#@ask-brilliant-verve

[myjunkisyuzuruhanyu]

Let's talk about Shoma...NHK edition...

Two 2nd places and Shoma is in the GPF. He had a much better free skate than at CoC. So it should be something to be happy about. But clearly I am not.

If you have seen my post from CoC you know that I am not upset about Shoma getting 2nd, I am upset about the way he got 2nd. Fight me on this but in any other tech panel of the season he would have a 195+ score for his skate, if not even 200. (And if you looked at the tech box it was 106 TES and that would have given him a 198 score even with those PCS) I don't want to speculate about any political games or anything, for now I simply want to believe Shoma was simply disliked by the tech panel ppl.

(And btw I like Yuma a lot and I am happy he is back! Iif one is winning over Shoma, I am happy if it's Yuma just not like this and this isn't Yuma's fault ofc, so nothing against Yuma.)

What's most sad about Shoma's silver today is that it made him question competing and his abilties. 😭😭😭

He felt good about his performance and then tech panel completely deflated all positive feelings. His comments are so defeated. Ofc he is Shoma so his reaction is still polite and everything and he smiled at Yuma and interacted like normal. But still this is a new low. He perfomed good, he did all combos, landed the 4F and Axels that he was insecure about in the practice, even yoloed a 4T which alone shows his superiority bc who else can do that??? And yet it wasn't enough for the fcking judges to give him high scores.

We all knew Shoma wasn't gonna skate forever and I always knew that it could very well be his last season, but his comments didn't sound so final, so I thought there was maybe a tiny bit hope he'd still continue. But today I am not even sure he will not retire after Nats. I have my doubt he would neglect the opportunity if he's selected for Worlds but if you'd ask him today he probably won't go. Pulling a Tatsuki Machida never seemed more real...and part of me wouldn't even mind. I would lie if I say I won't be sad about Shoma's retirement, but all I really want is him happy and if competing isn't making him happy anymore...better retire on own terms than the Jfed and ISU waving you goodbye by lowballing you...

I hope though that while his comments now are negative, that he will rethink the attitude bc it's not him who has reached a limit or who isn't capable of better scores, it's a fcking judging mishap. Keiji said his 4Loop was brilliant and rotation clean, Shoma himself said he was surprised about the 4Lo and 4T being called (as he could see his landing), Stephane shook his head at the score, no it's not your fault Shoma. And I hope he gets the prep talks of his life by his surroundings!

There are two ways this could lead to, Shoma being on the verve of retiring and motivation for competition is completely lost or Shoma is fired up and rebounds stronger than ever from this disappointment with new fire. As Shoma fans we have seen many ups and downs of Shoma and usually Shoma always came back stronger. Ppl saying that's the end for him after IdF 2019 -he went on to win JNats, ppl saying he is done at WTT 2021 proceeds to win an Olympic medal and World Gold 2022, let's see what happens now...atm a positive way seems impossible but after a few days the world may not seem as dark...

I am truly furious for his 2nd place and petty me who thought I could stand seeing Shoma in 2nd is now completely on skating gods pls let Shoma win all Gold medals from now on as perfect revenge arc 🔥🔥🔥

[tripleaxelrose]

Canadian Toller Cranston Takes Bronze in Innsbruck With Innovative, Cinematic Program

Mar. 4, 1976 — Innsbruck

Ontario’s Toller Cranston took the bronze medal in men’s Olympic figure skating this evening at the Olympic Eisstadion in Innsbruck.

Though he struggled in the compulsory figures portion of the competition, his brilliant short program and free skates guaranteed him a spot on the podium behind Great Britain’s John Curry and the Soviet Union’s Vladimir Kovalev.

Known as a superior artist on the ice, Cranston brought the 10,000-strong crowd to its feet in the free skate with a program set to the original score from the 1973 film Goncharov, which starred Robert De Niro.

When asked about the program ahead of the games, Cranston told the Montreal Gazette that he chose the music because he felt that it suited the moment. “To me, it said something powerful about right now — our sense of disconnection and unrequited longing for each other. It felt like something beautiful to bring into the world,” said Cranston, adding, “Although I’m not sure enough people have seen the film to really get it. I guess we’ll see.”

The judges seem to have gotten it. Technical marks for the program ranged from 5.6-5.9, with stronger scores, mostly 5.8s and 5.9s, in artistry. This is no surprise for Cranston, who has won six Canadian national championship titles by displaying his sense of verve and style on the ice…

[202111042dci2021]

‘Earthrise’--section continued

The way in which this poem raises awareness of climate change could supposedly be partly through some of the language used in the poem, such as the following quotes I have exerted:

‘Climate change is the single greatest challenge of our time, / Of this, you’re certainly aware. / It’s saddening, but I cannot spare you / From knowing an inconvenient fact, because / It’s getting the facts straight that gets us to act and not to wait.’ (Gorman, 2018, lines 28-32)

‘So I tell you this not to scare you, / But to prepare you, to dare you / To dream a different reality, / Where despite disparities / We all care to protect this world, / This riddled blue marble, this little true marvel / To muster the verve and the nerve / To see how we can serve / Our planet. You don’t need to be a politician / To make it your mission to conserve, to protect, / To preserve the one and only home / That is ours, / To use your unique power / To give next generations the planet they deserve.’ (Gorman, 2018, lines 33-46)

‘And while this is a training, / in sustaining the future of our planet, / There is no rehearsal. The time is / Now / Now / Now, / Because the reversal of harm, / And protection of a future so universal / Should be anything but controversial, / So, earth, pale blue dot / We will fail you not. / Just as we chose to go to the moon / We know it’s never too soon / To choose hope. / We choose to do more than cope / With climate change / We choose to end it— / We refuse to lose.’ (Gorman, 2018, lines 50-67)

‘Together we do this and more / Not because it’s very easy or nice / But because it is necessary, / Because with every dawn we carry / the weight of the fate of this celestial body orbiting a star. / And as heavy as that weight sounded, it doesn’t hold us down, / But it keeps us grounded, steady, ready, / Because an environmental movement of this size / Is simply another form of earthrise.’ (Gorman, 2018, lines 68-76)

  And finally:

‘To see it, close your eyes. / Visualise that all of us leaders in this room […] / all / of us changemakers are in a spacecraft, / Floating like a silver raft / in space, and we see the face of our planet anew. […] / We witness its round green and brilliant blue, / Which inspires us to ask deeply, wholly: / What can we do? / Open your eyes. / Know that the future of / this wise planet / Lies right in sight: / Right in all of us. / Trust this earth uprising.’ (Gorman, 2018, lines 77-92)

 Each of the preceding quotes could be effective with raising awareness of climate change. The first quote could be effective as it supposedly addresses the reader in a way that could perhaps remind them that climate change is an issue affecting the world, and that it cannot be forgotten. Even if this is not right, it could still be somewhat effective.

The second quote exerted could be effective by perhaps attempting to motivate the reader to take action to stop climate change, particularly through the use of ‘I tell you this not to scare you, / But to prepare you, to dare you / To dream a different reality, […] / You don’t need to be a politician / To make it your mission to conserve, to protect, / To preserve that one and only home / That is ours, / To use your unique power / To give next generations the planet they deserve.’. This itself could be how the poem attempts to motivate the reader by daring them to act against climate change, as it says. Additionally, the use of ‘To preserve that one and only home / That is ours, / to give next generations the planet they deserve.’ may suggest that as we all live on the planet Earth, we should be working to protect it from it being affected by climate change, and, as it says, we should also ensure that the next generations will be able to live safely.

The third quote could be effective as it supposedly persuades the reader that we have to act now to deal with climate change, and that it can still be done to protect the planet. Also, with the use of ‘Just as we chose to go to the moon / We know it’s never too soon / To choose hope.’, it may or may not suggest that if the Apollo 11 moon landing was successful, then it should also be possible to prevent climate change from occurring any further, or at least attempt to reduce the impact it has.

The fourth quote could be effective by suggesting that we should be united as a planet to handle climate change, and that even though it will be hard, we still have to take necessary action to keep the earth safe. In addition to this, the fifth quote could be effective because it may make the reader understand that we are responsible for the future of the planet, at least in some way, particularly through the use of ‘Open your eyes. / Know that the future of / this wise planet / Lies right in sight: / Right in all of us. / Trust this earth’s rising.’

In a sense, this poem could supposedly be linked to carbon emissions, however even if it can, this would only be because it relates to climate change as a whole; not only carbon emissions increasing, but also other issues that have contributed to climate change being caused. While it may have some form of relevancy, it is only in a small form.

[thegirlbythefirelight]

Year of The Monkey is pretentious AF. A sin grave enough in any realm. But it commits another one.  If drawing parallels: Smith's writing reminded me of bringing home a voluminous bundle of spinach. Too much. Adding to the food waste in the world- you castigate yourself. But. Steam the entire batch and all you get is a measly bowl. So much admonishment for excess but it amounts to nothing substantial.  Smith's writing is spinach. Beautiful, healthy, a pleasure to behold. But it lacks body. The skeletal framework of great grammar and greater imagination is dressed with layers and layers of fluff.  Talking hotel signs I can shake hands with. There's enough Murakami on my bookshelves. The turn of phrases- impressive but then my hero Mantel does it too. What I couldn't abide by was just the absolute pointlessness of this piece of work.  I started out searching for that same verve that fuels 'Just Kids'. I gave up at some point, trudging through this book just to irrevocably be put off Smith and have no guilt about it.  Not all of it was unbearable. The honest bits about the death of her friends were evocative and touching, offering a glimpse of why she is considered a great writer. But if a 70 year old writer with a life as rich in time as in experiences can talk mostly about how she got a bowl of kale and yams when she wanted steak and eggs, or ordering diluted vodka when she wanted a coffee, the deal between the reader and the writer is off.  A lot of this book is marked by me. Unlike, hearts, hashes, circles and stars that evidence my gratifying experience with narratives- this one has numerous LOLs, WTFs and even a few 'eye rolls' in the margins.  The brilliant bits- they were a class of their own.  "I know that very well, one cannot ask for a life, or two lives. One can only warrant the hope of an increasing potency in each man's heart."   Or when she calls Lisbon- a city of cobbled nights.  The aftertaste of this book was one of disappointment, though. I had pawed this one greedily, abandoning de Botton's 'Architecture Of Happiness' for it and therefore, committing the other sin that I attributed to Smith later.  That of being shallow.  (at India) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpPkDZXLB0D/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ask-de-writer]

We have a Happy Herd Happy Reader!

I wish to thank @ask-brilliant-verve  For Reading and Liking

GREEN VELVET, Part 5

@ask-brilliant-verve

ASK BRILLIANT VERVE! This is a fine post Apocalyptic Fallout Equestria Ask type of blog, following the adventures of Brilliant Verve, a Zony Pegasus with a Pipbuck and an artificial leg.

Follow him!  This one is fun on your Dash!

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

[ask-brilliant-verve]

Your wanting to know of more specific things. Radiations a big one, my cybernetics make it so low levels do nothing, but once you get into the high levels it’ll fuck me up way faster than most. Magics another big one being that I’ve got so much random magic running rampant in me that oddball types of it can cause some serious havoc. Can also say my empathy and compassion, although I would argue against that being a weakness. I’ve gotten into some serious trouble, suffered some major losses, amd pissed of a couple major factions an gangs,  all because I cant help but get involved in things, won’t stop me though! …Oh yeah, my curiosity is a big one as well, I’ve wandered into some fucked up and deadly places, real fucking nightmare fuel things that will haunt my dreams for years too come! Also done some really dumb things like pushing big shiny buttons in old military facilities

[angrylittleburd]

Happy B-DAY!

Thank you very much! Heres your fact of birds: Kiwi’s are slowly going blind! Uh-oh! But worry not, these birds are evolvingother senses such as touch, smell and hearing, so maintaining good eyesight might be a waste of energy for these flightless fellows! 

[lune-room]

Happy B-DAY!

THANKS!!

[greaserparty]

Happy B-DAY!

THABK YOU SO MUCH!! HGSKLg MUCH LOVE MY DUDE

[askhugsworthy]

[so I’m a bit behind] Prizes for: @ask-sonatadusk @nittany-tiger @ask-brilliant-verve @ask-doctor-dimension

[shadowfoxsilver]

ask-brilliant-verve replied to your photoset “???? I got it un-opened and empty”

You chose trick didn't you?

i guess??? i was very confused. it is my first time ever to get candy thats empty but isn’t opened. i even looked it over. it’s just empty and flat xD

[bacchicly]

"I Have you." A Happy Musical Oneshot

This a happy version of Chapter 9 of Deep and Crisp and Even for those who are not keen on the lovers to friends trope I'm exploring over there. For those who are reading the "happy version of DCE" (soon to be re-titled) I don't think this chapter is going to be worked in - so probably best to read here 🥰

Paring: Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez

Summary: Penelope and Luke have been dating and today is a day when Penelope is going to shower Luke in TLC - the result is a sexy heartful interlude where Penelope and Luke listen / dance / love to one of my favourite albums on the planet - it's Canadian Folk/Spoken world: In Streetlight Communion by The Fugitives

Words: 6283 (but you can skim a bunch of them towards the end - although the end is written with the intention of you reading with rhythm and verve and filling in your own blanks with your imagination)

Content: Brief mention of death of parents, loving sex, a bit of profanity, fluff, craft beer, poetry/lyrics, a brief Roxy cameo

The chapter also includes an origin story for this little pic:

GIF sent to me by the oh so brilliant and knowledgable @okimargarvez - BIG THANKS for providing me confirmation that there is no official canon origin story for the photo that Penelope looks at when going to confront the man who killed her parents.

Also, I need to send GIANT HEARTFELT THANKS to lovely smart and caring @vangsn for being a sounding board for this chapter when I was unsure of flow. 🥰

All mistakes as always are mine.

"Alrighty Mr Alvez - today is your day to be pampered - any requests?"

"The movie thing sounded good as a start…Ms Garcia Then see how we feel afterwards?"

Luke waggles his eyebrows at her - super happy to be spending the day with Penelope.

"Sounds good. Hie thee to my DVD collection and if you don't see something you fancy … we can go rent something or watch cable. Capiche?"

"Sounds good. Can you make popcorn while I choose, if I bat my eyes at you and say pretty please?"

"Nope."

"No?"

"The price of popcorn is a kiss - eye batting only gets you jelly beans."

"My mistake… so what would I owe you if I want pizza, beer, licorish, and chocolate cake?"

Then he leans in and kisses her.

Luke falls into the kiss even though it is chaste and brief.

When he tastes her lips it hits him like he hasn't kissed her in a decade… even though in reality it's been less than a few minutes.

Luke shifts back and away - gently breaking their touch - Penelope's eyes have drifted closed - and as he separates them, he feels how her body unconsciously sways forward so that their contact is maintained for as long as possible.

He gathers the beatific smile which stains her lips and lines the edges of her eyes into himself - torn almost to pieces as he realizes it is strained almost microscopically by melancholy born of their job and other tiny stresses he wishes he could erase. He brushes a stray curl off her cheek - and like lightning it is not popcorn and pop-culture he wants to share with her today.

It is music.

He stands abruptly.

Her eyes shoot open and she topples slightly.

Luke grins madly - re-energized by his impulse - and offers Penelope his hand…he's posed like he's asking her to join him for a dance...she blinks up at him then tentatively places his hand in his.

Luke yanks her up - pulling her body flush and hard against his - ravishing her mouth - growling deep and posessively in the back of his throat - and then ripping himself away - his hands burning from the warmth of her - his eyes filled with determined fire.

"Pen? Let's forget about the movie and popcorn for now. Come - I want to show you something back at my place."

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

Roxy is gambolling in the snowy backyard - the weather is perfect - just a little below freezing - and since Miss Penny insisted she wear her coat - she'll be comfy out here for ages.

She's also super happy to have some human-free outside time to do her dog stuff. She likes spending so much time with Sergio and Penny - but their apartment really lacks in the outdoor space department. Sometimes a dog just needs some unsupervised digging and squirrel chasing time, y'know? Maybe they could all move here? Hmm she'll have to talk it over with Sergio and see what he thinks…

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

Inside, Luke carefully pours the craft beer - craft beer he insisted on picking up on the way over - down the inside of one of the Game of Thrones pint glasses that a friend got him for Christmas last year. The pour is perfect - the beer a deep brown - the foam just right. He does a little internal fist pump and moves to pour the second.

His Penelope may usually be a margarita girl - but Luke is sure she'll appreciate this dunkelweizen - it's one of his absolute favourites and a totally perfect pair for the album he's thinking of.

Another perfect pour - another internal fist pump. He is on fire!

...which is a good thing because jokes about there being no such thing as getting too much head would be beneath him…

Grinning and dance-stepping his way out of the kitchen, Luke carries the two alcoholic offerings into the living room where the fabulous Penelope is waiting - her socks and footless leggings shucked off almost the second they arrived to be comfy - her bare legs and feet tucked up under her - her head bowed over her phone - hair swung down around her face hiding her expression.

Luke can't help but pause and stare. Even though he's been practically living with her since they got back from the case he rarely gets the chance to watch her just be. There is a rightness about her being in his apartment that he is not going to examine too closely… but he knows he wants it to be a very permanent part of his lifr. So instead, he concentrates on the pure pleasure of looking at her.

She must feel his eyes on her because just then she looks up - meeting his smile - her serious perfectly made up face bursts into an expression as joyous as a sunrise.

"Penelope Garcia. Have I told you today how gorgeous you are?"

She frowns in mock thought.

"Not that I recall...and I can usually be trusted to remember a compliment. How gorgeous am I?"

"Hmmm. I think I will let the surprise speak to that. Let me just put these down. Now come over here, Chica."

Luke offers his hand again and she again - trustingly puts hers in his. He helps her up and draws her over to a tall narrow two-doored taupe cabinet in the corner of the room that Penelope has never paid much attention to.

As she frowns slightly at the bare top - Why doesn't he have any photos or nicknacks anywhere? - Luke opens the two solid doors.

Penelope gasps - the cabinet that is as tall as her holds shelf after shelf of cd cases.

Slowly she traces a finger along the spines of the cases - realizing very quickly that she recognizes almost none of the musicians or album names.

"There's more in the guest bedroom. It's the only thing I collect. There is probably every genre of music on the planet in this apartment - famous musicians - obscure - brilliant and really really awful."

"How did I not know this about you?"

Luke shrugs.

"I don't talk about it with anyone really. I like listening to an album all the way through - without doing anything else except snuggle with Roxy - maybe read a novel if the music is purely instrumental. It's sort of a private thing, I guess? Some friends and my mom who stored them all for me for years. When I was in the army I'd have new albums delivered to her place when I was deployed. I had so much to listen to when I got out. It was kind of part of my recovery."

"That's really...it's…"

Penelope has no words - instead she just grabs his hand and squeezes - then turns back to the siren song of scanning the titles of the collection.

"My grandmother, if you'll believe it, keeps trying to convince me to switch to a streaming service instead. But I like CDs - or vinyl - I've got maybe 60 or 70 records - they are in the back bedroom too. It's the whole package, you know? I want the art and the liner notes and the printed lyrics. I have never gotten rid of a single album and I've been collecting since I was in high school - I ah dated a drummer who dragged me to every Indie music venue we could get into. Pretty soon I was the one dragging her. And when we broke up - I never stopped."

"True love."

"I guess so. That sounds better than obsession or dork… I mean it's not just shows… I have an album for every town we've caught an unsub - I mean I often have to research and order them once I'm home - but it's just something I've always done - there's ah also one for anywhere I apprehended a fugitive, every place I ever trained or deployed, everywhere I've ever lived, every live music act I've been in the same bar as...every…"

The timber of Luke's voice deepens. He's looking at her face, not his collection now.

"..every vacation."

Penelope's head whips around. Her eyes are round like an owl's.

Her lips have shaped a soft "oh!"

"There's...there's.. one for when we got together? Where? What is it?"

"Over here, Chica. I bought it when we went to the show - you had gone off to get us drinks or something - and I saw it at the gift table that was set up...the band had apparently toured the Fringe circuit with the guy in the show - so I bought their first album…Plus well the band is called The Fugitives...and that's kinda my thing right?"

He has handed her a case...The Fugitives is definitely the band's name...So "In Streetlight Communion" must be the album title… she opens the case and finds it empty.

"It's in the player. It's practically the only thing I have listened to since we got back. Will you listen to it with me? I think...you're going to love it."

Penelope's eyes are shining. The corners of her perfectly made up cherry red lips tug into a smile.

She had insisted on looking presentable if they were leaving her apartment.

"Yes please."

Luke lets go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"To the couch?"

"To the couch! Wait! Can we um take a selfie together first? I was just thinking I wanted a work appropriate picture...of us...together. Nothing fancy...just side by side smiling? I...just...don't always have pristine make-up around you - seriously you need to work on that, Mister."

He chuckles. It's true - he does have a habit of kissing off her lipstick and smudging the rest of it. It's why he had grumbled a bit when she decided that if they were going out she was "doing her face" - he'd just be kissing it off, so why bother?

"'course, Chica."

But then, when she pouted and faux-growled, he had made a big show of having a change of heart and had declared it would be good if she did as she wanted since it would serve as an anti-ravishing device - increasing the odds that they would make it to his surprise...

Hence, why Penelope figures now is the best time for this mini idea - her lips and red tortoiseshell glasses may become askew later… especially if the music is going to make her feel...well anything really….so it makes sense that they take a moment to stand in front of a stretch of eggshell wall and capture today in her camera.

FLASH!

Good. They look a little bug eyed. He looks happy and she looks put together. Not too couple-y so it would be a safe thing to include in her cheer-up camera roll… perfect for hard days...

Once Penelope has texted a copy to Luke - they head to the couch holding hands - Luke with the cd player remote and the case - Penelope filled to the brim with anticipation.

"Ok - now I know you aren't usually a beer person...but I have hopes you'll like this one. Honestly it's the best match I've found for this album. It's fruity but also round and toasty because it's a dunkleweissen - a dark wheat beer. And since you are an eco warrior - you'll be happy to know it's made in town by a husband-wife team who founded the brewery a couple years ago."

"Stop making me like you, Luke Alvez!"

"Never!"

They kiss.

"But seriously - I'm nervous about whether you'll like it or not. Ok try a sip. What do you think?"

Penelope takes a sip not worried - she can drink beer. But when she takes a sip - she realizes there is beer and then there is beer. This is caramel and leather - a mouthful of sex and copper - rich and warming - unlike a whiskey or scotch there is something heavier more nourishing about the liquid - it doesn't burn on the way down or make her sinuses open with the heat - it's more like a sinful mouthful of fruity chocolate or dark comforting sourdough bread.

"So?"

Penelope takes a second sip - holding the gorgeous drink in her mouth as she deliberately places the pint glass on the coffee table.

Demurely lowering her gaze, she turns to him - shooting him a sultry look under her lashes - thankful he has not yet picked up his glass - because she needs to…

Penelope kisses him. Keeping her lips sealed until they meet his - pushing her tongue through the tightness - wet with beer - licking along the seam of his mouth so that he opens - his tongue coming out to play...tasting...oh my fuck...tasting…

Her tongue invites itself into his mouth...she lifts herself up...so that her ass is no longer flush with the couch cushion...so that he must tilt his head back to keep the kiss...so that the spicy beer trickles along with the kisses - kisses that always seem to be gathering in her mouth for him these days - into his.

Luke's hands come up to cup her face as he claims the kiss more deeply - thumbs caressing cheeks - fingers sliding over her ears to tangle in her hair - mindful of the straight dangly silver earrings - bumping up against the undersides of the arms of her glasses…

She thinks:

See? They will be askew. I knew it.

And:

This kiss...is...actually making my face...my breasts...my...my… eveything… tingle ache..toward him….how? So fast...

And:

Oh! My! Oh! My! oh. oh. oh...

He thinks:

The music can wait…

And:

So fucking uhhhhhhh.

And:

More. More. More. Please.

...

Penelope breaks the kiss.

Luke blinks at her…

Trying to figure out what just happened...

One second he was…

Now he is not…

Penelope laughs quietly.

"You really are adorable when befuddled, Newbie. We should listen to the album. If that beer is the best pairing to the music - I think ah waiting might make the ah experience even ah better?"

Luke's befuddlement drains away at her words and is replaced by a cheeky gleam in his eyes. His trademark crooked cocky grin tweaks at his lips. He leans in towards her - breathing in her perfume - and raises his eyebrows in a playful quirk.

"Which experience would that be, Sweetheart?"

Penelope turns pink all over - only the foundation and powder hides the flood of her tip to tail blush that came out of nowhere.

She turns abruptly away - rubbing her hands settlingly over her thighs.

"Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up! Just because you..."

Penelope cuts herself off and takes a steadying breath.

"I just want to listen to the album, ok?"

Luke strokes a flat firm hand up her spine - up the back of her cabernet dress and slipping up under her black cardigan - rubbing across her shoulder blades in a comforting motion.

Penelope flexes into his touch like a cat being stroked. Stretching her neck from side to side….

Luke closes his eyes almost in pain....

She is so close and so kissable...but she is also right… he knows this album and how many times has he listened to it in the last month wishing he could share it or one of his many other favourites with her?

They may be able listen to music together later when they are just friends - but not this album - never this album.

He wouldn't be able to bear it.

So it's almost now or never.

"Ok. Here, you sit at that end and put your pretty feet in my lap. There. Now here's your beer. Comfy? Ok. I'll see you on the other side ok - it's about a forty minute album? Tell me if you need anything. Geez...I hope you enjoy this."

"I know I will."

Her eyes are filled with liquid love.

He wants to...needs to...no.

He sits back - beer in the hand furthest away from her - uses remote in the other to start the album - then sets it down in easy reach and rests his now empty hand on her ankle - taking a deep pull of hid beer then leaning his head back, closing his eyes, and letting the music wash over him.

Penelope says nothing but raises her eyebrows when the first few notes are clearly being made by a banjo.

A banjo?

She doesn't really think of Luke as a banjo person...let alone..a banjo which is quickly joined by an accordion person…

...but then when the drums..and maybe guitar...piano? It makes sense.

Oh...and then voices.

Oh gosh. The voices.

The song pulls her along into a world of a traveling band…

Then this woman starts doing spoken word over the pulsing pushing crashing of the melody and Penelope is truly ensnared.

**Maybe the road has made me a different kind of woman...gone more wolf cheeked...from watching the dark...raise the sheets to peak...carnival tents in one night stands...**

Penelope holds her breath.

Then, when the woman stops her bit, she takes first a deep gulp of air and then a gulp of her drink.

Falling back into the music...the layering...biting her lip at the next round of spoken word - this time the voice of the woman is joined by a man - clacking through the poetry like trains on a track - another man wailing his heart empty in the background.

The song ends abruptly.

Penelope looks over at Luke - but his eyes are still closed - his features holding an almost unearthly intensity…

...and then the next song starts…

...a new world opens up as her ears strain for the sounds of whispered beatboxing and then the insouciant broken gruff tones of the male poet laying down words about democracy and hard news and celebrity gossip...piano chords deliberately punctuating...promising that a song will resolve itself out of the mist of this introduction…

...then almost silence until the guitar picks up the melody…

...and the woman...her voice a bit like Emily's deep and expressive and a little husky...enters with another part of the poem…

**A journalist is simply someone who has a good memory - hoping that everyone else does not - I've heard the same thing said of storytellers. CSN? I can't remember**

...and then the music and the singers crash in…

...the voice of the man who sounds like an angel yearning to return to heaven sings over everything - calling...calling for redemption...

The wall of sound and ideas envelopes Penelope.

She takes another sip of her drink - holding the liquid again in her mouth to savour - and then leans back and lets the music wash over her as all it builds and builds…

...unbeknownst to her…

...her foot on Luke's lap starts to tap to the rhythm…

...also unbeknownst to her…

… Luke relaxes and washes down a growing smile with another long swallow of beer...his Adam's apple bobbing...his soul flying with the singers….

When the next song starts - this one opens like a much more conventional folk song - he opens his eyes and watches Penelope intently...the lyrics opening this track are sung...barely...but definitely sung not spoken.

There is something particular that has always moved him in this next song but he can't quite put his finger on it.

**Tonight we take the Highway Three - where the deer duck headlights - through the trees - under Crow's Nest Pass - under the town of Frank - where the landslide came and the city sank**

It is about travelling again - two lovers in the front seat - and the brother of the driver - feet resting on top of his guitar - asleep in the back.

Luke was compelled to look up the 1903 Frank Slide after the first time he heard this song - and it is now one more item on the list of things that haunts him.

The lyrics offer the unexpected tragedy as proof to seize the day - seize love when it is available - the urgency is heightened further with descriptions of crosses - left at the roadside to remember those who have been loves but died in cars on the highway - like Penelope's parents... he remembers too late…

Luke watches as Penelope's face tenses and a single tear forces its way from under the corner of one eyelid...rolling agonizingly slowly down her cheek...her jaw set...he reaches out and takes her hand...she does not open her eyes but clings to him.

She is not angry or hurt that she has been taken here - to her mind, the reminder of past pain and sorrow is perhaps not a light price for all that this song is but worth it - it builds deliciously - the sacred attraction between the lovers - intense - baudy - required - until the lovers, with savage defiance of the tragedy that haunts all of us, join their bodies in the darkness of a mountain motel.

Penelope tries to communicate all this through their clasped hands.

The next song is another shift - a heavy drum beat inspired by indigenous rhythms the vocals are the wail of the blues - covered by rapid fire desperate pleading rebellious spoken word.

A new type of sacred.

A crashing prayer.

Almost too much.

Like the begging before someone hits their climax…

...begging...beseeching...until finally the song hits it.

Hits it.

Hits it.

Hits it.

Luke closes his eyes again after another long swallow of beer - he's gritting his teeth.

He's heard this album so many times but it's like it's the first again - he is with Penelope not knowing what is next.

Not knowing how much more he can take...

That is when the tuning dissonance of the next song starts it is a single bright sharp tripwire of sound - but then, almost as one, Luke and Penelope's faces go slack with a shared smile when they are caught by the relief of melody.

The male poet is soft and serious...but safe.

There is melancholy in this song...but also resistance, bravery, beauty, and hope...

It is a bit like the story of the BAU - of their own lives…of warriors for justice and truth and safety….

**We are looking for the dreamers who can sing this fucking loud!**

It is a call to action. To bravery. To humanity.

By the end...both Luke and Penelope are sitting a little taller...feeling a little prouder...they...they are the dreamers who can sing that fucking loud.

And fucking proud of it….

Penelope is now ready to move her head sensually to the next song when it demands it of her- a secret curves her lips as the musicians unfurl into a lazy love song.

As Luke realizes what track they've found themselves on - he sets his pint glass silently on the table - shifting her feet off his lap - so he can slip to kneel on the floor beside Penelope - silently taking her beer and putting the sweating glass on the table beside his - he rests his cheek on her belly - looking up over her breasts into her face which she has tilted to see him better - one hand slips to his bicep - the other tangles in his hair.

Luke can't help but sing-speak along with the first verse of this song he has learned by heart...his eyes all smiles...

**Wake up slow and turn on my side run my finger down your freckled spine - stand there yelling the night went slow - the cat is scratching at the bedroom door - your roommate's gone and I've lost my clothes - I hitchhike to your mouth from your elbow - a French Tattoo in the mind of an English Boy.**

Penelope joins in with him for the chorus once she picks it up...

**...and you call and you stay and you fill me up and you blow me away…**

But then when the song shifts again and like an oath Luke speaks the poem he has learned by heart:

**I grew up amid stained glass - I gave grace for my daily bread - so I'm a man who is accustomed to worship - and I want to worship you now - to kneel before your body and rave into your flesh the repentant oaths of wicked men who aspire to rapture - I shed tears that would make garlands against your skin - I would grant you a kiss fit for a king's ring - so I move into your house - and I eat out of your pantry and every night I smell your hair and I listen to the street.**

He kisses the tips of her fingers - the inside of her wrist - Penelope can't see it or feel it but Luke is hard...he always gets hard to this part of the CD...thinking of her...

Penelope pulls him to kneel taller and they kiss.

It is like the one last night and the one this morning - they keep it a light promise - a thank you...there is music yet and neither wants to miss a note or a lyric…

...so Luke slips back to his spot...handing Penelope her beer and taking his. Her feet swing back to rest in his lap… he spreads his legs and leans forward… letting her foot rest on his knee…

As the next piece opens they are transported again - this time into a smoky bar watching a lounge act seduce them from the stage.

The song is slinky and sexy…Penelope is cupping her glass in both hands - eyes drifted shut again - officially dancing in place - with deep shoulder action.

Luke usually just sits and listens to music.

Has a beer.

Sometimes works out.

Or reads.

Occasionally…

ok.. reasonably often…

ok… always to this album…

...he'll...jerk off…while listening...

He kinda didn't think about that before putting this plan together...maybe he should have.

He shifts hoping that it's not too obvious that he's hard.

He doesn't want to interrupt things...

But he never dances.

As the song progresses he gets the feeling that might be about to change.

Penelope finally officially feels too restricted by sitting and stands - dancing by herself - eyes half closed - spinning - stretching - flicking her wrists - all sass and sinew - it's totally her own style - a mix of what feels good and modern and ballet inspired moves - sometimes riffing on the quick base rhythm that flows through the piece - sometimes floating on the long notes held by singers - sometimes losing her balance or step but rolling it into the next move - she holds poses when the music stretches to a point and then falls back into the swaying dance.

Luke can't look away. He's been with Penelope for a while now so he's seen a lot of sexy...but this…this… might top them all...

Penelope dances completely without artifice or self-consciousness. She is dancing for herself not for him.

But that changes when the end of the song culminates into the company chanting over and over that:

**....of the desert and the …. of the sea then she shoots down all the satellites and strips just for me**

Penelope playfully looks at him and joyfully teasingly slowly takes off her cardigan for him - offering her hand for a courtier kiss - but Luke flips her hand over and presses a kiss to her palm instead of the back - then nuzzles his cheek against her lifeline until she pulls away to continue her show - smirking delightedly - enjoying his overt admiration.

The next song slams into being. The band shouting defiance as they proclaim their wants. Proposing cheekily that The Police live in their basement to "save on gasoline".

Penelope cackles.

Luke is no longer permitted to sit and observe.

He is pulled onto the "dance floor" and they mosh and bounce to the fast parts - laughing - then they seperate and do interpretive dance to the slower bits - not ever getting super close - at the end they shout the demands at each other as loud as they can - their hands in fists - then high-fiving and shaking it out at the break.

For the next though - all is dreamy and poetic - so Luke pulls Penelope in for what his folks would have called a "proper dance" leading her around the room in a slow improvised latin inspired step that works perfectly with the sultry spicy baseline of the song.

Penelope can't seem to look at his face - so she fixes her gaze over his shoulder - smiling into the distance as the woman poet spins her web of words and the dancing weaves a different type of net.

Luke can't seem to not look at her face - the curve of her cheek - her eyelashes hidden behind the frames of her glasses - the adorable tip of her nose - her now slightly kissed off red lips - her blond bangs and long soft curls framing her face.

They dance like that for the whole two minute song - Luke leading his woman around the living room - she feels safe and cared for - they collide with nothing - not a foot stepped on or a shin barked - not a spin toppled or out of control.

At the end - Luke captures the hand that has been on his leading shoulder and keeps hold of the other - bringing both together between them - raising first one - then the other to his lips - this time properly kissing the backs.

Penelope has made eye contact now - and he never breaks it - just looks up at her over the backs of his hands - one of his favourites is coming next - it's the second to last song - a show piece and he is so excited to show it off to her - this round she's the one in for the show…

As the music starts up again - an insistent intense rhythm laced with the tension of a thunderstorm rolling in - he straightens - not letting go of her hands - holding her planted in place - big dreamboat eyes looking up trustingly into his - he settles his expression into a darkly serious face.

Theatrically - loosened up by the beer and the dancing and her - Luke slips into full scale lipsyncing mode - still serious but emoting to the max - making Penelope's face break into pure shock then wonder then delight:

**Noooow I pull out five dollars and I put it on the counter and ask "Has the band started yet?"**

**She smiles and says "Yes they haaaave but there is no need to worry because they've been waiting for youuuu"**

**And nooooow I am standing at the barrrr - fixing myself a drink - as Brother Jason makes love to a microphone.**

**The Eastside Army's standing on the stage now - killing silence and teaching all the kids how to footstomp - bootshake - love what you do now - building castles with a microphone!**

For the instrumental break - Luke pushes Pen back onto the couch and then dances for her - his best impression country step dancing mixed with clowning. Anything he can think of to make Penelope laugh - he does - and laugh she does..

As the voices come back - Luke takes up the character of a grand showman - a magician -picking up his lip syncing act with a flourish of hand gestures!

**Dance hall - beer brawl - cabaret - communion.**

**We're an army of magicians!**

**Do you see these hands?**

**Average everyday ordinary haannnnds?**

The song is fast and showy - a modern tongue twister - and Luke is on top of every word - every image.

And Penelope is eating it up…

She leaps into a standing ovation when he bows with the last crescendo doffing his imaginary top hat.

He pulls her in for a real thorough kiss….until...

The last song is slower - so when the kiss ends they settle into a highschool-esque slow dance - circling - swaying - his hands at her waist - Penelope's wrists loosely resting on his shoulders - her glasses off - held loosely in one hand - neither is really worrying about being in time.

As the song - and album - draws to a close - Luke pulls Penelope closer - breaths in against her neck.

**I have you**

Luke kisses the skin at the edge of her collar.

**I have you**

Luke kisses her neck - lingering.

**I have you**

He kisses from just by her ear - across her cheek - down to her lips - oh curses - her lips - her lips...

He kisses and whispers "I have you. I have you."

He kisses and finds the zipper of her dress - slowly running it down her back - the fingers of the other hand slipping in and under the fabric of the open dress...

"I have you."

Now, Penelope takes her turn. She lets the eyeglasses she's holding slip from her fingers - not caring what happens as they hit the carpet.

"I have you."

She runs her hands down his chest - over his black long sleeved shirt.

"I have you."

She tilts up nibbling kisses from the corner of his mouth - across his beard - then trailing back down - pressing a kiss to the skin just above edge of his round ribbed collar - whispering against the heat of his skin:

"I have you."

The music is done all is silence except their words - their breath - the echoes of the music in their brain.

"I have you. I have you."

Luke slides off the quarter-length sleeves of her dress - kissing the skin he reveals - one arm - then the next - her bodice pooling around her waist.

"I have you. I have you."

Penelope has reached the hem of his shirt and starts pulling it off. He steps back - and tugs the shirt over his head - tossing it to the side.

"I have you. I have you."

Penelope steps forward and lets her palms retrace their earlier journey - sliding up over his belly - over his chest - to the crest of his shoulders. Yes, he is gorgeous by most standards - but other beautifully sculpted bodies have left her cold or unaffected or worse - afraid. But he is beautiful because he is Luke.

"I have you. I have you."

She knows that touching him would always be this special - whether he was hurt, or grew fat, or old and wrinkly and saggy and gray. She presses a kiss over his heart.

"I have you. I have you."

Penelope reaches for the fastenings of his pants - undoing them and pushing them and his underwear carefully down until Luke steps free. She presses a kiss high on his hip.

"I have you. I have you."

Luke pulls her up into a hug - swaying with her - loving her hands roaming across his back - burying his face in the sweet spot of her neck.

"I have you. I have you."

Luke's clever fingers slide around to the front and with silent thanks to whoever invented bras that clasp in the front - he undoes the magic fastener - letting her breasts hang free and heavy - pushing the straps down her arms - tossing the fabric construction on top of his shirt - sliding to his to his knees - pressing kisses to her breasts - her belly - looking up at her as he pushes the dress over her hips so that it pools on the floor around her feet - her hands resting on his shoulders.

"I have you. I have you."

He slides her panties down down down her legs until they have joined the dress.

"As a man who is accustomed to worship…"

But she does not want to be worshiped.

Nor does she want to worship him.

She wants to worship with him.

So Penelope lowers herself to her knees to face him.

She takes his face in her hands.

He mirrors her.

They come together and kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

Each kiss is a prayer. A revelation.

They kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

Both a question and an answer.

And yet they kiss…

And kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

The kisses that have been gathering - pooling - like sacred offerings in their mouths - flow from one to the other - tumbling into the depths of their bellies - gathering into pools of ache and want and connection.

And still they kiss…

And kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

The tension is buzzing now along the edges of their jaws and into their scalps...the ache in her quim feels like the yearning voice of the man who fell from heaven sounded...his cock is as rough and desperate as the poet…

Everything inside of them is swelling and building and being and….

So they kiss…

They kiss.

They kiss and kiss.

They kiss and kiss and kiss.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss.

The music was and is their words. Their hands. Their stories. Their wishes. Their hearts.

So they kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss.

Their cheeks suffuse with heat. Their knees hurt from kneeling. Their breaths are short pulls through their noses….

But they kiss.

And they kiss.

They kiss.

They kiss.

They kiss.

One kiss ends midway into the next. The next kiss started two kisses ago. They layer kisses. They are kisses.

They kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss

They kiss and kiss and kiss

They kiss and kiss

They kiss

Kiss

Kiss

Kiss

Kiss

She lies on her back on the rough beige carpet.

Kiss

Kiss

Kiss

He lies flush on top of her

They kiss

They kiss

He is inside her.

They kiss

They kiss

They kiss

Every inch of them quivers.

They kiss

They kiss

They kiss

Kiss

Kiss

Ah

Kiss

Kiss

Ah

Ah

Kiss

Ah

Kiss

Ah

Kiss

Ah-Ah-Ah-Ahhhh

He thrusts and kisses and she meets him and kisses.

They need more.

The kisses become more.

Thrust

Fuck

Kiss

Ah!

Thrust

Fuck

Kiss

Kiss

Kiss

Ah - Ah - Ahhhh

But the kiss! The kiss! The kiss! The kiss!

And he cums and she cums and still...still...still…

They kiss.

They kiss.

They kiss.

"I have you."

"I have you."

They kiss.

[chantsdemarins]

The Age of Aquarius-Chapter 1

Tom only has one choice, find a way back to his own heart. Tom is not perfunctory.

🔥 (Drama then eventual smut, so 18+ content ahead, if you are not 18, go away!) Everyone else enjoy! Weekly chapter drops, sometimes two chapters!

Please leave comments, reblog or send me messages!

He was happy with his wife.

After so many years of not knowing how to hang on to the beauty that would sometimes come too easily to him.

Sometimes he felt like the women were hummingbirds, and he was the red.

He repeated in his head, that he was now happy.

Happiness depended on his ability to appreciate his wife, be humbled by her endless beauty. Stick with her till the moment his breath ceased. He could feel that desire, erupting in a wave, pulling him toward a human destiny of partnership. He was committed, deeply and thoroughly.

And yet, he was an actor. By trade, not personality. This was his calling. There was nothing as natural to Tom as the impulse to connect to the people around him.

He loved to make people smile. He held doors. He carried packages. He told jokes to the cashier at ReadyMart. He met your grandparents and became their best friends. He remembered things others didn’t. He paid attention. He liked the attention his keen memory gave him.

He needed the attention, although he tried very hard not to.

He was ardent. A characteristic many were not. He loved that about himself. Not in a stuck-up kinda way, but with elan and verve for life.

In the two years, he had been married, Tom had learned to turn some of the many lights inside his heart off. Or at least replace the bulbs with a lower wattage.

Sometimes it was depression that also dimmed the light in his heart. With everything in the world so easily his, he was sometimes shockingly more vulnerable than the usual handsome British millionaire gentlemen.

He felt transparent. Like his very British skin.

He left social media because he couldn’t differentiate between the anonymous voices on Twitter and the ones that would torture him in his own head. The voices seemed too similar.

He rarely went anywhere without some kind of plan because of this vulnerability, this diaphanous firmament encased around his heart. He couldn’t risk the wrong photo, the wrong fan chasing him down while he was a little too knackered after a pub run with his friends.

People knew to ask him ahead of time. Give him a chance to calendar out his thoughts along with his availability. His wife helped with this now, this he was grateful for. She knew how to give him space to make a decision. Like waiting for the right face of the moon to appear or disappear, she knew he would decide by a similar mysterious majestic power.

So when his friend Kate called him and asked him to come to San Francisco, where she was now drinking herself into oblivion from a long-distance love gone south, he wasn’t prepared at all.

She had flown from London to San Francisco to meet Lily. Lily was life-giving, a flower, a smart ass, brilliant producer. And she was also seeing three other people, and of course, Kate had no idea, not until they ran into one of them while taking a lovely after-dinner stroll through Hayes Valley.

Tom’s wife was busy finishing a big-name production and was not able to go with him. She was concerned. He shouldn’t go by himself. Yet there was serendipity to Kate’s beacon call to Tom, just as he was feeling into his commitment, feeling into the death departure kind of love he longed for his whole life, and now had, in spades. As he was holding his feelings under that mechanism in our souls that examines and reexamines, over and over, just to be certain we truly made the right choice. He would not usually have been able to decide so quickly to say yes.

But because of the questions in his head, and the dim lights in his heart, memories of his 20s-

*red too-short swim trunks

*English lilacs

*tan skin the color of patent leather Gucci handbags

*his long legs dangling over the shiny silver hull of a sailboat

*Pearl Jam

Aperol spritzes and other non-Instagram memories of obscure ephemera that belong to the invisible pasts of those in their 40s.

Because of all this, he booked the first flight out. He thought of leaving his wife a note, but there was absolutely no paper in their Camden home. All the note pads existed only in his head. Dainty things to write good-bye letters on. Not permanent good-byes mind you, just pieces of paper big enough to explain you were about to make a potentially small…bad decision.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

it’s your day (and i’m here for it)

happy valentine’s day, everyone. penelope garcia x emily prentiss. 

word count: 2345

rating: e for everyone! based on this tweet that i found that made me want to write something about halloween and valentine’s day falling in love. hope it makes somewhat sense, and of course i hope you all enjoy a foray into something a little different than a reader fic (tw: food mentions and food eating at the end). 

-

She sits with her legs crossed, the files spread out before her. Her eyes scan each file, and when she presses her fingers to one she can't help her little sigh.

Jason Gideon. Aaron Hotchner. Derek Morgan. Spencer Reid. Jennifer Jareau.

She feels it. The connection. The "red strings of fate." The analogy makes her smile, a little twist of her lips. They're connected, so intertwined that it's difficult to sparse apart the individuals.

She thought long and hard before even opening these files. There was another there, wrapped around each one of them, her protection... brilliant. Bold. And bright.

Her rules were pretty simple. Her loner status was well known, just because she liked the ability to roam, go where she pleased. Her reach wasn't too wide after all, but where it did span she had a  tight grip.

But this. This was different. There was an attraction here, a draw. She presses her fingers to Spencer again, feels his devotion like a drug, one that allows her to sink into that feeling for a second before pulling herself back out.

She likes roaming. She does. But the temptation of settling... it overwhelms her all at once.

She pushes the other files aside. Her eyes scan the manila folder before pushing it open carefully. She has to lean back, almost, but once it falls open the smiling face that looks up at her seems to settle her soul.

Penelope Garcia.

When she presses her fingers to the file, she can't help but laugh. The pink resume. Bold, but, the humans tended to overlook the obvious when they could. Even profilers.

She sits back on her haunches. Looks once more into the eyes of every face open to her, and nods. She'll be safe here. Comfortable here.

After all... if one can settle among the drabble for the long haul... what's the harm in another?  

-

She doesn't recall the last time she crossed paths with Garcia, when the last time their realms overlapped. She tries to think, dredges up what memories she can, but as always, when she limits herself in a strictly physical form, it exhausts her.

Garcia. It's what she has to take to calling her, because Penelope feels too... human. Of course, Garcia takes to calling her "Emily" right off. Gives her a glowing smile, tilts her head, pushes her chin forward.

"It's a pleasure!" she chirps. Offers her hand, and the world goes a bit hazy at the edges when she takes it, shakes, once, twice.

"Emily" watches her earrings dangle for a moment before she pulls her fingers back.

Garcia doesn't seem to notice the shift. Just keeps smiling, though there's a light in her eyes that can't be missed. "Emily" is a little lost in it, but lets it play as a new person in a new unit in the Bureau, not as the collision of two beings who have no business being in the same room, let alone shaking hands.

"Of course," she offers, instead of something more traditional. "I'm happy to be here."

"What you did in there, it was pretty, uh, massively mindblowing," Garcia says. The light has faded, just a little, as her hands once again wrap around files and she cocks her hip. "Do you always stun the socks off of everyone you come across or -"

"Only the ones I like."

It comes out of nowhere, out of "Emily." The little joke. But Garcia loves it, giggles, and bids her a farewell before going back to her office, leaving "Emily" there to watch her go. Feeling a little lighter as she does.

-

She radiates joy.

She watches Garcia with interest, as she settles into settling. Into going into work every day, a 9-5 that works like on-call. Watches her walk with confidence, lift her chin, let her hair down and then put it up again.

October is long gone, and February apporaches with blinding speed. It seems to hurtle toward all of them, like Garcia is willing the days forward, like she's the reason that the sun sets. And as each day passes, Emily gets those blinding smiles, gets little stops by her desk, moments here and there where she gives her love so freely.

She bakes. She laughs. She jokes. She flirts with Morgan and blows kisses to Reid and Emily gets to sit there and take some, too. 

The drabble. Emily supposes they’re her friends, now. It’s an odd feeling, after being masked for so long. After pretending friendship, romance, love for so long, feeling it so keenly. From all of them, not just Penelope. 

Penelope. 

At some point she stops becoming Garcia. Emily knows her real name is still out of reach, but Penelope works just fine. Penelope gets her a smile. 

-

The problem with the Halloween is that there's light and dark. So... much... dark.

Penelope brings out the photo as a joke, as a tease first and foremost and only, and Emily looks at it with a smile and a laugh and the embarassment she should. But she sees the style, and can't help but wince.

“You edited this,” she accuses immediately, but Penelope just shakes her head, laughs.

“Nope,” she says, with a pop of her lips. “That hair is alllll you.” 

So much dark.

It’s come and gone this year, Halloween, and the winter is in full swing. January sends Virginia into a bitter cold, but when Emily sees that picture it feels like it’s soaked into her, settled in her bones, and she’s reminded of the worst of October. There was a reason that year was particularly brutal for her, why her exterior showed so much of what she encompasses. 

Some Halloweens are just worst than other Halloweens, and she finds herself lost in that thought as the day wears on, as a case comes and throughout. 

She supposes Penelope must catch it. Why else would she come by after they land and the BAU is back with an apology, a small smile, a new cup of coffee in a mug that has to be her own? It makes Emily smile, too, when she takes it. The bullpen is empty, it’s just the two of them and Hotch up the stairs, and she can’t help but cherish the way Pen leans on her desk, sits on it like she belongs. 

“I didn’t think about what it must feel like, October 31st,” the analyst offers, kicking the ground a little. “I kinda lose myself a little this time of year, I should’ve thought -”

“It’s okay, Garcia,” Emily says, but immediately rights herself with a small smile and tilt of her head. “Penelope. Really. Some years are just different. I’m sure you understand that.” 

Penelope nods, but she still seems uncertain, biting her lip. “I know, but, still. I should’ve known that it was something more than -” 

“A hilarious yearbook photo?” Emily counters, and holds up the picture again, still on her desk from when before they left. Immediately she twists her smile to match the photo, and Penelope takes one look and snorts. It’s such a vibrant sound that Emily laughs, too, and the two of them giggle the rest of the night, Penelope sticking around to walk Emily out, their hands grazing on an elevator that feels warmer than any chill. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you rocked that look,” Penelope says, and her eyes, bright even in the dim of the parking garage, make Emily’s cheeks feel red. “I mean, you’re always stunning, but... I don’t know. I like that little peek into what’s really in you, Emily Prentiss.” 

Emily thinks about that a lot. About the way her instinct is to reach out for Penelope’s hand and squeeze it, wonder if this year she’ll have a valentine.

“I’m an open book for you, Penelope.” 

-

There's a lot of love when Valentine's goes down, but the lonely hearts are out there, too. And Penelope feels all of them as the day approaches, that home stretch before the new Valentine. Emily sees her feel first hand, watches her hands tremble as the evening comes and her follows unload on her. There's unending love on Valentine's, but not all of it is requited, and Emily is there to hold Pen close as she takes it all and feels it so she can spread the love all year long.

"It makes me h-happy," she says with a sniffle, looking at Emily as she wipes her face under her glasses, appropriately heart-shaped. "The day. Of course. And tomorrow w-will be better, that first day of recharge, but - but the few nights before you taste the heartbreak as much as all the love."

"What does it taste like?" Emily can't help but ask. Heartbreak. She knows the concept, but... the thought of that in her mouth... lingering... Penelope swallows, shrugging her cardigan back on her shoulders.

"Well, uh, not good, if that's the question," Pen starts, and says it with enough bite and verve that it startles a laugh out of Emily. Earns her a little smile, one still so lovely even with the tears down her face.

Emily takes a moment to brush one off of a blush-stained cheek. Uses her thumb to push it aside, and Pen leans into the touch, sighs a little at the affection. Before smiling

"It smells like rotten flowers, and it - it tastes like too dark chocolate," she murmurs. "Sour grapes. And... salt. Lots and lots of salt."  

"Tears," Emily realizes, and when Penelope nods that's enough to make the next move easy. To pull her close, tight against her, holding her close as she lets out another shaky sob.

The heartbreak will fade. And Emily knows what she'll see. Penelope Garcia will come into work the next day with a spring in her step, bouncing on her toes, hair in perfect ringlets. She'll smile with a bright lip and wave to all with delight. Derek will tease her about having a good night, and she'll say how much she doesn't kiss and tell. But Emily sees what she sees tonight, and holds Pen close, and wishes for a moment that she tasted the salt, too. If only so she could say she understood, and give that as the comfort that Penelope needed.

But she's there. And that must count for something. Because Penelope doesn't ask her to go, and Emily is all too happy to stay. To offer her drink after drink after drink of water, to get the bitter taste off of her lips as best she can.

She knows it's useless, ultimately. It's part of the penance. After all, asking that taste to fade is like asking the chill of Halloween night to be fixed with a blanket and something hot to eat, for the shivers to stop with a well-placed heating pad and a prayer.

But she knows if Penelope offered any and all of that on the evening of October 31st... well.

She wouldn't say no.

So she offers herself to Pen, those days leading up to Valentine’s. Offers to spend the night and give what she can, sweet things she can make with well-worded instructions and a toaster oven or a microwave rather than an oven. Anything to attempt to wash away the taste of lovers’ quarrels and heartache and the salty sting of tears on cheeks. Comes over every night, holding hands and holding her and pressing a kiss or two to her temple on the particular bad waves. 

“Thank you for being here,” Penelope tells her. 

“Thank you for letting me be,” Emily says back. One more kiss, on the cheek for good measure. 

And then the day comes. 

That morning, Emily wakes up on Penelope’s couch to the most brilliant smell in the world. Fresh coffee on the table in front of her, cinnamon rolls on a wire rack. The icing is perfectly melted on the outside, dripping down it, and Penelope looks absolutely radiant. There are strawberries and raspberries and chocolate for dipping them in, and the perfect amount of oat milk in a latte that Emily could only dream of tasting for the first time again.

“Good morning, my valentine!” she calls, and her cheeks are flushed a brilliant red from the heat of the oven. “I hope you’re hungry because I made... well, way too much.” 

“You did not have to do this,” Emily immediately says. Feels like an intrusion, her own energy, dark and dreary and all Hallow’s eve, when this home is so obviously warm and close to bursting with love. But then she’s wrapped up in arms that hold her tight, and she’s blinking at the feeling of all of Penelope against all of her, energy against energy, mixing and melding. 

“No talk like that today, Em, I forbid it,” she teases. She’s pulled back now, and her glasses are red hearts and her dress is so many shades of pink. In her heels their heights are equal, and Emily hasn’t even showered yet. “I believe on my day I can do whatever I please. So get ready to eat up, and the rest we can take in to the team.” 

So much love in one look. In one smile. In one brilliant, incredible woman. 

“I’m your valentine?” she asks, a little breathless, and Pen’s smile goes shy. “You want that?” 

“I - I mean, yes. If you’d like.” Her voice is gentle, and her arms are still around Emily’s neck, where she had gripped her for the hug. They loosen the slighest bit, and Emily realizes that the bright shine of the apartment has weakened a bit, that Pen looks a little panicked. “Is that - is that okay? Because I can absolutely backtrack, the train does not have to leave any station that it is not ready for -” 

Emily is Penelope’s Valentine. Emily dares to lean in and kiss her Valentine, her brilliant, bright, and absolutely mind-blowing Valentine. 

And Penelope tastes no tears on the 14th, only bright red apples and something sweet like Halloween candy. 

[jockvillagersonly]

💕✨BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD!✨💕 Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but its sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. 💕💕💕

(IM FUCKING BACK UR GREAT AND I LOVE U LIKE SHIT MAN LET OUR CLOWN HANDS BE CLASPED TOGETHER AS WE RIDE INTO THE SUNSET)

[lovingly honks my clown nose in your direction and douses you with water from my flower lapel pin that is actually a hidden squirt gun, to represent the tidal wave of my affection for you ❤️]

Also as Clown King I am choosing to answer this as an affirmation ask >:)

You’re the smartest person I know tbh. Like…absolutely brilliant I honestly don’t even have the words to describe it

You’re so FUNNY it makes me want to peel my own skin off, every day you make me laugh so hard I cry. It’s messy. There is snot

You’re a really loving friend?? I always feel really seen and heard and valued by you 🥺

You have such a surrealist presence and I’m OBSESSED with it. I’m mostly thinking about that weird toy car you had on your balcony. Honestly you’re one in a million babe

To build off you being smart: your writing is INSANE. Your fic owns my entire ass and/or my kidneys, if you would prefer to make a profit. You’re able to hold such intricacy, and verve, and it’s incredible. Also your poetry could and should step on me , fuck

Whenever I remember we’re friends my face goes :D because I feel so lucky and honored!!!

I LOVE HEARING ABOUT YOUR THEATER SPECIAL INTERESTS, I love your PASSION, I love your desire for GENDER BENDING HAMLET, I love when you talk about different WALKING STYLES and ACTING and it’s just ,,,,,, you know so much and you’re so willing to share it, and I think that’s amazing and inspiring !!!!!

Also you’re like the only person alive who has willingly watched my dad’s awful D list movie multiple times and I think that’s hilarious

Send me an ask for 8 things I love about you! 🐸

[ask-brilliant-verve]