst #introspection

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comingcalum · 6 years

Text

masterpiece - C.H.

art student!calum decides to draw a masterpiece

word count: 2.2k / Third person (Calum x Amelia)

Amelia was in a world of her own as the lecturer in front of her rambled on about some building in the middle of Rome. A spare blue pen was tucked behind her ear, and she chewed on the end of her pencil as she stared at the half-completed drawing in her notebook. She pursed her lips and squinted at the page, trying to pinpoint why it didn’t look like she had imagined it to. The hair! It just wasn’t sitting right on her face. She poked her tongue out between her lips in concentration while she erased it, redrawing it until she was satisfied. She tried to make a masterpiece every time the lead touched the page, but some days it didn’t come as easily.

Meanwhile, a few rows behind her, a boy - Calum was his name - was also drawing his own masterpiece. He was erasing and redrawing the lines so frequently that the people a few spaces away from him were getting annoyed at the sound. Nevertheless, he persisted. He had to get this drawing perfect, for no other reason than the fact that he was a perfectionist. It was ironic really, the fact that he chose to be an artist with such a meticulous personality. The boy beside him - Luke - let out a low groan and turned to face Calum. He stopped what he was doing and looked at him, expecting a conversation to ensue.

“This class is so boring, I don’t know how you do it dude,” Luke whispered, scratching his stubble.

Calum looked down at the drawing in front of him and then back at Luke. “I don’t, I just draw,” He chuckled, returning his attention to the sketch. He paid special attention to the sharpness of the jawline.

“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her,” Luke said again and Calum looked up to meet his tired eyes. There was a small smile dancing on Luke’s lips and Calum just rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that simple,”

“Except it is,” He insisted. “All you have to do is go up to her and be like… Hey Amelia, you’re fucking gorgeous and I’d love to fuck your brains out,”

Calum’s eyes widened and he looked around the room sheepishly to make sure no one could hear their conversation. A few eyes were darting their way and he hoped no one had heard about his little crush. The last thing he needed was for her to find out from someone else, it would be like high school all over again, and he definitely didn’t want that.

“Shut up, she’s so much more than that…,” He shook his head and began sketching her again.

“So you’re just going to draw her in your notebook until she is literally embedded into your brain?,” Luke asked.

“I gues-”

“Luke! Calum! Do you have something you would like to say?” The lecturer shouted, and both Calum and Luke sat there, mouths hanging open. Calum slammed his notebook shut before anyone could see what was inside.

Amelia jumped at the sudden interruption and turned around to look at the two boys causing the disturbance. She stares at Calum and Luke, mouths hanging open, and chuckles softly to herself as she waits for them to answer. Calum’s eyes meet hers and his breath catches in his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks. She just smiles at him, her head resting on her hand. He likes the way her hair looks today, the wild red waves tucked behind her ear with a stray hair resting on her temple. He makes sure to take in as much of her as he can, like the way her nose and cheeks are covered in freckles, and how when she smiles at him her dimples appear. In Calum’s eyes, she was the prettiest thing, and he tried to do her justice in his notebook, but he didn’t think it could come close to how beautiful she was in person.

Luke elbows Calum in the ribs and he finally finds the courage to speak. “Uh, no sir, sorry,” He clears his throat and the lecturer nods, returning to speaking moments later. Amelia turns back around and continues her drawing.

“Good one, idiot,” Calum glares at Luke and he just shrugs, attempting to focus on the lecture without much luck. Despite the embarrassment, he couldn’t shake the image of Amelia burnt into his mind.

Calum looked at his watch, wondering when the lecture was going to be over. 12:47 p.m. “Shit,” He mutters under his breath. Luke looks at him with his eyebrows raised, watching Calum turn from embarrassed to stressed in a matter of seconds. He begins frantically packing his belongings away, stuffing them into his bag without much care. The lecturer’s annoyance is evident, but he’s glad to see the boy leaving.

“Dude, I gotta go sorry,” He whispers to Luke, giving him a pat on the back as he climbs over the front of the table. He jogs down the stairs and heads to the door. Amelia looks up and watches him hurry toward the door, but returns her attention to the lecture before the door slams shut.

A few minutes later and the lecture ends, everyone scurrying out as fast as possible to attend their next class for the day. Amelia is the last one to leave, not in any rush as she had the next hour free. She finishes up the last touches of her sketch and smiles to herself, happy with how the drawing turned out as it wasn’t her strength. She enjoyed painting much more, and she was much better at it too. She painted from the inside out. All her emotions or struggles were imprinted on the canvases when she painted. The colours, the different shades, lines, textures, they all resembled a little part of how she was feeling. When she wanted to escape the world, she picked up a paintbrush, and that was her escape.

After packing up her belongings, Amelia headed to the door. It was now 1:29 p.m. As she was pushing her earphones in, she noticed a small brown book in the corner of her eye. It was partially hidden behind the rubbish bin near the door, but it wasn’t hidden enough to make her think it was intentionally put there. She picks it up, running her hands over the soft brown leather. The notebook showed some wear in the corners, but there was no name on it anywhere. She wonders how long it’s been sitting there and if it’s missing its owner. She doesn’t want to pry, but she needs to find the owner, so she opens the book and tries to find anything that may help her determine who the book belongs to. There’s a few scribbles on the front page, and she assumed it was the page where they tried to get their pen working. She turns the page, and there’s a few casual doodles, like they were practicing, eyes, hands, and lips were scattered across the paper, but they were so realistic. The person had gotten the shading perfect. She turned the page again, there was a drawing of the moon phases, and she blinked in disbelief, amazed by how well drawn everything had been in this book so far. On the next page, there was writing instead. It read “And you’ll move on, and fall in love with another brain, another soul. And i’ll still be here, waiting,” she felt the words tug at her heartstrings.

The door in front of her flew open and she let out a gasp, leaping in fright as she slammed the book shut and held it against her chest. It was Calum. He froze when he saw Amelia, and then he noticed the book she was holding in her arms. It belonged to him.

“I, uh-,” He stutters, pointing to the book in her arms.

“Oh, this.. This is yours?,” She asks, peeling the book from her chest as she reads the writing on the page again. He nods and scratches the back of his neck, chewing on his lip.

“Do you mind? You’re insanely good,” She smiles at him, waiting for reassurance to carry on flicking through his notebook.

“Thanks, I tend to just draw whatever feels right at the time,” He replies, and Amelia starts turning over the pages again. He awkwardly shuffles to stand beside her, looking at his past artwork with her.

Calum watches her as she admires his artwork. He watches her tuck her hair behind her ear every so often because it tickled her face. She ran her slender fingers over the page occasionally, and he watched her take her bottom lip between her teeth, concentrating on what was in front of her. She looked up at him every so often too, but he looked away - he didn’t want her to catch him staring. The longer he watched her, the more delirious he felt. The deep red freckles against her pale skin was such a nice contrast that he was in awe. When Calum was around her, he wondered how it was possible that he had ever felt sorrow. Her forest green eyes were always soft, willing, as if she was eager to listen to all your problems and help you fix them. And when she smiled - god, that smile - the one where she showed off her perfect teeth as she scrunched her eyes shut and let out a giggle. That smile would be the death of Calum - it left him weak at the knees. All he wanted was to grab her face and kiss those pretty lips of hers.

As he thought about her and how perfectly her hands would fit in his, he remembered something. Something he didn’t want her to know yet. And it was there - in that very book she was holding. He knew it was on the next page, but he didn’t want her to stop - but he did - but he didn’t. He held onto the smallest bit of hope that she would love it, and then turn around and kiss him on those pretty lips of his. But that was a bit of a stretch, he knew that. They had only talked a handful of times, mostly when she needed help with graphic design - something she struggled with. He knew she preferred a paintbrush to a pencil, and a canvas to a computer screen. Yet, he still wanted her to know how he felt, without actually having to say it out loud to her. As she flipped the pages, the portrait of her came into view, and Calum turned to face the other way, not wanting to see her reaction.

“Um-, Yeah… I forgot that was in there,” He lied, his hand running through his hair as he pulled lightly on the curls.

“Calum...I,”

“I know it’s stupid, I’m sorry, it’s just you looked so beautiful and I just had to save that moment without it being creepily on my phone..,” He paused. “I guess it’s still creepy because it’s in my book… but anyway, yeah, you just… you’re just gorgeous, and you felt right at the time, IT-it felt right at the uh.. time,”

Calum questioned whether he had really just said that out loud. He cringed internally when he realised he had, and he tried to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t in a dream. Amelia noticed and laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Calum, no, it’s great, it looks just like me, except better,” She chuckled, not tearing her eyes from the drawing of her. It was almost as if it was a photo. Every small detail about her was apparent on the page - the septum piercing, the one freckle that kissed her ear lobe, the freckle under her eye- everything. Even the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips was drawn, and she laughed, somewhat embarrassed at her concentration face. She was flattered, and she could feel her heart racing at the thought a boy like Calum would choose her as his subject. Underneath it, she was built from fire was written in cursive. She smiled at the comment, and remembered how her mother had always told her she didn’t have red hair for nothing.

“That’s not possible,” He whispered, and Amelia looked up at him. Her lips curled into a small smile, and Calum watched her carefully. She closed the book after that and handed it back to him. He stuffed it into his bag, careful to make sure it’s not going to fall out this time.

“Well, I better go, I have class in…,” She looked at her watch. 1:43 p.m. “Seventeen minutes,”

As her hand wrapped around the door handle, she turned around to give him another smile, waiting to see if he had anything to say. He did.

“Actually, Mel-” His eyes widened at the nickname that had just rolled off his tongue, and she giggled at his reaction.

“It’s fine, you can call me Mel,” She replied.

“Great, okay… Mel, did you want to go get a bite to eat after your class? I have the rest of the afternoon free,” He asks, scratching the back of his neck. Amelia began to notice he did this when he was nervous.

“That would be lovely,”

“I’ll see you outside…,”

“L block, at 3 p.m.,” And with that, Amelia disappeared out of sight.

Calum looked around to make sure no one was there, and then fist pumped the air, grabbing his phone out of his pocket to text Luke about what had just happened.

Well, I thought this was a really cute concept. I based it off an au :) Hope ya liked it. (Tbh, I think it could be improved a lil but it’s fine for now)

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uglypastels · 6 years

Note

Title: about the moon, toast and soap Wondering what you're going do with that😁

I assume Toast and Soap is one title. If you meant it as two separates, let me know.

#1 About the Moon - Peter Parker

Nobody except for the ones who actually lived it, know how life in the soul stone was. Every soul that had been taken by the snap, ended up in this world where everything seemed normal, but it was just off. nobody could explain it.

Time wasn’t a real concept in this world. There was no real difference between day or night. The moon shined with a strange orange-y glow and it never changed positions.

With no real time, it was hard to see how long it had been since they all found themselves in this strange land. After a while, the people had started to warm up to the place. It became a real society. You could almost forget that they had been erased from the world they used to be a part of.

But Peter never forgot. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Stark, about Aunt May, About Ned… how he had let them down. He had been replaying the moments on Titan in his mind repeatedly. How he was so close to getting that stupid gauntlet off of Thanos’ fat fingers. He could have prevented all of this.

On days like these, when the anxiety was getting too much, Peter had found a spot for himself. It was on top of a hill. It looked out on the rest of the “city”. yeah, there were houses and other things that one could see in an actual city, but this didn’t feel human. It didn’t feel right.

The moon was shining like always. The trees around him were completely still, but Peter could feel a definite breeze against his skin. Another thing that made him feel eerie about this place.

“Oh,sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.” a voice shook him out of his dark thoughts. Peter turned around. A girl was stood behind him. She looked a bit awkward at him.

“Usually, when I come here, it’s desserted.” Peter noticed an accent in her voice. Something European, but he couldn’t place it.

“Oh, sorry. I can leave if you want to be alone. I’ve already been here for a while anyway.” He wanted to get up, but the girl stopped him.

“Oh no, no. You were here first. I’ll go.” She wanted to walk away again. Peter felt guilty.

“We can… sit together, if you want. There’s enough space for both of us.” he showed around, emphesizing the big empty field of grass around them. The girl smiled and then sat down next to him.

“I’m Peter.”

“(Y/N).” And so they started talking. their conversations were endless and about nothing in general, but most of the time they curled back to one topic: their lifes before this place. They got to know each other well and soon they were meeting up everyday to just talk. She was the only good thing Peter had in this orance moon-lit world. He finally felt like this wasn’t so bad after all.

But then, after weeks, maybe months, he woke up. The bed in which he was lying in didn’t feel cold like it used to. It felt warm, familiar. Like home. The smell did too. Like aunt May’s pancakes. Wait, that was the smell of aunt May’s pancakes! Peter opened his eyes and shot up straight in his bed. It was actually his bed.

The curtains were drawn and covering the window, so Peter jumped up and practically ran over to look outside. The sun was shining brightly over the steel jungle that was New York City, Queens. Peter could cry from happiness. He was finally back home.

He closed the curtains again and sprinted to the door, ready to hug his aunt. But a thought infiltrated his brain and he couldn’t move anymore. (Y/N). Where was she now? If he came back home, that meant that she was somewhere in Europe. Honestly, he had no idea where she could be right now. And he had no way to reach her as they had not exchanged any way of contact back in the soul stone world. There was no need for that. They didn’t have phones, or social media.

Peter just had to deal with the fact that he would never see her again. It hurt to think like that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

So, everytime he was out in the night, patrolling the neighborhood, he would take a moment to look at the moon. Now back to its silvery glow, it looked much more welcoming.

He would look at it and remember. Remember everything about that world. About the moon and its orange glow. About her.

#2 Toast and Soap - Harrison Osterfield

Harrison often took walks around the city. It took his mind off things. Even when there was nothing to take his mind off of. Then he just people watched. London was definitely a good place for that.

His favorite place to walk around in, where the markets. There was always so much going on and you could find the craziest of people. But that wasn’t it. Harrison was always on the lookout for one person in particular.

He had seen her around a few places before. Mostly surrounded by other street artists. She was always busy with something.

The first time he saw her he was immediately intrigued. The tattoos sticking out from underneath her shirt, the wild colored hair that was cut to her collarbone, the crazy number of rings on her fingers that glistened in the sun while she worked on her next project.

Next to her small table and display, stood a small sign: “Carvings, £20″ there was a group of people around her while she was working on something. A bunch of little knives and other tools littered on the table in front of her. She had a pair of those enhancing goggles that Harrison saw watchmakers wear.

She blew off the cutaway remains and looked at it pleasantly. then, she turned it so the small audience could see the result. There was a polite applause. The woman who had probably requested the piece came up and paid. The exchange was quick, but in that time most of the people had already walked away.

Harrison took this as hic chance to approach her. Her client had left and she was now cleaning up the mess she had made while working. Not wanting to interrupt her, Harrison looked at her other work.

Everything was very different from each other. The materials used, the style…

“Can I help you?” Harrison looked up from one specific carved out piece of wood (he assumed it was wood, at least) to be met with the eyes of the girl.

“Oh, hi. I was just wondering. What is it that you do?”

“I can do anything. Wood, plastic, toast…you?” she winked at the small addition to her list. Harrison couldn’t help but laugh. “Give me something and I will carve it.”

“So, for example, toast?”

“Never tried, but I probably could.” she smirked.

“Well, we’ll have to go and see then.” Well they did, and she indeed produced an amazing miniature of the DaVinci painting the Lady with Ermine. She didn’t exactly carve it as much as burn it in, but it worked.

And just like that, any time they would meet, Harrison was ready with another challenge for her. And each and every time she would out do herself and amaze Harrison with another extraordinary piece of art.

“Hey there, Ken doll.” Harrison heard her before he saw her. Looking in the direction of where her voice came from he smiled. She was sitting at her small table, just setting things up. It was still rather early in the morning .

“Got a new challenge for me?” she was grinning. Harrison felt his cheeks heat up. He didn’t actually. It was a last minute choice for him to go out for a walk and he had never expected her to be up and ready so early in the day. Even after a large coffee he was tired…and he didn’t have to work in front of all these people there around them.

He looked at the cup in his hands. It was already empty and was only cartying it around because he had yet found a bin. But maybe there was some better use in it.

“How about a paper coffee cup?” He showed her the cup. She looked interested at it.

“That one? You already used it.” her tone was hiding her interest. To an outsider of the conversation she could sound very unimpressed, but Harrison had heard it all before.

“It will just add to the challenge, won’t it then.” He put the cup down on her table. “I’ll be back.” he winked and walked away, still facing her. He saw her smile as she picked up the cup and twirled it around in her hand.

A few hours had gone by and Harrison was making his was back to where he had left his cup.

She was working on a bar of soap, probably turning it into a little owl. It was a signature trick of hers. The cup was standing on the corner of the table. It seemed to be untouched.

Not looking up from her owl, she mumbled: “You won, Ken doll.”

“Oh did I now?” he was very pleased with himself that he finally managed to crack her. “And what do I win then?”

“Your cup back.” with one finger, she pushed it to his side of the table.

“Oh wow, thanks.” he rolled his eyes, but still took his price gladly.

“Now, sod off, I have a business here that I’m trying to run.”

“Right, I’ll see you around.” He said. Her attention was back to the owl, but she did have time to wave with the hand she was holding the soap in. Harrison walked away, twirling the cup in his hands just like she had done that morning. He wasn’t really looking at it, just doing something to keep his hands occupied. But as he spinned it around, something in his peripheral vision caught something.

On part of the cup, a black blur kept coming up that he didn’t remember there the first time. He stopped moving the cup and looked at it.There, in neat black letters was written: “Call me.” and a number.

Harrison turned around to look at her again. But unfortunately, her eyes were still on her little owl. With a big smile on his face, he continued his walk back home.

send requests/feedback/questions - send me a made-up title for a fic (#boredpastels)

#uglypastels answers #why am I like this #I write too much #this is not how this works #i failed #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker writing #peter parker imagine #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield fanfic #my writing

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aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

Photo

~Who Names The Colors~

Hi loveys! I’m on the beach, I hope!! But this is all cued up for you all!! I am enthrall to @nocontrolforlouis, @bleedinglove4h, and my banner(wo)man @dirtystyles!

All the usual warnings apply! Age Gap, blah blah blah

If this makes you look like the dude above our trio, come SCREAM at me!

Chapter 11-The Scream

December 2014 The sun had risen, just- it was a new day, perhaps a new world. Jo was just as unfamiliar with it as a 16th century Spaniard in a jungle. She just didn't know how to navigate this and had no compass to help, not that she was even sure of what direction she wanted to go. The night had been a fever dream, but dreams unwound, and as undone as Jo had come with them, repeatedly, she was now in an even more complicated situation than before.

She was no longer lusting after a student, she had slept with one, her advisee to boot. The provider in her felt like she needed to immediately call this off. She didn't think Harry would go to the University if she did that, but she knew rejected men often acted in ways that could surprise you, hurt you.

It hadn't felt like he had any wish to hurt her. He'd been sweet and considerate and solicitous.

After they realized it was morning, he had located his phone. "It's 7:30. What time's Zoe get up?" He was still naked, and it was distracting. He was covered in more markings, from her hands and mouth, and he was splotched with gold, except his hand, which revealed him as the Midas who had turned her to gold. If he looked that messy....

"Soon." It was unpredictable when they had nothing going on for the day and as the Christmas holidays dawned schedules were loose. Shit! Ethan.

"Harry, where's Ethan?" Jo had asked as she stood up abruptly and tried to find her clothes. Her shirt she had taken off by where they, well where they were, but Harry had shucked her like a corn before they got into the paint. God, he was so distracting. Thinking about the night before doubly so. She was staring at him, because he was watching her intensely while she panicked.

"Harry?" She whisper shouted.

"Sorry, you look, really," And he was fumbling with the phone in his hand. "Can I take a picture of you?"

"Are you mental?" had been her immediate response. "You want evidence?"

"No, no," his voice went up a little then. "Course not, you just look like a piece of art? Like living and breathing creation." The wonder on his face made her ache. She wanted to go back to night with him. He still seemed to be existing there or had moved to basking in golden dawn where she was definitely standing in the cold of a December morning. She even had gooseflesh, from the cool air in her studio, her nudity, and mostly from reality. "I won't get your face. Just your torso. Want you to see yourself this way too. Please Jo?"

She surprised herself, again, with her response. It seemed to be her continual mood in his presence, "Yeah, go ahead Harry." And she let him stand her behind a painting stool so her lady bits were covered but her shape was revealed. She stood still and rather than curling into herself in embarrassment or shame she found her back straightening and her confidence growing through the lens of his camera, his eye

"Here, look. I'll delete anything that makes you nervous." He handed over his phone, but came to stand behind her and when he breathed she could feel his pebbled nipples on her shoulder blades. The sensation was pleasant and his heat sent the gooseflesh away and Jo forgot what they were doing other than being close for a moment until Harry started to scan through the photos. He had taken about 10 of them. And he hadn't gotten her face like he promised. But he had captured something else. Jo knew she was conventionally attractive, was reminded of it often enough, but she had never felt exquisite. In Harry's pictures, she was just that. In some, the turn of her body was soft and she looked like a nymph, in others, an Amazon. Always otherworldly, mythological. She was breathing heavy when he put the phone in her hand.

"Thank you, for trusting me. Scan through and make sure, so you feel safe." He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly ran them down to her elbows, and his nose came to smell her hair.

He was exquisite.

And he clearly trusted her too. Harry just handed her his phone, while it was open to the camera roll. She leaned back into him, her back resting on his chest. Last time Ethan was home he was showing her pictures and she went to swipe to see another and the yanked it away from her like she was a hot stove. People's phones were as personal an object as they got.

Shit, Ethan! And Zoe was going to be awake any moment.

"Harry, when is Ethan coming? Since he ditched me last night." While she asked, she pulled away and held her clothes to hide the front of her body.

Harry sighed, "I'm not sure, later today? He was hoping his date would go into break...um....sometime today, but he's not exactly an early riser!" He tried to joke.

"Are you?" Jo asked. But instead she winced when she tried to shift and felt the tight paint over her shoulders. Perhaps Harry's pictures lied and she wasn't the best canvas.

"Am I what?" Harry's eyes popped up like popcorn from where he had been admiring her.

"An early riser?" She should be showering, who knew if the paint would come out of her hair with any ease. It might cling on like the memory of last night. She was sure she'd be smelling them and feeling their communion for days. She hoped.

"Um, Yeah, usually but I can sleep all day if I'm up all night, painting or..." And he gave her a cheeky smile.

Her own was timid, she could feel it. How would she act if her feelings weren't so ambiguous? If there was not reason to feel shame of fear, no taboos? Jo imagined she would be jolly, hopeful like Harry seemed to be. She wanted to join him in his time out from reality, she would even take 42 minutes if she had them, but she did not. Zoe and Ethan would be round soon. She hooked a finger toward the door, "I'm gonna shower."

"Can I join you?" She pretended not to hear him as she fled.

Jo was busy freaking the fuck out in the shower about what happened now. She needed to get Harry out of her house before Ethan turned up, and she turned on her monitor, that she was sheepish to admit she still used to check on Zoe, to make sure her little girl was still sleeping. By the grace of god she was, and Jo was gonna get this gold off her body and out of her veins before she woke up. She was also gonna get the 6 foot piece of evidence out of the house. She was gonna get herself together and figure out how to get over this.

The dull thud of a knock interrupted her planing then. "Jo, can I come in?" She heard Harry's voice through the door.

"Um, I'm naked." She asserted and she nearly rolled her eyes, but she most certainly heard his scoff.

"Well, I hope so. Do you need me to wash your back?" He volleyed. When the air was dead for a minute he spoke again, "to get the paint off you. Is it coming out ok?"

It had, but she couldn't see her back, but jo was pretty sure she could explain some paint away and Harry in the bathroom would lead to more than back washing she was fairly sure and all of her resolutions would go down the drain, mixed with paint and come. "Think I got it."

"Jo, can I please come in?" She felt like he had his face against the door, his voice sounded like it.

"I'll be out in a minute." And she would, she thought as she combed and picked the paint out of her hair.

"Can I make you something: tea, coffee, toast then?"

"You can go home if you want Harry." She responded. And lay her own head on the shower door and felt the overwhelming need to cry all of a sudden.

Harry didn't say anything to that and Jo finished up and put on her winter robe, a pregnancy Christmas gift from Ethan, to get her coffee. Her house felt brisk this morning.

She yelped in surprise when she got to her kitchen table and Harry was sitting there, clean, with curling hair like melting chocolate and two mugs of tea on the table.

"Tea one still?" He opened with.

"Um, Yeah," Jo went to the bread box.

"Your bread is in the toaster, I didn't put it on, didn't want it cold for you. I have a banana over here too." his voice was a silly flirt and she wanted to joke with him.

"Thank you." She popped the toast down, and left his innuendo where it lay next to the food on her table. Jo realized she could see her reflection in the microwave glass next to her red toaster. She thought she was alone, that he would have taken the escape from the awkward situation she had set up for them, she hadn't even brushed her teeth, definitely not her locks. Jo smoothed her hair using the blurry image of herself in the door while she waited, she jumped when she saw Harry's reflection. He was right behind her and definitely in her space.

"Jo," Harry said quietly, "I can feel you freaking out. Please, it's freaking me out."

"I'm not freaking out." She said to the microwave and the black box was maybe the only thing that would believe her. "I just need to get cleaned up before Zoe wakes up and I gotta get ready before Ethan gets home." Which means getting you out of my house.

"Which means me leaving." He waited for her to confirm, she wouldn't. It seemed cruel no matter how true is was. "Ok, Miss Jo, I'll leave." And when he put his hands on her shoulders she tensed up like she was about to take impact from a huge lorry. Harry dropped his grip. "May I please have a hug?"

Jo finished her revolution towards him, the one he had started before he read her body language so accurately and knew this move was going to erase her morning's work. The call in his voice, and the base note of hurt too meant she would answer, like the call from the doctor you don't want to get but have to take. She kept her eyes on his clavicle though, his eyes were too much of an eraser. Who knew what would happen if she connected to him there as well.

He wrapped his spaghetti arms around her, he was floppy, like he needed her support to stay upright, and she held him. Jo wanted to hold him, feel him a little too.

"Can you look at me?" He asked to the air around her.

She shook her head against his chest and he nodded his understanding and pressed his mouth to her hair and kissed her there, breathed her ore in.

"Can you come see my new piece? Soon?" He asked, he seemed to be prolonging this hug as much as he could, and Jo clung on too, but opened her balled fists to press her palms to him as well and ran them down to disconnect them before she threw him a bone.

Jo finally looked up. "I'd love to, but, um, I think you'll need to bring it to me at my office, maybe after the new year. I'll be getting ready for my semester." Including checking her rosters to make sure he wasn't in any of her classes. Best to avoid minefields, or at least have a map for them.

"You can't come to my studio?" He was biting his lip before he spoke and she swore she saw wet emotion in his eyes.

She shook her head.

"Are you sure? I have a few things to show you I'm sure, and I think I found a new source of inspiration too." He bit his lip again, this time to try to evoke rather than hold back emotion she thought.

It did bring up something in her. He was successful, but he always was. It may have not had the effect he wanted. Jo's first response was tingly but it's companions came tripping on its heels, Fear, and longing. She had to say something. She knew she should not do this, knew before she kissed him, or fucked him.

"I can't go to your studio, Harry. I think we should not be alone together—"

"We're alone now."

"This should be the last time." They were so close, she was basically part of him still. And then she was kissing him. One last time. "This is the last time." She said against his mouth and promised them both.

"No it's not." He shook his mouth against her and she could feel his words and his grin.

"Has to be. You gotta go." They were still kissing and he was smiling and she was kissing his teeth. And she laughed when their teeth glanced against each other. She meant what she was saying, but she let him pick her up and put her on her kitchen counter and stand between her legs. She was just about to let Harry take her shirt off and maybe have her for breakfast when Zoe cried "Mummy."

Saved by the belle.

Harry was breathing heavily and she pushed him back against the cupboard to get herself back together. "You gotta go!" she said. This time it sounded like she meant it. and he grinned like a cat yellow because of all the canaries, like shrimp turn flamingos pink. Harry kissed her one more time.

"Last one, right?" he smirked at her when he pulled back.

"Get out of here, you cheeky ass!" Jo pushed around him and couldn't help looking back. It made her grin. He was leaning back against her counter top with his eyes closed and first two fingers against his mouth.

Her grin didn't return when she got up and found that Zoe had wet herself while she was being a horrible mother downstairs.

"Oh sweet one!" She pulled her out and stripped her and the bed. Jo heard the door close when she was taking her to the bathroom to rinse her off.

Harry didn't understand, what did he have to lose?

The chance to fuck his professor, again? Whereas she, she looked at her weepy little girl, and later that day, her handsome lad. She had so much to lose.

Ethan when he arrived was a beacon. He looked bright with love. Before she could even tell him he turned her thoughts back on her, like missing the exit on a revolving door.

"Mum, I think you are even prettier today!" He said while she served him and she almost asked what he wanted. Instead, Jo decided to observe him. She decided to turn up the magnification on the microscope up and crawl out from between the sandwiched pieces of glass. It was his turn to be the specimen.

He was grinning, there were no visible marks on his neck, but he had a collar and it was done up over his undershirt which was unusual. She watched him make faces at Zoe, and then pick up his phone to play the Moana song she was singing to her toys, then snap chat it. He was good with her. "Hmmm, thank you, love. How was your date?"

Ethan looked like a the bullfrog in his mouth accidentally had lodged in his throat, "um, it was really good! Not as good as yours though Mum!"He deflected back and she was concerned they were playing figurative ping pong.

"Why do you say that?" Jo tuned away with cheeks like a trash fire. She could feel it.

"You're glowing. Did he stay over?"

Jo looked back to admonish him about little ears and he was already covering Zoe's and smiling like a cartoon villain.

"Ethan! Are you really asking your mum this"?" Because yes, she had had sex, all night, for the first time ever and it was all she could do to not but her hand in the flames while she made breakfast because she wanted to approximate the feeling again. That was not information to share with your son, even if he was grown, and even if your partner was not his mate.

"I'm just dragging you, mum! Can tell it was good because you have paint under your nails. Inspiring?"

She turned back abruptly and knew the blush had migrated to her whole body.

Before she she could help herself, "maybe." Slipped out.

"What's his name? When do I meet him?" Ethan asked and Jo had a moments freak out. No way, no how. That was a scenario that could ever happen. Because Ethan knew the man, very well, and that made him wholly unsuitable. So, like any good parent, she pinged back his pong.

"Why are you so interested in my love life then?" She put some food before Ethan and on the tray Zoe was still using. Hmmm it was about time to transition her outta that.

"You have had bad goes Mum, you deserve somebody who is good to you and who you want." His brown eyes made her soft inside. They looked like her own. "You just look like you might have found it."

No, that was inconceivable, she wasn't gonna entertain that thought. She kissed the top of his head, "so do you!" And left it at that.

But, she did think about it. Jo thought about Harry and the night before and Ethan's attention to the color on her cheeks every time her mind wandered. Later when she was alone because Zoe was taking a nap that may very well be her last and Ethan was getting ready to meet mates at the pub, she got to thinking about it again, it was like the bad penny that kept turning up. Jo even had to stop herself asking if Harry would be at the pub. She needed to focus on the consequences, so she snuck into her studio, returned to the scene of the crime.

She had had time to get herself together this am, but had not been able to clean up the wreckage there. Usually this would be no problem, Ethan rarely came in here and Zoe couldn't do the doorknob she had on it yet. Today it felt like a stolen dress with the sensor still on, incriminating evidence, and she needed to see to it. When she stepped in her fears about the evidence were confirmed, the things made in this room last night weren't just on the canvases, and the proof was everywhere. Jo blushed at the print of her body inside of the thicker gold outline. Where Harry turned her over to press her down, the details were blurry, like she was a golden hummingbird, only hovering and impossible to capture. The halo he'd created when he poured the paint over her was much more defined. The edges of her were clear, like a holy halo.

It made her ache, because it was beautiful and because she had to hide it, and put it away. Him away. That was not a painting she could ever explain. Jo picked up the heavy canvas and hoisted it behind others, blocking the golden image, the memory with it. Jo felt like she needed to get rid of it. She also knew that she would not. Jo felt the imprints of last night within her body and without and would never be able to bear throwing out what she and Harry had made. Not even the memory. The point of coming in here had been to cover her tracks and remind herself the consequences, but instead she was reminiscing, or mourning, she wasn't sure which or what either meant.

A knock sounded on her studio door and she heard it open and she nearly barked at Ethan for intruding. It wasn't nice to be caught with your hands covered in crimson, or gilded here she supposed. She kept her cool but barely, "come in, love."

"I'm gonna head out, everybody but Harry's already there, but he runs late anyways."

She winced at the name. Jo certainly didn't need reminders of him. He surrounded her like the hoodie she had on. It also was a curious fact about him. Jo ran over her own interactions with him backwards. He'd never been late to her class or Zoe's lessons, or babysitting jobs, or her office. "Ok, can you...." she started to ask before she bit her tongue.

"I'll call if I'm gonna be late and no body will drive. Pinky promise." He'd come over to her and extended his pinky to her.

They kept promises, did Smiths, and least the Smiths she made. Jo promised herself she'd try to keep away from Harry as well while she hooked her tiny finger through his. "Thank you!" Jo exhaled and folded him into her arms like Ethan was smaller than her. Like when he was small.

"What were you working on after your hot date?" Ethan asked after she released him.

And then she lied to him, bold faced and intentional, "oh," she snapped the lid on her can of gold paint, which was way lighter than it had been since Harry's golden sunset 6 years ago. "I was so worked up I spilled paint over it. I think I'll have to trash it." She walked over to her bin and put the rest of the gold paint in there.

"That's to bad, mum! I wanted to see what this bloke brought up, besides your blushes!"

She blushed and pushed Ethan playfully out the door. "On with you!"

When he was gone, she sat on the stool Harry had used to protect her and put her head in her hands. "Five Minutes Jo!" She told herself and indulged her thoughts, the ones that kept brimming to the surface, about how he had touched her, treated her soft, but touched her cruel, and brought out desire and actions she had never thought of let alone acted on. She kept her reverie cerebral, she promised herself she was done touching herself to thoughts of him.

When her five minutes were up, she used the rest of Zoe's nap to paint. Her strokes were furious and fast. It was another woman, a voluptuous one, walking another beat, but this one went away from the viewer and Jo figured she had somewhere to be, maybe over a rainbow, or over the cliff. She switched on the monitor an hour in, and was trying to finish the beginnings when Zoe stated to stir. Something was missing and Jo couldn't figure it out.

The cries had reached the can't be ignored stage quickly, and with a mother load of guilt, Jo hustled up the stairs to get her girl.

But the missing piece niggled the back of her mind, all night, through the shop she ran to with Zoe to pick up a special gift for Ethan's stocking and through the easy dinner she threw on, she and Zoe made pizza's, and through bath and bed time.

Jo lay in her own bed, and could not close her eyes, or touch herself, or forget. She wanted to scream, but that was definitely an overreaction.

The ruffle of the bedclothes sounded in her ears before she even made the conscious decision to go to her studio. She threw on her thick robe and grabbed a bottle of wine and the key. She was pulling out the cork and closing the door, as she tossed the refuse, she missed the bin and reversed her steps to fix it. The gold paint can wound up in her hand before she even thought about it.

The Bordeaux was thick on her tongue and dried her mouth out like desire. She popped the top on the metallic pigment and didn't even bother with the paint brush. She dipped the ends of her fingers into it. She stared at the gild on her fingers and swallowed another sip before painting gold smudges for footsteps behind her woman. And the cliff, she was about to smear the gold into the distance. Over that colorful cliff, there was more than a pot of gold, maybe a valley of it instead.

A familiar chuckle hit her ears. Harry's when he was bemused and just that touch annoyed. Then she heard her son's mumbled tones. She was surprised she wasn't relieved. Ethan had made it home, but he had brought a problematic plus one.

"Mum!" Ethan happily smiled at her. "You know by now you don't have to wait up!" He only was mildly slurring, but he was hung on Harry's shoulder like he was much drunker than he appeared to be.

She quirked a brow in Harry's direction for confirmation, but he was avoiding her eyeline.

"Are you alright?" she directed at Ethan and returned Harry's icy shoulder, moving her body between the two of them, physically taking his place. She ignored the race of menthol burn across her skin when her clothed body glanced across his.

"I'm fine, I twisted my ankle trying to do a stupid dance. I could have made it home, but Harry insisted he help me." The ridiculousness of this was plain in Ethan's tone.

"You were limping, nearly fell again at the curb. You need a hand." Harry kept a careful gaze on Ethan.

"Yeah, yeah! Mum, were you painting? You've gone gold again!"

Harry's head snapped up at that and she tried to hide her ombre hand behind her leg.

They stared at each other and Jo shivered and pulled her robe a bit tighter. "I got carried away." She explained.

It looked like Harry wanted to be pleased, a smile crept around his mouth, but it wasn't so much suppressed as blocked.

"Should have seen her this morning, Harry! Not sure what her date was like, because she wouldn't fess up at all. But she had gold speckles on her neck, and in her hand. Even under her fingernails. And it wasn't event he gold paint that had her glowing. Must have been some goodnight kiss, at least that better be all it was, to inspire such crazy artistic fits. Can't wait to see this one. Are you recreating the one you spilled paint on?"

Jo and Harry were still staring while Ethan monologued.

"Mum, were you able to do it again?"

She blinked, "Um, something like it, let's get you off this leg poppet." Jo tried to get him moving, but he resisted.

"Make Harry help me, mum. I don't want that gold on me! Might make me all glowy too, ewww!"

"You are ridiculous!" Jo tried to remain unruffled, but is Harry looking at her had disrobed me, Ethan babbling about her shine made her feel totally stripped. "Harry?" she asked without making contact of any kind with him.

"I got him."

Jo didn't stick around and fled to her studio. She figured she'd be safe there.

Wrong, she was wrong. Apparently Harry saw no impediments.

Or any boundaries. "Harry?" She was startled, but before her hand had even come off her galloping heart, he was off to the races. His mouth covered hers and he swallowed her startled sound, and its follow up moan. His fingers clasped around her own and her heart rate beneath them never slowed down.

He tasted like wine and bread, like a sacrament, and wholly foreign to the morning, like the hours between were centuries.

Her mouth opened, so she could swallow his flavor whole and she took him down and laced her fingers with his before her brain could catch up. His free hand opened her robe and they had to move their hands and uncouple to get it off.

It was her colored hand, the one he held. He stared at it before he took it again. Then he kissed her again, sweet and low down, with slick tongue and wiggle. She followed him close, her bore her weight in their tangled tango and backed up until his back hit the wall.

"I want it!" Harry swallowed the words with his oxygen.

"What?" She tried to keep up with kissing him, if they talked, it gave her time to think.

"The gold, I want it all over me." He groaned out while he tried to her her shirt over her head without stopping their kiss again.

What was he saying? Gold? And then it dawned on her, Ethan had said he didn't want her to get the gold paint on him. Ethan, who was upstairs and Zoe too. And she had just promised herself this morning this was over.

Jo yanked her body away like when she had to yank a distracted Ethan back from walking into oncoming traffic.

"No, Har-H! We can't! I promised!"

"Who?" His mouth gaped open. "You told Ethan?"

"No, course, not!" She said.

"Good" And he rushed back onto her and pressed himself, desire and all from mouth to metatarsals.

Jo felt her shirt coming off her naked torso before she was able to slow again.

"No, no, I promised myself. My job Harry! My kids!" She pushed him against the wall and stumbled back until she was sat on the stool, it wobbled and fell. Jo didn't turn to check the wreckage, she kept her eyes on Harry, who was the picture of sexual frustration, his plaid was pushed off his shoulders and and his undershirt was stuck at nipple level. All that hair was disheveled, she guessed from her clawing at it, and his mouth was red. His eyes, where any green was visible glowed against the blacked out pebbles.

He panted and then threw his head back and shoved both hands into his pants. She could see him give his cock an almighty squeeze and she winced in sympathy. For all three of them.

"Ok, ok, I'll go." He said after taking minutes to collect and calm himself. Watching him unhand himself and catch his breath had Jo panting again, but she couldn't say that, they'd start all over again.

She turned her back to get her eyes off the spectacle she'd created and noticed her gold paint had been spilled.

"Jo," she heard behind her. "I know, I get it. But-" He seemed at a loss. "I'll try. I just don't know if I could go back."

Was her lady walking backward, away from the gold, if not, how did she get the golden footporints. If she wanted to leave, why was she backing away not running.

She nodded and heard the door close.

And she stayed out of her studio, after she cleaned up her hand and the spill. She walked backwards, stayed off campus, gave short worded critiques to Harry's texted pictures of his paintings.

He was increasingly frustrated. His lady was back to hide and seek.

His other texts she deleted. And she stayed away from the golden valley until she picked up the mail one morning just before the semester started while Audrey had Zoe so she could get prepared.

There was no return address, but it was a card, not soliciting mail. She ripped it open trying to think if she was expecting anything.

She wasn't expecting this.

"Dearest Joanne, I think about you every morning and wish I could greet the sun with you once again. In my paintings, my woman, who I wish was you, because then you would be with me and I could paint us together, is hiding from me as well. I would love to see her face, as I long for yours. I think of you constantly and can feel you on my skin, still.

My morning tea tastes different. I suspect it's because after having drank it with the taste of you on my tongue, I want to mix in your lemon and honey. I'd dip it in on my spoon if I could. Please, let the dawn break again. Craving you, sincerely and discretely, Harry"

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry styles alternate universe #harry Styles au #who Names The colors #wntc #one direction #one direction fanfiction #painter au

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