#Covering my bases so bear with a few extra tags

[lady-merian]

The Tiffany Problem

Here it is, all in one convenient post :D a huge thank you to @valiantarcher for beta reading and catching so many errors and offering advice on some rough spots. edit: whoops forgot to tag @inklings-challenge in my excitement

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything quite like it; a storm blowing a tree over and leaving a girl in it’s wake. She had a dazed look about her, and  was dressed in the oddest clothes . A short green tunic and long blue trousers. Short boots with dingy white lacing and a flower crown in her shoulder-length nut-brown hair.

It was the flower crown that decided it for me.  If not for that, I might’ve thought she was one of old Halsey’s stablehands, following behind me. Oh yes. Come one and all; a knight has been chosen to slay the dragon. Gawk at him while you can. Ha. The king had sent me to my doom, as though he actually believed I might succeed. Possibly he did. King Arlan was something of an optimist. Whatever the reason, the situation with the dragon was getting desperate, and murmurings against the king’s inaction were increasing. A team of knights would’ve been better suited to this task, (if even that would help) but for whatever reason I alone was chosen.

So here we were, my horse and I, not far from Warian Castle. It would’ve been possible for some curious child to have followed me, but I doubted that was the case here.

I hadn’t intended to be out in the rain at all, but it’d come on so suddenly and there was no shelter to be seen. Woodlands are not the safest place to be caught in a storm, but then again they’re not the worst either. Thankfully that was the only tree that fell, and the rain stopped soon after that.

If you believed the old tales, which I didn’t, her appearance was some sort of omen. It was said that a wood-nymph had appeared to king Talvar right before he took the throne, and gave him the sword that’d vanquished his enemies. Rubbish. All of it.

Well, omen or not, there was something odd about this; my horse and I were soaked through, but she was barely damp. If there’d been shelter nearby, I wish I’d have known about it.

The dazed look hadn’t left her, but she blinked up at me. “You don’t look like any of the knights I’ve seen. Who are you?”

Well it was no wood-nymph after all. Just a girl, still of an age to be making flower crowns. The accent alone would’ve been enough to mark her as a foreigner if I hadn’t already guessed that. I, myself, am not well-traveled. Other than a brief sojourn into the neighboring kingdom of Arion, back when old king Gerard was on the throne, I’ve never even left Telurin. So I couldn’t’ve said where she might be from, only that it wasn’t anywhere I knew of.

If she didn’t recognize the device on my shield, the famous leaping stag of House Rioghan, any answer I could give her would be inadequate. Instead I asked some of my own. “Are you lost, lass? Where are your parents?”

Apparently, my voice did the same thing for her as hers did for me. She blinked up at me again, (must have hit her head on one of the tree’s branches as it fell,) and her eyes widened.

“Whoa, you’re one of the professionals!”

Were we speaking two different languages after all?

She dropped into a near perfect courtesy—near perfect because she was not attired properly, and the rough blue trousers were a poor substitute for a flowing skirt.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Knight,” she said, “but no. I’m not lost, my parents are back watching the juggling act and said I could look for the food vendors.”

“Juggling act?” I looked around, but there was only woodland. Was there a stronghold nearby that I didn’t know about? One with a minor lord who was being entertained by a juggling troupe?

“Yes, back ther—“ she half-turned and gestured behind her, but stopped with a gasp at something I couldn’t see. Her hand flew to her mouth.

Wood nymph. Omen. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I brushed the thoughts aside.

“It’s gone! It’s all—“

She turned back to me, and said in a small voice, “I think…I must be lost after all.”

c>={====>

Her name, she said, was Tiffany. And whatever she said about not being hurt, she must have hit her head when that tree fell.

She said all she felt when she stepped through that stone archway (whatever archway she was talking about) was a strong cold wind and then the fallen tree was in front of her. I’d felt the chill in the wind, but it’s autumn. Of course it’s going to be cold. Yet the sleeves of her tunic were cut short, so her arms were indecently bare from elbow to wrist. I’d have some choice words for her parents about that. She shivered in the telling of her tale.

My cloak was much too damp to be of any use in warming her, but the sun was coming out now.

I dismounted and sat in the brightest patch of sun to dry off while she went to inspect the tree. She ended up circling it three times, (Omen. Wood nymph. I shook the thoughts away yet again) before returning to tell me that she didn’t know where she was and had no idea how to get home.

As if my impossible task wasn’t impossible enough, I now had a charge who probably couldn’t even mount a horse, let alone slay a dragon. I couldn’t leave her stranded here, and I couldn’t take her with me.

If I did believe in the old tales, I’d start thinking I was cursed.

“Where do you live?” I asked cautiously. “Carranburn? Or maybe Ellsbridge, or one of the other surrounding villages?”

Please let it be somewhere close by.

I didn’t know if this counted as a prayer. I didn’t know if I was desperate enough for that yet. What was the difference between the God of All, whom the Priests said was everywhere (though invisible,) and the old tales, which I’d long ago realized were myths? 

“Never heard of them,” said Tiffany, twisting the stem of a fallen leaf between her fingers. “I’m from New Haven. We came down to Fishers for the Faire.”

I hadn’t heard of any places by those names either. “There isn’t a faire around here,” I said.

“I believe you. But that’s why I’m here.”

“Please don’t speak in riddles.”

c>={====>

She still spoke in riddles, no matter what I told her. Only it wasn’t cryptic conundrums like in the legends, it was chatter that made no sense, with words like “Fone” and “Why Fie”. A small device she carried was not behaving quite as it should, apparently. Whatever her small black rectangle was supposed to do, it was not doing it to her satisfaction. She gave up and placed it back somewhere in the folds of her clothes from whence she had pulled it.

“I figured it wouldn’t work,” she said, “but I had to try.”

“Did you now?”

“Yeah, my mom—er.” She glanced at my face with an odd expression. “I mean my mother is going to worry about me. But then maybe not. Maybe I’ll get back and no time will have passed. Like in the stories.”

“Stories.” It wasn’t a question, so I wasn’t disappointed when she responded with a question of her own.

“So where are we?”

Besides the middle of a forest? Where ought I to begin? 

“We are near the townlands of Gwydd.” 

A blank look. I sighed. 

“In the kingdom of Telurin. Ruled by King Arlan.”

Still no response. 

“Those mean nothing to you?”

“No, sir.”

Well in that case she wasn’t likely to have been sent by anyone to prophesy my success or failure, yet I was no closer to understanding what was going on.

She had no more heard of the kingdom of Telurin or king Arlan than I had heard of a place called Fishers or New Haven. Those names seemed to me to indicate a seaside home for the girl, yet she claimed they were inland and she had never even seen the sea.

There was nowhere for her to go but with me—for a time. There might be someone in the next town that could take charge of her, though what I could afford to bargain for her keep I had no idea. Mayhap the Kirik would help a lost girl… I kept my worries to myself, except I did tell her the part about looking for the Kirik at the nearest town. Tiffany agreed to go with me, but at the suggestion of the Kirik she looked puzzled. “Who’s Kirk?”

“Not ‘who,’ lass. ‘What.’ Have you never been?”

She didn’t seem like a heathen, but you never know. I helped her mount, which was necessary even though she actually had ridden before, for Riastrad was no child-sized pony. It was only after I mounted behind and we set off that she asked any more questions.

“So. What is the Kirk?”

“Kirik,” I corrected absently, but other than that I found myself ill-equipped to give a helpful answer. “You ought to ask one of the Elders when we get there.”

“Elders? Is it like a church?”

I rolled the word around in my mind. It wasn’t too dissimilar. It may have been that her accent was the cause of confusion— or rather, mine was. 

She interrupted my thoughts. “Do they teach about God there?” 

“Yes,” I said slowly. “The God of All. Maker of the world and everything in it.” 

She relaxed. “Well, that’s all right then.”

There was something comforting about the fact that He was familiar to her, which was odd considering the fact that I had my own questions about the God of All. 

“Where were you going when you found me?” She asked.

“Does it matter? You probably wouldn’t recognize the place.”

“Oh kay why were you traveling?”

By her tone I gathered that “Oh kay” meant “all right” or something similar. Another oddity in her speech, which I dismissed without comment. The land from whence she came seemed backwards enough to me already without me learning any more about it.

“So many questions. And it still doesn’t really matter, because you’re not coming along. It’s too dangerous.”

She sat in silence for a time, which at first I thought was a miracle in itself; then I began to worry I’d been too harsh and thought I ought to explain. 

“It’s nothing anyone can help with. I have to kill a dragon, and it’s not—“

“A dragon?” She sat straighter in the saddle. “Those are real?”

I let out a breath. “Of course they’re real, and for some reason I was chosen to stop this one from terrorizing the countryside. So you see my problem.”

“That’s awes—-I mean that’s going to be hard.”

“Hard? It’s impossible. Don’t they have dragons where you come from, lass?”

“Where I come from they’re a myth.”

The idea of something so terribly real being thought of as a mere myth gave me a strange feeling, like someone doubting the sun or the wind if they lived too much indoors.

She shivered a little, whether from the cold (my cloak was still too damp to be of much use in keeping her warm) or from sudden fear I couldn’t tell.

“Next you’ll be telling me it’s always warm where you come from, and that’s why you’re dressed like this without even a cloak to warm you” I said.

Her shoulders shook with sudden laughter. “It’s not always warm, but it was summertime when I woke up this morning. ”

Utter nonsense. I urged Riastrad into a canter as soon as the way through the wood was clear enough, more than eager to hand off my charge to someone else.

The journey to Carranburn didn’t take long, and finding the Kirik was easier still. I spotted it’s tower before we entered the town proper. 

We were met at the door by an elder of middling age, with silvering hair. He took one look at us, beamed, and said “We’ve been expecting you.”

c>={====>

A prophecy. About us. What utter nonsense. Over the late supper of bread and wine that was provided for us, Elder Donn, the one who welcomed us, told us of a dream he had a few years ago about a great red dragon destroying everything in it’s wake. At first banishing the idea as nothing more than too rich of a supper before bed, he nevertheless could not forget it and so told Father Beithe, the priest. Six months ago, when the rumors of a dragon in the southern foothills of the Dubhach Mountains first came, and he remembered that dream, he had another. This one involved a knight bearing the device of a white stag, leaping as though it would come off of his shield and come to life. 

“And we knew that must be you. There are no others left that bear that device. We knew the King would choose you before he did.”

He went on to explain how shortly after that, he and the priest both had a dream on the same night.

A girl with flowers in her hair, carrying a mysterious white light to match my white stag, and me, carrying a shining lance instead of my sword.

“It must be the Duraidd lance!” Elder Donn exclaimed. His face shone in the soft lamplight. 

“Now that is ridiculous. I don’t have any lance with me, let alone that one, and I would not bring a child along. I’ll not risk her safety on the basis of a dream.”

Elder Donn cocked his head to the side as though considering, then said, “Three dreams.”

He seemed at least as ignorant of the dangers of dragons as Tiffany. “I wouldn’t bring her if you’d had a hundred!” 

Tiffany cleared her throat. “What’s the Duraidd lance?

I started to say it was a legend, but Elder Donn had a different idea.

“It’s the lance used by Sir Rioghan, the knight that handled the last dragon who attacked Telurin.”

The elder nodded to me. ‘His ancestor.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened as she looked at me.

I clenched my jaw. Whether or not the whole story of the defeat of the great Breunachd was true, my great great grandfather had died from his wounds. His lance, if it still existed, would do me little good. Hoping against hope, I still wanted a way out of this alive.

“It’s said to be displayed in the Kirik of Kynvan, where the dragon’s defeat took place.”

The town was conveniently in my path. I wondered whether Elder Donn knew? 

“I cannot bring her along,” I tried again. “Even if the lance is there, it would not guarantee success, and I cannot be responsible for her safety and defeat the beast at the same time. My duty to the king must be my first priority.”

“You would abandon her here?” 

Abandon her? That wasn’t fair. “You would refuse to shelter her?”

“Certainly not. If it’s shelter she wants, she could find it here.”

Elder Donn looked to Tiffany, who gave a quick shake of her head.

“I would understand your hesitation if we were asking you to take her to the dragon’s lair, but we are not,” Elder Donn continued. “Nor are we asking you to take full responsibility of her. I myself planned to accompany you as far as she does.”

I frowned. Why would she not want shelter?

Then I turned to her, a horrible idea growing in my mind. During the whole tale from Elder Donn she had sat, wide eyed, not interrupting once. At first I thought it a matter of manners, but that she surely shared my skepticism. Now I wondered. “Do not tell me you believe you should come along!”

Tiffany shrugged. “I don’t see that I can get home by staying here.”

Unspoken was the thought that she had been called here for a purpose, but Elder Donn was thinking it I was sure. They shared a glance between them, and I gave up, outnumbered. I threw my hands in the air in surrender. “You can travel with me as far as the kirik of Kynvan. We can see if the lance is even there, since the town is in my path anyway, but I won’t promise anything beyond that.”

Tiffany brightened at this, where I had hoped she would recognize the seriousness of the situation. She seemed to put more stock in these dreams than I.

c>={====>

The girl is younger than they usually are when they come here, these Travellers from other worlds. The last one was a boy, not too much older than she is now--at least the first time he came. He was one of the few who returned, and it's how one of my theories about the Travellers was proven accurate: time flows differently between worlds. He visited once as a young man, and then, scarcely a year after he had returned to his own world having helped rescue the missing lady Elowyn, he returned years older. Others had been reported to have returned without such vast difference in time. Once with no discernible variance at all. Truly there is no predicting it. The one constant in our records is the mysterious wind, where previously there had been none.

Back to the girl. She calls herself Tiffany. An ekename for Theophania, but when I called her Theophania she looked at me with an utterly bemused expression.

Unlike the last one, she does not need to be convinced of the seriousness of the situation. She expresses no surprise about this being a different world than hers. The God of All rules them both. Listening to her, I ponder for the first time if these two are the only worlds after all. There could be so many, and we have no way of knowing if our infrequent visitors all come from the same one. I make a mental note to look through our chronicler's writings for clues. She has sparked some curiosity in me, Tiffany has. Moreover, she knows not only of the God of All, but of his Son, our Lord and Savior, and his death and resurrection. She knows it all, yet the scriptures say he died but once. How then could it be the same in her world as it is here? Ah, further musings to take to Father Beithe. He shares my curiosity of this other world and the awesome workings of the God of All.

I have told them both what I know. Sir Uriah, the last knight of House Rioghan is at least as skeptical as he is courageous. I expected Tiffany to be the one to be convinced, but the only doubt she has is what this mysterious light could be. I haven't the faintest idea. It is true that I do not even know if the light is to be taken literally. She persists in questioning, and all I can tell her is that it was pure white, more like to a star than the glow of a candle or lantern.

In a collection of garments donated for the poor, I found a serviceable dress for Tiffany as well as a cloak. (Not only will her short tunic and trousers not be warm enough in this weather, none of us want to attract any undue attention and her odd clothing would certainly mark her as a Traveller.) It was only an old woolen dress, of a pale, faded green color, but she was delighted, and put it on over her own clothes and twirled as though it was the finest thing she had ever worn. It even brought a smile to Sir Uriah’s face, though he quickly smothered it. I suspect he does not want to show any sort of approval lest it be taken for encouragement of our plans. He has not taken to the idea of bringing Tiffany so close to danger. I myself would be inclined to send her in the opposite direction if not for the dreams and the certainty that she is meant to accompany him as far as the kirik of Kynvan. Further than that I cannot tell. 

Ah, I must put away this chronicle and get some rest. The kirik of Kynvan is roughly a day’s journey from here. We leave with the dawn. 

c>={====>

The morning was shrouded in a gloomy fog as we left the kirik. Elder Donn rode a mule, with Tiffany perched on a shaggy pony belonging to one of the inhabitants of the village but which was often lent to the kirik at need. 

I was glad they weren’t coming all the way to the Dubhach mountains. If we had to ride hard away from an attack of dragon fire I wouldn’t give a fig for either of their chances.

The gloom had no effect on Tiffany, who prodded Elder Donn for information about the other Travellers he had mentioned to her the night before. I had little to do but listen as she mentioned the stories she had read of similar Travellers. And Elder Donn’s interest as she mentioned one in particular that compared history to a great tree with branches that spread out and went different directions but were rooted in the same place.

“These stories... If you likened history to a tree, with creation as the roots and the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord as the place where the branches begin to spread, and each branch spread into a different world, it could explain how there could be more than one, and yet would mean Christ died but once as the scriptures say. Extraordinary. It might account for some similarities we’ve noted between worlds. Is something like this possible, do you think?”

Tiffany shrugged. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t explain everything. I liked the sound of it though.”

“But It was not a true story, you say?”

“No,” Tiffany said, “but it got me thinking about it. I guess I’m not the only one that hoped the stories of other worlds could be true.”

“You mean to say none of the tales in your world about other worlds have documented facts?”

“They’re all stories.” She shrugged. “In books. I don’t know of anything like your records. But I do know if I went home and told people about what’s happened here they’d think I was playing a game, or went mad, or hit my head and dreamed it all up. Especially if I mentioned a dragon. So I might be cautious about making a record when I go home.”

“Ahh. Unless you shape it as a story or a dream.” Elder Donn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I believe I see your point.”

Once again, that strange feeling washed over me. Only this time it carried a subtle shift in my perspective. Of course I knew dragons were real, and they were not less real for the fact that she had never met one. I had never met one personally either, but I had evidence that they existed. If her world was as full of doubt as she made it sound, then even such evidence as I had—stories passed down from people who had seen them firsthand, the blackened stones and rubble of Westmore Castle which had never been rebuilt after Breunachd’s attack—would perhaps not suffice. Fires could come from other things than dragon attacks, after all. On the other hand, how was it then that Tiffany was the one who had no trouble believing that the God of All had sent her here for a purpose?

Lost in these thoughts, I paid less attention to their conversation about the nature of time between worlds. They were quite a pair. Maybe the God of All had actually sent her to keep Elder Donn company and offer new information for his scribblings.

As the morning wore away, the fog turned to mist and the mist turned to gold before disappearing entirely. 

When we stopped for our noon meal, there was a break in the chatter. Elder Donn brought out some dry traveller’s loaves and hard cheese from the bundles he’d so carefully packed that morning. Tiffany tore her bread in half and stacked the cheese between the two pieces before eating. An unusual custom, which I chose not to inquire about. Elder Donn was another matter, but I paid little heed again as I started to think more seriously about how to convince the others to let me go on alone to the Dubhach mountains, whatever we found in Kynvan.

After our meal we were back to the road.

The wooded country that had opened up around Carranburn, cleared for farmsteads, again gave way to a land where great trees sprang up and the road was darkened by overhanging branches still full of leaves that had not yet fallen. Tiffany’s chatter did not resume for some time, and when it did it was a question directed at me.

“If it was your ancestor who killed the last dragon with the Duraidd lance, why is it displayed somewhere else? Why don’t you have it?”

Of all the questions I should have expected this one. 

“My grandfather’s grandfather died soon after the dragon Breunachd did, for the burns he was given by the beast never healed despite the kingdom’s finest healer tending them herself. He was buried there at the Kirik. It was said that his lance somehow survived the flames and was buried in a tomb with him, but that part of the tale is too uncertain.”

“He must’ve been pretty strong,” Tiffany remarked. “To joust with a dragon, I mean.”

There she went again, with words that made no sense. To join it in single combat was of course the very thing I was supposed to do. It puzzled even Elder Donn.

“They say he threw it at Breunachd's open mouth, and it lodged so deep in the beast's throat that it could not be removed until he was dead,” he ventured to say, “yet somehow the shaft was not burned to ash even in Breunachd’s death throes.”

“That was one of the versions I have heard,” I added. “Which is why I say it’s uncertain. It makes no sense.”

“How could he have thrown it?” Tiffany frowned. “A lance is for jousting.”

“For… joining in battle… yes.”

At which point we both accepted that we were not going to understand one another, as an awkward silence followed.

Personally I always thought the story of the lance’s survival was too far fetched, but people love a legend and Sir Rioghan dying so soon after the beast meant the legend needed a bit of help to ease the retelling. Not that the miraculous survival of a piece of wood and metal made it that much better. If it had survived, which was in some doubt. 

“What were the other versions you heard?” Elder Donn asked.

“The way my grandfather told it, the lance did lodge in Breunachd’s throat, but its jaws clamped down on the shaft and combined with the flames the wood was consumed. The sharp metal head worked its way deeper into the flesh and the beast died in a great mass of blood and flame.”

I expected—hoped for— a grimace from Tiffany at the description. Let her realize this wasn’t a nice, safe quest. When I glanced her way, however, she looked as calm as before. 

“Of course my grandfather wasn’t there,” I continued, “but he says his father was old enough to travel to Kynvan with my great great grandmother to see Sir Rioghan before he died. Now my cousin remembers the tale a little differently: he remembers hearing that the flames traveled the length of the shaft until it glowed too hot to hold but did not burn. Yet the process of working it free from the dragon’s corpse bent the metal into something unusable. Goodness knows how there are so many different versions of the story. If it ever was displayed at the Kirik, I expect we will not find the shining lance you saw in your dream.”

“Is that why you don’t believe in the dreams?” Tiffany asked. 

“The why, lass, is more complicated than that. If I saw some sign of the dreams being anything other than—what did you call it, Elder? Too rich a supper before bed?— I might change my mind.”

“I’m here,” Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “Or do you still think I’m from your world and not another?”

Caught, neatly as an animal in a trap. If I said I didn’t believe she came from another world, it was as good as calling her a liar. If I said she did come from another world, I had little basis for believing that and not the rest of the dreams. 

It was as if they read my thoughts. Elder Donn chuckled and an impish grin spread across Tiffany’s face. 

“There are only three possibilities, you know.”

“Three?”

“Well, yes. I could be lying, or mad, or telling the truth.”

Odd as she sometimes seemed, madness was something I’d stopped considering long ago. “I did think at first you had hit your head,” I admitted, “but there’s no evidence of that. I checked, and you didn’t have a head wound. And since then you have been as sane as I.”

That got a smile out of Elder Donn and a giggle out of her. “Only since then?”

I decided not to tell her about thinking of the wood nymph that supposedly appeared to King Talvar. That might not persuade her of my own sanity, if she knew I had seriously considered it.

“I will grant you that you appeared strangely and I do not know from whence. Does that satisfy you?”

“We’ll have to see about the rest then,” she said. 

c>={====>

The first of the refugees came upon us while we were still several leagues from Kynvan. A couple with a young child in her mother’s arms, fleeing with very little more than the clothes on their backs. They did not stop to explain, they scarce acknowledged us at all, even at Elder Donn’s benediction. Shock was written in every line on their faces. 

I heard Elder Donn murmur a prayer for them after they passed. 

More families, trickled past us, then groups of families, bringing rumors of fires and collapsed buildings and a challenge from a monster. Finally an old woman who seemed to be attached to no one finally took notice of us.

“You should turn the other way, Sir Knight, Elder.” She bobbed her head at each of us in turn. “If not for your sake, then for the girl. This Namhaid is not content to stay in his lair.”

I was going to say that I agreed, Elder Donn and Tiffany should turn back, but Tiffany sat straight up in her saddle. 

“He can’t turn back, and I’m not going to. The king chose him to defeat the dragon.”

“What do you mean Namhaid?” Elder Donn broke in.

“That’s what the beast calls himself!” The woman said. “He came, destroyed the Kirik with one blast of fire and a sweep of his great tail, thick as a cedar, and boasted that no one could stand against him. Then he snatched up a maiden and flew back to his lair! But he’ll be back. The sensible ones of us have fled.”

Then the woman was gone, swept along in the tide of people fleeing. 

The tide slowed after a time, and all the while I was trying to think of something to say that would convince Elder Donn and Tiffany to flee with them. I could claim to believe the lance would be there, in the rubble of the kirik, I could claim to believe Tiffany had helped enlighten me and given me courage, that the light of Elder Donn’s dream must therefore be symbolic. 

No, tempting as it was I wouldn’t lie to her.

May she find her way home. Now this one was a prayer. If you’re there, may she find her way home. And Elder Donn as well. Why should they be caught up in this with me?

“The dragon is not there now,” Tiffany said. “I know you’re still trying to get us to leave you, but I think we should go to the kirik at least.”

It was rather annoying to have her guess so much of my thoughts. 

“It was destroyed,” I said. “You heard the woman.”

“I promise if we don’t find anything there I’ll give up, but I can’t go back without us even trying. If we find a way for me to get home before then, I’ll go back without arguing.”

That seemed like an easy way to get her to go back, in a way. Still, I had my doubts. “Even this is a lot of risk.” I looked to Elder Donn. “What do you think? We don’t know when the dragon will return.”

“We don’t know that it will be today,” Elder Donn replied. “As it is, it is getting dark. There will be shelter in town.”

Caught betwixt warring responsibilities. It was getting dark, and upon realizing that, I was ill at ease sending them back along the road so late in the evening even with the fleeing townsfolk. A panic stricken group seemed like little protection from other dangers that might lurk, dragon or no. 

I agreed. 

It was not yet full dark when we reached the town of Kynvan. An air of melancholy hung over the place. It became apparent that not everyone had left or even planned to leave. Some were obviously stragglers, still loading possessions into carts, but others seemingly had no intent to move on, others still appeared to have been wounded in the dragon’s attack and might have left if they could have. 

All around I saw scorched buildings and scorched people, with burns and bandages aplenty. A chill wind was blowing the smoke away westward. Tiffany shivered and pulled her russet cloak tighter around her. 

We had to find the Kirik, or what was left of it. Then we had to find somewhere to shelter for the night so I could send Tiffany and Elder Donn back  in the morning with a clear conscience. 

c>={====>

The main stone building of the kirik had partially collapsed with half of the roof caved in. There was no way I would allow either of them to explore the rubble, and yet if we did not try I could not hope to convince Tiffany to go back with the Elder in the morning. The half that was still standing stood dark and forbidding, with broken glass from the windows scattered along the ground and glinting with the last of the light from the setting sun. 

“We should try in the morning,” Elder Donn said. “It’s sure we won’t find it in the dark.”

"Wait!" Tiffany exclaimed. “Light!”

Then, without explaining further,  rummaged in the folds of her clothes again and pulled that small black rectangle out. She did something to it, tapping the broad flat center rapidly, muttering about a battery and some nonsense about it having some life left except for service in cells, which she said was dead. The words she used were familiar, yet utterly severed from any meaning that I knew. 

“There,” she said proudly, holding it aloft. “Will this help?”

A bright white light streamed from the top and even I felt something stir as I thought of the white light of Elder Donn’s dream--though I also winced away from the brightness that made spots dance in my vision. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think it would be that bright. It’s not, usually.” Her brow furrowed. "I don't think so, anyway."

“All along you had this?” Elder Donn said, wonder in his voice. 

“Well, yes, but I didn’t need it till now,” Tiffany replied. “The candles at the kirik were nicer. Can we look for it now?”

I could hardly tear my eyes away from the light, even as it stung my eyes. Far better than a torch would be.

"May I?"

Tiffany shrugged and handed it over. My understanding of it was no better, but at least it was not as though the light was sorcery that required her touch and hers alone. She even showed me what she did to banish the light and command it back again. 

I showed it to Elder Donn, who stood transfixed for a moment before confirming what I suspected.

"This is the light from my dream. I am sure of it." 

And I believed him. It perplexed me, this certainty. I was still no closer to allowing Tiffany or the elder to explore the rubble, but I was now actually considering what I might find if I was to search for my great grandfather's lance. 

"This?" Tiffany was incredulous. "But this is just..." 

She stopped. "Oh, Kay, so this is the light. That doesn't mean I can just go back, even if I did know how. You can't keep my phone, I have to stay till you're done with it at least."

I smiled. Without my even trying, she was speaking of going home. Perfect. Though she had a point, we still did not know how to send her home. 

"We will speak of this in the morning," I said. "For now, If you will permit me to borrow your light,  I will see what can be seen. The ruins may be unstable, and dream come true or not, I do not see that you should be the one to explore them. T'will be a miracle if anything can be found though."

I did not explain to her that I was the closest I had ever been to believing in miracles.

It was a bare quarter of an hour before I returned, bearing only the strange black rectangle but no lance. In that time dusk had crept silently over the town. Most of the fires were out, and the only people out in the open were those still fighting the flames. 

"I saw something that might have been it," I said in answer to my companions' visible disappointment, "but could not reach it, with one hand holding the light. Tis half buried in a crevice formed by a collapsed wall." 

Tiffany beamed. "You need someone to reach it." 

"Or at least hold the light," I said, casting a wry glance her way. "Are you volunteering then?"

The rest of the building did not appear as though it would collapse further, at any rate. And I had the feeling that time was of the essence. Far better, now that I had seen it was stable, to have us all working together. 

When we reached the crevice, Tiffany held the light while I strained to reach the long thin object I could see. It remained out of reach, for I could extend my arm but not more than that and the lance, if that is what it was, was further away than it had first appeared. The crevice was not wide enough for my head and shoulders. Elder Donn had shorter arms than I did, and less chance of reaching it. That left Tiffany. Her slight figure would possibly be able to get further. I might not be able to hold the light for her, but if she could crawl in where I could not she might be able to hold it in one hand and pull it out with the other. Before I could even weigh the risks and decide if the crevice itself was stable enough to allow it, a great shadow spread out around us, blotting out all other shadows cast by the ruined walls. A rush of wind scattered dead leaves and bracken and even some of the rubble. Then there was a blast of heat and smoke wreathed around us, right before a horrible booming laughter echoed through the stony corridors. 

"What is this? One tough old warrior, encased in a fragile metal shell, one soft kirikman, and the juiciest morsel of all-- I believe I smell a maidchild. Have you come to placate me with the ancient custom of sacrificing the young one? Juicy she may be, but I will require more than that as tribute if you've come to pay your respects."

Tiffany dove into the crevice. I thought--hoped-- she was going to stay there until the danger was past, or better yet I hoped the way had opened for her to return home, but it was not to be: a heartbeat later I heard a grunt and with a heaving gasp she emerged with what might have been the Duraidd lance but was certainly not the shining thing I think Elder Donn had pictured being displayed there. "Here," she gasped. "Looks more like a javelin than a lance to me, but that's what we were seeing."

I didn't have time to sift meaning from her words. 

The dragon, Namhaid, I assumed, had not shown himself yet. Not that I was eager for the sight, but knowing the danger was lurking without being able to see it was even worse. Where would he strike first? I took the lance from Tiffany, which seemed awfully light compared with others I have handled,  and she took back her light. I would have cautioned her against using it, except the beast already knew where we were. Though perhaps I could change that, at least with regards to Tiffany's whereabouts. It looked as though the ancient tales of maidens given as tribute to stop a dragon's rampages might have been true after all. Or at least Namhaid had heard of them, and worse, developed an appetite.

"Lass, listen to me," I spoke in a whisper, hoping I would have time to say all I must, yet hoping also the dragon would not be able to hear. "Listen. You have done your task, and done it well. I am sure the God of All would have you get home, though it does not look like I will be able to see you to safety myself." 

As I spoke, Elder Donn darted to the side with a sharp cry, in time to avoid a massive sweeping claw that sprang out of the darkness between us. I had no time to finish asking Tiffany to go with the elder and find her way to safety. It was all I could do to shield her if possible from that searching claw and another blast of heat and smoke. Most of the wood had been consumed, but something nearby caught fire. A felled beam burned like a torch, illuminating a part of the beast. There was an impression of a serpentine neck, and a flash of jagged teeth as a huge head snapped at the retreating Elder Donn, who was staggering back to us before the flame went out again. 

"Are you hurt?" I put my arm out to steady him. So did Tiffany, and as soon as he regained his balance we made a dash deeper into the kirik. I hoped it would slow Namhaid but that he would not become so frustrated that he lashed out at the walls bringing it down upon us. 

"I am all right," Elder Donn wheezed as we fled. "Hit the ground hard, but the claw missed. 

"That could change if we don't split up," I said. "I want you to take Tiffany and get her deeper into the kirik. Go deep enough, and I don't think his head will fit in there, let alone the rest of him." 

Namhaid could not be in two places at once, and I intended to lead him elsewhere.

"Ah, you do not intend to surrender yet, you want to make this interesting."

At the sound of the monstrous voice I turned around and there he was, a dragon with scales the same red-gold color of the flames he had spouted, grinning and showing all his teeth, lazing right in the path we had just come from like an enormous cat. As if to enhance that image he yawned and stretched before speaking again. 

"By all means, trap yourselves in there. Make yourselves as comfortable as you like with no provisions. Come out when you are hungry, I will be watching every exit and waiting with an appetite that far outstrips your own. Or..." He paused, as if considering. "You could perhaps try running and hiding somewhere else while I hunt for your mounts. A horse, a pony, and a mule would whet my appetite nicely before I move on to delicacies such as yourselves."

I held the lance with a slackened grip, not wanting to draw his attention to it or for him to regard it as a threat. "Tell us, why should we surrender? None of us wish to hasten our deaths. On the other hand, if you were to allow the child to go free, then we could perhaps come to some agreement."

"Agreement?'" His laugh was a roar.  "No one bargains with me, I am Namhaid.  Death follows in my wake inevitably like night follows day. Your armor may not agree with my digestion, but neither will it save you. It cannot stop my claws or my teeth, let alone my flame." 

All the while I was creeping closer, hoping Tiffany and the Elder had long since disappeared into what was left of the kirik. If I could keep him talking, get close enough to ensure a direct hit to his chest, or (like my great great grandfather) his open mouth, then I might still perish but so would the beast.

His huge eye was on me. "Shall I roast you inside of your shell, and claw it off after you burn? Or, hmm.. perhaps I should crush you inside of it? After all, at  times I do prefer my meat fresh." 

With that last word he lashed out at me, and faster than I could blink the sharp smile vanished into a gaping maw. There was no time to think, barely time to aim. I hurled the lance with all my strength, but the beast closed his jaws too soon and it glanced off his teeth with no visible damage to them. I dove to the side just in time to avoid his snapping jaws, but his neck snaked around following me and nearly caught me before jerking away.

At first I didn't understand why he didn't catch me. I thought maybe he was toying with me as before, until his enraged roar sounded and then I saw a chunk of rubble fall to the ground. He shook his head, dislodging another, smaller chunk of rubble from somewhere around his head. He snapped at me again before I even had time to draw my sword, but a bright light struck him right in the eye, which made him rear back with a hiss. Something seemed wrong with that eye. I didn't have long to wonder if that chunk of rubble had hit it, or how vulnerable his eyes were, or who had thrown it. Elder Donn was pulling me out of reach of his teeth.

I ought to have resisted and used the distraction to find the lance, or if nothing else readied my sword, but it was happening so fast and before I knew it a burst of flame covered the ground where I had been standing, as well as a widening circle around it. The lance was gone. The wooden shaft would never have survived those flames. I felt the heat from where I was, and it was doubtful whether even the head would be of any use after that. 

"We have to get to cover," Elder Donn was saying. Tiffany thinks there's an underground space further in, we'll be safe from his fire there. And I think she has an idea." He added this last in before I could protest that I shouldn't be where either of them were. Shouldn't draw the dragon closer to them. 

Before the Duraidd lance had been brought up, my plan (if you could call my despairing lack of any other idea a plan) had been to try and catch the dragon napping and at least spy out any potential weaknesses that way, if nothing else. That wasn't going to happen now. I had to work with what I'd seen thus far. 

As we ducked through one of the doorways that still had an intact roof above it,  I saw that Namhaid had ceased his fiery tantrum for the time being, and was scanning the area, which meant he would be watching for me. Too late to back out now, if I wanted to keep him from discovering where the others had gone. I might as well plan in here as outside.

I was pondering how to use the vulnerability of it's eyes when Elder Donn led me down a set of stairs into a storeroom of some kind. Wooden shelves lined the walls.

"Did you bring him?" Tiffany's whisper came out of the dark, echoing only slightly. It felt like a close space, but didn't sound like one. She didn't wait for an answer before she said, in a wavering voice. "I think I might have found the way home."

As much as I had wanted her to get home, I was unprepared for this. Not that I was having second thoughts, I knew home was the safest place for her and from the moment she had stepped into my care I had chafed at the responsibility, believing as I had that it conflicted with the quest I was on. It was simply so abrupt, and what had been the purpose of the God of All in sending her then? And he had, somehow. I had just begun to be sure of that.

“We don’t know if that was actually the Duraidd lance,” she said. “There’s no way that was a tomb, anyway. So I was exploring down here when I felt a gust of wind from that archway,” she moved her light over a dark arch that looked no different from any other I had seen in the building. The same plain, solid stone. The wall of a tunnel could be seen by the light. Her implication was clear: she believed this was the way home. To me, however, it looked nothing like I would have expected a passage between worlds to look, and everything like an ordinary doorway.

As though sensing my doubt, she added, “it was just like before. The air wasn’t the same as what was around me. It was fresh, and warm; when I came here the first day, the wind I felt was cool and damp when it should have been warm.”

“There is one way to find out,” Elder Donn pointed out.

He likely meant for Tiffany to go through it, but if there was fresh air through that archway it could just as easily lead to the surface—and to the dragon. I would go through it myself before allowing Tiffany to go down that tunnel alone.

I’d hardly completed the thought before something shook the earth and Namhaid’s roar thundered down from somewhere above the beginning of the steps. Stone cracked, and I thought I could see the glow of flames reflecting off the uppermost stone step. The earth shook again and this time there was no mistaking it. Namhaid knew where we were.

I didn’t think twice about my decision. I simply stepped through, pulling Tiffany and the Elder along with me.

c>={====>

The wind gusted as we stepped through the archway, and swirled around us. Bright sunshine overwhelmed my senses, followed by the colors, sounds, and smells of a festival day. There was almost everything I would have expected to see from the fair Tiffany had mentioned coming from, and then some things I ought to have expected, considering this was not the same world as my own. Not a few of the folk who wandered about were attired in the same short tunics and rough blue trousers that Tiffany had first arrived in. Many were in stranger garb than that, though there were also many who were in garments more familiar to me.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, so bright compared with the underground passage from whence we had come, Tiffany motioned us forward. "Follow me," she said. "If we don't stick together, who knows what could happen." 

"Tis marvelous," Elder Donn said.

"You haven't seen the half of it," Tiffany muttered. "No time now, follow me."

And we did. I could take in the sights just as easily walking as standing still. We nearly got separated as a group of children with painted faces wandered between us, but Tiffany noticed and held back until they had passed. 

“Do you know where you are going?” I asked when we could join her again.

“Sure do. I was there this morning, my time.”

She wove determinedly through the crowds. It was all we could do to keep up.

“Are you going to tell us?” Elder Donn panted. He should have saved his breath, as Tiffany did not answer. Not until we were standing by a traveling blacksmith, giving a demonstration to a crowd of people in outlandish garb. I noticed one girl a little younger than Tiffany with a cloak that had a pin shaped like a lion’s head, a knife at her belt, and a small glass phial at her side. With her there was a young man with the horns of a goat sprouting from his curly head. 

“Wait here a minute,” Tiffany said. “I need to check something.”

I objected to this, but she was already gone.

“Cool costumes,” the goat-man said. He nodded to my sword. “Looks authentic. Surprised they didn’t make you peace tie it.”

There didn’t seem to be a suitable response, though he seemed pleasant enough. I inclined my head to show I’d heard him, and glanced to Elder Donn, who shrugged back helplessly. The goat-man had already turned back to watch the smith, and that’s when Tiffany returned in a breathless rush. “Come on.”

 She towed us away. 

“Where are we going?” 

“We’re going to get you a weapon.”

We ducked around and off to the side of the area where the smith was working. There were many people here as well, but all had their eyes fixed on the tournament that was taking place. Knights with strange names were being announced. They were taking their places, with lances much longer and heavier looking than ones I was used to. From my vantage point, I could not read the devices on their shields, but their colors were easily seen. The more so because their steeds were fully caparisoned. One with the tinctures of azure and argent, the other with or and sable. I watched as they charged one another but Tiffany pulled my attention away before I could see the results.

“We need to get closer. The weapons are all going to be down there.”

She nodded to a rack sitting fairly near the tent of a lord and lady. The lady had given her favor to the knight in azure and argent. 

The crowd cheered at something, but I never saw what. We moved to the weapons rack, all of us by unspoken agreement moving and speaking quietly so as not to draw undue attention.

“If you could choose any of these to fight the dragon, which would you take?”

This was her plan? 

“I can’t simply take a weapon that doesn’t belong to me, lass. I’ll not turn thief even in such dire straits.”

Tiffany sighed. “I thought you might say that. Listen, I guarantee you if they knew what it was for no one would stop you. If you could convince them you weren’t a lunatic, I mean. Which is why we can’t stop to try. We don’t know how time is passing while we’re here.”

I didn’t have time to parse her words before she added, “Anyway we’re not stealing it, we’re borrowing it. 

“Borrowing it without permission.”

“But with every intention of bringing it back.”

Her smile was bright. She assumed it would be possible.

“I think,” I said slowly, not sure how to let her down, “that they would mind very much if one of these weapons was incinerated beyond repair.”

“I plan on returning it in working order,” she said with a grin. “I have another idea. But I can’t really explain it, you’ll just have to trust me.”

‘You are not coming back with me, Theophania. I mean it. It’s too dangerous. Elder, tell her. Please.” I turned a pleading look to Elder Donn, who was looking at the weaponry. He was touching a lance that was much more like what I was accustomed to, the sharp head of which was polished to a shine. It was a thing of beauty, surely a weapon for a hero like my great great grandfather had been.

“This is the one. Take it, Sir Uriah. Take this one. If you doubt you can return it, I will leave the price of it in its place.” He pulled out his money pouch and opened it to reveal several silver pennies. 

I hesitated. There was an odd note to his voice. He was like one who walks in his sleep and speaks of what he sees.

Tiffany peered at the coins. “That’s probably way more than enough,” she said. “Is that real silver?”

Elder Donn ignored the question, but the odd tone in his voice was gone when he said, “this is the one I saw in my dream. If I leave the price of a good weapon so that it could be replaced if needed, will you accept it?”

I hesitated. Trusting a dream weapon, untested, made about as much sense as trusting the one we had found at the kirik, and look how that had turned out? 

“You’ve seen my world,” Tiffany said. “You have to believe it now.”

“Believe what?”

“That Someone Else was in charge of bringing me to your world. Someone who’s bigger than both.”

I already believed the God of All had sent her. When that had changed, I could not have said. Another denial leapt ready to my tongue, but I wavered. Trust in the lance was not what she was asking of me.

“Please,” Tiffany said. “I don’t know how much time we have!”

She could be right about the time, and with no way of knowing what was happening back home I made another swift decision.

“I will repay you if I can, Elder, but yes. I will take it. Tiffany, if you will show me the way back, I believe your part in this is done.”

Tiffany grinned. “We’ll see.”

At my request, Elder Donn left the entire pouch, despite Tiffany’s protestations that it “really was more than enough.” I would far rather pay double it’s worth if possible since I was unable to give the warrior to whom it belonged the courtesy of a request.

On the way back, she bade us wait by the smithy again. “Just for a minute,” she said. “Don’t move.”

Well, it wasn’t like we had a choice. 

When she was gone, Elder Donn said in a low murmur “I will help you persuade her to stay. I believe you are right that her part is done. Surely with both of us in agreement she cannot argue. ” 

That was a relief, that I would not have to argue with the two of them. “Thank you, Elder.”

The wait was indeed brief, then she returned carrying something in both arms, wrapped in the folds of her cloak that I could not see, save for a flash of bright scarlet.

After that she plowed through the crowds, and I had little time to wonder about her plan before we made it back to the place we had entered. A different arch, she said, than she had come from. How then did we know it would let us through? I supposed we had no choice but to try.

I stepped closer and a gentle wind swirled past me, around me, as though beckoning. It was just as before. I relaxed and turned to say farewell to Tiffany, and saw the wind tugging at her cloak as well. She clutched the object she was holding tighter to her and dashed through the arch before I could say a word. I reached out to stop her, but when the wind gusted again all I caught was the hem of her cloak. Elder Donn caught hold of me, but we were all pulled through the archway. The wind died abruptly, along with the noise from the faire and the light from a summer day. It was pitch black, and colder, but stuffy. We were back under the kirik.

Elder Donn sniffed the air. “Something is burning.”

No sooner had he said this than something fell above us with a crash. A glow of fire illuminated the wall of stone and revealed the same stairway we had descended earlier, before traveling to Tiffany’s world. The entrance had been enlarged, now rubble covered the steps.

As much as I had hoped we had not returned to the exact same place, we had. And it seemed we were trapped. Unless…

Tiffany shone her light around the room. Behind us, the tunnel which had been a doorway to another world now doubtless led elsewhere, even though it looked the same. Perhaps deeper under the kirik. Perhaps up to the surface. I would have rather been able to find out where it led before sending them into it, but there was no time.

“Elder, take Tiffany down that tunnel.”

Elder Donn gave a single nod. I more than half expected Tiffany to protest, and she did open her mouth to say something, but another crash and burst of flame interrupted her. The earth shook again and something fell down the stairs with a crack.

“Go on,” I said. “If the God of All wills it, I will follow.”

“I’m counting on it, but just in case.”

She set down her bundle and wrapped her arms around my waist.

Then before I could react she picked up her bundle and followed Elder Donn through the archway.  I gripped the lance and turned to face the fire. 

If the God of All wills it. I had spoken confidently, but the more I thought about my last attempt the more I realized I would have to let Namhaid get a lot closer before I tried another throw. Or would even that work? As the glow of fire faded and Namhaid still did not appear, I realized I had no guarantee of enough light to see by. Tiffany’s light would be useful right now.

The next sound I heard was not a crash, but a rumbling laugh.

“Little warrior, I thought you had hidden. How delightful. Do you think you can stand against me?”

The reflection of flame on the walls had dimmed, but it was enough to see the serpentine shape creeping down through the doorway.

If I could keep him talking, I might stand a chance. 

“How could I hope to hide from a powerful creature such as yourself? You would have caught my scent. No, it is better for me to face reality, come what may.” 

I edged towards the wall. How keen is a dragon’s night vision?

There was a hiss, and a burst of flame. One of the shelves caught fire and suddenly I didn’t have to worry about light anymore.

Namhaid stretched himself to his full height. By the firelight I could see the armored scales glittering all along his lithe body. Even his chest, though not armored exactly like the rest of him, had a thick, knobby hide. A shot from a ballista might be able to pierce that hide, but not a throw from me.

“Face reality?” Namhaid fairly purred. “Face your death, you mean. Yes, do take a good look at me. That twig you carry will burn as easily as the last one.”

I took another step, but forward this time. “Truly, on my own I have no hope of assailing you. If I ever believed it was possible I would not be so foolish now.” 

And yet here I was. Closer, closer.

“You flatter me. What do you hope to gain by it? Not your life, surely. Nor that of the kirikman, or the little maiden. Where are they? Did they leave you to face your death alone?”

“He’s not alone.”

Elder Donn’s voice was accompanied by the brightest light from Tiffany’s device we had yet seen. Namhaid hissed and reared his head away from the light. He opened his jaws. Any moment he would let loose a burst of flame… I had to stop him. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for, except now he writhed too far away and remained in motion. One throw was all I would have, and I was sure Namhaid knew it, the way he moved. Now his tail flashed around, narrowly missing me. Now his wings. Still the light shone brighter, and the beast arced his head up in the air. The flames reached to the ceiling, but as he began to direct them toward us, something white and foamy shot directly into his mouth. I had not noticed Tiffany creeping from the mouth of the tunnel, but the white foam sprayed from the scarlet cylinder she carried. So that was the contraption she had brought from her world. 

Namhaid retched and spewed foam but no flames followed. 

He roared and lashed out, but she jumped back out of reach.

“Tiffany! To me!”

She ran to me, still holding that scarlet cylinder, and Namhaid’s eyes turned to us.

Aim for the eyes? Or try for the open mouth again?

I wished Elder Donn had seen more in his dream. Where was he? I had lost track of him after Tiffany reappeared.

“No more games, little warrior,” Namhaid rasped. “Lay down your weapons, and I will kill you quickly and that is the best you can hope for.”

If he could have roasted us, I was sure he would have by now. I felt the smallest spark of hope rekindle, but still I could not be secure in my aim with such a small target as his eyes, and he still did not open his mouth wide enough for me to aim down his throat.

I was not about to lower my weapons, but Tiffany caught me off guard when she laughed outright. 

“I always wondered if a fire extinguisher would work on a dragon’s fire. It looks like it did. No one at home will believe me though, and that’s a pity.”

If she meant to provoke the dragon it worked. With a roar he leapt at us, jaws wide as though to swallow us whole, or perhaps I’d been wrong about his fire. I took my chance—God of All, guide my aim!—and hurled the lance with all my strength straight into his open mouth. At the same moment Tiffany let loose another stream of foam. I leapt back, dragging Tiffany with me, as his jaws crashed into the place we had been moments before, driving the lance further in. 

Namhaid did not move again. 

The blade had struck home, and the strength of my throw had been aided by the sheer force and impetuosity of his own attack: between the two, the lance was lodged deep in his head, and now blood pooled from his nostrils instead of the smoke that had so recently been there. I felt an impulse to shield Tiffany from the sight, but she had already turned away and was running to Elder Donn, who we could barely see by the light of the smoldering shelf. He was crawling awkwardly towards Tiffany’s device, which was askew on the ground at a distance from him. The bright light was gone.

“Are you all right?” She asked. “What happened?”

“His tail. Knocked it right out.”

Somewhere in Namhaid’s thrashing when faced with the light, his tail had crashed into the device, knocking it neatly from Elder Donn’s hand. He cradled his wrist as he went on to explain how he had dropped to the ground to avoid that tail knocking his head.

“I fear ‘tis broken,” he said. Then flexed his wrist and winced..

“If it was broken, you couldn’t do that,” I pointed out. “Does it hurt much? It could be sprained.”

“Not this,” Elder Donn said, muffling a laugh. “This stings a bit. I meant the light. It went out when I lost my grip.”

Tiffany hugged him. “That doesn’t matter. You’re safe. I saw you go down and I was worried.”

“Speaking of worried…” I raised my eyebrows at her.  The effect may have been lost in the gloom of the fading fire, for she grinned up at me and then scampered to get her device. 

The light worked just fine, belying Elder Donn’s concern. 

“You should get the lance out while I still have some battery life left,” she said. “That light was really bright, I bet it used a lot and I don’t have a way to charge it.”

Battery life? Charge it? The device had been battered, certainly, but nothing else she said made sense.“You’re speaking nonsense again, young lady.”

But she was already away, the light bobbing a little as she strode towards the dragon’s body. 

“Eugh, it’s going to be a mess. We’re gonna have to clean it really well before we can return it, if that’s what you still want to do.”

“Stop changing the subject.” But she did have a point, that there was no need to continue on down here. I went over and tried pulling out the lance. It was wedged in tightly, and there was little room to brace myself to pull, but in the end I managed it. She was right again; it was a mess, and now so was I.

“There’s a well up above ground,” Tiffany said. “We can clean you up there.”

We picked our way over the rubble from the dragon’s rage, and ascended the stairs. The smell of smoke was still on the wind, but the  majority of the fires had been extinguished. 

I had been about to return to the subject of her putting herself into danger by returning to face Namhaid instead of fleeing with Elder Donn as I had ordered, but the approach of a group of townsfolk, armed with scythes and staves and the like, took priority. At their head was a sturdily built older man in robes much like Elder Donn’s, who carried a large pike of the kind that stopped cavalry charges when men stood together in formation with them. 

Upon seeing us emerge, the elder slackened his grip on his pike and rested on it as he might on a staff. 

“You’re alive! We saw the beast descend after you and feared the worst.” He took in the mess on the lance and on myself. “The dragon?”

“The beast is dead,” Elder Donn said in a clear ringing voice so as to be heard by the entire group. “Slain by Sir Uriah, an instrument of the God of All, aided by a traveler sent by Him between worlds.

Within moments, it seemed the whole town knew. More had stayed than I realized, and many came to thank us. Tiffany looked abashed at the praise they heaped on her. I myself tried to direct more of it away from me and towards the others, (as Elder Donn had taken none of his due credit,) and to the God of All, who had been the guiding hand behind all our success. At some point messengers were sent out to try and catch up to those who had fled to let them know it was safe to return. 

They feasted us that evening; a greater celebration surely had not been seen in that town since my grandfather’s grandfather had slain Breunachd. More so since none of us were greatly injured. One of those who had stayed was a healer, who was able to look at Elder Donn’s wrist, which had started to swell, and wrap it with a poultice of knitbone. A light sprain, possibly, which would keep him from chronicling our adventures for a time. (Thus I consented to write my part in it in full as the reader can see, lest anyone forget the true story.) Tiffany and I had escaped unscathed, thanks be to the God of All. 

Our mounts had not strayed far. Even in his fright Riastrad would not have run all the way home to his stable, the mule had enough sense to flee only until the danger was past, and the pony had stuck by them. 

Housing for the night was easily arranged, but it was late before we were away to our beds. Many plans had to be made. My duty was to return to the king straight away, and I intended for Elder Donn and Tiffany both to accompany me. We would stop at the kirik of Carranburn first, of course, and speak with Father Beithe, but Elder Donn had played no small part in our victory and I would see that recognized, alongside Tiffany and her part. According to Elder Donn it had been long since another Traveller had come to the kingdom. For that alone she would have been welcomed and celebrated by King Arlan, even if she had not been so essential to the success of the quest.

Elder Donn agreed to accompany us, though he plainly cared nothing for the recognition of his part, bent as he was on plying Tiffany with questions about her world and all we had seen there. She would answer just as gladly, which only fueled Elder Donn’s excitement. This went on for some time before I intervened, seeing her stifled yawns. I sent her off to the the healer’s house and the soft cot that awaited her there. 

I followed for a ways, as I intended to check on Riastrad before heading to my own bed, but as she neared the doorway she froze and called out to me.

“Do you feel that wind?” she turned again to me. 

“Wind?” The night was mostly still. A little stuffy what with the lingering smoke that still rose from ruined and half ruined buildings, even though the fires were out. 

At least it was still for me. For her, though I could not feel it, something stirred her cloak and her hair, drawing them towards the doorway.

“I think…  it’s time for me to go home,” she said. 

Bare hours earlier I would have welcomed that news. Now? After the danger had passed? It seemed unfair to not show her the best our kingdom had to offer as a reward for her part in the dragon’s defeat. If she left now, she would pass right into legend, indistinguishable from the tale of of the wood nymph who had given King Talvar his sword and shown him the key to winning his kingdom. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you all that time,” she said, filling the silence that stretched as I tried to think of something to say. “And for not trying to explain my plan.” She shuffled her feet. “Maybe you could’ve made a better one if I’d shown you what the fire extinguisher could do.”

I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t suppose I gave you much reason to expect that I would’ve trusted your plan. And the God of All surely kept you, which was my main concern.”

“Kept us.” Tiffany said.

And it was truer than she realized. I had started out with no real hope for myself. It was only beginning to sink in that it was over, with a far better outcome than I had envisioned. “Indeed.”

A wistful smile crossed her face. “Will you tell Elder Donn I said thank you?”  

“Wait. Wait here a moment, don’t go yet. Let me get Elder Donn, it will not take long and he will want to send you off with a blessing.”

She cast a glance back at the doorway, and nibbled at her lower lip, but nodded.

Elder Donn wasn’t far, and when I said that Tiffany needed to say farewell he understood what I meant at once and hastened to follow me back. He still carried the lance in hand, now clean and shining as before, and though I reckoned the kirik would be glad to keep it in memory of the deliverance from Namhaid’s wrath, I thought it best to give Tiffany the chance to return it to its rightful owner.

She wrinkled her forehead when she heard my intent. “What about the silver?”

“Keep it. I will repay Elder Donn. Goodness knows I can’t repay the debt I owe you, as you probably saved my life—even though you ignored my instructions to do it, I’m not so bent on chiding you for it as I was earlier.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

“Well, I owe whatever warrior this belongs to his own weapon back, and in truth it still pangs my conscience that we did not ask permission to borrow it first.”

Tiffany grinned. “I keep telling you, slaying a dragon is the coolest thing that weapon has ever done. The owner would be honored. If he knew.”

“Coolest?” Elder Donn asked, puzzled but always willing to expand his knowledge of her dialect.

She waved a hand. “Best. Most awesome. Wrong word, sorry. But I’ll take it back for you if you like. And maybe someday I’ll be able to bring the silver back to you. Of course if I ever get the chance to come back I will.“

She looked up at us, bright-eyed, but smiling so that I nearly missed the tears in the corners of her eyes. She surely remembered what Elder Donn had said about return visits being rare, and already she had returned once. But then, nothing about our people traveling to another world has ever been recorded, and Elder Donn and I had done so. Who could say what else might be possible? Not I, not anymore.

I knelt in front of her. There was one thing I would not have her in doubt of.  “Theophania, do not worry about returning the silver, but if you ever can return to see us in less perilous times, I would like that very much. Fare well, wherever you fare.” 

“Fare well,” she echoed. Then she put her arms around me, as she had done when I had sent her off down the tunnel. This time, though I was still startled, I had time to return her embrace. She tightened her grip before releasing me and turning to Elder Donn, who was the better prepared for her.

“Oh kay. I really do have to go. I’ll miss you both.”

Elder Donn ceremoniously placed the lance in her hands.  “As we will miss you. Go with the blessing of the God of All, and if ever you may return to us you will be most welcome.”

Even holding the lance, she managed a more perfect courtesy than she had when I first met her. Which must have reminded her that she still wore the green wool dress and russet cloak. “Oh!” She unfastened the cloak and handed it to Elder Donn. “I’m sure someone else will need this more than I will.” She fingered the skirt of her dress, a sheepish look on her face. “I left my own clothes back at your kirik,” she told him. “The dress was more comfortable without them, and I did think I’d be coming back. I know they’ll be strange to you, but hopefully they can replace this for someone my size?”

Elder Donn laughed. “We will put them to good use, never fret about it.”

She grinned wide. “Wait till my friends see it. It’s not going to be proof of what happened to me on it’s own, but it’s something that would be hard to explain away.” She smoothed her hair out of her face, which, though I could feel no wind, wind appeared to be tugging at hair and skirts and growing more insistent every moment. She turned to face the doorway, but cast one last look back at us. She said nothing more, but waved a hand and smiled.. Then turned and walked through the doorway. The shadowed darkness of the doorway swallowed her, but for a brief instant I thought I saw bright sunlight beyond and caught a hint of the sounds of a festival day before all was dark and silent again. I knew without a step forward that that doorway would only lead me to the inside of the healer’s house if I stepped through.

“Well,” Elder Donn sighed. “That is a pity that she had to go so soon, don’t you think?”

I did not answer, but I knew that he knew I was also disappointed, rather than relieved that she was no longer my responsibility, as well as grateful that she had come after all.  It was the closest he came to telling me he told me so.

Here I end my story. May the God of All use it as he will.

Epilogue.

Sir Uriah agreed to record the whole adventure for us, and so long was it in coming that my wrist was almost fully healed by the time we received it back at the Kirik of Carranburn. He had grumbled a little about his insufficiency for the task, as was his way, but in the end he relented without much pressure. True, I could have dictated what I had seen to another here at the Kirik, but I was not there when Tiffany appeared and that was a key point we wanted for our records, along with the very moment of the dragon’s defeat as I did not get an unobstructed view. 

For one who claimed to be unused to the task of the chronicler, Sir Uriah has a good memory and a fair hand with words. (Indeed I dare say he did as well as others who have had more practice and have written of the Travellers, even if those tales may have been written faster—but there he says I am biased because I have seen Namhaid with my own eyes and so his words have only to draw up the memory before my own mind makes up the difference. I will let Father Beithe be the judge.)

Now that my wrist has healed I can add a detail or two that Sir Uriah would not have added even if his tale had extended beyond Tiffany’s departure. The rewards that King Arlan bestowed upon him for his success in delivering the kingdom were great, both riches and honor, but as for the money Sir Uriah sent much of it to the kirik of Kynvan to be used in the repairs and rebuilding of their town. Deep under the rubble of the collapsed side of the kirik, they found the tomb of Sir Rioghan, and in the tomb they found a shining lance. The Duraidd lance had indeed survived, but as the God of All is not bound by the legends men create, it seems to have pleased Him to use something else in the defeat of Namhaid. Kynvan’s priest offered the lance back to Sir Uriah, who keeps it not only as the heirloom it is, but in memory of his own adventure.

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches. 

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now. 

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

<- prev | next ->

Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.” 

_

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

__

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

_

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

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[hanmasushi]

MONTERO (Short Bonten! Scenario)

What happens when you're the new recruit and the only woman in Bonten.

warning ✁ suggestive content, slight cursing, mentions of alcohol and drugs. third person pov. fem!reader. Bonten Men !! Short scenario.

a/n ✁ uhh im just gonna leave it here bye.

wc ✁ 1.6k

ost ✁ Montero by Lil Nas X (pink fonts are lyric references to the song)

For a moment she’d forgotten how she got roped in the situation she was in now. Slightly intoxicated yet she felt more in control than she’d ever been. She smiled as she felt warm hands on her ass, allowing herself to be pulled.

She only briefly remembers receiving a text from Akashi indicating a time and place. It was a famous club in downtown Tokyo and it was set at a later time of the night. She knew she was going to get dressed. She’d only been part of Bonten for a week, as per Akashi’s recommendation, and she could already tell they were an expensive bunch.

She had her long hair tucked in a neat bun, a black coat covering her body while sporting a fresh makeup look. She was decent enough, but she brought extra paraphernalias just in case she’d need them.

Hours passed by and they were now on the upper deck of the club overlooking the crowd, hectic laser lights and constant color shift filling in the venue along with the loud booming of trap music. She still didn’t know what their course of action was but she knew this was an urgent mission. With Akashi, Sanzu, Kokonoi, Ran, and Rindou, basically the majority of the important Bonten figures present, this mission was definitely something that shouldn’t be taken lightly.

This was her first mission, she wasn’t an executive but Akashi made the point to make her tag along. She was being tested, she suspected. She was about to ask when Akashi beat her to it, he was leaning into the railings with a fresh lit cigarette at hand.

“I had an informant of mine saying that crucial information about Bonten was being sold to our biggest rival gangs in Tokyo. And no, there was no mole this time. Information was stolen from us by a notorious hacker. It was said that he was selling it for a considerably expensive price. We couldn’t do anything stupid like attacking him in his own base because a few clicks could mean Bonten’s demise. So I heard that he was going to do the exchange an hour from now. What we’re looking for is a small flash drive, it was said that it’s the only copy to exist that he made. The outcome of this mission could mean the rise or fall of Bonten.” Akashi said in a casual manner, he was now halfway done with his cigarette.

“That’s him.” Sanzu pointed to a guy in the middle of a crowd. It was a lanky guy in a worn out band tee, dark flannel jacket and black skinny jeans.

“Him?” she couldn’t help blurt out but she was positive she could take him out in hand-to-hand combat. The guy looked clearly out of place considering he was like a boy undergoing puberty eyeing every woman he could lay his gaze on, awkwardly nodding as he took a sip of his drink. She was getting secondhand embarrassment just by looking at him.

“Don’t be fooled, he may seem harmless but he’s smart enough to hire guards around him. Getting close to him will not be easy.” Ran pointed around a bunch of beefed up men not too far from the hacker, blending right into the crowd.

“Besides, creating casualties in a crowd like this is not ideal.” Rindou added.

“Best route of action is to wait till he gets out of the club, and beat the other gang to it. Then we’ll have dollface over here, take the drive and make a run for it.” Koko said as he looked at her with his usual smug expression.

“So your plan is to wait for how many ungodly hours and make me an errand girl? Well that’s fucking sexist.” She said trying not to lose her composure, talk about workplace discrimination.

“You got a better plan?” Sanzu loomed over her, his pills having been taking effect considering he was starting to get maniacal and chaotic by the minute.

“Actually, I do.” She said as she started taking her bun and letting her long hair loose. She then took off her coat revealing a black corset mesh mini dress, hugging her figure tightly. “And I'll bet you I can do it in less than three minutes.” She was now applying a crimson shade of lipstick that she pulled out from her purse, she was right about needing her paraphernalia, instantly transforming her fresh glam into a sultry one.

“Yeah right.” Sanzu scoffed. She then shoved her coat and purse into Rindou’s empty arms. Rindou was about to protest because he thought she was going to jeopardize the mission but Ran held him back, he wanted to see how this one plays out.

She was already downstairs blending in the crowd, she was gonna need liquid luck if she wanted to be believable. She downed three shots of vodka before she took one look at her new superiors as if to say “watch me”. That was when Montero by Lil Nas X played and the entire mood of the dancefloor shifted as the smoke machines and lights made the atmosphere more alluring. With smoke filling the air as the lights faded out into purple red blue hues, oh she was in the zone.

I caught it bad yesterday

You hit me with a call to your place

Ain't been out in a while anyway

Was hopin' I could catch you throwin' smiles in my face

It hadn’t been a minute since she downed the vodka but she could feel her body heating up. She was swaying her hips delicately, instantly catching the attention of beautiful strangers around her. She had to gather up momentum if she didn’t want to be suspected.

Romantic talkin'? You don't even have to try

You're cute enough to fuck with me tonight

She let herself be the center of intoxicated strangers, her plan was to make him notice her. It wasn’t long till she caught the hacker’s attention, all she had to do was make him long for her.

Call me when you want, call me when you need

Call me in the morning, I'll be on the way

Call me when you want, call me when you need

Call me out by your name, I'll be on the way like

She never broke eye contact as she continued exchanging body heat with strangers. Swaying off synching into the beat of the song. She had her way of making the man focus on her. Teasing as if she was challenging him to be brave and get closer.

With a different man’s hands around her, she wanted him to feel envious of what was in front of him. That’s when he took the bait, he took one last sip of his drink as if to say fuck it. She knew she was winning the moment he let his guard down. He made his way to her, she was trying to suppress her laughter as she thought of how the alcohol he consumed made him feel that he was desired by a woman like her.

Mmm, mmm, mmm

Mmm, mmm, mmm

For a moment she’d forgotten how she got roped in the situation she was in now. Slightly intoxicated yet she felt more in control than she’d ever been. She smiled as she felt warm hands on her ass, allowing herself to be pulled. She played along, taking his lead, she definitely wasn’t raising any alarms. He was a terrible dancer, she thought. All he had going on was groping her intimate parts of the body. Just a bit more, she continued grinding on the man behind her, feeling him. In the corner of her eyes she could see the executives. Ran, Kokonoi and Sanzu were amused. Akashi still bearing the same neutral look as he smoked another cigarette. Rindou, on the other hand, was shocked at the display. It was near the end of the song when she knew she had to start wrapping things up.

For the finale, she thought she’d surprise them even more by turning around and pulling the guy into a deep kiss.

Oh, call me by your name (mmm, mmm, mmm)

Tell me you love me in private

His hands still on her ass, she decided to take advantage of the situation as she delicately slipped her hands in one of his pockets till she thought BINGO, she’d found the motherload.

Call me by your name (mmm, mmm, mmm)

I do not care if you lyin'

As she broke off the kiss, the man felt like he was still in trance. It took him a moment to realize she was slowly pulling away. He opened his eyes, she gave him one last flirtatious look before she disappeared into the crowd.

Well I'm just feelin', mm-uh

I wanna get, mm-uh

I'm in my, into my, uh

I'm mm, mm

I'm still, mm, mm-mm

The entire time the executives were definitely taken aback from the sudden explicit display.

Seconds later, she was back in the upper decks with the rest of the executives with the guy's scent still lingering. She handed the flash drive to Akashi, who this time had a satisfied look.

“With 30 seconds to spare,” She said to Sanzu. She then took her coat and purse from Rindou, who was just as confused as he was intrigued. She then wrapped her coat back to her body.

"And that is how you handle men, gentlemen" Kokonoi and Ran let out an amused chuckle.

“My my, I don’t know where you found her but I think she’s going to be useful.” Ran said to Akashi.

“As expected.” Akashi simply replied.

The men all made a mental note not to let their guard down around her, despite being an asset, the way she lures men is alarming for them.

[moral-turpitudes]

The Proposal:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: So much Fluff that my teeth are hurting from how sweet it is.

*Based off Fluff Prompt #5 from my Peaky Prompts list.*

Word Count: 1,249

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here.

Summary: Y/N’s ordinary day at work turns into the surprise of a lifetime.

Your eyes were covered with a blindfold as Polly led you to what felt like a field, given there was grass beneath your feet and you could feel your clothes catching on the tall wheat plants swaying in the wind as you followed her lead.

“Am I being kidnapped by your family? What have I done?” You asked with a smile, Polly laughing lightly as she led you onward.

“We wouldn’t dare kidnap you. You’re too precious.” She said, thinking about how you’d been there for Tommy during his darkest moments, seeing him off before the war and putting him back together when he came back. It was a slow process, but you made sure to be one of the only constant things in his life. The only one who could get him to let half of his walls down since they were built up like a fortress. The stones so heavy you didn’t think you’d be able to bear them yourself. But you did, and here you were being led on one of the most interesting times of your life, blindfolded of all things.

“It’s getting late Pol, I was supposed to meet Tom at the Garrison remember?” You asked, your mind racing with how the days events unfolded.

You’d gone through half the days work to find a letter written by none other than your long-time boyfriend Thomas Shelby. The infamous main man of the backstreet razor gang you’d come to love. The letter included a small picture of the two of you from your first date years ago, taken by Polly on the front steps of the old house on Watery Lane. The two of you young and full of life before the war.

“Y/N, you know he said in the letter he was trying to make up for the time spent away from you. I’m just helping him out. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my heathen of a nephew.” She said, slowing her steps as you thought about how you’d gotten to be behind a blindfold.

Polly had whisked you away per Thomas’ request that was unbeknownst to you. Telling her to take you out for an early lunch as a treat for not seeing you enough recently, giving her a few extra shillings to put towards a nice outfit for later.

You being a lover of anything remotely of shopping, perked up at the request, and so you couldn’t turn it down. Not when you had free reign of the shops with just the mention of the Shelby name.

Although, living a life of crime, or more-so watching the others that you’d grown to love, live a life of crime wasn’t always easy. Seeing as you’ve had your fair share of late nights wondering when he’d be home, dealing with constant surveillance due to threats, or deciding whether or not to sew a wound up or have a doctor give it a go.

But this was one of the perks, albeit a rare one as he wasn’t the most romantic of the Shelby men. Most times he’d send you flowers or would take you out on the town when his schedule would allow it, even if it didn’t fall quite on a day worth celebrating, but you applauded his efforts anyway as he was a busy man with a million things going on in his head.

At times, this would put strain on the both of you. You sometimes wishing to turn his brain off, like a light switch. Just so he could focus on you and your relationship for more than 5 minutes. But deep down you knew he tried his best given what he’s been through. Doing everything he had to do to make sure you were safe, even if it meant going weeks without you like recently. But now was his time to make up for it, and little did you know how great of a length he’d gone to make that happen.

Polly slowed her steps as you felt someone near you, the familiar smell of his cologne filling your nose as he undid the blindfold. Your eyes soon adjusting to the sunlight that was just starting to fade into the evening sky.

Thomas’ eyes were happier than you’d seen in weeks. And if you were honest it was a little unsettling at first, at least internally. You’d grown accustomed to his steely gaze but he’d always reserved a softer glance just for you. But this one was...different. There was more love there than before. More depth.

As you tore your eyes away from his with a smile, you quickly looked around at the set-up he had going.

There was a vardo sitting nearby, the one he’d shown you years ago where you’d make out until sunset until one of his parent would come looking for him. And there were two chairs and a makeshift table, with torches around it lighting the area. It was nothing compared to the lavish living you were accustomed to now, but it felt more like him. More at home in a way. Especially with the beautiful lake in the distance that matched the blue of his eyes. The color of them pulling you in like a riptide as he pulled your attention back to him with a light stroke of your cheek.

“Where’d you go just now?” He asked, seeing you have that look once before after he took you to London the night before a mission, seeing some of the city that you’d never had the privilege of being to until then.

“Paradise...I mean look love, it’s beautiful! How’d you put all this together? Never knew you had it in ya.” You said jokingly, wrapping your arms around his waist as he pulled you close, his lips finding yours in an instant.

“I may have stayed here and planned it out with the lads...” he said, referring to his brothers and trusted friend Johnny Dogs.

“Well I think it’s lovely. But I do have to ask...what’s all this for?” You asked, his facial expression changing slightly as he put his hand in his pocket.

“I wanted to surprise you since I’ve been away so long. Also, it got me thinking about something.” He said, watching Polly walk off in the distance, giving you two the privacy you needed.

“You’re always thinking Tommy, I need specifics.” You said with a smirk.

“I was thinking about the future. Our future.” He said, holding your left hand in his as he got down on one knee, the sunset reflecting on his eyes as he gazed up at you.

Your heart raced as he let go to open the small box, a large diamond ring sticking out of the velvet casing.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked, a cautiously hopeful look on his face as you smiled through your tears. Your hand shaking as you held it out to him.

“Yes!” You said aloud, wiping the tears from your cheeks as he slipped the ring on your finger and wrapped you in a long, protective hug.

For one day, it definitely was the most eventful of them, and you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, even if you’d gotten offered millions to leave the family, you knew in your heart you couldn’t. It was where you belonged, and now the two of you looked forward to your adventure in marriage. Knowing the title of becoming a Shelby was sure to come with some perks.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee​ @thomashelbyswhore​​, @xxbeckybeexx-blog​

@imapala67-aka-baby​

If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask or message! :)

[halstudandruz]

Had Me By Halftime

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Kevin Atwater x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Based off the song Had Me By Halftime by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I know this game was on a Monday but we’re gonna pretend it wasn’t. Also I know there’s different rules to cornhole, but I did the 21 or bust version for sake of the story.

You were talkin' trash, we were tossin' bags

When I caught your name at a corn hole game

You and your friends had decided to tailgate at the Chicago Bears game. You were in your last semester of college and your group had collectively decided to forego buying tickets. Not wanting nosebleed seats, but knowing your broke college student bank account would not offer many other options. The parking lot was crowded with Bears fans; scattered Minnesota Vikings fans sticking out in the crowd. It was surprisingly warm for a Chicago October. You had just finished a game of flip cup and informed your friends you were going to get food from a nearby food truck, your best friend, Madison tagging along. You hadn’t made it far from your group when you made eye contact with a handsome man. Slowly walking you heard him talking to a man about the same age as him,

“Adam come on!” He exclaimed.

“I am not playing against him, he might as well be a pro.” The brown haired man shook his head.

“Don’t take it out on me cause I’m better than you.” Another good-looking brown-haired man from the group laughed shrugging and throwing an arm around a pretty blonde girl who wasn’t even paying attention to the men, already conversing with a group of girls. The handsome dark skinned man groaned seemingly pouting. Grabbing Madison’s arm you stopped her to pull her over to the group.

“You need a couple players?” You smiled gesturing to the corn hole boards.

“Actually yeah we do.” He nodded.

“Let’s roll.” You challenged taking your place by the board and picking up the orange bean bags. Madison sighed already reading your dirty thoughts about the man as she walked to the board opposite of you and the broad muscled man took his place next to you, gathering the navy blue bags. “Let me just get you a menu cause you’re about to get served.” You joked and luckily he let out an adorable laugh.

“That’s the best you got?” He sported a wide smile causing you to instantly blush.

“Yeah...sorry I’m not the best at trash talking. My game usually speaks for itself.” You shrugged, turning to throw the bean bag on the board Madison stood by. Watching it slide right through the center. Humming he looked at you impressed, gearing up when you threw him a seductive smirk.

“Let the games begin.” He grinned.

The game was close, full of playful banter, and maybe a little flirting from you and the man you now knew was named, Kevin. Luckily you and Madison came out on top thanks to Kevin’s partner’s accidental bust over 21 taking their score back down to 13.

“Ruz, you might want to take up a math class in your spare time.” Kevin teased, knowing he only aimed for the board because of his poor math skills.

“Shut up.” He attempted to throw a bag at him, but it fell short. “I’m never playing this game again.” Adam huffed, walking away.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You shrugged, winking at him.

Said "Girl, where you sitti'g? I got an extra ticket

It's right on the 50"

“Sorry. He gets a little competitive.” Kevin smiled, “Thanks for playing though.” He leaned against the side of a truck crossing his arms. Madison stood awkwardly a couple feet away as you two flirted with each other.

“Thanks for letting us. It was nice to do something other than a drinking game for once.” You chuckled gesturing to where your group was now playing beer pong.

“Where are you guys sitting?” He asked gesturing to the stadium behind him.

“Oh we actually don’t have tickets. Just here to tailgate.” You explained and his smile got slightly bigger.

“Well I actually have an extra ticket. It’s right on the 50 if you want to join me?” He offered.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to just leave my group hanging..” You contemplated looking back at Madison who was nodding quickly mouthing the word “Go!” Sighing you turned back towards him with a smile, “you know what. What the hell why not?” You pushed the tingling of your body deeper down at his happy grin.

You had a 16 home team jersey on

Singin' every word to the fight song

Had your airplane bottles from your purse out

“Okay. I have to ask. Why are you wearing that jersey?” Kevin asked, sitting down beside you.

“Because we’re at...a Bears game?” You looked at him skeptically, causing him to laugh.

“Obviously.. I mean why O’Donnell? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone actually wearing his jersey.” He explained.

“Well I do like to be an outlier,” you joked, “punters never get the credit they should. Same with kickers. They deserve more love.” You answered.

“Good to know you’re not a bandwagon fan.” He said.

“We won one super bowl 35 years ago and we just benched our newly signed QB for a rookie. I don’t think there’s any wagon for someone to hop on.” You retorted.

“You got me there.” He agreed watching you pull a few tiny bottles of alcohol out of your small bag you had strategically hidden to make it past security.

“You a fan of fireball? I hate it but it came with the pack.” You asked, turning to see an amused grin covering his face. “What?”

“How in the hell did you sneak those in here?” He inquired.

“Can’t give away all my secrets on the first date.” You shrugged, wiggling your eyebrows. He took it from your hand nudging Adam who sat on his other side. Adam took it graciously.

“Hell yeah. We’re keeping her!” He exclaimed, twisting the cap off to take the shot.

The first half of the game was rough. Only lucking out with a safety in the first quarter.

“I hope to god Trubisky starts to prove he has more than just a pretty face.” You shook your head preparing yourself for the second half. You and Kevin had talked throughout all of halftime, and you caught him staring with a wide smile more than once as you might’ve got a little too competitive throughout the first and second quarter.

“I could play better defense than his line is. Kev, get down there you know how to tackle people.”

“He does realize he’s supposed to be throwing it to his own team right?”

“Fucking 2 yards isn’t gonna get you anywhere!” Were just a few things you remember spouting off.

“This is ridiculous.” You threw up your hands when Rudolph took it into the Vikings endzone.

With 5:33 left in the 3rd quarter O’Donnell took the field for the punt, but instead to everyone’s surprise the punt is faked and #16 puts up a pass to Cunningham who runs it in for the touchdown. “Oh my god!” You jumped up and down, “No fucking way! That’s my man!” You yelled pulling Kevin in for a hug who was in utter disbelief.

“I cannot believe that just happened.” He laughed, cheering with the crowd. The fans were hyped watching Barth kick it between the posts.

“Believe it baby!

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.” You sang along loudly to the Bears’ fight song roaring throughout Soldier Field. The second half was much more heated than the first, but unfortunately thanks to a successful kick from Forbath in the last few seconds the Vikings took home the win.

You would've thought that post-game

Kiss would've made me wanna make you mine

But you had me by halftime

Everyone was starting to file out of the stadium, Kevin’s group included.

“You comin?” Adam turned to you both.

“You wanna wait till the crowds disperse a little?” Kevin asked and you smiled nodding.

“We’ll be waiting for you.” Adam winked, a knowing smirk covering his face as he grabbed tightly ahold of Kim’s hand to lead her through the crowd.

“You would’ve had to keep a tight hold on me. I’m small and can get lost easily.” You joked, body frame tiny compared to his broad muscular one.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I do regardless.” Kevin flirted, looping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

“I told you. Punters and kickers, they don’t get enough credit.” You reiterated, “I mean how often does the game come down to a field goal? Too often in my opinion.”

“I can give you kicker I’m not sure about punters though.” He looked at you amused.

“Did you miss that play?” You scoffed.

“And how often does that happen? I’m sure you didn’t buy his jersey banking on that.” He replied.

“Yeah, alright. I just thought O’Donnell was better looking than Barth.” You admitted.

“You really know your football though.” He observed.

“I grew up with three brothers. It just came with the territory.” You explained.

“Three brothers?” He looked over at you, a faint look of fear appearing on his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure you could take any of them though.” You bit your lip squeezing his bicep to get your point across.

“Is that so?” He grinned face inches away from yours.

“Mhmm.” You hummed searching his eyes, begging him to make the move and he did. Closing the distant for a gentle, smooth kiss. His hand caressing your cheek to pull you closer. This is nowhere near what you expected your day to turn into when you got up this morning. You were just supposed to be tailgating with your friends too drunk for your own good. Instead you were seated inside the stadium making out with a guy you had just met this morning. Not that you were complaining, but what were the chances?

“Was that okay?” He asked lips still slightly brushing against yours and as an answer you gripped his face pulling him in for a deep bruising kiss that had him groaning low in his throat. Pulling away to get a breath you looked around to see very few people still seated, a warmth buzzing throughout your body despite the chilly fall air becoming more prominent.

“We better get out of here before we get in trouble.” You whispered. And he nodded tightly clasping your hand in his as you made your way out of the stadium back out into the parking lot.

Now every time the leaves start fallin' down

I get to thinkin' 'bout

5 years later

“Kev, can you check on the pizza while I get Carsyn dressed?” You asked after seeing your daughter stir from her nap on the monitor. Walking in her room you retrieved her from the crib. She was all smiles and giggles. “Well I take it you had a good nap.” You kissed her chubby cheek, attempting to flatten her bed head before laying her on the floor to get her dressed. “Daddy is just gonna be head over heels when he sees you. Not that he isn’t already.” You smiled trying to slide her tights on despite her wiggling legs. Succeedingly picking her up 10 minutes later. “Look who’s awake daddy.” You caught Kevin’s attention as he turned away from the stove to take her from your arms.

“You didn’t.” Kevin laughed, a smile wide on his face when he took his daughter into his arms admiring the outfit she was sporting. A blue tutu accompanied by an orange jersey that repped the #16, outfit topped off with a Chicago Bears bow. “Well don’t you just look adorable. Yes, you take after your mama.” Kevin laid kisses all over her face erupting numerous giggles from her. “Where’d you even find this at?” He asked and you knew what he was talking about without even turning around as you took the pizza out of the oven.

“I had to specially order it as one of those custom name jerseys. Seems they don’t make O’Donnell’s jersey for babies.” You laughed checking on the wings in the air fryer when a knock at the door interrupted. Adam and Kim strolling their way into the kitchen minutes later.

“Where’s my girl?” Adam asked, spotting her in Kevin’s arms. Carsyn immediately reached out for Adam. “There she is and aren’t you just the cutest Bears fan in the whole world?” He tickled her stomach taking in her outfit, “Gotta say [Y/L/N] it looks better on her.” He joked gesturing to your identical jersey.

“Joke all you want this jersey got me a husband.” You leaned up on your tippy toes to lay a kiss on Kevin’s cheek.

The rest of your crew arrived not too much later. Hailey and Jay bringing along their son who was a few months younger than Carsyn. This was now a football season tradition and you loved every minute of it.

All Tag List:

@corebore123 @scarletsoldierrr @hehurst23 @beautiful-bunny89 @ingie @halsteadsway @malrunaway @grettiwrites @inlovewith3 @wanniiieeee

[sunflowerstache]

Lifespan

A/N: Hello! This is very different from most of my writing, not only because its an OC, but because the storyline is just something out of my comfort zone. But I really hope you enjoy it(: I got the inspiration from a ad I saw on Facebook a long time ago lmao but yeah, come say hi once you’ve read it and tell me what you think! It’s much appreciated! I love you all so very much! Also hugeeeee shoutout to @devil-in-bw-the-sheets​ for spending like six months reading and re-reading this every single time I rewrote it and changed things and encouraging me each time! And @emotionally-imbruised​ for beta reading it for me!💛💛

Word Count: 7.3k

“Doll?”

The fog that seemed to have settled over your mind instantly melted away upon hearing the barista’s voice, her sweet drawl grounding your focus back on her. She was an older woman, probably nearing her sixties based on the collection of grey hairs scattered throughout her small ponytail. But still so incredibly full of life. She had red glasses perched atop her nose - which perfectly completed the red polka dots covering her black dress - a beaded chain dangling from the end to the front of the frame, a pair of silver peace sign studs resided in her ears, and the anatomically correct symbol for caffeine dangled in necklace form on her chest.

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Just asked if you wanted the cream on that.” She smiled, thin lines spreading out and away from the sides of her eyes as her mouth widened. Upon glancing down quickly, you took notice of her clearly hand drawn name tag filled with swirling letters - different then when you stopped by earlier in the week when she had used stickers to spell out “Rita”.

“Oh, um yeah sure. Why not.”

“My husband always says that during weather like this, the calories don’t count. That they disappear with your shivering. Can I just have your name, dear?”

“Georgie. And your husband sounds like a very smart man.”

“Oh, he is.” A dreamy look took over Rita’s features, like just thinking about the man made her heart race. “Been together for forty-two years and he still teaches me new things.”

Your heart ached with each word; the fog slowly started to creep back through your mind while you watched her grin fondly. The hope and excitement for the future that was always so very clear in people’s eyes was what made it so hard not to explain everything you knew, every secret you held. However, as much as you wanted to urge everyone to live the life they’ve always wanted, you knew there was a natural balance to life, and opening your mouth would undoubtedly throw that balance off. So instead, you grinned and nodded your head.

“He sounds wonderful.”

“My best friend. Counting down the minutes until the end of my shift. We’re heading up to see our grandbabies for the week.” It was like she knew exactly what kind of secret you were keeping and made sure to hit you where it hurt each time she opened her mouth. As if her being impossibly sweet didn’t hurt enough.

“That sounds nice.” Digging around in your bag for your wallet made it much easier not to focus on the ticking time bomb in front of you. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh my! I’m sorry, I know I can’t talk forever if no one stops me.” her laugh was soft, inviting, one you would love to listen to while storytelling. “It’s four pounds.”

“You can keep the change.” You said when handing her some cash, but stopped yourself before you turned to walk away. Even if you weren’t ever going to outright explain anything to anyone, slipping in tiny, reassuring comments made you feel at least a little better before parting ways. “Have an amazing night with your family Rita.”

The coffee shop was relatively empty at the hours you stopped by. Other than the same group of men that were there every morning, chatting over the newspaper and a black coffee and a young nurse who was just getting off of her night shift, only customers on their way to work stopped by. But that was just how you preferred it. It was much easier to avoid running into people when the sun had barely just peeked over the morning horizon. You suppose the city isn’t exactly the best place to reside when you’re on a mission not to get close to anyone, but you’d much preferred the hustle and bustle of the city than the silence of the countryside. At least here you were able to escape your thoughts when they got to be too much, out there you were left to drown in the weights you held.

Rita was right when she said the weather would bring shivering. The moment you stepped through the café doors, all sense of warmth you previously had was sucked out of you, leaving the tips of your fingers tingling against the warm cup. You hadn’t ever really gotten to know the woman behind the counter, a few kind greetings every now and again, but she seemed to be someone who brought a lot of joy to those around her. And she always put extra chocolate curls on your drink. You made a mental note to send some flowers to her family within the coming days.

It was a car horn that initially took your attention off of the pavement, turning to look for who was in such a rush at 5:30am, but the hard torso smacking into her shoulder is what brought your attention back. Followed by the searing heat of your hot chocolate spilling down your front.

“Oh fuck!” you yelled, immediately dropping the paper cup and trying to pull your shirt away from your body to decrease the chance of a burn. There goes your chance to get home and drive right to work without any issue.

“Oh my god! Oh shit!” the man that had ran into you gasped, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto your elbow to steady your wild movements.

Even though his words were quite loud on the empty street, his voice was still husky, almost like he wasn’t awake yet and still had some left over sleep in his throat. And when you turned to look at who had ruined your shirt, your own voice got stuck in your throat. He was tall, which made sense considering your head had bounced right off of his chest. He was wearing black basketball shorts with tall white socks and a light grey hoodie, which was pulled up to cover the dark grey beanie resting on his head. With one hand he was holding a water bottle with ease, while the other was frantically pulling the airpod from his ear. But apart from his sheer stature, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful this man was. How even the worry lines littering his face were perfectly accenting his features. Or how the green of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the Whole Foods you had been stopped in front of.

“I’m so sorry! Shit are you okay?” he quickly asked, shaking his head before you could even respond. “Obviously not, that was probably hot. Oh god I’m so sorry!”

Finally getting your bearings back, you couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah it was pretty hot.”

“Shit, I don’t even know how that happened. I must’ve taken my eyes off the pavement for one second. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” You chuckled, bending down to pick up your now empty cup at your feet and tossing it in the bin by your side. “Don’t worry about it. Really it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I’ve ruined your shirt.” If the disappointment in his voice wasn’t evident enough, the small pout on his lips definitely was. He looked absolutely distraught at the sight of what he’d done. “Let me at least get you a new drink. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” You’d always known it was rude to speak to someone and not give them eye contact, it was something your father had drilled into you as a child, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Looking someone in the eyes meant seeing above their head, and that was an area you actively tried to avoid looking. But there was something about him that drew you in, and you couldn’t help glancing up at him quickly again. “I actually have to be getting to work. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Positive. Have a good morning.” Your touch was soft on his arm as you made your way past him, leaving the mystery man standing on the pavement staring as you walked towards your flat.

You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but it’s just how you’d grown accustomed to living life. It was the easiest way you found not to get close to many people, which meant less hurt in the end. And you’d been around enough hurt in your short twenty three years. It may be a lonely life, but you were happy with your cat, comically named Lucifer, and living a simple life. Sure, there were times you wished you could live the carefree life everyone around you got to experience, your only issues being stresses of work or relationship drama, but that wasn’t who you were. After living the life you did, there’d be no way you could live a normal life.

“Don’t give me that look, Luci.” you grumbled when walking through your front door, your cat perched on the dining table just watching as you moved through the living room, ripping your destroyed shirt from your body. “This wasn’t my fault.”

You’re sure that you looked like a crazy person if anyone was watching on, talking to your cat while walking around your flat in nothing but a pair of black slacks and a bra. But you didn’t care, because this was your normal. You ranted to her after a long day at work or a particularly draining day, and she always sat and listened. Mostly because she was a cat.

“He just ran right into me, like he literally couldn’t see me. How odd, right?” you stopped briefly while searching your closet for a new shirt. “God Luci, he was cute though. So cute. And tall.”

Just because you secluded yourself in the world didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy taking a peak at what it had to offer. It was the forming relationships that put you off, not because there was a level of uncertainty - nothing was uncertain to you - but because you always knew the timeline of said relationships. It was always the same. So why put yourself through it? But also, why not? What if that was just what you needed to make such a painful existence a little more bearable?

“I didn’t even get his name. Maybe I’ll see him around the cafe sometime.” you hummed, throwing the new peach colored blouse over your head and peeking your face out of the hole. “No. No Georgie, don’t go there. Who are we kidding, it’s not like anything could ever happen anyway.”

Lucifer meows loudly at your comment., making you turn around to glare at her. Obviously she didn’t know what was actually going on, but it was nice to entertain the idea of someone listening to your problems and helping you talk them out. You were a secluded young woman, not crazy.

“What? Like I’m wrong? It’s not something I’d be able to keep from a boyfriend forever. And It’s not like I’d be able to just flat out tell them.”

She meowed again, jumping off the table and prancing her way to your feet, rubbing her side against your ankles.

“What would I even say? Hey, I was born with this thing where I can see a floating clock above everyone’s head that literally counts down to the day you die? Yeah because that won’t get me sent to the looney bin.”

From the start of time, there has always been a beginning and an end to everything. No matter if it was an Oscar award winning film, delicate relationships, or even life itself, it all ended. People come, and they go, but the world continues on; taking care of those who stay to see another day. And on a daily basis, the idea of the end rarely floats through anyone’s mind. Except for you.

For you, it was impossible not to think about when it was quite literally staring you in the face. For as long as you could remember, you walked through life with a different outlook on the end than most other people.It wasn’t because you had some near death experience, but due to a gift. Or at least what some people in the world would consider a gift, because in no way would you call being able to see the exact day someone is going to die, a gift.

It was something that over the years you had grown to ignore, trying not to look too far away from people’s eyes and never thinking too hard about the ticking numbers.They weren’t obnoxious or flashy signs hanging above everyone’s heads - like you had seen some films try and depict - but instead, just a simple, faint, white clock just above the tops of everyone’s head, showing each individual’s lifespan. No matter how many hours you sat down and tried to rationalize why you were able to see this, there was never any answer. No one else in your family carried the burden, and because of that, you never mentioned it to anyone in fear of sounding crazy. But you knew you weren’t crazy, not when you prayed night after night for those numbers to disappear or for someone’s clock to be wrong, only to be let down.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you finally saw your favorite florist Don after he spent some time away, and his clock suddenly read 3 years, 20 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes, and 6 seconds instead of the 27 years you had grown used to seeing on him every day before he left. It didn’t take long for you to find out he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and treatments had stopped working.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you got to watch Kim’s clock - the very sweet receptionist at your job - begin to slow down the more she adjusted to a healthy lifestyle of eating right and taking care of her body. What was once a ticking time of a measly 21 years adjusted what would be a long and fulfilled 59 years more.

And you knew you weren’t crazy when at only seventeen years old, you watched as your best friend’s clock suddenly dwindled down to zero’s across the board like a slot machine while laying on the bathroom floor of a house party. The drugs in her system being too much for her young body to handle and completely consuming the 72 years she once had left.

You weren’t crazy, you just carried a burden no one should ever have. And because of it, you made sure not to get close to anyone in fear of watching yet another clock strike zero.

So you moved on with your life, forgetting all about the tall man who had spilled your drink and run into your mind, making you think things you hadn’t in so long, and instead, focused solely on getting through your days at work and getting back home. It was an easy routine, one you hadn’t strayed from much since moving to the city six years ago; wake up, feed Luci, get coffee, go to work, go home, shower, watch tv, go to bed. And as happy as you were that life wasn’t so painful these days, boring would be the only word good enough to describe your life.

Until your neighbors moved in.

You were standing in the kitchen, lifting the collar up to your mouth to try and quickly lick the hot sauce off the old, ratty Elton John Tour shirt you were wearing before it left a stain, wearing nothing else but some shorts, a nice pair of cheetah print slippers to cover your chilly toes, and one of the two hundred paper face masks you’d ordered off of Amazon in an attempt to clear your skin, when the loud bang on your front door startled you. Not only did your family not live in town, but your neighbors knew that you weren’t a people person. Ever since you made that very clear to them upon moving in, they hadn’t tried to contact you, so you just assumed whoever it was had gotten the wrong flat number.

But the knocking persisted.

Lucifer’s head had picked up from her lap upon hearing the first knock, now watching as you made our way closer to the front door. “What do I do?” but the only response you received was her head tilting to the right, like she was saying ‘Really? Answer it you idiot.’

You wanted to be angry, you really did, because you were nearly ready to be completely settled in for the night after a terribly long day and you just wanted to watch some bad tv with Luci, but the moment you twisted the door knob and peered into the hallway, any anger you had felt, completely washed away.

“Hey! Sorry, my mates and I-” he abruptly stopped mid sentence once his eyes landed on you, like his train of thought literally face planted into a brick wall. A look of realization flashed across his face quickly, and in a matter of milliseconds, what was once stress turned into a look of excitement. “Hey! It’s you!” he smiled.

“It’s me.” something about him made it very difficult for you not to mirror his smile, but that desire was overpowered by the confusion coursing through your mind.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! I still feel terrible about what happened, are you sure you were alright? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” The man was incredible at changing his emotions at the drop of a dime, for now his eyes were laced with concern where excitement had just lived. “Or I guess I should say I didn’t burn you, did I?”

He was much more put together this time, the workout attire you had last seen him in was traded in for a pair of light red slacks that looked to be a crushed velvet material paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black vans. He looked like any university boy you’d see walking the streets, but at the same time, like nothing you had ever seen before. Something about him standing in your doorway brought you a sense of calm, like just his presence was enough to wash away the stresses of your day.

“I mean I can’t say that it felt particularly good, but I didn’t get burned, no.”

“Oh good. That’s good.” he nodded, and you made the mistake of following his hand with your eyes as he lifted it up to his curls to fix the glasses perched on his head. You didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see what kind of fate the universe had in store for him because the peace he had brought to you in the few moments he’d been standing there felt better than anything had in the past few years. But you were never that lucky.

Your eyes quickly casted back down, looking back at the white of his shirt while you cleared your throat. “Did you need something….” you dragged out the end of the word to indicate that you didn’t know what to call him since he hadn’t bothered to mention his name.

“Oh, right. ‘M Harry.”

“Georgie.

“Hello Georgie.” if possible, the grin on his face doubled in size, causing two dimples to appear at the corners and the air in your chest to feel as though it was tightening.

The two of you stood in your doorway without saying anything for another moment before you spoke up; “So did you need something or…”

“Fuck, yeah.” his voice was breathy when he responded, standing up straighter, “My mates and I just saw you come home and we’re in desperate need of a needle and thread. You’ve got one?”

It only took a second for him to realize his words and that surprised look from when you first opened the door was back. His eyes widened and his hands raised in front of him as a way to stop you before you could respond.

“Not in a creepy way! We weren’t like watching you or summat, swear! My mates Niall and Louis just moved in across the hall.” using his thumb he pointed to the open door across the hall where you could see two other guys watching yours and Harry’s interaction. Upon realizing they were spotted, they raised their hands in a small wave. “We heard you come in. Not that we were actively listening! Just - ‘m sorry. I swear we aren’t creeps.”

“Good. Thought I’d have to sic my monster of a dog on you.” you replied, turning to dig through the small table in what could barely be considered an entryway. The table had started out as a place to keep your keys and mail, but like most did, quickly turned into a junk drawer. An abyss to put any and everything only to never see it again.

Harry’s eyes frantically looked behind you like some crazy monster was about to lunge at him for bothering you at night, even going as far as taking a small step back when the door opened a bit wider while you were looking for the tool. You laughed when glancing up quickly at the movement. It was obvious he was panicking at the new information of potentially getting mauled by a massive dog while simply asking for thread. So you put him out of his misery.

“There’s no dog. I’m just joking…”

As if on cue, Lucifer waltzed up to see what was going on at the front door, her small body weaving between your legs to get a nice scratch while checking out the never before seen man. “Oh! A cat! I love cats!”

“Yeah she’s pretty great.” you nodded, closing the drawer and holding your hand out to Harry. “Here you go. Um, not sure what colour you need so you can just take the whole bag.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you! Niall has a date in ten minutes and he’s split his only good pair of trousers.” he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the boys inside the other flat, trying to seem like they weren’t listening to the conversation, but very obviously doing just that. “Have to sew him in like ‘m some sort of tailor.” he chuckled, turning back to face you.

“Sounds like an exciting night.”

“Oh riveting. I would ask if you’d like to join but you look very busy-” the corners of his lips were trying hard not to curl upwards with the light sarcasm, wobbling a bit as he continued speaking, “-so I wouldn’t want to interrupt anymore than I already have. I’m sure I’ll see you again, I practically live with these two idiots.”

“‘M sure I will.” Luci hadn’t left your side since joining you at the door, instead, she began meowing quite loudly, so you bent down to scoop her into your arms.

You liked Harry, not only because he was a very obviously a good looking man, but because he seemed to pick up on your social cues fairly quickly. He didn’t linger and try to get as much out of you as possible or make the fact that you clearly didn’t have much interest in talking uncomfortable. And it was the first time in a long time that you felt content being around someone. Not fearing what the future brought.

Harry halted his movements halfway between flats and spun back around quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you press kisses to Lucifer’s head while standing in the doorway. Something you gathered from the very brief times you’d shared an encounter was that Harry was not very good at hiding his emotions. It was almost like he had no control of his mouth, because you could see him try to stop the smile from spreading, but it was no use. The dimples popped out in full force.

“I still owe you for that coffee.”

“Oh, um not a coffee.”  you tried not to be loud enough for him to hear, noting that the fact that it wasn’t a coffee was not really that important, but he heard you anyway.

“Pardon?”

“Just um, it wasn’t a coffee. More of a hot chocolate drinker actually.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead just continued watching you with fond eyes and a now very prominent smile. You felt as though he could sense how out of touch with relationships you had begun to get over the years. What other explanation could he have for being so soft with someone he had just met and barely even known

“Right, well keep your schedule open so I can take you out for that replacement cocoa.”

Your door swiftly closed the second he turned back around, not leaving any extra seconds for him to turn around and look at you again. And the second she heard the click of the lock, Luci leaped out of your arms and made her way over to the sofa, meowing her entire journey.

“Yes that was him.” another meow. “I told you he was cute, and I also told you nothing would be happening there.”

Harry wasn’t lying when he said you’d be seeing him again. It seemed as though every day when you got back to your flat, he was there. Sometimes on his way out, other times just standing outside the door waiting for the other boys. And despite how at peace being around Harry had made you feel that day he came knocking at your door, you never put in much more effort than a “hello” here and there. He and the others had tried quite a few times to get you to join them on their night out, but each time you came up with a different excuse. Even if they were comforting, what was the point in forming that friendship when you knew you’d just isolate yourself again eventually. You had made it this long without getting too close to anyone else, and you weren’t going to start just because two attractive lads moved in across the hall who happened to have a very fit, very inviting, friend.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that you actually had a full conversation with Harry again.

Typically you tried not to go to the coffee shop by your flat any later than lunchtime because it just got too busy. There were too many people for you to fully avoid them all and seeing too many clocks dampened your mood significantly. But you had already had a shitty morning and needed something to give you a boost.

The place had felt very melancholy since Rita’s unfortunate passing last month, she’d passed peacefully in her sleep while spending time with her family. You’d sent the family flowers as remembered, and also made sure to drop a few bills in the jar on the counter each time you’d been in the shop. Other employees were setting up a fund for Rita’s family since she was such a loved member of the community just with the joy she brought from behind the counter.

“Just a large hot chocolate for me, please.”

“For here or take away?”

“Take away please.”

“Actually she’ll have that for here, please.” a familiar voice behind you spoke up as you were digging through your bag for your wallet. You could see him out of the corner of your eye move from his spot behind you, to gradually standing next to you, looking directly at the barista behind the counter.

“Um..” you felt bad for the young kid, he couldn’t be any older than eighteen and all he wanted to do was get to work and get out. But here you were making his day more stressful than it needed to be. “So… for here then?”

“Harry I -”

“Come on Georgie. Please.” never in your life had you seen a grown man bat his eyelashes, but here he was, trying to lure you in with his breathtaking green eyes.

“Fine.” your voice came out soft and you rolled your eyes, but on the inside you felt giddy, like what you remember life to feel like before you started isolating yourself. “Um, sorry. I’ll have it for here I suppose.”

“Do you want the cream?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll have a -” Harry’s profile was something you could get lost in. How the tip of his nose seemed to bounce with every word he said, how it looked as if his lips were made to form the words falling from between them, or how no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay back, one of his curls would continue to break loose from the rest and fall past his forehead. From what little you’ve seen of it, Harry had a great sense of fashion. Comfortable. A brown teddy bear jumper was covering his upper body, sleeves long enough to gather just past his hands and torso short enough that you could see his white shirt peeking out from underneath, ripped black jeans, a pair of black chelsea boots, and  those same tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose completed his look.  

“Ready?”

“Huh?”

“You ready? ‘ve got a table back by the door.”

The two of you made your move to walk back towards the front of the shop, but you halted in your tracks when you saw that yes, he in fact did have a table waiting for him, but it was also being inhabited by the two boys you had seen behind him when he came to ask for thread. Neal and Liam? And a girl was sitting between the two as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Harry I don’t -”

“Come on, I promise we don’t bite.” Apparently you still didn’t look convinced because he leaned down to be at your eye level and stuck his lip out in a pout. “One drink. Please? I owe you remember?”

“Yes and you’ve already bought me a new one, thank you by the way, so you don’t owe me anything else.”

“I know.” the apples of his cheeks began getting pinker the longer he stared at you, “But I’d very much like to spend some time with you.”

Just like he did when he knocked on your door, his eyes widened and immediately seemed to want to backtrack what he had said. “Wait no, not in that way. In like a ‘hey I think you’re cute -’ no fuck that’s not -”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“One drink.”

The relief was instant on his features, his shoulders sagging and eyebrows un-furrowing at your words. “Good. Afraid my mates were going to start thinking I made you up.”

“I live across the hall, they’ve seen me.”

“Well yeah, but I talk about you so much they thi- I - fuck.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from between your lips. You may not have had many friendships or relationships of any kind, but you did know excessive rattling wasn't generally how people spoke to one another.  “You babble a lot.”

“Only when ‘m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

Harry wasted no time in his response, taking a quick glance over to you. “Because I finally get to spend time with the pretty girl across the hall.”

The heat rushing to your cheeks had become something of a common occurrence when speaking with Harry. It wasn’t obvious if he knew what he was doing or not, but you couldn’t imagine someone like Harry not knowing how to flirt. Thankfully, however, someone from the table spoke up before you could dwell on his comment longer than necessary.

“Finally!” the man sitting at the end of the booth spoke. He was dressed very similar to Harry in color - a tan quilted shirt was hidden beneath a cream colored teddy bear jacket, and pleated brown trousers. The light facial hair stubbled along his cheeks made him look slightly older than Harry, but his complete baby face counteracted that.

Harry looked at you briefly, raising his eyebrows with a ‘what did I tell you?’ kind of look as he bent down to slide into the booth next to the other man. His style was much different than the other two, more streetwear. He was wearing black trackies and an old gray band tee under a denim jacket, baseball hat and the very apparent smell of cigarettes finishing off the outfit. Another difference with him was that he had a girl with him. What you assumed to be his girlfriend by the way her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand fell on her knee. She was beautiful, long brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, only kept back by the fragile looking sunnies that rested at the top of her head. She was wearing a simple white top and a pair of white,black, and brown plaid trousers, both of which were overshadowed by the beautiful black Balenciaga jacket hanging off of her shoulders.

“Was starting to think you’d been lying about actually knowing her, Haz.” the one closest to Harry spoke, earning a light slap to his chest from the girl on his shoulder.

Harry disregarded all of their antics and turned to pat the seat next to him, indicating he wanted you to sit down, and he gave you a reassuring nod when you nibbled your lower lip between your teeth.

It was subtle acts like Harry letting you sit on the outside of the booth so you could make a quick getaway if needed that reminded you how easily he seemed to pick up on your social cues - even if you didn’t realize you did them. It made your chest tickle that even just from the two substantial conversations you’d had with him, Harry picked up on things you did.

“Piss off.” Harry chuckled, reminding you a lot of friendships you’d seen on tv where they all take the piss but it was easy to see that they all cared for one another. It was something you’d always been envious of while watching the world from the sidelines. “Georgie, this is Niall, Louis, and Louis’ girlfriend Eleanor. Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You were met with a chorus of hellos and you would’ve loved to just jump right into their conversation about the best places to get guacamole, just so that they knew you weren’t intentionally being rude to them. But not only were you not good at this conversation thing, but you also were still on edge about forming any sort of connection with these people. Apparently you should get used to Harry and his all knowing mind, because before you could excuse yourself from the awkwardness, he spoke up.

“So, how long have you lived in the building?”

Unprepared for the question, you froze for a second. “Oh, um going on six years now.”

“Impossible! What are you, like twenty? No way you’ve lived there that long!” Eleanor asked, her head no longer on Louis’ shoulder, instead she was sitting upright and looking directly at you. Of course, over the span of the years, you had gotten quite good at looking at people without really paying any attention to what was only visible to you above their heads, but it still made you uneasy. The best solution was just not to look at them at all. But these people, people who had no idea who you were a mere ten minutes ago yet were now welcoming you into their lives, made you want to work on avoiding the numbers. Because this was the most alive you’d felt in years.

“‘M twenty three. Be twenty four next Friday.”

“No shit! Alright well I’m coming over so you can teach me your skincare routine because you look flawless.” she gleamed, leaning forward on the table to jot down her phone number on one of the many spare napkins littering the tabletop.

“As much as I love a good skincare routine, let’s not skip over the more important part of that sentence. Your birthday is next week?” Harry asked, gently shoving his shoulder against yours and offering a kind smile when you glanced up at him.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since I turned like eleven.” your parents used to throw you a party every year while growing up, a lavish over the top kind of party where all of your classmates were invited and family you had never even heard of pinched your cheeks. But as time went on and you didn’t give up your ‘ridiculous fantasy’ as your mother so kindly put it, they began to stop throwing the party. Now, you were lucky if they sent you a card on the day. Plus, celebrating your birthday alone is kind of a downer.

“You haven’t celebrated your birthday in over a decade?” Niall’s mouth hung open like that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Nope.”

“Well that just won’t do.” you may not know very much about the people seated around you, but the smirk on Louis’ face told you everything you needed to know. “We’re having a party.”

“Um, thank you. Really. But parties aren’t really my thing. Plus I’m working that day so…”

“Oh, where do you work?” Harry asked, thoroughly interested in where you spend most of your days.

“Good Samaritan.”

“The nursing home down on Adams?”

“That’s the one. I’m a caregiver.” when you first applied for the position, you thought you were crazy. For someone who doesn’t want to get close to anyone in fear of their untimely demise, you definitely went for a job exactly the opposite. But that was the appeal to you. Sure, it was terribly sad to see one of your patients pass, but in the time leading up to it, you knew exactly who needed a little extra love. It was nice to be able to remind their loved ones to visit while making routine phone calls, and to do things to make them smile in what only you knew were their last days. It was the only time you thought what you were born with was some kind of gift. The tiniest most unwelcomed gift.

“That’s wonderful.” Harry’s voice was gently next to you, like he was hanging on to every short word that you said.

“Well, we’ll just have a party once you’re done with work.” Louis shrugged, but held his hands up when you opened your mouth to remind him you didn’t want anything. “Not a party, a friendly get together with friendly neighbors and alcohol.”

That day in the cafe was the beginning to a new start for you.

Obviously Lucifer had to hear about everything that happened that afternoon, but she was there to experience it first hand when Eleanor came knocking on your door the following day. She got to watch as you bent over in genuine laughter at your shared banter. She watched from the kitchen counter as Harry came by with food one night, saying he just happened to order extra lo mein and heard you come home. And as the two of you sat in the living room watching Big Brother, talking about everything from your favorite color to why he majored in physical therapy in university. Luci got to watch you break out of the shell you’d worked so hard on forming around you, and even though you knew she couldn’t understand what was happening, you liked to think her frequent meows were those of encouragement.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The yells came from all corners of the room when you walked into Louis’s flat the following Friday, making your eyes widen and shoulders straighten. As much progress as you’d been making in your life, with branching out and slowly losing your fear of connection, it would take more than a week to crack down those barriers you’d built so high for so long.

“Thank you.” you laughed, putting down the bottle of wine you’d brought just in time for everyone to start surrounding you in hugs.

“Happy Birthday, love.” Harry’s voice was soothing in your ear, like a sense of relief in the overstimulation the other three had given you. You didn’t regret their company like you would have only a month ago, instead you welcomed the foriegn feelings. But it was still nice to have a moment of calm to fully process everything.

“Thank you Harry.”

“I hope it’s not too much. I told them to cool it on the balloons and confetti - especially since we all know I’ll be the one to pick it up in the morning.” he laughed, offering you a glass of wine that everyone else seemed to already be enjoying.

“No, no, it’s great. A nice segway from doing nothing every year.”

“Still can’t believe you haven’t celebrated your birthday in so long! That’s a day that should be celebrated by everyone!”that same look you’d grown to quite enjoy flashed over his features, his momentary distress as he realized he said something he wasn’t planning on sharing. But the look disappeared when he saw your knowing smile. “Don’t start.”

As promised, there was no party, per say. Everyone was just scattered around Louis’ living room telling stories about absolutely nothing that had everyone in stitches. It was the kind of party you’d always been envious of, one where mates could hang out and lose themselves in the company of each other. It was the first time you didn’t have a single thought about impending doom for more than an hour, a feit you would be sure not to forget.

Niall was laid out on the floor under the windows, a half empty bottle of rum in his hand and the other rested on his stomach, occasionally itching an invisible nuisance. Louis was seated in the arm chair directly across from Niall, a very buzzed Eleanor draped across his lap and the more the night went on, the less chances you had of seeing their faces separated. And Harry was seated next to you on the sofa, his arm hung on the back of the cushion in such a way that everyone so often you would feel the very tips of his fingers skim the exposed skin on your shoulder.

You wished you could freeze this moment in time, because a photograph or video would never do it justice. It was almost as if you were watching the night play out in front of you like a movie, not really in your body but watching from afar. Watching as the girl who hid herself from the world began to hatch, slowly cracking the hard exterior surrounding her. And you would do anything to bottle the feeling of pride that swelled in your chest knowing you had achieved that.

“Literally right in the face mate. No joke.” Niall cackled, his laugh a contrast in that moment; escaping his mouth loudly but carrying throughout the room softly. Taking off like a leaf blowing through the fall breeze.

“Georgie.” your name slipped from between Harry’s lips beautifully, like he was created for the sole purpose of saying your name over and over again; forever. “Alright?”

And sitting in the living room of Louis’ flat, listening to your friends’ wine induced giggles, looking at the most captivating pair of green eyes and curly hair that only whatever magical being that was above could’ve created, you were alright. You were so alright that the minuscule ticks of the clocks of your new and only friends, ticks you tried so hard to avoid paying attention to, almost seemed to disappear completely. Almost.

71 years, 2 months, 10 days, 3 hours, 16 minutes, 55 seconds. 68 years, 11 months, 3 days, 19 hours, 43 minutes, 2 seconds. 68 years, 7 months, 21 days, 1 hour, 58 minutes, 33 seconds. 62 years, 8 months, 9 days, 11 hours, 12 minutes, 2 seconds. 2 years, 1 month, 30 days, 23 hours, 34 minutes, 56 seconds.

[buttonso]

I posted 1,859 times in 2021

495 posts created (27%)

1364 posts reblogged (73%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 2.8 posts.

I added 1,181 tags in 2021

#stardew harvey - 212 posts

#my art - 192 posts

#stardew valley - 162 posts

#sketch - 124 posts

#sdv - 101 posts

#farmer aura - 100 posts

#stardew valley fanart - 88 posts

#other farmers - 77 posts

#sdv fanart - 66 posts

#wip - 59 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#it feels weird and boastful to say that but i have hundreds of pages of shit i’ve written for all the various rps i have done over the years

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Thirsty Thursday request from @floopthecooper - Willy chilling in a hammock on a beach smoking his pipe.

This was tough, but who doesn’t love Willy?! Kinda looks more like a canoe than a hammock, I’m so sorry 😅 thank you for the request!

76 notes • Posted 2021-07-14 00:55:26 GMT

#4

If you're still taking sketch requests, could you draw Harvey holding a bouquet? 🥺👉👈

Dear Anon, NOTHING WOULD PLEASE ME MORE!! This is about as far as I’m getting tonight but this may be worthy of cleanup/color someday.... 💕💕💕💕

94 notes • Posted 2021-01-28 23:37:29 GMT

#3

::slams this down on your dash::

I’m still working at developing my style but I really love how this turned out. 💕

Based on a scene from my fic wherein Aura (my farmer) presents Harvey with a handmade winter forage bouquet.

Please don’t repost, reblogs are fine! In fact I worked my butt off on this so I’d be thrilllled by a reblog lol.

129 notes • Posted 2021-05-09 18:54:55 GMT

#2

Safe to say Aura and Harvey like each other. 😘

((... I got a bit carried away. Hopefully this doesn’t get flagged but hey... they’re mostly covered. 😅 Perhaps I’ll color it someday! I’ve had a ton of fun with this one!))

PS- please don’t repost! Reblog is OK :)

189 notes • Posted 2021-01-16 20:51:27 GMT

#1

Stardew Valley Inktober Prompts!

OK, y'all-- I was gonna make a pretty graphic for this but, I simply do not have the spoons for it these days and we're already halfway through September, so, in the interest of getting the prompt list out there, I am just gonna post it as plain text.

Many thanks to @voided-k and @luceetheelephant for prompt suggestions!!!

I tried to keep the list open enough that it would work for art or writing, to make it as accessible to as many folks as possible. Any media of art (physical or digital), any form of writing.. whatever you like!

Week-long prompts for larger pieces or longer writing

Oct 1-7: Stardew Valley Fair

Oct: 8-14: Night Market

Oct. 15-21: Dance of the Moonlight Jellies

Oct. 22-31: Spirit’s Eve (extra few days on this one to close out October)

Daily prompts for quick drawings and shorter writing:

1. Junimo

2. Favorite Crop

3. Weather

4. Fishing

5. Cooking

6. Pets

7. Skull Cavern

8. Flower Dance

9. Mail

10. Honey

11. Luck

12. Barn

13. Beach

14. The Stardrop Saloon

15. Gridball

16. Cellar

17. Secret Note

18. Crafting

19. Birds

20. Geode

21. Bulletin Board

22. Zuzu City

23. Grandpa

24. Sword

25. Magic

26. Sign of the Bear

27. Treasure

28. Mushrooms

29. Desert

30. Secret Woods

31. Monster

***

((Obviously this is not anything official, and anyone who wants to make their own list is free to do so. If you DO use the list, I would like to be tagged so I can see your lovely work but I do not require a credit or anything like that.))

338 notes • Posted 2021-09-15 17:47:47 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ruzek-halstead]

relight that spark ✨

prologue 

pairing: luke patterson x julie molina

a modern day adaptation of the classic ‘cinderella’ tale.

high school au based off ‘a cinderella story’.

series masterlist || masterlist || ao3

warnings: fluffery, swearing

join my taglist here (or leave a comment to be tagged for this story only :)

i want you all to bear with me because this chapter isn't very exciting (with the exception of juke's text messages) but i think it's very necessary for background information. especially if you haven't watched the original movie!!

as you all know, this story is based off the 2004 classic 'a cinderella story' featuring hilary duff and chad michael murray. this is one of my favourite films, so i do urge you all to give it a watch! this fic is obviously not going to be exact to the movie, but it will follow generally the same storyline, but in a more modern sense.

✨

Julie Molina was a simple girl. All she really wanted was to get accepted into the Berklee College of Music, graduate high school and make enough money to move out and afford tuition. It wasn't an easy feat, but it's what she had been working for since her father passed away eight years ago. Her life used to be fantastic. Julie was still young when her mom passed away from cancer, and the memories she did have of her were slightly clouded and slowly fading away. But she remembered that she was one of the most gentle souls ever. She remembered her soft voice when she sang her to sleep every night, but one night, she wasn't there anymore. Julie never heard her mom's voice again. But her dad never let her forget anything. The memory of Rose Molina was alive and well in the Molina household, and at the family diner Ray owned, Mel's. He had inherited it from his father, and every day, he worked tirelessly to turn it into a feel-good family diner where everyone felt welcome and at home. After Rose passed, it was where Julie spent most of her time. Her dad was always busy with work, so she tagged along, but she never minded because the staff was her family. Her Tia Victoria worked there as the boss behind the boss, and she always made time to help Julie with her homework. Julie did everything at the diner. Holidays, birthdays, you name it. It was her home away from home; a place where she felt utterly safe and accepted. Until one day, she didn't. Mel's provided her the warmth and familiarity she lacked in her true home ever since her mom passed away. But the day Karen Fields walked through the door, slipped on a puddle and fell into Ray Molina's arms, that feeling was stripped away and never returned. Her father and Karen dated for a few months, and before Julie knew it, they were booking venues, cake tasting and dress shopping. Her father was getting married. Julie had never gotten the warmest of vibes from Karen, only when her father was around. But she was young, and she didn't know any better, and she couldn't tell her father that this was a terrible decision. She saw him happy, she saw him smiling, and she couldn't take that away from him. So, they got married, and shortly thereafter, Karen and her two twin daughters were moving into their Los Angeles home. Karen's daughters, Jade and Sophia, were not friendly in the slightest. They never went out of their way to include Julie in any activities, and completely ignored her at school, even though they were in the same grade. Julie didn't care much about that. She couldn't be bothered with mean girls like them, and plus, she already had the only friend she'd ever need. Julie met Flynn Anderson on the first day of kindergarten. It was quite hard to not notice the five-year-old yelling at another five-year-old because he had stepped on her brand new white sneakers. Even though her screaming was driving everyone away, Julie thought it was funny, so she went to join her at the sandbox. Ever since that day, the two had been inseparable. It also wasn't the last time Flynn yelled at obnoxious boys who unnerved her. Flynn kept Julie sane throughout the death of her mom, the transition with Karen and her family, and the worst event of all; the unexpected death of her father. She didn't see it coming, none of them did. One night Julie's dad was tucking her in and reading her a bedtime story, but then the ground started shaking and everything fell off the shelves. Her dad pulled her into the corner for safety, but Karen's screaming caught his attention and he had to leave her. She still had nightmares of their last few moments together, when he squeezed her hand before running out of the room. That was the last time she ever saw her father. Her young life only went downhill from there. According to the lawyers, there was no will left behind. This meant everything her father ever owned was left to Karen; that included his house, his money, his diner and Julie. If Julie thought Karen didn't like her before, she knew with one-hundred percent certainty that her presence was more like a burden now. Tia Victoria tried to fight for custody, because she never believed her brother-in-law would leave Julie in the hands of anyone else, but the courts disagreed and there was nothing else she could do about it. Julie was banished to the attic, and all house-duties were dumped on her. She was in charge of dishes, laundry, cleaning the entire house. On top of that, as soon as she was of legal age to work, Karen demanded she work at the diner to cover her expenses. Julie really had no other option, and although she hated it at the beginning, she realized the silver lining. Working at the diner meant she would spend time with her Tia Victoria and the rest of the staff that she loved, and she could also make her own money so she could move out, pay tuition and leave this life behind. That was what her life consisted of for now. She had her mind set on the music school of her dreams and she was working day and night so she could afford it. She went to school throughout the day, worked at the diner after school, and finished household chores after her shift. It didn't leave her much time to focus on her music, which at the end of the day was okay, because she didn't like to work on her music around her step-mother and step-sisters. They didn't understand, and they were cruel, so the less they knew about it, the better. It was also okay because Julie hadn't been able to publicly perform since her father passed away. When her mom passed, she left dozens of songs for Julie so she wouldn't give up music; it was her father that encouraged her to keep going, even at a young age. But with him gone, a piece of her went with him and she couldn't find it in herself to sing in front of others when he wasn't here to watch her. She kept her musical talents on the down low; only her Mel's family and Flynn truly knew what she was capable of with a piano and a microphone. That was until one day she received a text message from an unknown number. It started out innocent, crossed wires based on a flyer she put up three years ago to make some extra money. She didn't think any of those flyers were still around; they were unbelievably basic, with just her phone number and rate for piano lessons. Even though she didn't know this stranger and their first conversation was a tad bit rocky, for some reason, she felt comfortable talking to them. One day they started, and it just didn't stop. 

That was how they met. She was expecting the conversation to end after she told them she wasn’t offering lessons anymore (she can’t even begin to explain how they found one of her flyers in the first place), but whoever they were, they were incredibly persistent. They were slightly charming, and for some reason, Julie found herself opening up and revealing things about herself only a limited number of people knew about her. She couldn’t explain the instant connection. She would honestly sound crazy if she tried. And even after she spilled her guts out, and it was well into the night, she was surprised to see another message the following morning. So, they kept talking; night and day, they talked about anything and everything. Julie never asked who they were; she never asked for their identity because the mystery was intriguing, and she really didn’t want to reveal her own. All she knew is that they were a senior at her high school and identified as male; she knew he was in a band and he played many instruments and sang a bit. Julie only told him the same amount of information; that she was also a senior and identified as female. Throughout their constant virtual interactions, they started revealing more and more about themselves. From their first conversation, Julie told him all about the death of her mom, and how that influenced her music career. She decided not to tell him about her father's death right away, because she did remember he was a total stranger and who knew if she could even trust him? She revealed that something traumatic had happened and her music was temporarily put on hold as she worked on herself. But through time, he opened up to her as well, and eventually, she let him into to all the details. He revealed to her that his parents were dead set on him pursuing other endeavours, including a full scholarship to Stanford University. However, that wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to purse his music and his band, and when he mentioned Berklee College of Music, Julie knew there was no forgetting they had ever met. She was locked in. Their conversations started simple, more like venting sessions. But overtime, they became random, about anything and everything. And to a certain extent, they became a tad flirty. Julie was no expert in the romance department, by any means. With all the tragic events in her life, romantic partners had been the furthest thing from her mind. But sometimes she got a real flirty vibe that she couldn't deny. And even when she wasn't sure, she'd show the messages to Flynn, who, with an eye roll, assured her he was definitely trying to flirt. It made her extremely nervous at first, but then she realized, she had nothing to lose. This was all virtual, they didn't know each other's identities; he couldn't hurt her. But Julie didn't like to refer to him as some random number in her contacts. As much as she didn't necessarily want to put a face to the number, she needed at least a name, or even a pseudonym. When he asked for an example, Julie suggested he refer to her as 'Dahlia' as that was her mother's favourite flower and she had an emotional attachment to it. He had made a lame joke about being able to top that but ultimately he chose 'Charming'. Julie had made the mistake of telling him he was charming once, and he still hadn't let it go. This was the ultimate power move to make sure she never forgot it; but secretly, she loved it. 

And so, that's how it went. Sometimes they talked about serious things, like their future at university, and sometimes it was simpler things. Julie liked to argue because her sassiness would have it no other way; Charming could give it right back to her, ensuring it was never a dull conversation.

When Julie wasn't working, studying, or working on her music, she was talking to Charming. It was enough for her, for now. She was just trying to get through senior year quietly, by doing what was expected of her and making as much money as she could to get the hell out of there. But she should have expected that things wouldn't go that smoothly; they never had for her before. This is the story of Julie Molina and her Prince Charming, and everything in between. 

✨ 

i was super unsure about this chapter because it wasn't that exciting and then i realized i could probably just use it as an prologue or something for some background information, so i hope it was enough.

i'm really excited to get into the nitty gritty of this story, so i really hope you all enjoyed this enough to follow along! i'm not sure how many chapters this will be yet, i'm thinking at least four/five with everything i have planned???

stay safe, thanks for reading!!

tagging:  @grootsgillespie​ || @jayhalsteadcpd​ || @moreflowersthanweeds​ || @well-hes-just-too-cute​ || @echocharm17618​ || @leopard-print-slippers​ || @jandthephantoms​ || @scribblingfangirl​ || @n0wornever​ || @simpformolina​ || @only-trust-fictional-characters​ || @snowmione18​ || @tellurphantoms​ || @knitsessed​ || @carriewilsons​ || @elitharavenclaw​ || @wakeupfantoms​ || @uselessnerdnherblahg​ || @anotheronechicagobog​ || @katie-navarro​

[maxbernini]

sekou and zoe :0? for 3 headcanons

tysm anon 💕 sorry this is so long i’m on mobile & can’t do a read more

zoe m (assuming it’s her and not wtf’s zoe lol):

- zoe is THE postergirl for “pretending you’re famous in the shower and being interviewed”, which is cool, we all do it, except zoe doesn’t limit herself to the shower, nor is she silent. many times ava has come home to find zoe in the kitchen telling an invisible oprah a highly exaggerated version of her life: something about kieu my once being SO lovesick zoe thought she had a fever and had to carry her to the hospital, bridal-style, and also there were zombies. it’s an easy way to make nora laugh too, but on her worst days, zoe will hold her and when she’s calm, give an “off the record interview” where she details why she loves her sister, the strongest person she knows

- she writes fan-fiction. it used to be self-insert type stuff, you know, “my mom sold me to one direction” and the like, but actually...really really good? she had a solid wattpad fan-base for a reason. nora used to make her story covers on photoshop. she sticks to ao3 now, posting devastatingly gorgeous 30k pieces once every six months or so that garner their own mini fandoms. i’m not going to say what medias she’s writing for, but i’m not ruling out a certain cursed never-ending CW show, nor something completely different and wild like....RPF about the buzzfeed unsolved guys or whatever. or maybe less famous, very niche buzzfeed people which makes it better/worse (she gets her own ‘10 Lines In This Fanfic About Our Employees That Will Make You Cry Into A Pillow And Demand We Start A Union’ article)

- when the instas went on their social media detox / camping retreat / whatever the fuck it was, zoe enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. they were there to help constantin, yes, but it was healing for her, too. she, kieu my, and finn shared a tent, and on the last night, she stayed awake far longer than she should’ve, listening to their breathing, listening to the trees. if she concentrated hard enough, she could make everything fade away until she felt, for a strange, single moment, that she was the only person in the entire world. it was honestly comforting, all that peace and quiet and numbness, and yet, when asked about her exhaustion the next day, she says she stayed up on guard to protect them from any bears or serial killers; ismail immediately pretends to stab finn (“i was the killer all along!”), and amidst all the ensuing dramatic chaos, zoe thinks: i am very glad to not be alone. i am very glad to be alive.

sékou:

- with an older brother and two older sisters, sékou’s the ‘baby’ of the family but they don’t baby or other him at all. they’re all close, despite the miles between them: his parents came with him to canada, though his dad, a doctor (and his son’s biggest defender, especially when it came to getting diagnosed within an ableist, racist healthcare system) had to stay in paris a little longer to sort out work stuff with the pandemic, meaning he and his mom spent the first few months alone - “but not lonely!” she says every morning over breakfast; she doesn’t mind cooking it because she loves him and he helps with dinner anyways, as that’s how he unwinds after school. dealing with numbers in recipes helps him stay sharp whilst allowing him to relax and have fun

- other unwinding techniques include IT-related commissions, video editing, art history, philosophy, and, of course, urbex. since it’s canon that la mif are too depressed to urbex now that he’s gone, i’ll say it’s the opposite for him. he does urbex in canada, and it’s nice to finally be with people who follow maps and put safety first and are rather clinical - though not necessarily boring - about their approach. he becomes the president of his uni’s urbex club, the quickest anyone’s ever risen through the ranks. still, sometimes down in those tunnels it’s dark enough that it’s easy to pretend he’s back in paris, the indecipherable shapes around him his old friends. he tags their initials on a wall, and never tells them, his own little secret

- determined to not fall out of touch to an irreparable degree though, sékou sends la mif letters/packages, often very personalized: it starts with, like, memes for jo, film recs for max, political articles for maya, positive affirmations for lola etc, before becoming an international small gifts exchange because everyone involved is extra. noticing two new guys on the group insta, sekou thinks it’d be rude to exclude them, figuring there’s no harm in sending a tiny boxing glove keychain he saw at the store the other day, or some sewing tips his eldest sister, a fashion designer, passes along. bc skamfr is often an unintentional comedy (eg: the car), everybody in la mif assumes they’re the only one getting sent stuff bc nobody talks about it out of guilt (“what if he’s not sending them things...”). so it’s quite a shock when sékou flies back home for summer and he and redouane are like, immediately going in for a hug, the first to do so, and bilal presents sékou with a homemade bowtie. max is very pouty about it but max is pouty about most things so jo elbows him in the ribs and they all hash it out at maya’s that night; sékou takes one look at the place and thinks: i’m glad your taste in decor is better than your wardrobe, and then thinks: i’m not sure where i want to live, there are so many things i want to do and discover and become, but there’s no where else i’d rather call home right now (is he talking about the city or his friends?? you decide!)

give me a character and i’ll tell you three pieces of headcanon i have about them! 

[all-tea-is-leaf-juice]

Temporary Roombuddies

❤️Part 1❤️Zuko x F!reader❤️modern au❤️slight angst❤️

A/N: Hello! This is my first smau! Sorry if I have lots of typos and some of the times don't make sense. I've been reading a few of these and thought it'd be super cool to make one of my own! Later I'll post what their accounts look like. I'm open to suggestions and constructive criticism, if you think I can write one of the characters better then please don't hesitate to let me know! Enjoy♥️

✨Part 2✨

🌹If you'd like to be on a tag list then ask me!🌹

Word count: 1,067

It’d been at least five minutes since Sokka texted y/n and she had yet to start cleaning up. She didn't have the energy too or do anything for that matter. But guilt struck her once she realized she'd already blown him off once before. Sokka is one of her closest friends, no way could she disappoint him again. With that said y/n swung her legs off the bed and began cleaning up.

While picking up some trash in the living room y/n's reflection had caught her eye. A small gasp escaped from her chapped lips for seeing her eyes. They were puffy and red from last night’s crying session.

“Shit!” She cursed under her breath as she tossed the trash in the disposal bin and dashed for the bathroom. Anxiously she applied foundation as a base and sloppily put concealer under her eyes to hide away her eye bags.

It looks awful but it’s Sokka, he’s an idiot with makeup he won't notice. Y/N thought quickly, forgetting Sokka’s girlfriend is a makeup expert.

As if on cue there was a knock on the door. Just to be cautious: y/n took an extra minute to even out her makeup and even go as far as to apply mascara to take away from her exhausted look.

She tried clearing her throat of nervousness and plastered a smile across her lips. Then, she forced herself to open the door. Nearly immediately was she greeted with a tight bear hug.

“Been too long y/n! Tooooo long!” Sokka bubbled after setting y/n down from his unexpected embrace.

“Yeah,” she agreed “it’s good to see you too, Sokka-brah.”

Sokka’s face lit up like a child entering a toy shop at the revival of his old nickname. “You rightfully deserve this- VUALA!” He revealed an iHop bag that brought a smile upon y/n.

“Chocolate chip?” She cocked an eyebrow up, looking at him with a smirk.

“Chocolate chiiiiiip” Sokka confirmed by taking out the plastic container from the paper bag that held four chocolate chip pancakes.

Y/N grinned and nudged his arm “S’why you're my favorite.” She joked, knowing she doesn't really have favorites in her friend group.

So much time had passed and y/n didn't even realize it. Sokka was a good distraction from the anxiety that had overtaken her the past week. Together they ate, chatted, and even screamed answers at Family Feud like they used to. Before that y/n was convinced to “play tag” around her small apartment. She definitely worked up a sweat since she didn't really like being chased.

Once the game show cut to commercials their laughing slowly thinned out.

“Well, that was a good game-sesh.” Y/n huffed and leaned back. She looked over and caught Sokka staring at her “what?” She questioned.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” He asked skeptically.

Immediately y/n reached up and touched under her eyes. Unfortunately on y/n’s part she was an awful lair and sputtered her words “Uhm- enough..”

“Mhm,” Sokka crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes “how much really?”

In defeat, y/n lowered her head. “None..” For that, she got a flick to the forehead “Ow!”

Sokka stood from the couch and headed somewhere down the hall. Shortly after he came back with a small pack of makeup wipes and sat back down next to y/n, handing the small blue package to her.

“Now take it off and please be yourself around me, y/n.” There wasn't the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice, no, it was desperation. All he wanted was his friend to be honest with him, to tell the truth about what's wrong, to share her feelings.

Shame had overflown y/n’s senses; she hardly heard Sokka speak when he did. Carefully she took the makeup wipes and pulled one out, beginning to take her makeup off.

“How’d you know? About my sleeping- er, well, not sleeping.” She asked while rubbing the moist wipe in circular motions on her cheek.

“When I woke up today for work at 5 a.m. I checked my socials and saw you were online on Instagram. I knew it was unlikely of you to be up so early and you always fail at all-nighters.”

Y/N sighed “You know me too well.” By now she was done taking off the foundation and concealer and started on removing the mascara.

“Aaaand to go further on with my gloating I also knew you’d try to cover up your tiredness with makeup, therefore, I thought of ways to make you work up a sweat to ruin your makeup and THEN confront you about it.” He smirked.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but couldn't help but smile. “Y’know I might just remove your position of being the favorite.” She finished taking off all of her makeup and tossed the used makeup wipe and packaging on the coffee table, leaning back to wait for Sokka’s interrogation.

“It’s my job to do this, I'm the plan guy! Also the boomerangs guy, the sarcastic guy, the hungry guy- you know what we’re getting sidetracked.” Sokka shifts so he’s facing y/n entirely.

Y/N avoids his gaze and finds her pancake scraps more interesting for that moment. She flinched a bit when she felt Sokka’s hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up.

“I want my y/n back.” His smile broke through to her enough to bring up threatening tears. The comforting friend noticed his friends’ eyes become glossy. Sokka went to wrap an arm around y/n but before he could she jumped into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered into his shoulder, “these past few weeks have just been so awful I just want to give up.” The little tears that she blinked from her eyes grew into full sobs. “I’m sorry I pushed you and the others away I never wanted that I thought if I closed off until it was over it’d all be fine but no it’s not-” her voice cracked while trying to shove all her feelings in one sentence “it’s not fine I'm worse than ever Sokka!”

Sokka rubbed y/n’s back and let her emotions fly high, he would ask questions later.

Right now, all she needs is to let go of the tension. He thought.

♥️I hope you enjoyed reading so far! I ready have parts 1-4 finished but I'll be waiting to see how well received this is before posting further on. Also this was just a tiny bit of sokka x reader ;P DW I promise nothing happens! Reblog and like if you enjoyed!♥️

🔥Zuko will be arriving in the next part~🔥

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month - Day 1: Purrito

So this is my first time writing something that wasn’t academic or work documentation in probably at least 5 years and it’s definitely my first fan fic so please bear with the rough writing. And the potential out of character-ness of this. I wasn’t even planning to write for this but after reading a few of the ones by @fandomsilhouette, I felt too inspired not to try!

Fingers crossed that this burst of inspiration last long enough for me to finish the prompts on @felinettenovember!

This is based loosely on a fan fic I read a while back (if I remembered who wrote it, I’d completely tag them here but I don’t even remember the name now)

Chat!Felix and reveal

Around 1500 words and most certainly fluff

Marinette hummed as she put together the tray of cheese pastries and tea for her anticipated visitor. She loved the decision to make a schedule for patrol to clear up some time in her and Chat’s busy schedules. Under this, she had three days every week that she didn’t need to worry about sneaking out and one day that they could meet up from patrol to hang out and work on finding Hawkmoth. Additionally it resulted in a standing visit with her masked friend once a week, with her parents’ approval after the Weredad akuma brought it to their attention under the condition of homework still getting done, of course.

Once upstairs, Marinette worked on tidying up her room a little from her projects, as the scrap pile from her ongoing projects could be a little distracting and she preferred to have those in acceptable condition for smaller projects. Maybe she could make a nice patchwork quilt for Felix as a get-well present, since he seemed to be coming down with something. A cold or maybe the flu? He definitely seemed flushed and less alert than usual, seeming to space out while looking at her throughout the day. 

As she sat down with the pieces, arranging and rearranging to find the most appealing look that Felix may approve of, a thump sounded from the balcony and the clatter of a chair falling. Quickly pushing the fabrics out of sight, Marinette climbed up and opened the door to peer out at Chat. He was still laying on the ground with a bright red face, visibly sweaty skin, and eyes shut.

“Oh! You look terrible Chat! Did something happen on your patrol?” Marinette rushed over to help him up slowly and stopped when she noticed the shiver running through him and the quick breaths. She felt his forehead, pushing his more disheveled than usual hair out of the way. His eyes slowly opened and a weak grin crossed his face.

“Hiya Princess. You look nice today. Is your hair down?” His hand reached up and batted at the closest pigtail. Her hair was definitely still in it’s pigtails, albeit a little longer than they were when these visits first started. That’s not a good sign…

“Let’s get you inside and out of the cold. Are you sick? Why didn’t you go home right away after patrol if you’re sick? Or better yet, why not call Ladybug and ask her to cover this patrol so you could rest up?” He mumbled incoherently and leaned heavily on her as she helped him climb into her room. The moment he was near the chaise, he collapsed heavily on it.

Marinette rushed to grab blankets and a pillow to make him comfortable, chastising him about the importance of taking care of his health and assuring him that Ladybug certainly felt the same way, despite his denials of being sick. With some coaxing, she managed to get him to sit up so she could wrap the biggest blanket she owned around his shoulders. She moved to grab another blanket and pillow and he let himself fall down again, rolling off the chaise onto the floor.

“Oh Chat! Let me help you back up! I’m sure you’d be much cozier than on the floor!” I’m sure my parents are wondering what is happening at this point. Hopefully they help me take care of him when they’re done prepping for tomorrow, at least enough that he can make it home.

“Nnnngh,” and curled up tighter in the blanket, burying his face into the spot where the carpet and the top edge of the blanket met. With a resigned sigh, Marinette went to the bathroom to find a thermometer and to see what kinds of medicine they had. At least if it’s only a cold, she might be able to give him something to help him through the night. Coming back into the room, she chuckled at the sight of him curled up tightly, like a little purrito.

“Chat, you need to get up and take this so you feel better soon. I have some tea that you can take it with, if you’d like,” Marinette cooed, trying to sound as much like her mother as possible, as she walked towards the nearly forgotten tray with medicine in hand.

“I don’t want to! I want to cuddle,” Chat protested and pulled the blanket closer in, somehow curling up even more and acting more like a petulant child throwing a tantrum with each passing minute. Marinette brought the tray over, setting it near the chaise, grabbing another blanket, and knelt down by his side.

“I tell you what, if you sit up and take your medicine like a good boy, I’ll give you this extra blanket and let you pick which pillow you want to use,” she bribed, hoping that the time babysitting Manon had taught her the right skill for this kind of situation. With this offer on the table, Chat managed to sit up slowly, his eyes looking more glazed over than when he had arrived. Marinette handed him the tea, grown cold by this point, and the correct dosage of cold medicine, to prevent him from accidentally taking too much.

He quickly took both without further protests and then a goofy grin broke out. “I want you to be my pillow!” His arms wrapped around Marinette and tried to curl himself up on her lap. The contact made her blush a bit and she tried to pull back.

“You’re such a flirt! What happened to being in love with Ladybug?” she joked nervously. After readjusting so he was just leaning on her shoulder, instead of across her lap, she used one hand to drape the second blanket over him. At least this way I can tell he isn’t too cold. 

“I only flirt with you and Ladybug. I can’t help that if I didn’t have this curse, you’d be my first choice,” he murmured, seeming to be drifting back to sleep already. Marinette was stunned into silence. Did this mean Chat likes her? How did things change so much just from hanging out? With how out of it he seems, is he going to remember this conversation later? Are things going to be different the next time I see him?

For a few minutes she spiraled, thinking of every possible thing that could change, speculating whether this would affect how she treated him as Ladybug (try as she might to avoid letting these nights slip into her superhero life), and how different this might have been if she didn’t have a crush on Felix. Soon he startled her out of her thoughts with a jolt, as he sat up and started thrashing wildly at the blankets and pulling at his suit.

“Ack! Too hot! Stupid suit! Plagg, claws in!”

A flash of light and silence. Marinette clamped her hands over her eyes as quickly as she could with her brain already running on delay.

“Mmmmmmm. Much better,” he mumbled, before Marinette felt his head resting on her leg, arms wrapping around her waist, and body resting on her lap. She kept her hands over her eyes and freaked out internally. How am I supposed to talk him into transforming back?

“What are you doing kid?! You can’t do that here! Nobody is supposed to know your identity! I hate to say it but you need to transform back so Ladybug doesn’t get upset with you!” Plagg fumed. Marinette felt him try to pull on Chat’s arms

“You’re so warm,” Chat purred out, ignoring Plagg’s badgering, “Why don’t we do this more often, Princess? This would be perfect during movie nights.”

I need to do something. I can’t stay like this forever!

“Chat, why don’t you transform back and just take one of the blankets off? Wouldn’t that be better?” Marinette kept her eyes clamped together, moving her hands slowly down to where she thought his shoulder was and felt for the blankets. Apparently he hadn’t pulled them back up before curling up on her so it was just his shirt. Feeling utterly surreal, she noted that the sleeve’s fabric felt like the high quality fabrics she had to save up to buy for bigger, fancier projects.

“Noooooo. This is what I want. This is too nice to give up!” he protested, twisting his body up first to bury his face into her side, then shake it dramatically. A ticklish jolt ran through her body and she opened her eyes without thinking, pushing him back to stop him.

“Felix?!” Marinette gasped. Felix just smiled and continued trying to cuddle back up to her.

Just then Marinette’s parents knocked on the door downstairs and asked if they could come in. If her brain hadn’t come to a halt, she might’ve had a joke about their impeccable timing.

[bellesque]

Respite

The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary:

There are three things the Mandalorian can’t have at the same time, or at all:

An excursion with the kid.

No one tracking him.

A brief window for him to let his guard down.

In other words: peace.

But maybe, just for one day... he can.

Read on AO3.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.8K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Daddy Din, Softness, Light Angst like it’s barely there, me just trying to make things make sense just shhh ignore science and some canon for the fluff

A/N: yes, i couldn’t help myself. oops. y’all know i’ve been obsessing over this show lately, lemme just ease into writing for mando too okay okay great

- - - - - - - - - -

So. Holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool was not something you thought you’d be doing today.

Not that you plan your days particularly. No, but you had some idea of how it would go. Tinker a little at the shop, maybe bargain with the offworld Jawas outside the city. Come back home for a bite to eat and then maybe tinker some more.

Cruise through hyperspace, this baby with the hugest fucking eyes in your arms? Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought this is what you’d end up doing.

His pointy ears perk skyward as he stares up at you, cooing softly in question. Shit, what does it want? Does it need anything? You’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to—

“Put the kid down.”

Maker, your heart almost jumps out of your chest. The modulated voice isn’t angry. It’s not impatient, but it’s not patient either. It’s quiet at the same time loud enough for you to hear through the iron that encases it. It’s stoic, emotionless, intimidating…

Fucking scary is what it is. Is what he is.

You’ve heard the stories. About the Mandalorian as a people. To see one? Be in the same ship as one?

Well, if you were back home, you’d be considered a legend just alongside them actually.

You bounce the baby gingerly, so minutely it’s almost like you don’t move your arms at all. Maker, you’re confused. You don’t know what it is, why it looks aged at the same time so adorable, and you don’t know what it needs.

Which brings you back to the Mandalorian, whom you’ve known for approximately—oh, about an hour or so now, and his change in verbal directive. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said. Put him down.”

Who are you, really, to argue with him? All things considered, it’s his ship, his rules, and his baby. Apparently.

There’s no way he’d be all green and bug-eyed underneath all that armor right?

You ignore the burning question that stations itself on the tip of your tongue, instead bending down to set the baby on its feet on the metal floor of the Razor Crest. The baby coos again, wobbling its way towards the pilot chair where its dad sits.

Stars, how is it so fucking cute?

You’re a little too intrigued by the way the baby moves: his whole body leans heavily towards one side with every waddle forward. Slow, purposeful, adorable waddles. It’s amazing how he just doesn’t teeter off too much to one side and fall in a heap of wool and large ears.

The baby manages to soundlessly end up by the Mandalorian’s feet, tugging at him with its stubby three fingers. The Mandalorian’s helmet turns briefly, glancing down at the green creature that helplessly reaches for something too far up the console. Too far for his little grubby hands to reach.

He audibly sighs as he scoops up the baby in one hand, settling it onto his lap while it continues to make grabby hands at something.

“I meant the pram.”

“O-oh,” is the only pathetic thing you can say. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it stubbornly makes its way into your system anyway. This wasn’t a job you signed up for. In fact, you don’t know exactly why you’re here. The Mandalorian simply looked you up and down after you made a few repairs to his ship, and asked quite bluntly, “You good with a blaster?”

You blinked, twice, just enough time for your mind to catch up and process what he just asked. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you shoot?”

“Um.” Eloquent. “I’ve tried, a couple times, bu-but—”

He expertly threw the blaster rifle at you, which you struggled to catch perfectly. Him, as intimidating as ever, jerked his head to the side. “Shoot,” he said simply, raising a gloved hand to point at a canister several feet away. “Right there.”

And you did. By beginner’s luck, the canister split open.

Which, for some Maker-forsaken reason, warrants your presence on this ship. Are you a babysitter? His… partner for a day? Extra help? Maintenance? You had one job: tune up his Razor Crest. That’s it. You should be back home. Tinkering. Fixing. Bargaining.

But you’re here. A backdrop to a mysterious bounty hunter and his equally mysterious baby.

“I can put him in the crib,” you offer a little nervously.

The Mandalorian says nothing. He sits, stoic and silent in the pilot’s chair, the baby cooing periodically in his lap as he plays with the tiny metal ball the Mandalorian hands him. You swallow. He doesn’t even have to look at you for your palms to start sweating.

And it doesn’t help your rising nerves that you don’t know why you’re here. You’re not a quarry—right? Oh, shit, is there any way you could be and you just don’t know it?

To venture forward and say something, or continue to stand several feet behind him in silence. Have your questions answered, or just wait until he deems it the right time to provide you with them. It’s a mental battle that has you chewing on your lip and glancing skittishly at the glowing buttons around you.

Eventually your nerves win out, unable to take the quiet that stretches out seemingly into lightyears. “Um. So… what do you… need me to do?”

The Mandalorian takes a beat to respond. He presses a few buttons on the console, and mutters a curt, “Hold onto something.”

You’re glad for your quick reflexes, because as soon as he says so your fingers latch onto the nearest metal bar just as you lurch forward in hyperjump. The impact leaves you a little dizzy, swaying on your feet as you struggle to regain your bearings when you exit hyperspace.

He swivels to face you, standing from his seat and regarding you with… subtle interest, maybe? Or maybe he’s just amused at how you’re still swaying in your spot.

The baby fits snugly into the crook of his arm, and the image of this broad man covered head to toe in beskar with the tiniest little thing tucked into the bend of his elbow is so bizarre that you physically have to bite back a question: Are you green too?

“I need you to cover me,” he says eventually. The baby gurgles and looks up at the metal visor. “Just for today.”

“Cover you how?”

His helmet tips down as he glances at the baby in his arm. “Make sure no one’s following me. If you see someone, shoot.”

“Now hold on,” you interrupt. Finally you’ve regained your balance, and apparently, your voice. “I only shot that canister once.”

His pauldron lifts as he shrugs with one shoulder. “Once is enough.”

“I don’t think I can get lucky a second time.”

“Look,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that quells the arguments forming in your throat. Desperation, maybe? Just a hint? A little urgent, a little… pleading? It’s a little hard to decipher, between the general lack of emotional lilt in his voice and the synthetic warp of his helmet. “I can pay you. Handsomely. Just watch my back, only for today, and I’ll take you home right after.”

You consider it—well, not like your consideration changes anything. You’re already on this forsaken ship, hurtling towards who-knows-where, so might as well. A little extra something never hurt anyone. Especially you.

You need the credits. Bad. The shop’s been struggling a little, and if you’re being honest, having the Mandalorian come in was the best thing to happen to you financially in weeks.

Okay. Okay, maybe you could do this. Watch his back. Just for today, like he said. You nod, mostly to convince yourself rather than to affirm him. “Okay,” you say aloud. You watch as the Mandalorian descends the ladder with one arm, still cradling the baby in the other. “So where are we going? A bounty, maybe? Someone who needs some good Mandalorian-style telling off?”

 --

It surprises you entirely when you land on the Forest Moon of Endor.

Really, there’s nothing here. Except for Ewoks. You have absolutely no clue, no idea what could possibly attract the Mandalorian to this place.

Except maybe, you think as the baby stumbles through the lush forest as fast as its little legs can take it—maybe this is why.

The Mandalorian hasn’t whisked you off to some exciting, gunslinging adventure. Not a bargain, or a job.

He’s brought you here for a day of nothing.

Granted, it’s not like you’re actually a part of it. You’re an awkward, outside-looking-in kind of spectator, eyes flitting nervously from vine to vine and grip tightening on the blaster whenever you hear even the slightest snap or crunch of nature. The gentle breeze carries the light laughter of the baby to your vicinity, and he holds your attention before your eyes focus on his guardian (dad?) a few meters away.

He’s… quiet. As usual. But for some reason, despite the seemingly impenetrable fortress of beskar and your inability to get a read on him, you can just tell, clear as day. It’s a soft sort of silence.

The chrome visor is undeniably trained on the little green baby as it chases after something that crawls on the grassy earth. The sky is a dusty blue, painting shadows over the Mandalorian and his tiny companion.

Serene. Peaceful.

You don’t know how long it takes until your tense muscles begin to relax from the calmness of Endor. Your breathing evens out and you set the blaster on your lap as you sit yourself on a large rock. It’s… nice. No pressure. Just a day with a kid and his dad doing absolutely nothing.

Peaceful.

While your body loosens up, the Mandalorian continues to stand across from you in soft stoicism. Based on his body language, his fight-or-flight response isn’t at the fore, but it’s ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.

But he’s, for the most part, present. Watching. Observing. Admiring, if the gentle tilt of his helmet is any indication.

You wonder, fleetingly, what it must be like to be him. To follow in the ways of the Mandalore. What he has to give up, what he has to live with.

His helmet snaps up to look straight at you. You jump.

He walks over to you in long strides, and you can’t help but feel like prey. Maker, he could have a smile on his face, could be the least intimidating person in all the galaxy—but the way he walks, all bulk and purpose, makes you feel like a rabbit in a snare.

You nod your head in the general direction of the baby, hating the way your heart thumps loudly against your sternum when he approaches. “So. Endor? For this?”

“Yes.” He moves to stand next to the giant boulder you’re perched on, holding his posture straight as ever. Your eyes flicker from his helmet to his chest plate, and this time your questions burst at the seams.

“Isn’t that heavy?” you blurt.

His head tilts slowly to face you, and you hastily turn yours away. Your cheeks burn. Scary. Fucking scary.

“Y-your armor.” He doesn’t have to say anything. Somehow with the look he’s giving you, shielded at the same time piercing, gets your mouth moving. Like a bounty trying to negotiate. You can’t look at him. You can’t. You’ve made a fool of yourself, asking such a dumb, rhetorical question that continues to hang in the air. “I-I was asking, if—if—”

“The beskar becomes a part of a Mandalorian. It’s worn with pride.” There’s a pause, and you can see in your peripheral that he frees you from the weight of his gaze and returns it to the giggling child. “But. Sometimes.”

You nod in short, slow jerks, trying to empathize with him. “You ever take it off?”

“No. Not in front of people, at least.”

“Even the helmet?”

“Especially the helmet.”

You’re pushing it. Testing the limits, the boundaries of his silence. For all you know he could snap like a twig from your probing.

… Maybe one more.

“But why?”

The Mandalorian exhales, his chest visibly expanding and compressing as the sound seeps out of the modulator, long and drawn out like the silences you’ve spent with him. “This is the Way,” he murmurs.

The Way. The tone in his voice, though barely noticeable thanks to the filter, is enough to remind you that he is a man underneath all that metal. You feel a little… bad for him. Covered head to toe in armor, never able to take it off.

So you kick off the rock, without a real solid plan in mind, and hold out your palm to the Mandalorian.

He cocks his head to the side. You imagine he’s giving you the wariest of looks inside the metal that sheaths him. “What?”

“I’m going to go.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, I’ll scout or whatever it is you call it. Just—what is it—secure? Yeah, that. And you,” you glance around, searching for the baby, “are going to get some downtime alone.”

He visibly tenses, and the stark contrast of his hardness and the thriving, dancing foliage amuses you just a little. Cracks that hard shell of intimidation you held for him moments ago.

“The kid—”

“I’ll look after him,” you cut in. Maker, he’s so protective over the little bean. You wonder what this bounty hunter had to go through with him to warrant such concern. “It’s why I’m here, right?”

You can tell he’s considering it. Just when you think he’s going to accede, however:

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll fire two warning shots into the sky if anything happens,” you promise. Your mind’s working a mile a minute—stars, you don’t know why you want to help him, ease whatever burden he faces—but you try to come up with solutions and answers where you’re able. “I’ll skirt this perimeter, far from you. I’m handy with a blaster, remember?” You hold it up for emphasis. “And, and—you can stay on the ship. Or in a super secluded corner, I’ll slip you some food and you can take off your helmet—”

“Stay here with the kid.”

“Huh?”

He takes a step backward. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

The Mandalorian disappears into the dense woodland without another word.

The baby gurgles at your feet, gripping the hem of your pant leg as it looks up at you once again. Imploringly, almost as if to ask, Up?

You scoop him up into your arms and sit back down on the boulder. “Think your daddy’s gonna have a good time on his own?” You scratch his ears, his eyelids drooping into inky semicircles at your actions. You soften. “You’re cute. No wonder he likes you.”

You get the feeling he doesn’t like anyone else as much.

 --

It’s well and truly dark when the Mandalorian comes back.

The evening creatures have started up their symphony to welcome the night, a gentle accompaniment to the rustling of the leaves and the faint, distant gush of water. The baby slept in your lap for a bit as you battled your own stupor, and he woke up with an energetic babble to continue exploring the small patch of forested, open space the Mandalorian landed you in.

He doesn’t scare you as much when he comes back. Maybe it’s the way he walks, a little less battle-ready and a little more eased, or because you’ve gotten past that image of him just being some steel-plated bounty hunter. Either way, you greet him with a smile.

“Okay?”

He nods, one short dip of his head. “Thank you. For taking care of him.” He turns to watch the baby attempt to catch something that… most probably isn’t there. “I’ve secured the area. Scanner says there’s no one here but us for another thousand mile radius.”

“That’s good to know.” You rise to your feet. “Ready to head back?”

“Actually,” he starts, the word dragging slow and easy, “I was thinking we could head back tomorrow.”

Well. That certainly surprises you.

“It’s… nice here,” he admits quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to say it. But you understand. Sitting in silence here in one of the less populated parts of Endor has been therapeutic for your soul. You didn’t realize how hectic your daily life back home truly was: fast-paced, requiring you to be two steps ahead to survive. Here, you’re able to be free from the need to stay on your toes, even just for a moment. Maybe the baby’s carefree energy is contagious, but being here, alone with him, has already done wonders for the invisible weight on your shoulders.

“It is,” you agree. One contemplative inhale; two more. Should you ask? Maybe you shouldn’t.

Ah, fuck it.

“So… since we’re staying one night,” you swallow, “do you want to, maybe, watch the suns rise?”

Mando looks at you. At least, you think he does. The hard lines of his helmet make you feel that his personality is the same way: sharp, cutting—he’s probably the type of guy who always looks people in the eye. You imagine he’s looking straight into yours. He stays like this, still as a statue, while you make it a point not to buckle from the attention. You wish you knew what he was thinking, how he was looking at you. Just to know if you’ve missed the mark and suggested something downright preposterous.

“Yeah.” His shoulders relax after an excruciating, lengthy moment. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

You breathe out a soundless sigh of relief, wind you didn’t realize you were holding gushing out of your lungs, and you beam weakly at him. “Okay. Great.”

“Get in the ship. We can rest a bit, get up in time for the suns to rise over the horizon. Then I can take you home.”

Ah. Home. Something inside you sinks at the thought as you climb into the cockpit, pulling you back to the harsh reality that your life is. Surviving. Working. It’s not that you don’t love what you do, it’s just… this is such a welcome reprieve. You aren’t exactly ready for it to end, even though this trip wasn’t meant for you at all.

At least both of you are on the same page.

You and Mando make camp on a relatively open field on a ridge that overlooks Endor’s teeming lush vegetation. Not much is different here, it’s still trees and plants and earth, but with the baby’s giant bug eyes full of wonder and zeal, it’s as if you’ve landed somewhere else.

A small fire crackles to life, and Mando throws a branch into the flickering flames. He settles back on his haunches and you sit cross-legged next to him.

There’s really just. Something about him. Something that intrigues you, pulls you in just enough, not too close to the fortress he’s built for himself but still, close enough for you to want to know more. You have questions. Still, so many. You gaze at the chrome visor, the fire’s reflection dancing off it in steady flickers.

Steady. Controlled. The possibility of bursting into a large, engulfing wildfire ever-present. You wonder if that’s him—if the Mandalorian is like fire.

“You should get some sleep,” he says after a while, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the peace that blankets both of you. “You look tired.”

Right on cue, you stifle a yawn. You couldn’t exactly take a nap and watch over the baby, and it’s beginning to take its toll on you. “What about you? You gonna sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Silence. The embers glow within the logs, a pretty, warm orange that makes you vaguely remember the suns you’ve seen before on other star systems. It coaxes you into a state of relaxation, your heartbeat slowing and your eyelids growing heavy. The walls you put up for yourself crumble just the slightest as you let your guard down. Just a little. Perhaps the fire has the same effect on him. What are the odds of him humoring you with another answer?

“Do you… sleep with it on?”

One second drags into many more. The fire crackles. The crickets chirp. The baby gurgles.

“Mostly.”

You don’t pry further. There it is again, crawling up your gut, that mild feeling of secondhand guilt coupled with a little secondhand sadness. And just very steadily creeping in at the edges—the inexplicable need to give him a taste of something he’s probably haven’t had in a long time.

“I can sleep out here. With the baby. You can sleep in the ship, so you can…” The tail end of your statement goes unfinished, fading out into just another crackle of the fire.

But he understands. There’s a weight in this silence this time, pulled with gratitude and perhaps a little awe. You don’t consider yourself a believer in the Force, but. You can feel the wave of subtle relief that radiates from him. Like… like no one’s asked before, and he’s too honorable to ask for something like some time to himself.

“Thank you.”

Your chin dips forward, the same time you feel your cheeks warming—from the fire or something else entirely. You don’t exactly want to name it. “You’re welcome.”

A pause. “Will you… be okay?”

“Tough girl like me?” You give him a sleepy half-smile. “I’ll manage.”

You think you’ve just gotten used to him, acclimatized to the way he keeps you at arm’s length simultaneously trying to maintain a certain degree of chivalry—but what you think you know of him is tossed completely out the window when he stands and pats you on the shoulder.

It’s brief. Just a second, nothing more; casual in itself yet somehow it holds the weight of a star system. To you, at least. The Mandalorian are warriors. They should not know softness… but they do. This one does.

He retreats into the safety of the Razor Crest, his silhouette fading into nothing more than a shiny glint, but the mystery of him shines brighter in your mind’s eye than ever before.

∎∎∎∎∎∎

“Mando. Hey, Mando. I can call you that, right?”

You bounce the baby on your hip, significantly more confident in your movements than you were yesterday. He’s taken a liking to you, you think. He lights up with giggles when you raise the pitch of your voice and scrunch up your nose to amuse him. You can see why the Mandalorian likes him.

You’re quickly growing fond of the little womp rat too.

The Mandalorian straightens. He looks at you in question. You don’t know how you can tell—you just do.

“Suns’re about to rise. Stop checking that thing and let’s sit down.”

He taps his vambrace a couple more times before his arm drops to his side. “Habit. Don’t come crying for help if there’s an ambush we don’t know about.”

You roll your eyes, scratching the baby’s whiskery forehead. “Sit. C’mon.”

You plop onto the ground for emphasis, and the Mandalorian follows in a far more bulky, yet somehow graceful, manner beside you. Endor is still colored a pale indigo, the first few rays of sunlight barely peeking out from the horizon.

You’ll be quiet this time, you promise yourself. No more prying questions, no more trying to wheedle information out of him. Just peace and quiet, a change of pace from the brutal noise of bounty hunting he’s used to.

“I actually… shouldn’t have done. What I did.”

You wait for him to continue; you get the feeling he’s talking more for his benefit than for yours. He’s not trying to fill the void with needless chatter. This is different.

“Picking you up and taking you away from your job. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

You shrug. Truthfully, you don’t mind as much as he thinks you do. “I needed a change of scenery. I’m guessing you did too.”

“I did.” He straightens. “But. Still.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Now, you count the seconds until he starts speaking, just to keep your mind from initiating the conversation. You get the idea that if you start talking, asking more questions, saying random things you notice about the changing color of the sky, whatever spell he seems to be under—being freer in his words, the beskar fortress opening just a tiny crack for you—will be broken.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight—

Eight whole seconds.

“I’m not even supposed to be doing this. Staying in one place for too long is… dangerous.”

“For you, or the kid?”

“Both of us.”

“Just a few more minutes,” you encourage lightly. “Until we see the suns completely.”

And there it is, that tip of the strong lines of his helmet dipping low, a finality in the gesture that renders you mute. An acknowledgment. Silence.

Golden beams of light begin to bleed over the tops of the terrain, the trees turning from a shadowed teal to a full forest green. But… slowly. You don’t realize how slow sunrises are until you’re actually watching one. The giant star inches its way up over the sleepy Forest Moon, its second half just barely noticeable and following suit. It’s kind of fun to try and figure out where one sun stops and the other begins.

“It’s been a while,” Mando starts, voice pleasantly low and modulated and throwing you for a loop completely, “since I… last watched a sunrise.”

You pick at the wool covering the baby. “Really? When was the last time?” You bounce the kid to keep him from fidgeting in your lap, a constant rhythm to lull him into a tranquil disposition.

Mando leans back against both his arms, head going to one side in thought. “I was a foundling. I can’t remember much of it—just the feeling. How warm the sun was. Everywhere. It was… it was blinding. I think.”

You gaze at him. The threat of heaviness hangs between you, and you attempt to keep an air of lighthearted conversation before it can drag you down into a pit you’re not quite ready to jump into. “And now? Too many bounties to hunt?”

He turns his gaze to the horizon. “Something like that.”

The morning breeze caresses the tendrils of your hair, fanning out behind you while the baby reaches in vain to capture a tiny insect that flies past.

Stars. Something in his answer shakes you. Not an earth-splitting, roaring kind of shake—it’s a quiet rumble, enough to rouse one who was sleeping. Enough for one to go, “What was that?” and wonder if what they felt was real.

He’s a bounty hunter. He shouldn’t be sitting here, with you—with a kid, for Maker’s sake—watching a sunrise on Endor. All beskar, all tough, he probably fought tooth and nail to survive. He’s probably killed more people than you’ve seen at the shop. His silence is probably calculating after years of hunting. Distrustful of strangers, always strategically two steps ahead. For him, it’s probably killed or be killed. That’s probably second nature, hell, first instinct maybe, for him. Probable. Not fact. Still—you get the feeling you’re not quite off the mark.

But for him to mention the last time he saw a sunrise.

He’s scary. Stoic, emotionless, intimidating…

But he was someone before he put his armor on.

Metal maketh a Mandalorian. But also, not really. Of course there’s more to it. But it’s all you and most see him as: just some metal bounty hunter chasing coin. It’s easy to forget there’s a man underneath, warm and alive and likely just as human. Does he allow a smile underneath his helmet? Does he hold his laugh back, does he let his tears fall freely?

And then somehow, gazing absently at the lazily rising suns, its warmth spilling over the horizon, something guts you. A realization. One not so outrightly jarring, but it hits you with surprising force nonetheless. It wriggles its way to the tip of your tongue, somewhere between a question and a statement that you fight to withhold.

You don’t doubt that he’s seen the sun rise. Has he taken the time out to sit here, like this, and watch? Probably not. But you don’t doubt he’s seen it.

You doubt that he’s seen it since he swore the oath.

The baby brings you back to the present, his gentle grip on your forearm rousing you from your deep thought. You glance at him, and then to the Mandalorian beside you. He’s absolutely set in his seat, still and silent like he always is. You wonder if he’s always been like that. Or if without the helmet, it’s a different story.

You have too much respect for him—fear, yes, but mostly respect—to ask him to take it off with you next to him. So instead, you scoot gingerly, careful not to jostle the baby too much, until you’re sitting with your backs pressed together.

You feel the slightest shift of metal against your hair as the Mandalorian turns his head partially to the side. A silent question.

You’re nervous. You don’t know why the tiny action has your heart thumping. Your fingers pick at the wool once more. When you speak, your voice is small. “I… you can—um, you can. Take off your helmet. I won’t look. Promise.”

The wind whistles in your ears, and you wonder if it carried your voice away. Or if you’ve just insulted him. Oh, Maker, why do you have to be so fucking impulsive—

“The suns are rising here. On this side.”

“I-I know,” you trip, “but you know. Endor. Binary star system, all that. But we’re on the Forest Moon, right? So—so I’ve heard stories that—”

“You want to watch the suns rise.”

You huff, a little exasperated. What exactly are you frustrated about? That he’s deflecting so much? That you’re stammering every two seconds? That you’re trying to do something nice but you feel it’s going completely over his stupid metal head?

You exhale and try again. Sure enough, climbing inch by inch, another celestial body begins to rise up into your eyeline. “They say Endor—the planet, I mean—sometimes acts like a second sun.”

“Endor has two suns.”

Maybe you’re crazy, but you swear you hear a smile somewhere through that warped voice filter.

“I mean—” your cheeks are heating up now, “they say you can watch the suns rise on both sides if you’re on its moons. But one of them’s not really the sun. Duh. Endor just. Reflects the light, so it looks like the sun. Or-or something like that.”

“And you see it?”

“Right now? I do.” You bite your bottom lip, briefly debating if you should vocalize what you’ve been thinking just now. “I just… have you ever seen a sunrise? Without that thing on?”

Oh, you’ve done it now. If you were toeing the line before, now you just straight up cross it, ignoring any and all boundaries. Maker, you’ve literally just met him. But here you are, running your mouth and doing uncharacteristic things.

But he’s surprised you multiple times too. His kid. His awkward softness. Or at least, his willingness to try for it.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I-I wasn’t thinking, and—”

Something thunks against the hard earth. A fraction of a tilt of your head to the side, and a brief glint of metal twinkles out of the corner of your eye.

You’ve never straightened so fast.

Your heart continues to thump, a staccato that has your nerves skyrocketing. Don’t look. He’s trusting you. Don’t look.

You never expected the steel fortress to crack even just a little. But here, right now, he’s opened a fucking gate with you.

You’re too afraid to even speak right now, afraid that it will burst whatever precious moment you two are both sharing and experiencing separately. You feel the Mandalorian inhale and then exhale, equally long and deep, as he sags against you.

Tired. Relieved. Heavy. Eased.

Unmodulated.

Vulnerable.

After a few moments your taut muscles begin to loosen and you nestle as much as you can into the armor on his back. His head gently bumps against yours, and you stiffen.

The baby coos in your arms. You relax minutely.

You spend seconds, minutes, possibly even hours sitting back-to-back with the Mandalorian in companionable silence. Endor isn’t as blinding as its suns are, but it’s still incredibly pretty to watch its reflected light crawl over the horizon. You sit and watch until the light spreads over the entirety of the Forest Moon, until your shadows slowly disappear, in awe of the absolute tranquility of it all. It just feels right, even with his beskar pressed against your back and the baby babbling from time to time. It shouldn’t, but it does, and your heart fills with warmth that spreads through your veins, like the sun’s a beacon of warm feelings and you’ve just absorbed it all. You close your eyes. And you commit this moment—this singular, uninterrupted moment that’s forever yours—to memory.

“This is nice,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees, “it is.”

∎∎∎∎∎∎

It kind of really fucking breaks your heart when you exit the Razor Crest and enter the shop with a bag full of credits.

Of course it had to end. What were you thinking? That somehow, the Mandalorian was going to offer you to stay? What would you even do?

After you and Mando shared such an intimate (at the same time, not) moment together, it’s kind of… strange to be back where you started. In the shop. A good distance apart.

About to say goodbye.

“Thank you,” he says, his modulated voice ringing familiar and foreign at the same time.

“My pleasure.”

Awkward. It’s not strained, but… it’s off, considering this morning. The intimacy of such an innocent moment. Do you… hug? Do Mandalorians hug?

He glances at the ship. “I should get going.”

“Your ship’s all good. I, uh, checked once we landed.”

“Thank you.”

Gratitude. Always, with him. Your cheeks burn.

He turns to walk up the ramp, and before you can stop yourself your mouth opens before your mind can protest.

“Hey Mando—”

He stops, turns to face you. That piercing gaze. You just know it. You smile, hoping he smiles under his helmet. You really, really hope he’s smiling under there.

“Be safe.”

He waits a beat. Then another. And then—

“You too.”

Your heart drops, just a little, but you keep your smile on your face and your eyes trained on the Crest as the engines power up. And then he’s off, taking his kid with him along with the memory of his brief period of respite with you.

Maybe another day, when the last thing you’d think you’d be doing is holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool, will be the day he comes back.

The chances of that are slim. But still, you’ll take your chances.

You like those odds.

[927roses-and-stuff]

Miracles in Gotham Chapter 5: Tales of the Misguided Serpent

I really am sorry it's taking more than five chapters for them to actually get to Gotham, by the way. I know most fics will usually have them there by the first chapter. I just like having a lot of build up for the plot and future subplots, so please bear with me!TW: Explicit minor character death and violence in war. Mentions of PTSD, depression, anxiety, and self-harm. 

Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading this story and (hopefully) enjoying it so far! I realize I don’t say it enough, but I truly appreciate everyone who took the time to read this fic, and knowing that there are people who enjoy it are part of my inspiration to write more. As always, an extra thank you to @ozmav for the AU, and @mystery-5-5 for helping me through the writing process (and dealing with my rants).

There will be mentions and allusions to real life events and locations associated with World War II. I don’t mean any disrespect, and any character mentioned and associated within the story is purely fictional. This is not meant to be an accurate depiction of WWII or war in general, nor is it meant to be a mockery of what actually happened. There will also be brief mentions of PTSD, depression, and anxiety symptoms and self-harm. These are all based on research from sources that my therapist has given me (i.e. Centre for Clinical Interventions) and my own personal experiences. 

Lastly, Alfred is in his mid-teens here (because he would fake his age to get into the army) and he isn’t the all wise and knowing Alfred Pennyworth we know and love just yet. And we all know how Master Fu loves giving Miraculous to unqualified, unprepared owners XD. 

P.S. Not me making Sass oblivious to human stuff because I don’t know a lot of war stuff. 

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn

First Previous Next Fanfic

“Tell me everything you know about this Alfred Pennyworth and your time with him, Sass. I need to know if he can help before considering everything.” 

The snake kwami merely nodded. “Of course, my Guardian.”

“Alfred Pennyworth was one of the best snakelets I have ever known, even if in the end, he did not believe so. If given the time, perhaps, he could have mastered the Snake Miraculous in all of its power, despite his young age. I think he would’ve been only a year or two older than yourself...” 

August 1943, Northwest Europe

“Alfred Pennyworth, I am Sass, kwami of the Snake Miraculous, of Intuition. I will grant you the powers of Second Chance, so long as you promise to use your powers for good.” 

The snake kwami held out his hands gracefully as he finished introducing himself to his new owner. The current Guardian had told him of his duties before he was handed to the young man in front of  him. In times of war, a little intuition could go a long way. 

As Alfred continued to remain unresponsive, Sass began to worry. Alfred Pennyworth was a young man with sharp eyebrows and dark, piercing eyes dressed in a camouflage dark-green military uniform complete with the green beret covering his scalp . Sass noticed the tiny tremors of his shoulders and his tightly pressed lips,  although it would be unnoticeable to the untrained eye. They were in a dimly lit room, although it was strangely quiet for times of war, as the Guardian had relayed to him. 

It had been perhaps the strangest experience that Sass had encountered with a human, although he didn’t have that many to rely on. The young man continued to stare at Sass, and in all his infinite patience, Sass floated in place, and entered a meditative pose above the box he had just come out of.  From the little he knew of humans, they were often slow, narrow-minded creatures who needed more patience than most kwamis were willing to give. 

However, despite the strangeness of it all, Sass felt a warm kinship with the still man in front of him. 

Sass was unsure of how long it had taken for Alfred to be shaken out of his stupor, but he soon closed the box carefully and addressed him. 

“Hello. You’re the friend Mr. Fu told me of?” He asked hesitantly. 

“Yesss,” Sass nodded. “Master Fu is the current Guardian of the Miraculous. You must be someone special for him to entrust you with me, and me with you.” 

Alfred nodded slightly. “Yes, he mentioned that you would help me in my times of need.” 

“That is correct.” 

Sass watched as the young man bit his lip in thought and lightly traced over the marks on the box. “Sass, was it?” 

“Yesss.” 

“...I am Alfred Pennyworth.” 

“I am aware.” 

He looked up from the box and lightly cupped Sass in his hands. Alfred’s eyes squinted at him, his eyes roaming over his tiny form suspiciously. Sass stayed still for him, not feeling uncomfortable at the human’s scrutiny. Humans were suspicious of the unknown, Sass decided. They were wary even when there was evidence to say otherwise. 

When Alfred seemed satisfied, he spoke again. “Why would Mr. Fu give me a tiny snake?” 

Sass frowned. “I may be tiny, human, but I am powerful. With the bracelet you hold in that box, you will be able to turn back time for an unlimited amount of times within an allotted 5 minutes after the first reset. With my help, you are able to directly change events around you as they happen, for as much as you wish.” 

The young man’s eyes widened and gulped; Sass was unable to determine if it was out of terror or fascination. 

“Why would he entrust me with such a power?” 

“The Guardian’s mind works in mysterious ways. Perhaps, he wanted to give you a chance to see in yourself, what he saw in you.” 

His breath hitched, and he gulped again. “And what if I don’t like what I see?” 

Sass floated upwards to meet Alfred’s eyes. Yellow eyes met dark brown as he spoke. “That will all depend on you.” 

For the next few months, Sass watched as Alfred Pennyworth trained with his fellow soldiers as part of the Achnacarry in Scotland and eventually recruited to the No. 47 (Royal Marine) Commando based in Dorchester once the new year came. It had been the longest that Sass had interacted with any of his holders. He took to hiding in the pockets of Alfred’s uniform, although he often wished he had another place to hide when Alfred and the other humans were training with ringing, deafening gunshots,  the thundering footsteps of a hundred men caused tremors within the soil, and the hoarse shouts and screams of soldiers in a stimulated battlefield. When the soldiers were off-duty, Sass liked the chatter as Alfred and the others conversed with one another, their different tones whether morose or jovial, since it helped him drift off to sleep in Alfred’s warm pocket. 

In what little downtime that they had, Alfred liked to ask Sass questions about the Miraculous, what they did, their purpose in the world, the limits of his own Miraculous, and always, why he was chosen to bear such a great responsibility. Sass always told him what he could (although being inactive for so long left him little knowledge of other holders), and always repeated what he had told Alfred the first day they met. Sass liked being with Alfred. He was intelligent, curious, logical, and sensitive to information. Despite the grim circumstances that surrounded their partnership, he was glad that Master Fu had chosen Alfred Pennyworth.

It had been nearly a year since Sass and Alfred met when the No. 47 Commando received their first operation on June 6, 1944. Alfred often told him stories at night of his family, his home, and his surroundings. The night before as they were preparing for battle, Alfred had shared his worries with his fellow soldiers and Sass. It would be the first time they would be in a real battle, outside of Achnacarry or Dorchester. As the Commando arrived at the battlefield the day after, all the soldiers were crammed onto a ship. It had only taken a few hours to arrive at the outskirts of where they needed to be. Only a few miles from the shore, and already the sounds of battle rang throughout the ships, and the soldiers prepared to join in. Some would join as soon as the ship hit shore while others would stay behind to make sure that their ship didn’t sink and attack the opposing army from the water. Alfred was one of the soldiers that would be fighting the moment they hit shore, so he made sure to find an empty space to transform. Sass found himself and Alfred cramped near the ship’s engine, where Alfred was already fiddling with the Snake Miraculous. 

“I won’t look like a circus act when I transform, will I, Sass?” 

Sass shook his head. “No. Make sure to imagine yourself as you are, and the Miraculous will conform to your desires. You might find that your clothes will feel scaly as a side effect. Either way, your clothes will protect you from most impacts, although I’m not sure about bullets.” 

Alfred smiled. “I see. Will I be able to talk to you when I’m transformed?” 

“No.”  Alfred’s eyes widened. “Fear not. I will still be with you, as a part of you, but we will not be able to interact as we are now nor will I be conscious when you are transformed.”

Alfred took a shaky breath. “Alright. Thank you, Sass. Anything else I need to know?” 

“Use it wisely. Seeing that many possibilities will take a toll on you. You will most likely witness one moment in time in different ways. Others may not remember the other timelines, but you will. Do not forget that.” 

Alfred gave a curt nod. “This is it, then?” 

“Yessss, I wish you luck, Alfred.” 

“As do I,” he chuckled. “Sass, scales slither.” 

As Alfred called out the last words, Sass faded into unconsciousness. He had faith in Alfred, and hoped he would work well with the Snake. 

______________________________________________________________________________

When Alfred de-transformed, Sass noticed the light in his eyes and the way he clutched tightly onto two soldiers a few years older than him. The battle was over for now, Sass mused, so Alfred must be relieved that he was safe and alive. Later in the safety of his barrack, Alfred recounted the battle in hushed whispers, how many times he went back to save just one more life (“To think, who might’ve remained dead if you were not with me,” he said, rubbing Sass’ head affectionately with his finger), or to take one more shot he missed the first time. Sass asked him the precise number of times that he went back in time during those allotted 5 minutes that he had used “Second Chance.” Sass asked him who he had saved, how, and whose lives were lost in return. Alfred answers both questions enthusiastically with a significant amount of detail, that Sass allowed himself to feel content. Alfred had saved lives, had done his part for his country.

Sass was proud of his snakelet. 

As time went on, battles were waged and the war raged on all over Europe. Sass didn’t understand human battles, but he made sure to stay by Alfred’s side for all of it. 

It was about half a year in that Sass noticed the changes that Alfred is going through. Like every soldier, he is marred with scars, had a more gaunt, more sickly frame that came from eating smaller rations and sleeping less, and dark circles under his eyes that emphasized how haunted he was. Yet, Sass noticed that Alfred was overextending himself. In every offense, Alfred volunteered to be in the frontlines. In every battle, he took the time to transform, which meant Sass was also often exhausted after every battle and struggled to eat the already miniscule portions Alfred spared from his rations. After every battle, Alfred was jumpy, going from soldier to soldier and striking up conversation whenever he could, visiting the infirmary and muttering apologies to the wounded soldiers. It took Sass a while to realize that the former had been people he had saved, and the latter were the people that he couldn’t or those that he almost hadn’t.

Nights were always the worst. In the daytime with the rush and hustle of war battles, there was not a lot of time for Alfred to do anything but act and fight, especially when he transformed with Sass. But at night, when there was a semblance of silence in his own corner of the barracks, Sass comforted Alfred through the tears, the nightmares, the bloodshed, and other horrors he witnessed. When Sass couldn’t comfort him, Alfred retreated to the arms of Leo Dupain, a soldier a few years older who knew of Alfred’s real age, and the person who Alfred recounted saving the most during his resets. He had sandy brown hair, olive green eyes, a square-like jaw with a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. Sass listened to their hushed promises of returning to the motherland and settling down somewhere in the countryside far away from the influences of war and its politics. Sass watched as both Alfred and Leo drifted to sleep, holding each other like they were each other’s only anchor to the physical realm. Sass watched as Alfred woke a half hour before the crack of dawn to visit the infirmary before beginning his training, never looking back. Each time, Sass noticed that Leo searched for warmth that had previously been there.

Sass knew that witnessing all of Time’s possibilities was a heavy burden for anyone, much less a child. Alfred related to him about comrades who had died from gunshots, from being trampled on, or thrown overboard. If not them, it was the patients in the infirmary, the ones who had fallen trap to insanity or those who had lost a part of their physical bodies forever. Alfred was inconsolable. By December of 1944, Alfred had anxiety, insomnia, and an unhealthy attachment to the Snake Miraculous.

During that time, Sass tried to teach Alfred how to be more responsible with the Snake’s power, how to use each return more efficiently, and especially, how Alfred didn’t need to use the Miraculous for every injury that his comrades endured. Sass had relayed stories of other Miraculous heros: Heracles, Hippolyta, Joan of Arc, others unrecorded in history who had struggled to learn the same lesson: that Alfred was not a god and he couldn’t save everyone. 

But war was brutal and without mercy, especially to those with kind hearts.

Everything came to a head when Alfred failed to save Leo Dupain before he could reset. Sass was thrown onto the ground as the transformation wore off, gunshots blazing in the background as Alfred’s screams pierced his tiny ears. Sass slowly shuffled to Alfred’s side, and climbed into a nearby pocket.

“Leo, Leo!” Alfred cried, grabbing the heavy body of Leo Dupain, whose leg had been blown off by a nearby explosive. Blood spilled forth from the wound, and Leo breathed in shallow gasps, as his body became limp. Alfred was soon covered in his blood and from the dust and dirt around them. Frantically, he tried to find spare cloth but was futile in his efforts. Sass could feel the tremors from Alfred’s body as he held onto Leo Dupain like a lifeline. Other soldiers had heard his cries and clambered to them, grabbing Alfred forcefully out of Leo’s arms and into safety,

“He needs me! Stop! I need to save him!”

“Leg’s been blasted off, can’t do much for ‘im now but fight,” a soldier- Gabriel Ackles- muttered. He had been one of the soldiers Alfred saved a week earlier from a headshot.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Alfred ranted hysterically. “I was supposed to save him; he wasn’t supposed to get hurt. He’s going to die…”

SLAP

Alfred stood stunned as Gabriel stood before him, red-faced and fuming.

“We are in battle, soldier! Get it together! You wanna help Dupain, Pennyworth?!” Gabriel didn’t wait for an answer before shoving a long gun of sorts into Alred’s hands. “You go out there and drag every Nazi motherfucker to hell or die trying! You got it, soldier?!” 

Sass watched as Alfred’s eyes dimmed into a stormy grey and stared at the gun in his hands. A second passed and with trembling hands, Alfred was marching back onto the battlefield, gun ablaze. Sass tried hard as he could to use whatever remaining energy he had to protect Alfred, but the amount of resets during Alfred’s transformation had exhausted him and he fell unconscious to the sounds of war.

When Sass regained consciousness, it was to Master Fu’s face. A chill ran down his spine as he fluttered around frantically searching for Alfred. They were in an empty room that only had a few books, two futons and the Miracle Box. There were two double doors that separated their room from the outside world and another, smaller door that led to the rest of the building. 

Where were they? Why was he here? More importantly, where was Alfred?

“Do not bother, Sass,” Master Fu said in a tone more morose than he had ever heard. “Mr. Pennyworth has returned you to me. It has been several months since you were inactive.”

Sass deflated and floated down to the ground beneath him. “Where is he now, Master?”

“I am unsure.” Master Fu looked out of the large double doors. “I am afraid that I have placed too many expectations on young Alfred. When he helped us escape London, I had given you to him as a token of gratitude and friendship.”

“Master?”

Master Fu sighed and turned back to look at Sass with teary eyes. “I could not have foreseen that I had cursed more than blessed him, Sass. He had refused to give you back at first, and it was only yesterday, a month since I last saw him, that you had returned to us.”

Sass couldn’t speak. He had really liked Alfred Pennyworth. He was a good man- one of the best. But, even he couldn’t deny the madness he had endured during his time as one of his snakelets. If kwami had hearts, Sass knew it would be obliterated by the news.

“I see, Master,” was all Sass said before Master Fu renounced him and his Miraculous.

Present day

“And that was the last I heard of Alfred Pennyworth. The next time I appeared in this realm, it was to Luka Couffaine.”

Marinette wiped away a few tears that had sprung up during Sass’ story.

“Do you think he would have anything to do with the Miraculous after all he’d been through, Sass?”

Sass bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Perhaps. He had many questions I could not answer. I am not sure if his trauma overrode his curiosity. I know he had been planning on studying the Miraculous more before Leo Dupain had died.”

Marinette played with her hands as she mulled over Sass’ response. Something about his story caught her attention.

“Leo Dupain? As in my granduncle, Leo Dupain?” 

Sass blinked, yellow eyes trained on her. “Perhaps.” 

“If they're the same person, then he’s still around,” Marinette mused, thinking of the one-legged elder from her early childhood that made her laugh with his silly jokes and warm cuddles. “I never really kept up with him since my grandfather kept us away from Papa’s side of the family. He was funny, though.”

Marinette entered a silent trance, going over all the new information she had received so far, while the kwamis waited with bated breaths. Alfred Pennyworth had deeper ties with her than she had previously thought. In another world, he would’ve been another distant granduncle. However, would she risk going to him in this world when the Miraculous had already scarred him so deeply? But what if he didn’t know about her granduncle? What if he spurned her away despite that? What if he didn’t? What had Master Fu seen in Alfred Pennyworth that he had practically given away one of the Miraculous to his care? How would she explain everything that had happened since their last argument?

What other choices did Marinette really have?

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, the only kwami comfortable enough to break her train of thought.

She sighed, not liking her decision one bit, but she was desperate, and in some ways, this would be beneficial for both Alfred Pennyworth and her.

“Looks like we’re going to Gotham City.”

______________________________________________________________

I really am sorry it's taking more than five chapters for them to actually get to Gotham, by the way. I know most fics will usually have them there by the first chapter. I just like having a lot of build up for the plot and future subplots, so please bear with me!

[seokiloquy]

Tip Toe - Semi Eita

Soulmate AU: Dancer (ballet) x Pianist + name on wrist

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader though they are in a more female-dominated role, Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+

His hands rested on your waist gently, guiding you in circles as your block covered toe dug into the vinyl matted floor. Your arms were raised in the air with your elbows and wrists bent slightly inwards to form an elegant oval frame around your head. The pointed toe at your knee lowered to the floor in a calculated motion. Point, ball, heel. Your knee bent to carry the rest of your transferring weight. Muscle memory set in quick.

The light twinkling of keys filled the air, guiding your moves like a trail of breadcrumbs. Up to point on the high note, drop on the downbeat, spin on the scale. The instrument’s strings vibrated in a happy tune that painted an image of blooming fields across your vision. You smiled, falling into your partner’s arms. You adored the feeling, like twirling in the air and sleeping on fluffy clouds with stars shining above you.

In the opposite corner from the grand piano, your instructor stood with his arms crossed, scrutinizing every dancer’s moves as the ensemble was practiced. He yapped out an order calling for one of the dancer’s heads to look up higher. The music continued.

Your partner’s hands shifted, one coming across your lower stomach, pushing heat through your bodysuit to sit against your sweat coated skin and the other catching your thigh as your leg raised higher into the air. The bent knee that held your weight pulsed before snapping straight, shooting you onto the end of your shoe in a tight arabesque.

You raised your arms, one ahead of you, fingers dancing carefully along your eye line and the other to your side, a little back. The man's hand left your stomach, shifting so he held your raised angle carefully. Toe first, he walked you in circles, spinning like a little fairy in a jewelry box.

After a 180-degree turn, he took your hand, slowly pulling you forward and out of your pose and into a waiting position.

The piano stopped.

"Water, everyone." 

Walking to the back wall of the studio, you ripped open the puckered opening of your flimsy bag. As you dropped the carrier and leaned against the banister that sat under the window, you tilted your head back to pour the iced water down your throat. Your head felt like it was floating, you sighed and sunk into the feeling.

“(L/N).” 

You coughed, choking slightly which prompted your dance partner to rub your back.

“Sorry, you good?” 

“You couldn’t have waited?” you forced out between coughs, the haze that had given you colourful illusions was gone. The dark floor and white light suddenly seemed a lot brighter. You winced, coughing some more.

Matteus, ever the awkward man he was, lowered his hand and offered you the towel that he pulled for your bag. You thanked him, dabbing your neck with the fresh material.

“You were a bit dazed there,” he said, turning to face the window next to you, sticking his pelvis backwards as he leaned on the wooden bar and stretched. “You danced well, as always, but dazed. Something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, closing the cap of your bottle. “I can hardly remember dancing. Honestly, like I knew it was happening but my mind was somewhere else. I think it was the music.” You turned your attention to the grand piano, where the ash-blond pianist sat, speaking with your instructor.

“Hmm? The music is a bit different than normal. I think it’s probably the new pianist they hired? Finally able to give old-man Monty a break.” 

Holding your wrist gently, you dragged the soft pad of your thumb over ink, making it burn under the heat of your hand. “Do you know his name?”

Matteus sat back in his heels before standing straight, catching your gaze as it zeroed in on the musician, unmoving even as the instructor walked to the centre of the room and called for everyone. “No clue.” He looped his arm through yours. 

You watched the loose threads at the tip of your shoe slowly unravel as you walked. Small pink strings slowly littered the black floor you stood on. Another pair? You looked to your fellow dancers’ shoes, noticing similar states of damage between them, nothing in comparison to yours though. Was it all the extra practice? Time to replace them.

Matteus, having actually paid attention to the words coming from your choreographer’s mouth, held your arm and pulled you to the side of the room. “Come on dreamer, time to practice.”

The sturdy dancer led you to the side of the room getting in the circular line, left hand holding yours as his right sat at your lower back. You watched the first pair of ensemble dancers began, running toe first into the center of the room as they waited for the music to begin.

The first key hit the piano. Your breath hitched, and without meaning to your head turned to the piano that was only a few metres away. Using Matteus’ hold to your advantage you leaned back, looking over the shoulders of your friends to catch a fleeting glimpse of the pianist at work.

His eyes were focused on the sheet of paper in front of him, never looking down at his fingers as they did their own dance. His whole body moved with a harder press on the keys and every note he played was visible in the floating of his arms. His grown out, shaggy hair (uncommon in the professional world, but intriguing nonetheless) swayed gently. You caught sight of his head moving upward, just about to get a good look at his face when Matteus gave you a good tug, pulling your attention back to the dance. He chuckled when your eyes went to his canvas slippers and nostrils flared.

You and your mirroring pair on the other side of the room pranced forward and once again you had become lost in the music. 

Early mornings in the studio were your place. No one seemed fond of being in hours earlier than needed and the thought of staying late to practice instead of strengthening or stretching sent shivers up your spine.

Unluckily though, today, like every week or so, was shoe day for you. No early morning practice, no solo improv, just the irritating sounds of ripping fabric and sound smacks of hard materials making contact as you broke in your new pair of pointe shoes.

Raising the expensive shoe over your head, you brought it down to the dance floor with a loud bang.

“That’s a bit harsh, what did the shoe ever do to you?”

Your arms froze above your head at the sudden intrusion. When did the doors open? You looked over your shoulder. On the other side of the room, lit up by the natural light that poured through the window, was the new stranger with musical hands. His casual jacket sat on his shoulders snuggly, sleeves hanging down to his hands. The soft-looking material made a wall, blocking you and anyone else from seeing the name that was printed underneath.

You hitched a breath as his arms flicked out, pulling the offensive fabric higher, only to be met with the sight of one bear wrist and another covered by a slick pair of leather bracelets. You sighed and only realized your mouth was open when you closed it to gulp down any drool that was trying to escape your mouth.

“Sorry,” you pushed out, lowering your arms and reaching for your ribbons and threading needle. “I’m just getting my new shoes prepped.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize you had to replace them frequently,” he said, nonchalantly making his way toward the piano in the corner of the room. His fingers reached to pull out a few slips of paper from his shoulder strap bag. They fluttered as he shook them. “Do you mind if I practice? I was given new music last night.”

“Ah right, we’re starting the opening today. Go ahead, I won't stop you.”

He gave you a small smile before taking the last few steps to the stool, setting the sheets of paper on the available ledge. He played the first note, then the second, and before long he was sight-reading and easily making his way through the opening number at a steady pace.

You stuck your needle and thread through the fabric of your ribbon and marked portion of your ballet slipper. Listening to the music he played as you soaked in the warmth pouring in from the windows above you. You looked up when he spoke.

“You’re an amazing dancer by the way.” He kept his eyes on the sheet music, jaw clenched tightly as he tried to keep even a thread of focus tied to the paper and not all over your presence next to him. “I’m surprised you aren’t in one of the lead positions, ensemble seems too bleak for you.” His ash hair seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Huh, oh thank you. I think your playing is mesmerizing. I hardly remember dancing yesterday, I was too immersed, ya know?” You tied off your last stitch and began slipping on your protective gear and pointe shoes

You kept your eyes on him, the bright sunlight made all the shadows in the room disappear into a void, leaving the particle-filled beams to give the man in front of you an ethereal stoplight. His eyes pinched slightly and he gave you a meek grin. “Can I ask you a question?”

You rose from your seat on the floor, stepping over to the side of the closed piano. Placing your fingertips on the edge of the instrument you began stretching, using the piano as a barre. “Only if I can ask one back.”

You watched as his fingers pushed against the keys. He — ignoring your legs moving beneath you — met your eyes. His brows raised in a shocked manner that made an endearing warmth grow in your chest. “How did you start dancing, it seems to come naturally to you?”

You brought your toe to your knee. “I was very hyperactive as a kid, so my mom enrolled me in dance. When they saw I was good but still very hyper, they moved me into a dance academy ‘cause the teachers were stricter.”

He laughed, shoulders bouncing as he bit his bottom lip. “Based on what I saw walking in, I guess it didn’t really work.”

You cheered, “You’re right! It didn’t! But I got super hooked on ballet and made them cough up a small fortune to pay for dance education.”

Resting your elbows on the piano lid, you sat back in your heels and flattened your back into a table, stretching the muscles behind your knees. You didn’t notice his wide eyes quickly shoot back to the paper in front of him. 

“So they made a dancing machine,” he spoke smoothly.

“If that machine had a tendency to twist their ankles, then yes,” you smiled up at his peripheral. He laughed. “Okay my turn, similar train, how did you get into music? More so, how did you end up here?”

“Well, in a similar fashion, my mom made me take piano lessons as a kid, but mostly because it’s a skill. I hated playing classical music at the time, but it’s grown on me now. In high school, I played volleyball, so the strong fingers definitely helped. And towards the end of that, I joined a band as their keyboardist.”

“A band?” You shifted positions, standing straight again. You moved on to a port de bras exercise, raising your arms into an oval shape before continuing. “Like a rock band?”

His hair swayed as he nodded and bit his lip. Caught up in both the conversation and memorized movements, you didn't notice his eyes follow your wrist.

“Okay, I have to know. How did you end up here?”

He laughed again, cheeks flushing at your enthusiasm and heart picking up pace. Not that you could tell. He continued, “well the band wasn’t going anywhere and I needed money. And my old piano teacher just so happened to have a few connections.”

The sun rose higher, and the conversation was never-ending until the door opened. Hand on the door, first in the room was Matteus, giving you a surprised look and waving you over as he mouthed off frantic words that you couldn’t make out. The music slowed to a deafening stop, leaving a dissatisfying chord to hang in the air that made your shoulders raise uncomfortably and nearly forced your knees to buckle. You raised a brow in the dancer’s direction, a bit aggravated at the group’s interruption.

You were unaware of the musician’s eyes trained on your profile as he shifted his hands to the beginning tonic chord. Unconsciously, you stood a little straighter, and the pianist smiled.

“He’s early,” Matteus whispered harshly.

Swallowing, you turned back to the black-tipped haired pianist, nervous smile painting your features. He wanted to reach out and soothe the frantic lines on your face, holding your cheek gently.  “What’s your name?” you asked hurriedly. 

He laughed gently, and you swore the sun began to shine brighter. “Eita. Semi, Eita.”

You smiled as he reached out to hold your wrist delicately between his fingers. The name he hoped to hear rolled off your tongue in a hush.

You spent the rest of the day dancing in the sun.

I want to write longer fics like Catch Me If You Can, Pumpkin Spice, and Cross the Pacific, but I feel brain dead. I will at some point. I’m certain. But that point isn’t now. I hope you liked this fluff though. - Bacon

Posted: 31/01/2021

[strangefable]

Moodboard Trades Masterpost

I’m open for moodboard trades! I decided a formal post laying out all the details would be easiest for everyone. It’s a little long, but I want to cover all the bases, so bear with me. A few things up front:

1) My free time is limited, so I’m asking for patience first and foremost. I’m currently averaging about one board per week. I’ll keep you updated, but these will not be fast!

2) DMs work best to ensure clear communication both ways. I may have extra questions. Also, you’ll have a chance to ask for changes if anything doesn’t work for you. DMs mean you get final approval.

3) You must be following me. New followers are welcome, but only if you intend to stick around.

4) Your board is yours. Post to your blog, use for fic headers, whatever you’d like, all I ask is to please credit me. I post them to my blog after your final approval purely for housekeeping purposes.

5) There’s no limit on how many boards you can request, but please, only request one at a time. I will, however, require a one-to-one trade for each board. Trades can be any art. Drawings, graphics, even fics, but I will require a fair trade from now on. I’m not making any more for free.

What You’ll Get:

You’ll get a single PNG file that is 920px square with transparent borders. It will have 9 squares of different images that relate to your subject. I do a lot of subtle edits, so they’ll each be customized just for your board. I may rarely reuse source images, but the edits will always be unique. Some examples: here, here, or here. Check this tag to see them all.

What I Need From You:

1) Subject - This one’s obvious: the character, ship, story, fic, etc. you’d like the board to be about. Any fandom or original work you want. OCs are welcome! As is anything canon, fanon, AUs, etc.

2) Images or Keywords - Please share any screenshots, commissions, and/or faceclaims to give me a general idea of appearances. (Pinterest boards are also welcome.) You may also give me any specific images you’d like used if you have them.

Don’t have any images? Totally okay! Tell me about your subject. Basic description: hair color, eye color, skin tone, their style, etc. (Punk? Hippie? Hairstyle? Leather jackets? Socks with sandals?) I mostly use faceless images, but if you have faceclaims, let me know. Include anything special or significant to your subject: objects, places, hobbies, foods, weapons, clothing items, etc. Do they have any notable traits or quirks? (Must her makeup always be perfect? Does he arrange flowers to help him relax? Do they still sleep with their teddy?)

You may also link any character bios, fics, or your blog’s tags for the subject. The more search terms I have, the better!

3) Words and Quotes - Any quotations, catchphrases, or just words and themes you associate with them. Clichés, tropes, archetypes, common sayings, and so on. (e.g., Adventurous nature? Quiet homebody? Reluctant hero?)

If you have a specific quote, phrase, lyric, line from your writing, etc. that you want included, awesome! I’ll try to read (and comment) any relevant fic you share. I can’t promise to read it all, but I’ll do my best. (If the board is focused on a single fic; I’ll read it all in that case. If it’s your magnum opus, it’ll take longer, so keep that in mind.)

If you have any songs or playlists, great! I have a hardline 3 song per board maximum. I don’t use Spotify, but if you give me titles and artists, I’ll find them.

4) Colors - What colors would you like me to focus on, if any? A range of 2-4 is good. General rule of thumb is to have some contrast or balance, e.g., a warm color and a cool color, or a dark shade and a pastel shade. (This is entirely optional; I can simply pick the colors that work best as I’m sourcing images.)

Final Notes:

If you want an entirely textless board, let me know! I’d still like any quote or word associations, because sometimes searching for those pop some amazing images unexpectedly.

I don’t have any fandom limits, but if it’s a fandom I’m not familiar with, I may have extra questions and may need extra time for research.

Controversial and triggering topics may be negotiable, depending on context, but I won’t break Tumblr’s TOS.

I also reserve the right to draw any firm boundaries, at any time, that I deem necessary. This includes refusing any request I choose not to do.

If you have any other questions, feel free to shoot me an ask (anon is open) or a DM.