#I thought just a diamond shape on the mugs would be a little boring so manta and holly designs

[angrybatart]

One last look at the sketch before I muck it up ink and color it in! Dancer's mug is supposed to have a holly design on it. ^_^; I tried to make it look like a decor style you'd see in Sky. Might fix it after inking.

Little extra thing I started as a comic, but might leave as is, and ink and color later as well.

[mumms-the-word]

he is enough

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Just some poetic thoughts about a certain handsome wizard who sometimes views himself as not having value when he absolutely does. Pic of my Tav Dani because that’s all I got. ao3 link

———

He is a man for whom grand gestures are as easy as breathing.

An evening in Waterdeep, conjured from the depths of a shadow curse. A night on the glimmering currents of the Outer Planes, your boat a small atom of light among an expanse of glowing stardust. He would create a castle out of amethysts for you, or find a way to pluck a single thread of the Weave to alter your fate if you asked.

All to prove his worth. His value. To show you his love and convince you that your love is not wasted on him.

And yet, you think, as you lay against him with his arms around you, his nose grazing the back of your shoulder, his breath ghosting across your skin, slow and even as he drifts off to sleep, you find in some ways that you prefer moments like this. When all the grand gestures fall away and you are left with these tiny little moments. These precious little touches.

Like freshwater pearls among glittering diamonds, you seek them out, irregular and imperfect, preferring their soft luster over the blinding glitter. You cradle them close to your heart, threading them together on a string, a poem of lines that are no more than broken moments, tiny gestures, little touches.

fingers grazing along your back  the kiss at the corner of your mouth his heartbeat under your palm calm, steady, quiet

You love to watch him when he isn’t looking, when he is wholly himself without the pressure to perform confidence for you. To study him the way he studies the pages of an arcane tome, seeking the secrets between lines.

his lines around his eyes between his brows the curve of his lips the length of his nose the sweep of his hair silver-threaded a hint of divinity among the mundane just like him 

Not that you’ve ever asked for his confidence or for a performance. You’ve only ever asked for a moment of his time. Posing questions just to hear him talk, watching as much as you listen.

his self-conscious smile halfway between arrogance and doubt arrogance of his knowledge doubt in your interest the way he looks off toward the horizon when his thoughts take him to planes you can scarcely comprehend  the way his eyes find their way back to you the instant he hears your voice or feels your touch you, like the Dog Star, guiding him home again

He worries at times, when he catches you watching him as he reads or studies or speaks, that he’s boring you. He thinks he needs to make grander gestures, that he just hasn’t found the thing that wows you yet. 

But while he ponders the wide expanse of the universe, wondering in which hidden corner he might find the one perfect thing to win your heart forever, you fill a universe of your own making with the sounds and sights and senses of him whom you love.

your littlest finger curled around his, a silent promise amid a busy day, a tiny link that chains the two of you together, the smallest constellation for the briefest moment his lips on your cheek, a teeny kiss made in passing as he moves by you, pulled momentarily by your gravity before roaming away, like a comet tugged temporarily into orbit

He would want you to focus on his abilities. His magic. The gestures he makes to cast his spells. The timbre of his voice as he shapes the incantations. The pull of the Weave as it bends to his will. You do notice. You do.

But there are other moments you find more precious. The tiniest things about him linger in your mind.

the steam that curls into the air

over the worn mug that holds his tea the one missing its handle the way his hand cradles the cup and turns it just so that his lips do not catch on the chip on the rim he's done this a hundred times before and yet you watch mesmerized

"When we get to Waterdeep, you'll want for nothing," he says, painting images of grandeur and splendor with an artist's brush, conjuring images of a dozen luxurious comforts. No more days spent aching from bedrolls on the ground. No more falling into exhausted sleep from a day of travel and battle. It's a lovely image, but so is he.

Just as he is.

You wish he'd see that. But his love for his goddess has taught him that he needs to constantly out-perform himself to retain your love and attention. That if he lets a day go by where he doesn't impress you, then he risks losing you forever. You wish he could glimpse, for just a moment, the way you see him.

a man mortal and aching but kind and sweet open-handed brimming with love just a man a good man whose heart and soul calls to your own just a man who doesn't need to do anything or be anyone more than who he already is because he is enough

You know it's hard for him to grasp the concept that he doesn't need to do anything to win your love. That he has it, wholly and freely given, no strings attached. It's the only theory you've ever known him to struggle with.

But when you take his hand and brush your lips against the backs of his knuckles; or you touch your forehead to his and sync your breaths in time with his; in the moments where I love you are the only words either of you have said for the last hour or more; you think you see the start of him realizing the truth you’ve already carved into the center of your heart.

He is already enough.

He will always be enough.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Riding High Ch 14: True Perfection Has To Be Imperfect

Chapter Summary: Frank gets the keys to the new apartment and the renovations start. Everything seems to be going so well for them all, until Fliss gets some news that rocks the very foundations they’ve been building.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: As always, if you like and enjoy please comment and Re-Blog. I’d love to head your thoughts and questions!

Chapter Song:  Rewind by Stereophonics

Series Masterlist 

Main Masterlist 

It’s your time, it’s your day, it’s never too late, to change lanes.

Frank could tell something was off the minute he pulled onto the yard. The usual chatter that rang out was absent and there just seemed a general air about the place that he couldn’t identify. But it wasn’t long before he found out why.

“Fliss is on the floor!” Mary said, her voice loud with worry as she pointed into the paddock.

Frank felt himself grow cold as he began to jog towards the fence, but let out a sigh of relief when he saw she was moving.

“Wait here…” he instructed Mary before, with a flourish, he vaulted over the side of the paddock and jogged across the riding paddock.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Oh, hey babes!” Fliss grinned up at him, where she lay flat on her back, Thor led by her side, head on her thigh “Just had a fall…but everything’s working, just giving myself a minute to get my breath and what not…” “Nothing broken, everything’s working.” Joanne looked at him from where she knelt by Fliss, the reins to the big, black horse in her hands.

Frank knelt down next to Fliss and looked at her as she reached out and gently ran her hand down his forearm. “Why did you fall?” “Oh Bronson got confused at the jump, was trying to dodge out to the right. I corrected him and he kind of took off, twisted mid-air and I got unseated.” she said

“It was a pretty good show of acrobatics from him.” Joanne nodded in agreement.

Thor gave a little whine and his head moved, his eyes looking up at Fliss who scratched his ear.

“I’m ok mate.” she said softly. “I’m good.”

“This wouldn’t happen on a boat ya know” Frank said gently as she looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Boats are boring…nothing like having a half tonne animal between your legs” she said, causing him and Joanne to smirk.

“You’re terrible.” Joanne shook her head as Fliss simply grinned.

“Ok, I’m good to go….“ Fliss said, sitting up fully. Frank got up off his knees and held out his hand, gently pulling her to her feet. She dusted herself off and then turned to take Bronson’s reins off Joanne.

"Can you give me a leg up?” She asked and Frank felt his heart stop

“You cannot be serious!” he spluttered back.

“What?” she frowned at him.

“You’re getting back on?”

“Yeah.” she said, looking at him as if he was stupid “I’m not hurt, not realty, just gonna ache like hell for a few days. It’s the same as riding a bike, you don’t stop if you fall off!” “It’s a little different to riding-“

“Besides…” she spoke over him “He’ll be unsettled and if I don’t get on and end well it’s gonna be in his mind, and mine for that matter, for next time and it’ll just be a nightmare so…”

Frank knew there was no point in arguing with her. Instead he held his hands up and backed away as Joanne boosted her up.

“What happened?” Mary asked as he reached the paddock fence she was now perched up on.

“She fell off.” Frank said simply “She’s ok though. She’s back on.” They watched as Fliss gently walked the horse round before picking up trot, then canter and then turned him straight for the jump. Frank grimaced slightly but he needn’t have bothered, the horse cleared the fence and Fliss gently slowed him down, patting him.

“Fucking crazy…” Frank mumbled to himself, shaking his head.

Whilst Fliss wasn’t seriously injured, she was certainly feeling the effects later on that night. Frank had called Verity, despite Fliss’ protests that she was fine, who had dropped round to Frank’s with some painkillers that were slightly stronger than your average ones. Fliss had taken 2 before dinner and as a result had started feeling a little bit woozy and light headed, commenting to Frank that it felt like she’d been smoking something funny. After diverting Mary’s questions on what that meant, they’d watched a bit of TV until Fliss announced she was thirsty.

“I’ll get it…” Frank made to move but she stopped him.

“I’m fine.” she said, sitting up with a grimace, grabbing at her shoulder.

“Baby, just-“ “Frank, stop it!” she said a little sternly. “I’ve fallen off more horses than you have women.” “Wow…” he said, looking at her and she snorted.

“I just mean…well it ain’t the first time and it sure as hell won’t be the last, kinda comes with the territory. I’m just gonna be a bit bruised.”

“Ok…” he relented, and she pushed herself up off the sofa and walked slowly into the kitchen.

A moment later he heard her groan “Fraaaaaaank.” “What?”

“The soda’s on the top shelf…I can’t stretch my arm.” “What’s that? You do need my help?” he teased. “Stop being a dick.” she shot back, and with a wink at Mary who was laughing, he stood up and headed into the kitchen.

Not long after that they all ended up heading to bed. Frank knew that tomorrow was going to be a long day as he was getting the keys to the new apartment in the morning and they were starting the work straight away, Bill already scheduled to come and help. He’d booked as much time as he dared off work over the next week, given that he hadn’t been working there all that long but thankfully they’d been understanding and Bill had said he’d take over on the days Frank had to be in.

Fliss stretched out, hissing at the bite of pain that coursed through her side and shoulder, the noise she made caused Thor to immediately spring up on the bed, nuzzling his face into Fliss’ causing her to wince a little as he basically led over her like a huge teddy bear.

“Careful buddy…” Frank gently chastised the dog, reaching over to scratch his ears.

,

“Stupid soft git.” Fliss said fondly, as Thor lay his head on her chest, teetering on the edge of the mattress, precariously, until a few seconds later he rolled and toppled off causing them both to giggle. The German shepherd shook himself off, shot them a scathing look, before he headed to his bed and flopped down.

“He didn’t like it when you were on the floor before.” Frank said softly, as she moved tenderly to lay her head on his chest. His hand reached round to card through her hair and down the side of her neck.

“No he never has.” Fliss said gently “Ever since I got him he’s been like that. He would always be the one that would lay by me, lick my face after….” she trailed off, the sentence didn’t need completing.  "He would growl something rotten at John when he started…but it was Loki that went for him in the end. That’s why John killed him"

Frank stiffened, his hand stilling on the crown of her head, not quite sure he had heard right. “He killed your dog.” he repeated.

“Yeah” Fliss swallowed “said he had bought him as a guard dog for the property not for me.” She sniffed a little “he poisoned him”

“Baby, I…” Frank sighed and she gently tangled her hand in the hair on his chest.

“It’s ok.” She said, instantly understanding. “I know.”

They lay still for a moment, her hand tracing shapes on his skin before she suddenly blurted out.

“How do you do it? How do you make being with you so fucking easy?”

“What?” Frank frowned.

“This…I mean…you’re kind, gentle, smart, funny, considerate…you know I’d half convinced myself you were gonna be crap in the sack to compensate it all but…” she shook her head and Frank snorted. “I don’t get it.”

“No, you don’t get it because you spent almost 4 years living with a cunt who treat you like shit”  Frank said simply, anger flooding his system.  “Fliss, I’m not perfect, far from it. I’m stubborn, opinionated, shit with words, I’m really untidy as you’ve noticed and, well, up until meeting you my longest relationship in the last 10 years lasted for 6 months…” he shook his head “All I do is treat you how you should be treated, with love, respect, care…sweetheart, don’t put me on a pedestal for being normal.”

She tilted her head and looked at him for a second, as Frank took a breath. That outburst had been a little uncalled for but he wanted her to understand, their relationship was normal. The way he treat her was normal. He was uncomfortable with this idea that she thought he was something special because he didn’t abuse her or hit her.

“I’m sorry I just…” he gently pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into her hair, kissing her head “You’re worthy of everything you said as a bare minimum honey, it’s not me being some kind of saint.”

“Well can I put you on a pedestal for being gorgeous?” she asked after a moment’s pause and Frank snorted, shaking his head. “Well you are.” she protested at his response.

There was another pause, until she broke the silence once more

“I do get it you know…” she said gently “Maybe I do appreciate you more because you’re not like him but…is that so wrong?”

“I’m not saying that.” he pressed. “I’m just telling you I’m not flawless.” “I know that.” she shrugged “Neither of us are. But…isn’t that what makes this so perfect? It is because it isn’t…Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without”

“Confucius…” Frank raised an eyebrow at her as she looked up at him once more. Her eyes flashed and she grinned at him “How very philosophical.”

She laughed “We’ll you’d know all about that…”

“Ok, here’s another one of his…” Frank said “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall…”

“See, I told you I was right to get back on Bronson.” she quipped and Frank laughed.

******

Fliss woke the next morning to Frank gently kissing her check, softly running his hand over her hair.

“Lissy, hey sweetheart.” he said, placing a mug of coffee on the side as she blinked and looked at him “How you feeling?” “Fucking sore…” she groaned. “What time is it?” “Half 8.” he said “Just packed Mary off on the bus.” “Half 8?” she sat up suddenly, immediately regretting it “Fuck…”she groaned. “My alarm…”

“Think the last batch of painkillers you took at 3 am wiped you out.” he said, with a chuckle

“I have a lesson at 10 in St Pete’s…” she was starting to flap and so he gently sat on the edge of the bed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Just…chill.” he shushed her “Joanne called before.” he nodded to her phone “I said I didn’t know if you were gonna be in but she said she’d open up and reschedule your morning appointments. Then you can see how you feel this afternoon.”

Fliss gave a grateful smile and sat back against the pillows “Thank you.”

“Take your time, your mom and dad will be here in a bit. Then we’re gonna get the keys and start on the apartment.” Fliss grinned as she reached for her coffee, “You excited?” “Yeah, yeah I am.” he said, honestly “Just wanna get it all started and then we can move in.”

She smiled and he stood up “Your mom’s bringing breakfast, said something about her boys not being able to work on an empty stomach.” “Her boys?” Fliss smirked as she sipped her drink “You really have got her wrapped around your finger.” He chuckled “Well what can I say, I’m a likeable guy…” “Hmmm you’re something I’ll give you that.” she said, and he laughed, heading back out of the room.

It wasn’t long before Fliss’ parents arrived and they ate breakfast, before Bill and Frank headed over to start working. For their first task they shut the utilities off and ripped out the bathroom, which wasn’t too big a job seeing as half of the damned suite was smashed up anyway. Once that was done they moved into the living room and tossed out the tatty old furniture that had been left before doing their first run to the local skip. Then they moved onto ripping up the carpet in the living room.

“Shit!” Bill muttered as a cloud of dust rose up from where they had wrenched the offending item free from the tacks. Frank blinked, backing up slightly, before he stood up, arm across his mouth. “Didn’t think it would be that bad.”

Bill rose to his feet and they both moved away, Frank picking up a bottle of water that was on the side and rinsing his face with it. He tossed it to Bill who did the same, the pair of them looking at one another before snorting a laugh each, and shaking their heads.

“And I thought this would be the easy bit.” Bill said, “Was less hassle ripping out the bathroom.”

It took them an hour or so to cut the carpet into easily manageable pieces, rip it up, and toss it into the back of their trucks. By now it was scorching outside, and also inside as the air con wasn’t on seeing as they had no power. This meant both men were dripping with sweat and Frank couldn’t remember ever feeling so damned warm or grubby in his entire life.

By lunch time they’d pretty much cleared the lot. Carpets, broken light fittings, broken kitchen doors and also the old washing machine. Grabbing another bottle of water, Frank stood outside the apartment, hand on his hips and smiled at Bill who gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Good job son.” he said, “It’s a blank canvas now. Dave will be here soon with the new bathroom, shouldn’t take us too long to plumb it all in, connections are already there…so we can start the tiling tomorrow.”

Frank nodded and grabbed his T-shirt at the bottom, lifting it up to wipe at his face and as he did so he heard a sharp wolf whistle. When he emerged from his shirt he grinned and looked at Fliss who was slowly walking towards them with Verity, Thor following behind, both women carried familiar paper bags.

Frank made his way over and she stopped, where as her mother carried on, quite tactfully towards Bill and Fliss grinned.

“Hey…” she said as he leaned down to give her a kiss and she wrinkled her face. “Gross, you’re all filthy and sweaty and…” she trailed off, her eyes glinting as her voice dropped slightly and she ran a hand up his arm to his shoulder “…actually… “Behave.” he raised his eyebrow at her.

“Don’t wanna.” she pouted.

He shook his head and nodded to the bag. “You bring me lunch, baby?”

“Need to keep your strength up” she winked “Mom drove us to Subway.” “I love you Verity!” Frank called as he fished out his Turkey sub and she grinned at him.

The 4 of them settled down where they could, Fliss sitting on the steps, Frank by her feet on the grass and Bill and Verity perched on the tail of Bill’s truck. They ate together, Fliss telling Frank she’d postponed her teaching now until Monday to allow herself time to heal a little, which he was secretly pleased about. It wasn’t long after they had finished lunch that the new bathroom turned up the women left them to it.

Frank and Bill worked well together and between the 2 of them they had it fit in little under 2 hours and Bill connected the water back up to test it. When it worked properly Frank gave a nod of satisfaction and smiled. The suit was an off white colour, nice and modern large bath with a matching stainless steel shower and basin unit. Second hand but you couldn’t tell, and he liked it.

“Not bad for a day’s work.” Bill smiled “The tiling shouldn��t take too long tomorrow and then…well, it’s a case of decorating and a new carpet…and you’re good.” At that point the 2 men heard footsteps and looked up to see Mary bounding in, followed by Fliss and Verity.

“Hey Stack.” Frank greeted her as she looked around. “Whaddya think so far?” Mary nodded appreciatively “Least it has a toilet.” The adults laughed and Frank nodded “Yeah, I mean we can move in now…” “What?” she frowned “There’s no carpet in the living room!”

“I was being sarcastic.” Frank said and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Roberta says sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“Well, she’d know.” he shrugged.

“Am I staying there tonight?” She questioned Frank.

“It’s up to you.” he replied “We’re not going out are we honey?”

Fliss shook her head “No way, I ache too much…but I was thinking we could BBQ maybe? All of us?” “Ooooh, yeah!” Mary nodded, agreeably “Then Roberta can come too.” Frank shrugged “Yeah, I’m ok with that.” “Mum, Dad?” Fliss asked.

Verity and Bill exchanged looks and Bill nodded “I need to nip home and shower first but…” “No need.” Fliss said “We swung by and picked you a spare change up. You can shower at Franks.” “Oh can I?” Bill looked at her. She grinned back in response as Bill turned to Frank “That ok? You know, seeing as it’s your place, not hers…” Fliss stuck her tongue out at her father whilst Frank simply shrugged.

“She acts like she owns the damned place when she’s there anyway so it might as well be…” he teased and she glared at him, digging him in the ribs.

“Shut up”

The next 10 days consisted much in the same vein. Frank had to work on the Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday but Bill took over the painting for him, and then on the Friday, a week after they had started, they fit the new carpets. The Saturday they spent fixing on the new kitchen doors and plumbing in the washing machine and on Sunday morning Frank fit the final touches, screwing in the new light fittings and then it was done.

That afternoon, Frank and Fliss stood in the middle of the living room admiring the finished article. It smelt of new carpet and fresh paint, a smell Frank had grown immune to having been breathing it in for god knows how long.

“It looks great” Fliss smiled, taking the fresh, light grey walls, darker grey carpet which was complemented by the brushed steel modern light fittings.

“Yeah, not a bad job…” Frank grinned. “We can start moving the stuff over tomorrow…” At that point Mary barrelled into the room from the hallway and beamed “My room looks awesome, Fliss, come see…” she said. Fliss allowed Mary to pull her out of the living room and followed her down the hall, passed the bedroom and then to the room on the right. It was a good sized bedroom, and it was freshly painted in Lilac, a colour Mary had chosen herself.

“Frank says I’m getting a new cabin bed soon with a desk underneath and I’m gonna put it against that wall…” she rambled on “And on that wall I’m gonna stick my shells and there I’m gonna have my shelves for my books and a TV…” Frank leaned in the doorway watching as Mary pointed everything out to Fliss, his face curling into a smile. He’d never thought something so simple as having her own room would make the girl so damned happy.

“…and Fred can have his own basket, although he never sleeps in them anyway…” Mary was continuing and Fliss looked up and caught Frank’s eye. He smiled at her gently and she beamed back.  “…and I can put my photos here…”  Mary finished “What do you think?” “I think it sounds amazing kiddo.” Fliss said, smiling at her “I can’t wait to see it all finished.” “Ok…” Frank pushed himself up straight from the door frame “Let’s go grab your stuff Stack and head over to find out what V’s made for dinner.” “I hope its beef.” Mary said, skipping out “Her Sunday beef is the best.” “Don’t tell her it’s chicken…” Fliss whispered as Frank laughed, dropping and arm round her shoulders as they made their way outside. He locked the door and they headed back to the apartment, Mary collecting her stuff. Once Frank had checked she had everything she needed he tossed it into the truck and turned to Fliss.

“I’ve been thinking.” he said, as Mary climbed into the seat.

“Sounds dangerous.” Frank rolled his eyes “I know we said we weren’t gonna move in together yet, but, well, how about you bring some stuff over once I’ve got all the bedroom furniture and then that way you don’t need to pack a bag when you come stay.” Fliss smiled at him. “A sensible suggestion.” she agreed, her arms sliding around his neck.

“It has been known…” he grinned, his hands dropping to her hips as he leaned down to kiss her. They both jumped as the horn on the truck sounded and Mary leaned across the seats.

“Come on, stop kissing, I’m hungry.” “How about we ditch her on the side of the road?” Frank said loudly to Fliss and Mary scoffed.

“Stop making empty threats, Frank.” she sing songed.

Frank looked at Fliss who burst out laughing “You have no idea how damned similar the pair of you are…” she said, with a shake of her head. *******

It was almost a fortnight later when Mary casually told Frank she had reached her decision about Evelyn. It was a Friday, meaning that she had been at University for 2 classes that morning, and was heading to normal school for the rest of the afternoon. Part of the reason that Frank worked late on a Tuesday was so that he could be flexible when it came to things like this and could pop out for an hour or so to go and pick her up when he needed to.

He greeted her in the hallway as always and she slipped her little hand into his as they walked back outside and over to his truck. She glanced in the paper bag which contained her lunch he had bought her from the deli near the boat store, a treat he liked to get her every Friday now he could happily afford it without worrying and she grinned.

“Save it for when you get to School” he said gently. “Otherwise everyone else will be eating and you won’t.” She folded the top of the paper bag over and grinned at him as he eased his way up the freeway.

“You drive like an old lady.” she grinned and Frank took a deep breath, a smirk on his face. That was a comment Fliss had made to him on numerous occasions, one which he normally retorted back with some reference to her driving like a maniac.

“It’s Florida. I’m blending in.” he said simply to Mary, smile still playing on his lips. She side-eyed him for a moment, in a way that made her look ridiculously like Diane, even though he knew, again, that was a habit she’d picked up from Fliss. Or Roberta for that matter. Frank had a feeling that as Mary grew up she was going to be a perfect candidate for the whole nature v nurture debate…

“I talked to Fliss last night.” Mary said.

“I know, you stole the phone off me when she called and ran off to your room.” Frank said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, why didn’t she stay with us last night?” “It’s Thursday, she never stays on a Thursday. You know this. She had paper work to do.” Mary fell silent.

“What were you going to say?” Frank gently pressed her.

“Huh?” “You said you talked to Fliss…” he said “Was that all you wanted to tell me or…” “Oh, yeah…” Mary said, “I asked her about whether I should see Evelyn.”

Frank took a deep breath, his face remaining passive “Right…so what did she say?” “The same as you. That it was my decision and whatever I wanted everyone would understand and be ok with it and that no one would be mad…”

“Of course no one will be mad.” Frank said gently “Evelyn is your grandmother, and it’s your decision if you wanna see her. Not mine, not the courts, not anybody’s but yours. And no one, not even me, is gonna be upset about what you decide, you got that?” “I know.” she said “And I’ve made up my mind.” “Yeah?” She nodded “I want to see her.” “Ok.” Frank said, licking his lips. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this but at least he would have control over it. “If you’re sure then I’ll call her on Monday and then we’ll make some arrangements.” “Maybe she can come here, see our new place.” “Maybe.” Frank nodded, although he had a feeling that hell freezing over would be more likely. No, contact would probably take place over some impersonal lunch to start with…but, well, he’d keep an open mind. This wasn’t about him, it was about Mary.

There was a moment’s silence as both of them were lost in their own thoughts. Frank stole a glance at his niece as she sat looking out of the window, chewing her lip and he decided to move her away from the subject as he turned off the main road.

“How was school?” he asked.

“Fun.” Mary nodded “Not like regular school fun. But interesting.”

Fun. Regular. 2 words Frank had craved for Mary all her damned life, and it made him smile to hear her so full of life, so happy, so settled.

Mary’s attention flickered from him to the seat next to her and she moved her lunch bag to look at it.

“What is this book?” she asked, picking it up and flicking it open.

“Discourse on Method.” Frank said, giving her the title of his latest read “Rene Descartes.”

“What’s it about?” she pressed.

“Existence.”

“Existence?”

“Yup. I think, therefore I am” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Well, of course you are. That’s obvious.” she said with a roll of her eyes and Frank supressed a snort. Everything was so logical in her little brain, there was an innocence to it all that he loved.

“I think about Fred, therefore, I am Fred…” she continued.

“Cogito ergo Fred?” Frank teased looking at her.

“He’s a dude and he’s a guy…” Mary grinned “And he only has one eye.”

Frank let out a chuckle as Mary tipped her head back and continued in a loud, ridiculous voice.

“Fred! Fred! Fred! Freeeeddddyyyy, Fred, Fred!”

Frank laughed began to slow down, pulling up by the school.

“All right, here we are…” he glanced over and saw Mary was fiddling with her belt and opening the door. “Hey, wait till I come to a stop…” he started to protest.

“Then come to a stop already!” she said, rolling her eyes. Without so much as a glance back she grabbed her lunch and shot over to the playground which was brimming with other kids. He watched, a small smile playing on his face as she made her way over, dropping her lunch to the floor and throwing herself into a game. Something that he would never have believed possible back in September when she’d first started. But here she was, almost 7 months later, like she’d been there all her life. His attention flicked to Bonnie as the woman shot him a friendly wave and a nod, which he returned before he set off back to work before someone called the cops on him for sitting outside a school staring at a yard full of kids.

As he was winding up work Jake called him, an impromptu guys night out was being organised for that night as Jake had a ‘pass out’, his words not Frank’s. Frank hesitated for a moment, he hadn’t planned anything with Fliss as such, but it was Friday, their night…

“Oh come on!” Jake snorted as Frank rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me Frank Adler is hesitating over a night out…”

“No, it’s not that…” Frank protested “We’ve just had a really busy fortnight and…” “Man you’re whipped. Already. What is this? Like month 5 and you’re already in the-”

Frank sighed. “I’m not whipped, I just like spending time with my girl, what’s wrong with that.”

“Dude come on!”

“Ok, alright…what time?” “8 is at Fergs…and if you don’t show I’m gonna come round your gaff and drag you out myself.”

Frank shook his head and cut the call before he dialled Fliss.

“Hey Sailor…” she greeted

“Hey sweetheart, listen, we didn’t have any plans tonight did we?” “No, nothing specific why?” “Jake just called, said the guys are going for beers and it’s been a while since we all got together so I was…” “Frank…” Fliss laughed softly “You don’t need to justify yourself. If you wanna go out, go out.” “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

“Well, Fridays are kinda our night…”

“I know but, well it’s not as much of a big thing now Mary has her own room, we kinda get our own nights a bit more often…” That was true. Frank grinned as he recalled the last time Fliss had stayed over, a rather heated make out session on the couch had ensued…something that seemed so normal to everyone else but had been such a damned big deal to them, being able to actually do it when they wanted instead of scheduling it round when Mary was gonna be out, or they were at Fliss so she was in the spare room…

“Ok, fair point.” he smiled and she laughed.

“I’ll text Roberta.” she said “I can take a bottle of wine round later with Mary…then I can, maybe, wait for you at yours?” “You don’t have to ask.” Frank said softly “You can stay whenever you want, you know that.”

“Well, that’s settled then.” she replied, before someone shouted to her and she retorted before coming back to Frank “Sorry handsome, I gotta go but I’ll see you later.” “Ok, love you.” “You too…”

***** After Frank headed out, Fliss wandered down to Roberta’s with a bottle of wine and after more loud hairbrush-karaoke, Roberta had cracked open the Bourbon and the two women had sat on the stoop until just gone 11pm when Fliss had headed back. Throwing on one of Frank’s T-shirts she crawled into the king sized bed (an excellent purchase decision that she had talked him into) and snuggled down into the new blankets (another excellent purchase decision), Thor jumping up and taking his position by her feet.

She can’t have been asleep long when she woke as Thor gave a low whine and jumped off the bed, nudging the door open and heading out into the hallway.

Then she heard a thud, followed by cursing.

“Shit…who put that there?” She heard Frank mumble, then he started laughing “Thor…get down…”

There was more laughing, and protests which Fliss listened to for a moment before she swung her legs out of bed and headed down the short hallway. She quickly checked the front door as she walked past to make sure he’d locked it behind him, and then headed into the living room to find Frank stood laughing as Thor jumped up at him, wagging his tail. The coffee table was slightly askew, and she suspected the thud had been him banging into it.

“Some guard dog you are…” Frank mumbled.

“Good job you’re not a burglar then…” Fliss said, causing Frank to turn round, grinning stupidly at her “Mind you, the amount of noise you’re making you’d be a pretty shit one…”

“Heeey…” he grinned, walking towards her “There she is…”

“Here I am…” Fliss nodded, and she couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face. He was beaming at her, a stark contrast to how John was when he used to come home drunk, but then that was Frank all over, a completely different person, and she knew that.

“There you are, my girl…” he stopped in front of her, his hands falling to her hips “C’mere…”

“Ok, someone had a good night…” she grinned as he placed a sloppy kiss on her lips.

“Yeah, it was…” he said, and then he suddenly looked around “So the bedroom moved.” he turned back to her and whispered conspiratorially “It’s not where it usually is…”

“No, you moved.” she laughed “You moved apartments, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” he said, nodding, before he looked down at her, taking in her bare legs “Is that my T-shirt?”

“Yes.” “I like you in my shirts.” he grinned, his hands flexing on her hips “Prefer you outta them though…” “That so?”

“Yep.” he said, popping the P “My LIssy…” “Ok, let’s get you to bed…” she patted his chest.

“Yeah?” he arched his eyebrow grinning.

“To sleep.” she said

“No sleep.” he pouted, dropping his head to gently nuzzle at her neck “Wanna give you some lovin’…”

“Yeah and how are you gonna do that when you’re too drunk to take your pants off?” Fliss laughed as she led him down the hallway.

“You can take em off…” he said as he stopped in the bedroom, looking round.

“Oh I can, can I?” she asked as he kicked off his sneakers.

“Yes…” he said, nodding as he sat on the bed. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll allow it?” Fliss asked as he started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Eventually he gave up and reached back, grabbing it behind his neck and with a tug pulled it over his head before tossing it to the side. He reached out to Fliss, pulling her close to him, his arms wrapping around her back as he looked up at her.

“I will allow it, but only because I love you.”

“Ok so let me get this straight…” Fliss chuckled as she ran her hand through his hair. “You’re gonna let me take your pants off because you love me?”

“Yeah.” he nodded.

“I’m so lucky…” she snorted

“Hey, I’m a catch…” he said, letting go of her and flopping back on the bed.

“I never said otherwise.” she grinned, moving to take his belt off.

“See, you do wanna get in my pants.” “I want to get you in bed, so help me out here hot-shot.” With a grin Frank raised his hips and she tugged down his jeans, dropping them by the side of the bed.

“Come on…” she patted the pillows and Frank shifted, moving the right way onto the bed and after a bit of a battle with the covers he’d settled himself down, one arm thrown over his head as he watched Fliss who gently turned off the lamp and settled down next to him. Shifting onto his side, his hand gently ran up her thigh, resting on her hip underneath his T-shirt.

“I love you.” he said softly, and she smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

“I love you too.” she smiled “Even when you’re being a drunken idiot.” “I’m not drunk.” “Course not.” “Ok, maybe just a little bit.” he conceded after a moment. “But I do love you.” “I believe you.”

“So much, you know what? One day, I’m gonna marry you.”

“Oh, are you?” Fliss asked, running her hand through his hair.

“Yup, and then we’re gonna make little Franks and Flisses and…” he stopped as Fliss’ laughter filled the room “Why are you laughing?” he asked her, his tone indignant “You dont wanna marry me and make babies?”

“Not after us being together for like less than 6 months.” she laughed.

“Well that’s just rude…” he mumbled, dropping his head forward so it fell to her chest.

He stayed still for a moment, mumbling something else as Fliss continued to run her hands through her hair, and it wasn’t long before his soft snores told her he was asleep. With a fond smile she dropped a kiss to his head and closed her eyes.

*****

Fliss took great delight the next morning in telling Frank exactly how much shit he’d been talking when he came home, including telling her that he wanted to marry her and make babies. He’d groaned and banged his head on the table as he sat nursing a coffee, instantly regretting that as his head was pounding as it was. Thankfully, Mary had gone with Fliss to the yard and spent most of the day there leaving him to suffer in peace, firing abuse to the Circle Of Trust What’s-app group, his only slight consolation being they all seemed to be suffering just as much as he was. Sunday was a lazy day spent browsing the IKEA website for a bed for Mary, followed by the usual dinner at Verity’s before they’d all collapsed in bed.

Monday morning had rolled around with the usual routine, shower, breakfast, kiss Fliss goodbye, drop Mary at school, head to work, check the list of active jobs for the week, start one of said active jobs, pause for a mid-morning snack from the coffee shop, resume work. All standard stuff, so it was a little surprising when the routine of the day was broken.

“Frank?”

Frank popped his head up from the deck of the boat where he’d been working on the steering column and looked at Fliss who was stood in the open entrance to the workshop.

“Hey…” he smiled, “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you but…”

Because he was, he was always happy to see her, he was simply surprised as they hadn’t arranged to meet for lunch like they sometimes did if she was teaching over this way. He stood up and reached for a cloth to wipe his hands on before he climbed down from the boat and as he noticed the look on her face he frowned.

“Baby, what’s the matter?”

“I err…I got a call and I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do and I just needed to see you and…”

“Hey, hey…” he said softly, his hands on her arms “Calm down.”

She took a deep breath as Frank glanced over to Paul, his co-worker and nodded his head to signal he was heading outside. Paul waved him away and Frank dropped an arm round Fliss’ shoulder and steered her outside into the sun and out of the view of everyone.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her and she nodded, taking a deep breath. He could see she’d been crying and he searched her eyes with his own as she looked at him.

“I got a phone call…from the Victim Assistance Services…” she said, her eyes wide “John’s been granted the right to a Parole hearing…they’ve set the date for 23rd May, 6 weeks.” Frank took a deep breath, concentrating on keeping calm despite the fact he could quite happily have kicked something there and then.

“I don’t know why I’m so shocked…” Fliss continued “I mean I always knew this would happen, but hearing that he’s finally got a date…” she looked at Frank “If he’s successful, then he could be out by the end of June and…”

“Ok…just because he’s been given the right to a hearing, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to get out.” “No, but…” she swallowed “The woman on the phone said that there’s a better chance that it will be refused if I appeal. But if I want to do that then I’ll have to either go in person or do a written or recorded statement and…I don’t know if I can…”

A tear fell from her eye and Frank gently wrapped her arms around her, pulling her to him.

“I stood in a courtroom last time, telling them exactly what he did to me…about how he beat me and degraded me…only to be told I that I was a liar, and that I liked it rough, that I egged him on and… I can’t….I can’t do that again Frank…”

She was rambling into his chest and he could do nothing but pull her close and drop a kiss to her head.

“No one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna, ok?” he asked, pulling away slightly, cupping her face in her hands.

“They’re sending me a letter.” she said “Explaining my rights and stuff in more detail.” “Ok, well, how about I call Greg?” he asked, a sudden inspiration coming to him. “I know he’s a Family lawyer now but he did do some time with this type of thing a while back, if you’re happy to speak to him I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to help…”

“I don’t know if I can.” she said “I don’t know if want him knowing every detail, I mean even you don’t know it all…” “I know.” he agreed. “And you don’t have to tell him anything to start off with, just ask his advice. And when we get the letter, we’ll deal with it together ok?”

She sniffed gently, and looked at him. “I need to tell you don’t I?” she said softly, “All of it?”

Frank hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but if this was going the way it looked like it was going to go, he was going to find out sooner or later, and as he looked at Fliss he knew that no matter how hard it was, how shitty it was going to be to open up fully, she would need to do that herself to keep some control over the situation.

“Like I said.” he looked at her “You don’t need to do anything…but if you want, then I’ll listen.”

He dropped a kiss to her head and pulled her back to him, gently rocking her to-and-fro as he squinted out over the harbour. He had no idea how this was going to turn out, but he did know one thing, he’d fight with to his last damned breath to keep the woman he was holding in his arms, his girl, his Lissy safe.  

@momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @marvelfansworld  @cobalt-gear  @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13  @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie​  @navispalace @patzammit  @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner​  @ayamenimthiriel​  @coldmuffinbanditshoe​  @disneylovingal​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @southerngracela​ @goldenfightergir​ @kellymat​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @icanfeelastormbrewing​ @pagesoflauren​

[incoherentbabblings]

An Endless Hope (6/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces who seem awfully familiar along the way.

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It was on the sixth time that Tim tried to leave her palace that the witch grew frustrated. Gripping his bare arm, she pulled him physically back into her throne room and up the stairs. She pushed him down on her throne, where he belonged, and tried one last time to make him see reason. She saw as the large sculpture melted slightly under his body temperature – colder than what any human was designed to survive certainly – but still warm enough to melt ice.

Her frustration mounted as she watched his eyes, nearly all soft blue leached from his irises, drift to the exit, and not at her. She gripped his chin and tilted it up to force him to look at her. He did, but it was obvious from his expression it wasn’t willingly.

“Why do you want to leave?” She asked, voice akin to a chiming bell. Tim supposed it could be nice to listen to, but he wasn’t really paying attention.

It took a long time for Tim to answer. His eyes once again drifted away, back towards the exit. Hypothermia caused confusion in humans, she knew this, but still, it made conversations frustratingly slow.

“Why do you want to leave?” She repeated. There was no anger in her voice, just a gentle curiosity.

Tim’s lip twisted, and he curled up into himself. It made a bizarre sight – a young man in just a t-shirt, jeans, and casual sneakers sat on a throne in an ice palace. The lady who had taken him ran a hand through his lovely black hair. She was wearing so many crystals and diamonds she hurt to look at, and her crown was white as her hair, eyes and skin. Tim assumed she was beautiful, though again, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“I’m bored and cold.” He finally answered. “I want to leave so I can get warm.”

“You can’t leave Tim. Your heart is frozen. If you go somewhere warmer, you’ll die. Being here with me is the only thing keeping you alive.”

He blinked uncomprehendingly at her.

“Why?”

“Because I want you here with me.”

That did nothing to abate Tim’s confusion and again, he asked, “Why?”

“I thought you might be different. I adore humans so… You are all so lovely, but you’re all so soft.” She brushed his cheek and for once he didn’t shiver, so cold was his skin that the temperature difference made no impact. “I try and pick one up, to keep me company, but their hearts can’t stand it, and they die from grief, from the cold, from loneliness… their hearts break. So, I freeze them, to try and keep them with me. I saw what you’ve been through, who you are, and thought you might survive. So, you can stay young, and handsome...”

Tim wasn’t really listening to her quiet explanation. Somewhere distantly it was registering amongst dozens of other informational sparks – he was cold, he was somewhere he had never been before, the lady’s face kept shifting in shape to women he felt he should recognize but didn’t, he knew how to get warm, he knew… he once knew… he couldn’t remember.

“I followed you because I was bored.” He said, looking her straight in the eye. Vaguely, he recognized he had interrupted her. “And I’m still bored.”

She smiled, but there was no joy to be found. “Of course, you are. I see how clever you are. It’s wasted in that city.”

Tim felt like that was a sentiment shared by many except himself. He wasn’t wasted in Gotham. He had many reasons to stay. Even if he couldn’t remember any of them.

No. Some things he could recall. No names, no faces, but he remembered and yearned. Hair like the sun and spun like gold. A songbird and a flower. Warm hands. A heartbeat. A kiss.  

He frowned at the witch.

“You took me from my warmth. I want to go back. I want it back.”

“Your warmth?” She chuckled. They had had this conversation six times at this point. Her smugness at the boy’s inability to escape the magic which held him here was only accompanied by a frustration that she couldn’t completely make him forget. Gently mocking, she breathed on him, ice forming in his hair. “Your love. The blonde girl? Do you even remember her name?”

Tim did not. He was not even aware that those memories related to another person.

“She will not come, Tim. No human can.”

Somewhere, like an instinct, Tim wanted to correct her. Somehow, he felt like the blonde girl could and would reach him, though he couldn’t remember why he wanted her so badly.

He got up to push back, but before he could, the tall witch pressed a kiss to his forehead. Tim gasped like she had sucked the air out of his lungs and fell back, limp and pale as a dead body, against the throne. He stared at his shoes, mind and voice silent, matching the quiet of the room. So quiet in fact, he could hear his very slow heartbeat in his ears.

“I’m bored.” He said finally, and his pale, empty eyes looked back at the exit. “And cold.”

Finally, the witch looked angry. She had pushed her magic to its limit, one more kiss and he would die, but no matter what she did, he wanted to return home. To the silly blonde girl who was neither his superior nor even equal. She hissed at the thought of him being another wasted experiment. Sneering, she leant forward, blocking Tim’s view from anything else. Spite flowed through her, and she decided to let the boy learn the hard way that he couldn’t go home. Even if it took a hundred years – and time passed so oddly here – for the message to make an impact in his cold frigid head, he’d learn to want nothing else but her time and attention. He’d forget his little thrumming heart and her hot tears and sunlight hair. She was nothing, not compared to the witch.

“You want to leave?” She smirked as Tim nodded. She ran her thumb over his lower lip, noting their blue colour. “You can leave when you finish a puzzle. If you quit, you must stay with me. How’s that sound, Tim?”

Stephanie tucked her hands into the muff she had been given. The princess had restored and cleaned her gloves, but there was something comforting about the muff keeping the tips of her fingers warm. The fur was thick, soft, and long. It felt good to play with. She had pulled the thick heavy hood up over her head, which reminded her of a sturdier version of her Spoiler cloak, and blinked heavily.

Somehow the horses knew where to go in the never-ending forest. Whenever Stephanie felt they were going off track, only a couple of minutes later they would redirect. It seemed to Stephanie they were taking her along the safest path.

Half a day passed, and she nibbled on some cheese and bread she had been gifted once sure enough that she was indeed out of the princess’ realm. She fell asleep in the carriage, exhausted from the past day’s events. She did not dream.

The screeching of the horses woke her up, as did the violent rocking of the carriage. It was dark out, but there was light in the form of torches. Stephanie, still bleary with sleep, peered out the window.

With a shock that promptly woke her up, a knife was thrust through the frame. She squeaked, throwing herself back against the seat as the knife narrowly missed her nose.

“Take the horses and anything she’s carrying! Even the clothes on her back!” Someone cried out. She heard the horses continue to shriek, kicking and bucking, and realised that she was being – for a lack of a better term – mugged.

“Oh finally!” She gasped. “Punching time!”

Stephanie kicked the side door open and jumped onto the nearest bandit, clambering onto their shoulders, and spinning, twisting the man off his feet. She rolled forward, fully prepared to fight off whomever would dare.

She did very well for herself, considering she was in a dress and fighting half blind in the dark. She counted eight men and woman, and had managed to knock five of them down semi-permanently when one – a giant hulking shadow of a man – managed to wrap his hand around her braided hair (Bruce had said she should have cut it he told her) and threw her on the ground. Next thing she knew, there was a knife at her throat. She did not miss that it was red with dried blood. She hoped it was not people blood, but staring into the grey eyes of the man, she knew it was a foolish hope.

“A little lamb you are not.” He muttered, voice quiet and flat. Stephanie kicked and thrashed, but it was no good. She felt him press the knife down against her neck and she gasped. Panicking, the sound of her skin slicing open in a shallow long cut made the blood rush to her face.

Abruptly, the man grunted with pain and flinched back. Stephanie saw as a little boy, no more than ten, bit the ear of the man.

“Brat!” He grunted, getting up and spinning. The little boy hung off him like a remora clinging to a shark. Stephanie sat up, feeling the wound on her neck. It was not deep, but still, she could feel the warm blood trickling down and staining her dress and cloak. She looked over to the horses to see they remained, waiting for her to get back in the carriage. Somehow, they hadn’t bolted in the confusion. The idea of mounting one and riding, even bareback, seemed like the best option

She watched the little boy and the man (who Stephanie very quickly learnt was the boy’s father), argue and bite each other.

Nothing for it, Stephanie mused, time to run again.

Getting up slowly, she tried to go round the back of the carriage and make a break for it, but alas, it was not to be. The little boy flung himself at her and, in her shock, she instinctively caught him and pulled him up into a piggyback. She regretted the reflex immediately, as the little boy grabbed her cheeks and made her turn around to look at the boy’s father. The father had a heavy brow and black hair, face twisted in a permanent frown. There was no softness or warmth to be found in his face, body or posture. The little boy on her back however, was wiry and thin, and his body temperature was hotter than any human she’d ever met.

“I want her!” The boy demanded. “A human here? Father I must keep her. She shall play with me and give me that fur muff and sleep with me in my bed.”

He said it all very certainly, like Stephanie was a willing participant to becoming the boy’s little pet cat. Writhing, she tried to hurl the boy off her back, only to be picked up by the father and tossed unceremoniously back in the carriage.

Great. Another diversion.

“I want to ride in the carriage too!” Declared the little boy, hopping in next to Stephanie. He tugged her upright, so she was sitting once more, and the carriage took off, heading in the wrong direction.

“No, no! Listen, you need to let me go—”

“My father and my friends will not kill you unless I want them to.”

Stephanie snapped her mouth shut, taken aback by the bluntness with which the little boy spoke. He was a tiny thing, with a button nose and a pouty mouth. He had darker skin than her, and greener eyes. He was kind of adorable, in a brattish, pouty way. He wrapped his arms around her neck, which was slowly stopping its bleeding.

“They think you’re a princess, to be wearing such nice clothes and riding such a nice carriage.”

“I am absolutely not a princess.”

He looked a little sad that she had popped his bubble so easily, then he snuggled into her warm coat. Not really understanding why, she reached up and rested a hand on his outward facing cheek. She lowered her tone, trying to sound reasonable.

“Can you let me and one horse go? I don’t have anything valuable on me. I’m travelling north. Another human was taken, and I am trying to find him so we can go home. I’ll walk even if you want both horses.”

“You’re staying with me.”

“I know you want that, but I won’t be of much use to you.”

The little boy leaned back, pout growing to anger, and tugged out a knife from his belt. Before Stephanie could react, he laid back down on her again, this time the knife pointing inwards, where one of her ovaries was located. Stephanie gulped, wincing at the pain in her neck, then sighed resignedly. She’d have to try and escape whenever they reached their destination. Hopefully it wasn’t a fortress.

When they did grow close, Stephanie noted that the forest had given way. Finally the endless trees had opened up to rolling fields of grass. It was not thick warm green grass though, the kind you expected to find in the lush countryside, but more akin to heather and lichen. Heathland, Stephanie distantly realised.

Another knife greeted her when the door opened, and the little boy pulled her out of the carriage.

The robber’s home was a hamlet. Brown and grey stone buildings all built around a large fire pit which protected them from the cold wind which blustered around. The bonfire was huge, and it stank of smoke and cooked meats. Unhelpfully, Stephanie’s stomach grumbled. Pushing her over to a mound of furs and cushions next to an enclosed space filled with horses and what looked like a reindeer, the little boy shoved her down. He then clambered on her outstretched legs and tugged her two arms to wrap around him in a hug. Stephanie sighed sadly.

She watched as her carriage was broken up and added to the fire, and her horses were led into the stable next to her. They were immediately fed and brushed, so Stephanie relaxed a little. It seemed animals weren’t going to be harmed and judging by the small pile of content snoozing dogs and cats in another corner, it was unlikely they ever would be. For all their threats of stabbing, she wasn’t dead, and watching the people interact, it seemed like a boisterous bunch. They drank and ate and partied, but Stephanie and the little boy remained in the corner. She didn’t see any other children present, and the pair were ignored consistently as the night went on.

As the hours passed, she felt him press back against her, falling asleep himself. Stephanie looked at the groups of people sat on benches, laughing and enjoying the revelry. When there was sudden shouting or movement, reflexively, Stephanie tightened her arms around the little boy, as if to shield him from it.

“Where’s your mother?” She whispered, only half to the little boy, not expecting him to answer.

“Gone. She thought I was better off here and not with her.” He murmured. Watching the boy’s violent father get into a drunken fight with another man, Stephanie was not sure she agreed.

She looked down at the boy, and unhelpfully her thoughts drifted to her own child. Her baby girl. She would be five years old. Melancholy returned to Stephanie, and she sagged under the weight of it. It was not that Stephanie regretted her choice of a closed adoption, she just hoped her next try would be... Less ill timed and with a better partner. She felt bad for her daughter, who in all manner of ways deserved better than a biological mother like Stephanie. A child should be wanted and loved. Stephanie would have tried, of course she would have, but deep down she knew, she would not have been good enough for that little girl. Not at aged fifteen.

She wondered what Tim’s children would look and behave like. She wilted, condemning herself for even considering such a thought. And yet... She wanted it.

If she did ever have children with Tim, a very bitter part of her hoped her daughter never ran across her with them. She could only imagine the potential trauma of such a sight.

You weren’t good enough to keep.

The little boy seemed to sense her melancholy and pulled at her arms. “Come meet my animals.”

Feeling sorry for the little boy and wanting a distraction from her traitorous thoughts, she did as bid. She picked him up, which seemed to delight him, and he directed her around the area. He pointed out a dove cot on the outskirts of the stone buildings.

“They are all mine. A few of them need tying down, else they would fly away and leave me.” He pointed elsewhere, at the snoozing pile of dogs. Stephanie walked over with him still in her arms, and he wriggled down to wake a large black dog. The poor dog looked sad to be awoken, but the little boy was insistent Stephanie meet each of his pets.

“I was gifted him when I was born. He is an old dog now, all he does is sleep and eat. Go on Modig, say hello!”

If Stephanie was expecting the dog to actually speak, she was disappointed. The dog gave a curious sniff, no doubt noting she did not smell like anything else in this realm, then licked her hand. She giggled a little at the sensation, then patted his giant head. The little boy in turn was openly delighted.

“…And this,” he dragged her back to the stables, to the horses and reindeer, “is Abie. He is a sweetheart, but he would leave too if untied. So, I tickle his neck sometimes with my knife. Just so he remembers.”

He looked at Stephanie, who watched the animal buck a little when the boy got close. The boy frowned, seeing that she was upset at the thought of the animal being harmed. He was still holding onto his knife, so he huffed and tugged Stephanie back onto the pile of furs. She groaned as they collapsed in the pile. Her neck ached.

“Do you always sleep with a knife in your hand?” Stephanie whispered, noting it was pressed between them, tip near her sternum.

“You never know who is out here.” He said simply. He remained awake until his family went to bed, his father not once coming over to check on him. The fire continued to burn long after the party had ended, keeping the cold at bay.

The silence endured for only a moment, whilst Stephanie tried to think of a way out.

“Tell me a story.” The boy demanded, eyes screwed shut.

“About what?”

“You. How you came to be here.”

Stephanie swallowed dryly and told her story. She continued to keep her and Tim’s names off her lips, not sure who else was listening. Again, as if on instinct, she repeatedly passed a hand through the boy’s dark hair, watching his eyes flutter shut, and his breathing deepen and slow.

When she was sure the little boy was asleep, there was a feeling in the air that dawn would soon break. The little boy had gone limp in his slumber, limp enough for Stephanie to extract herself from their bed, and crawl over to the reindeer and horses. She reached around, trying to untie one of her white horses, when a fussing noise made her look up.

Sat on one of the beams of the stable was a chubby wood pigeon with a puffed up chest, brooding down at her.

“I heard your story. I saw the witch a few weeks ago, before I was caught. You are not far from her palace. Two days ride. It is all snow and ice from here on out.”

Raw hope rose, and an idea sprung forward in Stephanie’s mind. She looked back at the reindeer, who was watching her mournfully. He chuffed softly when Stephanie caught his eye. She reached out, letting him nuzzle her hand.

“Do you want to leave?” She whispered. “Do you want to go home back north?”

The reindeer shook its great head, almost nodding.

“Can you take me to her palace? Just get me there, I can worry about coming back. You can be free then in the cold if you like.”

Coming back. The thought had not even crossed her mind before this point. She was so close to her goal, what was she supposed to do when she rescued Tim?

If she rescued Tim.

The reindeer pushed at her shoulder, warm breath blowing loose strands of hair off her face. He put his great head down further, allowing her easier access to the rope that held him against his will.

She exhaled with relief, then after briefly checking behind her, reached up to undo the knots.

“A little bit more time Tim,” Stephanie sighed, “Please just a little more time.”

The tip of a knife pressed against her neck, and the reindeer became skittish in fear. She froze, then slowly lowered her hands. She didn’t need another wound in her neck.

“You cannot leave.”

It was the little boy, awake and upset. Stephanie turned to face him. There was no anger in his eyes, just sadness. She took a risk and reached up, taking the knife out of his hand and setting it down on the hay covered floor.

She cradled the little boy’s face, ruddy and sweet.

“I have a job to do. I need to do it. I want to do it. Can you let me leave?”

The boy sniffed, a fat tear running down his face. “I want you to stay.”

“I know.” Brushing the tear away, she smiled, trying to be reassuring. She felt almost like a mother abandoning her child, as irrational as it sounded. He must have been quite lonely, with only his animals to keep him company with such a rough family. “I’m sorry. But I can’t stay. I don’t belong in this world. And neither does my love. We have to go home.”

The little boys face crumpled, and Stephanie’s heart jerked. He reminded her too much of Damian. The bluster and loneliness, the desire for approval and difficult parents. She wondered what she would say to Damian, if it were him in front of her. What would she say to the other boy who had threatened to stab her several times over the course of a night?

“Listen, believe me. I think you’re a very good boy. Please stay that way. And here, please keep this.” She said, handing over her little muff. “To remember me.”

The boy snatched it and buried his hands inside. He sniffed, then insisted, “Take my knife. And take good care of Abie.”

“I promise.”

He helped her untie Abie, and in a show of gratitude, she kissed his forehead. The boy’s face turned redder from embarrassment, and he helped her onto the reindeer. There was no saddle, so it would not be a comfortable ride, however the snow and ice was where the reindeer belonged. He could take her further than any horse.

The little boy gripped the antlers of the reindeer and shook his head, uttering a warning.

“I would like very much to keep you both here, but I am being good and letting you go. Put your best hoof forward and carry her to the palace and her playmate. Do not fail me!”

The sun broke the horizon, and the sound of the little boy’s father awakening seemed to panic him. He slapped Abie’s rear, who snorted and set off in a canter.

Stephanie looked back, seeing the boy run after them for a moment, only to stop at the edge of the hamlet, looking entirely too young and small and alone.

Blinking back tears, she cried out a thank you, then turned forward, gripping the dense fur of Abie’s neck as he ran north. Occasionally she’d tug on one side to turn him slightly left or right, still following the yearning in her chest, but otherwise he continued unprompted.

Soon the cool wind became frigid, the heathland became tundra, permafrost, icy then snow. Then the snow deepened. One foot, two feet, six feet… like an endless sea of rolling white. There was no cloud in the sky, and every breath Stephanie gave seemed to hurt, not only the cut in her neck, but also her throat, like it was freezing her lungs going in. When she exhaled, the steam that she blew out was sometimes so thick she would go temporarily blind with it. Her fingertips ached from gripping so tightly to Abie’s fur and from the temperature freezing her skin, but she would be unable to maintain her hold on the galloping reindeer if she let go.

“Don’t suppose you know how to enter the palace do you?” She questioned out loud. Abruptly the reindeer came to a crashing halt, throwing Stephanie forward against his neck with a squeal. It huffed and chuffed, kicking in frustration. Stephanie tightened the grip of her legs, ignoring the ache it caused. “Gosh, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Abie looked back at her, smacking her in the face with his antlers. Stephanie suspected his expression read as incredulous, so she pouted and ranted,

“Oh, come on! I’ve been making this up as I go! I don’t know how to do what I have to do; I just know that I have to do it.”

Abie rolled his eyes, unimpressed. He rotated deliberately, taking them a little bit west, then set off again. Stephanie tugged on his fur and kicked with her legs, but the reindeer seemed determined to take her to a different destination.

“No, come on please! I’m so close. Where are we going? Just over one more day’s ride, right?”

The reindeer bucked, making her shut her mouth, and she risked letting go of one hand to grab her hood and pull it up to protect her ears from the bitter cold.

They ran until midday, when in the distance, nestled in a snow dune, appeared a wooden cabin.

“Who…?”

The reindeer began to make a racket, announcing their arrival to the resident of such an isolated residence. Stephanie heard its occupant before she saw them.

“Oh, my goodness! Who has upset you so! You’d think the world was ending or –”

A decrepit old woman, who was bent in half and covered head to toe in bright red fabric, with glasses so small they seemed little more than pennies on her face thrust the door open. She peered at the sight of a reindeer carrying a girl on its back, looking baffled.

“What? A human? Here?”

Stephanie tried very hard not to roll her eyes.

Great. Another diversion.

[that-mom-friend-talks]

Inspiration hit me hard so more headcanons!

The Sides as DND Classes (based off my limited but passionate knowledge of DND)

Everyone has at least a little bit of hard, because this is Thomas were talking about it'd be a crime if they didn't sing.

Virgil: Rogue. He just goes ghost at any time he pleases. Awkward conversation? Rolled a 7, that's 16 for stealth he's out. Said "you too" at any point ever? 24 he's outta there. Epitome of fight or flight, when he wants to be he's a nightmare. He'll outrun you after he stabs you in the gut. Also, super edgy, fits his aesthetic, and generally just makes sense.

Patton: Cleric. Healing! He wants to make sure his kiddos are doing a-okay, so he knows quite a bit about healing. Don't be fooled, though, he's got some tricks up his sleeve that hit hard. He may be the default healer but he is by no means weak. Surprisingly strong, and has moments of great wisom but also cries over baby birds. A sweetheart that doesn't want to hurt anyone but if you hurt his famILY first you're dead.

Logan: Wizard. He studied so damn hard to come this far, you bet his nerd butt is learning magic. Very practical spells, more buffs and defense than offense, but his methods are unusual. Fight on a beach? Control water to give the enemy a bubble that they drown in. Fight near on a cliff? Aims at their feet to knock them off. Epitome of "work smarter not harder, he does a little that goes a long damn way. He chooses very simplistic spells that most would scoff at, but uses them in ways never thought of before. Always a slut for bookshops and libraries, and may or may not be creating (discovering?) a whole new type of magic because he can.

King Creativity: the Bardiest Bard to ever Bard. Incredible voice, can heal you with his song, or can make his voice crack so bad the enemy takes damage. Charisma is high, and he abuses that fact by trying to sleep with anything and everything (man shaped). Once successfully fucked a dragon to let the party escape. No shame, and he's got game. A truly killer combo.

Roman: Paladin. The closest to a knight you can get. He's royalty, and had to learn the hard way that you shouldn't flaunt it everywhere. Got mugged by a guy he hit on in a shady bar. Swore to never do it again (he still does sometimes, but he's more wary of it). Heart of gold and sword of steel, he can and will cut a bitch. Talk shit get hit describes him kinda well. Could be dying and still look hot. It's honestly infuriating. Leans more heavily into the Bard than the others, and constantly singing in exchange for things. Has a crush on a guard in every place he goes.

Remus: Warlock or Druid. On one hand, warlock would be very chaotic of him, he'd have a pact with a demon to get neat spells that can kill people faster. But on the other hand, druids can turn into animals and I know no one more feral than the rat man. Either way, he looks like a noodle but is actually pretty strong, constantly getting into fights and glad about it, would start a bar fight because he's bored. Has died several times, and his party is so used to it they have a bag full of med stuff and diamonds just labeled "Remus did it again". He thinks it's hilarious. Probably has a bag of holding filled with limbs or severed penises.

Deceit: Monk. Follows a strict code, but that code is personal. Tries to root out corruption in governments and businesses, relatively successful. Ignores the irony of being part of an organization that polices other organizations. Knows a lot about healing because he befriended Remus. Is a slippery snek, very wily and good at getting out of situations. Master bullshitter, has a stupid good persuasion and deception (duh). Has an ear on everything, finds out dirt on anyone he possibly can. Prefers not to fight if he can help it, but can hold his own just fine.

Remy: Mage. Not a Cleric or Warlock bc no one can tie him down. Favorite spell is sleep, does it as often as he can at the most inconvenient times possible. Has gotten out of situations by knocking people out and leaving. Really good charisma, and uses that to his advantage. He hates getting into fights, so he will do as much as he can to either knock you out or make you fight for him. Charm person and sleep, he loves them. Also pretty good at alchemy and potions, makes himself ones all the time so he's gotten pretty good.

Emile: Ranger. Has a really good relationship with nature, and does his best to protect it and those he cares about. Loves animals, can be found talking to any creature around him at any time. Disney princess vibes, because all animals just adore him. Because of this he knows a lot, and the creatures tell him all sorts of stuff. Good perception, good wisdom. He usually likes to heal, but will fight if it comes to it. He usually doesn't want to but he also doesn't want to die so he does what he must. More defense than offense, and helps with the aftermath. He's met and helped a lot of people, so he knows what he's doing.

Orange: Barbarian. This guy just wants to burn every place he can to the ground, and his first reaction to anything is violence. Ally? Stabbed. Key NPC? Decapitated. Hotel? Trivago.

Thomas: the poor, poor DM. Joan also helps out with a lot of it, because they're awesome like that.

I hope this all makes relative sense and is at least kinda accurate! I have many many thoughts about this, and will probably be sharing more.

[jlalafics]

“Rent Control”-Epilogue

We’re here! I can’t tell you how much fun I had writing this!

Anyway, I plan to put this on FFn and AO3 some time next week so you can read the whole thing uninterrupted. 

Also, just to warn you. This is LONG.

If you haven’t read the other parts, follow the links below:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Summary: Katniss Everdeen has found the perfect home in San Francisco—great neighborhood, an easy commute and, best of all, it’s rent controlled. There’s only one problem; the landlord will only rent to a married couple.

Enter Peeta Mellark.

_____

Rent Control

Epilogue: One Year Later

“Rue, I want the buffet to go here.” Katniss pointed to the back of the space, adjacent to the living wall. “Presents will go on the round table that we’re setting up at the entrance. The table linens are coming with Annie and Finnick—I found them at this awesome vintage shop in Oakland. They’ll be great if we ever decide to have any other special events…” She turned to the young girl. “Anything else that I’m missing?”

Rue chuckled as she ticked things off the iPad she carried in her hands.

“How about breathing? Seems like you missed it during that entire conversation.”

“Very funny, smartass,” Katniss retorted though she smiled fondly at the girl. “Sometimes I wonder why Peeta and I hired you.”

“Because I am the S-H-I-T…and because I can make a kickass Kouign-amann,” Rue replied, her grin just as affectionate towards Katniss.

Katniss nodded. “True.” She took a deep breath. “I just want everything to be perfect tomorrow for them. They’ve waited for so long…”

“It’s going to be great,” Rue assured her. “Now, you need to relax…have you even eaten?”

“No, just been busy and it escaped my mind.” Katniss sighed. “I could go for a cheese bun.”

Rue scrunched her nose. “Oh God—is that what you and Peeta call it now?”

“No, she’s actually really into my buns.”

Peeta appeared before them with a tray in his hand. Pressing a quick kiss to Katniss’ lips and placing the tray on an empty table, he presented her with a cheese bun which she took and began to eat with relish.

“I do love Peeta’s buns…” She winked at the man before her, cheeks full of food. “Among other things.”

Rue rolled her eyes at them. “You two disgust me. Go get a room—or an alley.”

“Now why would we do that when have those awesome mirrors Johanna gifted us in the back?” Peeta said with a smirk.

“I thought you said those were there so we could all keep an eye on each other in the kitchen!” Rue exclaimed. “Now I will never be able to make anything in there!”

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow?” Katniss asked, finishing off the rest of the bun as she wrapped an arm around Peeta’s waist.

“Yeah…but only because I really like cake!” Rue told them as she gathered her things off the counter next to her. “And, Annie’s potato salad!”

In a huff, the girl marched through the revolving door going to the back of the building.

Peeta and Katniss looked to one another, identical grins on their faces. Hand in hand, they went to the front where a long communal table stood and Peeta helped Katniss step onto the adjoining bench to sit on the wood surface before joining her.

When they were settled, they turned to one another.

“Happy Anniversary,” Peeta told her.

Katniss smiled and took his hand. “Happy Anniversary.”

Together, they turned to look out the front window of the Mellark Bakery, content in the moment and with one another.

++++++

“You won’t even tell me?” Katniss asked as she followed Peeta out of the kitchen.

“No,” he responded firmly as he went to the buffet table. Taking the piping bag, Peeta examined the three-tier cake before going to the middle tier and adding another perfect white frosting flower. “You also made me promise not to tell you.”

“You’re mean!” she responded petulantly. “See if I ever go down on you again.”

“Gross.”

Annie and Finnick, along with the rest of their brood, entered the bakery. Jack—now four—immediately went to Peeta to show him the Pokéball that he had in his grasp. Sarah and Rose dispersed to run around the bakery to which Finnick managed to wrangle one of the twins.

“Rose, we don’t run around Uncle Peeta’s bakery!” he told the girl in his arms.

“Sarah!” the one-year-old replied.

“Oops—sorry, kid,” her father replied sheepishly.

“I am so glad that we decided on that vasectomy,” Annie said as she went to hug Katniss. “Also—really gross. Why were you talking about ‘going down?’”

“Peeta won’t tell me,” Katniss informed her.

“Yeah, well that’s why we’re having this shindig—” her friend said as she placed the large bowl on the buffet table. “—so we can all find out as a family.”

“Actually…” The tips of Finnick’s ears went red. “Peeta kind of told me already.”

Annie’s brows furrowed at her husband. “Well…no head for you, either!”

“Are we interrupting something?”

Beetee stepped into the bakery along with Wiress, bright smiles on their faces.

“No, just some marital corporal punishment,” Peeta told the couple. “Speaking of which—congratulations on the engagement!” He placed a kiss on Wiress’ cheek before shaking Beetee’s hand. “Santorini must have been good for you.”

“And, check out that rock!” Katniss said after embracing Wiress.

“Beetee knew how I felt about diamonds,” Wiress explained with a gentle smile. “So, he came up with this lovely thing…and I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

“It originates from the 1920’s,” Beetee said as they stared at the ring. “The ruby is still in great shape and that design for the setting—they don’t make them like this anymore.”

“Wow…” Katniss was impressed; the ring was a work of art with its intricate carvings and a setting made to look like the ruby was the center of a golden-petaled flower.

Her gaze went from the ring to meet Peeta and she found him staring at her, a strange expression in his eyes.

Katniss could usually read him like a book—but this look was different.

“Hello! Hello!”

Everyone cheered as the celebrant entered the bakery.

Effie was glowing.

In the voluminous emerald dress, she looked like Mother Earth herself.

Well, her belly was about as round as the earth.

Haymitch followed, looking perfectly respectable in a dress shirt and slacks, his dark hair tied back.

Taking a deep breath, she looked to Peeta whose gaze went tender as he reached for her.

Together, they went to greet the soon-to-be parents.

++++++

“You two did really well,” Daphne said to Katniss and Peeta as she looked at the buffet table approvingly.

It was a great array of food; Annie’s potato salad and fried chicken—signatures from her restaurant, empanadas from a nearby Spanish restaurant, fresh salads created by Katniss’ mother, and Peeta’s three-tier cake with the ‘Hey Baby!’ topper made by Prim, who was a master calligrapher.

“We’re actually going to be partnering with Annie’s restaurant to create a new lunch dish,” Peeta said, his arm around Katniss. “Katniss thought about it. My brioche buns with Annie’s fried chicken. Robin taught Katniss how to make her slaw, so they’re pairing it with that. Should debut by the end of the month.”

“Perfect,” his mother replied. “I’ll have your father update the website to announce it.”

“I’ll take a picture when it’s out for our Instagram,” Katniss offered.

His mother beamed at Katniss. “You found yourself a good partner.”

“Don’t I know it,” Peeta agreed.

“Oh! There’s your mother,” Daphne told Katniss. “We went to Manhattan for a girls’ night and ended up backstage at Hamilton! Can you believe it? I’m going to see if she brought the pictures!”

With that, she rushed over to Katniss’ mother and the two hugged excitedly before they began to peruse Robin’s iPhone.

“That’s so creepy,” Katniss said.

Peeta grinned at her. “What? The fact that they had a girls’ night and are so far from that? Or that whenever they are with each other they become teenagers?”

“I don’t know…I didn’t think that they’d be so close…after everything,” she admitted.

Katniss looked around at the crowd of people who had come to Effie and Haymitch’s Baby Shower and Gender Reveal—the motif was a sage (and neutral) green.

A lot had changed; she was no longer at Johanna’s, instead becoming the designer for the bakery. Peeta had convinced her that it would be great for her portfolio. Together, they had come up with a cohesive design that gave the bakery its homey yet eclectic vibe. There was soft wood and greenery everywhere; there was no disposable ware, only large, thick mugs and glazed plates—very hygge.

Eventually, Katniss had transitioned into Business Manager to do the hiring. Rue was a recent graduate from the San Francisco Culinary Institute, and she couldn’t come more highly recommended as a candidate for Assistant Baker. She was creative and kind, eager to learn, and they took to her immediately. She hired a few more people for front-of-house including Finch, Rue’s roommate and Thresh, who decided to follow Peeta after he quit the coffee shop.

Johanna, who was currently chatting up one of the Haymitch’s co-workers, a tall drink of water with thick-framed glasses, encouraged her to spread her wings. Prim, bored with the East Coast and longing for adventure, took Katniss’ place at the boutique and was living in the Mission District above a bar that she occasionally bartended for.

Katniss’ gaze drifted to Effie and Haymitch. Her landlords looked jubilant; Effie caressing the bump that had surprised all of them seven months ago.

The Abernathys were celebrating their anniversary at the time. Everyone had joined them for dinner in the apartment’s backyard. Wine bottles were opened, some questionable things were smoked…and by morning, the Abernathys were found under their lemon tree, covered in a picnic blanket and wearing nothing under it.

A few weeks after that, Katniss and Peeta had their grand opening.

It had gone perfectly—until Effie vomited at their front entrance.

They assured her that she was ‘christening’ their new business when, in actuality, a little peanut was currently lounging in her uterus.

It had happened—the long-awaited Abernathy child had come.

“I think it’s time for them to do the reveal,” Peeta said into Katniss’ ear.

She nodded in agreement. “Everyone’s had their fill. I’ll let Rue know to grab the cake knife in the back.”

Peeta went to the couple to lead them over to the cake that would tell them their baby’s gender.

He winked at her before guiding Haymitch and Effie away.

Then, there were herself and Peeta.

Financially and in their work lives, they were doing great.

However, after their pretend nuptials, they had gone into a standstill. They were perfectly content for a while, unmarried and living in sin.

Lately, however, she had felt a longing.

And, as Katniss looked around at their family and friends, moving along in their personal lives, she realized that she wanted more.

She wanted them to be real.

Katniss wanted to get married.

++++++

“Before our soon-to-be parents cut the cake, does anyone have guesses on the gender?” Stephen called out to the crowd.

Everyone had gathered around the cake table excitedly waiting for the cake to be cut. His mother and Robin were already taking photos on their phones of the couple as Thresh—a budding photographer—took a few shots on his old Canon. Prim was quietly taking bets; the pool was already in the mid-hundreds, and the bets went from how much Baby Abernathy would weigh to how long into labor would Effie finally snap at Haymitch for impregnating her.

“I’m pretty sure, girl or boy, it’s going to be a dick,” Peeta’s father responded with a smirk.

“Christopher!” Effie put her hands to the sides of her belly. “Not in front of my baby!”

Haymitch guffawed. “He’s got a point there. No matter what gender, he or she is coming out with a set of balls and a penchant for rebellion.”

“Well, you’re as ready as you’ll ever be,” Beetee assured them good-naturedly. “So, come on—just do it already!”

“That’s what Effie said,” Finnick cackled.

Effie looked to Jack. “Cover your eyes, sweetheart.”

The little boy followed instructions and Effie immediately flipped Finnick the bird.

“I thought you said no cursing,” Finnick retorted.

“I wasn’t speaking, I was gesturing,” Effie said testily. She whipped over to her husband. “Now give me the knife.”

“No, I think I’ll keep any weaponry for now, sweetheart,” Haymitch said.

Together, they turned to the cake, and Haymitch quickly cut into it revealing the bright blue of the delicate sponge.

There was a collective scream as everyone rushed forward to congratulate the couple.

Peeta and Katniss hung back, content to watch the jubilee by one of the posts of the bakery. His girlfriend leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around Katniss’ waist.

“You happy?” Peeta whispered into her ear.

“Oh yeah,” Katniss mused. “How could we not be happy about a little Haymitch in the world?”

“You know that kid is going to be all Effie,” he responded. “She is going to spoil the shit out of him!”

“True, but they deserve to,” his girlfriend said. “They waited for so long.”

Peeta looked around; their world was changing rapidly. Almost two years ago, Katniss was just the pretty girl from a boutique who he low-key had a crush on—and fantasized about during cold San Francisco nights.

Now, they were running a business together, living together, and just falling more for each other as time wore on. Peeta couldn’t even remember a time when he wasn’t waking up next to her gorgeous face. He didn’t want to imagine it.

He had always wanted Katniss in his life—and Peeta hoped that she wanted the same.

Because locked in his desk in the back was a ring.

Beetee wasn’t the only one who went vintage.

++++++

“You are stressing out, sis,” Prim remarked.

“I know, I know…” Katniss admitted as they walked around the CityTarget. “I’ve been so busy with the bakery that I haven’t had time to buy stuff for the apartment. We ran out of toilet paper last night—and it was during a time when one of us was prairie dogging.”

“Egads!” They reached the aisle with the toilet paper and Prim threw in several value packs into the cart. “Take as much as you can! Geez, you’re making co-habitation real appealing.”

“You lived with me for years,” Katniss retorted.

“Well, I was a kid for a majority of it—I didn’t know any better,” Prim said with a grin. “Really though, you seem kind of…not-so-fresh looking.”

“I’ve been feeling not-so-fresh.” Katniss pushed the cart towards the health aisle. The bakery needed more bandages for the first aid kit. “Now that the baby shower is over, I thought I’d feel better, but I’m not.”

Prim peered at her. “You getting sick? Peeta holding out on you?”

“I’m fine,” Katniss insisted though she yawned. “And, Peeta never holds out, especially since I’ve been super into him lately.”

Her sister raised an interested brow. “Explain.”

“Like for the last week, I’ve been obsessed with his…scent,” Katniss told her as she grabbed a value pack of bandages. “Literally, I wanted to lick the sweat off of him.”

“You freak nasty!” Prim bounced next to her. “I’m so proud.”

“So, that’s not weird?” Katniss asked, continuing down the aisle as she looked at the list on her phone.

“Well, we all have fluctuating hormones during our cycles,” Prim informed her.

“Hmm.” Katniss checked off the bandages, her next destination was dental floss.

She stopped, her brain connecting every symptom she had been experiencing into one realization.

Her eyes darted to the display in front of her.

Pregnancy tests—and they were all on sale.

Prim looked to her then to the display then to her sister once more. “Ohh…shit.”

Katniss could only agree to the sentiment.

++++++

“How long do these things usually take?” Katniss asked as she sat on one of the couches in Johanna’s boutique.

“Pretty quickly,” Johanna said as she looked at the three sticks assembled on the counter. “They all say ‘Pregnant.’”

Katniss shot up and rushed over, her eyes bulging as she looked at the three identical tests. “No.”

“That explains the whole sweat obsession,” Prim said.

Johanna looked to Prim. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really,” she replied. Prim put a hand over Katniss’ trembling one. “So…are we happy?”

Katniss took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to just regroup.

She had always wanted children. Yes, it wasn’t expected and it was pretty early in the relationship; they were practically infants when it came to the relationship game in comparison to everyone around them.

However, Katniss couldn’t imagine having children with anyone but Peeta. She could see him with their child, teaching him or her to bake bread. Other images of their life with their little bun flashed in her mind…walks through Golden Gate Park, picking out the best ingredients for the bakery at Farmers’ Markets, falling asleep on their cozy couch in front of the fireplace during Christmas…

Finally, Katniss opened her eyes.

“Yes. We’re happy,” she told her sister and Johanna.

Prim reached over to embrace her. “Congratulations!”

Johanna joined in, a wisp of a tear in her usually sharp eyes.

“He or she is going to be the best dressed kid in San Francisco, thanks to Auntie Johanna!”

Prim pulled away to look at her sister. “So, how are you going to tell Peeta?”

“I don’t know—” She gathered them back together. “Just keep hugging me!”

++++++

“This is a bit of a surprise,” Robin remarked. Next to her, her husband flipped through a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle as his own father looked through an old copy of People that had been lying on their coffee table.

“I know!” his mother, who joined Robin on the lounger, added. “We never get invited here!”

The door opened and Prim stepped in along with his brothers.

Peeta had told Katniss to expect Bran and Alex as they wanted to check out the bakery, having missed out on the grand opening.

“Sorry! I get so confused at SFO!” Prim explained as she took of her coat and when to greet her parents and his own parents. “Took me forever to find the right terminal!”

Bran and Alex immediately tackled Peeta, sandwiching him before he could stop them.

“Guys!” he yelled. “You’re here because I have something serious to talk about!”

“We know,” Bran replied. “But there is something important that needs to happen.”

Peeta shook his head. “NO.”

Alex smirked. “Yes, little brother—the Mellark round-up.”

Together, Bran and Alex began to jump up and down.

“Mellark! Mellark! Mellark!”

Then, if Peeta wasn’t embarrassed enough, his mother and father joined in.

“Mellark, Mellark, Mellark!”

His mom was getting incredible jumps despite being in the sharpest heels imaginable.

“What is going on here?” Effie had arrived, along with Haymitch, who was greeting Stephen and Robin. “Daphne, you’ll destroy your Louboutins!”

“When there is a Mellark roundup, you must roundup,” his mother replied simply as she stepped away and rushed forward to hug Effie.

“Annie and Finnick should be coming soon,” Effie told the group as she plopped down on the space that Robin made for her on the couch. Katniss’ mother helped put a pillow behind Effie’s lower back. Their landlord sighed in contentment. “You’re a lifesaver, Robin. It takes me forever to get off our couch…”

“Won’t be much longer, I’m sure,” Robin assured her.

“Good, because I’m seriously done with this,” Effie said.

Finnick and Annie, along with Beetee, followed along a few minutes later. Wiress would be watching the Odair children who were all having their afternoon naps.

Once everyone was seated, Peeta settled himself in front of the group.

“First, thanks for coming,” he began. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I—”

“You want to propose to Katniss,” Haymitch stated. “I mean, it’s not exactly brain science.”

The door clicked and Johanna rushed in. “Sorry, I’m late! What did I miss?”

“Captain Obvious just stated the obvious,” Alex informed her with a wink. “Or in the simplest of terms, my baby brother is finally proposing to the woman who he was supposed to be married to a year ago.”

“Oh.” Johanna looked to Prim, who shook her head. “That’s great…”

Peeta immediately sensed something wrong in their expressions.

“What?” He took a gulping breath. “She’s not ready, right? Or, maybe she’s having second thoughts?” A sharp squeak escaped his throat. “I think I’m might be hyperventilating—”

“You’re overreacting,” his mother said, interrupting his moment of panic. “If you know Katniss like I know you do, you will know that she loves you.”

“And, that she wants more than anything to be with you forever,” Robin added, a tender smile on her face.

Stephen put his arm around his wife before looking to Peeta. “So, what do you want us to do?”

“Help me figure out how to propose to her,” he replied, his eyes going around the room. “Everyone in this room knows Katniss and me better than anybody else in the world. And, I just want this to be…perfect.”

“It will be, because it’s coming from you,” Beetee said sincerely. “However, if we’re trying to get organized, we first have to establish when.”

“That’s simple,” Stephen said. “Katniss’ birthday is in two weeks.” He looked around the room. “It would be the perfect excuse if she asks why everyone is here.”

“How about we all meet up again in like two days or something?” Annie suggested. “Before then, let’s all come up with some ideas to talk about during the meet-up.”

Everyone agreed to her plan.

“Peeta, why don’t we talk about Katniss’ likes and dislikes?” his father suggested. “Might help get everyone’s minds going.”

“Sure,” Peeta replied as he began to pace. “She’s not big on loud functions or anything where she’s in big crowds…can’t stand artichokes—thinks they’re wasteful…hates people who talk on those earbuds that aren’t connected to anything.” He paused, smiling to himself. “She loves sunsets…cheese buns…and—”

“Your penis?” Prim interrupted.

“Primrose Everdeen!” Her mother scolded.

“Come on, mom,” Prim said. “What did you think they did—sleep side by side in spacesuits?”

“No, but no need to be crude,” Robin admonished.

“So…two days?” Johanna called out.

“Two days!” everyone agreed.

+++++++

Prim grabbed Johanna’s arm as soon as they walked out of Katniss and Peeta’s apartment. Her parents and the Mellarks were already congregated at Haymitch and Effie’s for drinks before heading back to the rented home they were sharing while in the city.

“What the hell was that?” she asked her boss. “You almost gave the news away!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was coming into a meeting like that,” Johanna said. “I actually thought it had something to do with Katniss’ birthday.” She blew out a breath. “They’re going to have so much on their plate.”

“Well, it’s not our plate to worry about,” Prim told her firmly. “Just keep cool until Katniss figures out how to tell Peeta the news.”

“What news?”

They both jumped and turned to find Bran and Alex before them.

“Nothing!” they chorused together.

“Please.” Alex put an arm around Johanna. “How can you resist a Mellark?”

She threw his arm off her shoulders. “Very easily.”

“Come on, sis,” Bran pleaded. “Katniss has news? She’s not really breaking up with him, is she?”

Prim snorted. “Get a grip, bro. My sister is so into to Peeta that she told me—just a few days ago—she literally wants to lick the sweat off him.”

“More than I needed to hear,” Bran said.

“I want to hear more!” Alex responded. “Just more stuff I have on little brother.”

Prim walked towards the stairs, ignoring the Mellark brothers as they started a chorus of ‘Please!’. She was never good with being pressured and had a penchant to snap.

Katniss was much more impenetrable—except when it came to Peeta, apparently.

“Please leave it be! Katniss will tell Peeta about the baby when she’s good and ready!”

Her eyes squeezed shut when she realized what she said—SHIT!

The door of the Abernathy apartment opened slowly.

Taking a deep breath, Prim prepared herself for the onslaught of questions.

“Five, four, three, two, one—”

Her mother responded first, tears thick in her voice. “Your sister is pregnant?”

Swiveling around, Prim saw the heads of her parents, the elder Mellarks, and the Abernathys sticking out of the apartment door. In front of her, Bran and Alex stood, their jaws hanging open to which Johanna tried to push Alex’s up.

She turned to respond to her mother.

“Yes, Katniss is. No, I don’t know how long. She went to an appointment to confirm it today. I don’t know anything else. Above all—no one can tell Peeta!”

There was a collective nod and everyone stepped back so Haymitch could close the door.

With a wink at her, he closed it behind him.

“You are not good at keeping secrets,” Alex concluded with a grin.

“I know…” Her hopefully-soon-to-be brother walked over and gave her a hug. “At least I’ll be the baby’s favorite aunt. You and Bran can fight over who’s favorite uncle.”

He pulled away. “Not fair! Bran can actually get the kid a pony! He has a fucking pony guy!”

Johanna quirked a brow at the eldest Mellark brother. “Why would you need a pony guy?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Bran said. “How about us brand new Aunts and Uncles have a drink?”

With a tired nod, Prim allowed Bran to lead her down the stairs and to the closest bar.

++++++

Katniss sighed, allowing for just one second the feeling of contentment to flow through her.

There it was, six weeks and five days old; a peanut of a thing, really.

A peanut with a heartbeat.

Stepping off the lightrail train, she walked onto the street island and headed in the direction of the bakery. It was already closed for the day and Peeta was probably in the midst of closing paperwork. He was diligent about being there everyday to make sure that everything was tip-top. She loved that about him; his constancy in all things.

Peeta had promised his parents that Mellark Bakery would be a success on the West Coast. He had achieved it, putting a new spin on his parents’ bakery, with gluten-free pastries and vegan-accessible food that broadened their customer base.

Getting her key out, Katniss unlocked the front door of the bakery and stepped in just as Thresh walked out from the back.

“Hey Katniss,” he greeted her. “Peeta’s in the office.”

“Thanks, Thresh,” she replied. “How did it go today?”

“Pretty run-of-the-mill, for a weekday,” Thresh informed her. “Great morning rush, decent lunch, and then kids coming in with their parents after school.”

“Maybe we should have discounted pastries from 3:30-5:00—” she mused. “—for the kids and their parents. Great time to get rid of the current day’s batch.”

“Great idea, boss lady.” Thresh gathered his things from the counter. “I’m off but let Peeta know that I checked and we’re still good on almond flour.”

Locking up after Thresh, Katniss headed into the kitchen. She loved the smell of it; the flour, sugar…even the scent of chocolate—that must be the baby’s doing as she was not into the cocoa bean.

Here, she felt wrapped up in this beautiful life that she and Peeta created for themselves.

Would it still be wonderful with the three of them?

Pushing her thoughts aside, Katniss went to the open doorway of their office. Peeta sat with his back to her, his shoulders hunched and deep into the spreadsheet on the screen in front of him. Next to him, his phone rested, the rough voice of Tom Petty singing about Mary Jane on its speaker.

She knocked against the doorway.

“Did I ever tell you how sexy you look with a spreadsheet in front of you?”

Peeta met her eyes, his cheeks coloring. “Probably not as sexy as you look taking counter orders.” Swiveling his seat, he patted his lap. “We’re low on chairs.”

Katniss obliged, primly sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Peeta pressed a kiss to her lips. “How are you doing today? You headed out pretty early. Everything okay?”

“I’m great,” she told him. “Just had an appointment.”

Here it was, the moment when she should tell him of their impending offspring.

Peeta yawned suddenly. “Sorry, I’m just exhausted. It’s been a very long day for me. Did Thresh tell you whether or not the almond flour was okay?”

Suddenly, now was not the time to tell him especially when he was tired and processing spreadsheets—

“He said the flour was fine.” A familiar tune wafted into the air and she abruptly stood up, holding her hand out. “You want to dance?”

Peeta nodded, taking her hand and rising from their ergonomic and expensive office chair.

“This song always makes me feel like I’m in a 90’s romantic comedy,” she told him as The Cure filled the room.

Peeta met her eyes, his own crinkling in laughter. “Aren’t we?”

She chuckled and nodded, her head going to his shoulder.

“The good kind, like Reality Bites or 10 Things I Hate About You—with witty dialogue and a kickass soundtrack.”

“Well, we have the witty dialogue,” Peeta told her. “Just need that soundtrack—” He stopped for a moment and looked into her eyes. “There’s something different about you. You look…sparkly.”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Real witty.” She pulled him closer. “Just keep dancing.”

Her birthday—it was coming up.

She would just tell him then—and he couldn’t say anything bad because it was her day.

Somewhere in her head, Katniss swore she heard the baby call her a chicken.

++++++

Two days later, the group gathered once more sans Beetee, who would be watching the Odair kids. He had already sent Peeta an ample outline of his suggestions that included recreating he and Katniss’ first date down to the dress she wore for it.

Katniss was at the bakery for evening inventory. Rue agreed to pretend she needed help to give them ample enough time to discuss their ideas.

“Okay, Annie and Finnick—what do you got?” Peeta asked, a clipboard and pen ready in his hands.

“Well, we thought it might be cute if the kids helped in some way,” Annie said, looking through her own list. “Like maybe Jack could hold the ring for you or the girls can give her flowers…” She looked through the rest of her notes. “Sorry guys. The girls are teething and Jack is going through a phase of just waving his little Jack around, if you know what I mean. Our ideas are not so good.”

“So, your kid likes to be naked,” Johanna replied. “Everyone goes through a naked phase.”

“When did you get over yours?” Prim quipped.

“I haven’t,” Johanna simply replied.

Peeta jotted down Annie’s suggestions.

“No, they’re fine. I take everything into account.” He looked around the room, stopping on the Abernathys. “Haymitch? Effie?”

“How about you do something in the garden?” Effie said. “I mean, I can decorate—”

“You mean I can decorate,” Haymitch interrupted. “There is no way in hell that I’m letting you on a ladder.”

“But I have all the streamers from the baby shower and Katniss loves green!” his wife protested.

“Before this turns into a fight that Haymitch won’t win—” his mother told them. “—Peeta, just note it and let’s keep going.”

“Okay then.” Peeta wrote down the suggestion before going to his mother and father. “Mom? Dad?”

“Well—” His mother turned to look at Robin, who practically bounced in her seat. “We thought that we could blow up some pictures of you and Katniss sequencing your relationship!”

“And then we could do like a few them of your future,” Robin added. “Like one of you two getting married and one of you and Katniss with your baby—”

Prim, who had been drinking a glass of water, suddenly coughed.

“M-Mom!” she sputtered; her blue eyes wide with shock at the possibility of her mother revealing Katniss’ secret. “They don’t even have kids!”

“Oh pish.” Robin waved her hand easily. “Nothing that can’t be photoshopped.”

Peeta wrote down the suggestion. “That sounds pretty cool. I mean kids seems a little far—”

“You don’t want to have kids with my Katniss?” Stephen suddenly asked.

Peeta’s head snapped up. “Of course, I do! It’s just—”

His father suddenly towered over him. “Just what?”

A whimper suddenly escaped his mouth.

“I just thought that I would first like Katniss to accept my proposal before actually thinking about children…”

Bran jumped up, his hands going to both fathers’ shoulders.

“Chill, Dads.” He gave them pointed looks. “I mean, let them work that out when they get to that moment.”

“Anyway, before the parents decide to hijack your proposal, Bran and I came up with something,” Alex said. “We think that you should do something musical for her.”

Peeta shook his head vehemently. He already knew where this was going.

“No, bros.”

Prim scoffed. “Yeah, like Peeta can sing!”

“You’d be surprised,” Bran told her. “I mean, we—”

“Stop!” Peeta jumped from his seat. “I’ll put it into account but…”

“You know her favorite song, right?” Alex asked.

Peeta nodded, his cheeks burning. “Of course.”

Alex put an arm around his younger brother. “Then, just think about it.”

“Fine,” Peeta told him begrudgingly. “But I’m not making promises.”

“Just make it romantic,” Johanna told him earnestly. “Because in the end, Katniss is just like any other person; she enjoys a good romance once in a while.”

Peeta suddenly grinned, thinking of his conversation with Katniss the previous night as they danced in their small office. “A romantic comedy…”

Then, it came to him.

++++++

This was hell.

Katniss put a cool washcloth to her forehead as she sat on the floor of her bathroom. Peeta had offered to stay home with her, but she assured him that it was just ‘female issues.’ There was no need for him to miss out on work and Prim would check on her in the afternoon.

The moment he left, after promising to call at lunch, she immediately rushed into the bathroom to throw up the contents of her stomach—maybe her stomach itself—into their toilet.

She didn’t know how long she could take doing this, keeping this misery to herself.

Peeta got her into this. He should suffer, too.

“A few more days…” she told herself.

In a few more days, it would be her birthday and she could tell Peeta about their baby.

With that thought, Katniss laid down on the cool porcelain floor and fell asleep.

++++++

“She’s a wreck…”

Katniss blearily opened her eyes hearing her sister’s voice.

“What did you expect?” a deep voice asked. “She’s carrying my brother’s spawn.”

A washcloth was placed on her forehead.

“Just let her rest. She’s stressed out, keeping all of this from your brother.”

Katniss was soothed at Johanna’s words.

“Should we get her to their bed?” asked Alex. “She looks a little peaked.”

“I’m fine,” Katniss finally grumbled, her eyes opening to find Johanna, Prim, and Bran on the floor with her. Alex leaned against the doorframe. “If you take me to the room, I’ll just end up here, anyway.” She glared up at Johanna. “I can’t believe you told them.”

Johanna gave her a mock scowl. “Me? I didn’t say anything. It was your brainless sister.”

Prim gave her a pout. “Sorry, Katniss. You know I can’t keep secrets.”

“It won’t be a secret much longer,” she informed them. “I’m going to tell him on my birthday next week.”

“Your birthday?” Johanna repeated. “When did you decide that?”

“Once I got the confirmation that there was a little peanut-sized being inside me—also, when I chickened out on telling Peeta that same day,” Katniss replied and sighed. “We can never get married now.”

“Why not?” Alex asked.

“Because once I tell your brother, he will propose to me. Not because he wants to, but because he’ll feel obligated to. I don’t want to trap him like that. I mean, we can raise the baby together—”

Bran reached over to give her shoulder a squeeze. “Oh sweetie, my brother would never marry someone just because of obligation. Every move that Peeta makes, he makes with love.”

“I know.” Katniss sniffled. “Damn hormones. I just don’t want him to regret me…or the peanut.”

“He would never,” Alex assured her.

Katniss suddenly shot up, twisting in the direction of the toilet before retching into it.

The four other occupants reared back before Prim gathered herself to hold her sister’s hair up.

“Let it out,” Prim told her soothingly.

“I think I just threw up a lung,” Katniss replied miserably. “Help me up. I feel so gross. I need to change my shirt.”

Bran, the brawniest of them all, scooped the nauseous expectant mother up easily. “I got you.”

“Thanks, bro…” Katniss closed her eyes. “You smell like Peeta…but I’m not even turned on.”

He guffawed. “Gee, thanks.”

Everyone else followed them down the hall to the bedroom and Bran gently placed Katniss on her bed.

“Let me grab you a shirt, sis,” Prim said quickly before going into their closet and returning with an oversized white t-shirt. “Do you need anything else?”

Katniss shook her head. “I have a bottle of water by the bedside. I’m just going to lay down for a while. Peeta said he would call soon.”

Nodding, Prim went over to kiss the top of her sister’s head. “Get some rest, okay?”

Katniss nodded before closing her eyes. She was out before Prim even closed the door.

As soon as the door was closed, Prim turned to the other three.

“Fuck the plan. Peeta needs to propose like right now,” she informed them.

“Are you kidding?” Alex said.

“No, I’m not. Katniss is unpredictable and moody…she might tell him right when she wakes up for all we know. We have to beat her to the punch,” Prim told the three before looking to Bran. “Text all of our parents. Johanna, alert the building. Once this is all done, then we go to Peeta. Agreed?”

They all agreed quietly, not wanting to awaken Katniss, before getting to their duties.

++++++

The door of the bakery had barely closed for the day before the group barreled in. Peeta and Katniss’ parents, and well—the whole damn building were suddenly standing right in front of him as he was putting pastries away.

“What’s going on?” Peeta demanded to know.

Prim stepped forward. “You need to propose—now.”

He froze, a half empty tray in his hands. “What?”

Johanna took the tray from his grasp so she could have one for herself.

“If you don’t, there’s a chance that Katniss might say no,”

He looked at everyone’s anxious expressions. “But, the plan—"

“We figured it out,” his father told him. “It’s all set up.”

“How did you manage that?” Peeta asked.

“Katniss’…female problems knocked her out cold,” Alex offered. “At least, that’s what Prim told me.”

“We worked quickly and quietly,” Beetee assured him. “It looks great.”

“But…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen,” Peeta said in disappointment.

“Peeta.” Robin lifted his drooping chin. “When did anything between you and Katniss ever go as planned?”

Peeta looked into her eyes—Katniss’ almond eyes—before giving her a kiss on the cheek. Reaching into his pocket, he handed her a set of keys.

“Will you get the ring? It’s in the bottom-left drawer of my desk in the small petty cash box.” His gaze went to his mother, her own eyes glittering with tears. “My mom knows the combination.”

Then, Peeta turned to the rest of the group.

“Let’s do this.”

++++++

Blinking slowly, Katniss finally opened her eyes. She was relieved to find that her stomach was no longer rumbling. She carefully sat up, her gaze going to her side table where a note in Prim’s writing laid on a packet of Saltines, saying ‘Eat me’.

Katniss opened the packet quickly and scarfed down the crackers while texting Prim to thank her. She was surprised to find that she had slept late into the afternoon.

Her phone dinged with a response. ‘Are you okay?’

She typed back, ‘I’m feeling much better.’

The next message came quickly: ‘Johanna and I are downstairs in the lobby. Come down and meet us! Also, can you wear that dress that you wore on your first date with Peeta? Effie was telling us about it the other day and Johanna is thinking of having it recreated exclusively for the boutique.’

Katniss swore that she had worn it at some point in front of Johanna but typed back in agreement, letting Prim know that she would be down in a few minutes.

Going to her closet, she pulled out the rust dress that she wore that first date. Without that date, she may have never run into Gale and he wouldn’t have texted his mother like a little bitch.

However, if he didn’t, then maybe her and Peeta might have still been living that lie.

In some ways, she should be thanking Gale—right after punching him in the nads.

Quickly, Katniss threw the dress on. She still fit in it nicely, her boobs filling the top a little better, but their little bun was still well hidden. After making sure that she didn’t reek of vomit, Katniss made her way out of the apartment and down the stairs.

Stepping onto the main floor, she found Prim and Johanna missing—but the door leading to the backyard was open. It wasn’t uncommon to find a group of them congregating for a glass of wine or just to talk about their day.

She loved this about their building; it was a community—a family.

As Katniss stepped into the backyard, her mouth fell open.

She didn’t see Prim or Johanna but found something entirely different.

To both sides of the door were easels with blown-up photos of herself and Peeta. She continued down seeing that first photo at their City Hall ‘wedding’ to a photo of themselves in front of the Mellark Bakery on its grand opening. It was easy to piece together that they were all set up to show the sequence of their relationship.

However, the last two before the archway of the garden showed two images of what was supposed to be their future.

One was an actual wedding, their faces photoshopped—masterfully—on a bride and groom in front of beautiful rose archway. The guests all happened to have the faces of their families and friends.

Then, there was the last one; the one of herself—with a very nice rack she might add—holding a baby in her arms. Photoshopped Peeta stood behind her, gazing adoringly at their little one.

Her hand reached to the little one’s face and with a sigh, Katniss wondered who their actual little one would look like.

She moved forward, entering through the thick archway where she was greeted by Beetee and the Odair girls.

In front of her, a large white curtain going from one side of the yard to the other had been drawn up, keeping her from seeing what was behind it.

Katniss looked to her neighbor. “Hey Beetee, what’s going on?”

He smiled at her before reaching behind him and presenting her with a delicate daisy crown.

“The girls—” Beetee looked to Sarah and Rose, who giggled and bounced excitedly. “—and I were in charge of this lovely crown.” He placed it carefully on her head. “The girls chose the flowers.”

Katniss looked to each twin. “Thank you, Sarah. Thank you, Rose.”

Beetee held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Tentatively, she took it. “I’m a little scared of what I might find behind that curtain.”

The man next to her chuckled as the little girls ran ahead.

“Now when has that ever stopped you from leaping forward?” he asked her, a softness in his dark eyes. They stood in front of the curtain and Beetee parted it with just enough space for her to walk through. “Go ahead.”

Taking a deep breath, Katniss stepped in.

The beginning strains of her favorite song came on and she let out a breath of shock at the sight.

Her family along with the Mellarks were there, all gathered to one side as the Abernathys, Odairs, as well as Beetee and Wiress stood to the other side. She walked down an aisle of rose petals gazing up at the streamers creating a beautiful sage-green big top.

Then, her eyes went to the stage in front of her. “Holy shit…”

 “I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday I'm in love…”

 It was Peeta…on stage…singing into the mic—and why did she not know that he could sing?

Katniss felt her lips turn up in a grin when Peeta winked at her, his mouth against the mic.

 “Saturday, wait

And Sunday, always comes too late

But Friday, never hesitate...”

 And, was that Bran on the drums behind him…and Alex on bass?

“I don’t know if Peeta ever mentioned that he and his brothers had a band,” Daphne said suddenly next to her, blue eyes bright with mirth. “They were quite the thing in our neighborhood.”

“I can imagine why,” she replied breathlessly, watching as Prim and Johanna sang back-up to Peeta’s lead vocals. “He’s good.”

Daphne gave her a kiss on the cheek. “He stopped singing for a long while—until you came along. Now, he would only do this again for you.” She moved Katniss forward gently. “Go on, listen to his song.”

 “Always take a big bite

It's such a gorgeous sight

To see you eat in the middle of the night

You can never get enough

Enough of this stuff

It's Friday

I'm in love…”

 Katniss didn’t know if it was the baby or just her, but she could feel the butterflies flutter in her stomach as she walked towards to the stage.

Oh shit—her stomach lurched; it was neither her or the baby.

It was her stomach.

Katniss could feel the bile rushing up and she lifted her skirt with one hand and used the other hand to cover her mouth before rushing to the left side of the garden. The music stopped abruptly in a jangled mess as she reached the end and let the vomit erupt from her mouth.

She was barely aware as someone gathered her hair up as she continued to throw up into what looked like a set of begonias.

“Oh God…whose flowers were these?” she choked out through tears and vomit.

“Don’t worry about it,” Haymitch said off-handedly behind her. “Those tenants were huge douches.”

A cool hand went to her forehead. “Are you okay?” It was Peeta. She realized as she leaned back against his chest that he had been holding her hair. “I didn’t think that it was humanly possible for someone to vomit that much in such a short span of time.”

Katniss closed her eyes, feeling the relief of being in his arms after such a trying day.

“I didn’t know you had such good voice,” she breathed into his chest, exhaustion taking over.

“Just one of my many talents,” Peeta told her and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You wanted romantic comedy, right? Don’t all good romantic comedies come with a kickass soundtrack?”

She laughed wetly. “They do, but they don’t usually come with vomit.”

Peeta chuckled, his chest contracting as he let out a shaky breath.

“No, they don’t. Some of them do come with one of these—” Peeta pressed his mouth to her ear and her skin tingled at the warmth of his breath against her ear. “Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me—for real this time?”

Her eyes opened and Katniss sat up, her gray ones suddenly watering at his words.

“Are you only asking me because I’m pregnant?” she managed to blurt out.

His eyes suddenly widened to a degree that could break world records—or cause a major headache.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Uncle Peeta?” Jack suddenly stood in front of them holding out a tiny red box. “Your mommy told me to give this to you.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Peeta ruffled his unruly locks before the little boy went to join his family. He turned back to Katniss. “Take a look.”

Shakily, Katniss took the box and opened it. There laying inside was a beautiful pearl ring surrounded by small diamonds on a thin band.

There was no way in hell, with a ring like this, that he did not plan this proposal.

“This is real.” She met Peeta’s eyes. “Are you okay…about the baby?”

Katniss felt her chest swell as tears lined his deep-blue eyes and his mouth split into a grin.

“We’re going to have baby,” he said thickly.

Peeta kissed her soundly, despite what Katniss was sure was the most rancid-flavored kiss.

But if that wasn’t love, then she didn’t know what was.

When they pulled apart, Katniss beamed at him.

“We’re having a baby…and getting married as soon as I brush my teeth.”

Peeta helped her up and she adjusted her skirt, brushing bits of grass off.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s possible,” Peeta said. “We’d have to wait until tomorrow—”

“Actually—” Beetee approached them and handed Katniss a piece of paper. “Signed by the mayor herself.”

It was a marriage license, their names already on it with today’s date as their official wedding date.

They both looked to Beetee and he shrugged. “I came prepared.”

++++++

Many months later…

“Come on, little mama.” Peeta rubbed the small of her back. “Just a bit longer.”

Katniss groaned as she trudged forward. “I am so sick of being pregnant.”

“Really?” He gave her a smile. “I couldn’t even tell.”

“Why did I marry you?” she asked, grinning at him.

“Because I’m adorably irresistible,” Peeta told her as they reached the front. “And, I have a huge—”

“Ego,” Katniss finished for him. She pressed a kiss to his lips. “And your penis is not so bad.”

“Better curb your tongue,” he warned. “Our daughter might come out with a sailor’s mouth.”

“Help me up.” Holding Peeta’s hand, Katniss carefully stepped onto the bench and onto the flat surface of the table. The table creaked as she settled. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

Peeta joined her quickly, pulling her close.

“We can’t stay here for too long. Haymitch and Effie are expecting us. It’ll be their first date night since Luke was born,” Peeta told her.

“I know. Effie told me she’s been ‘aching’ for Haymitch.” Katniss blanched. “When she is really tired, she has no filter.”

“That was more than I needed to hear,” Peeta replied. “I guess it’s better than hearing about Alex and Johanna.” His brother had finally worn down Katniss’ friend and was now happily shackled after being married by an Elvis Presley impersonator in Las Vegas. “I don’t think my parents have forgiven them for eloping.”

“Well, they’ll forget once this one is born,” Katniss assured him, her hand on her swollen belly. She looked to Peeta. “Do you regret that we didn’t have a big wedding either?”

“Hell no!” he exclaimed. “I married you at sunset in front of our friends and family and it was actually official—”

“After I vomited in the middle of your performance.” Katniss leaned back against him. “I can’t believe I married the Nick Jonas of the Mellark brothers.”

He groaned. “Please stop with the Jonas references.”

“Okay…but when our daughter is sixteen, you can bet your ass that I’m playing the recording for her,” she responded.

“Deal.”

They sat back, looking out the window of the Mellark Bakery, content in the silence of the moment.

The silence didn’t last very long.

“Oh crap.” Katniss turned to her husband. “Help me up.”

He looked to her, used to her frequent trips to the bathroom and sudden need for pastries. “Why?”

“Because my water broke all over this table and it will cause water stains!” she burst out. “We just finished paying it off!”

Peeta jumped off it immediately, almost breaking that perfect Grecian nose in the process.

“It’s time?”

Katniss nodded, a bright smile on her face. “It’s time.”

 ______________

I hope this sated your appetite. I wish I could go into each character and tell you what happened to each but that would be like…ten more pages. I’d by happy to tell you via message on Tumblr.

For now, just know that Katniss delivered a healthy baby girl—and Peeta’s nose ended being broken, anyway. Next baby, he’ll be sure to not suggest that Katniss hold off on the drugs eleven hours in.

They’re still deciding on a name having vetoed Primrose the Second and Johanna the Great.

Suggestions for names are appreciated as well as presents for the newest tenant of the building.

Just a few other notes:

-A kouign-amann is actually a really flaky cake but here in San Francisco, they’re sold in a donut size so I think of them like cronut. Whatever it is, it’s flippin’ delicious.

-We have CityTargets in San Francisco, which are smaller versions of Target, and they’re basically made for urbanites or if you’re by the one next to San Francisco State University, college students.

-The current mayor of San Francisco is London Breed, I figure she’s still mayor in this timeline of the story.

Song: “Friday I’m in Love”-The Cure

Thank you for sticking around and reading!

With love, JLaLa

[princessbunnyblossom]

Roses and Bitemarks Ch7

Spinel ran as fast as her injured and aching legs could carry her.. She was shaking so much that it was difficult to move but luckily she managed to run quickly out of danger, however Jasper proved to be much faster and whether Spinel hated it or not she knew she needed to fight.   “So? Does the little plaything know how to fight?” Jasper mocked. Spinel didn't respond as she simply glared daggers at the war gem  which only seemed to earn a smile from her.   “Cute.” Jasper grinned. Without warning Jasper charged at the small gem with a crazed grin.   “Dodge!” The voice of the red gem spoke to her. . Spinel didn't waste time as she immediately dodged, ducked and moved side to side with such speed and agility that Jasper missed each punch and strike.   “Yes! Keep it up! Just like that!” The red gem’s voice spoke praising her. Spinel listened carefully to the voice secretly enjoying the small praises however that was short lived as Jasper managed to land a blow against her left cheek. Spinel yelped in pain as she crashed onto the cold and u forgiving ground. Her vision poured for a moment but she could hear the frantic voices speaking to her.   “Spinel! You need to get up! Jasper is coming. You need to fight back! The red gem’s voice cried.   “What if...what if I can't fight back.” The pink gem whimpered. There was a Beira moment of silence that seemed to unnerve Spinel.   “I know you can do it Spinel. Don't doubt yourself too quickly.” The voice of the blue gem said. Her voice alone seemed to soothe and ease the small heart shaped pink gem..  “You may think that you're just a spinel but you're much stronger than you think.” The blue gem’s voice spoke calmly. Spinel seemed taken aback by those words and found them to be both motivating and precious. They were so kind and thoughtful. Spinel stood up and brushed the small bits of blood off of the corner of her mouth.   “Th-that all you got!” She cried trying to sound brave. Jasper stared at the pink gem with a wide grin as she lunged for her but Spinel dodged out of the way in a mock of time and used the window of opportunity to clock the war gem in the back of the head with one of her fists that she had enlarged for the moment sending the orange gem crashing into the floor. However Jasper smiled at her wildly. Was she?...Was she enjoying this?! Spinel felt herself thoroughly unsettled.. Than again she was a war gem.   “Now you chose to fight me!” Jasper snarled. Spinel gulped.   “Wrong choice pip-squeak.” Jasper hissed. Spinel could feel her left side erupt with pain as they had been stuck with brute force by one of Jasper’s punches when she wasn't quick enough to dodge them. The poor pink gem yelped in pain as she crashed to the cold ground. She needed to fight. She knew she couldn't dodge she would need another strategy to defeat Jasper. Sides Spinel knew that eventually she wouldn't be able to dodge forever. Spinel swiftly used her arms and wrapped them around both shoulders that belonged to the war gem before flinging her against one of the pillars destroying it in the process. Honestly though Spinel didn't think that would work, despite Jasper being heavy she never thought her elasticity could be used like that. She was normally used for playing not fighting and yet seeing that seemed to both shock, amaze and scare her.. The pink gem watched in horror though as Jasper got up and began laughing maniacally.   “You know as much as I've had with this little brawl of ours I think we should get to the actual fighting.” Jasper said. Spinel could only stare at her with wide pink eyes. What did she mean by “actual fighting” they were fighting weren't they?! Spinel’s eyes shook as she glanced up at Jasper.   “Play- time's over..” Jasper growleled shape shifting her Elmer on and charging at the heart shaped gem. Spinel this time didn't move, this time she was going to fight she had to.. Spinel enlarged her fists and held back the war gem shoving her back, throwing her across the area they were in and threw her against one of the pillars destroying it into small pieces and chunks. Spinel this time charged at Jasper she was so done she wanted this war gem to feel just how angry she was with her.   “I'm done playing around. I refuse to just let you have what you want while I sit back and do nothing.!” Spinel shouted. Jasper gave her a look of disgust and anger. The pink gem managed to get a few good hits on the war gem but gasped when she felt the Quartz gem throw her against the ground harshly. Spinel coughed roughly. The pink gem dried out in pain as her pink hair was pulled and was face to face with the war gem.   “I will NOT be defeated by a weakling like you! You're just a toy! A plaything meant to be used and toyed with until they get bored and discard you.” Jasper bellowed punching the poor pink gem in her midsection causing her to lose her breath for a short time. Spinel coughed harshly pink blood splattered lightly on Jasper’s cheek who with a wick smile licked it up. Slowly yet surely panic began setting in. She was done for Spinel could feel large hands wrap around her neck and squeeze tightly. Jasper was choking her in hopes she would poof. Spinel groaned and gasped and despite not needing to breathe this was nothing short but terrifying. She could feel the world around her spin and get dizzy and she felt lightheaded was this how she was going to poof. Being choked by a war gem? No! Spinel wouldn't be pooled by this gem simply because she didn't get her way. She needed to listen to the blue gem’s voice and what she said to Spinel. She may be a spinel but she was one who refused to get proofed by a jasper. With some strength left in her form Spinel grunted and gagged at the tight hold her neck was receiving. Trying not to panic Spinel reached out and grabbed a hold of Jasper’s gem.   ‘Do it.’ Her mind said. Spinel didn't waste time as she gripped the said gem and began to pull. She pulled and pulled and even where they came an angry what are you doing?! From the war gem she didn't listen as she continued using each punch of strength left inside her to focus on one thing.. To rip that gem right out of her ugly mug. The pink gem cried out as the grip on her neck was tightening.   “N-ngh.” Spinel choked out but kept focus on what she was doing. She pulled harder on Jasper’s gem with strength she didn't think she could possibly possess but with the very last bursts of energy she had left Spinel pulled so hard that she heard the sweetest sound ever…… A gemstone that was pulled from its place.   “Aaaahhhh!!!” Spinel screeched giving out a battle cry as she finally ripped the gem out of its proper place. With a gust of smoke the war gem was no more there was only Spinel. Spinel heaved and gasped for air as she sat up holding her now slightly bruised neck. Pink eyes shakily stared down to what she was holding and Spinel shrieked when she saw the gem to which she threw the gem far away from her before taking off. She did not want to be there when Jasper reformed again. Spinel ran and ran and ran until she had lost sight of where she once was sighed in relief. She had finally gotten rid of that horrible gem. Spinel however felt a small pinch of guilt she didn't mean to do that but what else could she have done if she didn't she would have been proofed or stars knows what couldn't happened to her. Spinel shivered not wanting to think about it. Was this how Pink Diamond felt when she left her alone at the garden though? Relief? Relieved to get rid of an annoying gem like Spinel?  The pink gem looked down at her now dirty pink shoes and sniffed sadly. It hurt to think about Pink now. For now she needed to tend to more daunting matters. For instance the wound on her shoulder. It was no longer bleeding as much as before but it was still bleeding just a little but it was causing Spinel to feel dizzy which wasn't a good thing. Maybe she should lie down somewhere for awhile. It honestly sounded like a good idea especially with what she just went though. The pink gem was exhausted. Spinel stumbled and limped holding her wounded injury with her right hand while looking for a good spot to rest. Funny gems didn't need sleep but Spinel felt so desperate to rest that she thought she could fade away if she didn't. Finally the small heart shaped gem managed to find a nice pillar that was not destroyed in a fight between a war gem and the small pink gem carefully sat down and closed her eyes sighing softly to herself. The small pink gem began drifting away into the unconscious world. It was a good thing she had gotten as far away from where she had fought or she wouldn't be able to do this pleasant thing she liked. Spinel could feel her mind slowly drift into the sweet land of dreams. Spinel didn't have a clue where she was but the small gem knew someone was near. Spinel tried to look up trying to see who it was but she was far too tired to do much right now. However Spinel could hear his voice.   “You poor sweet thing. Look what that brute did to you” The male voice cooed softly

[everdreamts-blog]

  Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this.   The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth.   Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside.   But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been – and still is – his best bet.

  It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition.   Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows.   “Are you sure this is the right place?”   Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.”   “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.”   “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.”   Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font.   The letters begin to flicker, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms.   Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.”   Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.”   “Holy shit.”   Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then.   Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before.   The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.”   The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?”   “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.”   She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading.   “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card.   “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.”   “Sounds very… non-magical.”   Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.”   As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie.   He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps.   Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?”   “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?”   Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.”   Wyatt melts into the sofa. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.”   Offering a one-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.”   Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile.   “My apologies for the wait.”   He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite.   “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?”   Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick.   And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left.   Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards.   Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price.   The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down.   A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.”   Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?”   “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.”   “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker.   “Half, yes. And half shifter.”   Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!”   The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them.   “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.”   He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood.   “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.”   He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately.   “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.”   Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.”   Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?”   Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself – if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being – you know. Until a few weeks ago.”   The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.”   And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one.   “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.”   At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.”   “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?”   Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.”   Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat.   This job was going to be anything but boring.

[lokisgame]

Enchanted Forest [8]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7]

Water washed down her face and hair, breast and back, rinsing off last remnants of the dream, and leaving her with nothing but scraped raw logic and reason. She read too much last night. All the Faeries, gods and spirits filtered through her subconscious, mixed with fresh memories and emotional unease, and created this vision, a figment of her imagination. She never actually met Mulder before she was assigned to work with him, but Quantico was a big place, with agents coming and going all the time, from all places. BSU, VCS, ISU, Mulder worked with all of them, and there was a good chance they passed each other in the hallway, just as she passed thousands of people, every day over the twenty one weeks in training or even later, when she was teaching. Maybe she wondered about it, or maybe they even discussed it, killing time on some long, boring stakeout. It probably did happen.

The house on the other hand, troubled her more, slipping from memory the harder she tried to hold on. All she had left was the feeling of warmth, not just physical, but emotional. Safety of a place of her own.

Wrapped in a warm bathrobe, with a towel piled on top of her head, she sipped coffee and looked around her brightly lit apartment. All light wood and pale blue, pinstriped furniture, books neatly arranged in a bookshelf; this was her home, spacious and comfortable. Yet the feeling of arms around her and the warmth of fire in the hearth, stirred something inside her, that she didn't quite understand. She was happy with her freedom and life in general, was she not?Mulder's words echoed in her head, as if whispered in the darkness.

Dreams are answers to questions we haven't found out how to ask yet.

Waving off the thought, she dressed and locked the doors, thankful, that it was finally Friday.

She was about to take a sip of coffee, when Mulder came in, looking considerably better. Only evidence of his illness was the rare addition of a green scarf to his smile and the usual dark coat, dark suit, bad tie ensemble. "Hi." She said over the mug. "Hi yourself." He crossed the room in four long strides and rounded the desk, presenting her with a paper cup. "What's this?" "Triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato." She was smiling before he reached the half-sweet part. "You noticed." Mulder grinned and reached into his coat pocket, producing a small paper bag with a flourish, "and, a cookie." Scully laughed, popping the lid on her drink. "Keep it." "Thanks." It was what she always ordered, when felt like treating herself, including the chocolate chip cookie she got for Mulder. "How are you doing?" "Only slightly used," he said, going back to hang up his coat, "thanks for the soup." "You're welcome." "I owe you lunch," he added, taking her usual chair and accepting the coffee she didn't need anymore. "Coffee's fine." Scully watched him break the cookie in half, so they could share it, also part of the ritual. "What did you mean by Yule, yesterday I didn't have a chance to ask." "Some believe," he explained, reaching out and letting her pick the piece she liked, "that on the night that Christians celebrate as Christmas Eve, Anglo-Saxon and Germanic peoples used to celebrate Mother's Night or Mōdraniht." "An event dedicated to female deities, usually appearing in trios," she said, cookie half way to her mouth, filling in the gaps for him, "like Matres and Matronae." "Or like victims in our case. A pattern appearing often in many religions, not only in Europe, but here I'd focus mostly on the Scandinavian Norns, goddesses of fate." "Wyrd, Verdandi and Skuld, past, present and future." "Exactly," wiping crumbs with the side of his hand, he took a sip of coffee, before continuing. "Some believe, that sacrifices might have occurred during the event, possibly currying favour." "And you think that the dead body was part of some ritual?" Mulder shrugged, noncommittal. They both knew the statistics on murder and the occult. "If you know of any Wicca practitioners that suddenly became vampires, I'm all ears." Scully snorted and bit into the cookie, keeping the dream to herself. "Anyway, these are just loose theories, and since they found only one body this year and that suicide note." "We might have another year, before any new evidence shows up." "Not that I would wish that on anyone, but I guess, yeah." He washed down the rest of the cookie with coffee and smiled. "So, you did anything interesting last night?" "Nothing special," she said, but grinned suddenly, holding up one finger. "What?" Mulder watched her disappear into the backroom for a second, just to come back with another plastic box. "I was going to bring this to you later, but you're here, so." He took the box and opened it, smelling cinnamon and vanilla crust, apple pie. "My mom says hi." Without thinking twice, he drew her closer, sneaking one arm around her waist. "Thanks," he said softly and rested his cheek against her blazer. Scully stroked his hair, as the seconds stretched longer and longer, each one more comfortable than the last. She was growing used to his touch, shape and feeling of his arms. Something was shifting inside her, tipping scales of her inner balance, just a little off to where ever Mulder was. Combing fingers through his hair one last time, she realised they felt soft and silky smooth, exactly like her dream fox's fur.

Having Mulder close, helped Scully focus a little more easily. He sniffled his way through the day with just an occasional cough shaking the office, as he sat by the desk going through books, just as she had the day before. Lunch hour came and went, lost among clicking of keyboards and rustle of pages. Finishing the case report and wrapping some overdue ones as well, Scully felt like she did an honest day's work, and was about to put away a few case files in the cabinet, when Mulder came in, unexpectedly. She never noticed him leave. "Did you know it's snowing again?" He said, combing fingers through damp hair. Looking up, she saw fine, white dust gathering in the corners of the skylights, where wind couldn't blow it out. Mulder pushed a salad it into her hands. "This isn't the lunch I promised, but let's take a break." "Thanks." Scully smiled and took a seat on her side of the desk. "You okay?" She asked, above the crackling of plastic. "Better." Mulder unwrapped his sandwich and bit into it, the scent of bacon hit her from five feet away. "You should eat more vegetables, you know," she admonished. "I see lettuce and tomatoes here," he mumbled, glancing at the sandwich, "those are still vegetables, right?" "You know what I mean." Scully sighed, but his witty reply was cut off by a chirping cellphone. Holding up one finger, he answered the call. "Mulder." Grunting affirmatives, he listened for a moment then scribbled a few words on a post-it. Cryptic, monosyllabic conversations weren't unusual, but something didn't sit right with Scully this time, telling her to add a new item to the list of possible unidentified callers. But he was sick, he shouldn't be working, that would be… "Okay, I'll be there." He finished and hung up, folding the post-it and putting it away with the phone, before going back to his late lunch. Halfway from another bite, he noticed her staring. "What?" "Nothing," Scully looked away, suddenly very interested in proper distribution of low fat dressing, "nothing." "Poker night with the Gunmen," Mulder said casually. Nodding, but unable to force herself to look up, awkwardness welled inside her against all reason. Irrational fears were just that, irrational, but why did she feel like he wasn't perfectly honest this time?

Large tub of ice cream landed in her cart when she did her customary Friday night grocery run. Some said that diamonds were a girl's best friends, but since she was on a mere g-woman's salary, she had to make do with second best. Who said she didn't love herself. She even planned to rent The Exorcist, to make the night perfectly perfect. Mulder had plans and so did she. Her only dilemma was, should she take a bath before or after the movie. She took a good few minutes at the store, trying to decide between another batch of good, old, lavender-vanilla and neroli-bergamot. Something about that sweet, citrus fragrance made her smile and she told herself not to think too much. Not about the bath, the ice cream or the movie, or the fact that she was going home to an empty house, on a snowy Friday evening, when even Mulder had plans. Plans, she wasn't at all suspicious about, plans that involved him, three guys and a deck of cards; probably some tacos as well. All the onions and chilli peppers, she felt beginnings of heartburn just thinking about them. The chilli peppers, not the men. He couldn't be working that other job of his, not with a cold, that would be unsanitary, and unprofessional, and unsexy. Mulder sneezing at someone's… The image made her giggle, and earned her a curious stare from the woman waiting in front of her in the checkout line. No, definitely shouldn't think about Mulder and other women, even like that.

The movie didn't hold her interest, not as it used to anyway. She even turned the volume down low, all the screaming and chanting starting to get on her nerves. The ice cream came and went, while a forgotten bottle of wine she found in the fridge, kept calling her name. White, semi-sweet, light as a feather. Since it was a thank you gift from a neighbour, who's kid got sick and she just happened to be home that evening, she was saving it for some nice dinner occasion. But the longer she thought about it, the more she realised, that she didn't really see that nice dinner happening. Her mother visited rarely, Missy even rarer, actually, when she saw her family, it was at her mother's. Friends moved on, disappearing in the loving arms of families of their own, while she kept working and traveling. Even Mulder, found a way to spice up his life, break out of the routine. It was her, who stayed behind. Was she really the boring one? No, she was most definitely not. She opened the bottle and ran the bath.

Much better. Scully thought, letting the warm water take her in, a glass of wine dangling from her hand in soft candlelight. This felt good, simple and warm, and the wine was indeed divine. She savoured the crispness and breathed in the sweet scent of bath salts, letting her head fall back and her mind wander aimlessly. Surrounded by calm, memories began to float around her head. First came the weight, of his arm around her, then of him in her arms. He didn't try any tricks or dirty moves, utterly undemanding, even when he asked her to lie down beside him, he asked for nothing but the warmth of her body. For all the years of flirting, when it came to the real deal, he was disarmingly honest, blurring the lines just enough to get what he needed, and if she told him no, he would respect that. Not that she would, when he was shivering and looking at her with those eyes, and giving her that cute pout. Mulder was strong, intelligent and capable, but when the lights were out, when they were alone, he was a dreamer, a romantic, chasing romantic ideas no matter how far they would take him. She admired it, respected it, stopped it if she had too, but most of all, she loved it. As aggravating and dangerous it might be, Mulder was a challenge and she loved that about him. But how could she miss that whole other job of his? Why didn't he tell her earlier, apart from the obvious. He said he liked it, that the women cared about him, but why didn't he come to her. Didn't she care enough? She risked her life for him more times that she could count, without even stopping to think about it, but still, he searched for solace in somebody else's arms. What if this was his way to cope, to unwind? What if he was doing it tonight? What if the poker night was just a front, a code, to keep the secret from her all along. The phone stared at her from a shelf above the tub, brought in case someone called. Scully picked it up and stared back, at the keys. She knew the number by heart, didn't even need Mulder's perfect recall for it, and on an impulse, dialled. The phone rang, two, three times… "Lone Gunman," Frohike answered, sounding businesslike as usual. "Hi," she said, realising she was in a tub, naked. "It's Scully, could you turn off the recorder?" "Why hello, Agent Scully," his tone turned into something that supposed to fall under alluring, but could only be considered endearingly embarrassing. "Done as per your request, what else can I do for you?" Uncontrollable urge to cover herself up made her sit up, but she did it very slowly, afraid the sloshing water might give the game up. "Ummm," her cheeks burned. What has come over me? "Is Mulder there?"

On the other side of town, Frohike sighed and poked Mulder's shoulder with a wooden spoon. "It's for you," he said, waiting for him to swallow the bite of taco he just started. "The good doctor." Mulder licked his fingers from the last of salsa and took the phone. "Hey Scully, what's up?" "Hi," she said, voice faltering slightly, "how are you doing?" "Me? I'm fine," he smiled, popping a piece of green pepper into his mouth, "maybe five bucks behind, but I'll get that right back," he had to speak over the boo's and howls of the guys. "Why?" "It's nothing, just checking." "Are you okay, Scully? You didn't catch my cold, did you?" That silenced the Gunmen and good. Mulder could almost swear, he heard water sloshing on her end of the line. "No, no," she said, still a bit odd, "I'm fine." "Okay," he chuckled, definitely water sloshing. "I'm sorry for bothering you, have fun." "Thanks, and just so you know, you never bother me." That at least got a small laugh, she was acting kind of weird tonight. "Okay, goodnight." "Goodnight Scully." He hung up and went back to his food, grinning, under three pairs of curious eyes. Byers piped up first. "Why would Scully catch your cold?" "Not why, how." Langly corrected, when Mulder refused to look up. "You know I don't talk about that stuff." He said quietly. Collective howl shook the entire house that gave The Lone Gunman its' headquarters.

[sunshinewhale]

an oxeye daisy

he loves me, he loves me not.

pairing: minhyuk x reader  pov: unnamed reader, second person, mostly past tense

genre: angst  word vomit: ~2800

warnings: i’m just writing the same stuff in different words and different situations. lol.

notes: not proofread. i was trying to do something small and short and quick but it turned into a monster. this was only supposed to be ~500 words.

Autumn wind caresses your skin with soft chills, but it pales in comparison to the frozen wasteland in your empty chest. It’s numb. The playground before you is flowing with youth and joyful screams of delight. It’s not as contagious as you thought it would be.

A child comes up to you. She clutches a tangled garden of flowers in her chubby hands, and specks of dirt glitter on her dress coat. Shyly, she offers one out to you. Your numbness thaws a little at the way her small baby fingers are clumsy and unpracticed.

You smile and thank her, taking the flower by the stem. You twirl it in your fingers and tell her it’s pretty and that she’s even prettier. The child beams with unrestrained glee and runs back towards the playground with a bounce in her steps.

Your sight focuses on the flower again, and it’s anything but pretty.

It’s withering. The stem is crumpled and bent horribly out of shape. The petals are carelessly smushed, discoloured and ruined at the tips. It was well on the way to death’s door before it was unearthed from its roots in the name of childish innocence.

A wild wave of nostalgia overcomes you. You wish you could to return to the honeyed fairy tales of childhood, when you didn’t understand how something as good and pure as love could ruthlessly maim beating hearts.

You run your finger over the wispy petals, and gingerly pluck one off.

He loves me.

And another.

He loves me not.

Another.

He loves me.

Minhyuk burst into your life on a somber spring day. He had carried the sun on his shoulders like he was meant to illuminate your starless sky.

You were strangers, then. At best, friends of friends, though you weren’t really sure what Kihyun considered Minhyuk to be.

That didn’t stop him.

He was so alight with life. He glowed with the watercolours of sunrise and the universe seemed to bloom into existence under his fingertips. He chattered on about anything and everything, weaving a unique melody of thrill and mischief that tickled your ears. The world excited him, the ordinary amazed him, and he wanted to share his exhilaration with you. It was annoying, but it was so annoyingly endearing.

“You don’t understand! Listen to me,” he said breathlessly, wonderstruck and awe thrumming in his voice. “We’re in such a boundless galaxy with years and years of history and look! We’ve meet here, in the same time and at the same place! That’s a miracle in itself! Wouldn’t it be such a shame if we don’t become friends?”

You remember feeling something in your wary heart stir, for the first time. Minhyuk had made a mere crack at the edge of your steel fortress, but it was enough for a trickle of his warmth to seep through and reach the slumbering eros beneath.

He loves me not.

Sworn to secrecy under the velvet moon, he confided that you weren’t exactly his type. Not that he really had a type, he hurried to explain, because types are such an inflexible concept and everyone is worth loving anyway, but he was furiously drawn to people who painted their souls vividly with emotion and wore vulnerability like golden armour.

You wore it like weakness.

He had thought you were solid diamond. Almost too unapproachable, too stiff, too aloof, too alike Kihyun. The lover in him ached, throbbing at the far distance you had withdrawn into yourself. He wanted to show you the magic the world hid in plain sight, but he had only meant to become your friend. He had a difficult time with guarded hearts that refused to flower in the sincerity of spring.

He loves me.

But then, he confessed, he saw how he made you smile for the first time, so silently sweet because you thought he wasn’t watching, and he fell just a little bit in love. He coaxed you to laugh for the first time and he fell a little bit harder. His heart swelled to the heavens and it couldn’t decide between skipping beats or beating faster when he began to realize how effortless your smiles and your laughter came for him, and only for him. Like the North star dazzling amongst billions of other identical stars, he felt so, so special.

One day, he watched you as your eyes hooked onto him in a sea of strangers. He watched as your face lit up in an indescribable, iridescent glow and the way your lips smoothly curled upwards in unrestrained beauty, and he fell completely, utterly, hopelessly.

“It was so enchanting, I couldn’t control it at all,” he breathed love against your lips, “I thought, we were definitely meant to be more than friends. I yearned to become yours.”

You placed your fingers over the heat of his heart, and you traced your name on his moonlit skin, as if you were searing it into memory.

“Is this mine, then?”

“Only yours,” he took your hand into his, and kissed his declaration into your soul as the night and all its stars bore witness, “and don’t you dare give it back.”

He loves me not.

You had hardened the outer layers of your heart into stone because you wanted to protect yourself against the dangers of unbridled passion, of loving and being loved in return. Minhyuk had given himself to you in sweet surrender, but you were reluctant to throw yourself in wholly. Just the very idea of loving entirely, emotionally, unconditionally, had always been difficult for you.

But Minhyuk made it so ridiculously easy.

He settled into your daily life as naturally as the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Whale-shaped cushions made themselves home on your couch, another coffee mug in the kitchen, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. You fell into silken bedsheets with him each night, and you woke up to his handsomeness each morning. You were budding, bountiful and bright, allowing your roots to tangle with his as you bloomed thornless red roses and white ivy without poison.

You had stars in your eyes, and you were drowning in everything about Minhyuk.

His adorable uneven blink. The husky pitch of his voice. The precious crinkles of his eyes. The puppy-like curve of his smile. His large, warm hands.

His laughter was pure sunshine after the rain. He kissed like fresh dewdrops sparkling on the grass during sunrise, and embraced you securely like the way the summer sea hugged the horizon. His silly antics brightened even the bleakest of your days, and you’ve never felt so saturated with colour.

Minhyuk almost had you entirely. Almost. You were barely able to hold a small part of yourself back, but your sanity demanded you to do it. It was your last line of defence, your last hope before the ground underneath you gave way to raw vulnerability. It was small enough that it would’ve been inconsequential, but like everything else about you, he had noticed.

“You’re so enduringly careful, so cautious,” he asked into the dim light of the rising morning, “have you been hurt before?”

You tensed. Your shoulders curled into yourself out of defense, and unconsciously, you turned away from him slightly.

“No, but I’m afraid of being hurt. My heart is weak, and if I hurt I will shatter and I won’t know how to pick up the pieces and put myself back together,” your half-whispers had barely sounded in the soft silence, “that makes me afraid of you, too.”

He pulled you into his arms to unravel you, to undo the insecure knots you had wound yourself into. Minhyuk touched his forehead against yours, patiently coaxing you to look at him, and with little resistance, you locked onto his unwavering gaze.

You had nearly forgotten how to breathe.

His pupils were crystal clear and unbearably sincere. You saw endless love reflected in them, and then, you saw yourself.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he sweared, and his voice promised you eternity, “I’ll be careful, too. I won’t hurt you.”

He paused, body stilling. His eyes widened round, like he suddenly had a life-changing revelation.

“Oh my god, I would even eat a cucumber for you.”

Minhyuk had made a face, his nose scrunched in disgust as if the very thought of eating the cursed vegetable brought him pain. You remember your fear washing away into the unknowns of the ocean, genuine fondness bubbling in its place as you promised you would never subject him to such cruelty.

He loves me.

Without even trying, he left his traces on your forever.

He was the love you dreamed about in childish fantasies, the one that lived in every fairytale and every myth, every legend. The love that made mere mortals defy gods, destroyed kings and brought great empires to war and to fall into ruin. He was the love that made miracles that you could never even imagine, happen.

And miracle, he did. Minhyuk made quick work and smoothly demolished down every last barrier that shielded your heart from the world. He didn’t leave a single brick behind in his wake. Your heart was beating naked on your sleeve, bearing his name in bolded love letters.

Your heart was so in bliss you could barely contain yourself.

“I was so reserved, Minhyuk, wasn’t it hard? I think I was hard to love.”

He chuckled at your query, a mischievous glint in his laughter as he teased, “I’m not going to lie, you’re still a little hard to love. I’m amazing, I know.”

You pouted, and amusement shook his shoulders. Adoration oozed from his entire being as he patted your cheek like he was consoling a spoiled child, but the slight scrunch of his brow told you he was giving it some serious thought.

“It was a little hard, but the hardest thing was convincing you to let me love you. Compared to that, loving you came so, so easily.”

He cradled your face as if he was holding the most precious treasure in his hands. His eyes lowered as his voice grew tender, “but you know, when I saw the beginnings of love in your eyes, I knew it was worth everything. “

“You’re worth everything,” he repeated, and his lips found yours.

He loves me not.

Spring came to an end. Spring always came to an end.

On the water’s surface, there wasn’t a single flaw. Stars never stopped twinkling in your eyes whenever you caught his gaze, and you were constantly a crisp reflection in his. Kihyun had begun to joke about being invited to your summer wedding. Minhyuk was beyond delighted that someone else saw you so clearly in his future, and you took the idea as naturally as the changing season. Love firmly rooted you two together, and in unending selflessness, both of you would do anything for each other.

Maybe, there were warning signs hanging in the air all along, like small ripples that sailors paid no mind. Maybe, the hazy promises of love had made you two both willfully blind.

Minhyuk was the perfect child of fate and destiny, and you were the other side of the coin, ingrained in choice and chances. His heart was big and his love limitless, he gave too much and at times, it felt too intense. There was too much to bear. On your worst days, you wanted him to give less, to meet your needs halfway and give you a chance to breathe. You didn’t mind suffocating in his soul, but you were new in your steps and you had just learned to trust yourself in the hands of another. For you, this territory was unfamiliar, still strangely foreign. He mistook that for doubt because you didn’t feel secure enough in his embrace, so he gave you even more.

Maybe, that was your downfall.

He loves me.

You knew Minhyuk would never leave you because he had promised you forever, and that was simply an absolute truth. Every last cell in his body was willing to follow you in eternal vow, everything else be damned.

You are worth everything, his words had echoed in your mind.

No matter what Minhyuk thought, you weren’t everything. 

You couldn’t be everything. 

So beneath, the current was turbulent. In a book of relationships, there was a page you two just couldn’t agree on. He continued to pour his love onto you until his veins were dry and his pulse was weak with exhaustion, and he still insisted it wasn’t enough. Because you understood Minhyuk and his good intentions, you let his love fill you until it ached raw and wounded. You readily endured it even though the fullness bruised you, the blood underneath your skin silently screaming too much.

Like a sluggish toxin, love’s name gradually became weary and loving put a heavy strain on both of you. However much you and Minhyuk were willing, you knew it wasn’t right. The flowers of your roses began to wilt, but the vines thrived, growing sharp thorns. Your ivy buds shrivelled, feeding sickeningly sweet poison instead of honey nectar.

You knew, then.

When the sun dipped below the skyline and it began raining on the last day of spring, you murdered his beating heart.

“We’ve been trying too hard, Minhyuk, maybe we’re meant to just be friends.”

Your eyes had already been wet before the words even left you. Fear settled into the lines of his face as he reached out for you, to console you, to hold you and deny you of what he knew you intended to do. He tucked your head into the curve of his neck, and his fingers curled into you desperately like you would disappear if he let you go.

The comfort of his warmth broke you, and in a shuddering breath, you grieved in his arms. Your tears burned stains into his skin, and in an instant, you felt new wetness that didn’t belong to you.

“No, no, no, don’t cry,” his voice cracked, and his hands shook as they cradled your face, “you can’t cry because of me.”

Then Minhyuk had cried too, until his eyes turned bloodshot and his throat was hoarse with heartbreak.

“I love you,” he sobbed, “I’m sorry I ended up hurting you, I’m sorry I wasn’t careful enough, I’m so sorry—”

“You were careful. You didn’t hurt me. Maybe, it just hurts to love, but I chose to love you regardless,” you kissed his watery eyelids and ignored the sting of fresh tears at the back of your eyes, “I know you’ve been hurting too. We did our best.”

The sound of his weeping heart rang in your ears. It didn’t want to let go, and in all the truths of the universe, neither did you. 

One of the truths deafened you to his pain, gripped your hand and forced you to go.

What you want isn’t always what you need, the truth had said, what he wants isn’t always what he needs.

Minhyuk had promised he would never hurt you, and it was you that made him a liar.

He loves me not.

You had blinked, and autumn arrived at your doorstep.

Your life seems even bleaker than when you first met him. Your vision is colourless and your eyes cannot adjust to the vibrancy of the warm tones of harvest. All you can think of are of wilted leaves, barren trees, and dying flowers that have been robbed of too much time.

The skies are thick with cloudy misery, and the mornings are starting to darken into longer nights. You hardly see sunlight on the sidewalk, nowadays.

Even if it’s somewhere else, you hope the sun is still shining.

He loves me.

You hope he’s alright. 

You hope the gaping wound you left him as a parting gift has healed.

He loves me not.

You hope he has his head held high and he’s found light and life in autumn.

He loves me.

(He deserves to be happy, more than anyone else.)

He loves me not—

Your fingers tremble.

There’s a single petal remaining, limply hanging on the flower in your hands.

He loves me.

Bitterness claws up your throat and you can’t help but smile dryly at the cruelness of the universe. Familiar wetness stings your eyes and you breathe away the urge to cry.

You’ve should’ve known better than to think just loving would be enough.

The petals scattered at your feet look like fragmented pieces of memories from your spring. You watch as the autumn breeze picks up and carries them away.

You crouch down and carelessly cover the flower and the lone petal with loose earth. You bury Minhyuk and his starry kisses and sunlit smiles. You bury the what ifs and the maybes and the it could have beens.

It doesn’t matter, anymore.

His shattered heart is already six feet under.

[tenyatrash]

Day 4: The Spy and the Storm

This is my (late) entry for Day 4 of the BNHA Noir Week 2019. Tumblr hates my ao3 links so let’s try this instead. @bnha-noir-week Rain, Thrill, Prison 

In which Stain has a visitor and Hagakure has a plan. 

Ships: None

Characters: Hagakure and Stain

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1517 Chizome opens his eyes, not sure what’s woken him.

There’s lotsa options when your life has coalesced into a waking nightmare like this.

Air that’s always too cold or hot. The smell of mildew that seeps in with the rain and hangs in the dead air of small cells and dank showers. Crummy grub, always on the edge of rotting, that’s served by angry mugs on cheap plastic trays. Hours, days, months, years of nothing, lives so dull that the occasional flash of violence glints like a diamond in a vein of coal.

He never thought he’d end up in prison, always assumed he’d go out in a blaze of glory, tommy guns singing out his name, press and public talking ‘bout his mission in hushed tones as he rotted in the dirt and others took up the call. He coulda been a martyr. A dark knight, a scourge of righteousness against this city and all the false heroes and fakes that call it home.

But luck’s never favored him, so maybe he outta have known he’d end up stuck in here, betrayed by his own lousy body.

There’s a baton in the distance somewhere, the metal of the weapon clanging against cold iron bars in an almost soothing rhythm. Damn, he’s been in here too long, if the sound of a guard is making him think of music instead of mayhem. Still, the sound is nice. Far enough away not to clang in his ears like it must be to the others on the hall, close enough that it mixes with the sounds of rain beating against cinderblock and reinforced glass like some half-dreamt memory of song.

He rolls over on the plastic mat that the state calls a bed and looks up at the ceiling, where the wetness of the rain and his own cursed breaths combine into condensation that drip, drip, drips down to the rusty grate in the floor.

He squints at the entrance to his cell, to the metal bars that do nothing to keep out the screams and groans and panting ramblings of his fellow prisoners, yet do plenty to keep him in. He’s looked at those bars plenty over the past few months, gotten to know every flake of peeling paint and every ridge of bumpy metal, imperfectly forged for imperfect people. He knows every detail of this bleak little slice of damnation, and that’s why he knows something is off with this here picture.

Sure, the bars look right...mostly…

But there’s something weird in the way the metal shines, or in this case, doesn’t, under the swinging fluorescent lights. The scarred prisoner slowly sits up.

Hell, it’s almost like…

He approaches the bars, tryna stay nonchalant about the whole affair, as if he doesn’t notice the small puffs of breath that turn the normally shiny metal dull and push a little life into the dead air that surrounds this crumbling tomb.

He heads to the discount sink that sits above a bolted down metal contraption they call a toilet, red eyes flicking up, tryna make out a shape in the gloom of the rain-shrouded slammer. It’s the damnedest thing, really. The longer he stands here, listening to the dull cacophony of the joint, the more certain he is that there’s breathing, steady and soft, just outta view.

Must be some two-bit stealth quirk. Make em invisible but not unnoticeable.

He’s seen better.

He’s killed better, in his day.

But for now, he’s mighty bored and mighty tired of living this life, so he takes the chance anyway, and starts a conversation.

“How long you planning on eyeballing me, punk?”

The ghost at the bars takes the bait. Must be a really lousy spy after all.

“Well, gee...I hadn’t gotten that far really. I was kinda expecting you to start monologuing, or drawing on the walls or something, in a real revealing way? But mostly you just seem to sleep and squint, so I guess talking is the new plan.”

Chizome rolls his eyes at the dumb as nails assumption that criminals and villains were so simple, just clockwork pieces that lit up and wrapped up stories in neat little packages so the hero could sleep easy and the citizens could be safe and simple in their meaningless lives.

“You watch too many gangster flicks, kid.”

Toru snorts and laces her fingers together, unseen.

“Maybe. One of my friends really likes ‘em, so I guess I’ve seen a few.”

The killer known as Stain heads back to his bunk, wadding up an extra uniform to use as a pillow as he props up his body against the smooth cold of the wall that separates him from the outside world.

“So...sneaking in here, watching me, waiting like some rat...what’s the angle on that?”

Toru shrugs, not that he can see.

“You attacked a bunch of my friends, awhile ago. Your League buddies did too. Just wondering what was up with that.”

Chizome squints and thinks back. He’s attacked plenty of people, false heroes one and all. Well, maybe with one or two exceptions, but he never claimed to be no saint. Still, those low-lives in the League too? Well then, that must mean Endeavor, or the pipsqueaks at UA, and he has a hard time picturing a no-good bastard like Endeavor having many who’d call him friend.

UA it is, then.

“Oh, and you here for vengeance, maybe a thrill kill? That it, lil girl?”

“Nah.”

“Why not. You could get away with it, you know. Wait ‘til I’m nice and close, slip your hands, or a rope, if you’re weak, I guess, round my throat and choke me out right against these bars. The rain would drown out my struggling, and probably go a good way towards washing away your sins too.”

Toru won’t say she doesn’t consider it, least for a tic. After all, he’s sure made her life rough, really taken the shine off of her high school education. Made it damn near impossible to dream or date or do anything other than train and suspect and hide.

Still, she’s trying to be a hero, right? And heroes don’t seek into the muck like that, even if they can get away with it. Plus, could just be a trap. If she’s close enough to kill him, he’s close enough to get her blood, and she’s not real interested in dying on a grimy prison floor.

“Look, just cause you’re a killer don’t mean everyone else is.”

He smiles too wide, rotten teeth glinting like dull knives against the blueish glow of the storm that rages outside the window and inside his mind.

“Oh, we’re all murderers kid. Every last one of us, we’re all monsters tryna claw our way outta hell. You just haven’t had your shot yet. Haven’t hit your limit. But you will.”

“Maybe that’s true, but it won’t be today, and it won’t be you.”

Huh. Kid’s got some backbone after all. A glimmer of steel buried in all that youthful optimism. She might not die too young, after all. Pity it won’t be enough. This city is a machine that runs on blood. Hunting heroes is a sport, breaking innocence a past-time for the fox hunters that fill back alleys and boardrooms in equal measure.

At least he had a reason, a real one, a dream to make the city shiny and new. He spits against the floor, not caring over-much if it offends his audience. All this remembrance is making him bitter and he’s not so sure anymore that the break in monotony is worth the annoyance of remembering all that good work left undone.

“Well, what do you want, then? I got things to do.”

Yeah right, he looks real busy sitting in the dark without so much as a book to read or a fellow jailbird to pummel or play.

“I want the inside line. On the League, on your plans, on the whole damn thing.”

They already think she’s a spy. Not all of them, not her closest friends...but enough. It’s quirk discrimination, is what it is. But maybe that’s just how these things go. She just needs to prove herself, to put this whole thing to bed. And hell, if they think her quirk is so good for spying...maybe it’s time to put it work, for herself this time. She’ll ask for forgiveness once it’s done. Better than permission that won’t ever come.

“Oh? And just what are you going to do with those bits of intel?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Chizome smiles, for real this time, leaning hunger-pain arms against knobby knees as he leans forward, ready to make a dark offering. Maybe his work doesn’t have to end, after all.

“Really? Well, I guess we’ll need to go back to the beginning then.”

Toru listens, and learns.

When she comes out, into pounding rain that runs like rivulets against shivering skin and gives her fleeting form, she wonders at what she’s learned.

She’s gained a lot. Only time will tell what she’s lost.

[sequoiann]

❦ liqhtmas ┊ halo

❆ 10 ; “i met you last christmas and never saw you again until today on christmas day. are you an angel? wait, you actually are?

❆ 19 ; “yeah, uh, alcohol doesn’t go in hot chocolate.”

pairing; seventeen jeonghan x reader

genre; fluff + angst + humor + angel!jeonghan + medieval!au (but slightly modernized?) + fantasy

word count; 1.8k words (i swear it’s not as long as it sounds hjsdkf)

; prompts for liqhtmas

You wandered around the warm, empty house which had festive decorations put up on almost every wall and every corner, your fingers numbly brushing across the wooden table that you walked past. Snow was falling outside, creating a huge white blanket that spread over the entirety of your village. Your eyes scanned the colorful living room which had no signs of life other than your own. A lit Christmas tree was standing proudly at a corner, the lights circling around it shining their individual colors brightly. Garlands were hung neatly on the walls, the center of each drooping down slightly to create a mini U-shape. Red and green Christmas stockings lined the top of your fireplace, seeming to provide a teeny bit more warmth than the fire itself did on other days.

You were a young adult living alone, and you have been for the past 5 years. Where were your parents? Well, you were a product of a failed relationship --- or rather, a failed marriage. Your parents got into a huge fight when you were 16, and it honestly wasn’t surprising. They’d been fighting for as long as you could remember, but this one just had a denouement that concluded the end of their marriage. Neither of them wanted anything to do with the former family after signing the papers, and you were something that would tie them down. So they left the house to you, as if that was a reasonable alibi for them to leave you to raise yourself.

There was a kind lady in the village who acted as your godmother after your biological one left, though --- Madalyn. She was a clothier, someone who makes clothes for the nobles. Most of the materials that were supplied to her were expensive and fine, and she had briefly told you before that if she used any of those for her own benefits, she’d suffer a great deal. You could easily guess what she meant --- you were old enough.

However, materials that had minor stains or manufacturing defects in them would never be bought by any noble, so she used those for you, sewing up dresses and normal everyday clothing. You couldn’t thank her enough. She would often come over with food, but you could feed yourself. You worked as a little deliverer. Your pay wasn’t that good, but it helped you get by.

Madalyn was the one who put up all the Christmas-y decorations in your home, too, even after countless protests from you, who had told her that there was no need in doing that since ‘no one’s gonna see them anyway’. She had smiled warmly, shaking her head as she continued doing what she was doing --- setting up the Christmas tree.

“You’d see it,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

She was going out of town for the holiday to visit her direct family, and she had indirectly shown guilt for not being able to be with you. It’d be like that every year, during any festive season. You were used to it, you told her, and you didn’t blame her.

So now, you were alone in your house, the decorations somehow making you feel lonelier on this occasion. You sighed and headed to the kitchen, opening the cabinet overhead and pulling out a container of cocoa-mix powder. You rinsed a yellow-colored mug and filled it with milk before heating it up in the microwave, and adding the cocoa powder in after that. You mindlessly stirred the hot chocolate, hoping that it’d warm your insides. You found your mind floating to the thought of alcohol --- you were reminded that you had a few cans left in the fridge, and the day was passing by unimaginably slowly, so why not?

Grabbing two cans out of the fridge, you placed them both on the countertop beside your mug of hot chocolate, opening one of the cans and taking a sip out of it. You stared at the brown liquid still sitting on the tabletop for a moment, before tilting the canned alcohol above the hot chocolate. You have this habit of making weird concoctions, and sometimes, just sometimes, they turn out tasting fine.

“Yeah, uh, alcohol doesn’t go in hot chocolate.”

You literally jumped back in surprise at the voice, your hand jerking and hitting the filled mug of hot chocolate. It overflows a little and spills onto your hand, making you yelp and instinctively put your lips on the scalded area after hastily putting down the can.

You looked up at the speaker, who had widened his eyes after seeing what happened, pushing himself up from his original position of leaning on the wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming closer to you. You flinched and moved back, and when he noticed that, he stopped in his tracks. You removed your hand from your mouth, unbothered about how unsightly that was.

“W-who are you? Why’re you here? How’d you get in?” you blabbered, your other hand holding onto your wrist close to your chest. You scrutinized the stranger for a bit. He looked oddly familiar, but you couldn’t recall where you had seen him before. He was wearing a white, comfy-looking woolen sweater, his blonde hair and pale skin making him look really… glowy.

The man pressed his lips into a small smile, folding his arms and letting you continue to look him up-down as a sense of familiarity flashed across your eyes.

Then it clicked.

“I met you last Christmas,” you spoke unsurely, the image of him being at the carpenter’s when you were delivering something to them popping up in your head. The man nodded excitedly.

“Yes! Hello, I’m Jeonghan!”

You raised an eyebrow. You still aren’t trusting him. Why was he in your house? And also, you knew almost everyone in the village since you were one of the few ‘deliverers’, but you had never seen him after that one meeting.

“I never saw you again until today, on Christmas day again. Are you an angel?” you questioned. Your social skills weren’t very good.

Jeonghan blinked in surprise, hesitating to confirm your words. You frowned, confused at how he didn’t deny it immediately.

“Wait, you actually are?”

“Yes…?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Jeonghan sighs after seeing your unconvinced expression and casually twirls his index finger in the air, and a whirl of shiny, white sparkles which seemed tinted with pink trailed in the atmosphere.

You were still in disbelief. “...For real? Angels exist?”

Jeonghan nods, unfazed. “I’m a guardian angel. More specifically, your guardian angel.”

Your eyes dropped down to his clothes, and you frowned. “I thought angels wore long, silky, white dresses? And where’s your halo?”

Jeonghan chuckled, his laughter sounding especially melodious. “What era are you living in, Y/N?”

You blinked. “Oh, you know my name.”

“Were you not listening to whatever I said?”

You blinked again. “I was.”

Jeonghan hummed in half-hearted acknowledgment, walking closer to you again. “How’s your hand?”

You had totally forgotten about scalding yourself. You looked down at your hand and saw a red mark on the spot. Jeonghan gently takes your hand, putting it under the tap in the sink and turning on the water. It felt especially cold to the touch.

“Don’t be so stiff,” Jeonghan said, chuckling. “It’s not like I’m gonna hurt you.”

You knew that. There was just something about his presence that made you feel like he had actually been with you since forever, but it was your second time meeting him in person.

“Why’re you here?” you asked carefully, trying to keep the fluttering in your stomach in check. Jeonghan turned off the tap, his hand holding onto yours like you were a princess made of diamonds.

“Well,” he started, his eyes moving from your hand to your eyes. He really looked like an angel, you thought. His eyes were a dreamy grey and seemed to literally sparkle. You quickly looked down before you got lost in them.

“First of all, you’re alone again this Christmas, and that isn’t nice,” he said, smiling gently, his hand letting go of yours, which fell to your side. “Second of all, you actually tried mixing alcohol with hot chocolate. You’re gonna kill yourself.”

You laughed. “I’m still alive, don’t worry. You haven’t failed your job.”

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “So, what do you wanna do?”

You cocked your head to a side. “You’re actually spending Christmas with me?”

He nodded simply. “Yeah, of course.”

You smiled. “I’d like a movie. It’s too cold out,” you mumbled. “But I’m bored of the movies I have.”

Jeonghan smiled in understanding, before twirling his finger in the air again before pointing it onto your countertop. A ray of sparkle followed the line, and a wide array of different movie CDs appeared on the table.

“Woah!” you exclaimed, widening your eyes and grabbing a random CD box to make sure it was real. It was.

“You can make anything appear?” you asked Jeonghan, and he nodded proudly.

“Would you like a house?” he suggested cheekily, opening his hand where a mini, sparkly house was floating above his palm. You quickly grabbed onto his arm and pushed it down, the sparkles disappearing.

“Don’t! There’s no space!” you exclaimed, the both of you laughing at the thought.

“Okay, choose your movie and we’ll move to the couch.”

You ended up picking up 4 of them before the both of you plopped down on the couch in the living room and playing one of the movies you picked out. You have seated a safe distance away from Jeonghan, who was snug at the corner of your L-shaped sofa. Jeonghan noticed you being all awkward and reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. You yelped softly and ended up being seated right beside him.

“Just treat me as your boyfriend,” Jeonghan spoke, chuckling a little. “You don’t have to be so reserved.”

You swallowed at the term he used, hesitant. Honestly, you were tempted to just snuggle up to him and stay there, and since his presence wasn’t actually unfamiliar, you knew it’d be fine. But you were still wary.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow and pulled you closer such that you were literally squeezed next to him, his arm over your shoulders. You were surprised, but didn’t adjust yourself. It was warm and... nice.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you as the movie introduction played on the television before Jeonghan speaks up.

“You know, angels can read the minds of the person they’re assigned to,” Jeonghan informed you, making you gulp and attempt to sit back up. But he pulls you back down, laughing.

“Just stay here,” he chuckled, resting his head on yours and making a warm, fuzzy blanket appear on top of both of you. “I know you’re cold.”

[evercharmed-a]

Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this. The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth. Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside. But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been – and still is – his best bet.

It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition. Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.” “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.” “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.” Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font. The letters begin to flimmer, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms. Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.” Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.” “Holy shit.” Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then. Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before. The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?” “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.” The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?” “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.” She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading. “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card. “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.” “Sounds very… non-magical.” Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.” As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie. He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps. Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?” “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?” Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.” Wyatt melts into the sofa’s backrest. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.” Offering a half-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.” Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile. “My apologies for the wait.” He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite. “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?” Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick. And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left. Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards. Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price. The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down. A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.” Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?” “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.” “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker. “Half, yes. And half shifter.” Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!” The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them. “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.” He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood. “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.” He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately. “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.” Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.” Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?” Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself – if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being – you know. Until a few weeks ago.” The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.” And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one. “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.” At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.” “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?” Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.” Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat. This job was going to be anything but boring.

[mondregen]

 Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this.  The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth. Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside. But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been -- and still is -- his best bet.

 It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition.  Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows.  “Are you sure this is the right place?”  Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.”  “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.”  “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.”  Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font.  The letters begin to flimmer, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms.  Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.”  Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.”  “Holy shit.”  Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then.  Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before.  The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?”  “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.”  The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?”  “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.”  She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading.  “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card.  “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.”  “Sounds very… non-magical.”  Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.”  As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie.  He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps.  Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?”  “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?”  Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.”  Wyatt melts into the sofa’s backrest. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.”  Offering a half-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.”  Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile.  “My apologies for the wait.”  He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite.  “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?”  Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick.  And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left.  Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards.  Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price.  The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down.  A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.”  Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?”  “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.”  “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker.  “Half, yes. And half shifter. Though I’ve always connected more with my witchy side.”  Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!”  The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them.  “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.”  He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood.  “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.”  He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately.  “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.”  Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.”  Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?”  Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself -- if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being -- you know. Until a few weeks ago.”  The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.”  And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one.  “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.”  At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.”  “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?”  Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.”  Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat.  This job is going to be anything but boring.

[extremelytiredincrediblyconfused]

A moment in the middle

Notes of caramel with undertones of cocoa hang in the air, a summertime symphony filling my head with memories of being on my parents front porch after long nights filled with our favorite movies and pseudo-philosophical discussions lasting into the morning. I open my eyes, half expecting to have closed them to spend a moment of splendor basking in the yellow warmth of morning, but instead I’m greeted with an unfamiliar setting – gray walls, a pleated, blue comforter, no furry paws trying to boop their way into treat-shaped good graces, and a… wait, is that a dress made out of trash? Huh. Throwing back the covers, I swing my fuzzy-sock clad feet to the floor and stretch with a passion – now, there’s something that’s been missing from my life lately. Shaking off a series of thoughts that are much too serious for the glorious hour of 7:52 am on a Sunday – my only day off – morning, I make my way down the short hallway into Phoenix’s kitchen to find him with his back toward me, fixing our two coffees, because he’s known how I take mine since we decided to start drinking coffee fifteen years ago – cream, no sugar. “Listen, P, I’ve got no problem if you wanna dress like a lady, but I’m too good a friend to let you waltz around in literal garbage.” I offer, because ‘good morning’ is just boring. “Ha!” he snorts, still facing away from me as I slide into a stool at the kitchen island he built and installed earlier this month, “Feel free to dispose of that, I can’t figure out how to get the damn thing apart short of burning it.” “So…. Burn it?” I don’t understand the issue here The muscles between his shoulders tense as he nearly drops our coffee, turning his head just enough to throw a glance in my direction, “It was hers.” Oh. Oh, no. Damn it, Kat, can’t you go five minutes without feasting on your own foot? ‘Her’ being Phoenix’s ex – ex WIFE. ‘Her’ being the absolute worst human I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. She who cheated on my best friend the entire time they dated, then agreed to marry him because apparently she thought cheating on him would be more fulfilling with a diamond on her finger and a hyphenated last name. She who sabotaged our friendship at every possible turn, projecting the mistrust she deserved to receive onto a man who would have given her anything and everything she ever wanted. Yeah, her – the bitch. I notice P has turned, and is staring at me, causing me to wonder just how long I’ve been imagining slapping her through the face and choking her to death with her own flip-flop. “Oh.” I squeak, “so….. burn it?” My joke is rewarded with a half-genuine laugh, and a magnificent cup of coffee placed in front of me. “Come to mama!” I whisper right before taking my first sip – tongue burns be damned. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Kat, you will never change.” He shakes his head, taking the stool beside me, cautiously blowing over the rim of his London phone booth coffee mug. “As you’ve also said before, and will likely say again before the day is out: you wouldn’t have me any other way.” I remind him “So, you want to tell me why I had to come rescue you last night?” “I do not.” I clip, knowing he’ll get it out of me no matter how hard I fight – I still try. “Come on, KK, you’ve gotta give me something. I’m dying here.” “Want to see a ‘Canes game for my birthday?” “Kat.” He warns “Oh! I know! Come see the Front Bottom’s with me!” he’s really going to have to work for it this time “I swear to god, Kitkat, just answer the question and I won’t ask again. You know how this works.” He’s growing visibly more frustrated by the second. “Fine. I couldn’t take it anymore, okay? He pushed me too far, and for once in my damn life I pushed back. Five years, Phoenix, five horrible, long, years of him calling me a ‘sweet, simple, little bunny’ and telling me I should give him a share in the business I built from the ground up so he could keep me from ‘doing something stupid’. I put up with that shit for five years, because I’m a pushover, and an optimist, and I made a promise to a woman on her deathbed hoping and praying to a deity I don’t even believe in that one day he would wake up and realize I had carried his dead weight around for half a decade. Guess what? He didn’t. I left. Case closed.” I close my eyes and take a few calming breaths, attempting to slow my heart rate after allowing myself that little outburst. “I know a thing or two about not being appreciated, Kat. I’m not going to judge you, I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’ or ‘you should’ve left years ago’. I’m your best fucking friend, I just want to know what’s going on in your head so I know what I need to be for you right now, okay? Do you want to go for a run, get pumped up on adrenaline, and then joke about beating the shit outta him? Do you want to watch sappy love story and cry your eyes out – or Thumbelina and snuggle? You tell me who you need me to be right now, and I’ll drop everything and be him.” On the last word, he looks at me with the most sincere ferocity, I allow myself to think for a brief moment that maybe Micah was right; maybe he would be in the front of my line. Then I remember, at the end of the day, Phoenix is just that great of a friend. “Shopping. I need you to drive me around to all the stores you hate, so I can purchase things I already have a million of, but am currently not allowed access to. I need you to joke with me, and not ask me what’s going on in my head because honestly right now I couldn’t tell you – it’s a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey mess up there, okay?” “Can you be ready in fifteen?” “Shove it, P, I can be ready in ten.” I challenge “Bet.” Is the only warning I get before he launches himself off his stool and begins racing down the hallway toward the bedrooms. We are nothing if not competitive.

We spend the rest of the day buying necessities. We play Come On Eileen a good ten times too many, and do the dances to certain Bloodhound Gang songs entirely too well; I’m proud of Phoenix when the only price he balks at is my rose gold Overtone conditioner to keep my unusual color looking its sharpest. At the end of the day, as it turns out, I do want to watch Thumbelina and snuggle – which is exactly what we’re still doing when I wake up on Monday morning to the shrill tune of my phone alarm,  ushering me into another day that will likely be full of questions I have no intention of answering and promises I have no intention to keep – but Sunday… Sunday was perfect.

Sipping the to-go cup of coffee Phoenix so graciously prepared for me this fine Monday morning, I swagger into the back door of the shop with a little extra freedom in my step. 

“You’re fifteen minutes late, Kat, we had to go over the daily schedule without you. I added two extra wedding cake consultations since you weren’t here to defend yourself.” Judy holds up my daily schedule with a gleam of mischief in her storm-gray eyes.

“Two on top of how many already?” I snatch the paper out of her hand and begin skimming the names, dates and cake flavors they’ve chosen.

“Three for a total of five!” she sings

“Five? On a Monday? I always suspected you hated me. Now I know. Now I have a clear picture of how you spend every night locked in your basement plotting my demise and cursing my always great posture.”

“Oh, please, five isn’t even a record for you and you know it - though your posture is inhuman...” she muses

In an attempt to ignore her, and considering Lawrence isn’t at work today for me to pester incessantly, I do a full read over the names for the day.

Allison - she’s getting married at a country club and wants vanilla, red velvet and marble cake. I would bet money she’s going to want a “semi-naked” cake with fresh flowers.

Laura - Oh, a barn - very original - and wants pumpkin spice and my maple pecan praline filling. I can smell a birch tree cake a mile away.

Huh, that’s weird, there’s a dude’s name on my list. Totally fine, though I tend to get most inquiries from the bride.

“Hey, Judy, what was the last name on this Gray consultation? Who doesn’t put a last name?” 

“That is the last name - Gray. In the email they requested we have the storefront closed by the time they arrive; apparently he’s a famous something or another.” she offers with absolutely no interest whatsoever.

“Well what time will they be here?” I ask impatiently

“Um, you could try reading your fancy paper there, that’s kind of the reason I print those out every morning. Despite what you think, they’re not a special paper made to line your work surfaces.” 

“Oh, shove it. Three o’clock. Seriously? These assholes expect us to shut down a good four hours before we close? Ugh. This cake better be freaking huge.” I mumbled as I began setting up for the first four consultations, impatiently wondering who my mystery pseudo famous couple might be. Allison chose semi-naked, and Laura chose birch tree, and once again my creativity is stifled by the pinterest masses.

At two forty-five I turned off the open sign, and sent everyone except Judy home for the day. At two fifty-nine a solid wall of a man knocked on the door, and I let him in, and my life was never the same.