#and doesn’t fall asleep no matter how warm rory is at his back or how much amy absently pets his hair

[quietwingsinthesky]

(transgenderdoctorwhomst) the Pond Family Nightmare is so fun. and now i'm rotating the potential fallout of amy dragging the doctor into the past with her and now his options are 1. wait around for the rest of amy and rory's natural lives and then some until he lines back up with his tardis and river, or 2. choose to abandon amy and rory and figure out how to extract himself from the paradox so he doesn't have to watch them grow old and die. either way, she has brought him into his canonical worst nightmare (being stuck in a mundane linear life long term) and he wants to be mad at her but Can't. hi. brainworms.

i know right. it’s like the twisted nightmare version of fourteen ending up with donna’s family. there will be no therapeutic recovery here, just the joyful moments constantly overshadowed by the feeling of being trapped, loomed over by the shadow of death that inches a little closer to the people he loves every day. and it is so slow. simultaneously never enough time but too much, enough to fill with all the anger and fear and powerlessness he feels.

and then rory will say they’re having dinner in a few minutes, and the doctor will go to join them, and when they’re laughing and perfect and right there in front of him to reach out and hold (which he does, often,) all those feelings drain out of him. how could he leave them early? it’s a constant cycle of struggling to escape, maybe even reaching the last step, and then letting go again because he spent last night in the garden with amy stargazing when she had a nightmare. who would stay up with her if he wasn’t there? who else would understand the ache of two thousand years like an old scar in rory’s memory? that’s what he’d tell himself, the ponds need him. because if he admits he’s staying because he needs them, then how is he ever going to survive when this ends?

and then, of course, there’s also the whispers and stares the three of them would get together. i doubt a century or so in the past would make amy stop referring to them both as hers, but hey, they’re all already used to being the freaks on the edge of town. maybe this world is one where they raise a son as well. i don’t know if the doctor could bear to be a father again at this point, but he’d try. (the same way, i imagine, that amy can barely look at herself as a mother, but she has to help this boy. all three of them looking at him and thinking, “you will not live in a world as lonely as mine was.”)

he’s going to lose them eventually. and it’s going to break him worse than a nice clean snap of connection could have. they’re going to be burrowed into his bones by the end, and he’ll have to dig them out bit by bit. good luck getting him off of that cloud in the sky this go around.

[god-save-the-keen]

Family matters

Book: Mother of the year

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x MC (Tara)

Summary: This was a request for the lovely @desiree-0816, Thomas and Tara decide to adopt the other daughter.

Words: 2155

Warning: a little bit of angst but, like always, mostly fluff.

Prompt: #14 from this list! Although, she asked especially for the adoption thing and I freaking love it 💕

Note: I always love to take request, even if I'm a little slow sometimes 😅💕

Thomas' tag list: @chetachisblog @annekebbphotography @princess-geek @lilyofchoices @ao719 @marycarrillo21 @blackcatkita @kamybelen-blog @cxld-play @vaticanwaltz @thmasmendez @flyawayboo  

Permanent tag list: @gardeningourmet @client-327 @dawn-1994 @malakbesharah

"So, how do you want to do this?" Thomas and Tara were sitting in the living room, a cup of coffee in their hands and the snow falling behind them on the window. She had put her legs on his lap as one of his hands absently caressed her there.

"I don't know…" She leaned against the couch backrest and drank a sip of coffee. "I don't know if we should do it together with them both or separately or if you should talk to Luz and I talk to Rory." Her fingers tapping on the side of the cup, frowning a bit. "I just don't want them to take it the wrong way."

"I know, gorgeous. Me neither." They stood like that, in silence, lost in their own thoughts, thinking about the best way to do it.

"What do you think they are talking about?" Luz asked in a hushed whisper. They were going to the kitchen when they heard their parents talking and stopped in the hallway, hiding and listening.

"I don't know, but must be something important. Normally, they are not this serious."

"Yeah… Normally they have their lips stuck together like with super glue or something." Luz said with a grimace as Rory quietly giggled. "Should we go in?"

Rory observed her mom, her face was worried and she could see she was nervous, still tapping the side of the cup until, a moment later, Thomas took her hand in his, she could see how her mom smiled at him and how she started to relax. "No… I think we better leave them alone. Come on, I know where my mom hid the Christmas candies in their bedroom." And they started walking as quietly as possible, on their tiptoes. She had always liked Thomas, in the last three years he had been more of a father figure to her than her own father had in her whole life, she knew that thanks to him she was with her mom and that alone was enough reason to like him.

"How do you think Luz is going to react?" He hadn't seen her this worried since the trail with Guy. "I don't want her to feel like I'm replacing Soledad." He took both of their cups and put them on the coffee table, his arms encircled her body, holding her close, caressing her back softly.

"I know, Tara. We'll make sure of it." She nodded against his shoulder, hugging him back. "I think maybe the best way to have this talk is all of us together, so they can ask us whatever they need."

She separated from him and snuggle against his chest. "Yeah, I believe you are right. Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds perfect" He kissed the side of her head, gently leaving his lips pressed there for a moment. "Wanna go to bed?"

"Only if my husband comes with me" She said standing up and taking his hand as he chuckled and followed her. They turn off the lights, only leaving the tree and the fairy lights around the house on and they went to check on the girls. They were in Luz's bedroom, soundly sleeping with a few empty candy packages on the bed and floor. Tara laughed quietly shaking her head, dropping the packages in the garbage, and tucked Luz in bed as Thomas carried Rory to her bedroom, careful to not wake her up. Once both girls were settled, they went to their bed, Thomas spooning her, holding her waist like every night of the last two year. She pressed her back to his chest and entwined their fingers together, making soft circles on his skin with her thumb.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart." He kissed her nape. "And, if they don't agree, we don't do it and everything continues like always." He said quietly.

"I know… I know you are right, but I'm just so nervous"

"Me too, but right now, we can't do anything about it until tomorrow when we talk to them." He tightened his hold a bit and kissed her behind the ear. "Try to sleep" She snuggled closer to him and, after a while, they were asleep.

When Tara suddenly woke up, the anxiety she felt was driving her crazy, she looked at the clock on the nightstand and muffled a groan with her hands. 5 AM, the house was in complete silence and darkness, Thomas was sleeping beside her, his arm loosely on her waist, snoring a bit and she was completely awake. She sighed, carefully moved his arm and stood up, she changed into a t-shirt and some yoga pants and went to the kitchen as she tied her hair in a messy bun. If she was going to stay up at 5 in the morning she was at least going to use that time to do something. She took a few ingredients from the fridge and the cupboard and started to mixed them to make some cookies, the girls would love them and she couldn't be still, by 6 AM, she had finished cutting the cookies with a ginger man shape and put them in the oven. In a matter of minutes, the kitchen and the whole house smelled delicious. At 7:15 AM the cookies were ready, cooled and decorated, the coffee maker was ready to get started and the mix for the chocolate and the waffles were in the bowls.

"Tara? Are you here?" Thomas entered the kitchen, his eyes sleepy and his hair messy, he was putting on a t-shirt as he walked. "What are you doing up, gorgeous? It's Sunday, you should be resting." He hugged her shoulders from behind, kissing her cheek.

"I can't, I'm too anxious." She leaned against him. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't." He took her in his arms, bridal style, and started to walk to their bedroom. "But the girls aren't going to be up for at least two hours so you come with me" She laughed and held onto his neck. They lay on the bed, quietly talking as Thomas' hand caressed her face until she fell asleep, he kissed her forehead and pulled her closer, drifting asleep as well.

The next morning, the breakfast went like always with the exception of freshly made cookies. They ate, chatted and planned the rest of the day, while the girls were finishing, Thomas took her hand under the table and cleared his throat.

"Girls, there's something we would like to talk with you about."

"And we want you to be completely honest with us, you can say whatever you are feeling or ask whatever you want." Tara's voice was gentle and even, her eyes were warm but her hands, under the table were shaking, Thomas' thumb was caressing her skin trying to calm her, to tell her he was beside her.

"We're sorry about the candies!"

"We aren't going to do it again!" Rory and Luz put on their best puppy eyes and looked at them.

"It's not about that, you thieves! Although, we are going to talk about that later." The girls looked at each other. Tara smiled, squeezing Thomas' hand, and continued talking. "We have been talking… And we want your opinion first… We would like to legally adopt you. But only if you like and agreed with it!"

"What about my dad?" Rory asked after a silent pause. In the last year she had seen Guy no more than ten times, always too busy or simply forgetting.

"It's just legal stuff, he will always be your father, but, if we do this, I'll be your legal guardian. Same for you, Lulu." Thomas said, observing both girls reaction as Tara's hand squeezed his again. Luz was serious, a thoughtful look in her eyes, she didn't seem mad just uncertain, Rory, on the other hand observed Thomas and Tara for a while until a big smile blossom on her face.

"I think it's a great idea!" She took another cookie and bit it happily. "We are going to officially be sisters!" She said, excited, watching Luz.

"Yeah, it's great." Luz said and stood up, leaving the table.

Tara felt how her heart broke and her smile disappeared, she didn't know if she should talk with Luz or give her space. Thomas kissed the side of her head and stood up too, following Luz as Rory sat beside her, hugging her mom.

When Thomas reached Luz's bedroom, she was sitting on her bed with a picture in her hands, he sat beside her and hugged her.

"Are you okay, Luz?" She nodded. "You don't have to agreed with this. We don't have to do it." He said, his eyes on the picture of Soledad hugging Luz a few months before the accident. They still had a few pictures of her around the house except in the bedroom he shared with Tara, he didn't want Luz to feel like he was forgetting her mom but he didn't want Tara to feel like she was living in Soledad's shadow.

"It's not that, I like Tara. It's just I'm scared that… someday... I might forget mom, I don't want her to feel like I'm replacing her."

"You think that I replaced mom when I married Tara?" He asked. He had talked with both girls before his proposal and they were okay with it, but right now, he was terrified of what she would answer.

"No dad! Never!" Her eyes widened and he let out a sigh of relief. "I like Tara, a lot, since she came she has been supporting and nice to me. And she makes you happy." She trailed off, smiling for a moment. "I just don't want to forget mom."

"You won't sweetheart. No one wants that to happen. Your mom will always be your mom, no matter what, and she is always going to be part of you" She hugged him.

"You think Tara got mad, for how I left?" He kissed her forehead.

"I know she's not. Tara loves you and will respect whatever you decide."

"Is Rory going to call you dad now?"

"I don't know, depends on her."

"And… should I call Tara mom?"

"That also depends on you… I know she doesn't expect it and she wants you to feel comfortable. She doesn't want to replace mom either."

"I want to do it" She smiled, happier than before, standing up. "I want Tara to adopt me"

"You sure?" She nodded enthusiastically.

They returned to the living room, where Tara was sitting on the couch with her legs on the side reading a book.

"Where is Rory?" Luz asked and Tara lifted her gaze and smiled at her.

"She went to her room, to work on her new rocket." Her voice was as warm as always.

"I… I think it's a good idea too. The adoption thing." Her cheeks a little flushed making her smile thinking of all the times she saw Thomas with his cheeks like that.

"You do? You know you are not obligated to do it, right?"

"I know. But I want to." Tara stood up and hugged Luz tightly and the girl returned the gesture.

"That makes me so happy, kiddo." They separated and Tara kissed her forehead before she went running to Rory's bedroom. Thomas took her hand and led her back to the couch.

"Are you okay?" He asked her cupping her check in his hand.

"I am now." She smiled and kissed his palm. "She really is okay with the adoption?"

"She is. I'm going to start the paperwork on Monday."

"Do you need anything from Guy or me?" She asked laying on the couch with her head on his lap as he smiled, still holding her hand.

"No. It's enough that he doesn't bother you or Rory." Tara smiled wide at him, she loved how much he cared about Rory. "That asshole. What was his excuse this time?"

"None, actually. He just wrote me that he couldn't come." She sighed. "Should I be worried that Rory is used to that?"

"I don't know, in some ways it's better. You say the word and I'll take him to the courthouse again." She chuckled softly as she sat up and kissed him, his hand took her lower back, one of her hands on his nape and the other on the couch, supporting her weight.

"What did I tell you? Super glue." They separated and observed Luz and Rory watching them. Tara giggled as Thomas' cheeks flushed immediately, no matter that they had been dating for two year and married for one, he still blushed like the first day.

"Come on, mom! We were supposed to go to that new park!"

"Okay, okay, we are coming!" She stood up and Thomas followed her, he took his car keys and they drove to the park, feeling like a family more than ever.

❣️

[ksfd89]

Chance Encounter

The self-indulgent Literati oneshot no one asked for about a chance meeting between Rory and Jess after the Bracebridge Dinner! Merry Christmas!

Rory wakes with a crick in her neck. For a moment she blinks, disorientated and wondering why Lorelai is squashed up beside her, until Rory remembers. I was the Bracebridge dinner tonight and they're staying at the Independence Inn. Emily was sharing with them but she went for a walk before Rory and Lorelai fell asleep and, as her eyes adjust to the dark, Rory can see her bed is still vacated. She guesses her grandmother must have gone back to her original room. Slowly, Rory eases out of the bed. Her mother makes a protesting sound but quickly falls back to sleep as Rory gets up. As quietly as she can Rory uses the bathroom, holding her breath as she washes her hands, but her mother hasn't stirred as Rory slips back into the room. She was going to just get back into the other bed but Rory is suddenly so thirsty she can't stand it. There's a glass on the table she can use but as well as the crick in her neck, Rory is suddenly wide awake and knows she won't sleep. Carefully picking up the other pair of slippers Emily deemed too small, Rory pushes her feet into them, pulls on her robe and quietly walks to the door. A glance behind her shows Lorelai still asleep. As Rory puts her hand on the door to open it she hears Lorelai mumble,

"Stupid stepmother."

"Sherry's not my stepmother. Go back to sleep, Mom."

"Mm," Lorelai agrees. Rory waits for her to roll back over before slowly turning the door handle and letting herself into the hall.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"What are you doing up?" Rory exclaims. Jess smiles, raising his eyebrows and says, "Could ask you the same thing."

"I got thirsty...I wanted a drink."

"Something like that for me too," Jess says. "Nice pjs, by the way."

"Thanks," Rory says, feeling herself blush as she tightens her robe. "Nice shirt."

"Oh, thanks," Jess says, glancing down. He's clad in sweatpants, shoes, an old Metallica shirt and, inexplicably, his jacket is bunched up under his arm. "I think it sets off my eyes, don't you?"

"Oh, sure. What's with the coat?"

"What?" Jess asks innocently as Rory points at it. "Oh, nothing...just in case I wanted a walk."

"Of course."

"So you're thirsty, huh?" Jess says, grinning. "Me too. I don't know about you but I could use a snack."

"After that giant dinner?"

"Excuse me, I've seen you eat. Don't tell me you couldn't eat something. Plus, half the food at that meal was weird. What the hell was that green stuff on the soup?"

Jess has a point. Now that he mentions it Rory does feel a little hungry, and she's been told numerous times she can always help herself to anything in the Inn's kitchen. She hesitates, smiles and nods.

"Okay, deal."

"Lead the way."

Rory heads to the stairs, strangely shy as she starts descending them with Jess behind her. It's the dead of night but Rory can't help wondering what she'll say if a guest comes out of their room and asks what on earth she and Jess are doing. What if Dean comes out? He won't believe this is unplanned.

"What?" Jess asks, catching her expression. Rory has switched on the light and is glancing around the kitchen, biting her lip.

"Nothing," Rory says briskly. "Sit down and place your order."

"Yes ma'am," Jess says with an obliging grin. "What do I have to do for room service?"

"Carry it upstairs."

Jess coughs, and nods as Rory suggests, "Sandwich?"

Rory pours a glass of water for her and Jess and, as she sips, notices he's still looking at her.

"What?"

"What what?"

"Nothing..."

Silently, Rory wonders if he's amused by her nightwear. At least she's not wearing the pyjamas with Mr Peanut on them. Opening the refrigerator Rory gets out bread and an assortment of cheese and meat for the sandwiches and two plates from the cupboard. As she passes it to Jess her thumb brushes his and a stream of warmth rushes through her.

"Thanks," Jess says and Rory nods.

"No problem."

Jess starts assembling his sandwich and Rory busies herself with cutting a tomato. It was just the surprise of contact that is making her feel weird, she tells herself uneasily. It's got nothing to do with Jess. But as Rory looks back up she sees Jess smile at her and the warm weakness goes right to her knees.

"Thank you," Jess says sincerely, indicating at his sandwich. "This is great."

"I just opened the fridge."

"Got me into the kitchen though," Jess argues. "I'll have to pay you back someday."

"How so?"

"I'll figure something out."

Feeling herself blush, Rory takes a large bite of her sandwich. For a while she and Jess eat in contented silence and, as Rory finishes her water, she feels herself relax. This is kind of fun, like before, when Jess jumped into the sleigh. Not that Rory's going to tell him that, when he could have hurt himself. Jess smiles at Rory again and without thinking she says, "I'm sorry you can't go home for the holidays."

The light mood has dropped as Jess mumbles, "No big deal."

"I'm sorry," Rory says, wondering how best to take her foot out of her mouth. "But you know, Stars Hollow can be great at this time of year."

The look Jess gives her shows Rory she's only succeeded in putting her foot further in.

"Gee, I'll bet. Let me guess, you all have a live enactment of a Charlie Brown Christmas and skip afterwards."

"No, but sometimes they show it at the bookstore," Rory says earnestly, making Jess laugh. "And sometimes Kirk does the Snoopy dance!"

"Now that I've got to see."

"We can arrange that!"

"We can, huh?" Jess says, leaning across the counter. "So what else does Stars Hollow offer this time of year?"

"Um, there's the Winter Carnival, and hot cider at Doose's and the snowman building contest though you already saw that," Rory says, starting to feel a little foolish. "Nothing that exciting, right?"

"Hey, I didn't say that. Will you show me Kirk's Snoopy dance?"

"I'll show you in that I'll take you, but I won't demonstrate," Rory says and Jess starts laughing. "Stop!"

"Sorry, it's just an interesting mental image."

"Nothing can compare to Kirk's."

"I'm sure," Jess says, wiping his eyes. "So Rory, what are your big Christmas plans?"

"A lot of nothing."

"Sounds good."

"Plus homework and a ton of work for the Chilton newsletter."

"Jeez, I thought you were on break."

"You don't get that much of one."

"That much is clear. Are you doing anything besides schoolwork?"

"Actually, my dad and his girlfriend invited me to come stay," Rory says, looking at her hands. "I've never visited them before."

"You haven't?"

"Nope - I've never met Sherry, his girlfriend. Mom's kind of wigging."

"Huh," Jess says. Rory looks up but he isn't mocking and his voice is serious as he asks, "Think you'll go?"

"I don't know...maybe. It feels a little weird. My dad didn't even come here until last year. I'd just see him at my grandparents' house or talk on the phone."

"Do you get along with him?"

"Of course," Rory says automatically but then she shrugs. "I guess I don't know him too well."

Jess nods and Rory feels a little weird, saying it out loud. She never talks about Christopher to anyone besides Lorelai and here she is bringing it up with Jess. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you talk to your dad much?"

"I don't have a dad."

"What?" Rory asks dumbly and Jess says, "He took off right after I was born. Said he was buying diapers."

Jess's voice is matter-of-fact but Rory exclaims, "Jess, that's terrible!"

"It happens."

"I know it happens," Rory says, flustered, "but it shouldn't happen."

Jess shrugs. "It's what it is," he says, taking a final bite of his sandwich. "I didn't know the guy so I don't miss him."

Rory bites her lip and Jess laughs, getting off the stool. "Jeez, it's okay. Don't feel bad about asking."

Rory nods, taking her plate to the sink. She's curious to know more; what Jess's mom is like, if he's going to miss her over Christmas, if he minds not being asked to come home. He must mind - how could he not? But Rory knows she can't ask. Instead, she busies herself with washing the plate and then Jess is by her side and scrubbing his. His hands jostle against hers in the soapy water, sending that warmth through Rory again and quickly she steps aside and dries her hand. Once she's done she tosses the towel to Jess and, as he wipes his hands dry, he asks, "You hang out here often?"

"Kind of - I used to come here a lot after school, when I went to Stars Hollow High. And I lived here as a kid."

"You did?"

"Yeah, in the potting shed. It was like our own apartment, mine and Mom's. I loved it here."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," Rory admits. "I like having my own room though."

Jess smiles and Rory's eyes land on his coat on the chair.

"So where were you going?" she asks shrewdly. "You were heading out somewhere - you've got your shoes on too."

"Slippers looked a little flimsy."

"And what, you were planning on a hike? It's below thirty degrees outside!"

"I just...needed some air," Jess says vaguely and Rory rolls her eyes.

"You were going to smoke, right?"

Jess nods but he still looks a little sheepish. He picks up the coat and says, "Hey, you want to come out for a minute?"

"I'm not much of a smoker."

"No - I just meant, it looks pretty out there."

It sounds odd to hear Jess say pretty but Rory doesn't challenge him on it. She grabs one of the spare jackets hanging on the wall and says, "Maybe just for a minute."

Jess grins as Rory buttons the jacket and follows him outside. It's so cold that Rory's breath is instantly taken away but it's also stunningly beautiful. The world is shimmering in sparkling white and Rory's breath comes out in a frost as she says, "Wow."

"Not bad."

"Are you kidding? It's beautiful."

Rory steps out onto the snow, not caring that her slippers soak through, and stares up at the midnight sky. The stars are impossibly bright.

"It's pretty nice," Jess admits and, when Rory turns back to look him, he's smiling. "I'm glad we came out here."

"Yeah," Rory says shyly. "Me too."

For a moment they smile unsurely at each other. The banter from earlier in the sleigh has been replaced with something else, something Rory isn't sure what to do with, but before she can wonder what to say Jess asks, "Will you show me where you lived?"

"The potting shed? How come?"

"I just want to see it."

"You know, Rune lives there now - Jackson's cousin."

"I'd still like to see it," Jess says. "If that's okay."

"Sure," Rory says, a little puzzled. "It's down by the lake."

They pad silently through the snow and around the gleaming water to the small building where Rory stops, nodding at it.

"Here. I know it doesn't look like much but Mom put up rosebud wallpaper and curtains and on warm nights we'd feed the ducks and watch the fireworks and she'd say they were for me..." Rory's voice trails off and she says, "It was just really nice."

"I'm sure it was," Jess says, with no trace of sarcasm. Rory looks at him and Jess gives her a small smile.

"Looks way better than any of the apartments Liz and I shared."

"Grandma thought it was awful. She's never lived anywhere like this. I never felt like I missed out, living here...I was happy. I think Mom was too."

As Rory says it she realises she isn't sure. She stares at the shed for a moment and Jess asks, "Rory?"

"I'm fine," Rory says, shivering. "Just cold."

They head back up to the inn and Jess looks over at the snowmen.

"I still think your snowman - sorry, snowwoman - should win."

"Agreed, but that one on the end will win."

"But it's so overdone!"

"I know, but the judges won't see it that way," Rory sighs. "It was fun to build at least."

Jess nods, still looking and stops just outside the doorway to the inn.

"You're not coming inside?" Rory asks, surprised. "Jess, it's freezing!"

"I'll be there in a minute, unless you want to stay out a little longer."

"Oh, you want to smoke," Rory guesses and Jess nods. "I'm way too cold to stay out any longer! I guess I'll see you in the morning then.

"Goodnight, Rory. Thanks for showing me the shed. And thanks for the snack too."

"It was fun," Rory says, smiling. "Goodnight, Jess."

Rory tiptoes back up the stairs and into the bedroom. Despite the cold from outside she feels warmed through as she creeps back into her bed and is still smiling as she closes her eyes. The next thing she knows Lorelai is waking her up and asking where the jacket Rory left on the chair came from.

As the guests start to leave and Rory has just about convinced Lorelai of her need for fresh air (at midnight?) Jess catches her eye. He and Rory smile, Rory glancing down and back up to see him still looking. She's smiling shyly back until she notices Dean see them and quickly ducks her gaze, hoping he doesn't figure anything out. It's strange, Rory feels like she's been with Dean forever now, yet can't imagine sneaking out with him anywhere. Of course there was the time they stayed out all night after the dance but that was an accident. Rory can't picture Dean wanting to explore the inn in the middle of the night, let alone go outside. He'd just protest that it's freezing and, before last night, Rory didn't think she'd ever want to either. Yet she's still smiling when she's thinking of being out with Jess like that, while the rest of Stars Hollow slept. It's their adventure and theirs alone. Rory knows she'll never tell Lorelai. She jumps as her mother says in a tired voice, "Ugh, let's go home."

As they take the sleigh back (the only way to travel, Rory's decided) she stares at the fancy snowman, or rather, the remains of it. Someone has completed kicked it to pieces and a slow smile starts across Rory's face. She guesses Jess didn't stop to smoke after all. She turns around to look at it properly and is still laughing as they pull away from it.

"Seeing the competition destroyed has put you in that good a mood?" Lorelai teases. "You're all set for The Godfather."

"It's not that, it's just -"

"What?"

"Nothing," Rory says, smiling at her mother. "It's just a happy time of year!"

[uzukamis]

nightmare - [rory]

GENRE. angst, fluff

PAIRING. m!rory x mc

SUMMARY. mc can’t seem to fall back asleep after a nightmare plagues their dreams, to which their boyfriend comes to the rescue.

RORY IS CERTAIN THAT you are asleep when he doesn’t hear a single noise emitting from the seemingly vacant home. Of course, it’s to be expected that you are snuggled up in his comforter, fast asleep in one of his oversized shirts seeing as it is two in the morning, but Rory can’t help the ache in his chest that throbs at the lack of your attention.

Sighing, Rory pushed his computer chair under his desk, flicking the light switch down as he left his father’s office. Fatigue weighed down upon him as he stumbled through the dark hallway, all thoughts of his chemistry project locked in the back of his mind as he eyed his closed bedroom door, the thought of your body curled up on his bed sending warmth throughout his chest.

Rory’s fingers curled around the doorknob, and he paused to press his ear against the door before cautiously pushing it open enough to slide his body through the small opening. Lightly shutting the door behind him, Rory turned around, his eyes adjusting to the sudden burst of light that emitted from his bedside lamp before settling on your figure.

You weren’t asleep, and Rory could feel his heart drop to his stomach when you picked your head up from the pillow you had buried it in, tears streaking your cheeks.

“Rory?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes as you sat up uneasily. “Did you finish your project?”

Rory shot you a gentle smile and nodded his head, walking over to your side. Just as he thought, you were nestled into his blankets with his old theatre t-shirt hanging loosely off of your body. He sat down beside you, crossing his legs before reaching for your face, settling his palm against your cheek.

“I did. Took me ages, didn’t it?” He whispered, rubbing his thumb soothingly against your face as you leaned into his touch. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“I had a nightmare.” You said quietly. “It was stupid, but I couldn’t fall back asleep ‘cause of how real it was.”

Rory hummed softly and pressed a kiss to your temple before dropping his hand from your cheek. He pushed the blankets to the side of his bed and snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You wrapped your legs around his waist and buried your head into his neck, the feeling of his arms wrapping tightly around your small frame making you feel secure.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“It’s stupid,” You repeated. Your voice was muffled, and Rory had to strain to hear your simple words. “-and there’s no use in me telling you, ‘cause it’ll just irk you.”

“That’s doubtful.” Rory let out a hearty chuckle and set his chin on your shoulder. “I could never be irked by you, Princess.”

You rubbed your face against the soft fabric of Rory’s shirt, a soft smile overcoming your face. Your cheeks warmed at the sudden feeling of his lips pressing against your neck before he pulled away, instead choosing to run his fingers through your hair.

“It was about Danielle.” You spoke finally. You couldn’t help but cringe at your words as soon as they left your mouth, the utter realization of just how dumb your dream was filled you with embarrassment. “I don’t know- it wasn’t about her, I guess, just about no one believing me.“

“I believed you.”

“Yeah, but you’re my boyfriend.”

Rory let out an offended gasp and pulled away to look you in the eyes, his hands still lingering on your hips.

“So because I’m your boyfriend, my opinion doesn’t matter?” He says in a wounded tone, yet his eyes held a playful glint.

You hold his stare for a moment before throwing your head back in a fit of giggles. Taking in a deep breath, you lifted your head and took his face between your hands.

“Of course your opinion matters, silly,” You shot him an affectionate smile and narrowed your eyes. “-but aren’t you legally required to side with me? I feel like that’s a big thing in relationships.”

Rory let out a snort and rolled his eyes at your words.

“Just because I’m your boyfriend doesn’t mean I have to side with you,” He said, pausing thoughtfully for a moment as he reached up to touch your hand that cupped his face. “-but I do anyway because you’re just that charming.”

Now, it was your time to snort. However, you opted not to reply, instead choosing to unwrap your legs from his waist as you pulled away. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rory staring at you confusedly, but you ignored him as you crawled over the bed. You grabbed the comforter that was carelessly thrown across the bed, and fell against the mattress, wrapping the blanket tightly around your frame. You picked your head up from the pillow just enough to meet Rory’s ogling eyes.

“Are you gonna come over here or what?” You raised an eyebrow, your voice muffled slightly by the blanket covering half of your lips. Rory understood completely and scrambled off the bed to turn the lamp off before clambering back onto the bed and pulling you towards his body.

“I assume you’re feeling better?” He asked quietly as he nestled his chin atop of your head.

“Yeah.” You smiled, snuggling deeper into his chest. “I think all I needed was you.”

[smolfangirl]

A little fresa story V

This is it. The last fresa part. It’s been taking ages to finish, but it’s here now, and I might be a bit emotional. I have lots of people to thank and credit tho, so I’ll save my breath :D

Thanks and/or credit go out to:

@huffletiika for the date night idea and the patience with my attempts at Spanish

My roommate for the actual, very true quote about answering a phone

@miris-xo for, well, everything

A gif from the TV show Bones that I can’t find rn even though I tagged it for this purpose :( but it was my inspo for the scene where Matteo comes home

Also @lutteoheart for the basic idea for the last scene with Aurora, I changed quite a bit, whoopsie

And, dear mortals and bots, one last time: @ac-ars and @sky-girls used the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn’t give them any credit.

Word count: 5.6k

///

“Can I say something weird?” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. Luna leans against Matteo’s chest, so close to him that their conversation moves on quietly and calm. His hand softly ruffles through her hair while their favorite movie flickers over the TV screen. He ordered their favorite pizza and even lit some candles to set the mood for this special evening.

But somehow, Luna isn’t feeling any of it.

“Weirder than your comment last week? What was it?” Matteo pretends to think, the amused snort impossible to miss. “It’s strange when you pick up the phone and someone answers?” Her idiot fiancé chuckles and wiggles away from the finger she tries to poke him with. “Hey, you have to admit that was priceless. High-quality comedy, even.”

Luna grunts. Moves away a bit, until he pulls her back into his arms with a laugh as warm as her hands when she hides them in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. What did you want to say, little moon?”

With a sigh, she stares at the empty crib by the sofa. “I miss her.”

Glancing up at him, she discovers a sad smile on his face. “I miss her too.”

“Does this mean we’re a horrible couple or just good parents?”

Matteo rests his chin on her head, releasing a heavy breath. “I don’t know… but is it too bad if we drive to your parents and pick her up?”

She wants to answer immediately, she wants to grab her jacket and the car keys and walk out of the door. Her leg already twitches towards the ground, because she misses her little sunshine this much. She wants to hold her in her arms and cuddle with her until one of them falls asleep.

But something holds her back.

Something; the dreams, the ideas, the plans that added up for this night during the past days and weeks. It doesn’t matter that none of them received the luxury of turning into reality. As long as she can indulge in his voice when it drops as he’s almost breathing the words, as long as his touch fuels her heart, Luna is fine with whatever they do in those few sacred hours alone.

Or that’s what she thought.

Because in this moment, the house feels empty. Lifeless, almost. Every decision, every minute is about their daughter since she was born, she’s the fixpoint they both revolve around. However, now that she’s being spoiled by her grandparents tonight, Luna’s mind runs all over the place like a Ferris wheel on the loose.

“I don’t know,” she finally mumbles. “I miss her, but this is our first date night.”

“I don’t know either.” A pause. “You know what’s funny? Gastón was so sure we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, but we haven’t even made out like lovesick teenagers yet.” His lips hover over her, way too pointed. He’s being dramatic, like he loves to be, but it makes Luna giggle, and when she catches a breath a minute later, her shoulders are less filled with tension.

“How about this, chico fresa? You can try to kiss me, and in an hour, we’ll see if we still want to give up and get her?”

Matteo raises an eyebrow, the hand in her hair frozen. “Try to kiss you? Are you planning to resist me?”

“Well, there’s some popcorn waiting in the kitchen…” Luna explains while she struggles to get up. However, his grip on her tightens and with his best smug grin, he leans in to press his mouth on hers, a slow, savoring kiss that says, ‘I know you’re not serious about resisting me’. The second one steals a sigh from her and by the third, she surrenders to the soft movements of his lips.

///

When Matteo lets go of her to finally prepare the popcorn, the last minutes of the movie play. Luna sits through the credits without seeing them. Her mouth tingles from kissing him endlessly, but also from smiling so much. It almost hurts – or maybe that’s just her stomach protesting for a snack or two… (Since when does she feel snacky only two hours after dinner?)

Eventually, she gives in and follows the sweet smell into the kitchen.

Wrapping her arms around Matteo’s waist, she asks him how much longer they have to wait to get the bag out of the microwave.

“Always so impatient, munchkin,” Matteo teases her, without giving her the satisfaction of an answer. She snuggles closer to him and grins, “Except when it comes to marrying you.”

He shakes his head. “Rude and uncalled for.”

“Aww, I’m sorry, my chico fresa. But see, I wanted to talk to you about that anyway, and you just gave me the perfect set-up.”

In a smooth twirl, he faces her to lift her on the counter, so they’re eye to eye. Luna hurries to send him a smile, because if she wants to avoid one thing, it’s any doubt in his mind about her love for him. “I was thinking, what if we, hypothetically I mean, hired a wedding planner? One of these fancy people with lots of connections and the weird talent to make literally anything happen, no matter how extraordinary. Like these tv shows? I mean, we could still focus on Rory without having to postpone the wedding again. It might strain our budget a bit but,” she says, although Matteo doesn’t let her finish.

“You know the budget is no problem,” he replies before he caresses her cheek.

The noise of the microwave cuts through the silence, mixes with the obnoxious pop song from the movie credits. Yet his gesture alone turns this moment into something precious, intimate. Like the popcorn or the DVD-player don’t matter. Don’t exist.

“If you think a wedding planner can help us, we’ll hire one,” he adds.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

This time it’s her who pulls him close for a kiss. And when the microwave gives off a little pling and he attempts to break apart, she waves him off, whispering the popcorn can wait.

Eventually, they stumble back to the couch. Too lost in each other, it’s a miracle already that they’re not dropping their snack left and right. Luna selects her favorite scene from the movie but looses track of it quickly when Matteo starts feeding her and rewarding her for every bite, with a peck on her hand, her shoulder, her neck. She pays him back by throwing a piece of popcorn up in the air for him to catch.

He throws one for her next. Back and forth, it soon turns into a competition filled with laughter until her stomach hurts and her lungs plea for more oxygen.

“Try one more time,” Matteo instructs her, barely breathing after her last failed attempt. The piece of popcorn he catapults into the air hits her nose and falls on her cheek from where she catches it with her tongue. “Not bad,” he presses out in between more hysterical giggles, and in revenge, Luna threatens to hide some sugared corn in his hair.

Shrieking, he ducks. “Mercy on me, please!” he begs, hands lifted in surrender. (Luckily for him, the bowl is almost empty anyway.)

“Hmmm…” Slowly, Luna moves closer to him until his breath tickles her skin. “What would I get for giving you peace?”

“Always so demanding, little moon.”

She rests her head on his chest again to glance up at him with her best puppy eyes. “That’s not an answer, Matteito.” For a moment, he returns her gaze, speechless. Then, a smile unfolds on his lips. “You know, I could show you the final cut of the music video. But only if you promise to not get any of this sticky stuff close to my hair.”

“Deal.”

///

Contigo todo cambió

Veo un mundo diferente

Dejé de sentirme solo

No cerraré mis ojos nunca mas

Estás siempre en mi mente

///

“What do you think?” His voice cracks from all the excitement. His left leg shakes a bit, and the way he looks at her, Luna can’t help but think of Simón’s dog when he watches his leash being taken off the shelf.

She chuckles. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I bet you my left skate that there’s at least one gossip magazine that thinks the sunrise after the moon means you dumped me for some other girl. But other than that, I absolutely love it. Your ass in those outfits will have the fangirls go crazy.”

Dumbfounded, Matteo stares at her. His face mirrors the turns and jumps his brain takes, and if Luna concentrates enough she can see smoke coming out of his ears.

A few seconds later, he catches himself and grins slightly. “That sounds like a safe win for you. And horrible news for Rory. Who would even be the one to tell her?”

Silence.

“Oh my god.”

“Did we really just forget about our daughter?”

Helpless, Luna throws a glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Way past bedtime for little Aurora, and almost two hours after their mini-breakdown as well. “I think we did,” she whispers.

Matteo looks like he bit into a lemon. “We’re such horrible parents.”

“Oh god, we might be,” Luna agrees, cheeks paler than a moment ago. Guilt takes over, she can’t believe she didn’t think of their chica fresa for one second while goofing around with Matteo, when usually not a second goes by without her daughter being in the back of her mind somehow.

But when her parents bring her over not even half an hour later, a part of her decides this has been the best date night in easily a year.

///

It’s not the right weekend to sit alone in a hotel room with an overpriced bucket of ice cream from the room service while crying to the rhythm of the rain on the window pane. There are other weekends, other days for Luna to sob into tissues until they cover half the floor.

This isn’t the weekend. This shouldn’t be it.

But here she is, lonely yet not entirely alone, while everyone important and famous in the skating community is celebrating in the lobby. If she takes a deep breath and remains silent for just a few seconds, she can hear them shouting and cheering from downstairs.

In a mindless gesture, her hand rests on her belly. Maybe her absence will cause rumors, a drop of gasoline in a flame that’s already smoking. No, it will definitely cause rumors. Since her planned break from the work as Argentina’s most promising skating trainer leaked to the press, they’ve been watching her every breath. Day for day she wakes up to new theories and emails begging for an interview, and the desperate need for a vacation and more time for her family are the nicest speculations the media had to offer.

And the ones closest to the truth.

Luna sighs. If Matteo was here, maybe she’d have a laugh over all the stupid gossip, or maybe she wouldn’t be so exhausted from crying. But he’s back home while she’s here, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the tears from rolling over her face.

Without wanting to, her mind jumps back in time to a competition years ago, the last test leading up to her first ever world championship, where she found herself in a situation painfully similar to her current one.

Back then, she sat in a hotel room just like now, crying on the floor. Back then, she doubted everyone and everything, and mostly herself. She leaned against the bed, sobbing and shaking until her eyes burned and throat dried out. Because of Matteo, because of a fight with him and the break they hastily agreed to take. She cried because she missed him, and because her skate at the final rehearsal for the most important sport event of her life went terrible. Catastrophic, even. Jumps she couldn’t stand, turns she began too late for the music, a fall.

Leaving the rink, she didn’t even know how to look her trainer in the eyes.

And then she cried because that just made her miss Matteo more.

(A week later, Luna had cried once again, tears of joy mixed with the sadness that he wasn’t with her for her victory and that he hadn’t even send a text.)

Now, it’s different. There’s been no fight, no competition and still… the result remains. Luna cries because she misses him, she misses her sunshine of a daughter, she misses all the little drama coming along with having a young family.

With her hormones all over the place, indulging in a distraction seems impossible. No colleague, no idol in the world could make her feel better now. This mood swing demands to be felt, so she’s staring at the hotel ceiling, trying to come up with a solid reason to call her husband during dinner time. Maybe he’s breaking the rule of no phones by the table to wait for her number to light up on the screen?

Luna still ponders over his opened contact when a call comes in.

Matteo.

“Chico fresa, hey, oh my god, what a surprise!” Her tongue almost trips over the letters, earning her an amused chuckle from the end of the line and another teardrop on her cheek. “Hi, my little moon, how are you?”

Her sniff ends in a deep breath ending in a sob, and she’s not sure she can speak. “It’s so nice to hear your voice, you have no idea how much I miss you and… and I…” She stops, blowing into a tissue.

“Luna, hey, are you okay? Hang on, are you crying right now?”

She pauses. Nods. “I miss you, chico fresa. I want to be home, with you. With…”

“Mommy?!” A high-pitched voice filled with excitement creaks through the speaker. Hurried little footsteps follow, and Luna wonders how a heart can both heal and break more at the same time. “Mommy! Mommy!”

“I’ll put you on speaker,” Matteo announces and a second later, Luna can hear their little chica fresa giggle. “Hello Aurora, darling!” She keeps her voice steady, tries to smile. Her baby girl doesn’t need to deal with her homesickness, besides, smiling is almost easy when she imagines Rory’s face beaming with happiness. “Is everything okay? Is daddy being nice to you?”

“NO,” Rory shouts at the top of her little yet powerful lungs, making Matteo wince. “Aurora, you're hurting my feelings here.” Then, her husband declares, “Just for the record, that is still her favorite word that’s not gibberish. She’s a liar.”

A hint of a laugh hushes over Luna’s mouth. Her mood already lifts, the weight on her chest fades and as her hand finds her belly again, gently stroking it, she thinks that perhaps she’s done crying for today.

Little Aurora, however, isn’t as happy anymore. “Coglio!” she yells at her dad, once, twice.

Luna frowns. She waits for a second, allowing her brain to catch up on the meaning, and when realization hits, it’s not so surprising anymore that Matteo remains silent.

“Matteo?”

“Yes, my love?” A casual tone, too casual in fact.

“Was that supposed to be an Italian curse word?”

Silence. Then, a groan. “I used it for Gastón once, okay? Once. He annoyed me so much with his stupid puns and it just kinda… slipped. But since then, she keeps repeating it, while ‘please’ is just too hard for her to say, I guess, since she only heard that one about a million times.”

“You’re…” she takes a breath to scold him, half-serious about the annoyance she’s intending to show. But he cuts her off with a smirk that she can hear all through the phone, which sounds dangerous enough all on its own. “No, no, no, don’t act like you’re all innocent here. I first thought I’d let it slip, you know, to be a nice husband, but now you asked for it, chica delivery. Would you mind explaining to me why your daughter keeps mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like baby talk for your favorite curse word, hm? Because I definitely don’t use it, so you better not give me shit right now.”

Speechless, Luna listens to his ramble.

Matteo has a point, of course, maybe she used cabrón one too many times in front of her baby girl. But to be fair, she never expected him to find out…

“Don’t you have anything to say to your defense?” her husband inquires, chuckling.

She clears her throat. “I mean, I can still blame Simón for teaching her naughty words. You’ve got nothing on me, chico fresa.”

“Ah, that’s where Rory has the whole lying thing from.”

“While it’s your fault she’s as dramatic as you are. If you could keep your dignity while throwing tantrums, you would never stop.”

By the time Matteo gasps in pretended offense, Luna’s grin deepens. The few days apart from him made her long for these silly banters more than she ever deemed possible. At home, not a day goes by without at least one teasing comment in the other’s direction, and over the years she grew as used to it as to the comfort of his touch. Since she arrived here at the conference, stepped into halls too crowded to get reasonable internet connection to chat with him, it becomes more and more obvious to her how much they both enjoy gently mocking each other.

When Matteo begins to argue he’s not that dramatic, therefore his daughter can’t be either, said little troublemaker cries out. He sighs. “Can you hold on for a minute? She’s ready for dinner now and…”

“She won’t eat unless you sing to her?” Luna finishes the sentence. “I told you, she learned from the best.”

“Aww, thanks, babe,” he giggles in a pitched voice, before he pauses and adds, “She is so damn extra. Hm, you tiny troublemaker? Insisting on your demands like the cute diva you are?” In a sing-song Matteo tells Aurora how soon she’ll outdo every spoiled starlet he ever met in the course of his career, but from the content babble that follows, Luna figures dinner won’t be a problem for today. Or for as long as Matteo sings, really.

The next time her husband takes a short break from feeding their chica fresa and complains about Rory’s eating habits, Luna suggests calling his best friend. “You could ask him about spoiled toddlers, I’m pretty sure he can tell you a weird habit or two about Felicia as well.”

“Hm, yeah… no. This is really weird. And I’m not talking about the singing.” He sounds horrified, which brings back pictures of one particular evening where Rory decided to be extremely picky.

And a bit gross.

“Oh boy, please don’t say she wants to eat her veggies with chocolate yoghurt again.” With a glare into the ice cream bucket in front of her, Luna notices her dessert melted and now resembles that yoghurt way too much.

She pushes the bucket away.

“Nope,” Matteo replies, to which Luna breathes in relief. Maybe she can still enjoy her sugar treat, after all. “Trust me, this is worse.” (Or maybe not.)

Taking the spoon out, she licks it, while she wonders what could be worse than veggies and chocolate yoghurt. Nothing comes to her mind, although she’s sure Matteo will explain whatever it is in great, disturbing detail.

Of course, he doesn’t let her down. “Remember when you were full of pride that our baby will be half Mexican and half Italian and said that it will be so cool?”

“Oh boy, please, just make it quick. What did she do?”

“She put spaghetti in a tortilla. Or, forced me to put spaghetti in a tortilla for her.”

“Ugh, what? Gross!” Luna gasps, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. It’s not that late, but she isn’t exactly keen on provoking any attention from other hotel guests, or worse, be heard by the paparazzi lurking outside. Sighing, she gets up to close the window.

Spaghetti in a tortilla, that must be the weirdest and most cliché combination Aurora has come up with so far.

“I know,” Matteo says. “It’s such a disgrace to the pasta.”

///

They stay talking on the phone for easily an hour more. Matteo puts her on speaker as he changes Aurora into her pajama and with a smile, Luna listens to the lullaby he puts her to sleep with.

However, as nice as being part of the nightly ritual is, his silence warns her the moment he closes the bedroom door behind him and walks back into the living room.

“Luna,” he whispers, her name as fragile in the air as a floating bubble. “Are you okay? I didn’t expect you to be crying when I called you.”

“Yes,” she mumbles back. “I just missed you and it got a bit too much.” Laying on the bed, her legs dangle from the edge, draw circles into the air that give her thoughts a calm rhythm to think to. It’s a bit embarrassing to look back on all the tissues she wasted with her crying, especially when the reason was so… not exactly meaningless, but simple.

“Aww, little moon, is the convention that bad? That you can’t be three days without your favorite fresa?”

Luna snorts, although it comes out weak towards the end. “Let your pregnant wife be emotional, okay?”

“But you’re having fun, right? Meeting some cool people who you can show off to with your medals and titles?”

He’s only half serious, but sometimes, Luna wonders if Matteo forgets that she’s not the center of the figure skating world. So far Luna felt like the others were the ones impressing her, not the other way around. She got introduced to people who won everything there was to win, who competed in three, if not four Olympics, who dedicated their whole life to this sport since they were little kids. And yes, she claimed the title as world champion for a few years, and she’s infinitely proud of her Olympic gold medals. But she’ll never be close to achieving legend status like the skaters around her, and that’s okay for her.

“I am having fun,” she admits, quickly smiling, yet carefully as to not let it slip into her voice. “You know, it’s actually nice to be more than just your wife for once. No one really cares about you here, or only very little.”

No reply, not even a snort. Just silence.

“Your ego can handle that, right?”

///

When Matteo unlocks the door, he swears he’s going to fall on the sofa and won’t move again until it’s time to go to bed. Interviews tend to be fun, but Jazmín didn’t interview him, no, she interrogated him. Squeezed him like an orange for breakfast juice, and now he feels drained of every last bit of energy. Not even blasting his favorite songs on the ride back home helped to forget her over-excited laugh or the never-ending questions, about the meaning of each new song, about Luna, about his family.

Just the thought of having to promote this episode next week makes him want to delete every single social media account he has.

With a sigh, he slips out of his jacket and loudly announces to Luna that he’s back. No answer, instead, silence greets him. Perhaps she’s napping somewhere, wouldn’t be the first time, although jealousy stings him at the mere thought. Not only can Luna spend more time with their chica fresa, she also manages to doze off before dinner, yet doesn’t struggle to fall asleep at night while Matteo can only dare to dream about day-time naps.

If you ask him, it’s not really fair. (But he chose this, after all.)

He trots into the living room. Knowing his sleeping beauty, he needs a solid plan to wake her up, but all ideas fall short as soon as he discovers her on the couch. The view in front of him surprises him, charms him, all while a warm fuzzy sensation lingers in his chest.

He might have expected his girls to be asleep, but he didn’t expect them to be asleep together. Luna’s hair is spread out over her shoulders, head supported on the cushions and her mouth opened just enough to give his wife a peaceful (and maybe a little bit dumb) expression. On one side of her, Matteo spots an open book, little Aurora’s favorite, a story full of tiny adorable animals and terrible rhymes. Too many times did they read it to her until her eyes slowly fluttered shut, too easily can he recall those lines. But it doesn’t quite matter, not when his daughter rests against Luna’s still growing bump, snoring gently.

It’s the cutest thing he has seen all week.

They neither wake up from his soft hello kisses nor from the picture he snaps for the next family collage. Only when dinner warms up in a pan and the delicious smell of risotto fills the room does Luna join him.

“I didn’t notice you were home,” she mumbles, hugging him from behind the exact moment the baby decides to kick. Right into his back. It doesn’t really hurt, but Matteo winces anyway. “Damn, this one’s definitely a troublemaker.” A short kiss for his wife and he leans down to gently follow their little one’s movements. “Hm, tiny peanut? Hello to you too.”

“You know it’s weird how you say peanut when it feels more like a watermelon.”

He chuckles and checks how much the risotto heated up. While he feeds her a spoonful, he replies, “I’m not gonna call our baby a watermelon just because it’s more accurate. You were the one who suggested to wait with the name and all. So, peanut it is.”

“But why peanut? Why don’t you say… I don’t know, raisin?”

“Because raisins are gross, duh. They’re the wrinkly grandmas of grapes, I’m not eating that.”

Luna chuckles as she shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to eat our baby.”

“Sometimes I get the feeling you think I’m stupid,” Matteo pouts, earning him a soft pat on his cheek. It’d be a cute gesture if it wasn’t for her answer. “Only sometimes?”  

“Haha, you’re so funny, Valente.”

She sticks out her tongue at him.

Matteo sighs in surrender, then changes his mind. “So, since we’re talking names now, what do you think about Violet Drizzle? Or Sven Olaf?”

“Sven Olaf? Like from Frozen?” With the nod he gives her, his wife seems to realize where this is going.

She pops her finger bones like she’s about to step in the ring.

“Sure. Why not Misery? Or what about Ben Jerry? Unicorna?” Rolling his eyes, Matteo tries to shake off the laughter. Fails. Coming up with ridiculous baby names isn’t hard, he knows too many celebrities and their children, but he didn’t expect Luna to play along so quickly. (And fairly, so brilliantly.)

Within the blink of an eye, he follows her suggestions with five more. In the span of three minutes, they’re bickering like it’s the most important competition of their lives. Ideas are traded back and forth, and so is their laughter.

But none of their names clearly outdoes the others, and they’re both too stubborn to surrender. Except when he’s about to suggest a draw, Luna makes him laugh so hard he almost burns dinner.

His wife snorts, although the huge grin on her face gives her away. “Jeez, chico fresa, if you’re as careful with Fresa Risotto as you are with our dinner I might have to raise my kid alone.” Snatching the spoon out of his hands, she shoves him towards the sofa. “Why don’t you just go and wake Aurora up? She asked about you all afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes before he caresses her bump one last time and leaves the kitchen, grinning. His daughter already blinks her eyes open at him.

She’s tired. Still tired and clearly confused and not quite landed in reality yet. Once the last shreds of sleep let go of her, though, she squeals and claps her hands in excitement. Just like her momma, Matteo thinks as he picks her up to press a kiss on her forehead.

Aurora beams with joy.

“Hello, my sunshine, did you sleep well?” When she babbles something that he assumes to mean yes, he asks if she wants to be a little airplane. Of course, Rory nods – she’ll never say no to her favorite game after all.

When Luna calls him for dinner, he’s still whirling his baby girl around and around and around.

///

“Did you call Simón today?”

He’s sitting in front of the couch, Aurora on his lap. Since her favorite toy disappeared without a trace, she’s been whiny, but cuddling with him distracts her enough to give Luna time to find it.

His wife nods. “Yeah, he sounded really excited to be back on tour. Greetings from Pedro, by the way.”

“Thanks. Did you talk to him, too?”

“No,” she replies, and sighs when Rory’s little plush cat remains nowhere to be found. “We weren’t on the phone for long, Simón seemed kinda… busy.”

Matteo sends her a look. Usually, they ended up chatting for hours especially on a day like this, with no concert in the evening. “Huh?”

His chica fresa plants her hands all over his face. When he kisses her little sneaky fingers, she giggles. “Come on, Matteo,” Luna meanwhile groans at him. “I told you about Emma and him. You said he obviously had a type and all. Now, if I could just find this stupid kitty…” Before he gets a chance to remember Emma, Luna waddles out of the room.

Matteo prays she finds the plush toy quickly. He wants his intel, after all.

///

She’s clumsy. Not normally, all this training to become a world champion wasn’t for nothing. But her bump makes it hard to navigate her own body sometimes, and she can barely spot her feet. Can’t spot them at all, to be correct.

So, of course she stumbles over the bright red plastic car on the floor.

Matteo blinks at her confused, then breaks into laughter. She tries to catch the kitten in her hand, almost catches it. Accidently throws it up into the air again, reaches out again. Ultimately fails, because it’s keeping her balance or the plush toy.

Her husband still laughs. “Don’t bother,” he manages to get out once she tries to bow down enough to grab it. (Her belly. Naturally. She feels like a walrus.)

But it’s not Matteo who picks the kitty up or presses it against his chest with a cry of joy. It’s her daughter, who must have escaped her daddy’s grasp and now clutches her fingers around the worn out plush. Dragging her regained treasure along, she crawls back to Matteo before she sits down to stare at Luna.

A frown appears on her forehead.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luna asks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find Mr. Whiskers earlier.”

Rory stares. And frowns. And stares. The grin on Matteo’s face slowly dies.

“What are you planning, fresita?” he whispers, although too late. One last skeptical glance and their baby girl tosses her cat into the air and watches it fall down.

Matteo is rolling on the floor. “I can’t believe I have two Lunas now,” he pants before losing his breath from all the laughter.

Rory beams with pride and repeats it a second and a third and a tenth time.

///

He makes it up to her with a massage. Their little sunshine is dozing off in her bedroom, their favorite show flickers over the TV screen and he even prepared a hot chocolate for her.

“Didn’t you want to tell me something about Simón’s new blondie?” he asks so casual that she’ll probably figure he’s been thinking about it for at least an hour.

Rolling her eyes, Luna gently slaps his arm. “Rude, chico fresa. Emma might be blonde too, but she’s not like Ámbar.”

“You still meant to tell me.”

“You’re right, I was.”

He presses a kiss on her neck. Maybe she’ll scold him for setting her up on a distraction without letting her finish, but her skin is warm and soft and he’s just a man who loves his wife a bit too much. (To his surprise, she even robs backwards on the couch until she lays against his chest.) “So,” he whispers into her ear, “how do I know Emma?”

“She spent a few weeks in the Roller back during my last year of school, remember? I think they met up during the promo gigs or something.”

“And they’re good together?”

Luna tilts her head for their eyes to meet. She smiles. “I’m pretty sure they’ll marry each other one day.”

His hands wrap around her bump. Carefully traces the baby’s little kicks, while he thinks if Simón was half as happy as he feels, the guitarist would get incredibly lucky. “You believe he might overthink what he said about not wanting to get married ever?”

“Sure,” she smiles, again, and steals a kiss from his lips. “That was after Ámbar, after all. Emma is different. And you know him, he’s an old romantic.”

“Like me.”

“Nah, you’re just cheesy.”

Offended, he gasps. But in the totally not fake dramatic argument that follows, they both think how they wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the whole wide world, because as long as they’re together, everything will work out fine.

[marauders70s]

#15. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley [11/25]

“Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've – you've blown up a toilet or –" "Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet." "Great idea though, thanks, Mum.” 

“Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement. “Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him?” “It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “You aren’t going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you’re going to say good-bye?” Uncle Vernon’s face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley’s wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon’s tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully, “Good-bye, then.”

He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her. His mother's face, his father's voice, the sight of Cedric, dead on the ground all started spinning in his head until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him.

[explanation] Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole were perfectly magical, thank you very much. They always did strange and abnormal things; Mr. Weasley, in fact, was considered quite the oddball for being interested in mundane muggle artefacts, and had founded his own department at the Ministry of Magic for them after muggle-baiting became very high in the first rise of Voldemort. 

But seriously, I will always hold a special place in my heart for the Weasley parents, because regardless of your own parents, they were always there to be the archetypal mothering sabretooth and the absent minded balding father. Mrs. Weasley sending care packages to Harry and Hermione is exactly what my mother would do, and making sure Harry had Christmas presents his first year shows the heart she has. Mrs. Weasley’s fear of her children dying in the boggart flashes in Order humanized her so much for me, because that’s my boggart too. Even when I was young reading Prisoner, I was astonished everyone’s fears in Lupin’s class were so mundane. I expected abuse, death, dark things. But maybe that’s only because I had experienced those, and thinking spiders and mummies and banshees were the scariest seemed silly to me. 

Although I still wish J.K. had killed Arthur in Order (terrible, I know, but I wanted Sirius and Fred to live much more), I find that scene at Christmastime one of the most poignant in the Weasley family. How Fred and George called him “our Dad” aggressively several times; how Ginny sat without blinking, not falling asleep; and I always vaguely wondered what Bill and Charlie were doing. If someone had thought to write to Percy. If he never came to the hospital because he never knew. 

I love Arthur and his tinkering shed. I think of him as a Grandfather (almost identical to Mark Williams portrayal of Rory’s father in Doctor Who) and Molly as a bustling matriarch and I smile. And I feel warm. And I know they’re out there right now. Playing with their twelve grandchildren and knowing that Molly knits them both letter sweaters and number sweaters, and Arthur teaches them about toasters and sparkplugs. My heart is warm. Happy Christmas.

25 Days of “It wouldn’t feel like Harry Potter without…”

[jawnsjournal]

this has been the worst 24 hours of my life. 

let me back up. i didn’t talk about sammi yet. me and sammi had a great time at her apartment. 

wait let me back up again. 

i called scott from a few blocks away from sammi’s apartment. i talked to him for a long time and i was actually a little late to sammi’s because i didn’t want to hang up the phone. he’s so sweet to me and he called me puppy just like i wanted him to. i didn’t even have to ask. i sent him a couple pictures while we were on the phone and i haven’t done that in a long time but i don’t know why because i love him the most when he’s complimenting me and telling me how hard i make him. i talked him through jacking off and i touched myself a little through my shorts but not enough for anything to happen. i just wanted to feel good for a second. 

when i saw sammi a little while later, she showed me how to make her favorite drink and i got really drunk for the first time since i started college. it was a little serious at first because i really needed to talk but once i shut up we just goofed off and i didn’t realize how badly i needed it. ironically i said something to her in the beginning about how i was thankful for her giving me one of my last chances for a long time to have fun. i had no idea that it would be my last one and that everything would completely collapse the next day. which brings me to what happened. 

i was talking with geoff last night and he kept saying weird things and i figured out that he was trying to tell me that he’s my guardian angel. i don’t remember too much other than the awful feeling i had and saying “no no no no no please god no no please no” and laying in bed crying my fucking eyes out. 

he ruined my plan. he blew it up, he fucking obliterated it. and i couldn’t even be mad at him. 

i went in the bathroom and cut myself and then i came out and cried some more and then i went back in and cut myself again and then i came back out and got in bed. geoff wanted me to sleep but i couldn’t. even though he brought rory in and i was holding both of them, i couldn’t do it. 

my brain was all over the place, i couldn’t stop thinking. i was going back in the past looking for hints he’d dropped or fucked up stuff i’d said without meaning to and walking through every possible option i have going forward. if i give myself up to him and he kills me, geoff turns human and that removes the possibility of him helping awsten and otto. if i stay with geoff and he can’t save me, i die and he either turns human and can’t help awsten and otto, or he and i both die and rory is fucking stranded in california. if i stay with geoff and he somehow protects me - which he seems to have no goddamn idea how to do - then we can all go home safe. and if i give myself up to whoever this is and he DOESN’T kill me... 

i mentioned it just briefly to geoff, i said i would do whatever the guy wanted. geoff was so mad, he was like DON’T talk like that. i laid in bed with them until they were both asleep and then i got up and i sat with my back against the front door for a long time. i started talking out loud... talking to whoever he is. nothing happened so i started researching on my phone. how do you get a guardian angel away from you? how do you respond to a stalker? how do you cut in a way that’s ok but that still helps? and you know what i found that was helpful? absolutely nothing. 

after that i went over to the couch and balled up a hoodie and cried into it for a couple minutes and then i wiped my face off and texted scott “daddy please call me when you wake up” (he did, around 5:45) and went into the kitchen and started cooking. we grocery shopped like we were gonna be here for three weeks and do you know what i did? i went through everything. fucking everything. pancakes, cookies, fajitas. i made a vegetable lasagna. i made some burritos (which i actually ate at least). i made muffins when the cookies came out of the oven. i made chocolate pudding from scratch. i made a fancy omelet. and the whole time i was looking at the closed curtains, looking at the door, wondering when the lights were gonna shut off and he was going to come in and grab me. 

i can’t do this. i can’t wait around for some dude to make me disappear. does he sleep? maybe he sleeps when i sleep. which is in the daytime. i waited so long today and got so tired that i felt sick to my stomach. i remember going to geoff (and i must have looked awful) and just pleading to go to sleep. he was like yes, go to sleep. he knows i’m fucked. so i did, i got in bed right away and he came with me which surprised me but i didn’t fight it at all. i wanted him. i needed him. i needed him all through last night but i wasn’t ready to admit that, wasn’t ready to make him feel worse. i was ready today. i actually asked him to play with my hair while i fell asleep and he did and it felt so good i wanted to cry again. i remember falling halfway to sleep and i asked him to bring rory in when it was time for her nap and he said he would. i don’t remember if he did or not though, i must have slept through all of it. 

i do remember having a dream about the guy though. i kind of gasped awake and felt really scared but then geoff was right there and i remember turning over and trying to press my whole self against him. i wanted him to hold me and never ever let go. i always hold him, every night but i wanted to be the one being held today. i was so scared. and when he was all around me and i could smell his clothes and his skin and his hair i felt a whole lot safer. 

he was there when i woke up too. i woke up so slow which i don’t usually but i was aware of him before i was aware of basically anything else. he was still holding me. so warm so quiet and soft and gentle and i am so fucking in love with him. i’m so in love. he is everything i ever want and feeling him with me when i wasn’t even awake was like waking up in heaven. i only slept for five hours but i would limit myself to five hours every day if it meant waking up like that. 

something i didn’t say... this dude’s been texting me. the messages are coming from a “private” number and i tried to call it once but it didn’t let me. he’s sent one message per day, the first one was the number of the hotel room we’d been staying in before we came to gabe’s so i figured we were ok because we’d been gone from the hotel for two days before he texted the number to me. then the next day (yesterday, june 5) he sent a picture of us unloading the car while we were getting to gabe’s which means he followed us there. the picture came from around the side of the house. he was RIGHT FUCKING THERE. and you know what else is horrifying? he scribbled geoff and rory’s faces out before he sent the picture. 

today while we were on a walk he told me he liked my shoes and then he described them to me. i texted back asking where he was. called him a coward and all that shit. probably dangerous i know but for real? he said “close.” and that was all i heard. i sent like 15 messages after that but he didn’t respond to any of them. 

i’ve never thought about killing myself until today. i just want this to end. but i think me dying at all kills geoff maybe? or - it makes him human? i don’t know. does it count if it doesn’t have to do with whoever this guy is? probably. i can’t remember and i can’t ask him. fuck. do you see the problem???? i don’t even know what the rules are. 

before i go there’s one more thing. i’ve been thinking... the guy following me says he loves me right? so he’s probably going to want sex. i know this is going to sound stupid and also probably girly as fuck but i don’t want to lose my virginity to him. that has to be for geoff. it just has to. sometimes i get hard if geoff smiles at me or if i know he’s in the shower or if i just think about him even and i love him with all my heart. i want to ask about sex but i just know i’m doing it for the wrong reasons and he told me once that my reasons matter when it comes to that kind of stuff. plus i’m so stressed and scared all the time that even if i could get it up i don’t know if i’d be able to keep it up. 

fuck, i guess me wondering that means i really do plan to leave geoff. 

fuck. 

fuck. 

[welcometophu]

Anger Management 5

Twinned Book 1: Commit to the Kick

Anger Management 5

[ Previous | First | Next ]

They walk over to Teas Please in a large group. Chris hitches along on his crutches next to Alaric, insisting he’s fine now that he’s got the brace for his knee. Thorne walks on Chris’s other side, talking animatedly about something from a class earlier in the day. Rory brackets Alaric, his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched although Alaric can smell a sweet pleased scent, and there’s a small smile lifting his lips.

Sera and Pat roll ahead of the crowd on their skateboards, periodically riding them up onto the curb, then popping off. TJ, Jackson, and Nikita take up the middle space, not quite able to keep up with Sera and Pat, but not falling back as far as Alaric’s group with Chris.

“I thought you didn’t like crowds,” Alaric says quietly to Rory, bumping his arm.

Rory shrugs. “Thorne and I were hanging out, and Chris stopped by, then TJ asked if we wanted to come along so we figured, why not? I didn’t realize it’d be such a large group, but I like everyone. It’s not like a party where I’m wondering when the next stranger is going to recognize me.” He glances over at his brother. “Plus, Thorne’s not drunk and wandering off. If anyone attracts attention tonight, it’ll be him.”

“Planning on flirting, if there’s someone to flirt with, but I won’t be ditching my brother,” Thorne says with a grin. He knocks his elbow into Chris. “Besides, someone’s got to make sure this guy gets back to his house without tripping over his own feet.”

Chris tilts his head, mock glares at Thorne. “I’m not the one who slid down the stairs on the way out of the dorm,” he points out, and Alaric bites back a laugh at Thorne’s chagrined look.

“He did,” Rory confirms. “Slid down the last few steps, pinwheeled, managed to stay standing at least.”

Pat’s holding the door when they get to door, his board held loosely handing down from his other hand. “Just go straight back. Nate’s already taken everyone back to the big table.”

Alaric’s fingers flex, and Chris knocks into him on the way by. “You okay?” Chris asks, and Alaric nods once.

“‘M’fine,” he mutters. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to sit on the one end,” Chris tells him. “Sit next to me, and if you have to get out, I’ll let you out. Hopefully you won’t feel as trapped.”

Nikita’s already at the end of the table, in the middle of the u-shaped bench. Jackson and TJ sit on either side, with Sera next to TJ, and Pat takes the place left next to Sera. Thorne slides in next to Jackson, and Rory goes in next, leaving space for Alaric and Chris.

It’s tighter than the last time he sat here, but at the same time, Alaric can breathe better. He’s close enough to Rory to feel the heat of his body, smell his familiar scent. And on his other side, Chris is slightly twisted, his hip wedged against Alaric’s, but his heat is familiar now as well. Alaric closes his eyes, inhales and lets it out slowly.

“No chocolate for you, right?” Nate says, and Alaric realizes he’s waiting for a reply. “And no nuts.” Nate’s grin tilts, and Thorne snorts.

Alaric realizes he has no idea what he wants, and he looks from Chris to Rory for help. “What’re you getting?” he asks.

“Thorne and I are sharing one of the crêpes,” Rory tells him. “Raspberry cream cheese.”

“There’s an apple crumble sundae I was thinking of getting,” Chris says. “How big is that, Nate?”

Nate holds his hands apart, fingers circled. “Bowl’s about this big around, with a solid four by four piece of crumble in the bottom, two scoops of vanilla and a scoop of dulce de leche ice cream, hard caramel crumbles, and some caramel syrup—all homemade, in house. Easily enough for two if you don’t want to tackle it on your own. I can bring two spoons. And it goes well with your favorite ginger tea.”

“I definitely want the tea,” Chris says. “Ric? Want to keep me from eating more sugar than I should?”

Alaric picks up the menu without opening it, hands it to Nate. “Sure. Yeah. We’ll share.”

“Tea?”

“Ginger.”

“And that’s everyone.” Nate looks around the table. “I’ll be back with the drinks shortly, and the desserts soon after that.”

“Isn’t there some sort of rule about TAs not being social with the kids on their floor?” Chris leans in close, shoulder touching Alaric’s as he murmurs softly. “I think I see yours out with your floormates more often than not.”

Alaric shrugs, because it’s not a rule that really matters to him. “He doesn’t play favorites. Nikita’s the worst offender for Talent indoors, and she’s already paid fines for it because of damages. Think it’s okay as long as he’s not getting us alcohol—can’t anyway, he’s not old enough—and he’s not dating anyone. Pretty sure he’s not dating anyone, anyway.”

“Would you know?” Chris smells amused, and Alaric nudges him, scowling.

“Probably not.” Alaric glances down the table where Thorne’s deep in conversation with Jackson, leaning in with their heads close together. He frowns slightly, because Thorne’s barely said a word to him.

“Do not have the conversation you’re thinking about across me,” Rory says.

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“You’re staring.” Chris knocks his knee against Alaric’s. “You okay?”

He’s tense. There’s an itch under his skin that taekwondo didn’t really scratch. But it’s been there since they got the news about Orson, and Alaric is pretty sure it’ll still be there after they bury him on the weekend. He’s already been to Thorne’s place once since the weekend, and he’s kicked, and he’s been through football practice. Nothing’s worked.

He doesn’t have a good way to answer, so he shrugs one shoulder, and says again, “I’ll be fine.” He closes his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning back against the high leather back of the booth. Rory tilts towards him on one side, and Chris is hip to hip on his other side. When he inhales, he tastes their scent on the air, and it steadies him. “Let me know when dessert gets here.”

The conversation flows over Alaric, and he lets it go. He smells when the tea arrives, the fresh, sharp scent of ginger in front of him. He doesn’t need to drink it right away, waits still with his eyes closed and listens to Chris talk to Pat and Sera about the best decks and wheels, things Chris might want to get for his little brother for Christmas this year. TJ’s talking about a dance class, and it slowly falls into an in-depth conversation with Thorne and Rory about music and the possibilities of a composition to use for a project in the latter half of the year.

He opens his eyes when something cold plinks on his forehead, slides down his nose. He reaches up to brush it away, and finds cold water there, as another droplet falls.

“Nik.” TJ’s voice, low and urgent as he has a hand on Nikita’s shoulders, shaking her until she blinks.

Her eyes focus slowly, pupils constricting as she blinks again. There’s a soft breeze as a dark cloud above them dissipates, and the droplets stop. “I….” She stops, looking around the table. “I think I fell asleep.”

“And almost started a rainstorm indoors,” Jackson says dryly. TJ still has a hand on her shoulder, squeezing as he looks worried.

Nikita ducks her head. “Sorry. I just… I haven’t been sleeping. Stress is getting to me, and I keep having nightmares. So I wake up, and Jennifer wakes up, and she yells at me, and I yell at her, and no one really gets any decent sleep except Pels, who can apparently sleep through the apocalypse.”

“Are you starting storms every time you fall asleep? That’s not a good sign,” TJ says quietly. “There’s a therapist on campus who works with Talented students, to try to help them if schoolwork and stress are making it hard to stay in control.”

“I haven’t been out of control since I was eight,” Nikita protests. “I’m not losing control. I’m just tired. And no, I’m not making it rain in the lecture halls. Just when I’m fighting with Jennifer. And sometimes when I get nightmares, although that’s rare.”

“You were having a nightmare here?” TJ’s voice is soothing, a rich, low tenor. Alaric’s pretty sure that TJ’s not Talented, but moments like this make him wonder.

Nikita shakes her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I might not remember. I just kind of dozed off. You guys are warm, I’m squeezed in. It’s comfortable here.” Her smile quirks wry. “Sorry, I’m not exactly great company. And you guys thought you were rescuing me.”

“You were about to have another fight with Jennifer,” Pat points out. “Maybe we were rescuing her.”

A spoon is set down in front of Alaric, and Nate smiles slightly when he glances up. Nate moves efficiently, passing out desserts and plates to everyone without intruding upon the conversation. Chris nudges the bowl so that it sits between them, sweet ice cream melting atop warm apples. When Chris motions, Alaric digs in first, takes a big spoonful and lets it melt on his tongue.

He makes a low noise. Orson would’ve loved this.

“Or you could do taekwondo, like Alaric.”

He looks up at the sound of his name, takes a moment to realize that it was Jackson. He frowns, tilts his head. “What?”

“TJ suggested therapy again. Jackson suggested kicking things and smelling like sweaty gear,” Nikita says. “Is that why you do it? Instead of therapy?”

Alaric stops with his spoon dug into the apples, and just leaves it there. When Chris glances at him, he makes a motion to tell Chris to go ahead and keep eating. His stomach is twisting uncomfortably. “Pretty much,” he admits. “Yeah. Anger management. Keep control. Not always sure it helps.”

It didn’t help tonight, not after class, not after Orson, not after everything.

“Started after the game,” he says, since he figures everyone will know what that means.

“How are you feeling after class today?” Pat asks. Sera stares at him for a moment, then shifts her gaze to a point beyond his head. Alaric’s used to the way she never quite seems to be paying close attention.

She huffs quietly. “Someone started a discussion online about class today. Should I delete it?”

That twist grows tighter. “Bad?” Alaric asks.

“It’s not good,” she says dryly. “Bunch of dickheads who think they can make themselves bigger by tearing someone else down. It’s sad that there are still idiots who think like this. I didn’t think they were allowed to take the class.”

“Anyone can take the class, they just can’t use bigoted language during class,” Rory says. “And if they try using it in their essays, I’m pretty sure Professor Szczek won’t grade favorably.”

“There are some people who don’t even think the major should be offered here,” Thorne adds. When Alaric looks at him, brow furrowed, Thorne spreads his hands. “PHU is great, and it’s open-minded, but not everyone here is perfect. There are still people around who don’t like Talent, or certain kinds of Talents. Who are afraid.”

“Which if they bothered to learn how to handle themselves, there wouldn’t be anything to fear,” Chris says firmly. “Talents are like anyone else. There’s good, there’s bad. There are people with tempers, and people who are calm. You aren’t different just because you have magic.”

The pricking under his skin is getting worse. A part of Alaric wants to get up and move, and a part of him is fine right where he is, where Chris and Rory seem to have somehow gotten closer to him. There’s a palm resting at the bottom of his back, an elbow touching his. Grounding.

Thorne glances at Rory, and Rory tilts his head, then nods.

“We’re going to a concert tomorrow,” Rory says. “Not backstage, nothing to do with business. It’s a standing room only place, should be good. We met the guys once,” he admits, “when we did a big indoor concert. Same place where Stormy rained indoors.”

“High energy band,” Thorne says.

“Already going,” Jackson tells him. “Pat, Sera, Trish, me, and TJ are squeezing into TJ’s car. How are you guys getting there?”

“Probably an Uber,” Thorne says. “Didn’t really plan that far in advance. Why didn’t I bring a car again?”

“Because we have an equipment van, and you don’t have an actual useful car,” Rory reminds him dryly. “And our van only fits four people and a shit-ton of equipment. And it smells like stale beer. Which is disgusting.”

“Dax is going.” Chris has his phone out, fingers moving across the screen. “He’s got his mom’s car for the night, so he and Cass can get there. I was thinking about tagging along with them. Think Drea might want to go, Ric?” His thumb hovers over the screen, waiting for an answer.

The shift in conversation is so abrupt, Alaric has no idea what’s expected. He has no idea who this band is, why he would even care, but he’s pretty sure that Drea would enjoy any concert, so he nods once. Chris touches the screen of his phone, then does something else and it pings.

“All set. Rory, Thorne, meet us at the locker rooms tomorrow after practice, and Dax’ll pick us all up to head over. His mom drives a minivan, so we can seat seven as long as we don’t mind being squished a bit. Obviously, you and Drea are coming with us, too,” Chris tells Alaric.

“Oh.” The conversation is shifting away, moving to something to do with the band itself, a discussion of the music. Apparently they have good songs to skate to, and Sera’s dancing quietly while still seated on the bench, like she’s already listening to music. “We don’t have tickets.”

“Just bought them.” Chris’s elbow presses against Alaric’s, and he gestures toward the bowl again. He waits until Alaric takes a spoonful and closes his eyes, letting the flavors coat his mouth.

“You’ve had a bad week,” Chris says quietly. “Maybe you just need to get out of your head for the night. You and Drea both. If Corbin has a way to get there, he could meet us. VIT isn’t that much further out. We’re out of space in the van, or I’d suggest having Dax pick him up.”

Alaric tries to imagine Corbin with all of his friends from PHU, and even after talking about it with him, he just can’t place Corbin here. “No, it’s fine,” he says, and he takes another bite of the apples, feels the tension slowly seep away until it simmers in the background. “I’ll see Corbin on the weekend anyway. Maybe getting out tomorrow will help.”

[ Previous | First | Next ]

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 12 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Bereavement, canon-typical injury and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Fading Light

There is a persistent myth that a person can somehow catch up on their lost sleep. Total bollocks in Rory's experience. There was only so long a healthy body could stay asleep before it had to be up and moving; certain necessary biological functions that absolutely had to be attended to. Water and food were just as necessary as sleep, but it was proving far easier to regulate her intake of those than it was to try and reestablish a reasonable sleep schedule.

She didn't remember much about the journey back to Haven - a vague recollection of falling over far too many times for comfort until someone decided she should be carried. She blushed to remember just who had picked her up; Cassandra, of all people, insisting that she was the freshest of the soldiers and the healer was the most precious of the cargoes that needed bearing down the mountain. Lord, but that woman was strong. And as soon as she was no longer responsible for keeping herself upright, Rory had passed out. The next thing she remembered was waking up briefly to the sound of Chantry hymns at sunset, a good ten or more hours after she'd fallen asleep, safe and secure in one bedroll among many, packed into the quieter end of the field hospital outside Haven's gates. She'd roused just long enough to have a drink, use the pot, and check in with Fabian, only to roll back into her blankets and drift back to sleep.

That second slumber lasted only another three hours or so, and she woke to the more familiar sound of the wind over the ice and the quiet voices of men and women in pain. Leaving the bedroll, she made herself known to the healers who were covering the night-shift, relieved to note that they had things pretty much under control. She was treated with startling respect - startling, because she honestly hadn't realized they all looked on her as the senior healer in these parts - uncomfortable with their deference to her suggestions, but she had also been firmly told to go back to bed. Unable to face just lying there in the darkness, not quite able to force herself to sleep again just yet, she chose instead to leave the tents, wrapping up tightly in her cloak as she breathed in the gloriously fresh air.

The world was green. The eerie light of the Fade spilled out from the stabilized Breach, staining the night sky, the moons, the snow. She'd never realized just how much that tainted light could affect the play of shadows and light over everything around her. And it wasn't a dusky shade, or a foresty shade. Here and in person, Rory realized that Fade light was Disney lime green, raising the specter of Maleficent in her mind. Unfortunately, Corypheus was no Disney villain. Poor, unfortunate souls ...

Turning her face away from the Breach, she shivered in the wind, letting her gaze skim over the snow-swept ice. Everything was still green, but it was easier to pretend she wasn't standing within spitting distance of that awful scar in the sky when it wasn't in her eye-line.

"You should be sleeping."

For once, she didn't jump on hearing an unexpected voice in the quiet. Perhaps she was just too tired. Whatever the reason, she simply turned her head toward Cullen as he came up beside her, looking just as weary as she felt, no armor tonight betraying that he, too, was supposed to be sleeping.

"So should you," she answered softly. "Have you had any sleep yet?"

"A few hours," he told her, staring out over the ice. "There's so much to do. And ..." He trailed off, but she knew what the unspoken problem was. The nightmares. Too many demons, too little sleep, too much history, all keeping him from being able to approach sleep calmly. The shadows cast by the events at Kinloch Hold still stretched their hands over him.

"And," Rory agreed with a heavy sigh of her own. She could still hear the screaming of the dying, somewhere in the back of her mind. She'd been lucky so far, but she would suffer nightmares of her own sooner or later. "How is your head?"

Cullen gave a sigh of his own. "Mercifully clear," he admitted, his tone deep with gratitude as he glanced at her. "That second potion of yours seems to be working."

"I'm glad. The last thing you need is that headache on top of everything else." She shivered in the gusting breeze, shaking out her shoulders before pulling her cloak closer about herself.

"Cold?" Without waiting for her answer, he reached over, wrapping one long arm about her shoulders to pull her close against his chest. "You should go inside. We can't have you catching a chill."

She snorted with laughter, offering no objection to being hugged into him. "Contrary to popular belief, you can't catch a chill just from being cold," she heard herself tell him in amusement. "Lack of sleep, on the other hand ..."

"So go to bed," he told her promptly, grunting as she unwound one hand from within her cloak to prod his stomach.

"You go to bed," she countered, surprised by the way he caught her hand, enveloping her smaller fingers in his bigger palm.

They were silent then, both lost in thought, neither prepared to try sleeping again just yet. Without quite realizing it, Rory's head tilted slowly, finding a resting place against Cullen's shoulder as they shared the peaceful silence together. Her gaze focused on his hand and hers, enchanted by the contrasts there. Hers, small and weak, encased in pale blue hide; his, large and strong, wrapped in supple dark leather. Two hands with two different purposes, yet driven by the same need to protect and serve. She felt his head tip, his jaw pressing lightly to her hair as the arm about her tightened just barely.

"The next time I give you an order, I expect you to obey it, Rory," he murmured to her. How long has he been holding onto those words, she wondered. That conversation was days ago.

"And I will, if it isn't a stupid order," she answered him in a soft tone.

"I don't give stupid orders," he argued, his voice as soft as hers, lacking the heat of a true argument. Perhaps he was just too tired, too.

"That one was," she told him, curling her fingers through his as she felt him tense. "No, listen. Without a healer on hand, your party would never have reached the Temple, let alone held it. More people would have died. You don't have to like it, Cullen, but I won't be kept from where I'm needed."

"You could have sent the girl," he countered quietly.

"I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had." Rory shook her head just a little, rubbing her cheek against the fur that adorned his shoulder. "Evy's brave, but she wouldn't have been able to cope. The forward camp was the best place for her. I'm the official healer; I couldn't ask anyone else to do that."

He was silent for a long moment before answering. "You're right, I don't like it," he sighed, his chest expanding and contracting against her. "But I understand. Just ... promise me you will stay back from the fighting."

She smiled faintly, touched that he was so concerned about her safety. "I think we've established that I can't fight for toffee," she assured him gently. "I can definitely promise to do my best to stay out of the firing line."

"That's all I can ask."

He dropped her hand, twisting to pull her closer as his arms wrapped about her fully. She went easily into that embrace, sliding her own arms about his waist in answer. In the eerie green night, it didn't seem real to be standing here in Cullen Rutherford's arms. Is this a dream? Am I in the Fade? If this is a dream, why hasn't he kissed me? I don't dream cut-price Commander, I dream full-on horny obsessive Commander! ... so why does this feel so much better?

"You did everything you could. At a certain point, a man's life falls into the Maker's hands."

She felt her breath catch in her throat. How does everyone seem to know what's hurting me? Am I that easy to read? Justinia had seen through her in moments; now Cullen was offering reassurance to doubts she had expressed to no one, not even herself. She hated that feeling of helplessness, of knowing that there really was nothing she could do. But she hadn't mentioned it to anyone.

"I should have ended it for them," she whispered sadly. "I didn't want to believe it was over, and they suffered for it. No one should die like that."

"You weren't ready to make that decision for them," Cullen murmured in a gentle tone. "And no one blames you for it."

"Calman did," she pointed out, but he wouldn't let her focus on that thought.

"Calman is an idiot," he said disapprovingly. "I heard about his behavior. And you still cared for his wound the way you care for anyone else who comes to you."

"My personal opinion doesn't matter," she told him, sharing a simple but fundamental truth of anyone in any kind of caring profession. "It doesn't matter if I hate his guts and wish he would fall off a cliff. He was injured and in pain; he needed a healer. That's my job, not to pass judgment."

"Exactly." Cullen drew back a little, looking down into her eyes. "It's your job to help those who can be helped. Every death lies at the feet of whoever did this - mage, templar, or other. Not yours."

She couldn't bear to look into his eyes, to see the warmth and sympathy there, not when she wasn't ready to let go of that sense of her own accountability. Maybe I could have stopped this from happening. Could we have stopped Corypheus here, before he killed Justinia and broke the world, if I had just said something a few days ago?

Closing her eyes, she pressed her face to his chest, thankful she met only warm wool and not bracing cold metal. "Tell that to my heart."

His arms drew more securely around her, holding her against the accusations rolling through her mind. "You tell it to mine," he murmured against her hair, feeling the same weight of guilt. "Security was my responsibility. All those people ... I failed them all."

"No." The word was muffled in his chest, making it necessary for her to raise her head once again and brave his gaze. "Cullen, no. You are not responsible for this tragedy. You said it yourself - the fault lies with whoever did this. They are responsible. Not you." And if I get the chance, I'm going to kick Coryphytits right in the nadgers for making you think you might bear the blame for any of this.

"You're so certain," he said wonderingly. "How can you possibly be so sure?"

She smiled gently, daring to reach up and let her gloved fingers curl to his cheek. Oh my gods, I'm touching Cullen-gorgeous-Rutherford! "Because you're a good man, Cullen," she told him firmly. "Too good to be able to conceive of anyone doing something so evil as this. And that isn't a bad thing."

"I wasn't always like this," he told her regretfully. "I've done terrible things."

Not so very terrible, in the circumstances. "Everyone has a past," she countered. "It's what you do in the present that counts."

"There you go with the caring again." He smiled his invisible smile, deflecting her earnest assurances with the barest hint of a blush on his chilled cheeks.

"Well, it's not a river, I can't dam the flow," she pointed out warmly. "You really do need to get some more sleep, though."

His smile faltered, the flame of fear hidden deep in his eyes. "I'm afraid to sleep," he confessed in a low whisper, the words almost lost in the breeze off the ice.

Her heart clenched as he admitted to this deep fear, tender concern choking her throat for a moment at his hesitant admission. Oh, my poor, broken lion ... "They're just dreams," she told him gently. "They can't hurt you."

"And ... the demons ..."

Damn, I forgot about the real demons in the Fade shit. She shook her head, edging just a little closer in the wrap of his arms as she held his gaze. "You are not weak," she insisted fervently. "You are no fool. No demon will ever trick you. I believe that. I believe in you."

"With the Veil torn -" he began, but she cut him off, laying her fingertips over his mumbling lips.

"I'll prove to you how safe you are in your dreams," she told him, her tone refusing to take no for an answer. "How safe it is to be around you. Just trust me." Her hand claimed his, turning to pull him away from the lake and toward the lines of sleeping tents.

He followed at her heels, realizing about halfway to their destination what it was she had in mind. "You can't spend the night in my tent, Rory," he protested, though he made no move to pull his hand from hers, or to slow her progress. "Your reputation ..."

"... can handle a little salacious gossip," Rory informed him confidently. "I am a healer. You are the commander, and you need to sleep. So I am going to help you get that sleep."

"I won't take a sleeping draught," he objected fiercely. "I need ... I need to be able to wake up."

She rolled her eyes, turning to look at him pointedly. "Do I look stupid to you?" she asked with mild amusement, knowing how much it must have cost him to say those words but refusing to coddle a fear that would kill him if he didn't overcome it. "Get in the tent, Cullen."

He hesitated, rubbing his neck as he eyed her, clearly torn between obeying and insisting on protecting her reputation. She met his gaze calmly, not at all concerned about her reputation, or lack thereof. What she cared about was proving to him that it was safe for him to sleep, even with the Breach so close; that he was in no danger of possession because of the man he was. After all, the first victim if he was possessed would be the person sleeping closest to him - her, in this case. She wasn't afraid, and she was hoping that one night with her sleeping at his side would be enough to prove to him that he didn't need to be so afraid, either.

He must have seen that in her eyes, recognizing her stubbornness for what it was. "Some people would call you crazy for tempting fate this way," he warned, but there was a warm kind of accepting defeat in his eyes as he said it that sent a prickling shiver to her toes. That's right, Cully-Wully, pick your battles. Let the crazy lady win this one. After a moment of watching her refusing to give an inch, he sighed, ducking into the tent ahead of her.

She felt a ridiculous urge to pet him like an obedient dog. Who'sa good boy? You are! Suppressing both that and her happy grin, she ducked in after him, tying the flaps securely behind her. The brazier was unlit tonight, the biting cold only slightly lessened by the wind-break of the waxed canvas.

"Chilly," she commented, perching on one of the chests to remove her boots. "Lucky me you run hotter than everyone else."

"What?" Crouched by the bedroll, Cullen looked up at her in confusion. She watched the comprehension dawn on his face as he caught on to what was going to have to happen. The blush was glorious to behold, rising with gradual grace in glowing red that crept up from the collar of his tunic to burn even the tips of his ears. "Oh ... oh, I see." He cleared his throat nervously. "Is ... are you ... is that ... acceptable, to you?"

How can he not know how adorable he is? I'm all but forcing myself into his bed, and he's worrying about me? Rory couldn't have stopped the smile rising on her face if she'd tried. "It is acceptable to me," she assured him as gently as she could. "Is it acceptable to you?"

"Uh, I ..." He seemed to be groping for something to say that wouldn't make him out to be a horny teenager or a frigid old maid. "I ... wouldn't want you to get cold."

"It's very important your healer doesn't keep you awake with her chattering teeth," she agreed, pleased to see the ghost of a smile flicker across his face in response, the way his shoulders relaxed as she made no big thing of an act that most would consider to be even more intimate than sex. Look at you, being all confident. What happened to Little Miss Talks Nonsense?

"Yes, that would not be conducive to a good night's sleep," Cullen agreed with her, tossing his boots aside. "You are sleeping furthest from the entrance, however."

Rory sighed as she wriggled her feet out of her own boots. Should have expected that, smarty-pants. "Still protecting me?" she asked lightly.

He met her gaze with a burning sincerity that turned the thoughts in her head to quivering jello, holding out a hand to invite her down into the blankets. "Always."

My turn to blush. And what a blush it was. It began somewhere around her belly button, gaining momentum and heat to meet the chilly air at the top of her high-necked tunic with what should have been an audible sizzle. It felt as though she could have cooked dinner for six on her face. And don't forget that you're grinning like an idiot, too.

Bright red and embarrassingly close to giggling with sheer nervous delight, she slid her hand into his, letting him tug her down onto her knees beside him. "Don't you say a word," she warned, knowing from experience that he was enjoying the fact that he'd made her blush again.

"My lips are sealed," he promised in amusement, reaching to undo the tie of her cloak at her neck as she worked the buckle of her belt loose.

Potion bottles jangled softly against one another as she set her many-pouched belt to one side with her boots, letting Cullen lift the wool cloak from her shoulders while she unbuttoned and removed her gloves. Without words, this all felt very intimate, as though there were more here than a stubborn woman proving a point to an equally stubborn man. And for all her noble sentiment, Rory could feel her nerves fluttering as she crawled by him to lie on her side, her nose mere inches from the canvas wall. A moment later, she tensed as the long, lean length of Cullen Rutherford curled himself into the contours of her back, drawing his thick blanket over them both. His arm came to rest about her, the weight of it laying directly over her almost healed ribs, but she didn't mind that pain. It was a reminder that this was real, it was happening. No one had aching ribs in a dream.

He felt warm and solid against her back, a protective shield against the world outside. Hot breath wet her neck with humid heat, sending scorching shivers down her spine to earth somewhere inside with crackling intensity that made her press her thighs together tightly. She drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to relax into the broad chest that lay against her back, the strong thighs that cradled her backside and legs. You're just going to sleep. He's this close to keep you warm, not to ... wait a second ... She wriggled experimentally, and felt her cheeks burn once again. Oh, my giddy aunt ...

"Uh ... Cullen?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you ... comfortable?"

She could almost hear him carefully considering the question, examining himself from top to bottom as he shifted at her back, making her ever more aware of what she had noticed. Feet, arms, legs, head, chest ... Oh. Cullen cleared his throat in embarrassment, lifting his arm from about her to remove the hard object pressing into her backside, laying the dagger down beside her head. Well, that's disappointing.

"My apologies," he murmured, wrapping his arm about her once more. "Force of habit."

Rory bit down on a slightly hysterical giggle before it could escape. "Understandable," she managed to assure him in a whisper, shifting to lay her hand over his at her stomach. "Try to sleep, Cullen. I'll keep you safe."

He pressed his face against the back of her neck, his arm tightening around her as he huddled closer in the cold night. "Where were you ten years ago?" was mumbled against her skin, a question he no doubt hoped was too indistinct for her to understand and answer.

On the streets with ten pounds to my name and nothing else, she thought, but she couldn't, wouldn't, tell him that. That belonged in a past that had no place in this world. Tonight was about him; helping him to relax into sleep, to understand that he was more than capable of defending his own mind, even when he was lost in dreams. With that in mind, she stroked her fingers gently against his arm, his hand, humming a soft lullaby she remembered from her childhood, before everything had gone horribly wrong. Though to her it was sad, a reminder of a life that had been far from perfect, to Cullen it seemed to be soothing, lulling him into accepting his weariness, into letting sleep claim him. She hoped that sleep would be dreamless. And if it wasn't, she'd be here to pick up the pieces and try again. Here, she would stay, at least until morning, gossip and rumor be damned.

Wrapped up in the arms of a man she was fairly sure held her heart in his palm and didn't even know it, it wasn't such a bad way to spend the night. She just hoped he wouldn't regret this in the morning. Everything looked different, in the cold light of day.

[readbookywooks]

9. Someone gives my shoulder a shake and I sit up. I've fallen asleep with my face on the table. The white cloth has left creases on my good cheek. The other, the one that took the lash from Thread, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he's been watching us awhile. "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now," he says. "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running - " I begin. "I know," he says. "There's nothing to explain." I see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. The blue shadows under his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. Couldn't have been long. I think of his agreeing to go with me yesterday, his stepping up beside me to protect Gale, his willingness to throw his lot in with mine entirely when I give him so little in return. No matter what I do, I'm hurting someone. "Peeta - " "Just go to bed, okay?" he says. I feel my way up the stairs, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep at once. At some point, Clove, the girl from District 2, enters my dreams. She chases me, pins me to the ground, and pulls out a knife to cut my face. It digs deeply into my cheek, opening a wide gash. Then Clove begins to transform, her face elongating into a snout, dark fur sprouting from her skin, her fingernails growing into long claws, but her eyes remain unchanged. She becomes the mutta-tion form of herself, the wolflike creation of the Capitol that terrorized us the last night in the arena. Tossing back her head, she lets out a long, eerie howl that is picked up by other mutts nearby. Clove begins to lap the blood flowing from my wound, each lick sending a new wave of pain through my face. I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I'm not supposed to wish, that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol's design, not mine. The swelling around my eye has gone down and I can open it a bit. I push aside the curtains and see the snowstorm has strengthened to a full-out blizzard. There's nothing but whiteness and the howling wind that sounds remarkably like the muttations. I welcome the blizzard, with its ferocious winds and deep, drifting snow. This may be enough to keep the real wolves, also known as the Peacekeepers, from my door. A few days to think. To work out a plan. With Gale and Peeta and Haymitch all at hand. This blizzard is a gift. Before I go down to face this new life, though, I take some time making myself acknowledge what it will mean. Less than a day ago, I was prepared to head into the wilderness with my loved ones in midwinter, with the very real possibility of the Capitol pursuing us. A precarious venture at best. But now I am committing to something even more risky. Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. There will be a knock on the door, like the one last night, a band of Peacekeepers to haul me away. There might be torture. Mutilation. A bullet through my skull in the town square, if I'm fortunate enough to go that quickly. The Capitol has no end of creative ways to kill people. I imagine these things and I'm terrified, but let's face it: They've been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. I've been a tribute in the Games. Been threatened by the president. Taken a lash across my face. I'm already a target. Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It's my job to protect her. I pull the blanket up over my head, and my breathing is so rapid I use up all the oxygen and begin to choke for air. I can't let the Capitol hurt Prim. And then it hits me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. They have chosen her as a tribute, then made her watch her sister fight to the death in the Games. She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue's life. I shove off the blanket and suck in the cold air that seeps through the windowpanes. Prim ... Rue ... aren't they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. It's too late to help Rue, but maybe not too late for those five little faces that looked up at me from the square in District 11. Not too late for Rory and Vick and Posy. Not too late for Prim. Gale is right. If people have the courage, this could be an opportunity. He's also right that, since I have set it in motion, I could do so much. Although I have no idea what exactly that should be. But deciding not to run away is a crucial first step. I take a shower, and this morning my brain is not assembling lists of supplies for the wild, but trying to figure out how they organized that uprising in District 8. So many, so clearly acting in defiance of the Capitol. Was it even planned, or something that simply erupted out of years of hatred and resentment? How could we do that here? Would the people of District 12 join in or lock their doors? Yesterday the square emptied so quickly after Gale's whipping. But isn't that because we all feel so impotent and have no idea what to do? We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don't think I'm that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I'm barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I'm still working hard at even finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I'm so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. How people embrace everything he says. He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I'm sure the idea has never crossed his mind. Downstairs, I find my mother and Prim tending to a subdued Gale. The medicine must be wearing off, by the look on his face. I brace myself for another fight but try to keep my voice calm. "Can't you give him another shot?" "I will, if it's needed. We thought we'd try the snow coat first," says my mother. She has removed his bandages. You can practically see the heat radiating off his back. She lays a clean cloth across his angry flesh and nods to Prim. Prim comes over, stirring what appears to be a large bowl of snow. But it's tinted a light green and gives off a sweet, clean scent. Snow coat. She carefully begins to ladle the stuff onto the cloth. I can almost hear the sizzle of Gale's tormented skin meeting the snow mixture. His eyes flutter open, perplexed, and then he lets out a sound of relief. "It's lucky we have snow," says my mother. I think of what it must be like to recover from a whipping in midsummer, with the searing heat and the tepid water from the tap. "What did you do in warm months?" I ask. A crease appears between my mother's eyebrows as she frowns. "Tried to keep the flies away." My stomach turns at the thought. She fills a handkerchief with the snow-coat mixture and I hold it to the weal on my cheek. Instantly the pain withdraws. It's the coldness of the snow, yes, but whatever mix of herbal juices my mother has added numbs as well. "Oh. That's wonderful. Why didn't you put this on him last night?" "I needed the wound to set first," she says. I don't know what that means exactly, but as long as it works, who am I to question her? She knows what she's doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. "I'm sorry. About screaming at you yesterday." "I've heard worse," she says. "You've seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain." Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it's been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. "Where's Peeta?" I say. "He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn't want to leave his house unattended during the storm," says my mother. "Did he get back all right?" I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. "Why don't you give him a call and check?" she says. I go into the study, a room I've pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta's number. After a few rings he answers. "Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home," I say. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you," he says. "I know, but with the weather and all," I say. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking." There's a long pause. "How's Gale?" "All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now," I say. "And your face?" he asks. "I've got some, too," I say. "Have you seen Haymitch today?" "I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread," he says. "I wanted to talk to - to both of you." I don't dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. "Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down," he says. "Nothing much will happen before that, anyway." "No, nothing much," I agree. It takes two days for the storm to blow itself out, leaving us with drifts higher than my head. Another day before the path is cleared from the Victor's Village to the square. During this time I help tend to Gale, apply snow coat to my cheek, try to remember everything I can about the uprising in District 8, in case it will help us. The swelling in my face goes down, leaving me with an itchy, healing wound and a very black eye. But still, the first chance I get, I call Peeta to see if he wants to go into town with me. We rouse Haymitch and drag him along with us. He complains, but not as much as usual. We all know we need to discuss what happened and it can't be anywhere as dangerous as our homes in the Victor's Village. In fact, we wait until the village is well behind us to even speak. I spend the time studying the ten-foot walls of snow piled up on either side of the narrow path that has been cleared, wondering if they will collapse in on us. Finally Haymitch breaks the silence. "So we're all heading off into the great unknown, are we?" he asks me. "No," I say. "Not anymore." "Worked through the flaws in that plan, did you, sweetheart?" he asks. "Any new ideas?" "I want to start an uprising," I say. Haymitch just laughs. It's not even a mean laugh, which is more troubling. It shows he can't even take me seriously. "Well, I want a drink. You let me know how that works out for you, though," he says. "Then what's your plan?" I spit back at him. "My plan is to make sure everything is just perfect for your wedding," says Haymitch. "I called and rescheduled the photo shoot without giving too many details." "You don't even have a phone," I say. "Effie had that fixed," he says. "Do you know she asked me if I'd like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better." "Haymitch." I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. "Katniss." He mimics my tone. "It won't work." We shut up as a team of men with shovels passes us, headed out to the Victor's Village. Maybe they can do something about those ten-foot walls. And by the time they're out of earshot, the square is too close. We step into it and all come to a stop simultaneously. Nothing much will happen during the blizzard. That's what Peeta and I had agreed. But we couldn't have been more wrong. The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in pristine white uniforms, march on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nests of machine guns. Most unnerving is a line of new constructions - an official whipping post, several stockades, and a gallows - set up in the center of the square. "Thread's a quick worker," says Haymitch. Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their living there. "Haymitch, you don't think everyone was still in- - " I can't finish the sentence. "Nah, they're smarter than that. You'd be, too, if you'd been around longer," he says. "Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare." He trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. "What's he want that for?" Then I realize the answer. "We can't let him drink it. He'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I've got some white liquor put away at home." "Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business," says Peeta. "I need to check on my family." "I have to go see Hazelle." I'm worried now. I thought she'd be on our doorstep the moment the snow was cleared. But there's been no sign of her. "I'll go, too. Drop by the bakery on my way home," he says. "Thanks." I'm suddenly very scared at what I might find. The streets are almost deserted, which would not be so unusual at this time of day if people were at the mines, kids at school. But they're not. I see faces peeking at us out of doorways, through cracks in shutters. An uprising, I think. What an idiot I am. There's an inherent flaw in the plan that both Gale and I were too blind to see. An uprising requires breaking the law, thwarting authority. We've done that our whole lives, or our families have. Poaching, trading on the black market, mocking the Capitol in the woods. But for most people in District 12, a trip to buy something at the Hob would be too risky. And I expect them to assemble in the square with bricks and torches? Even the sight of Peeta and me is enough to make people pull their children away from the windows and draw the curtains tightly. We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. "I couldn't leave her," she says. "I knew Gale'd be in the best possible hands." "Of course," I say. "He's much better. My mother says he'll be back in the mines in a couple of weeks." "May not be open until then, anyway," says Hazelle. "Word is they're closed until further notice." She gives a nervous glance at her empty washtub. "You closed down, too?" I ask. "Not officially," says Hazelle. "But everyone's afraid to use me now." "Maybe it's the snow," says Peeta. "No, Rory made a quick round this morning. Nothing to wash, apparently," she says. Rory wraps his arms around Hazelle. "We'll be all right." I take a handful of money from my pocket and lay it on the table. "My mother will send something for Posy." When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. "You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob." "I'll go with you," he says. "No. I've dragged you into enough trouble," I tell him. "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?" He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't even bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one would try to save it. The heat from the flames melts the surrounding snow and a black trickle runs across my shoes. "It's all that coal dust, from the old days," I say. It was in every crack and crevice. Ground into the floorboards. It's amazing the place didn't go up before. "I want to check on Greasy Sae." "Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them," he says. We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta's father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers' faces. As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don't receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. When the mines reopen, wages are cut, hours extended, miners sent into blatantly dangerous work sites. The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. The installations in the square see plenty of action as people are dragged in and punished for offenses so long overlooked we've forgotten they are illegal. Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can't help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. The hardships in the mines, the tortured bodies in the square, the hunger on the faces of his family. Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can't even speak about, but it's still not enough with the inconsistent availability and the ever-increasing price of food. The only bright spot is, I get Haymitch to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper, resulting in some extra money for her and greatly increasing Haymitch's standard of living. It's weird going into his house, finding it fresh and clean, food warming on the stove. He hardly notices because he's fighting a whole different battle. Peeta and I tried to ration what white liquor we had, but it's almost run out, and the last time I saw Ripper, she was in the stocks. I feel like a pariah when I walk through the streets. Everyone avoids me in public now. But there's no shortage of company at home. A steady supply of ill and injured is deposited in our kitchen before my mother, who has long since stopped charging for her services. Her stocks of remedies are running so low, though, that soon all she'll have to treat the patients with is snow. The woods, of course, are forbidden. Absolutely. No question. Even Gale doesn't challenge this now. But one morning, I do. And it isn't the house full of the sick and dying, the bleeding backs, the gaunt-faced children, the marching boots, or the omnipresent misery that drives me under the fence. It's the arrival of a crate of wedding dresses one night with a note from Effie saying that President Snow approved these himself. The wedding. Is he really planning to go through with it? What, in his twisted brain, will that achieve? Is it for the benefit of those in the Capitol? A wedding was promised, a wedding will be given. And then he'll kill us? As a lesson to the districts? I don't know. I can't make sense of it. I toss and turn in bed until I can't stand it anymore. I have to get out of here. At least for a few hours. My hands dig around in my closet until I find the insulated winter gear Cinna made for me for recreational use on the Victory Tour. Waterproof boots, a snowsuit that covers me from head to toe, thermal gloves. I love my old hunting stuff, but the trek I have in mind today is more suited to this high-tech clothing. I tiptoe downstairs, load my game bag with food, and sneak out of the house. Slinking along side streets and back alleys, I make my way to the weak spot in the fence closest to Rooba the butcher's. Since many workers cross this way to get to the mines, the snow's pockmarked with footprints. Mine will not be noticed. With all his security upgrades, Thread has paid little attention to the fence, perhaps feeling harsh weather and wild animals are enough to keep everyone safely inside. Even so, once I'm under the chain link, I cover my tracks until the trees conceal them for me. Dawn is just breaking as I retrieve a set of bow and arrows and begin to force a path through the drifted snow in the woods. I'm determined, for some reason, to get to the lake. Maybe to say good-bye to the place, to my father and the happy times we spent there, because I know I'll probably never return. Maybe just so I can draw a complete breath again. Part of me doesn't really care if they catch me, if I can see it one more time. The trip takes twice as long as usual. Cinna's clothes hold in the heat all right, and I arrive soaked with sweat under the snowsuit while my face is numb with cold. The glare of the winter sun off the snow has played games with my vision, and I am so exhausted and wrapped up in my own hopeless thoughts that I don't notice the signs. The thin stream of smoke from the chimney, the indentations of recent footprints, the smell of steaming pine needles. I am literally a few yards from the door of the cement house when I pull up short. And that's not because of the smoke or the prints or the smell. That's because of the unmistakable click of a weapon behind me. Second nature. Instinct. I turn, drawing back the arrow, although I know already that the odds are not in my favor. I see the white Peacekeeper uniform, the pointed chin, the light brown iris where my arrow will find a home. But the weapon is dropping to the ground and the unarmed woman is holding something out to me in her gloved hand. "Stop!" she cries. I waver, unable to process this turn in events. Perhaps they have orders to bring me in alive so they can torture me into incriminating every person I ever knew. Yeah, good luck with that, I think. My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It's a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it.