#I’m thinking I should probably treat the other yarn???

[vashti-lives]

I’m so happy?????

For the curious:

Pink: one and a half drops of some pink that came in a Wilton’s tropical colors dye kit??? (To get “half” drop I put a drop in a cup, filled it with water then dumped half the water.

Orange: smallish amount of Wilton’s creamy peach. Used more dye for this than most of the others because that’s already intended to be a paler color.

Yellow: small amount of lemon yellow, still probably more dye than the other four colors because again yellow is not a very saturated color. On the other hand I only put in about 2/3 of the glass of colored water so I probably could have done slightly less.

Green: small amount of kelly green. For this one I barely bared dipped the tines of a fork in the dye, but I think I put two or three layers of this before I was happy with the color.

Blue: mix of royal blue and cornflower blue, in tiny tiny amounts. The cornflower blue seemed like it wasn’t bright enough in hue to match the other colors so i added the royal blue, but this might have been a mild mistake? It looks fine but I probably should have just done tiny amounts of royal blue. Oh well. Honestly that might have been too bright next to the violet.

Purple: tiny amount violet— as you would expect from me at this point lol.

Assume all dye colors are Wilton’s icing gel (except the pink!)

By tiny amounts I mean except for the pink I stuck the tines of a fork into the bottle and then dissolved that in water. Obviously this is not a real measurement but if you want to do pastels the best thing to remember is you can always add more dye so go super minimal to start.

(ALSO-- my god they dried SO much faster with the spin dryer, not really surprising but it still makes me happy.)

[cinebration]

Prophetic Fucking Visions (Alfie Solomons x Reader) [One-shot]

Prompt: “Am I not good enough?” / “I’m not good enough.”

For @writeroutoftime​! I had so much fun writing this! I was nervous, because I love Alfie so much and felt I couldn’t write him, but here we are. I hope you like it!

Warnings: blood and guts, seagull death

Gif Source: cillianmurphyss

You first met Alfie on the shore, though you were in the sand and he was above you on the bluff. A gunshot exploded above your head.

Curses spewed out of you as you ducked, your heart pounding in your chest. A seagull went down in a puff of feathers, blood splattering onto your hair.

You swore loudly.

Alfie’s grizzled face peered over the bluff, eyes squinting down at you. “Fuck me, that’s a woman.”

Shading your eyes against the sun, you glared up at him. “What gave it away?”

“Not your fuckin’ sailor’s mouth,” he boomed at you.

If only I had a sailor’s fist, I’d knock you down, you thought.

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean for all that shit on ya. Come on up and get yourself cleaned up.”

You hesitated. You didn’t know him, and he still had the pistol in his hand. “I’ll manage,” you called up.

“Fuck me, you want me to throw down a rag instead?”

It was better than walking back into town with seagull oozing down your face. “If you please.”

“Awright,” Alfie croaked, disappearing.

After five minutes of waiting, the sun starting to beat down on you, you decided the rag wasn’t worth waiting for. You resumed your walk across the beach.

“Woman!”

You stopped in your tracks and turned toward the voice. Alfie lumbered across the sand toward you, a small towel clutched in one broad hand. You stared at him. The man seemed to be a bear, shoulders slightly hunched as he made his way to you.

The horrid scar on the left side of his face and the milky blue eye drew your attention last. The other eye searched your face as he at last stopped before you and extended the cloth.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, taking it from him and roughing it over your hair.

“Not seen you around these parts, Sailor Mouth.”

You arched your eyebrows. “Sailor Mouth?”

“Got nothin’ else to call you ’til you give me your name.”

“And what would I call you?”

“The Wandering Jew.”

Your eyebrows arched higher, but you kept quiet. Raking the towel over your hair and ears one last time, you asked, “Did I get it all?”

Lips pressing together, he surveyed your head. Taking the towel from your hand, he swiped it along your forehead and then down the back of your neck, wiping away the last of the gunk. He grunted his approval.

“Thank you,” you repeated.

“For getting seagull guts all over you? That’s bad luck, that is.”

A rueful chuckle slipped past your lips. “Call me Bad Luck Sailor Mouth.”

Alfie’s good eye glimmered.

~~

“I do the odd thing here and there. Nothing too respectable,” you said with a laugh.

Alfie walked alongside you on the beach. You had chanced upon him a week after the seagull incident. He had struck up a friendly, albeit strange conversation with you before you had been forced to return back to town.

This was the fourth such meeting. It seemed he had been waiting for you this time. You only walked the beach once a week, not always on the same day, so he must have waited each day to see if you’d walk by.

“I used to make bread,” he said. “It isn’t too respectable neither.”

“Well, I’m sure real bakers would abhor liquid bread.”

He looked at you sharply.

“Your reputation precedes you,” you informed him. “It seems you’re a god down in Camden Town.”

He grunted. “I was resurrected.”

“And I was swallowed into the whale’s belly.”

He laughed. “That where you got your sailor’s mouth, is it?”

“More like my bad luck.”

He looked at you with that unblinking stare of his. It disconcerted you less and less the more you saw it. He seemed to be fixing it on you more frequently, though you couldn’t understand why. You felt scrutinized, a not altogether unpleasant feeling from him.

“You eat?” he asked.

“What, whales? That’s not how I got out of that mess.”

His eyes gleamed wickedly in the setting sun. “Dinner.”

“Sure, if you have whale to spare.”

“No whale, I fuckin’ hate fish.”

“I suppose that’s alright. It’d just taste like bad luck.”

Alfie lumbered off in the direction of his home. You managed to keep pace with him, his stride long but unhurried. A light breeze blew off the sea, tickling your cheeks with sea spray even at a distance. Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon, the distant breakers foaming white as the wind whipped them into a frenzy.

Alfie refused to let you help in the kitchen. You followed him into it anyway, watched him work. He had put a chicken in his oven earlier. You gathered he had hoped to have you over for dinner—had probably prepared a special meal every day until you arrived.

“On occasion,” he informed you, “I did make real bread.” He set a basket full of it before you.

You plucked off a small roll and began to eat it as you waited for him to finish roasting some vegetables. “A chicken, huh?”

“The seagull I shot didn’t keep. It was a stringy bastard.”

You laughed, the sound filling the space over the sizzle of the stove.

You enjoyed every bite of dinner. Alfie watched you with interest as you ate your fill.

“What’s a woman like you doin’ here in Margate? Why aren’t you in London or someplace?”

“Too big and noisy.” You shrugged. “Nobody gets seagull in my hair or shoots at boats for fun. I guess they only do that to people.”

“Ah, well, I’ve done that. Shot people.”

You lifted your head to see him staring at you. “For business or…?”

He leaned back in his chair, appraising you. “A bit of both.”

You nodded and resumed eating. Your inquiries about him after your first meeting had told you that much about him.

Dessert was succulent fruit. Alfie had fallen into silence, not quite brooding but definitely pensive. He directed you into the living room, the open balcony doors overlooking the ocean. The storm approached, a mild rain beginning to fall.

It reminded you of the rainy days of your childhood. Your mother would stoke the hearth fire and spin yarns to while away the hours.

The weather and Alfie’s unusually subdued demeanor pulled you down into a somber mood.

“My mother told me a story once,” you murmured, “one I’ve never forgotten. It goes like this. A young man meets a beautiful woman—the woman of his dreams, he thinks—who always treats him well but never responds to his advances. He watches her from afar, watching as other men try to woo her. She treats them coldly. He thinks to himself, ‘She must love me. She treats me better than them.’ But try as he might, with flowers and sweets and pretty words, he can’t get her to acknowledge her feelings.

“So one day, he asks, desperate, ‘Am I not good enough?’ And she says, ‘I’m not good enough. I’d make a poor wife. I’ll never be the woman in your dreams.’ He protests, but she tells him, ‘I have a temper, and I speak my mind. I wake ill-humored and have days where it feels like the whole sky is gray and nothing can lift it. My smile is fake, and I hate this place.’

“He realizes with a broken heart that she is not the woman he believed her to be, and he leaves her.”

Silence descended on you both.

“I hate that story,” you hissed quietly. “It doesn’t tell you that he drinks too much and stays out late, that he would make an equally poor husband. He isn’t the man of her dreams either. Neither is enough alone, but together, they can be.”

Alfie shifted in his seat. The creak of his chair drew your attention. A deep furrow scored his brow. “Dreams, yeah?” The tension in his voice sent a shiver through you.

“Yeah,” you echoed.

“I’ve been having these dreams lately, see. They’ve got this woman in it, yeah, but I can’t see her face. She could be anyone. In these dreams, she asks me a question, right? And I know in that moment she will be my death.” He looked at you, unblinking. “You’ve got a question for me, yeah?”

You met his gaze. It was the question you hadn’t asked when he had introduced himself. “What did you do to condemn yourself to be the wandering Jew?”

He stilled. The waves crashed on the shore beyond the window, seagulls shrieking overhead.

“Yeah.” His voice rumbled in his chest. “That’s it.”

“Any woman could’ve asked that.”

“They would’ve asked, ‘Why do you call yourself that? What’s it mean?’ But you know what it means, so you asked the right question.”

“How will I be your death, then?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Thunder pealed, shaking the windows.

“Should I leave?”

“Did I say that? I came to Margate to fucking die, yeah? I’d rather someone love me to death than this fucking cancer.”

You swallowed thickly. “I’m not the woman of your dreams.”

“You’re right,” he growled. “I don’t have dreams. I have prophetic fucking visions. So are ya gonna fuckin’ kiss me or wot, Sailor Mouth?”

“You bet your fucking ass I am.”

[flippin-fins]

Voicemail/Calls

LadyNoir July 2021 Day 11: Voicemail/Calls

Read on AO3

She hadn’t meant to be late.

Ladybug knew it was the anniversary of their partnership.

1 year of Hawkmoth, Shadowmoth, whatever he was calling himself. 1 year of akuma battles. 1 year of fighting to protect Paris.

1 year of Ladybug’s partnership with Chat Noir.

They had agreed to meet up tonight, to have a night to celebrate fate bringing them together.

And she was late.

Her parents had asked for help during the bakery’s rush, and instead of watching the time, instead of paying attention to the meetup she had been looking forward to, Marinette had let herself be caught up in it all.

Instead of laughing at memories, caught up in eachother’s presence, she had been laughing with her parents, helping customers long past the time her presence was required.

Opening her yo-yo, she checked the time again and flinched. She saw the voicemail notification, but kept running across the rooftops, hoping he was still out there.

Finally their meetup spot was in view, but the sight of it made her heart stop. As she drew closer, Ladybug could see the blown out candles and a forgotten bouquet. The abandoned roof brought her back to a different day, months ago, and she wanted to sob.

She had missed him, missed her chance to see him.

Remembering the notification, Ladybug quickly opened her yo-yo and started the voicemail, hoping she hadn’t completely ruined everything.

“Hey Bugaboo,” the recording started, and she felt her heart squeeze at the nickname. “I was hoping to talk to you in person, but I don’t think that’s happening tonight. I was going to tell you when you got here, but I couldn’t stay long tonight. I have an early morning planned for me. I guess we’ll just miss eachother. I just wanted to thank you. You’re a great partner, if you aren’t always the most punctual,” his chuckle made her want to sob, the guilt blooming in her stomach. “I know we don’t always stand on the same side for how we view each other, but I appreciate that you don’t hold it against me. This has been the happiest year of my life, thanks in no small part to you. Thank you, Ladybug, for being the best partner.”

Trying not to cry at the message, she checked how long ago the recording was sent, seeing it was only from 5 minutes ago. Ladybug hoped it was recorded as he was on this roof, that she might have time to find him.

A voice in the back of her head reminded her that she didn’t know where he’d be going, who he was, but she pushed it aside.

Swinging on her yo-yo was faster than he could run, so she might be able to catch him.

She took off, letting her heart lead her, hoping it would find him.

A few minutes later, she started feeling dejected, and headed back to the original roof. She might have missed out on their night together, but she could clean up all the things he’d set up for them.

She didn’t pay attention to her surroundings, trusting her instinct to get her to where she needed to go.

It took her a moment, after she landed, to realize she wasn’t alone.

“Chat,” she breathed, worried anything else would break the illusion.

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was walking home, assuming you had gotten distracted by something. Imagine my surprise when someone stopped and asked me why I wasn’t swinging through rooftops together, why I was here on the ground and you were in the sky.”

Her vision blurred as she raced to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. My parents needed help and I lost track of time and couldn’t leave and-” Ladybug sobbed, not knowing what else to say.

“Hey, look at me,” Chat Noir coaxed, lifting her chin.

She looked up at him. How had she gotten so lucky, being paired with such a sweet soul, someone so much more forgiving than she deserved?

“You’re here now, and I’m here too, and that’s all that matters.”

Unable to respond, she squeezed her arms tighter.

Sooner than she wanted, she remembered why he had left. Stepping back, she tilted herhead, confused. “What about you needing to leave early? The thing you needed to do?”

“Getting to see you tonight is more important than getting enough sleep before an early morning.”

“Chat, you don’t have to sacrifice sleep for me,” Ladybug sighed. “Sleep is important. It’s important to be healthy.”

Chat threw his head back to laugh. “M’lady, I think one night of reduced sleep is worth getting to spend time with you.”

Frowning, she stepped back further, looking for her bag she had brought. “Well, as long as you’re here, I might have something for you.”

“Oh no, we’re going to do this right. Close your eyes for a moment.”

Ladybug glared at him for a moment, before she complied. She tried not to think about how achingly familiar it all was.

“Alright,” a voice whispered close to her ear, making her shiver. “Open them.”

“Chat doesn’t this all feel unnecess-” she stopped as her eyes opened. The candles lit around her, illuminating the rooftop, it was breathtaking. She turned to look at him. “Chat, you shouldn’t ha-”

Her breath caught as she saw him, the sheepish grin as he held out the bouquet. “For you, M’lady,” he whispered.

His greens eyes glowed in the candlelight, and it was all she could do to not throw herself into his arms. ‘Again,’ a voice suspiciously like Tikki reminded her.

She was caught in his gaze, frozen by his smile, as that thought floated away in the wind.

Chat chuckled, pulling the flowers back to him. “I didn’t mean to overdo it,” he started. “I just wanted you to know how important you are to me, how much this past year has meant to me.”

She snapped back to reality and took a step towards him. Taking the bouquet from him, she sniffed them. “Chat, they’re lovely. Really, you didn’t need to do any of this for me, but thank you.” Ladybug smiled at him.

“I wanted to make sure you had everything you wanted. You deserve it.” He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. It took everything in her to try not to close her eyes and lean into his hand, but it wasn’t enough as her head turned and her eyes fluttered.

He stilled, watching her, savoring the moment.

Too soon, they remembered where they were and each took a step back.

“So,” Ladybug said, as she tried to move on. “Would you like to see what I brought?”

A grin nearly split Chat’s face as his eyes widened. “You brought something for me?” He whispered, unbelieving.

“Of course, kitty. You’re one of my best friends. I had to make you something for our anniversary.” Ladybug turned, busying herself with opening her bag, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes.

Not for the first time, she wondered about his home life. Ladybug hoped he was loved, wished he had someone the way she had her parents. He deserved it.

Pulling out two packages, she stood up, trying not to laugh at his eager expression.

“Here,” she said, offering him the smaller gift. “Open this one first.”

Gently, he pulled apart the wrapped, and revealed a knit black beanie. The yarn had flecks of neon green, and she knew the ribbed brim hid a small green paw print. Chat practically cradled it in his hands.

“You made this?” Chat asked, not looking away.

“Yeah, I knit it. I was going to add cat ears but I was worried that might reveal who you were if I saw it.” She shrugged, watching as he ran his thumb over the stitches. She reached out slowly, pulling back the brim to show him the hidden detail. “This, at least, makes it special, so it should probably stay hidden.”

“I love it,” he whispered, pulling it onto his head, over his own cat ears.

She smiled at his enthusiasm. “Now this,” she said as she handed his second gift, “is more likely for me to figure out who you are, so be careful where you wear it.”

He opened this one faster, excited to see what was inside.

He pulled out a black long sleeve shirt, first looking at the back. Embroidered there was the word ‘clawsome’ in green thread.

He turned it around to reveal the front, a paw in the same green thread, the shape the same as the counter on his miraculous ring.

In the bottom, near where his hip would be, she had embroidered a small ladybug shell.

She had to leave her signature somewhere.

She reached down to get one final surprise, the real reason she had gone down to the bakery earlier. Pulling out a box, she extended it towards her partner.

“Since you’re so sweet, I brought you some treats to enjoy,” Ladybug shyly smiled as Chat beamed.

Pushing past her outstretched arm, Chat picked her up off the ground as he hugged her. “Why M’lady, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were sweet on me.”

They sat down together to enjoy the dessert she had brought. It was a comfortable silence as they were each lost in memories of their year. Too soon, Ladybug looked at the time.

“Chat, as much as I’d like to spend all night sharing these treats with you, I think it’s time for it to end.” Turning to look at him, she saw the sadness in his eyes. “We can see each other again during patrol this week. But you,” she paused, flicking his nose, “you need to go home and get some rest.”

He sighed, but they got up.

He handed her back the box and they cleaned up. Finally, he headed towards the edge of the roof, pulling out his baton, and then stopped.

“I mean it,” he said, looking at her. “Thank you. Thank you for the happiest year of my life. Thank you for being here, by my side, through all of this.”

She smiled, trying to blink away tears, feelings, as she looked at him.

“You’re welcome, Chaton. Thank you for this year. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you by my side.”

He grinned before turning and jumping off the roof, baton already extending underneath him.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there. 

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

 Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 67]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30

Got many things to do today, though I do have a meeting in a bit over an hours, so there will be a break.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

 “Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

 Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

 “How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

 “Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

 Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

 It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

 Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

 He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

 “I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

 “You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

  Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

 “He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

 “I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

 Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

 The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

 “No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

 “How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

 She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

 “Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

  Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she���s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

 “Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

 “Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

 “Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

 “A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

 “No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

 Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

 Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

 Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

 “Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

50234

Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

  Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

 Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

 “Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

 “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

 “Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

 Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

 Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

 This seemed to slightly alleviate Virgil’s suspicion, but Princess Marisol still seemed antsy. Patton really needed to start slowly introducing the both of them to more people.

Logan finished talking with Chester after a few moments and it was time to climb through the hole in the wall. He wished he saw in the tunnel whatever Logan with his excited eyes and bounce to his step obviously saw. Or even that was more comfortable in the dark closed in space as Virgil obviously was. As it was, Patton’s nose scrunched up at the thought off all of the spiders that could be living everywhere in the secret tunnel, but he pushed through.

 The entrance to the tunnel had been made only a little bit from the room Virgil had mentioned and Chester had led them through it after only a couple of seconds. As Patton had suspected, the room was already lit up and probably cleaned a little bit by the people who had cut into the wall, not that he was complaining.

Virgil was still clinging a bit to Patton’s shirt, though it seemed to be less out of anxiety at this point and more out of a desire to stick close. He was peering around curiously at the lit-up space. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in the dark when he’d been here before.

 Yet, his curiosity was nothing compared to how excited Logan seemed to be. Now Patton may have not been interested in the room itself, but he was entertained by how interested Logan was and was happy to encourage that.

“What do you think this place is?” he asked Logan.

Logan hummed contemplatively, eyes looking around. “Well,” he said. “It’s a bedroom clearly, and old. Considering the location it is in in the castle, the size, the decorations, and it’s likely age, I’d imagine it was a bedroom of a royal family member. This used to be the royal wing three royal lines ago.”

 “Bearing that in mind, there are a couple of likely possibilities for the origin of the room as well as the reason it was sealed up, but we will need to investigate more in order to come to an actual conclusion.” He had already placed the bag he’d brought on the ground and was going through it, pulling out things that Patton did not recognize. He also got a piece of paper and sat on the floor to start to sketch.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sketching the floorplan of the room,” Logan said. “I will then put a grid on it so we can investigate while being sure that we aren’t missing anything.”

 Virgil seemed uninterested in this part of the adventure, instead electing to go poking around by himself. Princess Marisol squirmed out of Patton’s arms to go follow him. Patton swore that he only looked away from those two for 5 seconds, but the next thing he knew he heard metal clicking against metal.

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide when he saw what Virgil was fiddling with. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t touch…”

The old but fancy looking chest that had been at the end of the remains of the bed creaked open. Virgil sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out of it. “Huh,” he said studying the contents. “There’s a skull in here.”

 “Oh, I don’t like this adventure anymore,” Patton commented.

Logan was on his feet within moments. “Let me see,” he said eagerly.

“What if it’s cursed?” Patton pointed out.

“Then I’ll just break the curse,” Logan waved him off. “Oh, it’s just a horse skull,” Logan said, sounding disappointed. “And also what seemed to be potion ingredients. Though they seem very fresh considering the state of the room.”

“Maybe we should get someone else to…”

Logan already had both arms inside the chest and was pulling things out of it. “This chest must have some sort of stasis effect to it.”

 He started pulling things out to look at them before setting them on the floor with no caution. “Well,” he said, “that answers the question of what this room is.”

“It does?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, between the horse skull and the potion ingredients, this is obviously the bedroom of Princess Marianne Elicia. She was the third child of King Simon IV and was quite the fan of horses.”

“…So she kept a horse skull in a stasis chest in her bedroom?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Logan said. “Back when her family was in power, magic was outlawed and had quite the stigma against it, but she ended up learning magic and become quite proficient.”

 “It’s debated what exactly happened when her father found out about her activities. Some sources say that she was executed silently by her father, but others say she managed to escape with the head of the stables but not before putting a curse on the country of Prijaznia. That is until she or one of her bloodline sits on the throne, every royal line will end in madness and blood by the 5th seated monarch before an heir is born.”

“Isn’t that something you should be worried about?” Virgil asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “Besides I’m 6th in the line, so there really isn’t any concern.”

52142

“There are a lot of interesting things in here,” Logan said, still focused on the chest. “Not to mention the books. We’ll have to be careful with those though since they don’t appear to be in stasis.”

Logan pulled the horse skull out and set it on the floor making Patton wince.

“Marisol no!” he said as Princess Marisol immediately went to go sniff at it. He swooped her up in his arms. “How long are we staying in this creepy room?” Patton asked.

“Patton, we just got here,” Logan said.

“We just got here and already found a skull!”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Patton groaned into Princess Marisol’s fur even as she tried wiggle away to go back and investigate the skull. This was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 35

Logan was surprised when he woke up alone in bed. He’d grown to anticipate waking to a smaller body unrelentingly clinging to his in the past couple of weeks. Confused he sat up and peered around his bedroom. He wouldn’t have seen Virgil with the way he melted into the darkness if it he hadn’t heard the sound of purring coming from near the window. He could just barely make out a dark blob shifting up and down at the cat kneaded at a different blob sitting mostly hidden behind the thick curtain.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned. “What are you doing?”

 “It’s snowing,” was the answer.

“That is not an answer,” Logan grumbled at the ceiling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed. It was a bit chilly in here, he thought. The temperature must have dipped suddenly and intensely enough that the runes keeping the castle at a warm enough temperature hadn’t caught up yet. He pulled one of the blankets off of the top of his bed to wrap around his shoulders as he approached the window. There wasn’t much light outside, the stars and moon covered by clouds, but there were some lanterns lit for the night guard who patrolled the outside. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “It’s really snowing.”

 It had been colder but not quite cold enough for snow to stick the day before, so it came as a surprise when he saw snow was piling up quite high to the point where familiar paths outside his window had disappeared.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil informed him.

“Why not?” Logan asked.

“It’s cold,” Virgil answered. It was clear in his tone that in Virgil’s opinion ‘cold’ was a horrible insult to the concept of snow. Logan quirked a half smile and his attention was drawn to the fact that it was quite cold right here close to the window.

 Frowning, he pulled at the blanket around his shoulder so he could wrap it and his arm around the lump that was Virgil. He brushed the boy’s hand when he did so and found it was like ice.

“You’re freezing!” Logan said. “How long have you been by the window?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

Logan was already tugging at him. “You need to get back in bed,” he said.

Virgil obeyed the pulling at his arms even as he frowned. “I’ve been colder than this before,” he said.

“That actually doesn’t make me feel better,” Logan replied dryly as he shooed him towards the bed.

 He took the thicker blanket that usually stayed folded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over Virgil before climbing into bed beside him.

“There,” Logan said, rubbing Virgil’s arms through the fabric of the sweater he wore to bed. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt at least. “The runes for heating the castle should catch up within a few hours, but until then this should do. Assuming we don’t sit by the freezing window for an undetermined amount of time.”

“I don’t like the cold,” Virgil told him.

Logan sighed. “Then why did you sit by the window?”

 Virgil shrugged and ducked his head a bit. Logan reached out to grab his hands to help him warm more but was surprised when one of the hands was much warmer than the other. He found his fingers were clutching a crescent shaped stone: the protection charm they’d made. Logan knew that he kept it in his pocket most of the time, but he didn’t normally see him holding it like this. It was warm to the touch, of course, indicating the safety of the room around them.

Logan looked over his face. “Are you…” he said. “Scared of the snow?”

 “I don’t like the cold,” he said once again.

“You’re scared of the winter,” Logan concluded. He looked at Virgil who was far too small for his age and seemed surprised at every casual act of kindness. It was clear that his basic needs were far from being met before he came here. Logan had to wonder what winter usually meant for him. His experiences were doubtlessly very different from Logan’s own. “That makes sense,” he acknowledged, “but you don’t need to be scared of it here. The castle is always perfectly warm and safe in the winter and Mr. Deknis and Ms. Heart work hard during the other seasons to make sure we have plenty of food. There is nothing to fear here.”

 He did not seem convinced.

“You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Logan promised. “The castle is plenty big if you’d like to stay inside all winter long. It was made for the winter even without the magic devices that keep it warm. We have fireplaces and well insulated rooms even if those that ends up failing.” Logan pulled open the hand that had the protection charm just to transfer it to his other hand to warm it. “Though, while no one would force you to go outside, the snow isn’t always bad.”

“Yes it is,” Virgil said, his voice sure.

 “Not all the time,” Logan insisted. “Some people love the snow.”

“They’re stupid.”

Logan laughed. “It can be fun for a while with the right equipment if you have someplace to get warm again afterwards. Royal duties slow down during the winter and Patton tends to come up with all sorts of games for both the inside and the outside to pass the time. He’s particularly proficient at snowball fights, at least against me.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Play fighting,” Logan answered. “Like pillow fights, but snow.”

“I’ll stick with the pillows,” he replied.

“And then there’s a hill to sled down on the western side of the castle, and people like to build snowmen along the path.”

“What are snowmen?” Virgil asked.

 They’re temporary statues made out of packed snow,” Logan explained. “Typically, they’re made of three different sized balls of snow: the largest being the base and the smallest the ‘head’ though there are some variations. After building them one typically decorates them with different articles of clothing and objects found lying around. It’s usually sticks and rocks for the face and then things like extra hats and scarfs for decoration.” He smiled softly. “When my Pa was alive, we used to steal my Dad’s crown and fanciest robes. Sometimes Pa would steal it right off of Dad’s head and we’d run away. We’d find a secluded area of the castle yards and build the biggest snowman we could as quickly as we could before we got caught. He’d usually end up letting us keep the robes, but we’d have to give the crown back since some of the metals in it would rust when wet.”

 “That sounds…” Virgil’s nose twitched. “fun if you take away the touching snow part.”

Logan laughed. “It is fun,” he said. “Even with the touching snow part. Though, I admit that some of the ability for it to be entertaining does come from the fact that we could warm up afterwards with ease. You’ll enjoy Patton’s mother’s constant offering of hot chocolate during the season even if you never go outside, I’m sure.”

“Hot chocolate?” Virgil asked intrigued. His dark eyes shone brightly in the little light coming through the window. It was clear he could guess something about the drink just by the name and enjoyed the implications.

 Logan smiled fondly. “It is a hot drink,” he explained. “It’s a warm drink made out of milk and chocolate. I can get you some to try in the morning.”

Virgil nodded, eyes still wide with interest.

“For now, we should sleep though,” Logan said. “Are you warm enough? I can get more blankets.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Good,” Logan said, reaching up and adjusting the blanket over them once more, tucking it around Virgil a little bit for good measure. “Goodnight Virgil,” he said.

“Goodnight,” he replied softly. Logan reached under the blankets to grab the hand that was still slightly chilly from the window between his own. Virgil’s eyes slipped closed after a moment as he nuzzle his face into the pillow. At some point they both drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 36

Thomas had already been well aware that winter was on the way, but he and the rest of the castle occupants had been surprised at how intensely and suddenly it had come on. Most things were ready for the winter, but not all of them had been initiated. The fireplaces that took some pressure off the castle heating runes were cleaned out and ready, but they hadn’t been started yet. The stables for different animals on the grounds had been checked over and staff assignments had been made, but most were still in far out fields. Staff that went home for the winter months had been dismissed, but there were a few stragglers that would have to be helped home before things got worse.

 He’d gone out to the main stable to talk to the three workers that were the heads of different areas of animal husbandry to make sure a plan to get everything to where it needed to be soon was in place. It took a while to figure out considering that they’d expected a little more time before the first major snowfall. Thomas also asked them to make sure all of the workers’ homes were in good enough condition for the weather. Ranch hands typically had homes on castle grounds but not in the castle themselves since they needed to be close to the animals. Thomas knew at least half a dozen of those who spent most of their times out in the fields were the type to forgot to maintain their homes because they preferred camping amongst the animals in the summer months and then would be in for a bad time when snow began to fall.

 There should be enough extra rooms in the castle if they needed a place to stay until repairs could be done.

Those conversations took a good couple of hours, before Thomas was satisfied. Before trudging back to the castle through the still falling snow, he made a point to stop at one specific horse stall in the main stable. The horse turned his head to see Thomas when he stopped in front of his stall and puffed out a rather disaffected snort before sticking his head over the gate so Thomas could pat his nose. “Hello, Mr. Apples,” Thomas said.

 The horse seemed to conclude he’d tolerated Thomas’s petting enough and ducked his head to nudge at his torso. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I brought you an apple. Some things never change.” He reached into his pocket to grab the red apple he’d brought the white Arabian. “At least you don’t bite me anymore.” He paused, apple slice in hand and eyed the horse’s nose suspiciously. “Do not bite me,” he said even though he hadn’t felt the animal’s teeth in a decade. It would be just like Mr. Apples to wait until his guard was down.

 After a bit of scrutiny, he offered an apple slice. It was snatched out of his hand and there was a loud crunch as it was bit into.

“It’s snowing out,” he told the horse. The horse seemed to roll his eyes at the statement of the obvious. “I’ll remind again that if you run out in a snowstorm, I’m not running after you, so you’d be out of luck.”

Mr. Apples snorted.

“You’re old now. You’d probably not survive long enough for people to find you. Besides, you blend in with that white fur of yours. They’d probably walk right past you a few times.”

 He went back to nosing for treats as soon as he finished his first and Thomas sighed, pulling out another apple slice. “What are they not feeding you enough?” The gusto with which the horse snatched the apple slice was a very clear answer. “Well, we both know that’s not true.” Thomas fed the horse a third slice of apple when he was done with his second. “I have to get back to the castle now. Don’t be a devil horse.”

Mr. Apples threw his head a bit, splattering apple smelling foamy spittle all over Thomas’s front.

“Understood. Have a nice afternoon.”

 He left Mr. Apples in his stall then, knowing he’d be well cared for no matter how ill-tempered he could be at times. He’d been a king’s horse once, after all, no matter that said king had been dead for more than a decade now.

Winters were hard.

Winters were the times when things always slowed down at the castle, where royal duties were often thin. There were a lot of memories in winter.

The trip back to the castle was not particularly long, but it was also not particularly pleasant. The snow had not been cleared away considering it was still snowing which meant his feet and legs were wet and cold by the time he made it to the nearest castle door.

 He wasn’t sure if, when he entered, the castle heating runes had started to work in earnest or if he’d just been so cold that any measure of warmth was appreciated, but he was relieved to be out of the snow either way.

He decided to check up on the progress of the castle staff lighting the fireplaces. With any luck, they’d be lit already, and he could warm up even more. That in mind, he headed towards the main foyer where the largest fireplace in the castle sat to take off the chill brought in by the large front doors.

 The main foyer was bustling with activity when he snuck in along the sides, giving the guards stationed around nods as he passed. The main fire in the room was burning brightly, though only one of the two smaller ones near the side exits from the room was lit. The other one was still being set up with safety mechanisms. It was good progress and assuming other areas of the castle were being set up as efficiently, he assumed they’d all be set up by nightfall.

He’d need to go check around to be sure, but for now, he walked up to the main fireplace to warm his hands.

 He’d gotten into the habit when he was younger to every so often glance upwards. There had been a certain stable boy who had a propensity for climbing trees. These days, he usually found nothing when he did so, often not even consciously noticing that he’d turned his gaze momentarily skywards. Yet, today, he was startled out of his own idleness by dark brown eyes looking back at him from a small ledge in the shadows high above him.

He froze as he met the young boy’s gaze. Virgil seemed as surprised to be caught as Thomas was to have caught him.

 Slowly Thomas raised one hand and waved to the boy. He slunk back into the shadows at the acknowledgment. If Thomas peered hard enough, he could see a shadow stretch up towards the third-floor balcony in the darkness and disappear over the railing.

Interesting boy.

Thomas found himself smiling despite the oddity. They still had not found out much about Virgil. He would speak to Jeffers about many things apparently, but often could not be redirected to invasive topics and he was still a bit skittish around Helen. He hadn’t willingly existed in a room with Thomas. Thomas hoped that changed at some point. There was something about him that made Thomas like him.

  Chapter 37

Virgil had not spent a lot of time out of Logan’s room. What little time he had spent outside of it was either with Patton and/or Logan or tucked away in secret corridors he found in the walls where no one would stumble upon him. Yet, here he was willingly in a, well, not public by any means place, but one that was still more exposed than he was used to being in. Somehow, he was managing to not care at all.

It was helped by the fact that both Logan and Patton had been in the room at the start, but they had gone off to go… somewhere. Food sounded like it might have been the reason.

 He liked food, and usually he would have been all for going to get some, but between them promising to bring him back some and the fact that he was never going to move ever again, he’d decided to stay.

Princess Marisol seemed to be the only other rational being in the whole castle because she had also not moved since discovering the contents of this room. She was currently laying on his chest purring happily.

The fireplace was a wonderful invention. Now, Virgil had, of course, warmed up by a fire before when it was cold, but this was much different. There was a grate that blocked off the fire a bit keeping it from burning the person in front of it and there was a plush rug right by it, perfect for laying down on. Someone had known what they were doing when designing this room.

 He didn’t even care that the king had access to this sitting room as well as Logan.

…

Okay, so he did care a little bit, but he was ignoring that. He was probably busy this time of day anyway, right?

…

He really didn’t want to run into him after being caught watching the castle workers set up the bigger fireplaces. Kings probably didn’t like people sneaking around watching things from the shadows even when they didn’t know that the person sneaking around was literally sent to kill them.

Princess Marisol must have had a sixth sense for his anxieties (or he’d just started breathing faster and disturbed her) because she stirred a bit.

[winterscaptain]

intellectual guesswork.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: another ajf update that requires absolutely no context to enjoy! i love you all so much. send some extra love to your favorite writers this week :)

one quick thing - if you’re on my taglist, please consider dropping a reply or a reblog! i love to see what you all think, and it encourages me to keep going :) it’s also getting a bit long, and i want to make sure my mutuals and people who engage are seeing everything - tumblr sometimes has a hard time with a lot of mentions. 

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “ignorance of the law excuses no man - from practicing it.” - addison mizner. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? edited: january 12th, 2021

You all settle into one row. Aaron’s on the end beside you, looking very sharp in a crisp black suit, his favorite Rolex, and a settled kind of confidence you’ve only seen in him a few times. It’s like he’s in his natural habitat. 

Aaron’s record as a federal prosecutor speaks for itself, of course, but you’ve never seen him in action. As often as they can, the bureau’s leadership sends him in as an expert witness. This time, the case happens to be one of yours. The judge hasn’t required a sequestration for Aaron, so you get the treat of sitting together in the courtroom. 

He’s scoffed and mumbled snide remarks under his breath all morning. You’re just itching to see him get up on the stand and give this joker an education. 

Emily leans over, whispering in your ear. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like this before. Hotch is going to rip this clown to shreds.” 

You stifle a laugh and look over at Aaron. He heard her. Leaning toward you, he murmurs, “All my JD does is collect dust. When I use it, I’d like to enjoy it.” 

“Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call our expert witness, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, to the stand.” 

He takes a breath and rises, buttoning his suit jacket and crossing the courtroom. His presence commands respect and everyone in the courtroom seems to shrink before him. 

The prosecution’s questions go over smoothly, and the defense attorney stands with an unreasonable amount of confidence. 

Emily leans over. “He thinks he can get Hotch with at least one of these questions, and he might. But just watch.” 

You nod, taking everything in. 

“So you’ve stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my clients door that night.” 

“Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes.” 

Without hesitation, the attorney follows up. “And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings case in Atlanta?” 

“Yes, it was.” Aaron’s eyes and tone never waver, no hint of arrogance or cheek. 

“And was that suspect you identified,” the attorney asks, far too aggressively, “Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?”

The prosecution objects, and you watch Aaron. Every part of him observes the proceedings with an outwardly detached interest, but his eyes are alive - strategizing and anticipating. It’s like you can see the wheels turning as the lawyers bicker. 

 The judge ends the squabble. “I’ll allow it.”

Aaron, now with permission, answers simply, “No, he was not convicted.”

“Because he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man.” 

Oh, give me a break. It takes everything in you not to scoff and you can feel Emily’s eye roll.

“Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park Bomber, Eric Rudolph, you’ll see that our profile was dead-on.” 

Dead-on indeed, Aaron. 

“Well, how about we look at the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was Black and from the suburbs.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow and you feel Spencer shift beside you. Emily shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He always recovers, never in the way you’d expect.” 

“How do you know?”

Emily’s face pulls into a little smile. “I’ve read the transcripts. Hotch is terribly clever.” 

“You said that Dennis Rader, the B.T.K. Killer,” the attorney continues, “was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids.” 

JJ huffs, and you hear her whisper to Spencer, “Can we quit with the sermon?” 

His lips turn up. “Just wait.”

Dave leans over and stares them down over Derek. Stop talking. 

All of you look down at your hands like chastised children, but your gaze floats back to Aaron right away. 

The prosecution objects again, this time on the grounds of preaching. The judge forces a question, and the attorney turns back on Aaron.

“Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” 

“No.” Your chest squeezes. He’s completely firm in his denial. 

How does he do that?

“Fact is,” the attorney continues like Aaron didn’t speak at all, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.” 

“Objection!” 

Her outburst is unnecessary. Aaron has a plan. His eyes track to you as if to check in. Are you paying attention? 

If you weren’t watching before, you’re certainly watching now. Always. 

“Withdrawn.” 

“Charcoal grey.” His flat assertion makes you gasp and you immediately cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound. 

The attorney turns around. “Well, look at that,” he exposes his socks to the court, and they are, in fact, charcoal grey. “He got one right.”

Aaron’s not finished. “You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you’re frugal, but in fact, you’re having financial difficulties.” 

You do your best to school your expression and remove your hand from your mouth. Checking down the row, you see six smirks watching the witness box. 

“You wear a fake Rolex…”

And you’d know. 

“...because you pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess would be to a bookie.” 

Is he smiling?

“I took this case pro bono.” There’s tension in Mr. Charcoal Grey’s voice. You can hear it behind the false confidence and it pulls a smile from you. “I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state.”

Hotch continues, completely bypassing him. “Your vice is horses.” There’s definitely a little smile on his face now. “Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results.” Your smile gets wider, and Emily grabs your hand. 

“Just watch.”

“And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day.” There’s something that looks almost like concern on Aaron’s face, but you know it’s nothing if not facetious. He’s ripping this poor man to shreds without changing a single thing about his presentation.

I love - 

Don’t finish that thought. 

Why not?

Remember how he’s freshly divorced?

I know, but have you seen him?

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law -” 

You lean forward and Emily follows, her thumbnail between her teeth. 

The final blow. 

“- by always taking the long shot.” 

If this was any other setting, you’re sure the entire team would be on their feet, shouting and jeering. But alas, you’re in court, so you settle for a wide smile and a suppressed laugh. Amused brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you shake your head just the tiniest bit. I can’t believe you.

His lips twitch. 

“Well, you spin a very good yarn, Agent, but as usual, you’ve proven nothing.” He’s just trying to recover something, anything left of his dignity. He fails, miserably. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aaron says, his eyebrows raised just a little, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Just then, his Blackberry buzzes on the defense table. “Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?”

You raise your hands to your face to cool the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“Your honor, this is - “

The judge takes matters into his own hands. “What do you want me to do? Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

Hotch and the defense attorney share a loaded look. It’s a battle of wills. 

Aaron wins. 

“Nothing further.”

+++

When you all leave the courthouse, you practically latch onto Aaron’s arm, completely floored. 

“How did you do that?”

He laughs and Derek jumps up beside him, shaking his shoulders. “Come on, Hotch. That was incredible.” 

“Why have a law degree if you aren’t going to use it?”

+++

He offers you a ride home later that evening and you take him up on it. You’re both still in the car, idling in front of your house. 

“That really was impressive today,” you admit, your eyes on your hands.

You can feel his soft smile rather than see it. “Thanks. I know it didn’t quite go the way we wanted as far as the case itself, but there’s more to come.” 

“It’s never as bad as it looks in the first couple of days.” 

“Exactly.” He sighs. “Thanks again for being there today. It’s…” his lips twist as he thinks, “nice to have the team around.” 

You reach out, squeezing his forearm before immediately letting him go. “Of course. We’ll always be there for you. Plus, there’s nothing better than watching you tear blowhard lawyers to shreds in a court of law.” 

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went.” 

“You’re kidding!” You laugh. “That’s just what happened. The man left without half his soul! You absolutely tore it from his body.”

The pair of you quiet, and you move to get out of the car. He stops you with a hand over yours as you unclip your seatbelt. “Really. Thanks for being there today.” 

“I can’t emphasize this enough - it was my pleasure.” 

Enough of a pleasure as it was, his smile in the dark of the car is the best part of your day.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss  @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @colbyskoalas @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321

[not-delicious-milk]

untangle

pairing | itadori yuuji x fushiguro megumi

content | fluff, light angst, humor. birthday fic for the birthday boy. yuuji has adhd and i will die on that hill

word count | 1.7k

form | oneshot

originally posted | 23 december 2020

author's note | yes i wrote this because i got back into knitting. i know i’m a day late for fushi’s birthday but shh. anyway itafushi brainrot

Itadori hyperfixates on knitting. Shenanigans ensue. 

It started out innocent enough. 

Gojou had decided to treat them to shopping in the city, something that excited Kugisaki and Itadori beyond reason. Fushiguro thought that those two would probably faint from excitement if their sensei ever indulged them in a trip to Roppongi, as he'd promised them so many months ago, even though he knew fully well it was little more than a tourist trap.

Then they passed by a fabric store, and Itadori had stopped cold in his tracks at the sight of the multicolored yarns in the window. Peeking over a teetering pile of bags and boxes he was holding for Kugisaki, Itadori drew so close to the window his breath misted up the glass.

"What is it, Itadori?" Kugisaki huffed. She turned around and barely suppressed a laugh when she saw him staring. "Are you a grandmother now? Come on, I still need to pick up new stockings."

"No, it's just—" Itadori glanced back at her, wide eyed. "You know, my grandfather taught me to knit once, when I was really little. I hadn't given it much thought since…" His sentence trailed off. "Anyway, it's getting colder now, right? Plus Christmas is coming up. Maybe I should pick it up again."

Fushiguro shrugged. "As long as you don't go crazy. Like that time with the stamps."

"Listen — those were limited edition stamps—"

"And the historical romance movies."

"How did you — come on, Pride and Prejudice is a classic—"

"And the bullet journals?"

"I didn't even get that many of those! Gojou-sensei was the one who recommended those to keep track of stuff."

"You had to empty one of your manga shelves just to store all the stationary you bought!"

"Okay, I get it!" Itadori held up one of his hands in a gesture of surrender, nearly dropping Kugisaki's things in the process. "In and out. All I want to do is look."

But that was not all he wanted to do. Itadori wanted to touch the yarn, and then he was ogling the seasonal colors, and then he was flipping through pattern books, and then he was discussing different wool blends with the lady working there, and then he was picking out bamboo circular knitting needles, and then he was ordering cones of yarn in different colors, and by the time they staggered out of the fabric store, Fushiguro was ready to collapse. 

The way home was just as bad, if not worse. Itadori talked Gojou's ear off the whole time about different stitches he wanted to try and projects he was going to start. "Oh, by the way, Fushiguro!"

Fushiguro turned at the mention of his name. "What is it?"

"Would you prefer a scarf or a hat? I picked out this blue acrylic-wool blend to match your eyes, but I'm not sure which one you would prefer."

Fushiguro blinked at him. "A— a scarf, I guess."

Itadori gave him a thumbs up and then went right back to talking a mile a minute. Fushiguro wasn't sure if he should be paying attention or not. He glanced at Kugisaki, who was in a world of her own looking at the souvenirs and new accessories she had bought with Gojou's credit card. 

Gojou himself seemed only mildly interested in what Itadori was saying. He seemed to be thinking of something else, but he did seem to be making an effort to show his student that he was listening.

Fushiguro sighed. He really was hopeless. "Itadori, tell me about the patterns you want to try."

Itadori turned to him, and Fushiguro let himself take in the radiant glow of his eyes for one selfish moment, before training his gaze on the floor of the train.

(Was it too much to ask for him to stop being so bright all the time?)

The excitement could barely keep its way out of Itadori's voice as he described the different ways to knit a sock, and Fushiguro smiled a little, careful not to let Gojou see it. He would never let him live it down. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Fushigurooooooooooooooo!"

He doesn't have to yell. The walls are so thin between our rooms anyway. "What?" he called back, a little quieter. 

"I need your help! Come here!"

Fushiguro sighed and closed the book he'd been reading. It was a hefty tome on marine biology he'd picked up the week before. And in that week, Itadori had probably knit enough to clothe a small country. 

Well, that was an exaggeration. But he really had been spending all his time working on some project or another, and Fushiguro was mentally counting down until his inevitable burnout. 

He opened the door to Itadori's room and poked his head inside. "What— oh."

Itadori grinned sheepishly at him. He was in the middle of a pile of tangled yarn, probably partially tangled in it himself, seated on the floor. "Um, I could use another pair of hands."

Fushiguro sighed for as long as he could, feigning annoyance. 

(He really didn't mind.) 

"Thanks, man." Itadori wriggled his way out of his multicolored bonds and started picking at the strands. "I promise it's not as bad as it looks." What it looked was pretty bad.

"I just forgot to organize them when I was done with a color. I had just been putting them in a bin under my bed."

Really? Not a blender?

Fushiguro said nothing as he worked at a thick knot. 

"Brat, do something about him."

His eyes went wide as Fushiguro whipped his head around to see a mouth formed on Itadori's cheek, speaking in a familiarly cold voice. "He's driving me insane."

Itadori slapped a hand over Sukuna's mouth automatically. "You were already insane," he muttered under his breath.

The mouth opened again on his hand. "All you think about are your projects. If I wanted to possess a grandmother, I would have done so. Brat, break his knitting needles, throw out his yarn, something. I know you find it irritating too." 

Itadori pointedly ignored Sukuna's voice, but for a moment Fushiguro was sure he saw something flicker in his eyes — something like disappointment, or maybe regret. His smile seemed a little too tight, his gaze too fixed.

Ever since he had come back to life, Fushiguro had noticed that Itadori wasn't quite the same. He never wanted to talk about it, either, besides the few words they'd exchanged before the Goodwill Event. 

But these days, something about Itadori Yuuji seemed a little unsure. He seemed harder, cracked around the edges like broken glass. He was smiling the same smile as ever, but something in his eyes told Fushiguro that he didn't mean it. 

Fushiguro imagined that he was untangling Itadori. Maybe it was that he didn't trust him enough, wasn't close enough to him, didn't care as much about him as Fushiguro did him, but there was something twisted up inside Itadori that he didn't let anyone touch. 

(He would never admit it, but Fushiguro wished that he could. Sort through the strands one by one, with care and with gentleness, until he was all smoothed out.)

"Itadori," Fushiguro said quietly. 

"Huh?" By the time he turned around to meet his eyes, Itadori had already masked his brief slippage of control. 

"I don't think it's irritating."

Itadori laughed a little. "No, it's okay. You don't have to feel bad, I know I'm going a little overboard…"

"I'm serious."

He fell silent and ran his fingers through his soft pink hair. Again, there it was — a flash of something between disappointment and regret. "I just… it feels nice to make stuff for other people, I guess." And there he went again. Always other people first. 

(When would he realize other people worried about him too?)

Fushiguro didn't say anything else, but silently picked a piece of yarn off of Itadori's hoodie. 

"Oh! That's right!" Itadori suddenly stood up and rummaged through his bag. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"

It was. Fushiguro hadn't told anyone about it though — there wasn't much he hated more than other people fussing over him on his birthday. The attention, the coddling praise, the presents… all of it was too much. 

Who could have—

The winking face of his sensei flashed across his mind. Of course.

"Here you go, before I forget to give it to you." Itadori handed him a folded blue scarf. "It's your birthday present!" 

Fushiguro took the scarf gingerly. It seemed to tingle in his hands, and he could almost feel the attention and time that Itadori had put into it. It had a complicated-looking cable pattern that must have taken him forever. 

"Do you— do you like it?"

He glanced up at Itadori, whose usually sunny face was clouded over with insecurity. Ah, I must have made a face by accident. 

Fushiguro answered by putting the scarf on. It even smelled like him. If he breathed in deeply, he could smell Itadori's fabric softener and the scent of the outdoors that always seemed to cling to him — wood and soft grass and—

Stop smelling the scarf.

"I like it," he managed. He couldn't make eye contact with Itadori — if he did, he was afraid his careful mask of casual indifference might break and reveal something much more embarrassing.

"You do? Oh, that's good." Somehow Itadori didn't sound very convinced.

Fushiguro risked looking into his eyes. "I really love this," he stated firmly. "Honestly, I'm glad you decided to start knitting again." He paused a moment before going a step further, grasping at the tangled strands around him and within the boy who stood before him. "I think your grandfather would be really proud of you."

Itadori blinked in surprise. "Oh." A wide grin spread across his face. "Well, I'm glad you like it!"

Fushiguro gestured hopelessly to the mountain of tangled yarn.

"Ah, right."

An easy silence fell as they untangled the rest of the yarn. The warmth of the scarf around Fushiguro's neck was grounding, and reminded him of the warmth of the boy next to him. 

Itadori scooted closer to him and rested his head on Fushiguro's shoulder, surprising him. Neither of them said a word as they picked at knots of yarn. 

"Thank you," muttered Itadori under his breath. 

Maybe birthdays weren't so bad after all. 

[miraclekittyandbug]

Ten Questions With a Twist Chapter 6

I. Cannot. TELL you how sorry I am for the delay. It has been a crazy couple of days, but I’m about to post the two final chapters of Ten Questions With A Twist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

“Hey, Marinette!” Adrien called, waving frantically at the bluenette. Classes had just ended and he wanted to be sure to catch her before she left in a hurry.

Marinette turned and saw Adrien there, red in the face. “Hey Adrien. Are you okay? Did you just… run to find me?”

“Umm… How many more of those questions do you have?” Adrien deliberately didn’t answer the question, for fear of seeming like the desperate mess he had turned into. “You know, from that Black Cat guy?”

A light of comprehension shone behind her eyes, “Oh, those. Just a few. I’m really sorry if they were too invasive or anything. I can always tell him it was a bad idea.”

“No! Actually, I think it’s kind of a fun idea. I’d like to answer the rest of them for you.”

“Oh! That would be great!” She put her backpack on the ground and started digging through it to find the list, a formality at this point, as she had already memorized the questions.

“Why don’t we hang out for a bit? We could go back to your place and answer these questions. Maybe play some Mecha Strike? That good luck charm you gave me might even help me beat you.” Adrien wiggled his eyebrows and Marinette blushed, but laughed. 

“I’m not sure it’s that lucky, but it sounds like fun.” Her eyes widened, “Actually, could you give me just a little bit of time to clean up my room first? It’s in a pretty embarrassing state right now. Meet me at the bakery in twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good P- pal.” Adrien caught himself. He was about to call her Princess, but that would give him away. He had a challenge to win, after all.

It took about fifteen minutes to convince the Gorilla to cover for him, not too difficult to do considering he was supposed to take Adrien to his Chinese lessons directly after school. Adrien simply reminded the Gorilla that a conversation in Chinese with Mrs. Dupain-Cheng was a very practical application of the information he already knew so well. They agreed that he would pick him up from the Dupain-Cheng bakery in about two hours.

Adrien made his way, slowly, to the bakery. 

The bakery, being right across the street from the school, and having such delicious treats, was very busy. Adrien waited dutifully in line and when he got to the counter, Sabine greeted him warmly. He responded in Chinese, explaining that the only way he had talked his bodyguard into letting him come was to promise to practice his Chinese. Sabine smiled and ushered him to the back. She pointed him to the staircase and told him, in Chinese, to follow it until he reached Marinette’s room, and that there would be snacks up there for the both of them. 

Now, at this point, Adrien knew for a fact he was in love with this girl. But if there had been even a sliver of doubt in his mind, it all evaporated when he lifted the hatch to Marinette’s room. 

She must have done a wonderful job cleaning, because apart from some half-finished sewing on a desk and a few balls of yarn on her bed, Marinette’s room was spotless. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. Leaning over her computer, attempting to plug in the game console, Marinette was humming contentedly with a cookie in her mouth. The picture of it all was so endearing, Adrien hated to alert her to his presence. However, he thought it might be creepy if she were to turn around and find him staring, so he cleared his throat.

Marinette made a noise that could only be described as a squeak, and bit down on the cookie, causing a portion of it to fall to the floor. “Adrien! I didn’t see you there! Come on in, I’ve got snacks!”

He climbed the final steps into her room and reached for a cookie, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Once Marinette had plugged in the console correctly and booted up the game, they chose their players and began. It didn’t take long for Marinette to secure a lead, so Adrien thought a distraction was in order.

“So what about those questions?”

Marinette was silent for a moment before speaking, “I know you’re just trying to distract me. But to prove a point, I will ask these questions AND win this round at the same time. Just watch.”

“Jeez, B- Marinette, that’s pretty harsh,” he said, playfully. He was learning that it would be very difficult to refrain from calling her by her nicknames. “Won’t you go easy on me? Please?” Adrien made puppy dog eyes at the screen, leaning forward so that she would hopefully catch a glimpse of his pouty lips and fast blinking eyes. Not two minutes later, he flung himself back into his seat, having been defeated. 

Marinette placed her controller onto the desk in front of them, flashing him a sympathetic look. “And I wasn’t even distracted with those questions.”

“Alright,” Adrien relented, “What are they?”

“Okay, well, the question that seemed to make you sick might not be a good one to start off with…”

Adrien remembered his odd behavior earlier, and how stupid he had been to not see it sooner. “No, really, I’m fine. Shoot!”

“Okay, what’s your dream job?”

Adrien pretended to think, as if this question were a surprise to him, “I’d like to be a stay at home dad one day.”

“That’s so sweet! I’d like to be a designer one day. Have my own fashion line, company, that kind of thing. What’s your favorite movie?”

“The Princess Bride.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a chick flick?”

“There’s sword fighting and pirates and impossible odds! And anyway, what’s wrong with chick flicks?”

Marinette quickly defended herself, “There’s nothing wrong with chick flicks, I guess I pegged you as more of a studio Ghibli guy.”

Goodness, it had been a year or two since his last binge of those movies, “Oh, studio Ghibli is amazing! But still, there’s nothing like Wesley rolling down a hill screaming ‘As you wish’ only for Buttercup to fling herself down with him.”

Marinette started giggling, “I totally forgot about that part! Oh, I’ll have to rewatch that movie sometime soon. Favorite dessert?”

“Easy, the macarons from your parents bakery.”

“Really?” Marinette responded, “I’m flattered! What flavor?”

“That passionfruit one is my all time favorite, but that’s only seasonal. I really like any of the fruit ones.”

“Good to know! The other questions are pretty basic. What’s your name?”

Adrien put on a face and spoke in an accent, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

Marinette laughed and Adrien decided it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“What school do you go to?”

“Hogwarts.”

She rolled her eyes, “No, seriously.”

Adrien looked at her, eyes calculating, “Is there a reason you want this guy to know all the answers?”

“No!” she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, “We just have to give the guy a chance. And anything he doesn’t guess correctly, I don’t have to tell him. So it’s not like I’m giving him all your information or anything.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adrien said, leaning forward. Marinette blushed as if she knew exactly what he meant, but he continued anyway. “You like this guy, don’t you? You want him to guess correctly so you can go on a date with him!”

“What?!” Marinette acted repulsed by this, but her blush only deepened, “No way! He’s just a friend!”

“But you want to give him a chance.”

She seemed to hold her breath, making her face even redder, but then released and deflated, placing her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know. Honestly, I probably like this guy a lot, I’ve just been so caught up on… this other guy for so long. It’s so confusing.”

“Have you thought about meeting him? You know, in person?”

Marinette lifted her head and looked at the ceiling instead, “Yeah. I have. I mean, this black cat guy is my best friend. We tell each other everything. He’s the only one who knows about this big part of my life and I rely on him for so much. He’s so sweet and really understanding about me wanting to keep our real names out of it.”

Adrien winced, but Marinette didn’t notice. He felt awful. She had always been so adamant that they not know each other’s identities. But he just happened upon it! One coincidence led to another, led to some questions, led to a point where he couldn’t turn back. “So you don’t want him to know who you are?”

“Well I wouldn’t say that.” Her hand went to the back of her neck and she rubbed it anxiously. “If we somehow found out, I’d honestly be thrilled. I even went so far as to ask Master F- forum.” Marinette blanched, looking Adrien directly in the eye, “Our forum master. The guy that runs the forum that we chat on. I went so far as to ask him about meeting in real life and he just smiled. He said ‘The wheels of life are in motion, but you cannot determine the speed’. I have no idea what that means, but he’s notoriously cryptic.” Adrien was going to say something, but Marinette was on a rant, so he sat back and listened. “And it’s like, he’s wanted to know for a really long time. Ever since the beginning. But I was so cautious, I said no. I thought it would be dangerous for us and our families.” 

“And you need to be careful, with strangers on the internet.”

“Exactly! Strangers on the internet. But then, almost immediately, I trusted him. Right away, we were inseparable. And now that I want to know, I don’t know what to do.”

Adrien couldn’t help the smile that plastered itself on his face. “Well, Marinette, I’m sure things will work out. And you never know! Maybe he’s a really good guesser.”

“Maybe.” She said, obviously glad to have gotten some things off her chest. “In the meantime, let’s sneak down and grab you a couple of macarons.”

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

Next chapter should be up by the time you read this far!

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - 1700/1800 | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count: 3,898

Warnings:  jack the ripper, reader is called a whore and a wench

A/N:  tis my longest chapter yet!

Back | Next

You hid away for most of the eighteenth century.

You healed when you could, but what happened to Douxie scared you a little more than you’d like to admit.

So you hid.

You found ways to entertain yourself.  You read more, painted a little, continued your medical practice, and learned more about medicine whenever the knowledge became available.  You continued to keep tabs on other immortals.  It was pretty boring except for that time the Americans revolted.  You had to admit it was fun to keep tabs on the scrappy rebellion.  You couldn’t say it out loud as you still lived in England, but you gave a little cheer every time they fought off the British.  You didn’t like authority.  Neither did they.

On the other side of the continent, Douxie did the same things he always did.  Music, magic, work for Merlin.  He also read the book you’d given him.  He liked it.

It was a century of hiding, waiting, and having nothing much to do.  The next century would be the exact opposite. 

--

Jack the Ripper was a dick.

You really didn’t like him.

Douxie didn’t like him either.

And Archie didn’t like him.

So, like in every good piece of media that has a chapter in the nineteenth century, you protagonists teamed up to take down Jack the Ripper.  It was super effective!

You met up with your partners in the fog-filled streets of the White Chapel district soon after the second murder.  In your hands, you held a newspaper covering the recent events.  You approached the wizard and his familiar, but they didn’t see you.  They were caught in a conversation with someone you’d never seen before, a stocky man dressed in a dark overcoat and hat.  The stranger hadn’t noticed you either.  

Silently, you hid in an alley between two nearby buildings.  You couldn’t hear them, but from the stranger’s body language, he seemed a bit defensive, maybe even a little angry.  You sincerely hoped Douxie wasn’t doing anything stupid.

About a minute later, the man stormed off, leaving Douxie and Archie behind.  They still hadn’t noticed you, so you took the opportunity to sneak up on them.

“Hey!”

“Aaaaahhhh, jeez (Y/N)!  Don’t do that!  There’s a killer on the loose!”

“And he’s only killed prostitutes so far, so you should be fine.  Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave you a small shove, too small to be malicious, “Very funny.  Have you learned anything new?”

“Mhmm, but first,” you turned to Archie, giving him a pat on the head, “Hey Arch, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,”

“That’s good!  That’s good, anyway, you know they think it’s a doctor, but they received a letter signed ‘Jack the Ripper,’”

“Very fun nickname,”

“Indeed, but it still isn’t much to go off of, the police already doubt it”

“(Y/N), remind me again what your sources are?”  the familiar was right to be suspicious, but you knew your sources were solid.

“I’ve told you Arch, a forensic doctor, he’s a friend of mine and he works with the police,”

“And how do you know you can trust him?”

“I don’t, but they’re publishing the letter soon, so you’ll see it then.  You guys got anything?”

“Not much,”

“Huh.  That isn’t great,” you took a moment before speaking again, “By the way, who was that man you were talking to?  He seemed angry,”

“Oh, him?  He’s just a resident of this area.  I’ve been talking to him for a while, I thought he might know something, but every time I even mention it he gets, well…”

“Like that?”

“Yes, like that,”

You looked out the way the man had gone, “You think he’s a suspect?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,”

Archie nodded in agreement.

“Well then,” you said, returning the eyes to the face of your accomplices, “Keep an eye on him.  See you next Thursday?”

“Sounds good,”

By next Thursday, another girl was dead.

You met with your team in a (very) shady pub to discuss this development.  Thanks to some connections, you’d snagged a private room where no one else could hear your detective work.

“God DAMMIT, guys, how did we miss this?”  you said, pacing.  Your hands were on your hips, eyes fixed on the floor.  You seriously could not figure out how you missed this.  

On the wall behind you, you’d attached some photos and newspaper clippings to the wall, red yarn connecting them.  You were very ahead of your time.

“I really don’t know,” Douxie was sitting, upside-down, in a chair across from you.  He threw the ball of yarn up in the air, letting it fall, and catching it over and over again. Archie didn’t answer, he was focused too hard on the yarn.

You stopped pacing and glared at your conspiracy wall.  You followed the red string with your finger.  It lead nowhere.  You groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, something that Douxie found alarmingly attractive.  

Ever since you saved his life in the sixteen hundreds, he’d developed a bit of a soft spot for you.  It wasn’t something he was proud of.  But it was fine, you’d developed a soft spot for him too.

“Hey, it’ll be alright, love,”  he said, sitting up properly, “We’ll find this monster, so don’t worry yourself too much,”

You took a deep breath, leaning against your crime wall, “Thanks Doux.  I appreciate it,”

Your voice was slightly sarcastic, but you both smiled still.  Archie frowned, the yarn wasn’t moving anymore.

“So,” you said, turning again to examine the mess of photos and yarn, ”He isn’t an official suspect, but I think this guy, this James Maybrick, seems a little suspicious,” you pointed at his photo, “He’s going to be at this ball thing on Friday.  If we go, we can ask him if he plans on traveling, he lives in Liverpool, and-”

“I’m sorry, he lives where?”

“Liverpool, Arch, pay attention-”

“(Y/N), why do you think he’s coming all the way out to White Chapel to murder these women?”

“Well it isn’t his area, that makes him less of a suspect, and all of the murders have been on Saturdays and Sundays, which gives him time to travel,”

“You might be onto something,” Douxie said, standing and letting the yarn fall to the ground where Archie chased it around, thoroughly distracted, “We can go check it out, but how do we get in?”

You bit your lip, deep in thought, “My doctor friend, he knows the hostess.  He might be able to get us in,”

“Fantastic!”

“There’s just one thing,”

“Yes?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pretend to be my fiance,”

There was a moment of silence while Douxie considered this.  

You tried to explain yourself, “I-It’s not my first choice either, but high society doesn’t approve of-”

“I’ll do it,”

“And I know it’s inconvenient, but-”

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“I said I’ll do it,”

It was your time to consider, and you considered yourself super lucky to have an accomplice like Douxie.

“Oh my god, thank you!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,”

You couldn’t see Douxie’s face, so he had no idea that he blushed before wrapping his arms around you softly.

“No problem (Y/N), no problem,”

--

Two days later, you were wearing fancy clothes, and freaking out a little.

This was nothing compared to Douxie who was freaking out a lot.  Mostly because you looked absolutely stunning, but also because there was a possible murderer inside the building.  You know, typical stuff.

The two of you stood outside the manor, looking up at the vast estate.  It was beautiful but intimidating.  You turned to your partner in crime-solving, “You ready for this?”

He nodded.

You closed your eyes, swallowed back your anxiety, and linked your arm with his.

“Let’s do it,”

The manor was, simply put, dazzling.  The size of it reminded you of the smaller cathedrals during the sixteenth century.  The floors were marble, the ceiling decorated with a mural, just like the cathedrals you now reminisced.  The room was lit with a large chandelier, the warm light covered the whole room in a glow the colour of honey.  Columns, the same marble as the floor, stood strong around the perimeter.  On one side of the space, an orchestra played.  The center was full of people dancing.  Some people stood at the side of the room speaking, others just observing everything else. It was a crazy party, but only by Victorian standards.  

The sheer amount of activity made you panic a little.  As if Douxie could sense your anxiety, he found one of your hands and squeezed it reassuringly.  You smiled a little, once again thankful for such an amazing partner in crime.

The two of you made your way around the dance floor, checking faces, looking for your suspect.  You didn’t see him.  You and Douxie made a full circle around the room, not seeing your guy.  You were about to suggest finding a higher viewpoint when the hostess of the party stopped you.

She was a plump, elegant woman, draped in the finest of silks.  Her hair shone, and her eyes sparkled.  She was perfectly gorgeous, and perfectly in your way.

“Ah, fuzzbuckets,”

“Oh, my dear (Y/N)!  It is so good to see you, darling!”

“It’s good to see you as well, my Lady,” you returned, bowing slightly.  Douxie followed your lead.

“‘Tis a pity the good doctor couldn’t be with us!  He works so hard, you would think he would come out and dance for an evening!  Just to relax!”  The woman laughed as if wishing the doctor was here was the funniest thing on the planet.  Maybe it was to her Victorian sensibilities.

You laughed an appropriate amount, plastering on a fake smile, and biting your tongue at the irony.  This was the least relaxed you’d been all century.

When the Lady stopped laughing, she noticed Doxie, “Oh, (Y/N), dear, you must tell me who this dashing young gentleman is!  How in heaven did you find such a match?”

“My Lady, this is my fiance, Mr. Casperan,”

“It’s lovely to meet you fair Lady, and might I say that the moon and stars dull in comparison to your eyes; even a goddess of beauty could not hold a candle to your visage,”

You tried to keep cool, but you felt your eyes widen a bit.  You had never heard Douxie speak like that before.  You weren’t sure how it made you feel yet, but clearly, the Lady enjoyed it.  A blush covered her face as she gushed over the wizard for another two minutes.  You spent that time subtly searching the crowd for Maybrick.

Clearly, you were not as subtle as you thought.

“Oh, dear, I see your partner is eyeing the dance floor,” the lady said, her face still painted with a blush.  Her words called you to attention.

“Ah, yes, my apologies my Lady,”

“No worries at all dear child, now go!  Dance the night away!”

“Thank you,” you said, once again bowing.

“It was wonderful speaking with you, my Lady,” Douxie said, following your actions before leading you to the mass of dancing guests.

“She’s watching us,” Douxie whispered to you through clenched teeth, “Can you dance?”

“Not super well, but enough to survive,”

“Just follow my lead,”

Douxie could dance pretty damn well, something you weren’t too surprised by.  He’d spent a lot of time learning music throughout the centuries, you’ would've been a bit surprised if he hadn’t known how.  He was so good, in fact, that you were almost certain he was making you a better dancer just by being near you.  You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t the most fun you’d had in a while.

“So, where’d you learn to flirt like that?”  you asked, your voice low so that no one else could hear you.

“I’ve picked some things up over the years,” he said, spinning you out and then back in again.

“I have to say, I was quite impressed.  I didn’t see that coming,”

He faked a gasp, “Why I’m offended!  You don’t think I can flirt?”

“Well, I didn’t until tonight.  But I stand corrected,” he dipped you, “You can flirt extremely well Hisirdoux Casperan,”

“Thank you, (Y/N) (L/N),”

You both smiled continuing the dance, scanning the crowd for the face of the killer.  And in between that, just staring at each other.

You almost regretted finding the suspect.

You hated to admit that a small part of you had hoped to just dance with Douxie for the next few hours, pretending that you were a couple and that you weren’t magic, and you weren’t immortal, and you hadn’t seen pain and suffering the world over, and he hadn’t been tortured two centuries before.  You just wanted to dance.

But you saw him.

And the good of the humans came before the things you wanted.

“Doux, I see him,”

“Where?”

“To your left and back behind you.  Don’t look at him.  We’ll get off the dance floor, and I’ll question him,”

“Are you sure?”  Douxie thought about elaborating.  About telling you that he didn’t want you to get hurt and that he too, wanted to keep dancing. 

But he didn’t.  And you were sure.

So, you left the dance floor and made your way to the suspect.  You made sure Douxie stayed far enough behind you for his presence to be non-threatening, and made your approach. 

“Wonderful party isn’t it Sir…?”  you waited for him to give you his name.

“Maybrick, Mr. Maybrick,”

“Mr. Maybrick.  A lovely name,” internally, you cursed God for giving Douxie all of the charm and leaving you none.

“May I ask where you’re from Mr. Maybrick?”  

“I’m from around here, Liverpool.  May I ask who's asking?”

“I-”

“(Y/N), dear!  Where have you put that lovely boy of yours!  I have some friends he simply must meet!” 

You could not believe that the hostess was interrupting you yet again.  This time, Maybrick actually ran from you.  You cursed under your breath.  The Lady was far enough away that you could pretend not to hear her.  You could still catch the suspect, you just had to run a little.  In the outfit you were wearing, it would be next to impossible, but you really didn’t want to talk to the hostess again, so you gestured for Douxie to follow, and you chased after Maybrick.

You ran through the ballroom, dodging patrons and maneuvering around dancers.  It felt almost like a fairytale; Cinderella if the princess had to chase down a dangerous serial killer instead of just flee the ball.  

The suspect ran out the front doors, and you followed him, Douxie close behind.  The night air was cool on your skin, a nice contrast to the warmth of the ballroom.  You lost a shoe, and your hair was slowly turning into more and more of a mess, but you didn’t care, you wanted to catch this guy.

You did not catch that guy. 

A horse-drawn carriage was waiting for him at the end of the lane.  There was no way you could compete with that.  Not unless Archie would shapeshift into a horse for the sake of catching a possible criminal.

A black stallion pulled up beside you.

It was Archie, shapeshifted into a horse for the sake of catching a possible criminal.  You manifested your hot girl mystery-solving arc.

“Get on!”  both Douxie and Archie exclaimed, Douxie offering you a hand up.  You took it, jumping onto Archie’s back, wrapping your arms around the wizard's waist, and riding after the carriage.

The night was dark, and the carriage moved fast.  Archie kept up pretty well for a familiar with two people on his back.  He went so fast that all you could do was cling to Douxie for dear life as the dark world blurred around you.  It was not for a lack of trying, but eventually, you lost them.

“You did good Arch, you did good,”

“Thank you, Archie,” you said, forehead buried in Douxie’s back.

“I appreciate the thanks, but it isn’t over yet.  We left all of our stuff back at the manor, so we should return,”

“That’s probably a good idea,”

The journey back showed you how far you’d gone.  Needless to say, you were super proud of Archie.  You’d have to remind yourself to get him some fish later.

When you arrived back at the manor, the party was still going.  You could hear the music from the outside.  You dismounted Archie and leaned against his side.

“All of this,” you groaned out, “for nothing,”

“Well it wasn’t exactly for nothing,” Douxie said, stretching his arms above his head, “Maybrick ran from us, that’s suspicious.  I think we can officially call him a suspect.  Here,” he threw your missing shoe your way, “You dropped this,”

You smiled, leaning on Archie for support as you slipped it back on, “Thanks,”

“My pleasure,”

You laughed.  The stars above you caught your eye.  They were so beautiful tonight.  The music was nice too.  Everything was so peaceful.

It reminded you of another night, centuries ago, when you’d been allowed to rant and rave, and the wizard just listened to you.

“Hey, Douxie?”  

“Yes, love?”

You hesitated, trying to think of something to say.  Eventually, you came up with, “We’re still enemies after this, right?”

He laughed a little.  It sounded kind of sad, “If you want us to be,”

At that moment, you didn’t know what you wanted.

That’s a lie, you wanted to kiss Douxie.

But you hadn’t figured it out just yet, so, for now, you just stared at his lips, wondering what that feeling was, and listening to the song end.

“We should head back,”

“I guess we should,”

Neither of you were satisfied with this outcome.

--

You wouldn’t be satisfied until you caught the killer, or as it turned out, killers.

You’d been back at the pub, obsessing over the crime wall, tracing the red yarn over and over again.  Doux and Archie were starting to worry about your health.  Then you cracked the code.

“What if,” you said, turning from the wall, “There’s more than one,”

“More than one?”

“Yeah, more than one killer.  There’s more than one person involved here,”

The wizard and his familiar exchanged a look.  Maybe you were sleep-deprived and in need of a nap, but maybe you were onto something, “Go on,”

“Think about it, we’ve got multiple leads, some doctors, some live in the area, some have the motive, some are just suspicious, but none of them have everything they need to commit murder.  What if they’re working together?”

“Keep talking,”

“Look, here,” you said, pointing at a photo of a suspect, “Johnson Druitt, he lives in the white chapel area and has the anatomical knowledge,” you moved to another photo, this one a sketch, “Barnett, his roommate works the streets, he’s in love with her and we know he hates her job.  If he killed those other women to scare her, he has a motive,” you moved on again, “And Maybrick,”  you stopped, trying to piece together his role in this grand conspiracy.

“He’d have the funds to cover it up, plus the interest in the case,”

You spun around to face the wizard, “Douxie, you’re brilliant!”

You took a step back from the wall, taking in your work, “So, what do we do now?”

“Simple,” Douxie said, resting an elbow on your shoulder, “We go after him,”

--

You didn’t mind being bait.  Really, you didn’t.  But you did find it boring.

You’d been walking around this general area for two hours now, this disguise was uncomfortable, and you just wanted something else to do.  Then your wish came true!

Two men approached you from the front, both short in stature with well-kept moustaches.  You hid a smile, the three killer theory proving itself correct.  You walked forward, your peripheral vision focused on the men.  

The three of you kept walking.

You passed between them.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

They stopped, you continued on.

“Excuse me, dearie?”

“Yes?”  you purred, turning to them.  

Then you were grabbed from behind.  Fortunately, you expected that little trick, grabbing the stranger and flipping him over your body.  The man landed on the pavement with a thud.  You grinned as the three men looked at you, faces full of shock.  Unfortunately, it wore off, and the three advanced.

The first one threw a decent punch, but you dodged, forcing him to punch one of his partners.  You swept the legs out from under the third.

The first two had recovered and were coming at you again, this time with blades.  It was this moment when you noticed the blood on their coats.  It wasn’t theirs, or yours for that matter.  Yep, these were definitely your guys.  

The first blade missed you, the second one just grazed your side.  You bit down a cry of pain, sincerely hoping that blade was clean.  You could see Douxie emerge from his hiding place; clearly, he’d felt the sting of the metal too.

But you didn’t have time to focus on Douxie, you had to fight.  

You threw a few punches of your own, knocking the duo back into the street and closer to the wizard.

“Gah, you wENCH!!” one of them exclaimed.

“Kill the whore!!”  

You could see the rage in their faces, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that you could see their faces.  Maybrick and Druitt.  Your theory was right!  Your excitement fell away as they advanced.

Then they both fell into limbo.  

The portal down glowed blue around them.  Douxie stood behind the gateway, looking very proud of himself.

You would have laughed at their misfortune and Doux’s pride if you hadn’t been grabbed from behind again.

You cried out in surprise, catching the attention of the wizard.

“(Y/N)!”

“Don’t come any closer!” you felt the cold of a blade on your throat.  This wouldn’t end well.

“Come on now, don’t make any rash decisions,” Douxie’s hands were raised in surrender, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ll kill the wench!  I’ll do it!”

“Hey, don’t-”

“My Mary is dead!  There’s nothing left!  I’ll kill her!”

“Wait, who's dead?”

“My girl,” the man sobbed, his grasp on you weakening, “My Mary Kelly, I’ve lost her!  She’s gone!”

You may have felt bad for this guy if he hadn’t been absolutely insane.  You took his distracted state as a chance and broke from his hold, pushing yourself away from him.

“Douxie!  Now!”

The portal to limbo opened under the man.  He had no time to react as he fell into the other dimension.

You looked down into the gateway, a blue pool in the middle of a dull cobblestone street.  You sighed with relief as the blue magic sealed itself shut, leaving the night dark again.

“Nice work,”

“Thanks,”

Lights came on in the windows around you.  In the distance, you heard shouting.

“We should get out of here,”

“Good idea.  See you next century?”

“Oh, absolutely.  Say goodbye to Arch for me,”

“Will do,”

And you slipped away into the night, excited by this latest adventure, but still wanting more.

[archadianskies]

trying my best; trying to find happiness

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Wednesday Day 3: Past & Future • Separation; post-revolution Daniel/Leo 

A missing scene from [heavy with hoping]

He remembers going to Greektown specifically to visit Bellini Paints when he first moved to Detroit. It had been a small detail he remembered from an interview with Carl he watched in school; Carl Manfred had pure pigments imported via Bellini Paints and mixed his own paints by hand when he couldn’t find the right premade tubes. 

Sixteen year old Leo had treated it almost like a pilgrimage, visiting the store his father relied on to create his masterpieces. Sixteen year old Leo had been so full of hope, so full of yearning to connect with his biological father. What an idiot he’d been, that sixteen year old boy desperate for approval from a man who’d been more than happy to keep their relationship purely monetary. 

Bellini Paints is no less beautiful thirteen years on. The walls are lined with jars of pigments and illuminated with soft ambient lighting. All the cherry lacquer cabinetry has a pleasing rosy hue to the wood, and the polished brass knobs and handles aid in the stately, regal aesthetic of the brand. It feels old and timeless, an institution that will remain even when he is long gone. 

He’s no longer that naive, hopeful teen and though he’s left that Leo in the past where he belongs, he feels no anger or frustration towards him. How could he? All that Leo had wanted was to connect with his father and be loved; surely seeking love and approval from a parent isn’t asking for the world?

Not that it matters now, anyway, not when Leo’s got a brother now- a Manfred that matters in a meaningful, healing way, and it’s for that Manfred that he makes the trip to Bellini Paints. Which is now closed.

“Ah shit,” Leo swears, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he stands in front of the locked store.

 *~*

He remembers going to Greektown as chaperone for Emma and her friends one weekend to watch a movie at James & Carter cinemas. There were four children in total, including Emma, and one other domestic android, an AX400 accompanying them. Daniel paid no attention to the movie, but what he does remember was Emma’s fascination with Bellini Paints. 

The children had been chattering away avidly after leaving the cinema, discussing what they’d just watched, but they’d fallen into a hush when they passed the store. He remembers Emma’s delighted gasp, remembers her walking to the window and peering inside at the rows of pigments on the shelves. 

“Hey Daniel, which one matches my eyes?” She’d asked, and he’d pointed at one of the jars in the top right hand corner. She’d laughed so brightly, and then her attention turned elsewhere and the moment was over, the moment lived on only in his perfect memory. 

They’d gone to Essie’s Bakery afterward because Caroline specifically did not like the place but Emma loved the buttercream cupcakes there and she knew her mother would say no, but Daniel would always say yes. Even that Daniel in the past had been well on his way to deviancy because even a direct order from Caroline became meaningless when Emma pleaded for leniency.

He wonders if someday Emma will visit Essie’s Bakery of her own volition, and buy one of his buttercream cupcakes, because that’s where he works now, now that he is alive and free and has been given a second chance. He loves it here because he can hide out in the back and just create food to be consumed, and no one can eat baked goods unhappily. That he can somehow contribute to someone’s happiness is enough for Daniel, more than enough, and certainly far more than he ever deserves. 

The workday ends and he packs up, cleans up and locks up. Daniel wraps a scarf around his neck made of chunky blue yarn that Simon knitted for him because Simon is good, and kind, and all the things Daniel used to be but isn’t now. He’s trying, though, he’s trying very hard because Simon believes in him and Daniel loves him too much to disappoint him. 

He makes his way towards the bus stop only to bump into someone outside of Bellini Paints.

“Oh, sorry-!” The young man looks familiar, and Daniel recognises him from a few days ago.

“Leo?”

“Danny?”

“It’s Daniel, I told you that,” he corrects automatically, bristling. “What are you doing here? Bellini’s closes at 6pm.”

“Ugh, I thought I’d have enough time after my therapy session to swing by and grab Markus’ pastels order,” the young man groans, jamming his hands in his pockets. Leo Manfred, human brother to Markus Manfred, leader of Jericho and object of Simon’s unrequited affection. Daniel’s interacted with Markus several times now and doesn’t care much for him despite the whole ‘saviour’ thing. He’s grateful, no doubt about it, but anyone who Simon fixates on and loves so openly only to fail to return such affections isn’t so great in Daniel’s eyes. 

“They’ll open at 9am again tomorrow, though if you’re in a rush, Vincent’s here by 8:30am,” Daniel points out, thinking fondly of the genial EM400. 

“Uh, no, I value my sleep,” Leo rolls his eyes. “But I’ll swing by around lunch probably. You heading home now?”

“Yes, if I catch the next bus it should line up with when he leaves your place and we can take it home together,” Daniel nods and Leo shrugs. 

“I’ll call you a cab- that way I can go home and Simon can continue on with you,” he takes out his phone and opens an app. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on the house card. The old man’s got plenty to spare and he’d be more than happy to pay for Simon to get home safely.”

“Simon, but not us,” Daniel drawls as Leo snorts back a laugh.

“I mean, we’re all in agreement here though aren’t we?”

“Yes, Simon is always the priority,” Daniel replies without hesitation.

A taxi pulls up and Daniel climbs inside as Leo takes a seat opposite him. He generally avoids interacting with humans but for some reason Leo is the exception. He’s so stubbornly blasé about Daniel, so readily casual with his invitation of friendship that he can’t help but accept. It’s as if Leo’s willing to pester him into becoming friends and truth be told, Daniel wants it, Daniel wants someone to want him. Simon does, and that’s why he loves him, because Simon has a way of stubbornly killing him with kindness when everyone else loathes him. 

“So, the other day Simon was telling me he was at the DPD for some important meeting or other,” Leo begins, hands gesturing animatedly, “and all he could focus on were the shitty store bought muffins on the meeting table. Which got me thinking of how you could make some of your amazing pastries to totally wow them, and give Simon the perfect window he needs to talk to the Anderson brothers.” 

“You want me to bribe the DPD into silence so we can set up my brother to not be with yours?” It’s so stupid it makes Daniel want to laugh. Stupid, but plausible, and really, it’s for Simon and they’d both do anything for happiness. “I’m in.”

He’ll do it for Simon, but who knows, maybe there’s a little scrap of happiness held in store for him in the future too.

[alixanonymous]

How A Demon Commissions An Angel ~ A Daminette FanFic ~ Chapter 9: An Opening For Options

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Sent you an email for Jason’s jacket. Had an idea I think you might like.

Mr. Postscript: I see popular culture references strike again.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Is that a problem? 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Cause I’m not even sure “Hit me with your best shot” would be considered a pop culture reference. I mean isn’t that song from like the 80’s?

Mr. Postscript: 1979 but I think it has less to do with when the source material was released and more with how often the reference is used in modern times, which in this case would be much too frequently.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Did google help you come to that conclusion?

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: All online research must begin with the use of a search engine.

Mr. Postscript: At least I don’t use Wikipedia as a resource.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Everyone uses Wikipedia.

Mr. Postscript: Clearly not everyone. 

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: Do you?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Of course! I even donate to them every now and then!

Mr. Postscript: I see. 

Mr. Postscript: I’m beginning to reconsider our friendship. 

Mr. Postscript: I just don’t know if I can forgive this egregious offense.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Really, Mr. Drama Queen? My friends and their interrogations won’t scare you off but my support of the largest archive of free information will?

Mr. Postscript: Your friends were perfectly in their rights to see if I was worthy of your friendship.

Mr. Postscript: I believe I passed the test.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You were great Damian! Honestly, thank you for putting up with them. Maybe you’re not as bad with people as you think.

Mr. Postscript: Yes, well it does help if they are more than three thousand miles away.

Mr. Postscript: There’s also the fact that I’ve admired Ms. Tsurgi’s fencing style for a while now which may have something to do with it. I’ve been following her career for years. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Damian, how do you know who she is? We never told you her last name.

Mr. Postscript: Right… 

Mr. Postscript: It may have come up in my initial search for your identity.

Mr. Postscript: I don’t imagine there are many girls your age named Kagami who know how to fence, live in Paris, and have close ties to your class.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay, that explains that.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I mean it’s still pretty creepy mind you but I went into this friendship knowing how it started.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I guess it’s just weird to think that you know so much about me and I still know so little about you, not even your last name.

Mr. Postscript: You know more about me than anyone besides my family, angel. I wouldn’t want you knowing my last name to make you think differently.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Because you’re famous?

Mr. Postscript: In a way, yes. 

Mr. Postscript: You could probably find out who I was if you wanted, you have enough information to work with but I wish you wouldn’t. 

Mr. Postscript: I don’t think you’d like what you’d find.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Trust me, I know better than anyone that people sometimes only see what they want to. A little bad publicity won’t make me think differently of you. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Besides, I already told your brother, Damian. You get to decide what you tell me and when.

Mr. Postscript: I should’ve given you the same choice. If I’d known the kind of person you were beforehand, I would’ve.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: That’s the thing, you can’t know who people are before you get to know them. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You have to give people a chance, Dami.

Mr. Postscript: What if they end up being like Ms. Rossi?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: If we constantly think the worst of people, we’ll end up like Lila, calculating and manipulative.

Mr. Postscript: I suppose I see why you might think that. 

Mr. Postscript: You know… 

Mr. Postscript: If my family ever finds out how we met, I’d hate to have to deal with their disappointment. I think Todd already wants to adopt you. 

Mr. Postscript: Be on alert for another phone theft.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Well, they may never know. After all, they’ll get these amazing gifts for Christmas that will obviously show a lot of thought and consideration. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: They’ll never suspect we had a rocky start.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: But back to the subject of amazing gifts, do you like the wording? Is it not his style?

Mr. Postscript: Oh, Todd will love having that across his back.

Mr. Postscript: I just have a question about the “o” in shot. It’s supposed to be a target right?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yes! Well sorta?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I want to make it look like a poker chip with a target on it.

Mr. Postscript: Oh. I can see that. Why a poker chip? I don’t recall it coming up in our earlier discussion.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I mean it did in a way.

Mr. Postscript: Oh? How so?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: The poker chip would be stitched on the back of his right shoulder meaning he’d have a chip on his shoulder.

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: I approve the design. The double meaning in your designs will be incredibly entertaining for me every time I see my brothers wearing them.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Well, like I said. Subtle details are my specialty. But I don’t recall any double meaning in Grayson’s design.

Mr. Postscript: Right. 

Mr. Postscript: I stand corrected. I simply meant there are a lot of subtle details. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay! That reminds me! I’ve started Grayson’s sweater.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Just sent a progress update to your email.

Mr. Postscript: It’s looking exactly like your drawing. I approve the choice of yarn; the colors are appropriately vibrant.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Great!

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: So what were you thinking for Drake’s sweater?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I think I remember you mentioned a drawstring hood.

Mr. Postscript: I did, yes. However, I’ve been rethinking that idea.

Mr. Postscript: I can picture my family accusing me of trying to suffocate Drake.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Well, we wouldn’t want that!

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You know maybe the “hit me with your best shot” thing wasn’t the best idea either.

Mr. Postscript: It’s not that concerning with Todd. I’m sure he’ll just love that across his back. Drake and I have a more complicated history.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Didn’t you say your inside jokes with Jason were your attempts on each other’s lives? 

Mr. Postscript: Yes but it’s Jason. He antagonizes everyone.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Got it. But Drake’s different?

Mr. Postscript: Yes. Everyone loves Drake. Well, except for Todd but we’ve established that Todd hates everyone.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: So why are things complicated between you too?

Mr. Postscript: Correction: Two

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You know what? Okay. I stand corrected. Question still applies.

Mr. Postscript: I may have treated him poorly when I first joined the family. He was the most recent addition to my father’s collection of orphan children and I may have tried to claim his place in the family by forcibly removing him from it.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I see. So you felt threatened by his presence and handled it poorly?

Mr. Postscript: I would say that is a drastic yet not wholly inaccurate interpretation. 

Mr. Postscript: However, I’ve since realized that my initial concerns were unnecessary. Drake is a threat to no one but himself.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: But your family still holds it against you? They still think you might actually hurt him?

Mr. Postscript: Well, I was a bit extreme and while I no longer harbor the same intentions, no one could accuse us of being particularly warm.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I see. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Have you tried apologizing?

Mr. Postscript: You mean sincerely and not because father ordered me to?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yes. 

Mr. Postscript: Then no.

Mr. Postscript: However, before you begin what would surely be a fruitless campaign to get me to change that… 

Mr. Postscript: Might I remind you my family isn’t big on addressing our feelings? I believe Todd’s tried to hurt Drake before too and I highly doubt he ever issued an apology yet they seem to be on good terms again.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Right. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Well, as your resident people skills instructor, I think I’m supposed to give you some kind of advice like two wrongs not making a right but frankly I’ve begun to realize that is utter bullshit, pardon my english. So I can understand why an apology would not be on the table.

Mr. Postscript: I’ve never understood that saying and I’m glad that I will not have to hear it from you. 

Mr. Postscript: Do not mistake me, I understand the sentiment in a way however, I’ve always felt it to be too general and way too easy to use in a non-applicable, negative context.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Good to know where on the same page there.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Damian, I don’t mean to pry but can I ask you a question?

Mr. Postscript: You may ask and I may answer.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Do you feel like your family holds you to a higher standard?

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: I don’t know if I’d call it a higher standard. 

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: I simply have more to catch up on. I started with less knowledge of some basic things than the rest of my brothers. However, I wouldn’t say I’m treated differently in any case. You should see Todd and father argue sometime. 

Mr. Postscript: I just hate feeling behind. I’m used to being the best, the favorite like I was when I lived with my mother. So failing like I have recently has been frustrating, especially with what’s now on the line.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You mean the threat of moving?

Mr. Postscript: I wouldn’t call it a threat. I actually feel like I should mention that the place he wants to send me to is actually somewhere all my brothers have attended so it’s not like I’d be the first to go there in any case.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Oh, so it’s like a family tradition?

Mr. Postscript: I suppose you could say that.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: So would going really be that bad?

Mr. Postscript: Honestly?

Mr. Postscript: In theory, it wouldn’t be the end of the world or anything. In actuality? I can’t imagine it would be pleasant.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay. If there’s one thing that makes you not want to go, what would it be?

Mr. Postscript: Is it not self-explanatory? Why would I want to start over again and lose all I’ve earned since coming here? I spent ten years of my life without my family, is it a crime to not want to waste any more?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay, I would say that does sound rather awful to put it lightly but would it really be like that? I mean it’s not like you’re going off to war or anything, right? You’d still talk regularly and video chat and stuff?

Mr. Postscript: I’m sure we would, angel, but they’d still be here, all together and I’d be miles away, with only people I’d have no clue how to interact with for company.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Right.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Are you worried about feeling like an outsider again?

Mr. Postscript: No. 

Mr. Postscript: Not quite… 

Mr. Postscript: I’m more worried about feeling like a failure. Nothing is more shameful than being a disappointment. Especially when I have three brothers who aren’t even related to contend with that seem to be doing him proud. 

Mr. Postscript: Except for Todd but he’s turned disappointing father into its own type of game and at which he’s winning.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Aren’t your brothers older than you? And haven’t they been with your dad longer? Surely it doesn’t make sense to compare yourself to them?

Mr. Postscript: Please!

Mr. Postscript: When Drake was my age, father was already training him to take over the family business. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Damian, in any case it’s not a competition, right? You’re not competing with them for your father’s regard.

Mr. Postscript: Maybe that’s so. I still feel like I’m losing and I hate that.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yeah, I imagine you would.

Mr. Postscript: How helpful. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I mean, you’re always allowed to feel how you do.

Mr. Postscript: Thank you for the permission. I do so appreciate it.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay, Mr. Sarcasm, do you really want to know what I think?

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: Go on.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay, you might not want to hear this and of course this is just my opinion but it seems to me like you have really high expectations to meet, maybe they’re other people’s or maybe their your own. Whether or not you actually have to contend with your brother’s achievements, you obviously feel like you do and I can see how that would be hard to turn off. So maybe some distance from the situation would be a good thing?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I know that having to meet new people especially when socializing isn’t your strong suit sounds daunting but I kinda feel like you’re selling yourself short. Sure, you’ve had trouble in the past but you’ve made progress right? Moving to a new place doesn’t erase any of that. I get that the first time you had to start over was hard but now you’re older and wiser and have family to support you and a wonderful friend/moral compass to help you (aka me). Plus, I don’t know, it just feels like you’re really focused on doing what you think people expect of you and not what you really want for yourself. I don’t know, maybe some time away from expectations and legacies might give you some perspective. 

Mr. Postscript: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: … 

Mr. Postscript: Withdrawing now, giving up and moving on, wouldn’t that be like quitting? Is quitting not another form of losing?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: If you’re looking at it like that, I’d ask yourself this: Is winning worth it if you hate the game you’re playing?

Mr. Postscript: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: … 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: So, totally overstepped there, didn’t I? Sorry!

Mr. Postscript: No need to apologize.

Mr. Postscript: I’m just not sure how I feel right now.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: That’s okay! I’m not trying to force you to make any big decisions right now or anything. If you just want some time to think, that’s cool. Whatever you end up doing, you deserve to have a choice in it so let’s come up with something for Drake’s sweater so your dad doesn’t force your hand okay?

Mr. Postscript: Okay.

Mr. Postscript: Marinette?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yes?

Mr. Postscript: Thank you. 

Mr. Postscript: Everything you’ve done and said so far has shown a level of care for me I’ve done nothing to deserve and I know you’re always just trying to help me and I'm very grateful. I just want you to know I will do my best to be as good a friend to you too.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I know, Damian. You may have your faults (we all do) but loyalty is not one of them. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: For whatever it’s worth, I think your family also wants what’s best for you like I do. It just has to be up to you to decide what that is.

Mr. Postscript: Right.

Mr. Postscript: Well for starters, I think it would be best for me to avoid being accused of attempting to suffocate Drake.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yeah, I agree.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: So would you want just a regular sweater for him then? Or I could make a drawstring hood that doesn’t close completely? I could make it so there’s always a gap left to breathe through.

Mr. Postscript: I like that last idea best. 

Mr. Postscript: My original vision was that Drake could easily shut out the world and fall asleep in it so we don’t have to deal with his insomniac coffee zombie antics all the time.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I want my business card to have “insomniac coffee zombie” on it.

Mr. Postscript: I highly doubt you’d get a lot of business that way. It’s a poor marketing strategy. It comes off as unprofessional.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Please, my clients are normally the reason I pull all nighters. I would give it credit for illustrating my dedication to my craft.

Mr. Postscript: Don’t get me started on Drake’s work ethic. 

Mr. Postscript: The thought that you and Drake might actually have a lot in common is quite unsettling. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Really, anything else we share besides a coffee addiction and ambition?

Mr. Postscript: Well, you both are child prodigies in a way. For all our differences, I can’t deny Drake has done much for father’s company at a young age and you have created a whole brand for yourself at only sixteen.

Mr. Postscript: I’d never thought about the logistics of balancing schoolwork and commissions. Is it difficult?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I mean, yes and no. There have been times when I stretched myself too thin and paid the price in sleepless nights. But that’s the perks on being your own boss I guess. I just learned to pace the commissions and be selective with my clientele. It’s worked pretty good so far.

Mr. Postscript: That’s a relief to hear. However I hope my order didn’t come in a bad time. Did you already have a lot on your plate?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Nah, I usually keep the holiday season light so I have time to make Christmas gifts. Although, I suppose that’s not as much of a concern this year.

Mr. Postscript: Oh?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Quite a few classmates have been crossed from the Christmas list this year.

Mr. Postscript: I see.

Mr. Postscript: I don’t know whether I feel happy or upset for you.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Ha! Me neither.

Mr. Postscript: I suppose it is both then. I am happy that you are standing up for yourself but upset that they have forced you to.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Thanks Damian. I can’t help but feel a bit like I’m being petty.

Mr. Postscript: Petty is a word people use when they hold you to a higher standard than themselves.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Now I want to put that on a t-shirt!

Mr. Postscript: Hm. I would order one.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Really? You’d match shirts with me?

Mr. Postscript: Well, no. I wouldn’t wear it around you per se, I don’t think I’d pull it off as well. However, I’d happily parade it in front of my brothers.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: You know what I’ll take it.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Shelving that design for now, let’s get back to Drake’s sweater. So I got a general sense of his taste from the pictures you sent me although I already see I’ll have to take some liberties when it comes to fabric because these pieces don’t look like they were made particularly for comfort and that’s a priority here right?

Mr. Postscript: Yes. I trust your judgement when it comes to fabric.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Great! All that’s left is the design and for once I actually have an idea right off the back.

Mr. Postscript: Is that so? Consider me impressed.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Well, it all hinges on Drake being as big of a coffee lover as you make him out to be.

Mr. Postscript: Trust me angel, coffee addict is literally Drake’s personality. I don’t know how that’s possible but he managed it. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Okay. It’s time then. 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I’ve had this idea in the back of my mind for a while now and I’ve never taken the time to fully develop it but if I pull it off it may well be the greatest piece I ever produce.

Mr. Postscript: And of course, it goes to Drake. He’ll never let that go.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I’d hope not. He should feel honored to be the recipient. T.G.Y.T.T.B.: However, I’ll need two things from you to make this work.

Mr. Postscript: Well?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I’ll need you to take a picture of your brother’s coffee, after he’s poured and added whatever he adds (although if he’s truly a coffee addict that won’t be much). 

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: It is CRUCIAL that you make sure to show me the exact shade he drinks, understand?

Mr. Postscript: Now you’re even starting to sound like him when he’s in a coffee-crazed state.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Do. You. Understand?

Mr. Postscript: Yes. I can do that. What else?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Right, I’m gonna need you to trust me on this, okay? The design is going to be so much more than meets the eye so I’m not going to show you any drawing or photos before you get it in the mail, okay? T.G.Y.T.T.B.: I know that’s kind of a lot to ask but I think you’ll understand why in the end.

Mr. Postscript: … 

Mr. Postscript: I’m not going to pretend any of this isn’t ridiculously strange but since you obviously know what you’re doing and Drake actually loves a good mystery, I’ll allow it. Use your idea.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yay! You won’t regret it!

Mr. Postscript: So is that all you need?

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Yup, Grayson’s sweater is already started, I’ll go shopping for the materials for Jason’s jacket tomorrow, and Drake’s can be started as soon as I get that picture of the coffee.

Mr. Postscript: That won’t take long. I should have it to you by tomorrow at the latest.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Great!

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: Um, Damian. I really have to go. There’s an akuma.

Mr. Postscript: Yes. I got an alert. I signed up for them when you mentioned the situation. Is it close? T.G.Y.T.T.B.: it will be ill text you tomorrow okay?

Mr. Postscript: Yes. Be safe.

T.G.Y.T.T.B.: thx bye1

From:DoWhatISay@email.com

To:Marinette.D.C.@email.com

Date:November 10, 2021 7:00 P.M.

Subject: (No Subject)

Postscript: I would like you to know that I found your use of the phrase “Pardon my English” after swearing to be the pinnacle of comedy and would like to request permission to use this myself someday? - Damian 

From:Marinette.D.C.@email.com

To:DoWhatISay@email.com

Date:November 11, 2021  7:30 A.M.

Subject: RE: (No Subject)

P.S. Permission granted. :)

   - Marinette

Hello Tumblr! It’s been a while, sorry for that. Life has been a rollercoaster these last few weeks and unfortunately not the kind that only goes up my friends. On to better news however, this chapter being posted means Tumblr is finally caught up to where the story is at on AO3. Even better, chapter ten is mostly finished. Everything is written and now I just have to go over and edit it one last time. I do plan on posting it today which feels so weird to say because writing this chapter was so different than my usual experience. It totally breaks my usual chapter structure and I feel like I wrote it at a snail’s pace. Here’s hoping it will have been worth the wait! I’ll see you again soon but as always AO3 will be updated first! <3

Master List

[theluckiestwitchatblackwell]

Winter Love

HELLO hi @coffeecomicsgalore this is my @mlsecretsanta fic for you! I had so much fun writing this one, happy holidays! Massive thank you to @adrienettes-hamster for beta-ing!

Also on FFnet and AO3!

Mid-November is when the chill of the impending winter started to set in. Not cold enough for snow, but cold enough that Ladybug had begun to notice her kitty shivering while on patrols. Granted, she was quite cold herself, but she was handling it better than Chat Noir.

“Do you need to stop, Chat?”

“No, I’m fine,” he stuttered out between chattering teeth.

“Chat, go home and get warm. We can patrol again tomorrow night.” Her voice was soft but commanding, and his ears drooped. “I’ll bring some hot chocolate, okay?” His ears perked up a bit at the mention of that.

“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied with a small smile, turning and bounding away with his staff.

She watched him for a moment before turning herself, luckily only needing to travel a few blocks to her own home. The dull light of the lamp she had left on before heading out cut into the darkness. It was still relatively early in the night, only around 9 o’ clock, but she knew that her parents would already be in bed, ready for next morning’s early rise.

Marinette landed on her balcony and hopped down through the skylight onto her bed before calling off her transformation. When Tikki swirled out of the earrings and into her hands, she was also shivering.

“Yeah, it is a bit too cold tonight,” Marinette mumbled to her as she cupped her hands around her kwami. “Let me grab us some hot chocolate, okay?” Tikki nodded, her little head bobbing up and down as vigorously as Chat’s jaw was. Marinette gently slid her onto her pillow then climbed down the ladder to the rest of her room, then the ladder to the rest of the apartment. Finding her favourite mug clean and ready to be used, she ducked down and grabbed the teacup she had hidden for Tikki. It was almost matching with her favourite design, covered with florals over a white background, and it had belonged to one of the dolls from her childhood doll house.

Marinette hummed while she filled the mugs with the still-steaming hot chocolate from the flask her mother had left out for her. She wondered whether or not it would snow soon, and if it would shut the school down. Would the snow mean Hawkmoth would slow down on attacks? Or would he send out more akumas?

She wondered about her friends. Alya would probably spend most of the time babysitting her sisters, Marinette by her side of course. Nora might be home for the winter. Nino would probably be glued to his computer, creating new tracks and networking with other DJs. Adrien…

Adrien would keep up his studies with Nathalie. Marinette knew how tough his dad was on him based on how detailed his schedule was. Mandarin lessons, fencing, piano, modelling and school? And she thought she was busy between school, sewing and saving Paris. Then again, saving Paris was never on a set schedule. She supposed she and Adrien weren’t too different in that aspect.

Adrien had been shivering a bit in class recently. While everyone else bundled up in their warmest sweaters and thermals, Adrien’s outfits didn’t seem to hold the same temperature. Did Gabriel favour style over comfort? The very thought burned Marinette.

She stopped pouring as she realised it was about to overflow her mug, and set the flask down with a hardened resolve. This Christmas, she was going to knit something warm for her two favourite people. The gears in her mind began ticking over as she thought of what to give each of them. She still had Adrien’s head measurements from when she created the hat for the contest a year or two back, and his body’s measurements from the designs she had made for her website... maybe a sweater? Or a beanie?

She didn’t have Chat’s measurements though. She supposed if she worked hard and fast enough she might be able to squeeze in a blanket. Now she had to think of patterns for both...

Marinette made her way back up to her room, carefully balancing the mugs in one hand as she pushed the trap door up then set them down on the floor to climb inside.

“Tikki?” She called out gently. “Hot chocolate has arrived.”

She set them down on the bench by her computer as she opened up her sketchbook. Knowing it would take longer, she began working on the blanket’s design, but stopped short as she realised that while she knew her partner, she didn’t really know him. She vaguely remembered his favourite colour was green, and funnily enough was a cat person, both literally and figuratively. Marinette began to worry that what she makes wouldn’t be good enough for him, or that he wouldn’t like it.

“What are you working on, Marinette?” Tikki asked sleepily while sipping her hot chocolate.

“Both Adrien and Chat Noir haven’t been dealing with the cold well, so I figured I’d knit them both something warm for Christmas,” Marinette replied as she began writing in some notes. Tikki peered over the book and looked back at Marinette.

“A blanket? Will you have time to make that? Christmas is only a month away.”

“I know, but I figured if I work on it in all of my spare time then I might be able to get it done in time. Hopefully there’s a few snow days in the next few weeks,” Marinette said as she glanced out the window. The window stubbornly continued to show no sign of snow, though there was the twinkling of stars between the clouds.

Tikki took another sip of her drink. “Who’s the blanket for?”

“Chat Noir. I have Adrien’s measurements, so I was thinking either a beanie or a sweater, but I’m not sure of Chat’s. What do you think?” Marinette picked up a green pencil and began to shade in the sketch. In each corner there was a small, blocky cat face with light whiskers.

“He does tend to wear that short sleeved top a lot. I think sweater.”

Marinette hummed and nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right. What about the middle of this?” She held the page up to Tikki, who had ditched the now empty cup and was snuggled into her neck. “I was thinking maybe the initials C.N. but that might be too obvious.”

“What about a Yin Yang symbol, but a ladybug as the white dot and whiskers on the black dot?”

“Tikki, you’re a genius!”

And so Marinette got to work, having most of the yarn colours she required already. Quite a few rows in, she started to nod off and, seeing that it was now well past her bedtime, climbed the ladder to her bed and whispered goodnight to Tikki.

----------------------------------------------------

“That’s… a lot of yarn, Marinette,” Alya said with mild concern. “You surely haven’t gotten this low by now?

Marinette shrugged, or at least shrugged the best she could with her arms piled up with rolls of yarn. “I’ve got a few commissions and wanted to be sure. I can use what’s left to make some gifts as well.”

Marinette had dragged Alya on a shopping trip for materials after school the next day. She had some pocket money saved up from chores and her birthday. Half an hour later, they emerged from the fabric store with a lot of yarn and some new shearing scissors, an early gift from Alya.

“Ooh, who’s commissioned you? It must be a big project!”

Marinette almost stumbled, unsure if she should tell Alya, even if she did have the perfect cover up for it. But then again, she knew her best friend.

“Uh, Ladybug commissioned a blanket as a gift for Chat Noir. Apparently they’re having a tough time on their night patrols with the chill.”

Alya’s eyes bugged out of her head and she squealed, “Oh my god, that is so cute! She’s totally in love with him!”

This time Marinette did really stop. “No way! She did not give off that vibe at all when she came around! It’s just really cold at night!”

“Babe, you don’t just commission a whole BLANKET for your friend!” Alya shook her by her shoulders, a few rolls threatening to fall out of Marinette’s arms, who gasped a loud “careful!”

“They’re friends, Alya, and friends can share a blanket when it’s cold. Can we please drop it?”

Alya huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, but you know I’m right!”

----------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Marinette was zooming through rows of knitting on her balcony. She barely stopped for a few bites of the dinner that her mother had brought up earlier. When her hands began cramping, she turned back to her sketchbook to work on the design for Adrien’s sweater. She figured it best to keep it simple, and made it light green in shade with darker green and black accents. When the cramping had lessened, she picked up the needles again and started knitting furiously again.

Around 8 o’ clock, Tikki nudged her and reminded her that she needs to meet up with Chat Noir. Marinette thanked her and transformed, grabbed the bag of treats she had snuck up earlier, then leapt off the balcony with her yoyo flying off into the distance.

She found Chat Noir on their rooftop an arrondissement away, huddled next to the chimney for warmth.

“Chaton, look what I brought!”

His ears perked up and his lips curved into a wide smile. “That doesn’t just smell like hot chocolate, m’lady. Is that…” his eyes lit up as she lifted the Dupain-Cheng bakery box out of the bag after the flasks, “croissants? And macarons?”

She matched his smile and replied, “all of the above, plus pain au chocolat. Only the best for the cat hero of Paris!” She had to set down the box quickly as he crushed her in a hug. She wrapped her arms around him as well, happy that he was happy. She didn’t miss his murmur of “what did I do to deserve you?” and simply hugged him tighter, almost shielding him from the cool wind. He let go after a few more moments, diving for the flask of hot chocolate and sitting against the chimney.

“Half hour of snacking before we make the rounds?”

“Works for me,” Chat Noir replied in between sips, visibly settling down as the drink warmed him up from the inside. “How did you get the Dupain-Cheng goods? Aren’t they closed by now?”

“They are, but I picked them up just before they closed for the day, so they’re pretty fresh.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she did get them from the last batch her father made for the day.

Chat Noir hummed as he bit into a macaron, savouring the taste. “They are the best in town, no competition.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Ladybug took this moment of comfortable silence to take the top off of her flask and have a long drink of her hot chocolate. They sat together, shoulder to shoulder against the chimney and the wind started to settle down.

The sun had well and truly set by now, the moon as bright as ever with the stars shining like the streetlights below them. Tonight, there were no clouds, and nothing above them but the open sky. Ladybug loved the sight, and found it to be the second best perk of being a superhero, the first being partnered with Chat Noir. Her friend, Chat Noir, she thought, thinking back to Alya’s words earlier in the day. She was in love with Adrien and absolutely, definitely, totally had no such feelings for Chat Noir.

----------------------------------------------------

Marinette was exhausted, to say the least.

It was now the beginning of December, and the blanket was just over half done. She had resorted to bringing in her spare needles and knitting before and after class to start on Adrien’s sweater, and ignored anyone and everyone that asked about it with a small blush.

She also resorted to ignoring any pressing by Alya on Ladybug’s “commission” of the blanket, which had not died out as time had gone on. Alya wanted to know everything from the words Ladybug said to her expression and body language as she spoke about Chat Noir. Marinette now highly regretted giving in and telling her anything.

Thinking of the blanket, she thought about the surprise she was given when Chat Noir dropped in a few nights before.

A gentle rapping on the window shook Marinette from her concentration as she began a new colour for the Yin Yang. She looked around as she heard the telltale swoosh of Tikki hiding and saw Chat Noir waving from her balcony with a sheepish look on her face. She set down the blanket, laying it flat on the floor, and climbed up her ladder to open it.

“Chat Noir? What are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, but I saw your light on while I was out for a run. It’s getting very cold and my own place is a bit too far for me right now. Do you mind if I warm up in here for a few minutes?”

She wasn’t aware of any patrol they had planned. She double checked the day it was in her head and confirmed yes, it was their night off.

“O-Of course you can, would you like anything to eat or drink?” She moved aside for him to jump in, and watched as he looked around the room in wonder.

“Some hot chocolate, if you have any, please,” he replied, eyes moving from the chaise to the various mannequins and designs strewn about the room.

Marinette dearly hoped he wouldn’t know it was the same he had had just a few weeks ago, and a few times since as the temperature continued to drop.

“S-Sure thing, I’ll be right back.”

She climbed down after him, throwing a panicked glance to where Tikki was hiding and subtly gestured for her to follow. She climbed down the trapdoor to the kitchen and turned to Tikki.

“What is he doing here?” Tikki asked.

“I don’t know! It’s not patrol night! He’s going to recognise my recipe for sure!” She began to pace the kitchen.

“Calm down Marinette, he might just think you sell it here. You said you bought the treats from here didn’t you?”

“I mean yeah, but what if his civilian identity comes here often enough to know it’s not sold?” Marinette could not keep calm, but she kept her voice quiet. No need to freak out both her parents and her unexpected guest.

“New product for winter?”

That stopped Marinette in her tracks. “That could work.” Her nerves stilled, she grabbed two mugs and the flask, filling them and turning back to Tikki again with a smile. “You always know how to calm me down.”

Tikki giggled, “Kwami of luck and maybe logic as well. You best get back to him, we’ve been down here for a while now.”

As if on cue, they heard a soft knock on the door, and an even softer, “You okay down there?”

Marinette took the mugs by the handles, calling back, “Can you please open the door?”

The trapdoor opened as Marinette climbed up, and Chat Noir hastened to take one from her hand, and helped her up with his other one. Claws brushed her wrist as his grip tightened on her hand and while she shouldn’t have been surprised, his strength as he pulled her up caught her off guard slightly.

“I just couldn’t find my mug, I always have hot chocolate in it,” she raised her mug as she spoke.

“That’s a nice one. And this is really good,” he said, taking a sip. Marinette watched his eyes as a hint of recognition flickered over them, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“It’s a… family recipe. We just began selling it in the bakery for the winter.”

His face relaxed, and Marinette let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“What are you knitting?”

Man, if this cat didn’t stop. Sure, it’s an innocent question on his part, but Marinette was getting increasingly worried about hiding the truth.

“Oh! Uh, it’s a blanket for a friend of mine. They’re a… big fan of you and Ladybug.”

“And the other needles? I like the different shades of green on it.”

“That’s going to be a sweater, for another friend. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of warm clothes so I’m hoping this will help him.”

“That’s a really lovely gesture, Marinette. One of my friends is into fashion as well, you would get on great with her.”

Marinette hummed in agreement, then said, “I hope you don’t mind me returning to it, I’m trying to get them both done by Christmas.” “Of course not. I should get going now though,” he tipped his mug towards her, empty already, “Thank you very much for the drink, Princess.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped slightly and almost dropped her needles as well. “I-I… you’re welcome, a-any time.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he replied suavely, adding a wink. Marinette waited until he was safely back out onto her balcony before rolling her eyes with a smile, and got back to her knitting. Stupid cat and his flirting.

Seeing that Madame Bustier was running late, she took Adrien’s sweater out of her bag and began to knit. She had switched out her small clutch for a larger, water-proof bag once she realised she’d need to bring the yarn and needles to class in order to finish it in time. Most of the class had been asking about it so far, including Nino and Alya, but Adrien had been quiet about it until now, when he walked in right as Marinette started another row.

“Hey Marinette, you’re early. What are you making?”

“Oh! Adrien, sweater- hi, uh, I mean-”

“It looks great so far. Green would look nice on you.”

Marinette squeaked and went bright red. “O-oh, uh, thank you, but it’s for a friend,” she giggled nervously.

“Well then, they’re a lucky friend!” Adrien smiled as he began unpacking his notebook and pencil case, and turned to the front. Madam Bustier walked in a moment later, gesturing for Marinette to put away the needles. Marinette didn’t miss the slight shiver that Adrien had to his frame, nor the goosebumps beginning to raise on his arms and the back of his neck.

----------------------------------------------------

“Chat Noir!”

It was the week before Christmas, and Marinette was in the home stretch of finishing this blanket. She was knitting on her balcony, hot chocolate by her side and just sheltered from the light snowfall. But now, she could just see the silhouette of the cat hero a few roofs away. He turned his head in surprise and as a result, almost fell off of his staff. She waved her hand, gesturing for him to come over to her.

As he got closer, she called out, “What are you doing out in the snow? It’s way too cold for someone in a skin-tight suit to be out here!”

“But Princess, you’re out here too!” he called back, now standing in front of her.

“I am wrapped up in sweaters and fuzzy pants, with a blanket over me, not a skin-tight suit, as I said! You should be at home, as warm and wrapped up as I am,” she finished on a gentler note as his ears drooped.

“I… don’t want to be home right now. I got into a fight with my father. Can I stay here for a bit?”

Her heart dropped and her eyes filled with sympathy for him. She knew it was a bad situation, but not leave-the-house-in-the-middle-of-winter bad. “Of course you can.”

She opened the skylight, carefully plopping down her almost-finished blanket and needles, then climbed in after it. He shook the snow from his hair, passed her half-empty mug of hot chocolate to her and hopped down onto the bed. She put the mug on a ledge next to her bed and said, “Do you need a hug?”

Almost immediately, he wrapped her in a bear hug not unlike the one he gave Ladybug a few weeks prior. She raised her arms just in time and curled them around his neck and if she happened to feel a tear or two slide onto her shoulders, she didn’t mention it.

Her hands weaved themselves into his wild hair, holding him close. She stayed silent, knowing words couldn’t convey the comfort she tried to give him. His arms were so long, they almost doubled back to himself. Together, they shivered, as he cried onto her shoulder silently and the wind blew through the skylight above. She untangled one of her hands to reach up and close it, but Chat Noir took this as a sign to let go and step back. Her other hand still tangled, she lost balance and they fell, Chat Noir landing on top of her as she hit the bed with an “oof!”

Marinette drew in a sharp breath as Chat Noir’s head hit her collarbone. That’s going to leave a bruise, she thought with a wince.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, just knocked the breath out of me,” she replied, finally removing her hand from his hair. She sat up as he hurried to get off of her and sat at the end of her bed, both of their eyes wide open.

“So, um-”

“I-”

They both tried to speak at once, giggling when they stopped. Chat Noir gestured for her to speak first, so she did.

“Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Please,” he replied gratefully, moving aside so she could climb down the ladder, following after her. She returned after a few minutes, setting their mugs down next to her computer. “Can you pass me down the blanket, please? I’m so close to finishing,” she asked as she held out her arms for it to be dropped into. She stumbled when it landed; it felt heavier than she expected it to be. Oh well, she thought, this means it should be extra warm.

She got settled in her desk chair, the blanket flowing down past her feet as Chat Noir settled on her chaise with his mug. They sat in a comfortable quiet, the only sounds in the room coming from the whirring of her computer, the clacking of the needles and a sip from Chat Noir every once in a while. She’d look up from time to time, and see his bright eyes staring back at her with a shy interest. There were hints of dried tears on his face, and she subtly elbowed the tissue box beside her towards him.

At last, she finished the last row of the blanket. She cast off, spreading it out on the floor and stepped back to look at her work. Chat Noir joined her, looking over it in wonder.

“How long did this take you?”

“Just under a month. I’ve been knitting as fast as I can and spent almost every waking moment on it. Except for when I’ve been at school, which I spent working on this,” she said as she pulled out the sweater for Adrien. “It’s for my friend Adrien. His father doesn’t really let him wear clothes that would give him comfort. I mean, I get that as a model he’s always representing the brand, but what kind of father chooses style over comfort for his own son? I’m surprised he hasn’t frozen to death already,” she tried to lighten the end of her rant as she realised she was getting angry.

He took a gentle hold on her elbow, and she looked up to face him. He had an odd look on his face, like he was embarrassed, though he had no reason to be.

“You’re an amazing friend, Marinette, and I’m sure he is going to love yo- it.”

She beamed at his praise and set it down on the chair, hugging him again with her whole body, his own arms wrapping tightly around her.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate, but I think I should go before my father realises I’m gone.”

She squeezed him tighter for a moment and whispered, “Will you be okay there? You know you’re welcome at any time, okay?”

He squeezed her back and replied, “I think I’ll be okay, but I will let you know,” and stepped back, taking care to not step on the blanket. She watched as he climbed the ladder and up onto the balcony, only looking back to wave her goodbye. She waved in reply then folded the blanket up, putting it into the bag she had reserved for patrols.

With only half a sleeve to go, she picked up the needles and set herself back down on the chair, continuing her work on Adrien’s sweater.

----------------------------------------------------

Conveniently enough, the next morning was announced to be the last school day before holiday break, as the weather predicted heavy snowfall for the coming days. Unfortunately though, it gave Marinette only today to give the now-completed sweater to Adrien. It was wrapped and labelled to and from (both Marinette and Alya made sure of it) but Marinette was frozen when she reached the classroom, causing Alya to bump into her back.

“Marinette! You can do this,” she heard her hiss, but she just couldn’t. There Adrien was, sitting and laughing at something Nino had said. She squeaked, almost losing her balance trying to step forward, which caught Adrien’s attention.

“Hey Marinette! What’s that you have there?”

Alya nudged her, and this time she did start to slip. This is how I die, she thought with a great internal sigh.

Quick as lightning, Adrien was in front of her, keeping her steady with concern masking his face.

“You okay?”

Marinette couldn’t do anything but stammer. “U-uh, you, I- gift! For you!”

“F-For me?”

He looked down to her hands, which were now shaking with the present between them.

“I-I mean…” Marinette looked helplessly back to Alya, who gave her a gentle nod, then looked back to Adrien and took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s for you. Merry Christmas, Adrien.”

The whole class was silent now, watching the two. Even Chloe watched, clearly fuming with a glare in Marinette’s direction.

He took it from her gently, their hands brushing for a moment. Marinette could swear she felt a spark, something warm in the cold room when they touched, but it disappeared as the package left her hands. She didn’t expect for him to set it down and sweep her into a hug so loving it reminded her of Chat N- no. No feelings for Chat Noir, only Adrien.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear with a squeeze.

In the middle of winter, Marinette felt like she was on fire. She tentatively raised her arms to hug him back, only for him to step back at the same moment and suddenly she was cold again.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back as he turned away to open the gift. His eyes lit up with happiness as he unfolded the sweater, gushing, “I’m the lucky friend?!”

Marinette giggled, “You have my lucky charm, remember?”

That made Adrien snort, “Marinette, I think you are my lucky charm.”

The class dissolved into a chorus of “aww’s” and the two suddenly remembered where they were, both blushing furiously. Fortunately for them, Madame Bustier walked in to start seconds later.

He wore the sweater proudly for the rest of the day, and home, as far as Marinette saw.

----------------------------------------------------

“Tikki, spots on!”

Later that night, Marinette transformed once again into Ladybug. She made sure the lamp was on and her goodie bag was secured around her body before launching off of the balcony towards their meeting place for patrols. The snow was falling lightly, looking magical in the night. Chat Noir was already there, holding his own bag that fell by the side of the swea- sweater?

Her jaw dropped and she almost missed her target with the yoyo. Chat Noir caught on evidently as his face dropped with fear and he reached out for her.

“Ladybug, are you okay? What happened there?”

“Where did you get that sweater?”

His face split into a grin as he ran his claws along the accents. “Oh, isn’t it so cool? A friend gave it to me for Christmas!”

The pieces both fell together and shattered at the same time. Her face dropped in shock. “But I… y-you… I mean… Adrien?”

His mouth fell open and he stuttered back, “M-Marinette?”

They stared at each other in shock for a few moments before Chat Noir snorted, which made Ladybug break and they both just burst into laughter. It felt unbelievable, but made so much sense to the pair. The two who always got everyone to safety so they could be alone; they felt like idiots. Finally their laughter died down, but as Ladybug brought out the Dupain-Cheng box, they started up again. More things began making sense and they couldn’t help themselves.

They found their way to each other, holding on like they’ve been separated for years.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Ladybug mumbled. Chat Noir’s body shielded her from the oncoming snow as they held each other.

“I can’t believe it either. We thought we were smart,” he laughed, and she could hear his smile.

“You’re gonna love this then,” she stepped back and opened her back, pulling out the blanket. She actually thought he might cry then and there. She held it towards him, who took it with such soft hands.

“You made this, for me?”

“I didn’t know your measurements- well, as it turns out I do, but I figured it would be something for us to keep warm under before patrols.”

“Marinette, I love you.”

They both paused, the phrase seemingly slipped out on its own, but she couldn’t help but reply, “I love you too.”

Winter patrols suddenly became a lot warmer.

[lolas-writings]

I wrote a college TodoDeku meet-cute because I felt like it and I had an idea. Enjoy!! 

You can also find it on AO3 here if you want to leave a kudos and/or comment on it <3 

---

Midoriya sighs as he exits the building, feeling the warm breeze on his clammy skin. The sun is warm on his face, a welcome presence after being cooped up in a freezing room with nothing more to warm him than his own nerves. At least he’s free now; free of the cold classroom as well as his exams. 

He takes a deep breath to steady his racing heart, still anxious from his exam, and smells a mixture of fresh-baked bagels and chicken sandwiches lingering in the air. Now that he’s finished with the last of his exams he should get something to eat before heading home. Four and a half hours straight of testing has certainly been draining. His stomach immediately growls at the thought, agreeing with his decision, and he can’t help but laugh. Right, food then home for some well-deserved rest. 

After one last deep breath, Midoriya begins ascending the stairs that will lead him from the basement’s outside landing to the normal ground above. Halfway up the stairs he hears his phone vibrate with a barrage of texts — probably from Ochako asking how he thinks his exam went — so he shrugs off the right strap of his backpack and uses his left shoulder to swing his bag in front of him. He rummages through the top pocket as he makes it up the last of the steps, stopping on the top of the stairs as he searches for his phone. It vibrates one last time before he finds it, grabbing it with his right hand before closing the zipper and rearranging his backpack to rest properly on his shoulders. 

Phone in hand and bag situated, Midoriya begins walking again, on his way to the campus food court as he unlocks his phone and reads his friend’s messages. 

Raka [3:24 pm]: Dekuuuuuu 

Raka [3:24 pm]: how did it go?? 

Raka [3:25 pm]: your class is over now right 

Raka [3:25 pm]: please tell me the test was easy because I’m terrified 

Raka [3:25 pm]: Tenya’s no help 

Raka [3:26 pm]: he just keeps saying “oh stop worrying you’ll be fine I believe in you” blah blah blah 

Raka [3:26 pm]: which is sweet and all and I love him for it but 

Raka [3:26 pm]: telling me to not worry doesn’t stop me from worrying!! 

Raka [3:26 pm]: so Deku 

Raka [3:27 pm]: please 

Raka [3:27 pm]: tell me the test isn’t baddd :( 

A quiet laugh escapes his lips as he reads over the texts, his thumbs flying across his keyboard to soothe Ochako’s nerves. 

Me [3:29 pm]: we studied all the right material 

Me [3:30 pm]: and the professor has a bonus question 

Me [3:30 pm]: a whole five extra points and I know you’ll know what the answer is 

Me [3:31 pm]: you’ll do fine :3 

A bubble with three dots appears at the bottom of their text thread, indicating that Ochako is typing her response, but before it comes in Midoriya feels a hand on his shoulder and he barely manages to suppress a startled shriek. He still jumps in his skin, however, and quickly turns around to face whoever it is. 

“I apologize.” Another student — at least, he assumes it’s another student — says, voice carefully monotone and soft spoken. “I tried calling out to you but you didn’t respond.” 

Even now, Midoriya can’t find himself to respond. Not only is he trying to steady his racing heart, pounding violently in his chest from being startled, but he can’t help looking the other student over. With mismatched eyes and split-dyed hair, he certainly has a unique look. Not the strangest he’s seen on campus, for sure, but definitely the most handsome. Even with the subtle scar that surrounds his left eye. 

Midoriya lets out an awkward cough at the thought, minutely shaking his head to dispel that specific train of thought before it develops further. 

“I’m sorry.” Midoriya says as he offers a smile, pocketing his phone so he can turn and fully face the other student. “Did you need something?” He tries his best to sound polite, but the question comes out sounding more confused than he anticipates. Granted, he’s never seen this mismatched student before so his confusion is rightfully earned. 

“Actually, I wanted to return this.” Midoriya’s eyes are drawn to the stranger’s hand as he reaches out and offers something… familiar? As he looks over the enamel pin in the stranger’s hand he realizes it’s the same exact design as the one Ochako gave him two years ago: A simple, traditional tri-colored dango treat, except with pink, yellow, and blue coloring as opposed to the normal pink, white, and green. Her and Iida both have their own to match, Ochako with a pink, purple, and blue pin and Iida with another pink, yellow, and blue pin. 

Perplexed, Midoriya looks over his shoulder at his backpack, realizing the spot where his pin is usually displayed is now empty. He removes his backpack in a rush and sets it on the ground to inspect it and, sure enough, his prized pride pin has gone missing. 

The stranger softly clears his throat, presumably to get Midoriya’s attention, and speaks again once he has it. 

“I watched it fall off your bag a moment ago. Well, more like fly off, if I’m being honest.” The stranger presses his lips together and looks down at the pin for a brief second before he turns his gaze back to Midoriya. “You practically launched it down the stairs when you put your bag on. It almost hit me in the face, in fact.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Midoriya sputters as he quickly stands up and takes a step closer to the stranger. “I didn’t accidentally hit you with it, did I? I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize it came off. I was just distracted and-” 

The sound of quiet laughter interrupts his spiel, and Midoriya falls quiet as he watches the stranger’s shoulders shake minutely with the action. His two-toned hair falls in front of his face as he tilts his head down, as if he’s trying to obstruct the display of his amusement. 

Once the laughter quiets down the stranger lifts his head back up, tilting it to the side just so, allowing the hair to fall from his face and make his scar more visible. It looks a bit worse now that Midoriya has a better view of it. 

“I don’t think a small pin could do much damage, considering.” Considering the scar, remains unspoken, but Midoriya gets the hint. A small cut or bruise compared to that seems obsolete, and he feels slightly embarrassed, but that doesn’t erase the fact that Midoriya would have felt bad for causing injury regardless. 

“Thank you,” Midoriya says instead, letting their conversation progress past injuries. With gentle fingers, he takes his pin from the stranger’s hand gingerly, offering one of his signature Sunshine Smiles, as Ochako likes to call them. “This pin means a lot to me, so thank you for returning it.” 

“Of course.” The stranger returns the smile, albeit more reserved and formally polite, like it’s been carefully crafted for occasions as such. Once his hands are empty he takes to adopting a more relaxed posture, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat and readjusting his feet. “It’s a lovely pin, it’d be a shame to lose it.” 

“My friend would kill me if I lost it.” Midoriya chuckles nervously at the thought, his fingers curling around the pin protectively. Ochako may be tiny, but she’s terrifying when she gets mad, and Midoriya has seen her wrath pointed at others enough times to know he never wants to be on the receiving end. 

“It was a gift, then? From a friend?” The stranger tilts his head inquisitively, his eyes trained on Midoriya for his response. 

“Oh, yeah! She gave it to me two years ago, it was a—” pride month gift, he wants to say, but the words die on his tongue when he remembers a few less than pleasant interactions he’s had regarding this topic. Better play it safe, then. “—an early birthday gift.” He secretly amends, which isn’t too far from the truth, anyhow. The pin was technically a dual present, but he doesn’t have to clarify that if he doesn’t want to. “Why?” The question slips from his mouth without warning, but he can’t be bothered to care. It’s an innocent question, no harm done… right? 

“I was debating on asking where you acquired it from.” The stranger shrugs, adding an extra layer of casual curiosity that makes Midoriya start to relax again. “I know someone who would enjoy such a design.” 

“I’m sorry, she never told me.” 

“That’s all right, I was just curious.” The stranger clears his throat and straightens his stance, moving his shoulders to readjust the straps of his own backpack. “Anyway, I’m happy to have returned that to you. Wouldn’t want to lose such a precious token, now would we?” 

A laugh rumbles from Midoriya’s chest, hearty and good-natured. “No, definitely not. Thank you again, seriously. It really means a lot.” 

“Of course.” With one last polite smile and a parting nod of his head, the stranger turns around to make his departure. He only makes it a few steps before Midoriya’s eyes zero in on something shiny pinned to his backpack. 

There, by the uppermost pocket’s zipper, is an enamel pin of a black cat playing with a rainbow-colored ball of yarn. It’s simple. Subtle, even. Just one look may not be enough for most to understand, but Midoriya catches on right away. Even if he hadn’t seen that same pin on an Etsy shop before during his search for more collectables, the colors alone are enough. If you know, then you know. 

“Wait!” Midoriya calls out before he realizes what he’s doing, and he doesn’t even get a chance to evaluate the consequences of his actions before he’s back to staring at the stranger’s mismatched eyes, beautiful and glittering in the afternoon sun. 

“Yes?” The simple response breaks Midoriya out of his stupor, and he can’t help but bite his lip anxiously as he tries to think of what to say. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just… Can I get your name?” His heart is racing again, pounding so hard and fast in his chest that it almost distracts him from catching the other student’s name. Almost, but not quite. 

“Todoroki Shouto.” Midoriya may have almost missed his name, but he certainly doesn’t miss the hint of a smirk that grows on Todoroki’s lips. “You?” 

“Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku.” 

“Midoriya.” Todoroki says quietly, testing the name on his lips. It shouldn’t be enticing, it’s nothing more than someone learning his name, but the way his name sounds in Todoroki’s soothing voice sends shivers down his spine. The smile that comes after makes Midoriya’s heart melt. This is completely unfair. “It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya.” 

“You too, Todoroki-san.” This should be it, their final farewell, their parting goodbyes. Except it’s not. Neither of them take another step. Instead, they allow their eyes to linger. Midoriya’s hand twitches around his pin, nervous yet giddy as he makes a decision. “Todoroki-san, are you busy?” 

“Right now?” Todoroki asks, tilting his head again as he watches Midoriya enthusiastically nod in confirmation. “Not at the moment, no. My last class of the day doesn’t start for another two hours.” 

“Would you want to get some food, then? Together, I mean. A-As a thank you for finding my pin.” Midoriya stumbles over his words, silently chastising himself for getting flustered, but he also gives himself a mental pat on the back for taking a chance. He’s never been all that outgoing, especially in this regard. 

There’s a moment of silence that befalls them, no reply from Todoroki to fill the void. There’s a few birds that fly overhead and one of the many water fountains on campus is close enough to hear the gentle sound of the waterfall, but the longer Todoroki takes to reply the more Midoriya’s heart beats anxiously, slamming against his ribcage in anticipation. 

Mismatched eyes break their gaze and shift down, falling on Midoriya’s enclosed hand still wrapped protectively around his pin, and suddenly all the pieces fall into place. 

Their eyes lock again, green entrapped by enchanting blue and grey. The wind blows the hair from Todoroki’s face, revealing his scar once again as well as his sharp jawline, his faint freckles, and, finally, the uptick in his lips. He’s smiling now, less manufactured and more real, more natural. More genuine. The smile is mirrored on Midoriya’s own lips, and it only grows when Todoroki finally responds. 

“I’d love to.” 

[eldritchsurveys]

984.

1. When was the last time someone saw you naked? >> That’s a good question. Sparrow sees me in various states of undress sometimes, but I don’t remember the last time I was fully naked long enough to be seen by anyone. The only time I’m nude is when I’m in the shower or putting on moisturiser directly after said shower (which I do in my room).

2. If you could bring someone back from the dead and spend an hour with them, who would it be and what would you do/say? >> I don’t want to do this. I wouldn’t want to do that to the person, either, like... that sounds traumatic as fuck. (Now, if it were an Inworld type of situation, that’d be way different.)

3. What is the greatest loss you’ve endured? >> Various aspects of myself, I guess. But maybe they’re not truly lost. I have no way of knowing right now.

4. How would you describe your current mood? >> Neutral. I am rarely in an actual mood of any sort when I get this question, obviously -- I tend to only do surveys when I’m in this state, because it’s hard to focus on survey questions (or anything, really) if I’m actively having an emotion.

5. When was the last time you did something you were embarrassed by? >> I don’t remember.

6. What was the last thing you lied about? >> I don’t know, lying isn’t something I normally do -- unless lying by omission counts, because I don’t say literally everything that I’m thinking or tell everyone literally everything about a situation. Or whatever.

7. Where is your favorite place to have sex? >> Inworld.

8. What is your earliest memory? >> I have a vague impression of being on the floor of a dog breeder’s house? When we got my childhood dog Roxie, I guess.

9. Do you ever drink or get high alone? >> I often drink alone just because I’m in the house alone during the times when I’m most likely to drink. I like to just vibe, and not have to worry about “putting on my human suit” or whatever. Sometimes I like to be weird and dreamy or dance-y and vibrant when I’m intoxicated and I like to have space to do that.

10. What type of a drunk are you? >> I don’t know, I haven’t been drunk in a long time. I think at this point in my life I’m probably just a sleepy, cranky drunk. Which is partly why I don’t drink nearly enough to get there, lol.

11. What song (or a few songs, whatever) means a lot to you and why? >> Death is the Road to Awe means a lot to me because The Fountain as a whole means a lot to me and the music is a big part of that whole yarn-ball of meaningfulness. It’s something I really can’t explain. The feelings I have about the movie and the song are on the “this is actually kind of painful in its intensity” level of emotional connection.

12. When was the last time you revealed your feelings for someone? Were they accepted or rejected? >> I don’t remember. Revealing my feelings isn’t a common activity here in Mordredland, as I’m sure is obvious, and I rarely have any remarkable (or share-able) feelings about people anyway.

13. What was the reason behind your last visit to the hospital? >> I think the last time I was in a hospital was when Sparrow’s sister had her child.

14. How do you tend to deal with a breakup? >> ---

15. What is the “worst” drug you’ve done? Are there any you will never try, or any you want to try? >> I don’t classify drugs this way, so I don’t know how to answer this question. The drug I know I will never try is crack, and a drug I am interested in trying is shrooms.

16. What is something you’ve done that you truly regret? >> ---

17. What does it mean to you to be a good person? Do you feel you are a good person? >> I am uninterested in the “good person” designation. I just want to be valuable to and loved by a few people, maybe. That’d be nice.

18. What is your philosophy on life/how do you generally choose to live or conduct yourself? >> I don’t think I have an overall life philosophy, because that seems terribly impractical at best. Life is so complex. Maybe that’s a philosophy -- rejoice in and value the complexity of life. *shrug* 

19. Do you view animals as being just as important as people? Why or why not? >> Hmm. I think a living thing should be allowed to live out its life and not be abused or willfully subjected to conditions that disrupt its quality of life. That’s really it, though.

20. When was the last time you were up all night and why? >> I don’t remember the last time that happened.

21. What is the worst thing you’ve done to yourself? What is the worst thing someone else has done to you? >> I don’t know what the worst thing I’ve done to myself is, but one not-great thing I’ve done to myself is become a chronic self-injurer. One not-great thing someone else has done to me is, well, I don’t know, physically abuse me repeatedly?

22. What is the most personal thing you’re willing to reveal? >> I’m not sure.

23. What made you stop talking to the last person you cut out of your life? >> The fact that he emotionally abused me, probably. That’ll do it.

24. Is there a situation or person you haven’t been able to get over/forgive? >> There are a lot of things I haven’t “gotten over” because their traumatic nature changed the way I am as a person and now I have to deal with that. I don’t really see a point in forgiveness, personally -- what I do see a point is forgiving myself and treating myself better than I’ve been treated.

25. Who was the last person to yell at you? Did you yell back? >> I don’t remember.

26. Where did your last injury come from? >> I don’t know! I just have this random gouge on my finger, like someone just took a small sample of my skin.

27. What are some kinks or turn-ons you have, if any? >> Trying to describe the things I like is hard because 1) it’s often dependent on context and 2) it’s more... specific kinds of things happening in specific kinds of situations and I don’t want to like, have to lay out a whole scenario, lol.

28. What are you like during arguments? >> I have an insanely heightened physical response to conflict, for some reason (I say “for some reason” like I’m not literally post-traumatic, but I don’t know what exactly contributed to this particular symptom) -- crazy heartbeat, flushed skin, shaking, the whole nine. So I guess I’d say I go full monkey-brain during arguments and I tend to do/say whatever will get me the fuck out of the situation because I cannot process anything but “I’m in danger and these people are dangerous and did I mention DANGER”. I’ve been working on trying to express myself rationally during perceived-conflict or actual-conflict situations, but it’s a long process and mostly I just try to avoid getting into the position to begin with.

29. What is the worst thing you have said to another person? >> *shrug* Who knows.

30. Where do you like to be kissed? >> Everywhere, when a person I’m available to in that way is doing it. (So, Inworlders.)

31. What is more difficult for you, looking into someones eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someones eyes when they are telling you how they feel? >> I don’t look into people’s eyes, period. It’s the practice of eye contact itself that is inconceivably difficult for me.

32. Think of the last time you were REALLY angry. WHY were you angry? Do you still feel the same way? >> I really don’t remember the last time I was legitimately furious (and not just using bluster to suppress a more vulnerable feeling).

33. You are on a flight from Honolulu to Chicago non-stop. There is a fire in the back of the plane. You have enough time to make ONE phone call. Who do you call? What do you tell them? >> Why was I in Honolulu, though...? I need more context for this situation that I cannot imagine myself in.

34. You are at the doctor’s office and he has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? What do you do with your remaining days? Would you be afraid? >> Well, obviously I tell my spouse, and then I guess... some people I hang out with online? I don’t know what I would do with my remaining days because I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in that situation and how it would change my priorities. And, of fucking course I’d be afraid.

35. You can have one of the following two things. Which do you choose? Why? Usually when someone says that, a list of two things would follow. <--

36. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late even once more, you are fired. Do you take the time to save the dogs life? Why or Why not? >> I don’t work, so that’s the first problem with this question. In a general sense, though, I would probably risk a consequence of that caliber in order to try to save a life if I can. (I don’t know about this specific situation, though, because I can’t swim...)

37. Would you rather be hurt by the one you trust the most or the one you love the most? >> It’s people that I trust and love (those are the same thing, sorry, I don’t get how they can be separate *shrug*) that would have the best chance of hurting me, because of the emotional attachment...

38. Your best friend confesses that he/she has feelings for you more than just friendship. He/she is falling in love with you. What do you (or did you) do/say? >> ---

39. Think of the last person who you know that died. You have the chance to give them 1 hour of life back, but you have to give up one year of yours. Do you do it? Why or Why not? >> No, man, we went through this already in an earlier question. No matter how you present the circumstances, I’m not bringing anyone back from the dead, period.

40. Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend? >> Well, I don’t know???

41. Does love = sex? >> Inworld, it does, because that’s just how it works for Us.

42.Your boss tells your coworker that they have to let them go because of work shortage, and they are the newest employee. You have been there much longer. Your coworker has a family to support and no other means of income. Do you go to your boss and offer to leave the company? Why or Why not? >> ---

43.When was the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you felt regardless of how difficult it was for you to say? Who was it? What did you have to tell the person? >> I haven’t done that in a long time, idk.

44. What would be (or what was) harder for you to tell a member of the opposite sex, you love them or that you do not love them back? >> I think the “I don’t love you back” conversation would be way harder, lmao. People get really upset about that sort of thing.

45. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Why would it be hard to lose? >> *shrug*?? 

46. Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them. Who were they to you? >> ---

47. If there was one moment and one time in the last month what would you change and why? >> No.

48.Imagine it is a dark night, you are alone, it is raining outside, you hear someone walking around outside your window. WHO do you wish was there with you? >> My apartment is on the third floor... my biggest concern would be “how the fuck is this person walking on air???” I don’t know why I’d want anyone in particular with me -- why, so we can both be killed by this apparent superhuman? lmao.

49. Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying? Why or Why not? >> If I felt confident in my ability to perform CPR, I might. I think it’s mostly the fear that I’m going to do it wrong and... idk, kill the person quicker? that would prevent me from doing it. It does sound vaguely irrational when I write it out like that, but hey.

50.You are holding onto your grandmother’s hand and the hand of a newborn that you do not know as they hang over the edge of a cliff. You have to let one go to save the other. Who do you let fall to their death? What was your rationale for making the decision? >> ---

51. Are you old fashioned? >> No.

52. When was the last time you were nice to someone and did NOT expect anything in return for it? >> I’m not “nice to” people. I just treat people with basic respect and consideration, and of course I expect that in return...

53.Which would you choose, true love with a guarantee of a broken heart, or never loved at all? Why? >> ---

54.If you could do anything or wish anything, what would it be? >> ---

55. What was the last thing you ate? >> A few toasted vanilla Smashmallows.

56. What kind of guys are you usually attracted to? >> ---

57. What’s the stupidest thing that’s happened to you that ended a friendship? >> I don’t think any of the things that ended my friendships were stupid. It just sucked.

58. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve had sex for? >> Inworld, probably... an hour and a half, maybe 2 hours? Outworld, I don’t remember or care.

59. What reality shows do you watch? >> I don’t think I watch any. I’m trying to think if anything I’ve watched on purpose qualifies as “reality” and I... don’t think so? Untold Stores of the ER is basically just dramatisations of allegedly-real stories, so maybe that’s the closest thing to reality tv that I watch? Man, I do love that show. Oh, wait, those cooking shows! Those are reality TV, right? Okay, yeah, I watch stuff like that.

60. Post a video of yourself here: >> No.

61. Where do you work? >> ---

62. Have you ever gone up to a car thinking it was yours and tried to get in it? >> ---

63. Where do you buy most of your clothes? >> I don’t have a designated place where I buy most of my clothes. I shop for clothes so infrequently that it’s really just “wherever has the specific item that I want”.

64. If you were very intelligent and had the capability to have any profession, what would you like to be? Getting tired of the unrealistic hypotheticals. <-- My constant mood with surveys.

65. What’s your most irrational fear? >> ---

66. How many radio stations do you listen to? >> Zero.

67. What kind of music do they have? >> ---

68. Would you rather go to Greece or Hawaii? >> Oh, but I would go to either...

69. Musicals: Yay or Nay? >> Yay :)

70. What are the next concerts you’ll be going to? >> Ha! Hilarious.

71. What was the last conversation you had with your best friend about? >> ---

72. Are you one of those people that LOVE to hug others? >> Inworld I will spend all day cuddling if I can. Outworld, I legitimately cannot remember the last time I initiated a hug with someone. It’s been years.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 68]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30

Had an early doctor’s appointment today so I’m tired, and the tests done made things feel worse, so idk how long this is going to go, but I want to get at least a bit of my work done. Also brain is not running at full capacity... so if I just disappear it means I forgot I was doing something, laid down, and fell asleep and/or zoned out.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

 “Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

 Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

 “How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

 “Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

 Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

 It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

 Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

 He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

 “I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

 “You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

  Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

 “He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

 “I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

 Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

 The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

 “No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

 “How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

 She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

 “Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

  Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

 “Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

 “Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

 “Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

 “A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

 “No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

 Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

 Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

 Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

 “Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

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Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

  Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

 Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

 “Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

 “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

 “Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

 Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

 Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

 This seemed to slightly alleviate Virgil’s suspicion, but Princess Marisol still seemed antsy. Patton really needed to start slowly introducing the both of them to more people.

Logan finished talking with Chester after a few moments and it was time to climb through the hole in the wall. He wished he saw in the tunnel whatever Logan with his excited eyes and bounce to his step obviously saw. Or even that was more comfortable in the dark closed in space as Virgil obviously was. As it was, Patton’s nose scrunched up at the thought off all of the spiders that could be living everywhere in the secret tunnel, but he pushed through.

 The entrance to the tunnel had been made only a little bit from the room Virgil had mentioned and Chester had led them through it after only a couple of seconds. As Patton had suspected, the room was already lit up and probably cleaned a little bit by the people who had cut into the wall, not that he was complaining.

Virgil was still clinging a bit to Patton’s shirt, though it seemed to be less out of anxiety at this point and more out of a desire to stick close. He was peering around curiously at the lit-up space. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in the dark when he’d been here before.

 Yet, his curiosity was nothing compared to how excited Logan seemed to be. Now Patton may have not been interested in the room itself, but he was entertained by how interested Logan was and was happy to encourage that.

“What do you think this place is?” he asked Logan.

Logan hummed contemplatively, eyes looking around. “Well,” he said. “It’s a bedroom clearly, and old. Considering the location it is in in the castle, the size, the decorations, and it’s likely age, I’d imagine it was a bedroom of a royal family member. This used to be the royal wing three royal lines ago.”

 “Bearing that in mind, there are a couple of likely possibilities for the origin of the room as well as the reason it was sealed up, but we will need to investigate more in order to come to an actual conclusion.” He had already placed the bag he’d brought on the ground and was going through it, pulling out things that Patton did not recognize. He also got a piece of paper and sat on the floor to start to sketch.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sketching the floorplan of the room,” Logan said. “I will then put a grid on it so we can investigate while being sure that we aren’t missing anything.”

 Virgil seemed uninterested in this part of the adventure, instead electing to go poking around by himself. Princess Marisol squirmed out of Patton’s arms to go follow him. Patton swore that he only looked away from those two for 5 seconds, but the next thing he knew he heard metal clicking against metal.

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide when he saw what Virgil was fiddling with. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t touch…”

The old but fancy looking chest that had been at the end of the remains of the bed creaked open. Virgil sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out of it. “Huh,” he said studying the contents. “There’s a skull in here.”

 “Oh, I don’t like this adventure anymore,” Patton commented.

Logan was on his feet within moments. “Let me see,” he said eagerly.

“What if it’s cursed?” Patton pointed out.

“Then I’ll just break the curse,” Logan waved him off. “Oh, it’s just a horse skull,” Logan said, sounding disappointed. “And also what seemed to be potion ingredients. Though they seem very fresh considering the state of the room.”

“Maybe we should get someone else to…”

Logan already had both arms inside the chest and was pulling things out of it. “This chest must have some sort of stasis effect to it.”

 He started pulling things out to look at them before setting them on the floor with no caution. “Well,” he said, “that answers the question of what this room is.”

“It does?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, between the horse skull and the potion ingredients, this is obviously the bedroom of Princess Marianne Elicia. She was the third child of King Simon IV and was quite the fan of horses.”

“…So she kept a horse skull in a stasis chest in her bedroom?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Logan said. “Back when her family was in power, magic was outlawed and had quite the stigma against it, but she ended up learning magic and become quite proficient.”

 “It’s debated what exactly happened when her father found out about her activities. Some sources say that she was executed silently by her father, but others say she managed to escape with the head of the stables but not before putting a curse on the country of Prijaznia. That is until she or one of her bloodline sits on the throne, every royal line will end in madness and blood by the 5th seated monarch before an heir is born.”

“Isn’t that something you should be worried about?” Virgil asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “Besides I’m 6th in the line, so there really isn’t any concern.”

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“There are a lot of interesting things in here,” Logan said, still focused on the chest. “Not to mention the books. We’ll have to be careful with those though since they don’t appear to be in stasis.”

Logan pulled the horse skull out and set it on the floor making Patton wince.

“Marisol no!” he said as Princess Marisol immediately went to go sniff at it. He swooped her up in his arms. “How long are we staying in this creepy room?” Patton asked.

“Patton, we just got here,” Logan said.

“We just got here and already found a skull!”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Patton groaned into Princess Marisol’s fur even as she tried wiggle away to go back and investigate the skull. This was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 35

Logan was surprised when he woke up alone in bed. He’d grown to anticipate waking to a smaller body unrelentingly clinging to his in the past couple of weeks. Confused he sat up and peered around his bedroom. He wouldn’t have seen Virgil with the way he melted into the darkness if it he hadn’t heard the sound of purring coming from near the window. He could just barely make out a dark blob shifting up and down at the cat kneaded at a different blob sitting mostly hidden behind the thick curtain.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned. “What are you doing?”

 “It’s snowing,” was the answer.

“That is not an answer,” Logan grumbled at the ceiling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed. It was a bit chilly in here, he thought. The temperature must have dipped suddenly and intensely enough that the runes keeping the castle at a warm enough temperature hadn’t caught up yet. He pulled one of the blankets off of the top of his bed to wrap around his shoulders as he approached the window. There wasn’t much light outside, the stars and moon covered by clouds, but there were some lanterns lit for the night guard who patrolled the outside. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “It’s really snowing.”

 It had been colder but not quite cold enough for snow to stick the day before, so it came as a surprise when he saw snow was piling up quite high to the point where familiar paths outside his window had disappeared.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil informed him.

“Why not?” Logan asked.

“It’s cold,” Virgil answered. It was clear in his tone that in Virgil’s opinion ‘cold’ was a horrible insult to the concept of snow. Logan quirked a half smile and his attention was drawn to the fact that it was quite cold right here close to the window.

 Frowning, he pulled at the blanket around his shoulder so he could wrap it and his arm around the lump that was Virgil. He brushed the boy’s hand when he did so and found it was like ice.

“You’re freezing!” Logan said. “How long have you been by the window?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

Logan was already tugging at him. “You need to get back in bed,” he said.

Virgil obeyed the pulling at his arms even as he frowned. “I’ve been colder than this before,” he said.

“That actually doesn’t make me feel better,” Logan replied dryly as he shooed him towards the bed.

 He took the thicker blanket that usually stayed folded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over Virgil before climbing into bed beside him.

“There,” Logan said, rubbing Virgil’s arms through the fabric of the sweater he wore to bed. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt at least. “The runes for heating the castle should catch up within a few hours, but until then this should do. Assuming we don’t sit by the freezing window for an undetermined amount of time.”

“I don’t like the cold,” Virgil told him.

Logan sighed. “Then why did you sit by the window?”

 Virgil shrugged and ducked his head a bit. Logan reached out to grab his hands to help him warm more but was surprised when one of the hands was much warmer than the other. He found his fingers were clutching a crescent shaped stone: the protection charm they’d made. Logan knew that he kept it in his pocket most of the time, but he didn’t normally see him holding it like this. It was warm to the touch, of course, indicating the safety of the room around them.

Logan looked over his face. “Are you…” he said. “Scared of the snow?”

 “I don’t like the cold,” he said once again.

“You’re scared of the winter,” Logan concluded. He looked at Virgil who was far too small for his age and seemed surprised at every casual act of kindness. It was clear that his basic needs were far from being met before he came here. Logan had to wonder what winter usually meant for him. His experiences were doubtlessly very different from Logan’s own. “That makes sense,” he acknowledged, “but you don’t need to be scared of it here. The castle is always perfectly warm and safe in the winter and Mr. Deknis and Ms. Heart work hard during the other seasons to make sure we have plenty of food. There is nothing to fear here.”

 He did not seem convinced.

“You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Logan promised. “The castle is plenty big if you’d like to stay inside all winter long. It was made for the winter even without the magic devices that keep it warm. We have fireplaces and well insulated rooms even if those that ends up failing.” Logan pulled open the hand that had the protection charm just to transfer it to his other hand to warm it. “Though, while no one would force you to go outside, the snow isn’t always bad.”

“Yes it is,” Virgil said, his voice sure.

 “Not all the time,” Logan insisted. “Some people love the snow.”

“They’re stupid.”

Logan laughed. “It can be fun for a while with the right equipment if you have someplace to get warm again afterwards. Royal duties slow down during the winter and Patton tends to come up with all sorts of games for both the inside and the outside to pass the time. He’s particularly proficient at snowball fights, at least against me.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Play fighting,” Logan answered. “Like pillow fights, but snow.”

“I’ll stick with the pillows,” he replied.

“And then there’s a hill to sled down on the western side of the castle, and people like to build snowmen along the path.”

“What are snowmen?” Virgil asked.

 They’re temporary statues made out of packed snow,” Logan explained. “Typically, they’re made of three different sized balls of snow: the largest being the base and the smallest the ‘head’ though there are some variations. After building them one typically decorates them with different articles of clothing and objects found lying around. It’s usually sticks and rocks for the face and then things like extra hats and scarfs for decoration.” He smiled softly. “When my Pa was alive, we used to steal my Dad’s crown and fanciest robes. Sometimes Pa would steal it right off of Dad’s head and we’d run away. We’d find a secluded area of the castle yards and build the biggest snowman we could as quickly as we could before we got caught. He’d usually end up letting us keep the robes, but we’d have to give the crown back since some of the metals in it would rust when wet.”

 “That sounds…” Virgil’s nose twitched. “fun if you take away the touching snow part.”

Logan laughed. “It is fun,” he said. “Even with the touching snow part. Though, I admit that some of the ability for it to be entertaining does come from the fact that we could warm up afterwards with ease. You’ll enjoy Patton’s mother’s constant offering of hot chocolate during the season even if you never go outside, I’m sure.”

“Hot chocolate?” Virgil asked intrigued. His dark eyes shone brightly in the little light coming through the window. It was clear he could guess something about the drink just by the name and enjoyed the implications.

 Logan smiled fondly. “It is a hot drink,” he explained. “It’s a warm drink made out of milk and chocolate. I can get you some to try in the morning.”

Virgil nodded, eyes still wide with interest.

“For now, we should sleep though,” Logan said. “Are you warm enough? I can get more blankets.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Good,” Logan said, reaching up and adjusting the blanket over them once more, tucking it around Virgil a little bit for good measure. “Goodnight Virgil,” he said.

“Goodnight,” he replied softly. Logan reached under the blankets to grab the hand that was still slightly chilly from the window between his own. Virgil’s eyes slipped closed after a moment as he nuzzle his face into the pillow. At some point they both drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 36

Thomas had already been well aware that winter was on the way, but he and the rest of the castle occupants had been surprised at how intensely and suddenly it had come on. Most things were ready for the winter, but not all of them had been initiated. The fireplaces that took some pressure off the castle heating runes were cleaned out and ready, but they hadn’t been started yet. The stables for different animals on the grounds had been checked over and staff assignments had been made, but most were still in far out fields. Staff that went home for the winter months had been dismissed, but there were a few stragglers that would have to be helped home before things got worse.

 He’d gone out to the main stable to talk to the three workers that were the heads of different areas of animal husbandry to make sure a plan to get everything to where it needed to be soon was in place. It took a while to figure out considering that they’d expected a little more time before the first major snowfall. Thomas also asked them to make sure all of the workers’ homes were in good enough condition for the weather. Ranch hands typically had homes on castle grounds but not in the castle themselves since they needed to be close to the animals. Thomas knew at least half a dozen of those who spent most of their times out in the fields were the type to forgot to maintain their homes because they preferred camping amongst the animals in the summer months and then would be in for a bad time when snow began to fall.

 There should be enough extra rooms in the castle if they needed a place to stay until repairs could be done.

Those conversations took a good couple of hours, before Thomas was satisfied. Before trudging back to the castle through the still falling snow, he made a point to stop at one specific horse stall in the main stable. The horse turned his head to see Thomas when he stopped in front of his stall and puffed out a rather disaffected snort before sticking his head over the gate so Thomas could pat his nose. “Hello, Mr. Apples,” Thomas said.

 The horse seemed to conclude he’d tolerated Thomas’s petting enough and ducked his head to nudge at his torso. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I brought you an apple. Some things never change.” He reached into his pocket to grab the red apple he’d brought the white Arabian. “At least you don’t bite me anymore.” He paused, apple slice in hand and eyed the horse’s nose suspiciously. “Do not bite me,” he said even though he hadn’t felt the animal’s teeth in a decade. It would be just like Mr. Apples to wait until his guard was down.

 After a bit of scrutiny, he offered an apple slice. It was snatched out of his hand and there was a loud crunch as it was bit into.

“It’s snowing out,” he told the horse. The horse seemed to roll his eyes at the statement of the obvious. “I’ll remind again that if you run out in a snowstorm, I’m not running after you, so you’d be out of luck.”

Mr. Apples snorted.

“You’re old now. You’d probably not survive long enough for people to find you. Besides, you blend in with that white fur of yours. They’d probably walk right past you a few times.”

 He went back to nosing for treats as soon as he finished his first and Thomas sighed, pulling out another apple slice. “What are they not feeding you enough?” The gusto with which the horse snatched the apple slice was a very clear answer. “Well, we both know that’s not true.” Thomas fed the horse a third slice of apple when he was done with his second. “I have to get back to the castle now. Don’t be a devil horse.”

Mr. Apples threw his head a bit, splattering apple smelling foamy spittle all over Thomas’s front.

“Understood. Have a nice afternoon.”

 He left Mr. Apples in his stall then, knowing he’d be well cared for no matter how ill-tempered he could be at times. He’d been a king’s horse once, after all, no matter that said king had been dead for more than a decade now.

Winters were hard.

Winters were the times when things always slowed down at the castle, where royal duties were often thin. There were a lot of memories in winter.

The trip back to the castle was not particularly long, but it was also not particularly pleasant. The snow had not been cleared away considering it was still snowing which meant his feet and legs were wet and cold by the time he made it to the nearest castle door.

 He wasn’t sure if, when he entered, the castle heating runes had started to work in earnest or if he’d just been so cold that any measure of warmth was appreciated, but he was relieved to be out of the snow either way.

He decided to check up on the progress of the castle staff lighting the fireplaces. With any luck, they’d be lit already, and he could warm up even more. That in mind, he headed towards the main foyer where the largest fireplace in the castle sat to take off the chill brought in by the large front doors.

 The main foyer was bustling with activity when he snuck in along the sides, giving the guards stationed around nods as he passed. The main fire in the room was burning brightly, though only one of the two smaller ones near the side exits from the room was lit. The other one was still being set up with safety mechanisms. It was good progress and assuming other areas of the castle were being set up as efficiently, he assumed they’d all be set up by nightfall.

He’d need to go check around to be sure, but for now, he walked up to the main fireplace to warm his hands.

 He’d gotten into the habit when he was younger to every so often glance upwards. There had been a certain stable boy who had a propensity for climbing trees. These days, he usually found nothing when he did so, often not even consciously noticing that he’d turned his gaze momentarily skywards. Yet, today, he was startled out of his own idleness by dark brown eyes looking back at him from a small ledge in the shadows high above him.

He froze as he met the young boy’s gaze. Virgil seemed as surprised to be caught as Thomas was to have caught him.

 Slowly Thomas raised one hand and waved to the boy. He slunk back into the shadows at the acknowledgment. If Thomas peered hard enough, he could see a shadow stretch up towards the third-floor balcony in the darkness and disappear over the railing.

Interesting boy.

Thomas found himself smiling despite the oddity. They still had not found out much about Virgil. He would speak to Jeffers about many things apparently, but often could not be redirected to invasive topics and he was still a bit skittish around Helen. He hadn’t willingly existed in a room with Thomas. Thomas hoped that changed at some point. There was something about him that made Thomas like him.

  Chapter 37

Virgil had not spent a lot of time out of Logan’s room. What little time he had spent outside of it was either with Patton and/or Logan or tucked away in secret corridors he found in the walls where no one would stumble upon him. Yet, here he was willingly in a, well, not public by any means place, but one that was still more exposed than he was used to being in. Somehow, he was managing to not care at all.

It was helped by the fact that both Logan and Patton had been in the room at the start, but they had gone off to go… somewhere. Food sounded like it might have been the reason.

 He liked food, and usually he would have been all for going to get some, but between them promising to bring him back some and the fact that he was never going to move ever again, he’d decided to stay.

Princess Marisol seemed to be the only other rational being in the whole castle because she had also not moved since discovering the contents of this room. She was currently laying on his chest purring happily.

The fireplace was a wonderful invention. Now, Virgil had, of course, warmed up by a fire before when it was cold, but this was much different. There was a grate that blocked off the fire a bit keeping it from burning the person in front of it and there was a plush rug right by it, perfect for laying down on. Someone had known what they were doing when designing this room.

 He didn’t even care that the king had access to this sitting room as well as Logan.

…

Okay, so he did care a little bit, but he was ignoring that. He was probably busy this time of day anyway, right?

…

He really didn’t want to run into him after being caught watching the castle workers set up the bigger fireplaces. Kings probably didn’t like people sneaking around watching things from the shadows even when they didn’t know that the person sneaking around was literally sent to kill them.

Princess Marisol must have had a sixth sense for his anxieties (or he’d just started breathing faster and disturbed her) because she stirred a bit.

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She started up a calming purr as she moved to gently kneed his chest. “That sort of hurts,” he noted idly as she dug her little paws into his sternum. She responded by purring more. He moved his arm to scratch behind her ear.

Virgil still was feeling a little bit anxious about the fact that he was out in the open, though he very much did not want to leave the room with the nice fire, and Patton and Logan would be back soon anyway. He should find some way to distract himself, and, well, the best way to distract himself was to investigate his environment, and it had the added benefit of making him feel safer.

 He carefully turned to his side to gently deposit Princess Marisol on the rug. She gave an insulted ‘mew,’ but quickly forgot her ire to sprawl across the ground with her belly to the fireplace. Virgil got to his feet and eyed the room as a whole.

It was fancy, to be sure, but a lot more homely than he’d expect to be in the royal wing. Logan’s bedroom was much more extravagant than this. It was closer to what he’d expect in the home of a financially stable, but not well-off family’s home both in contents and décor.

 There was a nice, but older looking couch that was probably older than Logan, perhaps even older than the king. It was huge though and comfy looking. It had two chairs that weren’t quite matching but were close enough and a table in front of it that had slightly chipped wood. A seemingly random set of pillows was on it, none quite matching the rest, but all sort of earthy browns and greens. There were bookshelves stuffed with books of all different shapes and sizes, and a giant painting of a turkey of all things over the fireplace. The fireplace itself was probably the fanciest thing in the room.

 Most of the fireplace was made out of bricks, though it had a wooden outline a good distance from the fire, and there was an ornate iron grate in front of it with pretty little leaf designs. On top of the mantle were little figurines that grabbed Virgil’s attention. They were small little wooden things carved into animals. Some were painted and some left the wood to be exposed. There were a good number of horses, but there were also things like rabbits and birds. There was even a few creatures Virgil did not recognize himself. They ranged in size from only about as big as his thumb to about as big as his hand.

 He leaned closer to take a better look at them, careful to keep his legs away from the hot iron grate, though he could still feel the intense heat from how close he was. He did not dare touch them. The room may seem like it did not belong in a castle, but it still was in one, and who knows how expensive or important the little figures were.

He settled his chin on the edge of the mantel, getting as close to the decorations as he dared, his eyes locked on a little robin that had been painted orange and grey with a bright yellow beak and eyes that almost looked alive.

 He spent a good minute staring at the wooden creature, before finally drawing back.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” a voice asked, and Virgil just about jumped onto the ceiling, but there weren’t any good footholds, and the ceiling wasn’t very high besides and wouldn’t give much cover. “And that is why I waited until you stepped back,” the same voice said and perhaps it sounded a bit amused, but Virgil was not focusing on that.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, cringing back. Why did he always have to be screwing something up when the king came upon him. Why did the universe hate him?

 “Oh, it’s okay,” the king said. He was still by the door, having only paused outside of the room instead of coming in. “You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

He certainly had been doing something wrong even if he was allowed to get that close to little things that seemed so fragile (which he almost definitely wasn’t) or be in one of the royal rooms without Patton or Logan in sight. Virgil had come here to kill this man even if he didn’t know it. He was an assassin in one of the private royal chambers. If the king had any idea, Virgil would be dead

 He made as though to take a step into the room, but he paused when he saw Virgil take a step back and grimaced. “I’ll, uh, just be going,” he said. “You can stay. You can look at the figurines all you want.”

Virgil looked at the man’s feet and didn’t say anything. He hoped he didn’t take that as an insult.

“Okay,” the king said. “Goodbye.”

He walked off then, likely to his own private room. When the footsteps faded, Virgil bent down to pick up Princess Marisol, who meowed her complaints at being pulled from the fire. He snuck quietly back into Logan’s room.

Logan and Patton found him in the closet 10 minutes later.

  Chapter 38

It was a bad day for Virgil. Now, Virgil had been skittish for the past few days ever since Patton and Logan had left him half asleep on the sitting room rug and came back to him crammed into a closet with Princess Marisol for company. He hadn’t told them what had happened, but obviously something had, and he’d been jumpy ever since. However, today seemed even worse.

The snow outside had only gotten thicker in the last few days since the first snowfall, and it had put Virgil’s anxieties through the roof. Often literally.

This morning, Logan had a meeting with his Dad, and so it was Patton’s job to coax the boy out of his closet. He’d reportedly slept in Logan’s bed but had stalked off to huddle in on himself in the closet as soon as Logan had had to get up.

 Patton entered Logan’s bedroom to a greeting meow from Princess Marisol. She, at least, was still in bed, happily perched on Logan’s pillow. “Oh, sweetie,” Patton said. “You know Logan doesn’t like cat hair on his stuff. She just purred happily, and Patton didn’t bother to push the issue any further. Instead, he turned to the closet.

He tapped twice. “Hey, Virgil, honey. Are you in there?” he asked, though he already was fairly certain of the answer.

There was a pause and then Virgil called back. “Yeah.”

“Can I open the door?”

A longer pause.

“Can I open the door long enough to join you in there?”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 3

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 3: Ella attends the wedding of Tommy and Grace.

          Ella remembered always wanting to be a princess. As a young girl, her head was filled with stories of fantastic adventures. Her brothers spooked her with stories of dragons and a lady that played cards with the devil. Polly wove yarns of fairies and princesses. She decided, after careful consideration, she would be a princess who was also a knight. Why should she limit herself? She could rule the land and slay dragons. And of course, Ella found that she didn’t like being dressed up as a princess. Her Sunday clothes were itchy and stiff. Polly would scold her if she returned home with scuffed shoes and torn stockings. But a girl couldn’t ride a horse with a skirt, not properly anyway. She wouldn’t sit sidesaddle and let her brothers win races because she was slipping right off her pony.

          As she grew, she learned to appreciate dresses. They had their time and place. Tommy’s wedding was that time and place. But what would she wear to a wedding that was in such strange circumstances? She was sure her brother was trying to promote their family as a little higher end than from where they began. Especially because Ada had said Grace came from a military family. Figuring Polly would know best, Ella packed a few of her finer dresses and left London with Ada.

~~~~~~~~

          “El!” Arthur’s loud voice boomed across the front lawn. The boys were arriving back from a ride. Her eldest brother quickly dismounted and tossed the reins at a young stable hand. He jogged to embrace his younger sister, hoisting her up and spinning around about as he used to when she was much smaller.

          John and Finn followed close behind him, each getting their chance to greet her. Ella was nothing but smiles as she reunited with them. Sometimes it was hard to know how much you’ve missed someone until you’ve seen them again. And when she saw her brothers, her heart ached painfully.

          “Look at you! All grown up now.” Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “Feels like you’ve been gone for ages. Swear you've gotten taller s'well.”

          “It’s only been a few years, Arthur.” She reminded him gently. Her blue eyes wandered over his shoulder to see Tommy lagging behind his brothers. His hands were in his overcoat pockets as he looked on. “Are you going to just stand there?” She asked. “I haven’t been able to properly congratulate you.”

          “’Fraid you weren’t coming.” He approached her. Indeed, Tommy had called Ada a few times over the month to confirm that Ella was still going to attend the wedding. He was anxious to see his sister and hope they would be able to mend some wounds of their relationship. Not having her in their life was strange. There was always a gap in the family with Ella's absence.

          “I wouldn’t miss your wedding, pral.” She smiled and went to hug him.

          Tommy felt relieved that he could finally hug her again. “How’s London treating you?”

          “Good.” She smiled but a brief thought about Alfie Solomons poked at her. She wasn’t going to tell Tommy that she’d met him the day before his wedding, or ever. But she was hoping to get some more information from her brothers if she could.

          “Want you to come meet Grace and Charlie. You need to meet your cousin, Michael, as well.” Tommy was eager for her to meet his new family. He was hoping she and Grace got along. Perhaps the wedding would give her a reason to return to Birmingham.

          The chatted idly as they walked to the massive house. “I can see you’re doing very well for yourself,” Ella noted. Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine being at such a house. It was a kind of house that lords and ladies lived in, not Shelbys. But it appeared that Tommy was trying to change that perception of the family name.

          “There’s always room for you to be apart of the company. You could be very useful. Michael and Polly are working on making the firm legitimate.” He informed her, hoping it would impress her and make her feel safer in Birmingham.

          “I dunno, Tom.” She said with a shrug. After agreeing to attend the wedding, she used the month to think through her relationship with her family. Part of her wanted to return to the people she loved more than anything. But she was afraid of getting herself into another scenario like the Garrison four years earlier.

          “Think about it, aye?” He said gently and held open the front doors of Arrow House for his sister.

          Ella nodded. “I will.” She promised and stepped inside.

          “Look who’s here,” A soft Irish voice floated down from the stairs. Grace came down with Charlie in her arms. She smiled warmly when she saw Tommy's sister. “We’re so glad you’re here, Ella.”

          The Shelby girl smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Grace. And this must be my nephew.” Ella cooed.

          The young boy giggled and reached out for her. “Go ahead, love.” Grace handed Charlie to her to hold.

          “Oh, he’s precious.” Ella murmured. “Yes, you are.”

          Tommy chuckled. “He’s a rascal, that’s what he is.” He slipped off his coat and cap. “I’m sure you’ll get to see how he is when he’s cranky.”

          “That’s okay, he probably gets it from you, Tommy.”

          Grace smiled and nodded. “That’s what I said.”  

          “Guess London hasn’t changed you that much.” Tommy rolled his eyes and touched her shoulder. “Polly and Michael will be in the study I think if you'd like to see them now.”

          Ella gave Charlie back to Grace and followed her brother down the hall. “Did you find her daughter too?” She remembered brief memories of her cousins. She was very young but she remembered hearing about them being ripped away from Polly. They all thought it was nearly impossible to find the children again until Tommy gained such connections.

          “I found out she passed away,” Tommy answered quietly. “Pol’s handled it well though. Think she’s glad Michael’s back.”

          “That’s a shame.”

          When they entered, Polly stood in surprise and rushed to hug her niece. “Thank God you’re well.” The older woman touched her cheeks to make sure she looked healthy.

          Ella bit her lip and felt a little teary. Polly was practically her mother and the years away from her had been tough on the young woman. “I’ve missed you, Pol.”

          “We’ve all missed you too.” Her forehead creased and she sighed softly. “But I’m just glad you’re okay.”

          Ella saw the other person in the room stand up. “And you must be Michael, it’s been a very long time since I've seen you.” She smiled and took in the young man who seemed like he had thoroughly embraced the Shelby lifestyle. He was well dressed and holding a cigarette.

          He nodded.  “You're Ella, I don’t remember much but it’s very nice to meet you again. I've heard a lot about you.”

          Polly looked proud of her son. “He’s a big help in the company, very clever.” She boasted.

          “Then you really are Polly’s son.” Ella laughed softly. "Grey's are very clever."

          “Come sit and tell me what you’ve been doing in London.” Her aunt ushered her over to the couch. “Tommy, I’m sure you’ve got things to do for the wedding.”

          “Well, as far as I know, I just need to get dressed and make it to the church.” Tommy reached into his coat for a cigarette. “But I’ll let you all catch up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

          “Fucking uniforms,” John grumbled.

          Ella laughed softly and shook her head. She glanced across the aisle to Grace’s side of the family. The men had faces like stone and the women looked highly displeased with their surroundings. “I’m sure Tommy told you to be on your best behavior, John boy. Can't be violent at Tommy's wedding.”

          Her brother muttered a few curses under his breath. “Also fucking told me they wouldn’t be in uniforms.”

          “Try to ignore them, they'll only try to rile you up." She drew his attention away from the men. "Listen, have you heard much about a man named Alfie Solomons? From Camden Town?” Ella asked, trying to sound as casual as she could so she didn’t raise any alarms.

          John wrinkled his nose. It was hard to mention the name without garnering some type of reaction. The Shelbys normally had a bad reaction. “The fuck do you know about him?”

          “John!” Esme hissed and smacked her husband’s arm. “We’re in fucking church, don’t swear. Giving a bad example to the kids.”

          Ella giggled but her brother looked suspicious that she had brought up the Jewish gangster’s name. Before he could ask anything else, the organ music began, announcing Grace's arrival.

~~~~~~~~~~

          “No fucking fighting!” Tommy shouted after repeating himself many times in the kitchen. The Blinders all around him, grumbling and muttering about how unfair he was being.

          “Tom.” John adjusted the pick in his mouth.

          “What? Are you seriously asking a question?” His older brother asked, turning to him. “You can’t possibly be confused about what I’m saying.” Finn and Isaiah snickered at the comment.

          “No, it’s ‘bout Ella.” He clarified.

          Tommy looked concerned. His shoulders slumped slightly and he worried she had already left. Maybe he’d pushed the issue of her returning to Birmingham too much. “What about her?”

          “In the church, she was asking about Alfie Solomons.”

          “What?” Arthur demanded sharply. “What the fuck do you mean she’s asking ‘bout him?”

          John just shrugged. “I dunno, she didn’t tell me why.”

          Tommy paced a few steps and took a puff of his cigarette. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath and dragged a hand over his face. “Just…don’t mention it again to her. I’ll take care of it.” He really didn’t want to discuss Alfie on his wedding day and he certainly didn’t want to know how his baby sister knew about him.

          “Don’t want Alfie fucking Solomons sniffing 'round her.” Arthur snarled. "If he does he'll regret it."

          “She might’ve just heard his name before.” Finn offered.

          Tommy shook his head. “Just drop it.” He ordered. “I don’t want to hear you bring it up ‘round her again.”

`~~~~~~~~~~~~

          After a few hours into the reception, Ella wandered off. She found the stables after a bit of roaming around the grounds. As she inhaled the familiar scent of horses, she realized she was much more comfortable there instead of in the lavish Arrow House. She came across a beautiful dapple-gray horse; a large gelding that certainly would’ve caught her attention as a young girl. She would never tire of braiding the horse’s silver mane and tail, brushing its coat until it gleamed in the sun.

          “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” She let the horse sniff her hand before stroking his soft muzzle. “Maybe Tommy’ll let me take you out for a spin tomorrow.” It’d been a while since she’d ridden. She missed the horses at her uncle’s yard. She missed far more than she could even count. She sighed and stroked the horse’s cheek. “He’ll probably make me agree to come back to Birmingham though.”

          The horse snorted softly in reply. He sniffed her shawl for any treats, his tail swishing, and ears perked.

          “Thought I noticed you missing.”

          Ella glanced over to see Tommy walking into the stables. “Getting a bit rowdy for me. I don't think I could listen to another one of John's jokes. I forgot how fucking awful they were."

          Tommy chuckled and nodded. “Well, it’ll only get rowdier, the boys are coming to race.” He warned her.

          She nodded. “Okay, I’ll go back inside then.” She had a feeling her brothers wouldn’t let her stick around and watch the race. In fact, she had a feeling they were going to fix it just to get one over on the cavalry. So she made her way to the barn door.

          “Before you go.” Tommy reached out and grabbed her arm as she went to pass by him in the stable aisle. “You need to explain why you brought up Alfie Solomons to John.”

          “Alfie Solomons?” Ella raised an eyebrow. “I don’t…”

          “John told me you were asking about him in the church.” Tommy interrupted so she knew he wasn’t about to let her pull the wool over his eyes.

          “Oh,” Ella shrugged and tried to remain aloof about the subject. “Amelia might’ve mentioned the name to me. Have I told you about Amelia? She’s got all sorts of stories ‘bout London.” Technically, her best friend was the one who told her about the gangster. But Tommy didn’t need to know that was only after Ella had seen the man in person.

          “Why would she bring him up?” Tommy’s icy blue eyes studied her expression. He was usually very good at telling when someone was flat out lying to him. But it was hard to distinguish when Ella had mastered the art of lying like a Shelby. Be evasive, answer questions with other questions, omit details, and stay cool, calm, and collected. Plus, Tommy had a weak spot for her sister; he never assumed she was lying, unlike other people he encountered in his line of work.

          “She’s always got a story to tell.” Ella made sure to maintain enough eye contact so he didn’t grow more suspicious.

          Tommy let the cigarette in his fingers burn in the air for a moment. The smoke curled around his hand and disappeared out of the barn door into the dark night. “You should tell her it’s wise to avoid talking ‘bout that man.” He said firmly. “You don’t want to be connected to him even in passing.”

          “How do you know him?” Ella turned the spotlight back on her brother, hopefully, to acquire information John didn’t give her earlier.

          “We’ve crossed paths before.” He admitted. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

          Ella tilted her head to the side. “Do I have to worry about him finding out I’m a Shelby?” Of course, she didn’t think Alfie would be able to connect the dots just with a brief meeting.

          “Doesn’t matter, because you won’t be going near him,” Tommy replied with a stern look. “You keep away from Camden Town and the Jews there. They all answer to him as far as I know.”

          “You’ve changed, Tommy.” His sister noted quietly. “You’ve seen more things…done more things since I’ve been ‘round.”

          He took a drag of his cigarette to avoid the question for a moment. “You said you didn’t want to be part of it, don’t think that’s something you have to worry about.”

          “I’m your fucking sister, I can worry about you,” Ella replied, irked by his cold demeanor towards her when business was being spoken about. Back in Small Heath, when she was still just a teenager, he’d often tell her with a proud smile that they were moving up in the world. He’d promise her horses, luxuries, a new home, and when she was old enough, a car. Now he was acting like she had no right to even inquire about his well-being. “Tom, you used to tell me everything.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “You didn’t even tell me you had Charlie.”

          He didn’t look at her for a long while. “You told me you didn’t want anything to do with Shelby Company Limited.” He echoed himself. “You went off to London and I didn’t hear from you, El. M’too busy to keep track of someone who’s gone and done a runner.”

          “I didn’t run,” Ella argued, her temper was beginning to bubble up in her stomach, moving to her chest and throat. “Can you blame me for what I did?”

          Tommy shrugged and finished his cigarette. “You were keen to tell me you could make your own choices. I can’t blame you.”

          Angry tears stung Ella’s blue eyes. “Arthur and John were happy to see me. Polly understood my choice. Ada supports me in London. You’re the only one who’s still acting like a fucking brat!”

          Tommy’s jaw clenched. “Don’t speak to me like that.” He retorted fiercely and pointed at her. “You’ve no right to come in and pretend we’ve abandoned you when you decided to leave.” His face clouded over with anger. “Now either you’re apart of this fucking family and you put up with what the rest of us put up with, or you go back to London and pretend we all don’t exist. You can’t have it both ways, Ella. You’re not a child anymore.”

          Ella balled her hands into fists. Her Traveler instincts kicked in, the days she spent in the meadows outside Small Heath. The boys she had to beat up to prove she was a Shelby. The time she broke an older boy’s nose because he was running his mouth about their family.

          “Gypsies.” He taunted. “Gonna read my fortune? Pick me pockets?”

          It took both her older brothers to wrench her off the boy who dared make fun of her and her family. Now Tommy was questioning her, questioning the decision she made. Maybe she was wrong and being a hypocrite, but she was far too upset to think rationally.

          “Everyone talks about the curse on the Shelbys. Our fucking cursed family. It’s you. It’s you, Tommy! You’re the fucking curse!” She shouted and caused a few horses to stir in their stalls nearby. “You’ve poisoned this family and continue to do whatever you want, without giving a fuck what the rest of us think.”

          Tommy stood straight in front of her, not interrupting or moving away. He stood like a soldier, braced against her venomous words.

          “You can fuck your wedding. Fuck your company. Fuck your indifference.” Ella spat and turned on her heel to leave the stables.

          A group of men was staggering across the lawns, gearing up for the race they were about to fix.

          “Where’ya going, Ellie?” John’s voice boomed across the grounds. He grabbed her by the shoulder. “Come watch the race! We’re gonna show those uniforms how s’done!”

          “Fuck your big mouth!” Ella shouted at him and jerked away from his touch. "You're just a fucking little messenger to Tommy, aren't you?!"

          Arthur looked concerned at her sudden outburst. He thought everything had been going well with the return of his younger sister. But now she was glaring daggers at the group of Blinders. “El?”

          “Fuck this whole bloody cursed family!” She continued ranting on her way back to Arrow House. She promptly grabbed her things and took Ada’s car back to London without telling anyone she’d left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

          Ella was stewing for a week after the wedding. Her family members, minus Tommy, had been trying to reach out to her. But she ignored all their calls and letters. Ada visited her home a few times but Ella turned her away.

          She felt snubbed by Tommy who was once her closest confidante and friend. When they had nothing, she had Tommy to rely on. He'd comfort her if she was picked on by kids her age. He'd keep her company when she felt lonely after the death of their mother. He was more than just a brother, he was a support system.

          At night, she stayed up staring at the ceiling. Her mind raced and kept her awake for hours. Maybe she’d been wrong for leaving the family, but she was terrified. Tommy couldn’t appreciate how scared she was. He was unafraid of death. She almost thought she had gained the confidence and strength to return to Birmingham, but not after that debacle in the stables.

          Ella would toss and turn, thinking about what Tommy had to say. The way he’d spoken to her like she was nothing more than a stranger. How could he be so cold? If he was so twisted about everything else then maybe he was dead wrong about Alfie Solomons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          The next time Ella saw Alfie, she’d wandered close to the edge of Camden Town. She decided it was most likely an indirect middle finger to her brother who had warned her to stay away. Tommy didn't choose where she could go anymore. If he didn't want her in the family, then she could go anywhere in London.          

          “You on your own?”

          Ella was walking down a strip of stores when she heard his voice. She turned and felt a spark of intrigue.

          He stood just as he had in the club. Broad shoulders, exaggerated frame, and militant stance. This time, he had a large bullmastiff with him.

          “My friend was busy,” Ella answered with a faint smile. “Is that your dog?”

          He moved a little closer to her. The gangster had been happy to spot her piercing blue eyes in the crowd of shoppers and wanderers. Ever since the night at the club, Alfie had been unable to get her face out of his head. It was highly unusual for him to think twice about a woman he came in contact with. He hardly had the time to think about something so trivial as a chance encounter. Relationships were agonizingly complicated and his life was complex enough. He worked too much and lived too brutally for a woman to handle, or so he thought.

          But there was something about this woman that he couldn’t overlook. Beyond her blue eyes that were as hypnotic as they were alluring, there was something else. She wasn’t like anyone he passed by in the street. A keen eye could see she held secrets and a substantial past.

          And Alfie couldn’t help but appreciate the way she looked at him. It was so strange because she didn’t look at him the way others did. Not with hatred, like his enemies, not with malice, like his foes, and not with fear, like the rest of the population who knew his name. No, she looked at him like a person, nothing more, nothing less. Just a man. Not a man shrouded in myth and stories. Just a man.

          “Yeah, this is Cyril, s’a real softie.” He said. "Likes attention, he does."

          Ella smiled. She’d grown up closer to horses but as a child, she bonded with a few of the hounds they used for hunting or protection. Dogs and horses were similar in nature. You had to gain their trust, and when you did, they would be loyal to you until the ends of the Earth. “He is handsome.” She said and reached out to stroke the dog’s ears. His tail began to wag fiercely and his droopy face almost resembled a sad smile. He was a massive dog, his shoulder meeting her hips. He was nearly the size of a little Shetland pony but appeared to be just as Alfie had described him. He gratefully let her pet him, his head tilting to lean into her touch and his eyes closing contently.

          “You got a story, love?” Alfie asked out of the blue. He acted like it was a natural question between people who were near strangers.

          Ella glanced up from Cyril. “A story?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, I s'ppose everyone has a story, Mr. Solomons.”

          “Call me Alfie.” He corrected her with a gentleness that contradicted his appearance. He didn't address her with the harsh tone he took towards the bartender and club owner the first night they met.

          “Alfie.”

          The gangster didn’t know how he could be so affected by the way someone said his name. But the way she spoke his name was unbearable. She said it with a smile and a small nod. Her blue eyes shone in the sun that was starting to break away from the gloomy clouds. Alfie’s heart made itself known by beating heavy in his chest.

          “What’s your story, Alfie?” She turned the question back on him.

          He chuckled and ran a hand over his beard. “S’quite a long one.” He warned. "Not sure you'll want to stick around, yeah, to hear all the details."

          “Mine's long too. But I'm sure yours is much more exciting than mine is.”

          “Well then, right, can’t spend all day standing here telling our stories, aye? Guess I’ll have to take you out to dinner so we have enough time.” He stated coolly.

          Surprise marked Ella’s face. Inner warning bells chimed off but she shooed them away. The man seemed sweet and she had spent enough time around dangerous men to know that she could handle them. Her brothers had prepared her for that. If her brothers could get away with the things they did, then who were they to speak poorly about Alfie? Resigned and partially rebellious, Ella nodded. “I’d like that.” She replied gently.

          “Yeah?” It was Alfie’s turn to be surprised. What kind of delicate looking woman, who knew who he was, agreed to dinner with him? Thoroughly in disbelief, he nodded a few times too many. “Right, well…this Friday I’ve got some time.”

          “I’m free on Friday.”

          “Friday then. We’ll meet here.” He decided. “I know a nice place ‘round here for dinner.”

          “That sounds lovely.” A week was more than enough time to edit her brothers out of her life story.

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