#( slipped in a wee pun there ).

[kat651]

imagine: Lindir going to you because he can’t sleep…

(I’m changing Elrond’s family tree just a wee 🤏 bit…)

Lindir lay in bed, staring at the sealing. He’d tried to fall asleep for over two hours now. He just couldn’t sleep. Not after what he had seen earlier. It was something he wished he hadn’t seen. You gently kissing lord Elrond’s son, Elladan, on his cheek. He stood and put a black cloak on over himself and went to your chambers. 

You were packing back and forth, speaking to Elladan. “He’s just a friend, I’m not-”

You paused when you heard a knock. 

“Y/n? You awake?”

You immediately recognized it as Lindir’s voice. You opened the door. “What is it Mellon?”

He sighed, fidgeting with his cloak. “Can we talk?”

You nodded and let him in as Elladan hid in the closet (no pun intended). “What is it?”

He sighed, gently grabbing your hand. “It’s… complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

He sighed and began to talk a mile a minute. “I love you, y/n which I know I shouldn’t say because you and prince Elladan are together but I fell ill never sleep if I didn’t get it off my chest I’m sorry I-I know I shouldn’t have said-”

He quit rambling when you burst into laughter and Elladan ‘fell’ out of the closet, wheezing. 

Lindir looked terribly hurt by Elladan’s sudden appearance and your laughter. 

“Oh, Lindir, she’s my cousin… once removed on her father’s side…” Elladan said. 

Lindir looked at the two of you greatly confused. You chuckled. “King Elros, lord Elrond’s brother, was my grandfather,” you explained. “Manwendil was my father and he married my mother, an elf who chose a mortal life but I-I didn’t want that- a mortal life- and after exploring every corner of middle earth that I could I came here to settle for a while.”

Lindir was a pink mess now and Elladan winked at you and made kissy faces before leaving. 

You rolled your eyes before looking at lindir and smiling.. “You’re quite cute when you’re flustered…” you whispered, slowly walking to him. 

Lindir backed away and you drew nearer until you had lindir pressed between you and the wall. You intertwined your fingers with his before pinning his hands on ether side of his head. “Well…” you began trying to seem disappointed. “I was hoping you’d be a gentlemen and kiss me…”

He turned even more red and looked away. “I-I…” he met your eyes for a second. “I can do tha-”

You pressed your lips on his. “You take to long…”

His slipped his hands from your grasp and put them on your hips, pulling you even closer which you didn’t know was possible. 

You smiled and kissed him repeatedly, pulling off his cloak and unbuttoning his night shirt so you could get to his collarbone, nipping it gently. 

How you ended up laying on top of him on the bed you didn’t know but that didn’t matter all you wanted was to continue kissing him, watching as he moaned and arched his back. 

-.-.-

You woke in Lindir’s arms the blankets still beneath you both. You nuzzled closer nipping at his shoulder since his shirt had slipped off it. He opened his eyes and smiled before pinning you on the bed and getting on top of you. He paused and looked at you, asking for permission to do to you what you’d done to him last night. 

You nodded and he unbuttoned the first two battens on your shirt and then he stoped, placing his hand over a scar just below your collarbone. You put your arms around his neck and pulled him to you so your lips met. “Goblins…” you mumbled, referring to the scar. “I’ve got plenty more.”

“Why didn’t you make it vanish like the rest of our kind do?”

You kissed him again. “Because they tell a story…”

He smiled and slid off you so he could be positioned next to you. “You’re beautiful…” he whispered, kissing your cheek. 

You smiled and smashed your lips to his, slowly rubbing your tongue over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and you slipped your tongue in. 

-.-.-

Lindir had fixed his shirt and was now brushing your hair so he could braid it for you. You had already put a few simple braids into his hair, his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink the whole time. 

Lindir set the brush aside and began to braid your hair. 

Then there was a voice. “Y/n have you seen…lindir…” 

The two of you looked over to see lord Elrond standing in the doorway in shock as lindir held the nearly completed braid in his hands. 

“A-are you two…”

You and lindir looked at one another before realizing what you’d just done. Braiding someone’s hair meant you were either family or… “yes we are…” you said, realizing it at the same time lindir did. 

Elrond smiled. “Lindir, take the day off, looks like you need it…”

Lindir finished braiding your hair as his face began to redden again. “So I guess we began courting without realizing-”

Your lips cut him off. “Shhh…” 

He smiled and pulled your body closer. “I love you…”

[phlurrii]

What type of humour would you say everyone had? Cause I can see Missingno. having a very dark sense of humuor when kids aren't around, and Meau's humour mainly consisting of inside jokes

Tell me, am I wrong?

Ooooo I love this question,,

Okay so Missingno. actually had a very goofy sense of humor, he’s the type that will find slipping on a banana peel to be peak comedy. It’s all super goofy, punny, dumb things that tickle him into giggles. He gets very excitable about it! It’s very much as if he doesn’t truly grasp humor in general, so find the goofy things just in life to he such a thrill ;3

Meay is actually the one with the darker sense of humor, of which, Missingno can and will laugh at it. Partly due to shock and partly due to finding it genshin rot funny. But he will laugh more at dumb things her, Meau is just a bit jaded and seen too much so it’s a gentle coping mechanism for them both.

Ody, in turn, will also end up with a dark sense of humor as he gets older, as a kid tho it will horrify me a wee bit.

Circe is unintentionally funny, she is snarky and witty, but when she actively tries to be funny, she fails miserably and nobody understands her humor. Except her future wife, who will always laugh at her painfully bad jokes. Their just bad, not even funny bad.

Flurry is just dumb and Puns, his sense of humor is a melting pot of everything. He will laugh at just about anything, except Circe, and generally is just goofy like Noe!

Lastly, Deca has a more messed up sense of humor than anybody else. Even Meau, which she’s a wee bit concerned about given he may have existed for almost as long as she has… but he’s only been a conscious, thinking, feeling critter for a few months.

This whole thing gives me a lot of ideas so I’m gonna do doodles some I think XD

[mcschnuggles]

Hello again!

Normally I’ve got Steven thoughts (I still do but I’m still trying to articulate them in any readable way haha) but PLA has re-entered the mind, and with that re-entry means I’ve been thinking just a wee bit about Melli haha.

Melli having any sort of little side, whether toddler or younger, that’s a direct contrast of big him is very fun to me. Less of the “great Melli”, bombastic or snooty and a lot more anxious and closed off. Just as defensive, he’d rather no one know that he does regress. Electrode watches over him when it does find its warden little and clutching his hair with too much strength, but Melli thinks he’s “too much of a problem” when he’s little.

Little does he know (puns, I’m very silly) that the warden he shares the Highlands with, or his own leader, would be more than okay looking after him. If only he’d let them.

This is a very long ramble, goodness me haha. So sorry !!

YESSS BABY MELLI I LOVE HIM SO MUCH IT'S UNREAL!!!

i always think of that one line about how timid and quiet he was when he was younger, so for me it makes perfect sense that he'd slip back into those old habits when he regresses. I also have such a weakness for pokemon acting as cgs ouhg. i think melli would have a lot of nervous tics, tugging on his hair (like you mentioned) but also chewing on his nails and tapping his foot. I can see the little voltorbs working to try and occupy his hands. I feel like that'd be the best way to keep him from hurting himself

Also caregiver Ingo my beloved oughgouhguh CAREGIVER ADAMAN OUGH they're both so good it's hard to pick... co-parenting legends

[soncfthewitch]

Toby carefully pulled away from the humming terminal, the afterglow of the screen casting an eerie light across his face. His bracelet, an unassuming band of black metal, slipped smoothly down his wrist, its surface cool against his skin. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it expanded and contorted, black metal unfurling like a flower in bloom to reveal the sleek form of a katana. Its edges glowed an iridescent blue, a faint roll of ice echoing off the cold steel.

Swinging the katana with a fluid grace, Toby slashed at the space before him. As the blade cut through the air, an ethereal wisp, as cold and clear as winter wind, wound its way along the edge of the blade, rushing forth to bridge the gap between him and the remaining guards. A symphony of crackles filled the room as the cold breeze met metal, a thin layer of frost rapidly spreading over the robotic bodies. Their once sleek surfaces were now brittle, the metallic sheen replaced with a chilling frost. One by one, the frosted guards began to sway, the silence of their deactivated circuitry unsettling. There was a poignant hush, punctuated only by their heavy metal bodies hitting the floor.

"We've ruffled enough feathers for one day, and loitering is not in my nature." His voice was crisp, and without further ado, he gave Sebastian a brisk, cheerful pat on the shoulder, his touch as swift and fleeting as a sparrow in flight. A grin flashed across his face, a spark of audacity in the frosty landscape before he pivoted and rushed back the way they had come. "I suspect they're going to be a wee bit gutted that I took your proof and a little bit more for myself."

The chill of the lab gave way to a damp stillness, a stark contrast to the frigid pristine setting he'd left behind. He skidded to a halt, the dust swirling around his ankles. The katana, still radiating a spectral blue, was poised and ready in his grip. The chill hadn't left him entirely; his breath came out in vapor, trailing behind him as he scanned the room.

Close on Sebastian's heels, a fluffy white tiger kitty nimbly kept pace, padding silently behind. With a Cheshire-like grin, the tiger kitty turned its gaze towards Sebastian and purred, "Well now, I daresay it's a bit of a shame, isn't it? Being left behind like an old worn-out boot." Its voice held a teasing lilt, a whimsy out of place amidst the decrepit surroundings. "But then again, in the grand scheme of things, one might say that even a worn-out boot has sole."

"I hate you so much..." Toby grumbled, rolling his eyes at the cat's terrible pun. But despite his annoyance, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

The robots kept marching through the hallway towards their position. It’s not exactly what Sebastián would call tight security, especially since they didn’t seem to have too many battle enhancements other than what seemed to be regular guns. A few shots were fired, but he made sure to take cover behind the door frame as he prepared himself for the next burst of his power.

A deep breath, some more hand signs and soon he was shooting a few more lightning bolts in their direction. Chez’ roar worked wonders in disrupting the enemy enough for him to land a few proper hits. Three were down, only two more to go.

His lips curled into a smile at the confirmation that Toby had the proof they needed. Just as suggested, it was time to head out. Hopefully they wouldn’t have too much trouble getting out of there and disappearing into the night… Alas, the mention of HIT Marks was enough for a shiver to run up his spine. He remembered those from the war back home.

“At least HIT Marks have minds I can work on,” he thought aloud, knowing the lightning he was using was nothing compared to the damage he could do on an actual working psyche.

That being said, he had no intention of staying long enough to have to deal with one of those. One mistake on their end could be fatal.

“Alright, let’s go. We take down the two in the hallway and make our way back from where we came from. I’ll seal the wall again on the way out!”

[cosmos-coma]

Sensory Series- Taste

A/N: Its FINALLY OUT! the last part of the sensory series!! if you cant tell I love emphasizing those kinda “ordinary” little moments between people and so I hope you like it as much as I do!

Pairing: Eskel x reader

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: gn!reader (no pronouns), unbeta’d.

Summary: You and Eskel finally have a free day and spend it berry picking with your favorite companion: Lil Bleater.

Touch, Hear, Smell, See

____________________________________________________

It was springtime at the keep and the lot of you had been waiting out the last risk of frost before returning to the path. It had been a surprisingly warm start to the season, but the boys knew enough from previous years and didn’t want to risk getting caught sleeping outside in the bitter cold with no herbs to gather. However, you knew it would be time to go soon as the first flowers and berries started to dapple the fields outside the walls of the keep.

For the first time in a long time, you and Eskel didn’t have chores to keep you busy and you were free to spend as much time together as you two could bear.

“Love, are you ready?” you called as you poked your head into the stables. You had a sachet at your waist with a few snacks and an empty pail for your plans that day. When you heard no reply you walked deeper into the stables, swiveling your head back and forth in your search. You could have sworn you’d seen him head off this way just a little while ago…. “Eskel? Love?” you called out again. 

Frowning at your failed search, you now put your hands on your hips. Scorpion was still in his stall so you know he hadn’t gone out yet…. “Now where on earth- OH!” You yelped out as something rammed against the back of your legs, knocking you backward, over your perpetrator, and flat on your butt. 

Looking to your right you saw a mischievous set of horizontal pupils staring back at you and one of your snacks in the nimble lips of this sly creature. “You wee little devil!” You cackled in amusement and grabbed Lil Bleater’s horns,  wiggling her head back and forth as you play-fought with her. She quickly gobbled down the rest of the stolen snack and bleated a late greeting. 

“Lil Bleater, you absolute stinker…” came a familiar voice from the stable entrance. Eskel came over with a light chuckle, the notch in his lips showing just a small window of his toothy smile. “She knock you down again, Dear?” he asked rhetorically and offered you a hand to help you to your feet. 

“Just like the first time I met her…” you snorted and righted yourself once again with his help. “See, monster behavior I’ve learned to understand… But this little lady keeps me on my toes.” You leaned down and scratched behind her droopy ears, her now innocent eyes looking up at you happily. 

“Ah, she just likes attention and snacks… but don’t all kids?” Eskel’s lips split into a full grin now as he finished his little joke, eyes twinkling with a playfulness, not unlike what you had seen in Lil Bleater just moments ago. In moments like these, it was easy to see why these two opposites had bonded so easily. 

“Baaaaad… Bad joke..!” you grinned back, swatting at his sleeve as you failed to stifle back a laugh at his sad, but unfortunately funny pun. 

He continued to grin and shrugged his shoulders a bit, “everyone’s a critic…”. He set down the last of his things in preparation for your outing, electing only to carry his silver sword. “So, what's the plan again for today?”

You slipped your hand into his and led him out of the stables, Lil Bleater’s hooves clacking away just behind you as you headed out the main gates. “Well, the only way I could convince Lambert to take over my chore of making dinner tonight was to promise to make that berry cobbler he likes. Oh, and he has to get the first slice apparently because Geralt and Ciri like to ‘steal the edge pieces from him’…” you remarked as you swung your hands gently, your pail held in the opposite hand. 

“Mmm, that'll be nice. So long as we can get the berries before she does..” the witcher remarked and made a pointed look at your goat companion, to which she looked back and replied with a defiant cry and a shake of her ears.

You nodded in agreement and headed out into the fields just outside the keep’s walls. The fresh soft green of the new leaves covered the hillside like a blanket of spring and was interrupted only by the delicate pattern of berries and early flowers. The bees buzzed and danced from flower to flower in a slow dance as the sun warmed them. 

You squeezed Eskel’s hand as you went to take your first step off the path to grab a berry when Lil Bleater happily bounded in front of you, seemingly vacuuming up all the berries as she went by.

 Eskel laughed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he stepped past you as well. “Don't worry... She’ll stall out on berries and leaves soon,” he promised with a light chuckle and picked a few berries to add to your pail. 

The pair of you spent hours going around and picking berries at your leisure, stopping here and there to show each other the cool things you find.

“There’s wood sorrel! And clover! Oh, And this is borage!” you called out the various edible flowers you saw and bent down to pick up the delicate-looking blue flower before you. “Its leaves and stems are supposed to taste a little like cucumbers, but its flowers are my favorite part. Their centers taste just like honey.” You explained, handing him the sweet star-shaped flower.

You tasted your own flower as Eskel popped his in his mouth. At first, the bland taste of the petals was all you could sense, but with a bite through the center ring of the flower a small burst of sweet nectar painted itself in a gentle brushstroke over your tongue. It was short and fleeting, but is that not the whole joy of a flower anyways? 

As you went, the two of you continued snacking on your collection of wild berries, eating a rather large fraction of your stores. The wind blew in gentle gusts around you, rustling the tender leaves and you began feeling a little mischievous.

“Oh love, Look..!” you said, and as Eskel turned you smooshed an exceptionally ripe berry across his cheek. The look on Eskels's face went on a lightning fast journey; from surprise, to ‘what the fuck?’, to ‘Oh I'm gonna get you’ in a matter of seconds. 

“Oh…? So you want to play this game, dear? Then let’s play…” He said, grabbing an exceptionally large handful of overripe berries.

Your stomach dropped as you saw the growing grin of a man who knew exactly what he had to do. “Oh, fuck. No…” you said as you set down the bucket and started high tailing it through the field, doing your best not to get scraped up by the brambles of raspberries and blackberries overarching your path. “I won’t let you do it!” you laughed.

You're 100% certain that Eskel had given you a head start, just to even the playing field. You could barely hear his light steps as he pursued you, just waiting to ruin your yet unstained cheeks. There were no trees, no place to climb or hide, so it was no surprise when Eskel finally caught up and pulled you close, laughter ringing out from both of you. 

Your momentum clashed as you two collided and it sent you both falling back on the patch of flowers behind you, Eskel cushioning your fall as you fell onto his chest. “And this… Is the sweetest revenge of all” he said, squishing the handful of berries against your cheek. 

Humbly you accepted your fate and closed your eyes, cringing and giggling as the juice began running down your neck. “Ugh” you remarked and shook your head, shaking the extra berries off. “I think your jokes hurt worse than my pride does right now,” you grinned and leaned down to capture him in a kiss, berry juice still staining your lips. 

Eskel only smiled in return and pulled you closer as your kisses met. To him, you tasted of berries and of your morning coffee, the tart and sweet taste of fruit mixing with the smoothed out tones of bitter earth from the coffee.

To you, his kiss tasted of borage flowers and berries. Homey and sweet, but still ever tart and enticing, just like him.. His taste played on your lips as you two pulled apart, caught up in this moment. 

However, it didn’t last long. Upset at not being a part of the moment, Lil Bleater ran over and hopped onto the dogpile of you and Eskel, forcefully inserting herself into your moment. 

“Oh, you poor little kid…! Have you been ignored? How cruel…!” you smiled radiantly and rolled over and off of your witcher, pulling the young goat into your arms. You were met with a soft ‘Baaa’ and a nuzzle, her playful tendencies finally sated with all the food in her stomach. 

The smile on Eskel’s face as he watched you was something of pure calm bliss. The whole world was perfect at this moment. You and him were with your feisty little “kid”, and it felt like a weird but sweet little family. Eskel watched you quietly; your eyes were illuminated by the sun and you had leaves stuck here and there in your hair. Even with the reddish-purple smear of juice over your face and neck, you were still the most radiant thing to him for miles and miles around. He didn’t get a lot of moments like these; quiet, easy, and calm. These moments, even with you now in his life, were so far and few between that the more he thought about it…the more he was ready to give up anything he could to keep these moments with you.

“What are you thinking about?” you queried, your eyes glancing over his face as content-ness spread out and over his features. You rested your drying cheek on Lil Bleater’s head, being careful of her horns, and brushed a stray hair out of Eskel’s face. 

Eskel shook his head a bit, ready to say ‘it’s nothing, and let the thought go with only his knowledge of its existence. However, you had always had a way about you that just made him want to talk. “I just like being out here with you like this. Not having to work and being able to just… be.” He looked at the sky now as he spoke, still reserved about talking so freely on things like this; something he couldn’t experience before you came into his life. “I like just existing with you…” He finished and finally turned back to you. 

With a smile you delicately touched his cheek, rubbing some of the berry juice away. “I like just existing with you too, Eskel…”. His golden eyes shone warmly as they crinkled with the smile that reached them. “Wanna just lay here for a little longer?” you asked, mirroring the warmth and smile he had. 

With a nod he quietly whispered out, afraid to break the moment.  “I’d like that…” 

And with that, you two just stayed laying in the grass. 

The sun shone itself on your trio, heating you comfortably and back-lighting the flowers that stretched above your heads. The giant forest bumblebees bumbled around above you as they moved from flower to flower, the stems bowing to their weight. Lil Bleater fell asleep quickly on your chest as you and Eskel continued eating from the pail of berries, occasionally feeding each other in loving little gestures. 

After all this Lambert’s berry cobbler could wait.

For now, you were just happy to exist side by side with your beloved witcher.

____________________________________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight

(DM me if you wanna be put on the tag list!)

[tarisilmarwen]

BTHB: Insecurity

Adrien Agreste from Miraculous Ladybug

@badthingshappenbingo

Title: “Enough”

Prompt: Insecurity

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Character(s): Adrien Agreste, Gabriel Agreste

AO3, FFNet, Request a prompt/character

This one hurt a bit to write, ow.

---

Adrien always felt like his life was a tightrope walk, balancing on the razor's edge of perfection. The spotlight blared in his face, and every move-every unsteady step, every wobble, every moment of precarious balance-was watched and judged by hundreds of eyes from below looking up at him, including the ringleader.

His father, the man who controlled every facet of his schedule and public persona, keeping a careful lid on all of Adrien's comings and goings lest he slip up and do something to embarrass the Agreste name.

And yet the house was always crushingly empty, his father directing his life from a distance, never involved, never interested, never invested. The soloist played on but the conductor had gone out for lunch, leaving him alone on the stage under the blinding lights, performing the same song over and over for the faceless audience.

The paradox of observation-of being watched and yet unwatched at the same time-was almost enough to make him scream.

Nothing he did ever seemed entirely right. Even when he was out with his friends—with Nino and Chloe and Marinette and everyone in class—it always felt like he was one move away from disaster, one sour, incorrect note, one wobble too many that would send him plummeting down.

Still he threw himself into the performance. He did every modeling gig his father asked him to. Studied until the wee hours of the morning, his only companions Plagg and a solitary desklamp. Went to all the after-school functions scheduled for him. Practiced and practiced the piano until his fingers wanted to fall off.

It never felt truly genuine. It always felt stiff, deadened, rehearsed. He could polish his motions to a sheen and there would always be some lingering artificial quality to it, because Adrien could not put his heart into it no matter how hard he tried.

He just wanted to be out of the spotlight. To not have eyes constantly watching him, looking for imperfections, cracks in his perfect image. Small blemishes. Skin folds he'd maybe let get a little too fat. An angry outburst he maybe should have held in instead of letting come out, no matter how righteous and justified.

He only felt truly like himself when he put on the mask.

Chat Noir was another performance, but one wholly his own, not dictated to him by his father and the weight of expectation. It was something vivid and personal, not bound by the stringent rules of Adrien Agreste, son of the famous fashion designer, and all the weight that role carried. He could be quippy. Make all the bad puns he wanted to. He could be flirty, teasing and playful and maybe just a touch too inappropriate for his own good. He could be bold and brave and charming and powerful and free-spirited and everything he wanted to be an hee was happier playing the part of the superhero, celebrated for what he did rather than who he was. Beloved by Paris.

...And even then it still wasn't enough to capture the heart of the one he truly wanted.

He pretended her disinterest didn't bother him. Ladybug at least confided in him, gave him credit when he did something right, trusted him to have her back and-he was pretty sure-did care about him deep down. Even though he wanted more, what she gave him was often more than satisfactory. He felt real with her. Relied-upon. Warm.

There was nothing warm about his father.

Adrien let his mind drift as he ran through yet another iteration of the Etude Op. 10 No. 3 by Chopin. There was a complicated part in the middle that he just wanted to get right, just once. His hands flew over the keys as he concentrated, lost in the performance, balancing so, so very carefully along that tightrope edge.

The melody played out, ringing off the corners of the empty mansion, filling the open space with gentle music. Adrien came to the end and slowed down tenderly, letting out a breath as the final notes echoed through the room.

He tingled softly. It had sounded beautiful. Moving. Almost like something he would have done as Chat Noir, from the depths of passion in his heart and with strength and confidence in his own abilities. Chopin had always been his favorite composer and it felt like, just for once, he had done the man justice.

He didn't know what caused him to look up as his hands left the keys, but he did, and there was his father. Gabriel Agreste stood to the side, hovering just inside the doorway to Adrien's room, and Adrien's breath caught, his body stilling, freezing like ice had traveled down every limb from head to toe.

He waited, breathless with anticipation, everything in him keening to hear what the man would say.

His father... smiled.

"That was lovely, Adrien," he said.

Adrien's heart began to lift—

"There was a wrong note as you came out of the interlude and you didn't hit the glissendos as cleanly as you could have," his father continued. "Take it again from the top, with more emphasis on the chords this time."

His heart sank all the way down into his shoes.

Not enough.

It was never enough.

Still, he nodded meekly, replied, "Yes father," with all the patient obedience of a practiced doll, and began again, taking a first step out onto the tightrope and praying desperately not to look down.

[moonflowerlesbians]

I wrote the 10 year anniversary fic

She's short but she’s sweet. Please enjoy.

to be loved a whole life long

Rated T, ~2.6k.

~~~

What is an anniversary, really, if not merely a ploy to indulge in all of the little pleasures one denies on any other day? Saying, “oh, well, we ought to save it for a special occasion.”

And, what, Jamie thinks, is an occasion more special than the day marking the tenth year since she began this beautiful, insane journey with the love of her life. A woman so remarkable that Jamie almost can’t believe she’s real. Almost can’t believe that she can wake up beside the same person every morning, smelling the same fruity shampoo, spend the day working side by side, and still, every night, fall into bed, eager to pull Dani close. Then wake up the following day and do it all again.

It’s a stability Jamie never thought she would have. After years of bouncing from foster family to foster family, Bly was the closest thing to home she’d ever had. Until, that is, these ten, wonderful years with Dani in the flat they share above the little shop that they built from the ground up.

She thinks as much as beams of cozy sunlight filter through the gossamer curtains Dani picked out for their bedroom. She has an arm draped over Dani’s middle, her front to Dani’s back, her hand tracing idle circles on the plane of Dani’s stomach beneath her sleep shirt. Jamie can hear the quiet exhalations puffing against Dani’s wrist, which she’s managed to trap against her cheek. Jamie is certain she’ll be graced with complaints of pins and needles when Dani wakes. Jamie will laugh and offer to massage the numbness away, and Dani will roll her eyes but allow her limb to flop inelegantly into Jamie’s lap.

Jamie props herself up on one elbow, her fingers trailing a path from Dani’s midriff, up her arm, to brush a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Dani begins to stir as Jamie presses slow lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, moves to the shell of her ear, her temple, the slender curve of her jaw.

Dani makes a noise low in her throat.

“Ah, there she is,” Jamie hums, her voice, though quiet, still too loud in the morning stillness.

“Thought we w’re gonna sleep in t’day,” Dani sighs, already preparing to nestle deeper into the blankets.

Jamie runs a playful finger down the bridge of Dani’s nose. “Already did that, love. ‘S nearly half nine.”

“F’rgot you get up ‘fore the early birds,” Dani grumbles, “An’thing past six ‘s late for you.”

“The plants wait for no one.”

“They’re plants. ‘S not like they have anywhere to be.”

“You don’t know that. Could have important plant business to attend to.”

Dani, at last, rolls over incredulously. “Like what?”

“Dunno,” Jamie shrugs, “but you’re awake now.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Mhm,” Jamie chuckles, “happy anniversary, baby.” Their kiss is languid, sleep-heavy. When they break apart, their foreheads still touch.

“Happy anniversary,” Dani whispers, thumb absently caressing Jamie’s cheekbone. Her eyes glimmer with mischief when she meets Jamie’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be opposed to staying in bed all day, though...”

“Need food first.”

Dani huffs. “Fine.”

“Thought we might try the new cafe on the corner of Leeland and Huntley for brunch. Apparently, they’ve got terrific blueberry muffins.”

“And you know this how?”

“Kid and her mum came through the shop the other day. Wee gremlin wouldn’t put the damn thing down,” Jamie gripes. “Got crumbs all over my daffodils.”

“She sounds cute.” Dani sounds almost wistful.

“‘Course you’d think so. Once a teacher, always a teacher.” She waves dismissively. “Or something like that.” Jamie rubs her palms together. “Right, then, up and at ‘em. Those muffins won’t eat themselves.”

“Didn’t realize you were so excited by baked goods.”

“Not the baked goods I’m excited for. I seem to recall mentions of returning to bed after food.”

+++

They are dressed and out the door in record time.

+++

They’ve closed the shop for the day, allowing themselves a brief reprieve from the discord of the wedding season. Every other day, it seems, a new blushing bride parades through their doors, followed by a mother or mother-in-law with a thousand questions and a dozen requests per minute. Jamie enjoys the work, truly. Seeing the delighted relief wash over the room as the arrangement designs are finalized is immensely gratifying. Almost as gratifying as watching her flowers, her precious creations, adorn ballrooms and churches, surrounded by people celebrating life. The joy of being alive.

She feels it now, she thinks, the sheer euphoria of existing. Here, walking down the street, a take-away cup of tea in her hand, with Dani’s arm roped through hers.

They are living on borrowed time, she knows, stark reminders of blue and brown present in every reflection. Every so often, Jamie catches herself longing, pleading for more time. She should be grateful for what the universe has gifted her. But, on days like these, days where the air is right and the sun is warm on her skin, she finds herself wishing for a forever that she cannot have. A forever unpromised to a monster that lurks beneath the most beautiful smile in the world.

She pushes the thought aside. Tomorrow is never promised. All she has is today. And she’ll be damned before she lets it slip away.

+++

They feed the waterfowl in the park with muffin crumbs. There are ducklings this time of year, and Dani’s gleeful cooing, high-pitched and elated, travels across the pond. Dappled shadows drape across her shoulders. Tree branches sway in a gentle breeze, casting a spotted cloak across the scene. Jamie feels the tension drain from her neck.

They sit, side by side, on the swingset, watching the joggers run past, waving at their neighbors and their golden retriever, the couple whose engagement party The Leafling decorated last month. Dani exchanges pleasantries with them all. It’s the Midwesterner in her, she likes to say, amicability is in her blood. Jamie does not understand, but she does her best to nod less than awkwardly while her partner makes smalltalk.

They stop for ice cream on the way home. It is a special occasion, after all, and the balmy June weather provides the perfect excuse to indulge in seldom-savored decadence. One, Jamie decides, they should absolutely partake in more often, if the child-like giddiness Dani expresses over cake batter ice cream is any indication. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grins, and Jamie thinks she has never looked more lovely.

+++

A trans-Atlantic call to Owen foils their initial plans of baking their own lasagna after Dani lets slip that they weren’t planning to boil the noodles before layering in the sauces.

“For the love of God, please order in. The both of you are im-pasta-ble. It’s like I’ve taught you nothing.”

“That pun was weak, even for you.”

“This is what you’ve reduced me to.”

So, they call in a delivery order to the Italian place down the road. Jamie chivalrously offers to pick it up, and Dani ushers her out of the flat with a vigor that has Jamie raising an eyebrow. But, she simply shrugs and slides into the drivers’ seat of their second-hand pickup. The familiar rumble of the engine is comforting, the crooning of some jazz singer on the radio soothing background noise. Crickets chirp in the early summer evening.

She swings through the grocer to pick up champagne on her way home and juggles the bottle and the takeaway bag of food as she fumbles her key into the lock. Dani opens the door just as she’s about to turn the knob, and Jamie falls forward, Dani catching her by the arm.

“You alright?” Dani asks, but there’s an amused lilt to her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. If you could just take…” Jamie’s mouth goes dry. Her face is level with Dani’s hips, which she has come to realize are covered in a velvety fabric she does not recognize. Her eyes flick up, coming to rest on Dani’s collarbones, the exposed skin of her arms, the accentuated curve of her waist. “You… I… uh….”

“You could’ve knocked, you know. I would’ve let you in.”

“I… yeah, could’ve… knocked.” Jamie realizes she is frozen in the entryway, jaw on the floor, and, in all honesty, cannot bring herself to care. Not when Dani is standing in front of her, clad in a gorgeous purple dress Jamie’s never seen before, her bangs styled to frame her face, while the remainder of her hair is pulled back. Jamie clears her throat. “You, ah, you changed.”

“I did.”

“You, you look…” Jamie searches for the right word, but none seem to encapsulate the overwhelming rush of emotion she feels, looking at the love of her life in the dim light from the bulb in the hallway outside their flat, on the tenth anniversary of the start of life she never thought she would have.

Damn the limitations of this bloody language. She can say “I got absolutely goddamn shitfaced last night” in a hundred different ways, but there is no succinct way to phrase, “I love you so fucking much and you are the most incredible person in the world and I don’t know how I got lucky enough to know you and I could spend the rest of my life holding your hand.”

It seems, at least to Jamie, a grievous failure of linguistic evolution.

“Beautiful,” she settles on, at last. “You’re so beautiful.” It’s not enough. But it will suffice.

“Come on, loverboy,” Dani says, tapping the bottom of Jamie’s chin with a slender index finger before giving a tug on her sleeve. “Food’s getting cold.” She’s blushing, though, a faint tint coloring her chest as she takes one of the plastic bags from Jamie. Jamie, who merely stares at Dani’s retreating silhouette before remembering she’s supposed to follow. She shuts the front door behind her and stumbles into the kitchen, setting the bottle and second bag on the countertop next to the stove.

When she turns around, Dani is in the living room holding a match to two candles set on a ceramic dish on their kitchen island. She’s laid out their nice dinnerware, which, really, consists of the four gold-encircled plates and matching napkin rings they’d found at an antique store in Milwaukee, back when they had been exploring the country Dani called home. A vase of roses is positioned on the coffee table, and it’s evident that Dani arranged them herself, and oh, oh, how Jamie loves her for it.

“Surprise?” Dani says shyly.

Jamie blinks at her. It’s all she can do not to break down. Instead, she settles for taking two bold steps to Dani's side of the counter and kissing her senseless. Dani lets out a squeak of surprise, but quickly relaxes into Jamie’s touch. She’s biting her lip when they separate, Jamie’s twirling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck as she presses their foreheads together.

“Let me change, and we’ll eat, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Dani’s breathing is an ounce heavier than normal.

Jamie winks slyly, wanders to their bedroom and opens the closet, pulling out the first acceptable outfit she sees. She doesn’t have to change, she knows. Dani could care less whether she’s wearing a three-piece suit or sweatpants. (Though she suspects the suit might have the edge.) She dons a white, three-quarter zip and black slacks, pausing briefly to add a pair of black leather suspenders she knows Dani likes. Something about being easy to grab and pull.

Dani is struggling to uncork the champagne when Jamie returns to the kitchen. Her tongue pokes adorably out of the corner of her mouth, and her soft grunts of frustration are surprisingly endearing.

“Hand it over. Come on, now. Before you put your eye out.”

“I can do it,” Dani protests. “Just. Need to tweak it. A little.”

Jamie takes the opportunity to press against Dani’s back, her arms wrapping around to cover Dani’s hands where they fiddle with the bottle. For a moment, Dani forgets to be cross and reclines her head, resting it on Jamie’s shoulder. She sighs, relinquishing control, and Jamie huffs out a quick laugh. She holds the champagne over the sink to catch the overflow when the bottle pops.

Dani mumbles something about “having loosened it,” which Jamie meets with resolute agreement and a, “‘course you did, baby.”

The lasagne, an Owen-approved non-abomination, has been plated, Dani having evidently done so while Jamie was shucking her dayclothes. She pours them each a healthy flute of champagne and seats herself beside Dani, raising her glass.

She hesitates.

“Wait,” Dani exclaims, hurrying to the hall closet. She rummages for a second, bringing back the Polaroid camera Jamie had given her their first Christmas together. She checks the film, appears satisfied, and balances the device on an upturned colander to set up her shot. She sets the timer and sidles under Jamie’s arm, picking up her champagne flute. “Smile!” Dani beams.

When the image prints, the picture reveals Dani, with the biggest grin Jamie swears she’s ever seen, and Jamie at her side, looking positively smitten. The flash has illuminated the silver streaks in her hair, the lines embedded in her skin. Time has been kind to her, she reminds herself, others are not so lucky. And, in any case, when she looks at this photograph, she will not be looking at herself.

Dani kisses her cheek and moves her keepsake to the coffee table for safety. Too many important documents ruined by spills for her to risk it. She props it gently against the roses. It’s perfect.

Again, Jamie raises her glass. She inspects the contents.

Again, she hesitates. Then, a toast:

“To another ten.”

Silence.

Dani stills, looks at her.

Jamie can see the beginning of an argument forming on the tip of Dani’s tongue, and Jamie holds her stare. It’s a challenge. A dare, even.

They do not often speak of the distant future. Only when it is absolutely necessary do they broach the sensitive topic.

A world-weary smile paints Dani’s lips. Her eyes are burdened, the vivacity present mere seconds ago seemingly having vanished. She is tired. It shows in the slump of her shoulders, the crease of her brow, the way the giddiness of earlier has slunk away, leaving Dani bare-boned and fatigued.

She lifts her glass.

She says nothing.

“I love you,” Jamie murmurs after the faint clink of glass on glass. “So much.”

“Always,” Dani finishes. And Jamie knows she means it.

+++

They embrace beneath the sheets that night, sweat cooling in the dry air. Jamie’s fingers are tangled in blonde waves highlighted with grey. Dani’s breathing has evened out, short puffs tickling Jamie’s sternum, as Jamie contemplates the window over her head.

She has found someone to love, and someone to love her in return. Someone who will stay, even on the bad days. Someone who expects nothing and deserves everything.

Dani is everything Jamie thought she never deserved. Dani is good. Dani is good and exquisite and utterly unbelievable and, god, how Jamie loves her.

She loves waking up beside her every morning, and she loves smelling the same fruity shampoo on the pillow. She loves spending the day working together on the business they built from the dirt up. She loves falling into bed every night and pulling Dani close. Every minute they have together is a gift that Jamie refuses to take for granted.

To another ten years, she thinks, and allows her eyes to close. Dani sighs against her.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Fictober '21 Prompt No. 4 — "Fine, I give up."

Category: Original WIP: Thriving series Rating: T Timeline: M31 arc...probably in the ballpark of book 4/book 5 CW: Alcohol and swearing. Word Count: 1,092 Additional Notes: as I finish this it occurs to me that there’s a pun in the timeline ☝🏽 and I have to say it was not intended

***

“Explain it to me like I’m five.”

Guetry swallowed his mouthful of beer and set the bottle next to his plate of yet-uneaten pizza. He placed the tips of one finger from each hand on the table to demonstrate his explanation. “Okay. There’s a ball. But it’s a small ball. Probably the size of my fist.”

Warren nodded across the table from him, bringing his beer to his lips. “I’m with you.”

“There’s a person over here”—Guetry tapped a specific spot on the table—“and they’re literally the most important person on the team right now. The person over here”—he tapped another spot—“is the most important person on the other team. The point of this guy is to get this guy to not even really play.”

“His entire purpose is to stop that guy from playing.”

“Right, yes. They want this guy to go away. So they take the ball and throw it at the guy and the guy either misses or hits it with a big stick.”

Warren paused in the middle of a swig. He lowered the bottle from his face. “There’s a stick?”

“...Yeah? There is a stick and a ball—”

“The pitcher throws the ball and the batter hits the ball and someone in the infield or the outfield has to catch the ball or throw it to a baseman to get the batter out.”

Guetry stared at him.

“Guetry, this is just baseball.”

“If this was baseball, don’t you think I would’ve said it was fucking baseball?” Guetry began to gesticulate more than demonstrate. “If I meant ‘this guy’s a batter and that guy’s a pitcher,’ I think I would’ve said ‘this guy’s a batter and that guy’s a pitcher,’ you piece of shit. You lived closer to the invention of the fucking sport than we are here, you think I don’t know that you know what motherfucking baseball is, motherfucker?”

Warren unexpectedly burst out laughing, beer threatening to shoot out of every orifice of his face. “Then what the hell is this game, dumbass?!”

Guetry maintained a level tone throughout his tirade. “If you would stitch your fucking mouth shut for a god damn second, I could explain to you that it’s not baseball because the point is not to run around a diamond until you’re home, it’s to try to hit the ball to a player with a net so they can then run or throw the ball to a predetermined goal before the timer runs down.”

“So it’s baseball and lacrosse, but weird.”

“Fine, I give up. Yes, Warren, it’s baseball, but over the years we decided that the sport was too stupid and rewrote all the rules to make it even stupider, and renamed it ‘domers’ after the guy who decided all of this because it just wasn’t stupid enough.” Guetry returned to his pizza, reclining in his chair to prop his feet up on the chair beside him. “In case you were wondering, which I know you weren’t, my team has been the Engines since I was a wee lad.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Warren looked at him, feigning offense. “The who?”

“Don’t start. You heard exactly what I said.”

“Yeah, but I like busting your balls.” Warren finished his beer and took a big bite out of the pizza crust on his plate. “Almost as much as I like busting Thrive’s.”

Guetry grinned. “Didn’t peg the obhelian as a CBT kinda guy.”

“Uh-huh, you didn’t peg the obhelian at all, and it’s gonna stay that way if I have anything to say about it.” Warren sniffed. “That’s not what I meant anyway.”

“I’ll take you to a domers game sometime. Or at least a stadium showing. They’re usually based on a moon...I think this year it’s Earth’s turn.”

Warren expressed surprise. “Whoa wait, they play the game on moons? Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

“Because my goal in life is to make you feel like a moron,” Guetry said, banging his fist on the table to punctuate each word. He grabbed his beer and took a swig. “Also because I didn’t think about it.”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds cool. How’s baseball faring, anyway?”

“Exclusively an Earth game, at least the leagues are. Got some silhou and Rotangan players, though. There used to be a couple Morrites but two of them had been using their tails, so Morrites as a whole had to be banned. Caused a huge stink, somewhat rightly so.”

“You ever been to one?”

“No.” Guetry’s brows pinched together. “Have you?”

“Just school stuff. Couple of my friends played. I did, too, just as an after-school hobby. Not for very long, though, ‘cause, uh...well. You know.”

Having known about Warren’s history regarding a certain lake when he was seventeen, Guetry waved a hand dismissively. “I get it. Guess we got stuff to do together when we have time, huh?”

Warren stood from the chair to swipe another beer from Guetry’s fridge. “‘When we have time’ being the operative phrase.”

“Think your man would like domers or baseball?”

“Ah, no. Definitely not. Sports would be beyond him. He only even tolerates my dancing because he knows how much I love it.”

Guetry chuckled.

“Also,” Warren said, reappearing at the table with a brand new frosty bottle, “when you say ‘domers’—”

“I meant the game this time.” Guetry glanced at the face of his wrist device and also stood up. “Wanna spend the night? I gotta be up in the morning for a recording session with Alec.”

“Sounds good.” Warren cracked the cap open with a sharp twist. “I got a couple messages to send out, I’ll be in in a bit.”

Guetry saluted on his way to the bathroom. By the time he was ready for bed, Warren had finished with his work and brought the beer into the bedroom. “Oh...does my nighttime routine really take that long?”

“Yes, but only because you’re a diva.”

“Skincare is important, Warren. Left or right?”

“I’m usually a right-side sleeper with Thrive...”

“Left it is.”

Warren snorted and set his empty bottle on the night stand, then removed his shoes and socks. “Asshole.”

“Hey, g’night, man. Love you.”

Slipping under the blankets, Warren stretched out and found he had more room than he expected. He curled up beside Guetry and allowed himself to relax, finding that his wobbliness from the beer certainly helped that along. “Love you too, G.”

“Lights, please, my dear.”

Scotty gradually dimmed the bedroom light until it was completely out. “Good night, gentlemen.”

Warren was asleep within five minutes.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Royal We ch.5

Summary: Finally the concluding chapter of 'The Royal We'! Wonder what's gonna happen here, hmmmm.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

Edge woke far later than normal to the sound of the shower running. He jerked halfway upright in the bed, briefly disoriented, before the events of the day before came back to him in a rush. The baby shower planning, the discussion with Stretch about having children, or rather not having them, Janice’s son getting lost, and learning that Stretch’s abilities as a Judge allowed him see Monster souls, including his own.

Small wonder he’d overslept, Any one of those things would be tiring but put together it was entirely too much for a single day, particularly one where he and Stretch finally came upstairs in the wee hours of the morning, barely taking the time to shed their clothes before flopping together into their bed.

At least Stretch seemed to be somewhat recovered if he were up to taking a shower. Edge sank back against the mattress, kicking the blankets from his feet as he stretched with joint-popping bliss, luxuriating in a moment of uncommon laziness. As stressful as the day before had been it had also been cathartic in some ways, certain issues clouded between him and Stretch discussed then cleared away.

This morning his leg felt fine even without the brace, without even a trace of a pain. It was actually healing as the doctor promised it would, despite Edge’s occasional loose interpretation of their directions, and as time passed it would keep getting better until the injury was only a memory and an occasional ache on very cold days.

Getting back to normal, that was all. The term ‘normal’ when it came to their lives was certainly up for creative interpretation, but it honestly felt like they were getting to it. Of course, that was dependent on nothing new cropping up in their lives and it surely would. It didn’t matter, whatever came he and Stretch would face it together.

Thinking of togetherness, Edge rolled out of bed and made his way to the ensuite bathroom. Muffled strains of music were coming through the closed door and when he opened it, it poured out, bright and pop-cheerful. Behind the shower curtain, oblivious to his audience, Stretch was singing along. He’d always have a lovely singing voice, husky sweet and pitch perfect but it was the lyrics gave Edge a pause.

“i’d get down on my knees, i’d do anything for you…ohhhh, i don’t want anybody else, when i think about you, i touch myself…”

Well, that was an invitation if he’d ever heard one.

Edge only took long enough to strip of his pajamas, casting them off in a rare messy pile on the floor before sliding around the shower curtain. He was ready for Stretch to yelp and jump, catching him before he could slip on the wet porcelain. His lovely bones were slick with water and soap and he was blinking through the spray, his pale eye lights still bright from the surprise.

“holy shit, babe,” Stretch sputtered, licking water from his teeth. “a little warning would be nice!”

Edge only shifted Stretch in his arms, settling him with his spine pressed firmly against Edge’s chest. At his silent urging, Stretch let his head drop back against Edge’s shoulder, huffing a groan as Edge murmured against his skull. “And miss the chance to sweep you off your feet?”

“you can get in your gropes without giving me a—oooh,” Stretch broke off and Edge smirked, mouthing lightly at his scapula as his hands wandered lower, his bare fingers seeking out places he knew were sensitive, pressing and stroking until Stretch shivered in his arms despite the heat of the water pouring down on them.

“What was that?” Edge crooned. “I couldn’t quite hear.”

“baaaaaabe,” Stretch moaned. He squirmed, his pelvis scraping tantalizingly against Edge’s. “this isn’t fair.”

“No? I was only trying to confirm the truth of your statement,” and before Stretch could ask, “Do you, then? Touch yourself when you think about me?”

“heh.” That squirm turned into a deliberate grind and Edge caught his breath, “want a demonstration?”

As it turned out, by the time Stretch was finished ‘demonstrating’, they both needed another shower and Edge was never more pleased to have splurged on their hot water heater. The chance to hold Stretch in his arms for longer without any chilly surprises was well worth the extra cost.

~~*~~

It was a few hours later that Edge was finishing buttoning his shirt, giving his husband a sideways look where he was still sprawled out on the bed, entirely naked except for a single sock that was still sagging at the ankle. The other was in his hand, waiting for its owner to either work up the energy to put it on or to abandoned it to its lonely fate.

Tipping the scales in favor of wearing might be in order. “Are you planning on putting that sock on or do you need longer to bond?”

“i’ll put it on as soon as i can feel my feet,” Stretch sighed out dreamily, “babe, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

“In a variety of ways,” Edge said serenely. “I do well with entrances.” He sat on the side of the bed next to Stretch and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss before snatching up the sweatshirt beside him and dropping it on his head. “Come on, get dressed, we need to check on the chickens. I believe there may have been an event we missed.”

Stretch lurched upright, fighting his way out of the clinging folds of the sweatshirt to give Edge a stricken look, “fuck, i forgot!” The sweatshirt was only half on when he started for the door and he was still struggling to pull it over his skull when he made for the stairs.

“Pants!” Edge shouted after him. Their neighbors asked so little of them and he really didn’t think that no unexpected nudity was an unreasonable request.

A shout floated back up, “bring ‘em with you and i’ll get the coffee going!”

Edge only shook his head and retrieved a clean pair of track pants from their dresser. However this might end, at least it would be with a reasonable amount of dignity.

Well, that might be a tall ask of Stretch and if he couldn’t be clothed in dignity, pants would have to do, so long as it wasn’t the bare minimum.

Edge stifled his grin and headed for the stairs, pants in hand and ready to share that particular witticism with his husband. Anytime was a good time for pun to Stretch, but over morning coffee held a certain brewtiful appeal.

It was with puns exchanged (among them was Stretch declaration that so many jokes this early was a latte to handle) and coffee in hand that they finally made their way to the chicken coop to investigate yesterday’s happenings. The morning air was still tinged cool, only hinting at the afternoon’s predicted warmth and Stretch shuffled through the fallen leaves to the coop door where Noodle and Dumpling were already waiting impatiently for the bringer of their breakfast.

“yeah, sorry, gals,” Stretch set his coffee cup down outside the coop before opening the door. He leaned over to give them each a brief pat before heading to the feed trough. “i know, we’re running late. let’s get you fed before checking on your sis, okay?”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes too far up,” Edge cautioned. He set his cup alongside Stretch's and followed him inside. “I can’t even calculate the odds of her not only finding a fertilized egg but also managing to hatch it.” Her finding an egg at all was a question that Edge already decided not to look into too deeply.

“i can calculate it and trust me, it’s a lot of decimal points. don’t worry,” Stretch said as he measured out a scoopful of feed. “i won’t. not even sure i wanna meet whatever’s supposed to come out of the cryptid egg she stole. hope nugget isn’t too disappointed when her basilisk doesn’t hatch.”

The sound of feed pouring into the trough was enough to summon the smallest of their wayward poultry. Nugget poked her small head through the coop’s door flap, chirring inquisitively, and then darting out to beeline right for the feed. Hungry indeed, she didn’t detour even briefly in Edge’s direction, intent on her pursuit of tasty grains.

But it wasn’t Nugget that had their attention. Behind her, coming from the coop was a faint sound, a peeping reminiscent of those Edge heard on the farm back when he was considering whether to invest in chickens of their own. Stretch only stood frozen, staring at the coop door and Edge was the one who finally opened it and stepped inside.

They’d persuaded Nugget to abandon the plastic bucket she’d nested in for one of the coop boxes, lining it with soft hay and that was where the sound was coming from. The single caged bulb overhead didn’t provide much light and Edge peered into the darkened nest, his sockets narrowed. Nearly buried into the hay was a tiny ball of yellow fluff. Edge reached for it, scooping it cautiously into his hands and bringing it out into the light.

Stretch hovered over his shoulder anxiously, “is that…what is it?”

From the rounded cup of his hands, a tiny, billed head poked out. Webbed feet shifted against his palm as the little creature peeped anxiously, its eyes dark against the bright yellow fluff.

“it’s a duckling! holy shit!” Stretch managed to keep his delight to a muted squeal, reaching out with cautiously grabby hands. Very carefully, Edge deposited it into his hands, watching as the little bird settled against the warm bones. “this is way better than a basilisk!”

“I believe the neighbors will agree,” Edge said dryly, watching as Stretch very gently inspected their newest acquisition, petting that feathery softness. “Is it male or female?”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “welp, all the years i spent studying physics instead of zoology are letting us down here, babe. i’ve barely got ‘duck’ cleared, if you want a more detailed report, you’re gonna have to hire a pro.”

“Understood,” Edge said. He looked out the door at their backyard, freshly layered in falling leaves. “What on earth are we going to do with a duck?”

Stretch only held the little duckling closer to his chest with a gasp, “we can’t get rid of it!”

“Of course not,” Edge said, exasperated, “I’m not suggesting we drop it off at the local livestock orphanage, it was a legitimate question. We’ll need to make arrangements for it, ducks may have different nutritional needs than chickens. It will need some sort of pond to swim in and—” He broke off as Stretch gave him a look. “What?”

That gentle smile matched the softness in Stretch’s eye lights as they briefly flashed into hearts, shining with love, “nothing, babe. you’re really gonna let me keep cheese?”

Edge blinked. “Did you just call that duckling ‘Cheese’?”

“yeah.” Stretch grinned. “short for cheese and quackers.”

“Oh, for—” Edge sighed. “I walked right into that one.”

“headfirst,” Stretch agreed. “don’t feel bad, i left the door wide open.” At that moment Nugget came wandering back into the coop and started to make concerned motherly noises. Stretch hastily set the duckling, no, Cheese back into the nesting box. Nugget hopped up into it, squirming back to bury her child beneath the bulk of her feathery warmth.

“guess introductions are over.” Lacking a tiny duckling to hold, Stretch settled for flinging his arms around Edge and giving him a hard squeeze. “c’mon, hot coffee waits for no fowl and cold coffee is foul, so let’s get ours.”

“You’re an endless font of hilarity, love.” Edge followed him out and the two of them retrieved their cups. By unspoken agreement, they settled to sit at the patio, sipping their coffee as the trees rustled softly around them.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence, and Edge checked it to see a text from Papyrus. Ah, another loose end from yesterday’s tapestry to tie up. He opened the text to find not a jumbled of excited words but a picture. Of Undyne in a hospital bed, looking both weary and elated, Alphys at her side, but it was the small bundle in their arms that drew Edge’s gaze.

The only thing visible from the swaddling of striped blankets was the child’s face, the same deep blue skin tone as their mother and a small tuft of red fronds falling over their forehead. Childbirth seemed to have left a certain squashed quality to that face that hadn’t had time yet to fade, puffy cheeks and swollen eyes, and as Edge studied the picture another text came through.

It’s a girl!

A girl, a little niece to spoil and teach, and Edge could already picture her toddling along and joining the other children as they followed Stretch around very much like ducklings as he taught them science and experiments, spending his weekends building snowmen and painting excited faces. Without making any undue assumptions, Edge could imagine the formidable child that Undyne and Papyrus’s genes would produce and the adventures that might come of it, the coming years would certainly be interesting and—

“is that the baby?”

Almost, Edge twitched his phone away before Stretch could see the picture. But none of yesterday's upset or melancholy appeared, Stretch only looked at it with an appropriate expression of interest, smiling widely.

“aww, what a cutey,” Stretch cooed. “tell undyne she does good work.”

“I will,” Edge agreed, and did so. Before he set his phone aside, another picture came through, this time with Papyrus holding the baby, the very vision of a delighted uncle and why his arm was in a sling, Edge decided not to ask. The story of Undyne’s labor and delivery was likely an epic one and not to be heard before plenty of coffee. He was nearly ready for a second cup when Stretch spoke again.

“so,” Stretch began. He shuffled his feet against the porch, his coffee cup held tightly in both hands. “you wanna get started on the pond today?”

Edge smiled faintly. “Of course, love, best to get it ready before Cheese needs it.”

He watched as Stretch lit up, equally delighted by his answer and his ready use of Stretch’s chosen name. It was hardly more ridiculous than Noodle, Nugget, and Dumpling, and besides, their baby deserved the best, too, did it not?

A pond and some research into their little duckling’s needs, that was the challenge for the day and Edge was more than up for it, so long as Stretch was by his side.

Edge set his cup on the table and reached over to take Stretch’s hand in his, slender fingers tangling with his own. He ran his thumb over Stretch’s wedding band, the smooth metal body-warm. Together, no matter what, and Edge was ready for that adventure as well and any that came along with it, for the rest of his life.

Even when it included unexpected additions.

-finis

[ducktracy]

188. porky’s poppa (1938)

release date: january 15th, 1938

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, porky’s poppa, narrator), bob clampett (duck)

it’s safe to say that 1938 was porky’s best year. speaking in terms of solo cartoons, that is. his cartoons were genuinely funny, stimulating, and he looked great appearance wise. 1939 the porky burnout started, and he was slowly reduced to a smiling stock character whose adversaries and costars were much more alive than he was.

as daffy (and later bugs) rose to popularity, porky slipped into the sidekick role, paired primarily with the duck. with that said, the porky/daffy cartoons are some of the funniest around, and i firmly believe the best cartoons for the both of them are the ones where they’re paired together—with a few exceptions, of course.

however, let’s not get ahead of ourselves: a great year of pig stardom awaits. porky’s father, who made a few appearances during the joe dougherty era, makes his final return. in a story that has loose similarities to the premise of porky’s railroad, porky struggles to convince his father that their cow, bessie, is a much better fit for the farm than the newfangled mechanical cow his father has his eyes on.

the introduction is one of the funniest aspects of the cartoon itself. a hand erases the title credits, scrawled on a blackboard, and fills in “PORKY’S POPPA... HAS A FARM”, mirroring the underscore of “old macdonald” (with substitute lyrics) below it.

a layout of the farm cuts to our pint-sized hero, grinning at the camera as the vocals sing “...and on this farm he had a pig: porky pig, you know.” bobe cannon animates porky struggling to sing along with the lyrics, his “oh buh-beh-boy!”s lagging with the beat. the music halts just in time for porky to pump his fists in frustration, not stuttering once as he grumbles “oh, skip it!”

repeatedly cutting back to the layout of the farm in conjunction with the lyrics is practically a gag within itself. the song grows increasingly absurd, with a goose honking horns, a cow showing off her legs as the vocals sing “with a little calf here, with a little calf there...”, struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of the song. bob clampett lends his own voice to a random duck (no relation to daffy!), following a hand pointing at certain areas of the farm and quacking (”with a little quack here, with a little quack there...”) 

finally, the duck in his psuedo-donald duck voice instructs “EVERYBODY SING!”, complete with some fun and unique typography. the entire song falls to pieces--before, the cutting back to the farm’s layout added an incongruous feeling of calm to balance out the wacky antics of the animals and the song. now, everything happens at once. the duck zips across the screen in a quacking frenzy, the mother cow shows off her baby calves, thrusting them to the beat of the music, the goose is a one man band of assorted horns, etc. blissful chaos.

things slow down as we cut back to porky, who smugly whips out a phonograph behind his back. the record is just him saying “oh boy!”, playing correctly to the beat of the music. he’s got this song number figured out... or does he?

even technology can’t conceal his stutter. the record begins to skip, mimicking the sound of his stutter, and porky smashes the phonograph to pieces as he slams it against the ground. the wordless yet furious stare he gives the audience as the dying record croaks out a distorted “oooooooh..... boooooooooy....” is nothing short of priceless. though he didn’t say a word himself during this scene, his motives, thoughts, and emotions are clearly visible. you can FEEL his pride at his solution, as well of the subsequent fury of his solution blowing up in his face. a wonderful end to a hilarious song sequence. 

“but on his farm, he has a mortgage... woe, oh woe, oh woe!” the score turns in to a mournful, minor key dirge, with anthropomorphic mortgage papers posing proudly on the farm. some very clever posing and metaphorical play as we fade to porky’s dad, moping around on the farm, the mortgage aligning with his silhouette and becoming a physical weight on his back. more playing with typography as the narrator reads aloud the words on the screen:

this is a parody of the march of time, a radio program who would often announce the death of a notorious person by declaring “and so, today, as it must to all men, death came to [name], [age].” even without the context, the gag is rather amusing, bringing a different change of pace to the cartoon with the addition of a narrator and the typography. knowing the source of the gag makes it hit just the right spot.

porky’s dad mutters about ruination, how he has no milk and no money, etc. mel blanc does a fine job of mimicking joe dougherty, maintaining the stutter and the low voice--in the dougherty cartoons, porky’s father was just dougherty’s natural speaking voice, whereas porky was sped up considerably. you can hear both at once here for comparison. 

we pan over to the cause of one of these stresses: their cow, bessie, has been quarantined (how timely!) for “hoof ‘n mouth trouble”, a play on hand-foot-and-mouth disease. clampett opts to take things just a step further--we truck inside the stall to see bessie posing for the camera, grinning with her foot INSIDE her mouth, batting her eyelashes and all. the “bull bontana” (bull montana) poster  plastered inside of her stall is a clever touch. 

after seeing that bessie’s production chart has dipped overwhelmingly into the negatives--a roll of paper unfurling at porky’s father’s feet, indicating just how poor the farm is doing--he places an “out of order” sign on the stall door.

suddenly, porky’s father grows aggravated. “i need to send you to the hamburger factory!” cue a close-up of bessie tearfully picturing her fate--a pile of burgers and hotdogs make up her figure. clampett would reprise this gag (albeit in a much more cruel manner) in porky’s last stand 2 years later, where daffy eagerly envisions a steaming hot hamburger in place of an innocent little calf. 

this is the second cartoon to make an ACME reference, the first being buddy’s bug hunt back in 1935. porky’s father phones up ACME mail order company, asking for “one cow--airmail”. context clues are just as important to the gag than the reveal itself: porky, his father, and bessie all become alert to the sounds of an airplane making a cacophony overhead. suddenly, a package bursts through the barn ceiling, floating to the ground with a neatly tied parachute. the animation appears to be the work of john carey, from the tall, pill-shaped eyes to the slow, drawn out way that porky blinks.

norm mccabe takes over to animate the grand reveal. lots of wonderful little subtleties: porky and his father are timed slightly differently, giving them both a natural sense of interaction and movement. there’s a lovely little accent on porky’s father opening the package by pulling a string--he jerks his head up slightly as he plucks the string, allowing the audience to feel the physical impact and snap of the pluck. it’s subtle, but very well done. 

instead of a flesh and blood cow, a mechanical hunk of metal slowly unfurls to life as the package opens. as porky’s father reads the label (The New 1938 CREAMLINED COW), porky himself objects to the new addition. “aww, eh-the-there ain’t no such animal!”

indeed there is: porky’s father loads a pile of hay into a chute, pressing down on the cow’s paintbrush tail. the cow pumps along to a brassy score of “old macdonald”, churning out milk from its metal udders, the milk pouring straight into an assembly line of bottles below. bob clampett’s puns are plentiful in this cartoon (notice how there’s no writer’s credit--he often said that he would write some of his earliest cartoons himself. i assume he wrote this one as well? i wonder how much input chuck jones had in the story?), but delivered nonchalantly, so they can actually be enjoyed. the cow caps the milk bottles by putting literal newsboy caps on top of the bottles, the paintbrush tail painting “cream paint” to the outside of the bottles and forming the illusion of cream. interesting business practices!

bobe cannon animates a delightful scene with porky. fun animation and fun dialogue make for a great combo. some very fluid, light, and fun animation of porky giving his pep talk as he hops around, swinging his arms, nonchalantly pushing his hat out of his face after getting so excited. “c’mon, eh-beh-beh-beh-bessie! we won’t let that old eh-neh-nuh-new fangled eh-ceh-co--heifer beat us. you just eat your uh-wuh-wee-weh-whea--eh-ha-hay, and show that eh-teh-eeh-eh-tin-can cow who can make the most...”

porky lowers bessie’s foot from her mouth by climbing on it, preparing to shovel a forkful of hay into her mouth, however, she shoves her foot right back in it, much to porky’s annoyance. “aww, every time you open your muh-mee-muh-me-eh-mou--kisser, ya put your eh-feh-eh-foot in it! eh-bee-bessie, you gotta eat! you eh-deh-dee-eh-don’t wanna be eh-seh-seeah-seeah-smothered in onions, eh-do ya?” 

treg brown’s sound effects of doors creaking as her leg is lowered is the perfect touch to the gag. porky struggles to feed bessie, eventually getting stuck in her mouth himself as he attempts to hold both legs down to no avail. he frees himself, just in time to hatch an ingenious idea.

his plan works: porky places the entire pile of hay onto bessie’s legs, who swallows it up whole, her mouth comically huge as she attempts to swallow it. porky is overjoyed, clapping at her efforts before rushing off to give her some privacy.

instead of porky just milking her like a regular farmer, clampett pushes the entire scenario further. porky paces around in the manner of an expectant father, accompanied by a soft score of “lullaby on broadway”. the sound of a baby crying prompts porky to do a gorgeously animated head shake of surprise--bessie hands him a milk bottle, which porky carefully swaddles and places in a basket. 

the charade continues, with clampett lulling us into a false sense of security with an already absurd gag. cue a gag that would have been incredibly risque in 1938: at about the fifth bottle, porky reaches out and finds that bessie hands him a bottle labeled “CHOC. MALT”, accompanied by an underscore of “i wish i was in dixie”. porky and bessie both grow bashful, but porky’s nonchalant whistling is cut to a half as bessie delivers yet another bottle. “gosh--eh-ceh-ceh-quin-eh-qui-eh--quart-tuplets!”

porky rushes over to his farther to share the good news. however, dad is too preoccupied with the fancy mechanics of the cow to pay bessie any mind. he shows porky a barrage of dairy-related puns churned out by the creamlined cow:

cottage cheese (cheese in the shapes of houses--and an outhouse for good measure--don the conveyer belt), limburger cheese (cheese slices with clothes pins pinned to their “noses” to ward off the stench), and swiss cheese (a cuckoo bird pops out of the cow’s mechanical side and sprays the cheese wheels with bullets, which turn into yodeling mouths). interestingly, mel’s voice for porky’s father changes in this scene--it’s still him, but the nasally undertones are absent. i wonder if he did this on a different day?

nevertheless, the staging of the next gag is genius. the majority of the screen is black, save for a small window revealing porky holding onto bessie’s udders. “c’mon, eh-beh-bessie! hurry eh... hurry eh... step on it!” the window expands to reveal bessie pouring a bucket of milk into a line of funnels (rather than udders), which are then evenly distributed to the bottles. “’ats a guh-geh-gee-eh-girl!”

mechanical cow seems to be doing just fine, plopping cherries on top of elaborate ice cream sundaes and milk shakes. the only fault in the system is the cow’s own personal whiskey bottle rolling down the assembly line, which it confiscates promptly. 

porky, on the other hand, is making do. with an ice block on her head, bessie churns out ice cream cones to the best of her ability. as the cones grow smaller and smaller in size, porky orders her to eat more hay, which she happily does so.

now, it’s cow vs. cow. the mechanical cow opts to play some dirty tricks on bessie, pouring a jar of vanishing cream it produced onto the hay bessie is eating. and, thanks to the law of cartoon physics, the milk bottles she hands porky disappear by the minute. though the effect of the bottles disappearing may not seem like much today, for 1938 the ink and paint department did a wonderful job of demonstrating the illusion that the bottles suddenly disappeared.

with the rest of the hay now gone thanks to a hefty glob of vanishing cream, porky and bessie engage in a wild goose (cow?) chase to find more hay. the mechanical cow gobbles up every square inch of hay in sight--at one point, bessie heaves a dubious shrug to the audience. i love how they made her hooves look like hands, but still remain identifiable hooves. the scramble animation she does as she dashes out of frame (with porky clinging to her like a horse) is wonderfully done as well.

both porky and bessie and the creamlined cow exit the barn, chasing each other around the farm. the mechanical cow physically turns into a vacuum cleaner, threatening to suck up the last remaining pile of hay. in a gag that’s reminiscent of the harman-ising days (is it the inclusion of the outhouse?), the cow-turned-vacuum rushes into a shed filled to the brim with hay. the audience merely watches the shed itself shrink in size as the cow gobbles up all of the hay, the final result a puny little outhouse. 

at last, the enemies reach a face-off. the last pile of hay--or, as porky puts it in his punny little way, “eh-thee-the-thee-that’s the last straw.” in a relatively tashlin-esque maneuver, clampett makes some fast cuts to heighten the suspense of the action. cut between porky and bessie to the mechanical cow to the pile of straw (facetiously labeled “MILK WEED”). the cuts grow quicker and quicker, the music crescendo-ing... 

until BLAM! in a loose parallel to the finale of rover’s rival, everything explodes at once. nuts and bolts rain in the sky, as do neat little bundles of hay. however, clampett doesn’t allow the audience to rest just yet--with bessie nowhere in sight, the mechanical cow continues to charge forth, seeking refuge in a hay to release a humongous pile of milk bottles. so high, in fact, that the shed (and cow) are elevated several feet into the air. porky’s a goner.

porky’s father, who had been absent for the past few minutes, reappears to declare the tin-can cow a winner, much to porky’s visible dissatisfaction.

yet it’s not a clampett cartoon without a twist! bessie pokes her head out of the mechanical cow’s mouth, mooing the ever popular catchphrase from the ken murray show: “mmmmmmwooooooooooah, yeeeeaaaaaah!” porky gives a celebratory “oh, boy!” as we iris out--the goose and duck from earlier poke their heads into the scene just before the iris fully closes.

this is an early porky cartoon that’s just plain fun. bobe cannon’s animation of porky serves as one of the many highlights, from porky getting aggravated with his phonograph to his excited pep talk towards bessie. corny as the opening number is, it’s a lot of fun at the same time--the intensity in increasing chaos is a prevalent theme to clampett’s cartoons. just look at the climax/ending of baby bottleneck!

i don’t have many complaints towards this cartoon, if any at all. it’s not my favorite porky entry, sure, but it’s most certainly an enjoyable watch and one of his better cartoons of the ‘30s. the visual puns aren’t nearly as hamfisted as ben hardaway’s (as we’ll soon discover), making them more enjoyable than some of the jokes present in, say, daffy duck & egghead. regardless, there are a lot of unique gags, fun animation, and amusing dialogue to constitute a watch.

the cartoon is up on HBOmax, but you can also watch it here!

[angelatmidnight1]

If We Could Turn Back Time

A/N: So, this idea came to me randomly and I was too excited not to write it. I was inspired by Horizon’s and Mirage’s voice lines and the song Stressed Out by Twenty One Pilots. I love the mother-son dynamic between the two characters, and I wrote this story with that in mind. Space mom is best mom, and I hope you like the story!

Before joining the Apex Games, Horizon made a promise to her dear son, Newton. She promised that she would return home safe and sound after she returned from her dangerous mission. She made this promise before Dr. Reid betrayed her and left her to die in a black hole. Eighty-seven years have passed since Horizon made this promise, but the astrophysicist remains determined to see it through. This is especially true on January 6, the day that would’ve been her son’s eighty-eighth birthday. Horizon, using her current winnings from the Apex Games, hunkers down inside her lab to conjure up a new spacecraft that would take her back in time to be with him. Everything goes smoothly until it unexpectedly crashes, but Horizon is determined to get it working. The astrophysicist becomes so engrossed in her work that she forgets that she was supposed to have tea and scones with Mirage. The trickster heads to her lab and finds a tense, tear-stricken Horizon. Elliot panics and rushes to her side, urging her to talk to him. Dr. Somers voices her frustrations, even going as far to denounce herself as a mother for leaving Newton behind. Horizon breaks down moments later; Elliot steps in to put a smile back on her face. 

“Repulsors, check…” Horizon chewed on her pen as she rounded the corner in her lab. She had a clipboard in her hand with her latest blueprints taking up the majority of the page. The astrophysicist had spent a considerable amount of time on the spacecraft’s design, and she was certain that she covered every detail down to a T. All that was left to do was to test it. 

“Stabilisers, check…” She looked up from the clipboard as she approached the spacecraft. She ran her hand along the smooth surface of the ship, humming thoughtfully. There were no scratches, no dents, no holes...everything seemed to be in place. Dr. Somers rounded the spacecraft once, twice, and even a third time before she felt comfortable enough to enter it. This is going to work… She thought. It has to.

“Best buddy…?” Horizon called out expectantly and hugged her clipboard to her chest. There was a brief delay before N.E.W.T. came floating in the room after her, beeping happily. She turned to her bot and grinned, stepping up onto it and laughing when he did a little spin. “Check.”  

N.E.W.T. carried the scientist over to a small panel on her leftmost wall. The panel served as a mechanism that would simulate zero gravity inside the laboratory. Horizon flicked a switch on the panel and gently tapped her foot against the bot. The bot compiled by carefully boosting her upwards so that she could float back over to the spacecraft. Horizon settled into the seat with N.E.W.T. nestling beside her. 

“Alright, little Newtie,” She said with a hopeful smile, “"Let's have a wee play with the laws of physics, shall we?"

N.E.W.T. beeped in the affirmative and watched as the scientist gripped the thrusters. She powered up the spacecraft and beamed as it roared to life. The sound grew louder and a bright light emitted from the propulsion systems. The spacecraft rose into the air and hovered in place, which made Horizon cheer. It was working! Recreating the ship she took in the past was a small step towards home, but it was progress. The scientist slowly steered the ship towards her left and right hand side to test the mobility. Then, she decided to do a full 360 degree turn, which is where the ship began to shake. 

“Easy, girl. Just a wee bit higher…” Dr. Somers murmured, squeezing the thrusters and steering the ship further up. A low whine emitted from the spacecraft as a response and, much to the scientist’s disappointment, the ship came crashing down moments later. Horizon squeaked and pulled N.E.W.T. into her lap, looking down at him worriedly. 

“You alright, darlin’? Are ya hurt?” The astrophysicist scanned the bot for any dents and patted the top of his head soothingly. N.E.W.T. beeped and flickered his light twice. It was a system they had; one flick meant yes, two flicks meant no. Horizon breathed a sigh of relief before she climbed out of the ship. She floated back over to the panel to switch off the zero gravity simulation. Her Spacewalk perk allowed her to gracefully land on the ground, and she took another breath as she approached the spacecraft. The leftmost delta wing had fallen off and both of the ship’s boosters were cracked. The astrophysicist let out a mild curse as she assessed the damage. 

“Damn it...was it a miscalculation somewhere? A six where there should’ve been a seven?” Horizon mumbled to herself as she looked at her clipboard again. She didn’t immediately see the error and dropped the clipboard on her desk with a sigh.  N.E.W.T. hovered over to her and nudged her leg, looking up at her. Dr. Somers looked down and leaned over to pet him again. “We’ll get this, Newtie.” She affirmed, her eyes finding the damaged ship. But then, she looked at her desk again and saw the small, framed picture of her and her son. “We promised.”

After repairing the spacecraft’s damages, Horizon made another attempt to steer it through the air...only to be met with the same results. She wrung her hands through her red hair and, after some more repairs and new calculations, tried to fly it again. But, this time, she couldn’t even get the ship into the air! The repair-recalculate-crash pattern continued well into the early evening hours, and didn’t stop there. After another crash, which completely destroyed the right side of the ship, the astrophysicist angrily dropped her clipboard onto her desk. 

“No, no, NO! I had it!” Horizon yelled, abandoning the ruins of the ship and dropping into the chair at her desk.  N.E.W.T. flinched and fled to the corner of the room.  The astrophysicist buried her face into her hands and exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, Newtie. I didn’t mean to scare ya. It’s just--he’s countin’ on me. It’s the one thing that he ever asked me to do...just keep a promise…” She stated in a whisper, glancing up to her son’s picture again. Horizon let out a shaky breath as she took the picture in both of her hands. A tear slipped down the woman’s face and, pretty soon, more tears followed suit. 

In the corridor that led to Horizon’s lab, Mirage came strutting down with a grin on his face. The trickster had scored another win in the Apex Games, totaling up to his fifth win in a row. After the game, he spent time interviewing, signing autographs, and taking selfies with his fans. He snagged a copy of the magazine that had his face on the front cover before hurrying to Horizon’s lab. The astrophysicist had invited him over for tea and scones after his game, and Mirage had plenty to talk about! The trickster strolled right up to the laboratory door and rapped his knuckles against it.

“Hey hey, Dr.Somers! I’m here and ready to par-tea!” He chuckled; he was proud of that one. Normally, he would hear machines humming from inside the lab...but it was oddly quiet. The astrophysicist was also normally quick to answer the door and deliver a pun of her own which, he had to admit, were pretty good. So, for a solid minute, Elliot stood at the door and waited for any indication that she was around. Certainly she didn’t forget about him coming over? Mirage waited a bit longer and, the disappointment weighing down on him, finally turned to leave. But then, the door opened with a gentle squeak. 

“There you are!” Mirage grinned and faced the door. “I started to think you forgot about me! I even got a little miss-tea eyed---”

The trickster stopped speaking when N.E.W.T. floated into the hallway. Mirage furrowed his eyebrows; how did he manage to open the door? The bot looked up at him and beeped softly, nudging the side of his foot. 

“Oh, hey buddy.” Elliot smiled and knelt down to the bot’s level. “Where’s Horizon? Is she here? If not, I can come back later! I don’t wanna, ya know, be a  nuance--news--...you know what, I can just come back later.”

N.E.W.T. beeped again and nudged Mirage’s foot with urgency. “What?” Elliot’s brows furrowed again and he stood back up. The bot got in front of him and blocked the path back that would lead him away from the laboratory. “You wanna show me something?”

N.E.W.T. hovered up and down before floating further into the laboratory. The bot kept looking back to see if the trickster was following him and, when he didn’t come right away, he beeped sadly. 

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Elliot entered the laboratory and closed the door behind him. He half expected Dr. Somers to be waiting for him on the other side of the door, but there was still no sign of her. He hesitated; he had been in her lab plenty of times, but didn’t normally roam around unless she said it was alright. He didn’t want to accidentally get sucked into another dimension! But, the bot seemed anxious as it led the trickster up to another large door. Mirage sighed and helped N.E.W.T. open the door before heading into the room. 

“Oh, Newtie, I told you. I'm fine.” Horizon spoke quietly from the opposite side of the room. Her back was facing the door so Elliot couldn’t see her face, but the trickster could hear a quiver in her voice. N.E.W.T. beeped sadly again and bumped Mirage’s shoe, his optic going from him to Dr. Somers. Elliot cleared his throat and tentatively stepped further into the room, startling the astrophysicist. “Dr. Somers? You okay?” 

“Elliot! Oh goodness, dear, you scared me.” Horizon started to turn and face the trickster, but stopped halfway and kept her back to him. She was still sitting at her desk and had something in her hand that Mirage couldn’t see. “How did you manage the door? I’m sure I locked it…”

“N.E.W.T. opened it,” Mirage explained before walking towards the scientist. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re--whoa!” The trickster paused and finally noticed the destroyed ship. “What happened there?”

“Bloody thing crashed. I had her in the air just a few hours ago, and  now she won’t fly. I’ve run tests, redid all of my calculations, patched her up…” Horizon’s voice got louder the more she spoke, which startled Mirage. He’s never heard her yell before, not even when they were participating in the Games. It was then that the scientist finally turned around, and Mirage could see her red, teary eyes. “I know there’s something I’m missing. But I just---I don’t know what it is. And I have to do this, Elliot, I have---”

“Hey, hey, hey! It’s okay,” Mirage panicked and immediately rushed to Horizon’s side. He hated to see others upset; it tore him up inside. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re the smartest person I’ve met, Dr. Somers. I’m sure you can rebuild it.”

Horizon shook her head and wiped her eyes. “There’s more to it than that…” She whispered, handing over the picture she was holding.  It was a younger Horizon holding a smiling boy in her arms. “Today is Newton’s birthday,” She sniffled, “And I’m no closer to home than I when I left.”

“Oh…” Mirage held the picture and looked at it thoughtfully. It reminded him of the pictures he’d take with his own mother. For a moment, he felt a pang of sadness in his own heart, but then he refocused on the woman in front of him. “It looked like you two were close.”

“Oh, he was a rascal.” Dr. Somers stepped closer so that she could look at the photo too. “Couldn’t get him out of trouble before he fell back in again.” Dr. Somers wiped her eyes and smiled faintly. “When I told him I was leaving, he bawled from sun up to sun down. I thought he’d try to sneak into the car just to come with me. But that night, I sat him down and said, ‘Dinnae worry, Newtie. Yer maw will be back before you know it. I promise.”

Horizon’s eyes threatened to spill over again. “The world was about to destroy itself, Elliot. The world that my little boy was going to inherit one day. I didn’t want that to happen. All we needed was Branthium. But when I look back...” She gently touched the corner of the frame. “All I can think about is my wee boy waiting for his maw to come back. He waited so many years and...oh, Elliot, what kind of mother leaves her child behind?”

Dr. Somers began to cry and Mirage gently pulled her in for a hug. “Aw, Dr. Somers, don’t cry.” The trickster rubbed her back, and Horizon rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m sure he knew how much you loved him. I mean, you went to save the world. All for him! That had to make you a superhero in his book.” Elliot tried to lighten the mood but when she sobbed, all he could do was hug her tighter. 

“...Maybe, Dr. Somers, instead of thinking about the lost time…” Mirage continued after her sobbing calmed down a bit, “Think about the time you did spend with Newton. The times where you two laughed together, spent time together, ate some good food. Ya know, the good times.” 

Horizon met Elliot’s eyes after another moment of silence and nodded. “Aye, you’re right. We did share some fond memories together.” The astrophysicist responded with a small smile gracing her face. She recalled a memory of her and Newton at dinner, where he decided to stick carrots inside of his nose and pretend to be a walrus. At the time, Mary worried that he’d accidentally get the carrots stuck; but now, it was just one of the many things that Newton did that made her smile. Mirage beamed when he saw Horizon smiling. 

“There we go. You’re smiling already! Just keep those thoughts in mind and it’ll be much easier to build something that’ll take you back to your son.” Mirage smiled, “It also helps that you can literally control the universe.” 

Dr. Somers’ smile brightened as she wiped her eyes again. “Well...”

“You can! I’ve seen it first hand. N.E.W.T. is out of this world.” Mirage smiled some more when the woman chuckled. “Oh, did you like that joke?” The trickster grinned, “Because I totally didn’t planet.”

Mary finally laughed and shook her head. “You’re funny.” She giggled, seeing N.E.W.T. float over to them and look up at her. She let out a little sigh as she knelt down to pet him. “I’m sorry, Newtie. Yer maw’s just feeling a bit forlorn. But there’s no replacing you, dear. You’re my best friend.” 

N.E.W.T. perked up and beeped happily, cuddling against her side. This made Horizon laugh again, and the gears in Mirage’s head started turning. Mary looked up at Elliot and noticed her reflection in a mirror behind him.

“Oh, I’m a mess. I’m sorry you had to see me this way, Elliot.” Dr. Somers frowned and wiped the rest of the tears off her face. Mirage shook his head and helped the woman to her feet. 

“Don’t worry about it, Dr. Somers,” Mirage smiled, “ I can keep a secret. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Horizon returned the smile with N.E.W.T. happily circling her feet. “Thank you, dear. You’re very kind.”

“Anytime, doc. So, how long did it take you to build all this?” Mirage nodded towards the spacecraft before approaching it. Although half of it was destroyed, the trickster still thought it was impressive that one person built it alone. Horizon followed him and observed her work. 

“Oh, maybe about, ehm...three days or so? It was really just the better part of a couple of afternoons.” The astrophysicist knelt down to gather some debris from the floor, sighing. “But now it’s back to the drawing board..”

The trickster didn’t want to lose her to her work just yet, so he followed her lead and gathered more debris from the floor. “Well, since I’m here,” Mirage started, “ Maybe I can help you put some pieces back together. More hands, less work, right?”

Horizon dropped some debris in a large waste bin by her door and looked at the trickster. “Are you sure, Elliot? I don’t want you troublin’ yourself over me.”

“It’s no trouble! Just tell me what to put where, and I’ll do it. It’ll be a piece of cake.” Mirage grinned, getting rid of his own debris before returning to the ship. He eagerly slapped the side of the spacecraft, flinching when he accidentally knocked another piece of it off. He looked up at the astrophysicist sheepishly. “Uh, I’ll put that back…”

Horizon chuckled and went over to the trickster, picking up the piece to discard it. “Dinnae worry about it, darlin’. Nothin’ the two of us cannae fix.”

The duo spent the next two hours cleaning the area around the ship before they, mainly Horizon, began the repairs. While they worked, Mirage asked her where she managed to find all of the supplies to build the ship. He didn’t remember World’s Edge or King’s Canyon having these materials laying around, after all. This sparked a conversation about what Dr. Somers used to build the ship, and how easy it was to find the supplies if one knew where to look. This was Elliot’s chance to strike. After welding the leftmost delta wing back on, Horizon returned to her desk to write some more notes on her clipboard. Mirage slowly walked over and stood behind her, poking her side. The scientist flinched and accidentally drew a line across the page. She turned around to face a now smirking trickster, raising a brow. “Did you need something, dear?”

“Yeah, where’d ya say this goes, again?” Mirage held up a triangular piece of the ship as he looked at her. The astrophysicist was holding her arm closer to the side he poked, which only made him smirk some more. Horizon gave him a quizzical look at first, but then visibly relaxed as she put the clipboard back down. 

“Oh, I’ll show you.” Dr. Somers led Elliot back over to the ship and gestured to the appropriate location. It was at the upper part of the ship; not out of her reach, but high enough where she had to reach up a bit. “You can put it right hehehere---!”

Horizon flinched and giggled when she felt a pair of hands squeeze her sides. She lurched out of the sudden squeeze and stepped away from the obviously guilty Mirage. “Whahaht on eahahrth are you doing?”

“What? I thought you were gonna fall, so I was just holding you up! I’m only the best person you could ever be friends with, so what would it say about me if I didn’t catch you?” Mirage chuckled, putting the spaceship piece down and following after her. “And you know what?” The trickster grinned, holding his hands out in front of him and wiggling his fingers. “I’d be an awful friend if I didn’t make sure you were all cheered up~.”

The realization dawned on Horizon and her face turned red. “Now wait just seechohohohnd! Elliot!” She tittered when he managed to squeeze her sides again. Before he could squeeze a third time, she grabbed his hands, pulling them off of her sides. “Let’s nohohohot get ahead of ourselves.” She giggled, “I’m fine. Really.” 

“But that’s what they all say!” Mirage playfully argued, pulling his hands out of her grip. “I’ve gotta be sure! That’s what friends are for.”

With that, the trickster lunged forward and pulled the scientist towards him. Dr. Somers squeaked and attempted to push him away, making it easier for him to reach under her arms and tickle her armpits. 

“Nohohohohoh Eheheheheliot dohohohohn’t!” Horizon gasped and brought her arms down against her sides. This only helped with keeping Mirage’s hands in place as he gently scribbled his fingers against her hollows. “STaahahahahahahap!”

Mirage raised a brow and gently scraped two nails down the center of each of her armpits. “Don’t stop?” The trickster repeated, having to raise his voice a bit when the scientist belted out a laugh. “Well, okay, if that’s what the doctor ordered…”

“No! No no no noohohohohoh thahahahat’s nahahahat wahahahaht I mehahahahahnt!” Dr. Somers protested and, in a panic, she whirled around and tried to make a break for it. For a moment, she freed herself from Elliot’s hold and was able to put some distance between them. But, she didn’t get too far before she tripped over herself and tumbled to the floor. Mirage was able to catch up to her and made sure she didn’t hit the ground too hard. Then, after pinning her arms down underneath his legs, he resumed tickling her armpits. This time, he gently drilled his fingers into the center of her left armpit, while scritching circles around the outside of her right armpit. Mary sputtered before she fell back into her giggling fit. “Ah! Nohahahahahahahahahah Gohohohnahahahe nohohohoh dahahahae thahahahat! (Please don’t do that!)”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” The trickster chuckled and suddenly squeezed her sides again. He snickered when she arched her back and squealed. “Can you say that again in laman--lemons---no, what’s the saying again?”

“LAaahahahahahahaymaahahan’s teheheheheheherms!” 

“Bingo, layman’s terms.” Mirage nodded and stroked along the scientist’s sides, easily keeping up with her when she twisted her torso around. Horizon’s laughter had a warm, musical quality to it, and it made the trickster smile. After a few more seconds of gentle stroking, the trickster dug his fingers into her sides, laughing along with her when she snorted.

“I-I saahahahahahahahahaid dohohohohohn’t tihihihihicahahahaah mehehehehehe!” Mary shook her head, unable to get a clear word out as Elliot kneaded her sides at a fast pace. “Eehehehehehehehliot plehheheHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Please what? I still can’t understand you!” Mirage grinned and went back to stroking her sides. “Say it again.”

Mary’s giggles calmed down to the point where she could speak. But, before she could, Elliot swiped his fingers over her stomach. She bucked her hips and coughed out a laugh, her squirming becoming more frantic. The trickster noticed and, smirking, he wiggled his fingers into the sides of her stomach. 

“NAHAHAHAHA EHEHEHEHEHEHLIOT!”

“Doctoooor~.” Mirage answered in a sing-song voice, finding himself laughing along with her. He put his fingers together to make a claw-like shape with his hands, scratching up and down her abdomen. “I didn’t know you were so ticklish,” He teased, playfully jabbing her side before returning to her stomach. “That’s quite the discovery!” 

“PLEHEHEAHASE STAHAHAHAH!” Horizon’s face lit up bright red at the trickster’s teasing and she desperately tried to pull her arms free. Although her stomach was only her second worst spot, the ticklish sensations were still maddening. “I CAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“But I’ve gotta cheer you up! And this is working a treat.” Mirage declared happily, moving one of his hands up to poke at her ribs. After some test pokes, he settled on her uppermost ribs, wriggling his fingers in circular motions. He kept his other hand on her stomach and raked his nails just above her navel. 

“I’M CHEHEHEHEHERED UHUHUHP! I-I’m nohohohoht lyhyhyhyhing tohohohoho yohohohu…” Dr. Somers’ laughter calmed down to giggles when Elliot switched back to her armpits. The trickster tapped his nails against her armpits, occasionally squeezing the spot right where they ended. 

“Hmm...I just don’t know,” Mirage mused, zigzagging his nails back into her hollows. Mary yelped, her nose scrunching up from how hard she was giggling. “Whaddaya think, buddy?”

N.E.W.T. had floated over to the duo and trained his optic on them. The little robot beeped and, when Horizon heard it, she looked up with a start. 

“Newtie! Neehehehehwtie hehehehehlp me!” The scientist yelled, squeaking when Mirage dipped his hands down and drilled his fingers into her hips. Horizon cried out again and arched her back, momentarily losing herself in giggles before she was able to speak again. “Ihihihihihi nehehehehehd yohohohur HEHEHEHEHLP!”

Mirage started to prod her stomach again, poking at a pace fast enough to send her back into a fit of panicked laughter. “I’m just trying to raise her spirits,” He explained, continuing the tickling as the robot floated up to his side. “See? She’s laughing!”

Horizon cackled out a protest and N.E.W.T settled on top of her legs, beeping cheerfully. The little robot wasn’t entirely sure what was making her laugh so hard, but he was happy to see her smiling. In fact, N.E.W.T. got so excited that he activated his black hole ability, swiping her shoes. Sometimes, N.E.W.T. was rather playful, where he liked to take her things and float away. Pens, books, mugs, and today, shoes. The astrophysicist’s head shot up while she was laughing, a feeling of dread settling on her shoulders. “GIHIHIHIHVE THOHOHOHOSE BAHAHACK NEEHEHWTIHIHE!”

The trickster glanced up at the robot and halted the tickling. “Oh, you wanna help, Newt?” He grinned, noticing the shoes that N.E.W.T. was levitating in the air. Horizon breathed heavily and paled when Elliot glanced back at her feet. “Wait! Elliot, plehehease..” She pleaded, squeaking loudly when Mirage reached behind him and stroked one finger down her sole. “Dohohohn’t tickle my feeheheheht! Plehehehehase!”

“But I have to! Newt here wants to make sure you’re cheered up too.” Mirage chirped, quickly turning around so that he could face her feet, but keep her arms pinned. With N.E.W.T. sitting on top of her legs and the trickster holding down her arms, it was even more difficult for her to struggle. So, when Elliot dragged one nail down Horizon’s sole again, again, again, and again, the scientist immediately dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

“AHAHAHA STAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Horizon screamed and kicked her feet at Elliot’s hands, prompting the trickster to hold onto her ankles to keep them still. He fluttered all of his nails against the center of her sole, smiling at the heavy laughter it produced. 

“Nope! No-can do, there are tickles a-foot.” Mirage snickered, his fingers dancing over her arches before settling back onto her soles. N.E.W.T. beeped and cuddled against the scientist’s legs. 

“NAHAHAHAHAAHAH NOHOHOHOH I CAAHAHAHN’T TAHAHAKE IHIHIHT!” The astrophysicist laughed and desperately arched her back, but she wasn’t going anywhere. N.E.W.T. wasn’t uncomfortably heavy, but he weighed just enough to help keep her in place. “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

Mirage noticed that Dr. Somers laughed harder the higher up he tickled, so he wiggled his fingers until he got underneath her toes. She screamed again, her laughter momentarily going silent before picking up again. “Oho, this spot seems toe-tally ticklish. Haha, get it?” Mirage laughed and raked his nails against the stems of her toes. Horizon’s face only grew redder as her legs jolted, threatening to throw N.E.W.T. off of her. 

“EHEHEHEHELIOT NOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAH!”

The laughter poured out of Horizon like honey as she tried to curl her toes. The trickster held her toes back with one hand so that he could easily tickle between them, prompting another cry of laughter. 

“Coochie coochie coo~.” Mirage teased, tickling between her toes some more before raking his nails along the length of her foot. Horizon arched her back again, shaking her head wildly as she laughed and laughed. While he tickled her foot, something fluttered in the distance, barely catching his eye. He looked up towards the scientist’s desk and, in a little container at the corner, were a collection of pens. One of the pens had a fluffy tuft of pink feathers at the top of it. The trickster halted the tickling and turned to nudge N.E.W.T. 

“Newt, buddy! Can you go over there and get that for me?” Elliot motioned to the fluffy pen while the astrophysicist greedily breathed in air. Both N.E.W.T. and Horizon followed his gaze over to the pen and, when the bot went to retrieve it, the weight was lifted off of the scientist’s legs. She attempted to pull her ankles free from his ironhold, but he held strong. 

“Dehehehar, hahahve mehehehrcy on mehehehe…!” Horizon started giggling again as Mirage poked at her feet at random intervals. By then, N.E.W.T. returned with the fluffy pen and dropped it onto the trickster’s lap. He picked up the pen and glanced back at her; although she was breathless, she looked much happier compared to when he first saw her. And, on top of that, he was having a blast! He didn’t want to tickle her too much, but he wasn’t ready to stop just yet. So, after a couple more pokes and some idle twiddling of the feathered pen, he started to gently tap her feet with it. 

“Not yet, Dr. Somers. I think you’re almost cheered up~.” Mirage smiled, slowly stroking her heels with the feathers. Horizon flinched and snickered, tugging at her legs with a renewed vigor. 

“Noheheheheheheheheh f-feheeHEHEHEHAHAHTHEHEHERS!” The scientist protested, momentarily pulling her ankles from his grasp and covering one foot with the other. Elliot pulled her ankles back under his arm and flicked the feathers up her soles instead, drawing out squeals and cackles. 

“No?” Mirage chuckled and wiggled his fingers on her left sole, stroking the feathers along her right sole. Horizon yelled and fell back into heavy laughter, crossing her feet repeatedly, although it didn’t block the tickles. “Is this better?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOH IT’S NAHAHAHAHAT!” Horizon yelled, squealing and laughing harder when focused the tickling on her left foot. The trickster noticed that her left foot seemed more ticklish than her right foot, and when he rubbed the feathers against her left toes, she arched her back and dipped into silent laughter. 

“What about this, Dr. Somers? Is this better?” Mirage smirked and wiggled the feathers between her toes. She squeaked and fell back into silent laughter. He eased up on the tickling by stroking the feathers down her soles and arches, which still made her laugh, but not quite as hard. 

“EEEHEHEHAHAHALIOT DEAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHA!” Horizon shut her eyes tight and panicked when she felt the feathers trailing back up to her toes. “IHIHIHIHIHIHT REHEHAHAHAHALLY TIHIHHI-AHAHAHAHA!”

Mirage suddenly put the feathered pen down and used his nails to tickle all over Horizon’s feet. The scientist bucked her legs and shrieked with laughter; but, when the trickster buried his fingers back underneath her toes, her laughter went silent again. He looked back at her to see the tears streaming down her face and finally stopped the tickling, releasing her legs. Horizon gasped for air and hid her red face in her hands. 

“Oh my stahahars…” She giggled a little bit and looked up when N.E.W.T. returned to her side. The bot carefully put her shoes back down and tentatively beeped, which only made her chuckle. 

“Dinnae fash yersel, Newtie. I’m not upset with you. But, aye, I could use my shoes.” Horizon smiled, her smile widening when the bot floated into her arms to cuddle. She then looked up to see Mirage offering his hand to her and, keeping one arm wrapped around her dear companion, she stood up with his help. 

“So, how’d I do?” Mirage looked up at her and gave her a small smile. “Do you feel better?”

“Maybe a bit winded, but aye, I feel much better, dear. Thank you.” Horizon smiled brightly, and it made the trickster’s heart swell with pride. 

“You’re very welcome! Now, since it’s getting late, how about I get us some pizza? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Elliot chuckled. Horizon’s eyes widened; she had completely forgotten that she promised him tea and scones!

“I suppose it is getting late…” She responded, glancing over at a digital clock she kept on her desk. “How about I still make you that tea while you get the pizza? It’s the least I can do.”

“Deal!” Mirage took out his phone so he could call the pizza order in. While he did that, Horizon put her shoes back on and left for the kitchen, her companion following close behind. He pocketed his phone once the order was placed and looked towards the picture of the scientist and her son. Although he succeeded in cheering Horizon up, there was one more surprise that he had up his sleeve. After all, every kid deserves a present on their birthday. 

It didn’t take long for Mirage to get the pizzas; they were ready by the time he arrived to pick them up. But, that’s not all he went to get. On his way to get the food, he bought the biggest, most colorful birthday card that he could find and an assortment of colorful pens. He even managed to find some balloons but needed to tie them to his wrist so they didn’t blow away. Then, he returned back to the ship so that all of the Legends could sign it. Although he didn’t give all of the details about Horizon and her son, most of the Legends were happy to oblige. But, when the trickster went to Rampart, she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. 

“Aww~. I didn’t know you were such a softie, Witt!” The modder teased, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. Mirage groaned and pushed her hand away; it took all of his will power for him not to blush. 

“I’m not! It’s just---it’s for---I--it’s for Horizon’s son, Rampart.” Mirage stammered, sighing as he adjusted the pizza boxes in his hand. “And it’s supposed to be a surprise…”

“Oh, give it here! I was just teasin’ you.” Rampart snickered and made a gimmie motion with her hands so that the trickster would hand over the birthday card. She chose the bright orange pen to sign it with, her grin softening as she handed it back to Elliot. “It’s a really nice thing you’re doing for her, mate. I’m sure she’ll love it.” 

“Of course she will!” Elliot was quick to respond as if Ramya said the most obvious thing in the world. But then, he faltered and gave her a genuine smile of his own. “But, thanks Rampart.” 

Rampart smiled and waved him off as he left, returning to Sheila and picking up her wrench. Mirage could tell the pizzas were getting cold, so he hurried to his party ship for the last part of his surprise. 

~

While Mirage was gone, Horizon boiled water for tea at the stove. She played ping-pong with N.E.W.T. while waiting for the water to get hot. The astrophysicist giggled as the bot darted across the room to volley the ball back to her. Once the kettle whistled, she paused their game and set two mugs down on the countertop. “He’s been gone a while, hasn’t he, Newtie?” She mused as she poured the hot water into each mug. N.E.W.T. beeped softly and flicked his light once. “I wonder where he went?”

Horizon set a tea bag in each of the mugs, her gaze suddenly trained onto her lab. “Did I leave a light on?” She stepped away from the counter and saw a bright light engulfing her laboratory. She looked at her companion before the two of them went back into the lab. When she got there, she heard faint music sounding outside of her observatory. She furrowed her brows and pressed another button on the wall so that the roof opened. Her eyes widened when she saw Mirage’s party ship hovering above.

“Dr. Somers!” Mirage’s used the ship’s megaphone to call down to the scientist, grinning. “I thought we’d celebrate Newton’s birthday in style!”

Mirage hit the party button on his ship to launch the fireworks. Instead of his huge decoys dancing around the ship, the fireworks were green, blue, orange, and white, with the words Happy Birthday, Newton stretching out over the dark sky above.  Horizon stood dumbfounded, the words getting caught in her throat. Her stunned silence gave way to a huge smile that even Elliot could see. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” He chuckled, sending a zipline down to her. “Come on up!”

Horizon put N.E.W.T. on her back and zipped up to the party ship. She put N.E.W.T. back down once she got up there and looked around, the red balloons catching her eye. Then, Mirage hopped down from the platform and waved to the smiling scientist. 

“Elliot, ya beauty, this is wonderful! I-I’m speechless. You didn’t have to do all of this for us...” Horizon finally found the words she needed as the trickster strolled up to her. 

“But it’s Newton’s birthday! And I know how much you wanted to celebrate with him, so think of this as celebrating early. Ya know, for when you see him again.” Mirage happily insisted, handing her the huge birthday card. “Here, this is from all of the Legends. I may have, um, scribbled Revenant’s name in there. But let’s keep that a secret.”

Dr. Somers blinked and took the card from him. She opened it and looked at the colorful signatures and messages from her fellow Legends. Her eyes welling up with tears again. “Elliot…”

“Wait, hold on. I forgot one more thing.” Mirage took off the medal he got from his recent game and handed it to her. But, Horizon didn’t take it. 

“Oh no, dear. I couldn’t. I know how precious your medals are to you.” Horizon looked at him hesitantly and held the birthday card to her chest. Mirage took a step forward and carefully draped it around her neck anyway. 

“Yeah, but there’s someone else out there who it’ll mean even more to. I mean, hey, his mom is a Legend. I’m sure he’ll be one too.” Mirage smiled, gasping when the astrophysicist pulled him in for a tight hug. 

“This means the world to me, Elliot. Thank you…” Horizon whispered, putting her head back onto his shoulder. Mirage slowly returned the hug and beamed. The trickster never shied away from the spotlight and loved it when all eyes were on him. But, nothing felt as good as making someone else’s world a little bit brighter.

[desperationandgin]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Rating: Mature

Also Read on: AO3

Summary: After an accident that changes Claire Randall's life, she comes face to face with the man who saved her.

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first fic for the inaugural Winter of Want! Thank you so much to @smashingteacups​ and @missclairebelle​ for being my partners in crime! Also, thank you to them as well as @happytoobserve​ for being betas! And thank you so much to @fierceweebadger​ for the beautiful moodboard she made! I'm so grateful to all of my people ❤ 

On with the story!

The Cellist

The first time he’d ever seen Claire Randall she was a broken woman, close to being consumed by flames, blood matting dark curls to her forehead and neck. She’d been hanging upside down by her seatbelt, and he’d worked to get her out while the rest of his crew battled the fire and pulled the driver from the wreckage.

A husband and wife who’d been heading home, according to the upside-down (but still functioning) GPS. Witnesses explained the husband swerved to miss a deer, sideswiped an oncoming truck, and flipped the car down an embankment. Sparks set the dry grass on fire, and by the time help had arrived, strangers were attempting to use any spare water they could to stop the blaze’s progress.

Jamie’d known the husband died instantly, but when he asked the lass what her name was during a moment of consciousness, she’d looked right at him and he had no doubt she would live. The sheer will in those amber eyes was too intense to go out, too stubborn. It had only been a second, but in that brief moment of awareness, she’d said her name as calmly as if they were on a still sea.

Claire.

She’d lost consciousness again after that, and Jamie had relinquished her to the medics. After his shift, he’d checked with the hospital, discovered she would live, and gone home. He’d thought about visiting her, but he was a stranger and her husband was dead. It didn’t seem like the time to introduce himself, though a part of him, perhaps, hoped that she would reach out to him, want to meet the person who saved her. The call never came, and he prayed the young widow was able to move on with her life, find some sort of happiness again. His dreams reminded him of her periodically, but over the next five years, all that he could remember were those eyes.

Until he walks into the Firefighter’s Charity Ball and there she is, on a stage flanked by seven others. Amid various Christmas decor, the woman he’d last seen bloody and fragile, plays the cello, the symphonic strains of O Come, All Ye Faithful filling the room thanks to the small octet. He stares, unable to look away, lips parting to see her so vibrant. So alive. She looks bonny, better than, with her curls floating like a cloud around her head. She’s in a simple black dress with the barest hint of her calves showing as she plays, and he’s sure he’s never wanted to know another woman this badly in his life.

Taking a sip of whisky as he admires the way she plays, the song fades, and she begins to put aside her bow. Before Jamie can look away, her eyes land directly on him.

She has no idea who he is.

He can see it in the way her gaze drifts immediately, looking out at the crowd before refocusing on her sheet music.

She has no idea that the man who saved her life is standing right in front of her.

It’s an hour before the musicians take a break, and Jamie finds her immediately, trying to decide how to approach her. He can’t very well ask her to recall something so horrible, so he introduces himself as a stranger, eggnog in hand to offer.

“Ye play verra beautifully, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he praises, holding out the glass. He’s formally dressed in his uniform and doesn’t miss the way her eyes land first at his chest, then make their way up slowly, taking her time.

At least he knows she’s interested.

“Thank you,” she replies with a soft smile and dip of her head. “I’ve always loved playing this time of year.”

“Does yer wee group make the rounds often around the holidays?” Jamie asks as he takes a sip of his drink, casually slipping a hand into his pocket, trying very hard not to think about wanting her.

Claire lets out a breath of air through her nose, a laugh, and smiles around the rim of her glass, shaking her head. “My wee group and I are part of the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. I’m first chair.” It’s an illumination dropped as casually as if she’d said she majored in English.

His eyes widen, adding her occupation and position with the orchestra to the list of things he knows to be true of her. (The others being her sheer will to survive and her determined gaze.) “That’s quite the achievement; I didna realize ye could ask for parts of the whole at an event.”

“Well, you can when you’re married to the conductor,” she informs him. “The event planner for tonight just happens to be, and this is a good cause, so I’m sure strings were pulled. No pun intended.” Claire meets his gaze with a softened one of her own. “Thank you. For risking your life to save others.”

He thinks she might tell him her story, a perfect segue for him to introduce himself, but instead, she simply tells him her name.

“I’m Claire Randall. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and his first thought is that she never remarried, though he mentally admonishes himself immediately.

“Jamie Fraser. And ye dinnae need to thank me, though I appreciate it. Do ye get to enjoy yourself this evening, or is it all business?”

“Oh, I’m strictly the help,” she replies with a dazzling smile that makes his knees weak and his heart pound.

Christ, he feels like an eejit trying to come up with a way to keep her talking, to not go anywhere and leave him without her warmth. “If that’s the case then, how would ye feel about taking down my number?” Something, anything to keep a connection between them.

Watching his face, Claire finishes off her eggnog before checking the time and setting her glass down. “I feel you should wait until after the event is over and walk me home. I’m only a few blocks up. Then we’ll see if your number’s earned a place in my phone.”

The way she smiles at him before turning to go back toward the stage makes him feel as though he might be the only person she’s ever smiled at in exactly that way.

Jamie’s plan, initially, had been to leave after dessert, two hours well-spent mingling. Now, as the third-hour rolls by and people begin saying goodbyes, he watches the mini-orchestra perform one last medley of songs. It’s a good opportunity to study how focused Claire is when she plays her instrument, how her fingers seem to float, moved by something supernatural. He notices now that her arms are solid and toned, idly wondering how many years she’s been playing. He longs to hear her alone, the spotlight only on her.

As the playing concludes, Claire’s eyes move from the sheet music to Jamie, the intensity of their stare causing the air to seemingly crackle around them. Neither of them moves, and so she’s watching as he frowns and looks down, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He isn’t the only one — five others seem to stop what they’re doing and check for something.

It’s immediately clear that he has to leave.

Knowing the party is over anyway, Jamie makes his way to the stage, meeting her halfway down.

“You have to go?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, watching as she reaches into the folds of her dress and pulls out a business card. Taking it from her, Jamie wastes no time, grabbing the pen from his breast pocket, writing his number, and returning the card. “Let this be on your terms, Sassenach,” he assures her, then lightly snags her hand, kissing the top of her knuckles softly.

He’s gone before she can ask him what the hell a Sassenach is.

The next night, armed with wine and her laptop, Claire sits (in the company of her ‘she adopted me’ black cat, Sesh, and a Joni Mitchell playlist) and Googles one Jamie Fraser of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service. Clicking over to an image search, she takes a sip of wine and hums at the first photo on the page. It’s him, most assuredly, running in a marathon, sweaty, biceps proudly showing, and somehow looking directly into the camera.

“I sincerely hope there was an emergency last night, Sesh,” Claire mutters, feeling a pang of shame for the thought, but not for long; soon enough it’s replaced by sheer want, before even that’s replaced by a guilt different from the first. She’s been reassured, not by one friend or even two ganging together, but four, that she deserves to be happy again or, at the very least, deserves a good roll in the hay with someone.

Those had been Gillian’s words, agreed-upon emphatically by both John — and in the ultimate betrayal — Joe plus his wife. She knew five years was more than enough time, but since the accident, there’d been no reason to seek out something that would only leave her feeling emptier than she had before. No one captivated her attention, no one made her want to get to know them better. She’s been happy to not risk her heart again and live in a quiet bubble alone.

Until last night.

She’d glimpsed him after finishing the first song of the evening, her eyes attracted to that shock of red curls in the audience. When he’d approached her, she found herself unable to keep the flirting from rolling right off of her tongue. He’d undone her somehow in the span of perhaps twenty minutes, all told. She remembers his hasty exit, which reminds her to open a new tab and begin typing into the search bar.

Sass-

“Oh, bloody hell. What was it?” she mutters, trying to recall it, to sound it out phonetically.

Sass-in-ach

Claire goes with it, appreciates the Showing Results For Sassenach correction, and reads aloud, mumbling the words. “‘An English person.’ That’s not very creative, is it?” Though she has to admit, it sounded nice coming from him. It’s different, and she wonders if he calls every English person he meets the same thing.

Going back to her original search, she clicks out of the images, skimming the links until one catches her eye. The date, in particular.

January 24th, 2014.

The day of the accident.

Putting her wine down and sitting up straight, Claire hesitates a fraction of a second before pulling up the story. She’s immediately greeted by an image of her own crumpled and overturned vehicle, and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at it, trying to remember herself inside. John had taken her to see it two weeks after the funeral, helped her get the things out of the boot (her cello, protected in its case, a suitcase and carry on from her recent trip to the States), and she hasn’t seen it since. When she’s finally able to scroll past the image, she reads about details she can’t remember, and then there’s Jamie, being praised as a hero.

“‘I only knew I had to get the lass out of the vehicle, so I paid no mind to the flames. I had to trust that my colleagues had control of the situation while I managed to cut the passenger free,’ explained Jamie Fraser, one of the first responders on the scene. Thanks to his quick action, the female passenger is said to be making a full recovery. His efforts will be celebrated by Chief Fire Officer Blunden—”

She doesn’t bother to read any further. Every thought she has seems to fall on top of the next until one finally becomes clear: Jamie Fraser saved her life.

“Oh, my God.”

Sesh seems unbothered, slow-blinking up at her as the pieces come together. He’d seen her, sought her out. Did he remember her? Know who she was at the event? It’s only after she’s dialed the number he wrote on her card that she realizes it’s very nearly one in the morning. “Fuck.” She’s moving her thumb to disconnect just as she hears a muffled grunt. Freezing in surprise, the phone goes back to her ear as she speaks quietly.

“Hello?”

“Was that a suggestion, Sassenach?”

His voice is low and thick with sleep, but somehow his humor’s still quick, and she coughs, wetting her lips. “No, no, only that I didn’t mean to call you so late. I lost track of—”

Christ, cut to the chase, Beauchamp.

“Do you remember saving my life?”

The silence on the other end hangs for what feels like hours, but she hears the faint sound of what she assumes is Jamie sitting up in bed, readjusting the grip he has on his phone.

“Aye, I do. Do you remember it, Claire?”

Closing her eyes, she tries, but her memory stops just after Frank picked her up from the airport. “No. You pulled me out of the car?”

“I cut ye free and then got ye clear of the accident.” He pauses, sitting in the dark of his flat, worried about her. “Ye dinnae need to think about it, Claire,” he tells her gently.

“You saved my life, Jamie, that’s what I’m thinking of. They asked me when I was in recovery if I wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t — I’d just lost my husband, I wasn’t thinking about meeting anyone.”

When Jamie speaks again, his voice is soft and even, meant to soothe. “There’s no reason ye need to explain anything. It was five years ago, Sassenach, and yer life was changed forever. I’m no’ going to hold anything against ye.”

For four heartbeats, quiet lingers between them before Claire speaks again. “I realize tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you’ve probably got plans of some sort, but I would like to see you if I can.”

If there’d been a hint of grogginess left in him, he’s fully awake now, squinting in the dark. “Ye dinnae have yer own plans?”

“Well, my husband died.”

Grunting in surprise at her response, Jamie rubs a hand over the top of his head, thinking. “I dinnae have anywhere to be until noon on Christmas Day, so my Eve is all yours, Sassenach, if ye want it.”

Christ, she doesn’t know if he meant to sound alluring or not, so she stays neutral. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Do ye ken where Victoria Park is?”

She’s nodding before she remembers she needs to respond aloud. “The park with the bowling greens?”

“Aye, and the walking paths. There are benches, good for sitting and talking for a while if ye’d like.” He meant it when he told her before that anything between them should be on her terms, and that was before she connected the dots. He doesn’t know what it is to lose a spouse, but he imagines the prospect of speaking about it is daunting.

In the silence that waits for her response, Claire looks down at the gold ring on her finger, thumb lightly stroking the cool metal. She tries to imagine it, her heart being wide open again and susceptible to breaking. Closing her eyes, she remembers that Jamie smelled vaguely of citrus and sage and the specific blue of his eyes was like an afternoon sky on a cloudless day. Comforting and warm.

It’s an easy decision when the memory of his gaze on her causes a flush.

“I would like that, Jamie.”

_______________________________________________________________________

They decide to meet at ten in the morning when the park is between hosting late A.M. joggers and parents with toddlers. She wanders toward the spot they’re meeting, under a grove of trees home to a row of benches. Slowing her pace as she approaches, Claire gives herself a few steps to admire him, the cut of his hips and the way his muscles move even under his coat.

Christ, he’s made an impression.

And then she remembers that this is the man who saved her life, features softening when he looks up and spots her.

“Ye made it. I was worried the directions were too vague,” he admits, standing to greet her.

“In the summer there’s a beautiful patch of wild yellow flowers just across the sidewalk. It’s gorgeous, I used to come often when I first moved here.”

They walk back to the bench together and sit, though neither one of them knows exactly how to begin the conversation. Eventually, it’s Claire who breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For not trying to find you after the accident.”

Jamie’s shaking his head before she’s done speaking. “Ye dinnae have to apologize for it, as I told ye last night.” He stops short of saying he was doing his job, but it was more than that. He knew it the moment she looked at him. “I did check in on ye, just to be sure ye’d be alright. But I kent there was no’ much I could do or say to make anything better for ye.” And he hadn’t wanted to drop in unannounced only to make things worse for her in some way.

Studying her hands, she drags her thumb along the lifeline, closing her eyes. She remembers getting into the car at the airport. Begging Frank to turn off talk radio so they could have a conversation. She remembers him laughing at something she said, and then, nothing. “I woke up in the hospital and couldn’t remember what happened. They told me there’d been an accident, and I think I knew my husband was dead before they said it.”

He moves his hand to cover one of hers without thinking, so when she squeezes his fingers he holds on tightly, aware now of the weight of her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist under his thumb.

“I didn’t touch my cello for a year afterward. I’d somehow convinced myself it was my fault, that if I hadn’t traveled to play, he wouldn’t have picked me up from the airport, there wouldn’t have been an accident.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe that now, but it felt better to blame myself for a little while.”

She’s kept her grip on him, squeezing again as she takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“When I finally got to ye,” he begins quietly, looking down at their hands, “ye were unconscious. I went to cut off the seatbelt and yer eyes opened, ye looked directly at me. I asked your name, and ye said it, so…” Jamie trails off, unable to find the right words for it. “As though ye’d been waiting for me to ask. Then ye were out again and that was the last I saw of ye.”

Her eyes fall to their hands as well, and she turns hers over so that their fingertips are touching.

“But I kent ye would live. I could see it in yer eyes, that ye’re a lass wi’ spirit,” he tells her with a soft smile. “And I ken ye know it now, but it wasna yer fault, Claire.”

She does know, but hearing it feels like balm on an aching wound. “Thank you for saving my life, Jamie.” Lifting her gaze, she studies his face and admires the sharp angle of his jaw, the tawny scruff there.

There’s something between them, he can feel it as if a living, pulsing thing. He’s aware of each breath she takes, the rise and fall of her chest; he feels it as surely as his own body moving, both of them separate pieces of a complete being.

“I’m glad that it was me, Sassenach. I cannae explain it, but—”

“But it was supposed to be you,” Claire finishes. Jamie was meant to save her, no one else could have.

Raising her hand to his lips, Jamie frowns lightly upon pulling back. “Your hands are like ice, Sassenach. Let me buy ye something warm,” he offers. “There’s a wee cafe nearby.”

In truth, if it were a way to spend more time with him, it didn’t matter what they did or where they went.

Claire smiles, charmed the moment he said wee.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was inevitable, really, that they fall into bed with one another. Under the pretense of dinner (which they did eat; an easy meal of pasta in lemon sauce and good crusty bread for soaking up the remnants), she’d agreed to go back to his flat. They’d both known it wasn’t going to be about the food for long.

She sleeps now with her head resting on his outstretched arm, facing him. His hand has been numb for hours, but he wouldn’t dream of moving her, not now. Not when he has the pleasure of seeing up close the light dusting of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. He can see the way her eyelashes curl upward slightly, and he revels in the feel of her breath falling against his skin. Reaching out, Jamie’s fingers lightly brush a stray curl from her cheek, his touch as gentle as possible so as not to wake her. Her skin is so delicate, like fine porcelain, and he slowly drags the tips of his fingers down her side. There’s a scar that begins on her hip, and he follows the feel of it down as far as he can reach. From the accident, she’d said, just before he’d leaned down to kiss the mark right in the center.

When Claire shifts, Jamie freezes, hand hovering as she finally moves off of his arm and tucks herself onto her side, with her back to him now. When she seems settled, he slowly moves onto his side behind her, curving his body into the hollow of hers. Tucking his legs behind her knees, he rests his hand on her hip, the other arm stretched protectively over her. Taking a chance, he ducks his head and kisses the beauty mark on her shoulder, his touch as light as he can make it. Then he finds he can’t stop himself from continuing his tender assault across her skin. She moves again, and his hand rests against her stomach, lightly holding on as he goes still.

“I’m not likely to go anywhere,” she whispers in the dark, hint of a smile in her voice.

Discovered, Jamie presses firmer kisses to her skin, giving up any pretense of being careful. “Good. I didna plan to let ye up from this bed soon,” he warns.

Smiling, Claire rolls herself under him, both of them shifting until he’s comfortably above her. Glancing toward the window, she raises an eyebrow, only able to see him in the dark because of a faintly glowing streetlamp. “From the looks of it, we still have plenty of sleeping to do.”

“Aye. Plenty of late night left. Which means plenty of time to sleep. In a bit.” He has no plans of letting her get back to it right away as his head ducks and lips press to the middle of her chest.

“You don’t seem very tired.” Already, she’s flushing, trying to anticipate where his mouth might go next.

“I’ve found my second wind, though I have a verra distinct feeling that it won’t be hard to want ye all the time.” He drops a kiss to the curve of her breast, marveling in the way her flesh softly yields.

“Does that mean you’d like to see me again?” she queries, voice soft, not wanting to assume.

Immediately, Jamie raises his head, eyes meeting hers so that she can see the truth of his words.

“I’d like to see ye every day for the rest of my life, Sassenach. If it suits ye.”

She’s so shocked by his words that she laughs; not at him but at the idea that she can laugh again, in the company of a man who wants her. “I’m sure we could work out some sort of arrangement, though I realize this time you have right now is a luxury.”

“It is,” he murmurs, resuming the self-imposed task of kissing her skin, dipping low to begin a slow descent. “But the consecutive days off are verra worth it, ye ken? If I have you to look forward to, I reckon I could get through anything.”

She sighs in contentment as her legs part to make a home for him. “You look forward to me?” She smiles softly, just as her breath catches at a well-placed kiss to her pelvis.

“Only someone wi’ out all five senses wouldna look forward to ye, mo nigheann donn.”

Claire stops him with a soft tug of his curls, and when he raises his head she arches an eyebrow, curiosity in her eyes.

“‘My brown-haired lass,’” he answers, knowing her question and bringing one of her legs over his shoulder, parting her with his fingers.

“I very much enjoy it when you speak to me in Gaelic,” she manages, getting it out while she can, knowing she won’t have the capability of thought soon.

Once more, Jamie raises his head, giving her a cheeky grin. “Laigh air ais fhad 's a tha mi agad.” (Lie back while I have ye.)

She has no idea what he said, but the timbre of his voice, the way his eyes darken — she knows it was filthy, but her amusement gives way to a soft gasp once his mouth finds the slick, heated center of her. A hand immediately moves to the top of his head, lips pressing together as she holds her breath for half a heartbeat and then cries out, back arching. Unable to help herself, she presses her thighs to the sides of his head, only easing up when one of his hands grips her hip tightly. His other rests on her belly, holding her down, keeping her grounded.

His head attempts to move with her body, following each spasm of her hips. He tastes her first climax; she coats his tongue and chin but he doesn’t stop, and when she comes again it’s around two curved fingers, the feel of her going straight to his cock. There’s a third, smaller shockwave, given while tucked against his chest, his hand between them.

Panting against his neck, Claire takes her time coming back to herself, basking in the feel of stretching when thoroughly satisfied. “You are very, very good at that,” she finally manages, very nearly purring in relaxation.

“Weel, I do aim to please, but admittedly, it’s no’ hard to want to make ye writhe like that all the time. Christ, the sounds ye make, and the way yer entire body grips me just so.” He’s hard and wanting, aching just a bit at the minutes-old memory. “Ye have no idea the gift ye are.”

His words strike her, and she pulls back, gaze soft as she reaches out, fingertips lightly pressing to his cheek.

“I’m only here because of you.”

Jamie wants to refute it, to insist that she did all the fighting to stay alive. But the truth of it is, she had needed him. She couldn’t have gotten out of that vehicle herself.

“Still. Ye lived, and I ken it was no’ easy for ye.” Lightly, he reaches out to drag his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Ye needn’t ever worry that ye cannae still grieve him. If this was too soon, too much—”

Claire stops him with the tip of a finger pressed to his lips. For a moment’s pause, she simply looks at him, holds his gaze and makes it clear that she would like to speak. When his lips press softly to her finger, her hand drops and she pushes him lightly onto his back, straddling his hips. That’s all she does, reaching for his hands and holding onto both of them, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t recall saying anything was too much or too soon. What I can tell you is that for five years, I haven’t let myself feel a thing. Loneliness is a choice, or so they say. And I chose it because it’s a hell of a lot better than losing so much all the time.” She looks down, the hint of more loss than she’s willing to share playing across her features. “I thought it would stay like that, always.”

She’d convinced herself she was fine with it, that the less she risked, the fewer heartbreaks she would need to endure.

“That plan was working out very well for me until I met you,” she informs him, eyes creasing in the corners as she smiles before speaking seriously again. “I thought I’d lost the ability to feel anything close to this, after a while.” Want and lust and need for another person; all of those things had felt like lost causes.

“What is it about you, Jamie?” As she asks, her hips begin a slow rock against his. “How did you find me?”

He’s captivated by her words and movement, groaning at the feel of her gliding easily along the length of him. “I didna find ye at all,” he manages, raising his head a bit to watch himself disappear into her, finally, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Neither of them moves, her eyes closed while his are focused firmly on her face while he fights the urge to move right away.

“Ye came into my life, Claire, and ye never truly left.” A part of him has held onto her, even if it was only a single feature that haunted his dreams. Her soul imprinted on his, and he knows now that he’s complete with her, that it never could have been another way for him.

When she opens her eyes, they’re blown wide with pleasure, pupils dark and lids heavy. He’s staring right at her, and one of her hands reaches for his, bringing it over her chest. She rides him, slowly at first, while her heart pounds against his palm. The pulsing tempo increases beneath his touch as leisurely pleasure begins to turn into something more focused, more urgent. She leans forward, letting go of him only to brace her hands on his chest. He’s holding back, she can feel it, his belly tense beneath her.

When she speaks his name, it’s on a panting breath, and when his eyes open, he knows what she wants, can see it. Reaching out, his hands rest on her hips, and he looks at her one more time to be sure. When she nods, he shores up his grip and then slams into her once, hard, losing his breath at the cry of sheer pleasure it tears from her. He does it again, then again, pistoning his hips upward forcefully, quickly, driving noises from her so beautiful he’s not sure he’ll ever hear anything that could compare. He’s causing her to make those sounds, and he’ll be a damned man if he doesn’t strive to hear her as often as possible.

Jamie slows and Claire takes over, straightening her spine and beginning a pace that means she’s close; she has to be, because there’s no way in Christ’s name he’ll ever make it if not. His hands move up her body and cup around her breasts, squeezing enough to make her tighten around him involuntarily. His groan mingles with her cry of pleasure, and he wills his eyes open, needing to see her. When he does, he’s sure there’s not a better sight in all the world.

Her head is back, exposing the length of her neck, skin begging to know the imprint of his lips over and over again. Her hair sways back and forth, mussed curls seeming to tumble in all directions, and when her head falls forward, Jamie can see that she’s chasing her pleasure, forehead knit right in the center. She’s there, she’s close, and he sneaks one hand between them to touch, rolling that small bud of nerves beneath his thumb.

That’s all it takes for her to shatter, body pitching forward and nearly curling around his. Her breasts sway right before him and he doesn’t fight the urge to lean in, burying his face there. As her body tightens around his, pulling him in, his name becomes a choked cry, unable to get it out without whimpering in the middle.

She drops her hips one more time and Jamie tenses, arms wrapping around her frame. Her name is nothing more than a strangled sob as he spills into her, teeth lightly scraping her shoulder. He can feel her shaking against him but can do nothing about it; he’s not entirely sure if he’s able to move his arms and legs.

Eventually, there’s enough of a chill on cooling skin that Jamie reaches for the blankets, covering them up again. The silence between them is comfortable, and she stays right on top of him, unmoving as he begins to doze.

“You know, I’ve realized something,” she whispers, voice sleepy sounding and far away.

He hums, low in the back of his throat. “What’s that, Sassenach?”

As his fingers drag up and down her spine, she turns her head to press a soft kiss to his chest. “It’s clearly after midnight. Which means it’s technically Christmas Day.”

Opening his eyes, Jamie finds himself looking right at her, and his smile is easy, eyes alight with it.

“Well then, a nighean.” He leans in close, whispering the words across her lips, thankful for her, an unexpected gift. “Happy Christmas to ye.” He nuzzles her cheek, reaching down to playfully pinch her arse.

Her laughter fills the room, eventually carrying them to sleep.

[strangethings-everywhere]

Dust // G.M. x Reader

Masterlist Requested: yes Word count: Warnings: so much angst, wee mention of drug use, cursing, anxiety, allergies Author note: Happy 1917 day! Here’s a lil fluff. As a treat 

You’re a grad student who’s been working in the history library at Cambridge for almost two years and your coworker George Mackay is probably one of the most unbearable, stuck-up, horrendous know-it-alls you’ve ever met. Much to your dismay, he’s devastatingly handsome and the only person who understands your history puns. You hate him.

You arrived at the library almost an hour early, your XL thermos full of coffee and your bag full of snacks. You had just had a breakthrough in your WWI thesis and you needed tons of energy and time to start restoring some of the old photographs and documents you had uncovered. 

Unfortunately, his bags were already at the desk. You bit back a nasty stream of curses as you hung up your coat and pinned on your badge. 

The clicking of your shoes echoed down the hallway as you raced towards your favorite room, praying to the heavens that he wasn’t already there. 

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were going to be here too!”

God fucking dammit.

You turned, a fake smile stretched thin across your face. George Mackay, your fellow grad student, stood behind you clad in a blue button-up shirt, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. His blond hair was disheveled already by the magnifying glasses perched upon his head and his sleeves were already rolled up to make room for the white latex gloves he was wearing. 

He was your absolute nightmare. 

You had met George six months into your adventure at Cambridge. You hated him instantly. He was a know-it-all, constantly correcting you and making sure everyone knew he was the smartest in the room. The two of you were constantly competing at everything, whether it was putting away books or restoring documents. He was also doing his thesis on military history and that drove you crazy. 

You hated his stupidly handsome face. You hated how he looked so good with his sleeves rolled up and you wanted to just explode.

“Yes, I’m here to do some thesis stuff before work.” You said slowly. He grinned.

“Hey me too! Do you want any help?” 

“No, absolutely not.” You turned on your heel and kept walking. 

“Alright, just let me know! I’m always happy to help!” He called. You responded with a firm middle finger, which only made him laugh. 

Work was completely uneventful for most of the morning, as it often was. You avoided George and he avoided you, the two of you only coming together when your supervisor needed help. 

“Hey Y/N?” His voice floated through the shelves, making you pause and almost gag. 

“What, what do you want?” You hissed. His face poked through a hole in the books. 

“Miss Krysty needs us to go find a book in the back. Like, the old dusty labyrinth area.” He grinned, summoning a temptation to keep stacking books where his face was. You restrained yourself. 

“Why on earth does she need us to go back there? No one goes back there?” 

“Because someone requested a book, and it’s in the old dusty back! You’re smart, I thought you would be able to figure that out on your own.” He rolled his eyes. 

You shoved the books in your hand into the cubby, causing him to fall back with a groan. You bit back a satisfied grin as he poked his head through the next available cubby, rubbing his nose. 

“C’mon, she needs both of us.”

“I’m aware. I just have to finish stacking the books.” You sighed. George let out a huff and disappeared. Suddenly, he was at your side, shelving books at lightning speed. 

Deep in your chest, you began to feel something come alive. You recognized the feeling from those nights when you felt lonely or you had come home from a night at the pub. That feeling in your chest had summoned thoughts of George, with his disheveled hair and strong arms and you hated it. But as he stood next to you, shelving books and talking about a documentary he had just watched, you couldn’t help that feeling. 

“Y/N?” His voice snapped you out of your stupor and you realized you had been staring. “We’re done.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Your face burning, you pushed the empty cart to the desk and took a long sip of your coffee. “Alright, what’s this book?”

“I don’t have a title, only an ISBN number.” George held up a slip of paper with his writing on it. “Assuming a book that old will have an ISBN number.” 

“Why didn’t Krysty give you a title?” You asked as the two of you made your way towards the back. 

“The request wasn’t made with a title. Whoever made it only gave the ISBN number and Krysty said the book was in the back.” George shrugged. “I’ve never been in the back.” 

You had, once. It was an absolute maze of boxes and files and dusty old books with almost no organization. The first book hunt had taken you six hours. 

“You’ll get lost in there.” You shook your head and pulled out your key ring. The key for the back was an ornate skeleton key, which made the whole thing even more ominous. The lock creaked as you turned it, ignoring George as he scoffed in the background. 

“It can’t possibly be that… bad…” He trailed off as the door swung open and revealed the contents of the room. 

“Oh. It’s gotten worse.” You mused as you walked inside. “Come on. I don’t want to be here for another six hours.” 

It looked like a library graveyard. Files and boxes were stacked haphazardly against walls and bookcases, while books occupied every square inch of the floor. Cobwebs hung off the edges of the bookcases and dust was everywhere. You felt your sinuses protest at the very thought of entering the room.

Alas, dust must be braved. Sometimes, in the company of terribly handsome morons. 

Flashlights in hand, the two of you began your journey into the deep, picking over the documents and relics with a learned carefulness that only came from working in a library. Since the back room had no system of organization, you could only pray that the book would be somewhere easy to locate. 

George was surprisingly quiet, his usual holier-than-thou attitude absent. You had suspected that it had been replaced by a determination to find the book but as the hours dragged on, you became confused. He was working slower than you and he seemed to get distracted easily. Those were qualities that he would usually tease you about with a grin and a nudge as he brought you coffee, or asked to borrow a tool YOU needed.

“Y/N?” His voice dragged you out of your thoughts. 

“Hm?” You glanced up from your pile. George set down the book he was looking at and wiped his forehead, leaving an ashy streak behind. 

“D’you mind if I go look over there? I think it would go faster if we split up.” His blue eyes darted from side to side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“Yeah. Just,” you grabbed his arm as he stood, “don’t go too far. You’ll get lost and then I’ll have to launch a search party.” 

He slowly removed his arm from your grasp, flexing it as though it ached. With a single nod to you, he was gone.

You felt smug at first, almost excited at the idea of getting to work by yourself. George was a thorn in your side, a burden to your academic success. A fiendish devil with the shaping of a Greek god, the wit of a Jane Austen protagonist, and the makings of a pure genius. You hated how smart he was because you felt like he was smarter than you but he was truly the only person who had ever challenged your intellect. In another life, you would’ve instantly asked him out for drinks to discuss Shakespeare or psychological theories or the philosophy of mortality. 

Slowly, you began to feel empty. Sorting books and papers in a dusty old room wasn’t the same without someone to argue with. It wasn’t as fun without someone to laugh about funny old titles with. Without George there, you didn’t have anyone to show the old drawing of a brain to. It became miserable. 

You realized that you were stacking things into two piles: things to show George and things that were not what you were looking for. You rubbed your face, ignoring the dirt and grime on your gloves. “Fuck. Fucking fuck.” 

With a heavy sigh, you gathered the pile of things to show George and began to walk in the direction he had gone. You called his name, weaving through piles of books and between shelves. He was nowhere to be seen. You began to wonder if he had forgotten about you or if he had found the book and left. 

“George!” You shouted. The stacks were up to your knees and the dust had gotten thicker, making your eyes water. “George, c’mon. This isn’t funny!” A lump began to form in your throat. You were alright with him teasing you, but him abandoning you in the dark? Not at all. 

You made it back to the beginning, to the door, with no sign of him. It took every ounce of your being not to cry as you tossed the papers in your arms to the ground and burst into the library in a cloud of dust. Your supervisor, Krysty, ran over to you.

“Y/N! Are you alright?” She asked, gathering you in a hug. You burst into tears.

“We couldn’t find the book and George went off by himself and then he left and I couldn’t find him and…” You choked out, chest heaving as you buried your face in Krysty’s shoulder. 

“George? I saw him not ten minutes ago.” 

Tears of fear quickly turned to tears of rage. You stood, almost knocking Krysty to the ground. “Where was he going?” You seethed. She pointed towards the grad student office. 

You had never experienced emotions like the ones you felt as you stormed towards the office. He had left you and you had no idea why it made you so goddamn angry. It’s not like he was your friend. It’s not like he had promised to come back. In fact, he hadn’t said anything at all. 

Images flashed through your mind:

George, bringing you coffee, as you restored a photograph at nearly three in the morning. You didn’t thank him, but he always made sure your mug was full. You never thanked him. 

He always seemed to borrow the tools that you needed. However, they always came back clean and in their proper places without you asking. 

George helping you shelve books. He would always put away the books that were out of your reach. You had assumed he was doing it to belittle you, that his little smile was coming from a place of superiority. You never assumed it was a smile of fondness. 

It couldn’t have been…

You threw open the door to see George leaning over his desk holding a bottle of pills. 

“George?” His name came out choked and confused. He jumped, obviously not expecting you to be there. 

“Y/N, I…” He held up the bottle. “I’m sorry I had to come to take these. I should’ve told you, but it just got so bad.” 

“What are they?” You ripped them out of his hand. “What are you on? Are you a druggie, what is this? Did you leave to get fucking high, what does this say?” You finally found the title of the drug on the label and felt your heart drop to your shoes. 

Allergy pills. George had left you to take allergy pills. You felt like an asshole as you slowly handed them back to him, sat down at your desk, and peeled off your gloves. 

“Y/N?” George kneeled down next to you. “I didn’t mean to leave without telling you. I’ve just got the worst dust allergy and I had to go take some medicine. My eyes were watering so bad I could barely see.” 

“You have a dust allergy.” You shook your head with a small smile. “And you work in a library?” 

“See I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make fun!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. You chuckled softly.

“I don’t make fun.” 

“Yes, you do. You make fun of me every day.” He furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Well, I’m… I’m sorry.” You sighed. “I think I’ve been a complete ass these past few months.” 

“Yeah, just a bit.” George grinned. You nudged him playfully.

“But seriously, why on earth would you bring a severe dust allergy to a library? Especially an old one like this?”

His face got red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I guess… it had something to do with the pretty grad student at the front desk.” He glanced up at you through his eyelashes, his blue eyes full of admiration. 

“I-I thought you hated me…” You gasped, heart pounding.

“Maybe at first, when I realized that you were so much smarter than me. But no, I couldn’t hate you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for drinks.” George smiled. 

You grinned. The ocean-eyed, history scholar was finally yours and that was what you had wanted all along. “Then you should’ve just asked, pretty boy. I would’ve said yes.” 

[soniabigcheese]

Can this day get any worse?

Apparently it can.

What started out as a simple phone call to work to let them know my test results came back negative.

Continued on to be nagged/told/reminded (choose one or all options here) that I'm behind with my coursework.

It is incredibly and heavily detailed and requires a LOT of concentration. Something I am seriously lacking, despite trying to explain that I can't cope with all this info dump. Oh and I'm expected to complete each course in a month. That's 16 months ... and each course is renewed every year. Talk about the Forth Bridge.

So I got stressed out to the point that I wanted to hibernate and went to bed to cool down.

Sorry for those folks wanting to chat, I really really wasn't in the mood.

I had strange dreams about going to the loo ... several times until I realised that I DID need to go.

Slipped that one in for a bit of light relief (pun fully intended)

Anyways, I thought I'd get up and make myself a coffee using our Dolce Gusto machine.

The cup I wanted to use, is a wee bit too tall to fit under the outlet spout thingy. So I removed the drip tray at the bottom.

Took my eyes off it for a few seconds, to suddenly see that the mug (I swear I put it under there securely) had tipped over and milk spilled everywhere.

My phone and kindle were on the same counter top and guess what? Yep, my kindle was a casualty too.

Luckily I had the common sense to move those two items rather quickly before more damage was incurred.

Counter top and floor ... and myself ... are soaking wet at this point and here I am, trying my hardest to move stuff and clean up the mess. All that time cursing to myself for my stupidity.

I'm wondering when the next catastrophe will happen.

I have no intentions of having a bath or shower, so I can't be blamed for breaking the bath.

Urgh. I hate this day and wish it was over.

Sorry for long rant.

[crinkled-emotions]

Shortfic || “Kiss Me.” || Spencer Reid x Aaron Hotchner

Prompt: “Reid is refusing to do this undercover. Can you please talk to him?”

“Hotch.”

Aaron turned his head, raising an eyebrow at Morgan who had called out to him from behind the curtain. He dismissed the LEO he’d been talking to and met his colleague behind the curtain, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Reid. Hotch, he’s refusing to go undercover.”

“He’s what? He said he was fine with it earlier.”

Hotch frowned at Morgan, who just shrugged.

“I guess something changed. He’s really shaken up.”

“Let me talk to him.”

Morgan gestured toward the dressing room they’d set up in the makeshift strip club and Hotch tapped on the board beside the other curtain. JJ’s head popped out and she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Please talk to him. Nothing I’m saying is getting through.”

She exited and Aaron entered the small dressing room, sitting on one of the milk crates. Spencer was curled up on the cheap couch they’d rented for the set up. An elaborate plan to catch an elaborate man; the unsub would visit strip clubs like the one they had designed and slip something into a customer’s drink, then slit their throat and leave them in the booth. It was sneaky, but the part that concerned them was the fact that the ‘something’ wasn’t a drug that was able to be hidden- it was a drug that was easily detectable even in a drink. A mix of Vicodin, Viagra and Diazepam was deadly.

And Reid fit the victimology; curly brown hair and brown eyes, socially awkward, will speak before thinking. He was male, too- a crucial part of the victimology.

 “Reid. What’s going on?”

“I have to let the unsub kiss me… right?”

“Yes. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No. Well, kind of. It’s just… it’s been a while. Since y’know. I’ve been kissed. Diana.”

Aaron stopped, suddenly realising what Spencer was hinting at.

“You haven’t been with anyone since then?”

“Since before then. God, this is so embarrassing, why am I telling you of all people.”

“Kiss me.”

That stopped Spencer’s ranting, and he blinked.

“I’m sorry, I think I misheard that. Did you just say kiss me?”

“If it’s going to help you settle down and do this, then yes. Kiss me.”

“You realise I could file a misconduct complaint? As well as a sexual harassment?” Spencer murmured. A quick glance at him told Aaron he’d be fine.

“I don’t think you will, Reid,” he murmured. Spencer blinked again, and his legs unfurled.

“Tell me if it’s bad,” he whispered. Aaron nodded.

Their lips met.

 Spencer Reid’s lips were chapped, but soft. Dry, but careful.

Aaron Hotchner’s lips were gentle; timid, and tentative, undertones of shyness. Who would have thought the unit chief had a shy bone in his body?

There was a hesitant lick against Spencer’s lips; he gave permission to the tongue and let the hands on his waist pull him against a hard body. Aaron Hotchner’s hard body.

Wait.

This was wrong.

“H-Hotch-“

A couple more kisses. A hand holding his ass to support him. Pulling away, Spencer tucked a curl behind his ear. His entire body was on fire, and he placed a hand on Aaron’s chest.

“Was it bad?” He whispered. There was a rumble against his hand, and when he looked at his colleague Hotch was chuckling.

“I was worried you were uncomfortable.”

“We shouldn’t have kissed. I’m sorry, I’ll get off your lap.”

Reid stood, adjusting his shirt and the skinny jeans JJ and Prentiss had convinced him to wear as part of his costume for undercover. Hotch readjusted his tie, subtly also fixing his slacks. A wee bit tight there, Hotch?

“Reid. Wait a moment.”

Spencer turned from the mirror with an eyebrow raised. Hotch stood in front of him, and if Spencer didn’t know any better, he would have said he was blushing too.

“Are we okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Uh… thanks. For- y’know. The kiss.”

“Yeah.”

Hotch made for the exit, the curtain flying closed behind him. Reid took a breath, taking a moment to fix his hair. A head poked in and he relaxed to see it was Prentiss, who waved.

“Are you ready? We’re just about to open.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

 “Okay Reid, I think I see him. He’s at the bar; wander over and see if you can get his interest. Remember; no magic tricks and no science puns, okay?”

Spencer rolled his eyes at Morgan’s direction, but his eyes carried over to the bar JJ was tending. She sent a discreet nod at him and Spencer got up, wandering over to the bar. He took a seat beside the unsub and ordered a tequila sunrise; something all the victims had in common.

“Tequila sunrise, huh?” The unsub murmured. Reid nodded, thanking JJ when she arrived with the orange juice and red grenadine syrup.

“Yeah. I like to watch the syrup fade into the juice, it- it’s beautiful.”

“That’s insightful, for a drink. I’m Jared.”

“Rowan. Do you come here often?”

Spencer shook Jared’s hand, then man shaking his head.

“This place is new; I like the places on the next street. They have these awesome food platters, y’know? They’re cheap and they always have the best stuff.”

“That sounds incredible. I was walking home after a bad date and decided if I wasn’t going home with him… I might as well go home with someone else.”

“I get that. Hey, want to find a booth?”

“Sure.”

Getting up, Spencer took Jared’s hands and led him toward the only booth they had mic’d through to Garcia.

 “Another one?”

“Sure.”

“Be right back.”

Leaning down, Jared pressed his lips against Spencer’s cheek. He whispered in his ear something I’m not inclined to repeat and headed for the bar. Spencer reached under the table, tapping twice on the microphone.

“JJ, he’s coming your way,” he whispered. Through his earpiece he heard JJ hum. Prentiss strode past as a waitress in her heels and dress, slipping a strip on to the table. Spencer hid it on his lap as Jared came back, placing the tequila sunrise on the table.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Covering himself with a cough, Reid dropped the especially designed drug test strip into the drink and waited for a moment. When it turned purple he pressed the button on the inside of his wrist attached to his watch so he could make an exit. He felt a hand on his shoulder, slipping down his back.

“We should get out of here. Find some place quiet,” Jared whispered. Reid tensed, looking up to find various members of his team. Of course, it was now Hotch was the only one on. He met Reid’s gaze and did the usual slightly-raised-eyebrow. When Reid blinked twice, he began to stride over.

There was a cold blade on his neck. He froze, feeling Jared pressing himself against his behind.

“Send that jackass away and no one gets hurt.”

“No one? Does that include me, Jared O’Brian? I know you spiked my drink.”

“They don’t stay still otherwise.”

“There are other ways to restrain someone.”

Hotch was approaching, but when Spencer waved at him subtly he stopped and headed for JJ who had reappeared at the bar. Prentiss joined them and Reid took a deep breath.

“We know what you did, Jared, and why you did it. It’s sad that you had to go to this degree to get closure.”

“They never understand.”

“Of course they don’t. I do. My last lover was shot dead in front of me. I had to watch.”

“They never understand.”

Reid reached behind himself, digging his hands into Jared’s back pockets.

“Hey. I do. And I want to help you, but this? This is not the way. My name is Dr Spencer Reid of the BAU in the FBI. I profile people like you for a living. I don’t want you to get hurt. My friend, the guy who was coming toward us? He’s armed. The bartender, and that black haired waitress? Both armed. All you have to do is threaten me in some way and you won’t be walking out of here alive. Do you understand?”

“How can you protect me? I have a knife to your neck!”

“I’ve been in worse situations. If I make a single hand gesture they’ll be here before you can even think about slitting me open.”

The knife pressed harder. In the dark corner, none of the other patrons really took notice. Hotch, JJ and Prentiss were all watching with hyper vigilance. If Reid looked closely, he could see that Hotch’s hand was on his gun. Jared growled in his ear.

“You’re not panicking.”

“Nor am I sexually attracted to you, so if you could get your hand off my crotch that would be great.”

The hand that had been kneading him through the front of his jeans slipped into his back jeans pocket, a kiss pressed to his neck.

“I want a car. I’ll leave.”

“You know I can’t do that. Your mission isn’t finished, and you’ll keep killing until it is.”

“Let me out.”

“No.”

The knife pressed deeper into his neck, and Reid hissed when he felt the tiniest drop of blood trail down his throat. He pulled his hands from Jared’s jeans, placing them on his own thighs. A single finger tap, and there were multiple guns trained on Jared. He gripped Spencer’s arm as panic rose in the room, the rest of the club filing out the doors. Rossi and Morgan appeared, also in their Kevlars and carrying guns. Before Jared could react, Reid had elbowed him in the ribs on the opposite side to the hand holding the knife. It clattered to the floor and he restrained Jared without hesitation. Once Morgan and Rossi got there Reid backed off, stumbling from adrenaline rush. His ass landed on a different seat nearby, and then someone was in front of him.

“Reid? Hey, look at me. We need to get you cleaned up.”

Hands on his shoulders, trying to get him to focus. One hand touched his cheek. He knew those hands; he knew those fingers.

“H-Hotch?”

“Let’s go.”

Standing, Aaron pulled Spencer into his side. He was surprised when the younger agent buried in against his Kevlar, relying on him for strength to get to the medics outside.

 “You look a little better. Got more colour in your face.”

Looking up, Spencer sent a half smile to his boss. Morgan pushed in front of Hotch, crouching in front of Reid.

“Hey. Listen to me, Pretty Boy. That was dangerous. You gotta stop doing that, okay?”

“Doing what?” Spencer deadpanned. That earned him a smack up the back of his head, but shortly after he had his head in Derek’s shoulder.

“Please, kid. I’ve never seen Hotch look ready to lay an egg.”

That made Spencer snort, releasing Morgan. The older agent ruffled his curls and turned to some LEOs, ready to direct them. Since it was just Spencer and Aaron, the older agent sat on the floor of the ambulance with Spencer. They sat together in silence for a moment, before Spencer cleared his throat.

“Look, Hotch, what we did… it was unprofessional, and I wanted to apologise if it seemed like I was goading you into it.”

“Woah; hold up Reid. Last time I checked, I kissed you first. And I liked it; does that make me a bad person?”

“No. Is Jack home tonight?”

“No.”

They shared a look, and if Spencer had to convince himself to deflate from just that little moment, no one had to know.

[honeymoonjin]

day 11 & 12

With Festa in full swing last week, I feel like I didn’t have a chance to breathe let alone sit down long enough to articulate a review worthy of Day 11. I shall endeavor to do my very best to make up for that here. And, upon reading the start of Day 12, I am actually kinda glad I waited because I think that it gave me time to put both chapters into perspective. 

Day 11 was a very emotional one for Jungkook and I feel like we got to see those emotions coming to a head in this chapter. On the whole, Day 11 was such a fun, lowkey entry that I wasn’t really sure if I would have anything coherent to offer beyond high pitched squealing accompanied by the occasional swoon and cooing. But after seeing the tension and subsequent squabble that transpired at the breakfast table on Day 12, I see that perhaps there was more to ruminate concerning the feelings that Jungkook had experienced in the confessional booth. It’s so interesting from a writers perspective that you chose Jungkook to be the one to reiterate the whole point of the show; he’s younger, thus perhaps conventionally he’s a bit more emotionally immature than the rest of the guys. And yet, from the beginning, none of these guys have ever been portrayed as stereotypical or conventional; you have always expertly reminded the audience that each of the contestants (including our lady!) is more much complex than what meets the eye. It’s one of the things that I love so much about this series; none of the characters are ever “too perfect” and it’s those candid moments of vulnerability or weakness that truly makes this story stand out from a lot of other stories that I read. So to choose Jungkook as the person to make those “bold” comments and to have Namjoon be the one to call him out for being insensitive makes me feel like Jungkook’s response was much more complex than what it seems at glance. Like, it’s pretty obvious that Jungkook likes and respects our lady and perhaps he realized his indiscretion just a little to late but now he’s put on the spot, he’s been called out in front of everyone, and beyond the fact that he probably feels like shit for saying what he said and inadvertently hurting our lady in the process. He’s probably also hella embarrassed. I wonder too if maybe Jungkook is also ashamed that the person who called him out was Namjoon, someone who I want to believe, he respects and perhaps maybe admires a little. And despite the fact that I chuckled a little bit when our lady noticed that Jungkook was “staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames”, I realized that he might also be both angry and disappointed in himself for his behavior. *sigh* Boy, you were so right all those weeks ago when you said “emotions are messy”. Anyway, that’s my roundabout way of saying, I liked the breakfast scene. Haha! Drama is inevitable; I love that you don’t shy away from presenting conflict for them to overcome. It offers opportunities for character growth and character exploration and I really appreciate that! 

Speaking of character growth, Namjoon got a chance to really flex those skills he acquired from “Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess”. That scene left me melting! Melting, I say! I’m not sure if you noticed but I make it a point to not reveal who my actual bias is in these reviews because I feel like I want to give all of the guys a chance to win me over for fan favorite. What I will say though is that you kind of hit on a lot of my personal preferences with Namjoon’s scene. Beyond the fact that the scene was really, really hawt, it fulfilled me on an emotionally intimate level, so it made the scene extra special. Bravo! 

And I suppose Jimin also deserves a standing ovation for that amazing show he put on. Holy smokes that was so hot. From the light banter and quips at the beginning of that scene to Jimin actually owning that entire lounge! And as amazing as the show (plus subsequent private scene with our lady afterwards) was, my favorite bit might be the exchange between Jimin and Hoseok, another scene that filled with tension and new revelations! It might actually be the most fascinating scene because it gave a glimpse at something rather unexpected; something has transpired between Hoseok and Jimin. I might be reading too much into the exchange but it feels as though something has happened away from the cameras between them. Because it feels like there has been a shift from blatant hostility between these two to something more akin to a genuine understanding that this is now a battle for power and control. I could be reaching but I feel like, at the very least, there have been words exchanged between them! It made the scene all the more intriguing! I loved every moment of it. Oh! Speaking of which, what is up with Jin?! When Yoongi asked Jin to speak to Kookie about what had happened that morning, it seemed he was a bit apprehensive to take up the task. I know that there might not be anything more there than just the fact that Jin might not want to be the one to have to broach the subject with Kookie but I feel like there’s more there than what meets the eye as well… my theory is in it’s fetus stage though, so I feel like I’ll hold back on my thoughts concerning Jin for now. And Yoongi, for that matter! I feel like there is something more there as well. AH! Too many theories to juggle! I will let you know what my thoughts are about it once I have gathered more adequate information. 

I still feel guilty for not being able to give you a full length review of Day 11. It really was such a great, light day. Jungkook’s scene left me all hot and bothered to the point where I spent the entirety of the week, searching up Jungkook smut fics to fulfill my Jungkook fix that that chapter evoked in me! Not to mention that the boys getting up to antics for a whiteboard that in the end they didn’t really need just made me all the more baffled by their behavior. It was fun, hilarious and just what I would expect from the guys.

To make up for not having anything for last week, I would like to take the opportunity to tell you about me loving this amazing story so much I nearly force-fed my best friend to read it with me so that I would have someone to fangirl with. Let me tell you a little bit about her. See, she doesn’t consume fanfics with as much verocity as I do. She is a very casual fanfic reader and if she does (which is rare in it of itself) she only ever reads MxM. Period. So when I told her the premises of “The Gentlemen” she was curious enough to read the contestant profiles. But I must say, from Day 1, you had her HOOKED! She would text me screenshots and emoji filled fangirlings in the wee hours of the morning (the only time she had to read at all) every single thing she loved about each chapter and it brings me so much joy that she was really dissecting and appreciating all the little things that I too loved about your story! We would have long, deep discussions about her prompt theories, her favorite members, tiny details that you’ve so expertly woven into the story (like Jimin’s tattoo for example, which is something she is obsessed with, btw) all of her favorite traits that our lady of the house has. It’s been so blissfully fun having this to share with her especially since I have her to thank for getting me into BTS in the first place. So, please know that you have a secret fan of “The Gentlemen” who would like you to know that she has been enjoying herself thoroughly and that she looks forward to your updates just as much as I do now! 

Anyhoo, I think I’ve prattled on long enough. Thank you so much for your continued hard work and dedication to this series! This was such an amazing chapter I cannot wait to see how everything unfolds; it feel as though these last 2 chapters have planted some major seeds (no pun intended!!); I look forward to see what it sows in the coming days. 💜 Jan

Oh my gosh! In all of my ramblings, I forgot to say "shout out to Lady Mango! You go get that stake, girly!" Also, YAY Grandma Park!! Heck, that entire exchange in the bathtub made me uwu so hard my heart is just a pile of mush rn! Also, also!! Jin x Tae is lowkey underrated, so thank you for that! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆ I lub u so much!! kthnxbye

---

i’m not ashamed (okay, maybe a little) to admit that i kinda teared up and did a happy lil dance when i saw the email that you’d sent in a submission fksdjfkds i figured you’d probably been busy with life or with the mountainloads of content bighit is giving us these days so i was content to wait patiently, and it just made it that much more exciting when i saw this come in !

thank you, as always, for being so sweet and articulate and thoughtful in your reviews of the chapters. often you point out things that make so much sense that perhaps i hadn’t even noticed when writing. other times you hit an idea that i’d slipped in right on the nose. 

jungkook definitely is having a pretty tumultuous time on the show. for him, i imagine he feels like he’s the only one having a difficult time ironing out his feelings, or that if anyone else is struggling too, that they’re acting like nothing’s up. i also feel like jungkook’s competitive streak comes through in unexpected ways. of course he feels proud of his sexual prowess and kinda wants to showboat a little bit, but i think there’s an aspect too where he needs to be the one that’s always bolder than the others to assert his position. writing the namkook scene i kind of drew on that feeling where you’re fighting with someone you care about or think highly of, and even as you realise you’re wrong, you don’t want them to think badly of you and so you desperately scramble for a way to come out on top or prove you’re in the right. there’s also def a degree of him trying to convince himself the show is just about sex and that the rest doesn’t matter. he certainly doesn’t feel that way inside, but we see him vouching from that position so fiercely in d12. 

i’m glad you liked the namjoon scene !! one day i’ll figure out your bias fkdsjfksdjk you do such a good job at analysing and discussing everyone equally that it’s difficult >.<

it’s so fascinating to hear your jihope theory that they’ve spoken before. i must keep my silence on the details BUT there will be a very important scene between them coming up in the next few days of the show that i think will really change things between them and also how the readers see them. i’m super excited to write it ! 

beyond that, i’m happy you noticed something about jin in this chapter.... yn and jin still haven’t resolved their issues yet, plus here we are having jin not respond that well to being asked to counsel one of the members, something he always stated he was happy to do,,,,, hmmmm 0.0

i love hearing your theories so much !!! i eagerly await getting new content out so i can see how they shift and change from release to release

and also you really don’t need to feel bad ! there’s never any obligation to write out a long review for every chapter, but you do so anyway and that means a lot to me xx if you’re busy one week you don’t have to force yourself to make time for it. we have over 50 chapters, so we’re in for the long haul ! there’s really no rush

ahhhh that’s so cool to hear about your friend! it always warms my heart hearing stories of people that got their friends to begin reading and stuff, honestly even the thought that people think about tgm outside of reading it blows me away, it feels so special that it’s something y’all wanna share and discuss w your loved ones xx 

YES LADY MANGOOO i love adding little slips of her in the chapters, i know she doesn’t factor into the main story that much but everyone can rest assured that all of the members of the house (okay, and probably our three on-site producers too) spend a lot of time with her, walking her and cuddling her and playing with her. tae is probably currently trying to teach her some commands, but of course the only one she’s got the hang of is lie down jskfjsd

(finally YES taejin is such an underrated duo i love them)