#and she’s often expressed admiration for my mug collection

[romanceyourdemons]

the thing they don’t warn you about transitioning is you’ll go to the thrift store to buy something for your friend’s bridal shower and you’ll be unable to stop yourself from walking out having also bought these for yourself

[ID: a fast & furious t-shirt and a black mug with the words “supernatural playlist” and a list of 24 songs /end ID]

[awanderingdeal]

Happy birthday, Finnegan.

I was writing this in the office at work the other day and my manager asked what I was doing and I answered that I was writing a story for my friend for their birthday because I didn't want to tell her I was writing fanfic. So, in true being friends with Lucy style, this is two days late. Sorry! No matter what, the creation of this character deserves to be celebrated.

This is set in an AU universe where the cubs are out.

CW: Food talk and a brief mention of alcohol

Rating: G

Please message me if I missed any content warnings or you think I need to change the ratings.

All characters (except Bailey, she's mine) belong to @lumosinlove.

“Friday night and the lights are lowwww, Looking out for a place to goooo,” Finn spun around the island, the wooden spoon at his lips providing the perfect microphone for his rendition. He halted in front of Logan, laughing at what he could tell was a disgruntled expression despite most of his face being covered by the hoodie he’d pulled tight around it, his hands covering the bottom half. “It’s my birthday, come and dance with me,” Finn pleaded, tugging at the overhang of Logan’s sleeve.

“Non, it is too early,” Logan grumbled. “Dance with Knutty.”

“Knutty is busy.” Finn threw a glance over his shoulder at Leo, smiling at the sight of his boyfriend humming to himself as he moved gracefully at the stove. Leo turned to meet his gaze, his damp hair forming golden curls that Finn thought made him look like a cherub.

“Here,” Leo tipped his head at the freshly prepared coffee. “Coffee’s ready, you can caffeinate him. Just needs sugar.”

Finn pressed his lips to Logan's forehead. "If bring you coffee will you dance with me after?" Logan huffed but nodded, pushing his hands through the holes in his sleeves to receive the steaming cup.

"Okay, deal, but I'm starting the song again." Finn's grin was met with a low groan. After drawing the drink out as long as he could, technically, Logan did fulfil his promise, standing to reluctantly move his body to the music.

Finn saw the exact moment Logan chose mischief, his bright green eyes lighting up even more than usual. "Catch me and I'll dance with you properly."

Finn raised an eyebrow, matching Logan's fast walk around the island. He was the first to risk Leo's wrath, picking up the speed to a jog, and took advantage of his longer arms to close the gap.

"Got' cha," Finn grasped Logan around the waist, Logan's head tipping back in an uncharacteristically bright laugh as Finn reeled him in. "You are the dancing queen, young and sweet," Finn sang loudly, spinning Logan away from him and pulling him back when their fingertips threatened to split.

Logan placed his palm on Finn's chest, letting himself be rocked to the music. "You should be singing this to Leo, not me."

Finn glanced down at Logan and despite the fact no words were vocalised in that moment, their eyes said a lot. In an almost synchronised moment they turned their gaze to Leo.

"Nutter butter," Finn said. "It's your turn to be serenaded."

"Oh no, what a shame, breakfast is ready," Leo smirked, pouring a generous helping of maple syrup over one of the bagel stacks; Logan's. Finn considered protesting, but the sight of his own plate was too tempting.

"The serenading will recommence at a later time," Finn insisted, grabbing one of the plates and carrying it through to the dining table. They didn't eat here often, preferring either the island or the sofa, but today it had been decorated with balloons and presents had been piled at the end.

***

"That was amazing, thanks Le." Finn already missed the stack of bagels; bacon and a poached egg layered between them, and dripping with hollandaise sauce. "Can I know what you've got planned now?"

"No problem, anything for the birthday boy." Leo swallowed a bite, sliding one of the wrapped boxes towards Finn. "We told you, it's a surprise. You can open presents though."

Finn worked his way through the gifts, too many of them from Leo and Logan. There was nothing extravagant but they seemed endless and each one reminded him how much they knew him. His favourite chapstick. A crate of beer from a craft supplier he really enjoyed. A set of massage oils and a promise to help him use them. Some monogrammed golf balls. And his favourite, a handwritten letter from the both of them that he would treasure forever. He read the cards from the rest of the team through damp eyes.

“Can you tell me the plan now?” Finn asked the question again once he’d worked his way through the gifts and the cards. Logan dragged his lips against his teeth, as if he was physically keeping the words from spilling from his mouth.

“Don’t give us those bambi eyes,” Leo shook his head, throwing a balled up napkin in Logan’s direction, the item hitting him square in the forehead. “Don’t you dare tell him.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I can tell you want to,” Leo retorted. “We have to clear up first. Put the music back on. I want to dance now.” It was much later that Finn came to recognise this for the distraction technique that it was, hence the three of them were arguing over the lyrics to Montero when the sound of the doorbell rang through the apartment.

Finn opened the door, a bounce still in his step and swaying his hips to an imaginary beat. He blinked at the figure in front of him, closing the door for a second before opening again. “Alex!” Finn pulled his brother into a tight hug, slapping his hand on the broad of his back. “Sorry, I thought I was hallucinating. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my baby brother on his birthday, obviously,” Alex laughed, squeezing Finn back until he struggled out of his hold.

“But,” Finn spluttered. “You were in Florida yesterday? I saw your Insta story.”

“I caught the first flight this morning, I’ve got to be back tomorrow for a photoshoot.”

“That’s crazy,” Finn said, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.” He tugged Alex inside, leading him down the hall into the kitchen. “Look who’s here!”

“Hey Alex,” Logan thrust his fist for Alex to bump his fist against. Finn looked between Leo and Logan, both of their faces showing no sign of surprise.

“Did you know?!”

***

It took a while for Leo and Logan to convince Finn they didn’t need to come along and he should spend time with Alex, but now they were alone, he was realising exactly how much he had missed his brother. The conversation flowed easily, Alex having almost an entire lifetime of practise at following Finn’s leaps in topics.

“So, I booked us in for a pottery class,” Alex glanced at Finn briefly before setting his eyes back on the road. “I thought you’d like that. It’s very tactile, y’know?”

“Nice,” Finn grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I hope you brought spare clothes with you, because things are about to get messy.”

It was true. Finn had binge watched The Great Pottery Throw Down, so he knew learning to make even the simplest of things would be more difficult than it looked, but somehow the two of them managed to get the clay everywhere.

“Alex, that's too fast!” Bailey, the instructor warned, but it was too late. The clay sloped to the side, thinning out as it flew off the wheel and hit Finn on the cheek.

“Oops,” Alex grimaced. “Sorry, bud.”

Finn sent a mock scowl in his brother’s direction as he peeled the clay from his skin, dumping it back on Alex’s wheel. However, O’Hara’s were nothing if not perfectionists, and the two of them were determined to create something good. Neither of their first bowls came out right; Finn’s was too tall and thin, Alex’s was short and thick. When they tried again, Finn overcorrected, creating something that resembled Alex’s first. Alex’s second attempt was going well until it spontaneously collapsed.

“Third time’s the charm,” Alex huffed, manipulating his clay back into a lump to try again. He was right, giving a triumphant smile as he watched the grey ball transform. His work wasn’t as good as the ones filling the shelves opposite, their price tags indicative of the skill that had gone into them, but it was relatively smooth and definitely a bowl.

Finn whistled through his teeth, admiring Alex’s work. He laughed as he looked down at his own third endeavour, a small stumpy thing that could perhaps hold five Cheetos. “I tried.”

“Hey, no,” Alex argued. “Give it another go if you want. You’re nearly there.”

Finn rolled his shoulders back, pursuing his lips with determination. Alex watched Finn push his foot on the pedal again, his elbows tucked into his torso as he worked the clay.

“That’s it, apply a little more pressure on the bottom than the top.” Alex encouraged him. Finn smiled, his brother was always his biggest supporter. It reminded him of the time Alex had watched him tie and re-tie his shoelaces over and over again until he’d finally mastered it and could prove to their parents that he was ready for that new pair of sneakers.

“I guess I’m not needed here,” Bailey joked. “ You’re looking good, Finn. How about you two wash up and I’ll get those mugs you wanted to paint. We’ll get these in the kiln later and they’ll be ready for collection in a few days.”

Painting the mugs was a much more relaxing process, both Finn and Alex decorating two mugs each, one for each of their partners. Bailey sat with them and Finn watched in awe as she quickly made stencils whenever they needed assistance getting the designs in their heads onto the ceramic. By the time they’d finished, the three of them had come up with an elaborate plan for Alex to get back at his team mate for filling his hotel room with balloons and Finn concluded that Bailey was the coolest person ever.

“Damn,” Alex glanced at his phone. “It’s nearly 4. Let’s get you back to your boys before I start getting threatening messages from Tremblay.”

“Trust me,” Finn snorted. “It’s Knutty you need to be scared of.”

“Crazy goalies, am I right?”

***

“Wait, why are we at the aquarium?”

“You’ll see.” Alex’s smirk was infuriating. Finn craned his head forward, excitement bubbling inside him. Alex rolled his eyes as the engine rumbled to a stop. “Go on then,” he said, tilting his head towards a modern looking building, all glass and sharp angles.

“You’re coming as well?” Finn asked when Alex slid out the car too, locking the sleek black rental behind him. “Not that I mind.I just thought you had a flight to get?”

Alex shook his head. “ No, I’m not staying for long. I want to see your reaction though.”

“My reaction to what? We all know I love the aquarium but I’m not going to explode or anything.”

“I told you, you’ll see.” There was that smirk again.

Finn held in the urge to stamp his foot. “Urgh! You’re so annoying.”

“Love you too,” Alex laughed, pushing through a set of tall glass doors. A sarcastic quip rested on Finn’s tongue, but it shattered as he looked up to see Leo and Logan waiting in the entrance, backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“Lo! Knutty!” Finn jogged the short distance, “I missed you.”

“Glad to know I’m such good company,” Alex deadpanned.

“It’s only been a few hours,” Leo chuckled, accepting Finn’s hug. Finn smiled, lifting his head for Leo to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah, we went to this pottery studio, and then we got burgers and shakes like we used to when we were kids,” Finn nodded. Oh! I made you something.” He turned to Alex who had stepped into place beside him, holding his hands out. Alex grunted, but pulled the tote bag from his shoulder, placing two carefully wrapped items into his hands. “Open it!”

“Alright, give us a chance, Harz,” Logan laughed, tearing at the delicate tissue. Leo was much more methodical, peeling back the layers neatly enough the paper could probably be re-used.

“Did you do this?” Leo looked between the mug and Finn. He ran his fingers over the shiny glaze, a dark blue with tiny white stars scattered over. Inside, a moon phase created a border around the rim.

“I didn’t make the mug. We made bowls, but they won’t be ready for collection for a few days. I did paint it though. With some help from stencils. There’s a little note in the paper somewhere.”

“I couldn’t bring you the real ones, but hopefully these will do,” Leo read, his voice cracking slightly towards the end of the sentence. “Finn.”

Logan whined, the sound curling in the back of his throat. “It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to give us things.” The mug he held had been painted white and the words ‘sweet like honey’ written over it in Finn’s neatest attempt at cursive along with several bees.

“Do you like it?” Finn rocked on his feet and Alex knocked their shoulders together, a small gesture of reassurance. “Look it’s you,” he pointed out a bee that had a small red cap on its head. The French left Logan’s mouth so quickly Finn couldn’t even begin to parse the words, let alone make any sort of effort to translate them.

“He’s mad that you are making him emotional in public,” Leo provided at Finn’s distressed frown.

“Aww, you do like it,” Finn grinned, wrapping his arms around Logan.

“Be careful! You’re going to break it.”

Alex cleared his throat. “As beautiful as this is, I’m going to have to go soon, so if we could do the big reveal?”

“Alex,” Finn almost growled. “I swear I will phone Nat - wait, what big reveal?”

Leo swung a backpack off his shoulder. Finn only now realised he was carrying two, one of which belonged to Finn. “We’re staying at the aquarium!”

“Well, yeah? Why else would we be here?”

“Non, Harzy, “ Logan laughed. “We’re sleeping at the aquarium. Overnight. Under the shark tunnel to be precise.”

“Oh my fucking God!” Finn couldn’t contain his grin as pulled Leo into the hug too, “Is this a joke? This better not be a joke.”

“Fish, there are children around,” Leo scolded. “And no, it’s not a joke. That would be mean.”

Finn let his boyfriends go, spinning around to face Alex. “Al, are you sure you don’t want to stay? This is going to be so cool!”

“I really have got to go soon,” Alex shrugged, a soft smile on his lips. He jerked his head in Logan’s direction. “Somebody count how many times Finn screams though, please.”

***

“Look!” Finn gasped, pointing up at the glass tunnel above where the three of them lay in their sleeping bags. “It’s a nurse shark.”

Logan rolled over, propping himself on his elbow and looking at Leo. “We’re not getting any sleep tonight are we?”

“I don’t think so.” Leo chuckled, shaking his head. He pointed to the tunnel. “What’s the weird looking one, Fish?”

“That’s a wobbegong, they blend into the sand,” Finn answered, curling into Leo’s side. Logan lay back down behind him, having offered Finn the middle spot for tonight. “This has been the best birthday,” he sighed happily.

“Happy birthday, Harzy,” Logan squeezed his hand through the layers of their bags. “Tell us more about the sharks.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

The Cup

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: a monogrammed mug might be the thing that exposes your relationship with Peter to the Avengers when there’s a strict “no dating” rule being enforced

Warnings: I’m sorry if your first, middle, or last name begins with a “p”. Also this gif is a total spoiler with no context for this story

Masterlist

There was a rule in the Avengers tower: Avengers were absolutely not allowed to date each other. It was a stupid but reasonable rule, considering Nat and Bruce’s relationship had caused fights, tears, and chaos until dating among Avengers was inevitably banned, exactly three years before you and Peter joined the team.

Peter had been an Avenger for eight months before you came along. In that time, he'd become good friends with the other Avengers, or at least that’s what he told Ned. Peter was regarded as more of a son among the Avengers, never really seen as an equal. Before you, Peter was teased daily for his intelligence and bad habit of spewing out scientific facts no body asked for. Whenever he started going off on the theory of momentum or how a star was formed, a collective groan could be heard from Earths mightiest heroes. He would laugh it off and stop telling his fact, but it stung a little more each time it happened. But keep in mind, that was before you. 

You took a breath and entered the elevator. You smoothed your shirt with your hands and folded your lips into your mouth. You were surprisingly nervous, expecting the other Avengers to look down on you for being younger. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, you heard a voice call out.

"Hold the door please." The voice said. They sounded frantic so you quickly stuck your hand in the door so it wouldn't close. To your surprise, a dark haired boy around your age got onto the elevator with you. He was slightly out of breath from running and his curls were going in every direction. You could feel your face heat up and smiled shyly at him. He smiled back.

"Thanks for holding the door." He said once the elevator started going up.

"No problem." You answered. You already had butterflies in your tummy from your new job, and the adorable guy riding in the elevator with you didn't help.

"How come I've never seen you before?" He asked. You were pleasantly surprised that he had kept the conversation going.

"Today's my first day. I'm the newest Avenger.” You explained and he nodded.

"Well it's nice to meet you, newest Avenger." The boy said, extending his hand for you to shake. You prayed your palms weren't sweaty and firmly shook his hand.

"Thanks. And it's Y/n.” You told him. He smiled upon hearing your name as he realized it’s was his new favorite name.

“I’m Peter.” Peter told you. “I’m really glad to see you joining the Avengers. You have no idea how desperately we need more girls on the team. Last week, Nat wasn’t here and Bucky and Sam got tied in a knot. No one could pull them apart until she got back.” Peter blew out a breath as he remembered the incident. “Plus, it’s nice to have someone my age.” He added shyly.

From then on, you loved Peter.

“I’m actually really glad to see you too. I thought all the Avengers were gonna be older than me.” You said with relief. “I’m glad I got to talk to you, Peter. It's nice to have a friend on my first day." You said as you walked out of the elevator together.

"Yeah. Friends." Peter smiled widely.

You did not stay friends long.

The day you joined the team, the Avengers were getting ready to go on a mission involving a creature who liked to hop between earths and cause chaos. You sat quietly in the corner of the quintet and watched everyone interact. You didn’t add anything to the conversation, but laughed and smiled where necessary. You felt pretty invisible but you were okay with that for the time being. It was your first day and you didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. You were perfectly content with staying silent until Peter started going on about a multiverse.

“I can’t believe there’s actually a multiverse. Ive always read about them, but I never imagined it being real. This means there’s a universe out there where I’m stronger than Captain America.” Peter said excitedly.

“Doubtful.” Steve cut in.

“I mean, can you guys believe this? This creature can just hop to different universes as it pleases.” Peter went on. “I thought that was just theoretical. I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work-“

“Peter, you’re doing it again.” Sam sighed.

“Sorry.” Peter shrunk down in his seat, a look of hurt appearing on his face when he noticed the annoyed look on the Avengers faces. You noticed the look too and frowned.

“He does this a lot. You’ll learn to tune it out.” Bucky said to you.

“It’s just really cool. We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work-“ Peter said sheepishly before Sam cut him off.

“Peter! I’m sorry, he’s-“ Sam began the explain.

“Wait.” You cut him off and looked at Peter. “Let him finish.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“What?” Peter asked in confusion, as no one had ever taken interest in him before.

“I want to hear the rest.” You said seriously. “What were you saying Peter?”

“I was just wondering how the multiverse worked with all the quantum realms. This has got to affect the space-time continuum in some way. That’s all.”

“That’s really cool, Peter. You’re really smart.” You said sincerely. You didn’t like the way his intelligence was treated as a nuisance with the other Avengers. You definitely isn’t like the sad look that crossed his face when they told him to stop. You just wanted to make him feel good.

“Thank you.” Peter said, in a little disbelief that you actually cared.

“No problem, Peter.” You smiled.

You ignored the shocked looks from the rest of the Avengers, or maybe you just didn’t see them. You and Peter looked at each other from across the jet and you winked at him.

You found Peter the next day sparing with a hologram. The hologram was much larger than Peter, but Peter was clearly winning the fight. You noticed Peters eyes darting around as he looked like he was figuring something out in his head. You didn’t want to interrupt, but you were too curious not to ask.

“What are you doing, Peter?” You asked him.

“I’m figuring out the momentum of his swings so I can match his force and overpower him even though he’s bigger than me. My mask usually does it but I’m practicing doing it myself incase my mask breaks during a battle.” Peter explained as he continued fighting.

“So you’re doing all that math in your head?” You asked in admiration.

“Yeah. It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.” Peter shrugged, watching you carefully to see if you were actually interested or just teasing him. “But sometimes I forget to carry the one.”

“And all the Avengers just watch you do this and see it as normal? No one says “wow Peter, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen” or anything?” You wondered.

“Uh, no. Not really.” Peter said.

“Well, Peter.” You laughed. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

From then on, Peter loved you.

Three weeks later, Peter kissed you in the training room when no one else was around. He tasted like Gatorade and mint and heaven.

Six months later, you were in love. You were spending every waking moment together, and by default, loving every waking moment together. There was never a time when he was more than 10 feet away, and that was how you liked it. From sparring to movie dates in Mr. Starks home theater to making burnt cookies for the rest of the Avengers, you were inseparable. The only problem was, you couldn't tell anyone that they were together.

The rule still stood and you worried if anyone found out, you’d be kicked off the team. This lead to secret hand holding under the table and quick kisses when no one was looking. It was an okay system, but it wasn’t great. Peter was dying to tell the other Avengers that he was dating you. All the men on the team had taken quite a liking to you. They were never disrespectful, but your beauty and abilities often came up when you weren’t around and the telling smiles that crossed their faces made Peter a little angry. He knew it wasn't their fault, but he couldn’t shake the jealousy. You were stunning and they had no idea you were taken. If the guys knew you were his girlfriend, they'd back off immediately. But, no one was allowed to know.

One hectic morning, your alarm didn't wake you up. You’d never actually set your alarm, because you’d fallen asleep in Peters bed while watching a movie together. You were still at his apartment at 7:13 when you had to be at the tower at 7:30 for a meeting. Peter was nowhere to be found, and you assumed he let you sleep because he thought your alarm was set. You rushed to get ready, grabbing whatever shirt you could find, which happened to be one of Peters button downs, and threw on some pants. Rushing into the kitchen, you found Peter with two cups of coffee already made and a small smile on his face. You sighed in relief that he was all ready to go and gave him a kiss, longer than you were accustomed too since no one was around. You grabbed your cup of coffee and headed out.

Once in the tower, you sat at the conference table and took a deep breath. You had gotten to the meeting on time, walking in a few minutes after each other so it wouldn't be suspicious. You took a big sip of your coffee when something caught your eye. Specifically, the giant red "P” on the front on the cup.

Luckily, Peter was sitting directly across from you. You snapped your fingers harshly to get his attention. Peter looked up at you and smiled, his smile quickly fading when he saw your angry expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked. You said nothing, instead, just held up your cup. Peter grimaced when he realized his mistake.

“Oops. Just trade cups with me. It's fine." He assured you. You quickly switched cups and you relaxed as the other Avengers walked in.

"Did you hear from Bruce? I think he said he was gonna be late.” Peter asked you to look like you were having a normal, platonic, conversation.

"I don’t think so. I’ll check if he texted- Oh God you freaking idiot." You deadpanned the last part as you stared at your cup.

"What? What's wrong now?" Peter asked, confused by your seemingly uncalled for insult. You again said nothing, but just held up your cup. This time, there was an even bigger, purple "P” on the front. Peter bit his lip.

"Oops." He repeated. “Nice shirt, by the way.” He smirked. You looked down and realized you were wearing his shirt in addition to drinking from his cup. Your day could not get any worse.

"Oops? Is that all you have to say?" You asked in a harsh whisper.

“Y/n, its fine. No ones gonna notice." Peter said calmly.

"You think they won't notice the giant purple "P” on my cup? My name is Y/n L/n. There's no "P” in that!" You exclaimed. You continuously checked to see if anyone was listening as you scolded Peter.

"You can say the “P” is for your middle name." Peter suggested as he took a sip of his coffee from your matching cups.

"My middle name is Y/m/n.” You whined, knowing his plan wouldn’t work.

"Really? That's so pretty." Peter said with delighted surprise.

"That's not the point, Peter.” You groaned. “The point is, if I'm caught drinking from a cup that has an initial other than my own, namely your initial, people are gonna get suspicious."

“Or, consider this. Close your eyes, manifest with me.” Peter said as he shut his eyes. “No one will care."

"I'm already wearing your shirt, which means I smell like your cologne. Now, I have a cup with your initial on it. Someone is gonna put two and two together." You panicked.

"Or, consider this, really manifest with me this time. I didn’t see you manifest before, no one will care." He said again with an innocent smile.

"Why couldn't you given me any other cup? And why do you own so many monogrammed cups?" You inquired.

"You're blowing this out of proportion. It's no big deal. No one will even notice." Peter repeated. You wondered how he was so calm when your jobs were at stake.

"Hey, Y/n. What's that “P” stand for on your cup?" Tony asked as soon as he entered the room. You shot Peter a look that made him shrink into his seat.

"Who cares? No one will notice! It’s just a cup! No need to get jazzed up about it.” You said sarcastically, catching the attention of the other Avengers.

"Oh, I'm the one who's jazzed? You're freaking out over a cup." Peter retorted, in full volume now.

"Speaking of the cup, why is there a “P” on it?" Sam asked, pointing the cup out so everyone could see it. You couldn’t help the loud groan that escaped your mouth.

"It stands for panda.” Peter blurted. “Y/n loves pandas.” You looked at Peter with a lethal glare.

"Why wouldn't you just buy a cup with a panda on it?” Bucky chimed in. You shrugged and looked at Peter.

"That's a great question, James. Peter, why don't you answer?" You said with a fake smile.

"Because Y/n likes to be unique." Peter explained meekly.

"Does the "P” on your cup also stand for panda?” Sam asked Peter. Peter looked down at his cup and sighed.

"It sure does". He said weakly.

"Interesting. I would've guessed the "P” stood for “Peter” or “Parker”, since you two are clearly dating. But I guess I was wrong." Sam shrugged casually as you and Peter froze.

"You know that we're dating?" You asked in shock.

"The whole team knows.” Steve cut in as if it were obvious. You looked around the room and everyone just shrugged as of to confirm Steve’s words.

"But what about the rule?" Peter asked, dumbfounded.

"That rule hasn't been effective for months. I stopped enforcing it last January.” Tony laughed as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"What? How come no one told us?" You asked.

"Because if you knew, there'd be non-stop PDA and none of us wanted that." Nat answered.

“So you let us think we were keeping it a secret for six months?” Peter demanded.

“Secret? Did you think none of us noticed that Peter became left handed six months ago so he could hold your hand with his right one under the table?” Tony pointed out.

“We all knew, we just didn’t care. We’re happy for you guys.” Steve smiled again you.

“Oh.” You said. “Thanks guys.”

“You’re welcome.” Tony answered. “Just keep the PDA to a minimum. I don’t want any spider babies around running here.”

Seven years later, you and Peter were married just a few miles from the Avengers tower.

After the ceremony, you sat in the kitchen while Peter finished bringing in the wedding gifts.

“I have one last gift for you, Mrs. Parker.” Peter came from behind you and kissed your cheek, setting a small gift box down on the table in front of you. You opened it up, finding a mug with a script “P” on the front. You laughed at the sight, remembering the incident in the conference room all those years ago.

“There. Now you do have a “P” initial. You can use this with no questions asked.” Peter said with pride.

“I love it.” You told him honestly. You smiled and made some coffee, just so you could use your new cup.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @foreverxholland​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​  @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​ @loveat2am​ @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @delicately-important-trash​ @mjspxrker @spideygirl2003​ @the-crazy-fanfictionist​ @kii-mii​ @maryjanee23​ @spacebitch2​ @vgiselle​ @geeksareunique​

[bella-caecilia]

Would love a prompt 22. I know you mainly write for Cobert but it would make my day if you could write this one for Chelsie! Any time period is fine by me but I'd like the idea of him taking care of her for a change :)

Thank you for prompting me! This is my first drabble for Chelsie and I’m quite excited. I hope you like how it turned out! It’s set between the series and the film. And yes, seeing Charles taking care of Elsie is definitely something we need to see more of…

22 – kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Charles stood in the kitchen of their cottage, and waited for the water in the kettle to boil. His brow was furrowed and his fingers tipped absentmindedly on the wooden kitchen counter. His mind drifted back to yesterday afternoon.

He’d been busy sorting out the planting of the potatoes. The mild breeze of spring air had elated him and he’d started humming a low tune. He’d relished in the easiness of the day that also filled his chest. The family was away at Brancaster castle, so Elsie had less work at hand at the Abbey. She’d come home to the cottage early yesterday and he’d seen her approach from afar. The sun had still been up in the sky and the light had played around her familiar form. He’d paused his work and observed her softly while still standing in the patch. When she’d been near enough, he’d been able to spot the gentle smile that grazed her lips. Unknowingly he’d returned it.

The whistling of the kettle shook him out of his reverie. He poured the water into the prepared teapot and set the kettle back down. He leaned on the kitchen counter with both hands and delayed his departure upstairs as his thoughts returned to yesterday.

She had insisted on helping him with the planting. He had not objected; why should he? She knew where he kept all the tools and seeds and only asked a few questions, wanting to know what he needed assistance with. He told her to get the rest of the early potatoes that were still in the shed. With a nod, she complied and turned to approach their small shed. He caught a whiff of her subtle fragrance as she turned around. He halted in his movements for a moment without turning to her retreating figure. Elsie was modest in all her ways. She knew her worth and stood her ground and he admired her peaceful confidence. But as confident as she was, so was she modest. She didn’t realise how sweet her scent, how warm her smile, how elegant her posture was. She said it was nonsense and flattery when he tried to make her see it, but he often could spot a slight upturn of her lips as he said things like this.

Suddenly he heard her muffled yell from the shed. There was a muttered “Damn!” accompanied by the clatter of boxes.

“Elsie?” he stopped in his tracks and wiped his earthy hands on his trousers.

“Is everything alright?” he approached the opened shed.

“Oh, yes. Don’t you worry,” her voice erupted from behind a shelf of working tools. When he rounded the corner, he could see her kneeling on the ground and collecting the potatoes that were rolling across the floor. She lifted her gaze and met his eyes, an apologetic expression on her face.

“I’m such a clumsy fellow,” she shook her head and reached for a potato underneath the shelf. He saw how her face contorted wincingly.

“Elsie? What is it?” there was alarm in his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she played it down and was about to rise from the floor as a yelp escaped her and she flinched. “Well, I just stumbled across these boxes and I might have caught some bruises,” she added defeated.

He helped her to get up and assessed her state while holding her upper arms gently.

“Maybe it’s enough work for today,” he suggested. And so, they went inside. She was right about the bruises. Her shins and forearms were covered with blotches and Charles was shocked at the nonchalant manner in which she played down her injuries. It made him think of the other times she’d said things like “Don’t make a fuss” or “It’s no big deal”. How often had she suffered in silence? He confined her to the bed and she rolled her eyes at it. But when she didn’t argue the next morning when he said, perhaps it was best she stayed home this day, he got worried more seriously. He brought her a small breakfast to bed and could still hear the warm giggle she let out at his soft gesture. She dozed off afterwards, so he decided to use the time to prepare her some tea.

He took the pot and made his way upstairs. The staircase was flooded with sunlight because the door to their bedroom was opened and allowed the daylight to shine into the often dark staircase. He heaved a deep breath and went up the stairs with the steaming pot and a mug. His light surroundings lifted his spirits and he was delighted to see his wife any moment. He didn’t see her much during the day since he’d retired, so it was special to have her around. He stepped into their room and saw that she was awake again. He smiled at her snuggled form.

“How do you feel? I made you some tea,” he spoke softly but his baritone carried easily through the room.

“I’m fine, but some tea would be nice,” she answered in a low voice and tried to sit up. Charles set down the tea service and lunged forwards to help her. She didn’t object and he saw the blue patches on her forearm.

“Does it still hurt?” his eyes bore into hers and his eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose.

“It’s nasty,” she admitted and he took her arm with careful gestures examining it. When he lowered his lips to her bruises, her eyes widened in surprise. He was so gentle that she sighed every time his warm lips met her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered between kisses.

“What?” she furrowed her brow. “It’s not your fault!”

“But I’m so, so sorry…” He lifted the blanket and pushed up her nightgown lightly to inspect her shins. The blue marks were prominent. He leaned down to press kisses there too.

“Charlie!” Elsie exclaimed and her laughter rang through the room. He looked up to her and saw her amused expression. If it helped put her in a light mood, he would continue these gestures all day long.

[orangerosebush]

Sitting on the branches of my family tree

[ao3 link]

Artemis was currently sitting alone in the kitchen at three in the morning. He didn’t quite know when he’d officially decided he wasn’t going up to bed, but one way or another he had found himself sitting in the gloom of the downstairs.

The room was dim, as Butler had turned off the hall lights before he’d retired for the evening sometime late the previous night. The only thing illuminating the kitchen was the faint, warm glow of the metal hot plate that was keeping the water in the kettle at a low boil.

Artemis frowned. He looked down at the cup of earl grey he’d been nursing for the past half hour. Probably too cold to enjoy properly at this point, he sighed.

Faint ripples formed in what tea remained at the bottom of the mug, and he furrowed his brow. That was odd. Straining his ears, he glanced at the entrance to the kitchen apprehensively.

Sure enough, coming slowly down the grand staircase was Juliet. Artemis blinked, eyes flickering back to the old clock on the wall.

Interesting.

“Either you’re up extraordinarily early,” he remarked as she tried to slink into the kitchen as quietly as she could. “Or you’ve stayed up rather late.”

Anyone else would’ve jumped at such a surprise, but Juliet merely tensed. Years of the Blue Diamond training program had left her with nerves of steel.

Turning to face him slowly, she gave him an appraising look.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

“Hello,” he responded, amused.

Silence settled over the room.

“I always suspected that you stalked around the house at night, Artemis,” she snorted after a moment. “Relaxing too much a waste of your time?”

“You make me out to be almost sinister, Juliet. I’m afraid this is just a rather mundane example of my insomnia flaring up,” he waved her off, getting up to move to the stove top. “Do you want any of the tea I was making?”

She took a seat on one of the barstools by the main table. “Tea? If you’re either constantly on a caffeine drip or are staring at a screen all the time, then I don’t think you have insomnia. You’re just a workaholic.”

“Clinically so,” Artemis murmured, flicking off the burner. “I take it you don’t want any, then?” he called out over his shoulder.

“Nah, I want some — I’ll take whatever you have that’s decaf and fruity,” she crossed her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them.

He wrinkled his nose, taking the kettle off the burner to pour the steaming water into his cup. Opening the cabinet above the stove, he reached for another cup, the cool china of the mug soothing against his skin. He placed a tea bag at the bottom of the new cup, watching a vibrant ruby diffuse through the water as the tea steeped. In contrast, his earl grey was a richer color, almost caramel.

Fingers curling around the warmth of the cups, he brought the two mugs over to the table. Juliet perked up, reaching for her cup. She let the steam waft up, coiling around her face, and she smiled warmly, closing her eyes.

“It smells like strawberries.”

Artemis took a sip of his earl grey. “It most likely has some strawberry in it. It’s the berry mix that Barry’s carries. The box is described as a refreshing blend of ‘red’ berries,” he made air-quotes.

“I can certainly taste the red, so I’d give it full marks,” she held it up approvingly, putting on what Artemis assumed was meant to be a parody of his affectation.

“On your way to being a tea sommelier, I see.”

“Mayhaps . Also, yours better be decaf,” she shot a pointed look at his cup.

“You’re hardly in the position to speak about maintaining good sleep habits — you were wandering about the halls as well,” he reminded her, deliberately taking another sip of his tea.

She flushed. “I was asleep. It’s not my fault I woke up and wanted to stretch my legs. Also, you’re not wandering if you’re walking about with purpose.”

“Did Ko tell you that?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Nope. I heard it from some pageant mum during the tryouts for the Miss Sugar Beet Fair.”

“In what context?”

“I caught her nicking stuff from the other ladies’ purses in the cubby area,” she remarked airily.

Surprised, he laughed. “I admire her panache. Very Fowl-esque of her.”  

“You can’t trademark being a conman that puts on airs, Artemis,” she rolled her eyes. “Mulch does the same shit, and I’m pretty sure he’s been around for at least three generations of Fowls.”

“I would disagree,” he stirred his tea. “At the risk of sounding egotistical, Diggums falls more into the category of being a petty crook than he does into the category of being a criminal mastermind.”

“Oh, really? We can ask him which one of us he agrees with if you want, Artemis,” she leaned forward, smug. “He’s been squatting in the cellar for about a month now.”

Artemis sighed. “I’ve been trying to actually catch a glimpse of him down there so that I can tell him to leave,” he said glumly. “I know he’s down there siphoning wine out of the casks, but he’ll surely argue that I’m just going mad if I attempt to kick him out over a phone call.”

“I thought you said he was just a petty crook,” she widened her eyes. “Shouldn’t a ‘criminal mastermind’ be able to handle evicting some random—“

“You’ve made your point,” he huffed.

“Gotcha!” she grinned.    

“Congratulations, Juliet, on successfully defending Mulch’s no doubt fragile self-esteem. I have no idea how he would manage to enjoy our vintages were he to know I referred to his escapades as ‘petty’.”  

Juliet shrugged. “Eh, wine is wine at the end of the day. You don’t even drink , Artemis.”

“Not all wine is created equal,” he argued, steepling his fingers. Sensing he was gearing up to give a spiel, Juliet huffed.

“Take for example the ‘87 Merlot — a wine which I suspect he has already sampled in excess,” Artemis began. “To call it a work of art would be to sell it short. Mulch is free to skim off the top of some of the lesser vintages, but I would appreciate if he would stay away from the quality wines that make up our rather expensive collection in the cellar.” Artemis sniffed, lazily swirling the remains of his tea.

Juliet snorted, resting her chin on her palm. “Nice speech. I was very moved by the ‘work of art’ bit.”

At this, the sides of Artemis’ mouth quirked upwards. “I have to defend it on principle. It was produced in an odd year, after all. Those always produce the best grapes.”

The young Butler rolled her shoulders a bit, her weight shifting in the chair as she stretched. Reaching up, her right hand tucked back a loose strand of hair that had fallen out of the messy bun she’d put her hair up in before bed. “That sounds like rich bullshit. No way.”

Artemis snickered, bowing his head in concession. “You’re right. It is.”

Juliet grinned. “Knew it. Where’d you hear that bit about the odd versus even years?”

He leaned back in his chair, his grip tight on the fading warmth of his cup. “Oh, it would’ve been a while ago. I thought it was so funny when I first heard about that rule,” he smiled fondly. “The Abbey Theatre was running Six Degrees of Separation. I remember pleading with mother to take me to see one of the performances — the press had just run a piece calling it obscene — and eventually, she relented. I was probably the youngest person in the theatre that night,” he chuckled.

As if lost in the memory, Artemis closed his eyes, his expression pensive. “There was one scene where the character Paul, a conman, was leading a young man around New York City. They went to the Rainbow Room to dine, and Paul told his companion that there was a secret trick rich people use when ordering wine: universally, the wines produced in the odd years are considered to be better. I remember there were titters in the audience —wine tasting is often based more on evaluating a bottle through a formula of factors than it is about the taste, and even the couples with cellars filled with vintages worth thousands of euros could have a bit of a laugh at that.”

Artemis opened his eyes, the whites flashing in the dim light. “But you see, it’s not a commonly held belief that odd year vintages taste better than even years. He’d made the rule up.”

Juliet blinked. “So?” she furrowed her brow. “It sounds close enough to some of the stuff I’ve heard people say about wine at the parties your mum throws.”

“True, but it wasn’t even one of the myths about wine!” Artemis leaned forward earnestly. “That night, the actor playing Paul said this particular line so assuredly that you believed he’d heard this straight from the mouth of an old money wine aficionado — at that moment, his compatriot melted away,  and we replaced him. Paul had turned his charm on the audience, stringing us all along,” his voice became quiet.

Tilting his head so that he was gazing at Juliet directly,  Artemis opened his mouth as if to say something before he closed it, frowning slightly. Worrying the inside of his cheek, he tried to formulate his next sentence. He almost chuckled at that. It wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words.

“Sometimes… sometimes I hear someone at a restaurant jump a little too quickly to choose the odd-year wine,”  he said finally. “Sometimes, I hear what sounds like a touch of smugness in a couple’s tone when they turn down an even-year vintage. It’s possible I’m imagining it, but I do wonder. I wonder now and then if they saw that play — maybe not on that night, maybe not in that theatre — and believed. ”

With that, Artemis sighed, finally placing his teacup gently on the table. By now, the smooth surface of the china was cool to the touch.

Juliet let one of her hands fall from her chin to the table, flexing her fingers in thought. “You know,” she began slowly. “I think I’ve seen a bit of Six Degrees.”

Artemis started, shoulders rising. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I’m pretty sure. I think they made it into a movie a while back. Will Smith was in it.”

Artemis stared at Juliet in silence, blinking owlishly. “Did… did you like it?”

Juliet puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, thinking for a moment. “Actually,” she began after a moment, locking eyes with Artemis. “I can’t remember.”

That was all it took.

The floodgates were released, and the pair was wracked with laughter.

Artemis couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard that tears had welled in his eyes. He snorted, wiping the wetness on his cheeks away with the palm of his hand.

“You should really be getting to bed,” he said after they’d sobered, crossing his arms on top of the table. Juliet scrunched her face up, stretching in her seat.

“I’m not tired,” she protested.

Artemis cocked his head curiously. “We’ve both been up since sunrise yesterday,” he pointed out. “The skyline is already starting to light up along the water by the cliffs. I know Madame Ko trained you to work during the most extenuating of circumstances, but surely you do need to sleep every now and again.”

“God —you’re such a hypocrite sometimes, you know that?” she prodded his arm with a finger, and he almost winced. “And I wasn’t up since yesterday, okay?” she added, almost as an afterthought.  

He rubbed his shoulder. “Apologies.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Of course. Surely you weren’t on the phone with your girlfriend from your old wrestling troupe who is around, oh, six hours or so behind our time zone.”

Juliet’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Shut up, Artemis,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. “Who even told you about her? Was it Dom?”

Artemis shrugged good-naturedly, refusing to comment. She shot him a withering look, finally dragging her hands away from her face.

“… Practice got out late. Sam forgot that a late practice over there is… early over here.”

“And you picked up the phone when she called anyway? So romantic. What a prophetic name you have, Juliet,” he grinned, and she flushed deeper.  

“I’m not letting someone who skulks around in the dark snark about my long-distance relationship,” Juliet crossed her arms, and it was Artemis’ turn to be defensive.

“I’ve explicitly told you already that I was not ‘skulking’.”

She laughed at that, and the light of the nascent sunrise made it seem as though parts of her blond hair were lit up by a fiery reddish-gold, Artemis thought. Some people were meant to be seen in sunlight, others in the moonlight — Juliet was well suited to the warm light of dawn, a light still full of reds, pinks, and oranges.

Juliet must have noticed he’d been staring, as she softened.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you’re always thinking so hard,” she said offhandedly. Artemis ignored the lump forming in his throat.

“I’m afraid ‘thinking hard’, as you put it, is what I’m built to do.”

She locked her gaze on him, frowning.

“You can think as much as you want during the day, Artemis,” she reminded him lightly, finally leaning back. “Holing yourself up until you finally have some big breakthrough can very easily turn into pushing people away, and you know it.”

“Ah,” he winced. “I assume that was a thinly-veiled reference to my sending your brother away to Cancún?”

Whether tired or just exasperated, Juliet ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, genius. Sometimes you’ve gotta slow down a bit so that we can all catch up with you. Especially Dom. The Cancún stuff nearly killed him, you know?”

He winced. “I know. I shouldn’t have used you as a way to manipulate — I shouldn’t have resorted to manipulating your brother at all,” he amended. “I let my paranoid mind get the better of me, as you said.”

“It doesn’t make it okay, but it wasn’t totally your fault,” she shook her head. “That’s what made it hurt more for him, in the end. He left to go to me in Cancún even though he knew something was… off with you because he thought I was in danger. Domovoi came after me because he thought his baby sister was in trouble,” she snorted at that. “But it still took the ‘worst case scenario’ to get him to leave you in the first place.”

She fixed him in her gaze. “Even at your lowest point, you knew on some level that it would take an emergency to get him to abandon you when you were hurt, Artemis. Lurking around the house at night so that you can drive yourself up the wall without anyone telling you to knock it off won’t change that. It’ll just make you feel like shit.”

They sat there in silence.

Artemis looked back at her, properly trying to make eye contact this time. “I am trying to get better, you know,” he said after a moment, almost grimacing when he realized how snarky that sounded. Thankfully, Juliet took it in stride.

“I know.”

He looked away, reaching for his forgotten cup of tea. The china was cool again, he found, turning it around between his hands.

“I’ll… try not to lurk around the house, as you put it so bluntly,” he said, only a tad begrudgingly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You won’t do it again, or you won’t get caught again?”

Artemis paused. “I’ll try not to do it again,” he decided after a moment, surprised to find he was being completely honest. Juliet seemed satisfied at that.

“Cool,” she grinned, beginning to relax once more into her usual easy-going manner.

“I appreciate you talking to me,” he added, tightening his grip on his cup. “You’ve given me much to think about. In a good way,” he smiled.

She beamed at that. Reaching to undo her bun, Juliet shook her head as though she were shaking off rain after coming inside. She must’ve showered before putting it up, as her hair seemed wavier than it usually was, he noted.

“Thanky."

“I suppose I ought to thank Sam for forgetting the extent to which Ireland is ahead of Mexico,” he mused, and Juliet seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, you should — I stole a lot of what she’s had to say when I was making my point about isolating yourself and stuff,” she explained slowly.

“Oh?” he furrowed his brow. She waited a moment, seemingly debating how she was going to continue.

“Please. We grew up in the same house, Artemis. I’ve got pretty similar childhood baggage to what you’re probably leafing through. Parent stuff, growing up too soon stuff, normal 20-something stuff, weird 20-something stuff,” she shrugged. “She doesn’t let me mope, but she also like, sees me, you know?”

He regarded her for a moment, considering what she’d said. “You deserve someone like her,” he remarked. She shook her head.

“Not to drop my slightly- older-adult ‘adult wisdom’ on you,” she leaned forward. “But you’re not with someone because you deserve them or because they deserve you. She makes me laugh, she listens…” she trailed off.

“And so you pick up the phone each time,” he finished, and she grinned, tapping her nose.

“You’re starting to get it. It’s both the connection and commitment. We meet each other where we are, and then we move forward together.”

“Connection and commitment,” he echoed her.

“Connection and commitment and a whole bunch of therapy,” Juliet ticked off a finger for each one. He nodded, resting his chin on his hand.

“And ,” she added, shooting him a look. “Getting to bed at a consistent time.”

He made a face. “Does recovery necessitate giving up all the things that make life worthwhile?”

“My brother has a bunch of WebMD mental health articles printed out all over his room,” she poked him. “And the bits about developing good sleeping habits are all over the pages on the standard treatment for mood disorders. You probably have read the sources the articles cite, though — you don’t get a pass to run yourself into the ground just because you’re smart enough to give a lecture on psychology. Go to bed. The world will still be here when you wake up.”

He was going to say something snide about how he didn’t actually have the luxury of assuming the world would still be there, but he stopped himself. It was too early in the morning to bring up the specters that loomed prominently in his thoughts. Chasing those fears was what had started his spiral in the end, after all.

“Very well. I’d wish you goodnight, but it’s more apt to say good morning at this point,” he ventured, standing up from his seat.  

Juliet rose as well, following in suit.

“Thank god ,” she muttered. “Not that talking through feelings isn’t fantastic, but I was just about ready to toss you over my shoulder and haul you upstairs. I’m exhausted .”

Artemis tried not to look too stricken. He has no doubt she was completely serious.

“On a final note,” she sighed, patting down the wrinkles in her nightshirt. “I miss being lovingly suplexed by my wrestler girlfriend,” she complained.

He made a face.

“Come off it — I’m allowed to brag about my jock-centric relationship.”

He grimaced. “You’re a match made in heaven.”

She stuck her tongue out, and he rolled his eyes before starting to make his way over to the stairs. Artemis lingered in the doorway, resting his hand against the smooth frame. “Goodnight, Juliet.”

“Goodnight, Artemis.”

[mimiplaysgames]

Terra Week Day 5 (Time/Hobbies)

Summary: The day sucks when you fight with your best friend. It's true and it's a lie when they say time heals everything, but at least Terra ends the day knowing it's worth the effort. | Word Count: 5,814

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 5

Let not your fears unrope, Time does not wait for hope

A sliver of light leaks out through the cracked-open doorway; the lanterns in this hall are being replaced, making that one room into a halo. Naminé confirms they’re inside, but before Terra gets close, she grabs his elbow, a tiny hand barely able to wrap halfway. 

“You’re going to tell them the truth?” she whispers.

“Only them,” Terra says, putting on the sweetest, most encouraging octave he has in his arsenal. “I can’t lie.” 

She takes a moment, and nods to herself. “That’s okay.”

Smiling, Terra pets her, careful not to mess with her hair. “Thank you. Thank you a thousand times and more.”

But she frowns for what is probably the thousandth time in her short life, amidst more to come. “If it gets difficult for you, please let me know. Please don’t wait.”

Approaching the door, Terra hears voices pitter and scoff:

“What else do you want me to do?” asks Aqua, just a mile short of fed up. 

“I don’t like this,” Ven says, lacking confidence. “Any of it. This is weird.”

“I don’t like it either,” Aqua says, now several inches, “but we need these clues.”

“Would you listen to yourself?”

“I’m not being unreasonable.”

Terra opens the door, his unspoken announcement a hush over what looks like an office. Aqua has layers of journals stacked on the desk, one of them open with Ven’s hand splayed across both pages, like he’s trying to shield her eyes from the content. That wasn’t what Terra had in mind when he asked Ven to stall, but whatever. 

They shift as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Terra sees why standing tall behind them: a huge painting of himself (except not), with waxy, white, shoulder length hair (ugh), and a grim expression that couldn’t have come from him (because it doesn’t) but it’s his face anyway (but is it?). A mannequin captured in time via portrait, serious and bored and looking away, looking towards a manufactured future, looking towards anything else except the one person carefully and admirably crafting the brush strokes. 

At the very least, it’s less unsettling than seeing Xemnas speak and move. 

“That’s creepy,” Terra says, trying to melt the ice but it makes them jump. Aqua in particular looks miserable, giving the painting a cold shoulder.

“This whole castle is creepy,” Ven says, letting go of the book. “I can’t wait to go home.”

“If you let me read,” Aqua snaps, crossing her arms, “we can leave sooner.”

Ven eyes a conversation with Terra. She’s crazy, what do expect me to do?

“We don’t have to do anything,” Terra says gently, closing the journal with delicacy so it doesn’t set her off. 

“You, too?”

“I know where Rainfell is.”

Ven runs a hand through his hair, and Aqua stares. 

“You—?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

She’s hopeful, which is a good start but Terra is suddenly nauseous again, one step away from tumbling down a cliffside. Ven whimpers, taking a chair nearby.

“I…” There isn’t an artful way to say it, so he’s going to rip the bandage right out. He starts by pulling it out slowly, and all the hair underneath. “I was with Naminé. Just now.”

Her eyes widen.

He swallows. “And she helped me see.”

Aqua’s lips tremble. She walks to the door, shoes tapping loudly on the carpet, the only sound in this room, and closes the door to give them privacy—though she’s never been the type to yell. She comes close to Terra as if to whisper to him, pinching two fingers together to fish out exactly what words she wants to use. Ven holds his breath. 

“Who asked you to do that?” she says, icy. 

Terra keeps it low and soft with her. “I just wanted to protect you.”

Again, she crosses her arms. “I need protection?”

Terra scoffs, wincing. “Not like that. I know that. You know me.”

“And you know me.” She exhales, inching closer, getting quieter. “I didn’t walk through darkness for all those years just to lose you again.” 

“But I’m here.” He purses his lips.

With a clawed hand, she taps his chest. “Something could have happened to you.”

“Aqua, come on,” Ven whines, “he was trying to help. He’d never intend to hurt himself.”

She steps back as if reeling from a slap to the face. Aqua’s not the kind who likes to cry, either, holding her chin so high she’s looking at the ceiling, like balancing a bowl of water so that tears don’t spill.

“That’s not fair to say to her,” Terra says, but she tenses up. 

“And why couldn’t I be there?” she asks, both to Terra and Ven. “Is it because you were afraid of what I would say?”

Terra chooses not to answer that. “I really didn’t want you to worry.”

“Is it because you need to prove yourself?” She simmers down. “You don’t have to with me.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“I needed to do something,” Terra says, gently. “After everything, I… I couldn’t stand to see you do”—he gestures towards the journals—“this. I couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying those images, or thinking about whatever he wrote in there.”

She holds her breath, collecting everything she’s laxed back. “Tell me the truth. Are you punishing yourself?”

“No...” 

“I trust you, Terra. I hope you know that.”

Terra closes his eyes, muscles gripping on his neck. He nods. A flash of hurt pierces her eyes and he wants to stop that. It’s not her fault for worrying. She’d tell him it’s not his fault for running away either, despite the blame he deserves.

“What kept me going all those years was us.” With a finger, she connects a line between him, her, and Ven. “It’s supposed to be the three of us, as one. We could have been there with you. You could have trusted me.”

“I agree with her on that one,” Ven says, picking his cuticles. 

Now, Terra is the only one dancing in the room, Aqua tired of the rhythm and Ven stuck in an unwilling game. Xemnas was accurate in mocking him for it. Stars. 

“I’m sorry,” Terra says, flexing his shoulders. “You’re right, I should have said something.”

Ven makes a noise that says he’s rolling his eyes.

“And Ven was right in sending Riku after me,” Terra continues, ruffling fingers through Ven’s hair and frizzing out the spikes. “Thanks.”

Ven swats his hand away, frantically brushing through his hair. “I’ll forgive you for ruining it this one time.” 

Aqua sighs. “Was it dangerous?”

Terra considers the question and draws a long smile. “I’ll tell you all about it if you promise not to stop me before I finish.”

And she considers him in return. For all the years they’ve grown together, they know when it’s time to take their words to heart. He knows her and she knows him. “As long as you’re okay, then I guess I’m fine.”

Terra chuckles. “To be honest, I would have felt more guilty if I didn’t go through with it.” 

She shakes her head, a worried grimace pulling at her lips. “Please don’t do this again.”

“I won’t.” Terra traces an X over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

She snorts. “That’s so morbid.”

“It’s to the point.” He grins. The painting, on the other hand, is apathetic to the home they make together in this room. So ugly. “How could you stand to be in here with that?”

“They treat it like a treasure,” Ven says, sticking his tongue out.

A knock on the door interrupts them, jolting Aqua. “He’s here,” she says. Terra asks her a muted question with a raise of his shoulder, but she commands proper behavior with a wave of her hand (she’s so much like the Master sometimes). 

A tall, older man with a beard greets her from the other side of the door. She responds with a joy to her hello, like they’re old friends. 

Ven leans forward with his neck to see. Terra nearly chokes.

Ansem the Wise. Terra doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t know this man, so there shouldn’t be a reason why being near him is like inhaling fumes. 

“As promised,” Ansem says, his voice so deep it melts rock, “tea.” He has with him a steaming pot and four mugs on a wheeled cart.

Aqua holds her hand to her chest. “That’s right, I told you.”

“Raspberry tea if you were to ever see the light of day again.” He steps inside. “With a touch of vanilla and a generous serving of honey. I made sure to keep it all proportionate.”

Bile builds up in Terra’s throat.

“I know your face,” Ansem says to Terra. 

It’s acidic when he swallows back down. Terra crosses his arms and locks them there. He can barely bring himself to look at this man in the eyes. 

“Welcome to my castle,” Ansem says, filling all four cups. Aqua takes hers and Ven stands up for his share. 

“Thank you,” Terra says to the rug. 

“This is your first time here.”

“Not in the city.”

“Ah.”

Footsteps circle around Terra. Ansem takes the largest chair behind the desk while Ven moves the other two across, one of which Aqua accepts. He leaves the other empty for Terra, as though sitting down is the closest thing to a peace offering he can give.

But why a peace offering? It shouldn’t be necessary. Terra doesn’t know this man. 

“I’m sorry,” Terra chokes, taking his seat. “I’m being rude.”

“There isn’t a need for apologies,” Ansem says. His intense eyes are slow to warm up, and his smile is a squeaky wheel needing some maintenance. He’s like the Master in that way, very professional. But the Master’s smile came more often and more naturally—it just hid behind the mustache, confusing anyone who didn’t know him into thinking he was more intimidating than he was. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Terra.” 

“I’m not a Master.” 

Aqua grips the cup on her lap tighter. Ven stands by her, one hand on the backrest and the other balled into a fist. 

“Oh, I apologize.” 

“No need to.”

Ansem clears his throat, sipping his tea with more noise than necessary. This man raised others. He had built a loyal team and forgave them for their betrayal, playing no role in what Xehanort did. Now he’s working on improving the lives of others.

But he committed harm. Terra doesn’t know what or why. 

Aqua doesn’t seem to hold that opinion as she compliments the flavor. Two people from two different worlds who crossed paths in their torture and punishment. Terra has to be grateful she wasn’t alone for some of that. 

“I want to extend my gratitude,” Ansem says, and Terra shifts in his chair. Too often it feels like his mind is being read. “For coming. It brings me joy to see you here.”

Terra still has arms woven together, and he hugs himself tighter. It’s like a distant father welcoming a child he hasn’t seen grow up. But Terra already had his own Master, his own father figure. Silver linings, I guess. My face brings somebody joy today. 

“I do hope,” Ansem continues when Terra doesn’t say anything, “the painting does not offend?” 

“It does,” Terra says and regrets it. He shakes his head. “You can keep it, though.”

“Terra,” Ven warns, little and quiet but Terra is sure Ansem has heard.

Another knock on the door prevents Terra from saying more, but thank the stars there’s someone there to distract them. 

“That would be Even,” Ansem quips, groaning as he stands. 

Terra hears a small snicker—Aqua is hiding a smirk behind her hair. “He’s a character,” she whispers, wrinkling her nose to shake out the contortions of her amusement and present herself as respectful. 

Even. No, there’s not a face to that one either, but Terra doesn’t have to wait to see. 

A character he is, a skeptical perma-scowl as though he’s spent years giving a mountain of complaints and his face froze that way. Clean, oily hair and a chin that would be difficult to shave. He talks animatedly when Ansem opens the door, sputtering about science experiments with words Terra’s never heard before. One of his eyes bulges out every time he has a shock.

“I must insist,” Even says to whatever they’re mumbling about, his voice a natural shrill. He approaches the desk with broad strides as his lab coat floats behind him. Tucked under his arm is a thick clipboard and a thicker binder of paper, his posture as straight as a pin.

Opening his binder, Even flips through the top of the stack, calculating which ones to pull out and dropping them at the surface of the desk. They’re streaked with highlighted areas where signatures are needed. No quips about Terra’s face or stares. If anything, he treats Terra and the others like strangers. 

Terra appreciates that.

“It’s good to see you again,” Aqua says after clearing her throat.

It takes a beat for Even to register. “A pleasant surprise in return,” he says, his tone well-mannered but the words are slow as if he’s unpracticed with them—a far cry from the expert who walked in.

“This is Ven and”—she nods over—“Terra.”

Even takes several moments to nod at Ven before looking at Terra for several seconds longer. Terra expects him to say something about the likeness of the painting behind them, but all Even says is, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Ven blocks a snort. It turns into a constricted cough that he tries to hide behind his hand. 

And with that, the conversation seemingly stops as Ansem sits back down and Even starts a lecture about subjects and the physiology of an older woman in a neighboring district, the adjustment of carbon and whether data can be downloaded via oxygen transfer. 

“I promise we will cover these topics,” Ansem says with a palm up that stops Even before he can really get into the nitty-gritty. “But first, I insist we speak about my request.”

Even inhales (for a long time) before crossing his hands over his binder. He shifts his posture as though to address Terra, but he says nothing.

“May I ask for a small favor?” Ansem asks Terra.

Taken aback, Terra blinks. A muscle deep in his chest wants to yank away and strike back, sharp and poisonous. “Sure.”

Ansem pulls one of Xehanort’s journals and flips through, reverently stopping at a page and letting it float on top of the other. “I had never once suspected anything amiss.” With your body is what he isn’t pointing out. “If I had known...” Ansem nods to himself. Who knows what he could have done if he did. “I ask for peace of mind.” 

With that, Even smiles to himself. Surprisingly, it’s soft. 

“Okay?”

“If you please.” Ansem turns the journal to Terra. This page is mostly equations and diagrams, with one sentence written on the top. “May I ask you to transcribe this?” He also hands Terra a pen. 

The sentence in question reads: 

The soul is but breath, the face its language, the heart its warmth. 

The handwriting is carefully crafted, the loops in the E’s and A’s artfully asymmetrical with equal amounts of ink spared for every letter. This will be easy to prove it isn’t Terra’s. 

“Yeah,” Terra says, smiling. At least the content isn’t horrible. If anything, it sounds like something he would have learned in class years ago. 

He takes the pen and writes right under it, noticing the date at the top right-hand corner—this was written eleven years and eight months ago, four months after Terra lost his body. But supposedly, this was done with Terra’s clumsy hand and thick fingers anyway. Time is not friendly.

Terra scratches the surface of the paper as he strikes the page, his A’s never fully formed and looking like U’s, and his E’s all different sizes, coming together in a sentence as choppy as waves with ink jabbed in some punctuation. 

When he hands the journal back, Ansem studies it with fingers to his lips before looking up at Even for reassurance.

“This proves what I have suspected,” Even says softly, the subject clearly sensitive to Ansem the Wise. “You positively could not have noticed. The calligraphy is entirely disparate.” He points to make comparisons. 

“You study calligraphy?” Terra asks, and there’s a tick in Even’s shoulders as if he’s already forgotten they were in the same room.

Even inhales. That must be his coping mechanism, but when he starts, there’s a subtle travel to the distance he builds. He’s excited to talk about it. “The study of penmanship as a device for human psychology makes remarkable and accurate descriptions of different personalities. It’s fascinating.” 

“That’s interesting.”

“And what hobbies do you enjoy in your spare time?” Ansem asks, placing the journal down, more at ease.

Put on the spot, Terra’s mind goes blank. It takes Ven nudging him the shoulder to respond. “Whittling wood, I guess.”

One of Even’s eyes bulges out and Ansem chuckles. Terra gets it. It’s not something any of them can imagine Xehanort doing. Instead, he’d (play chess). Just like the Master. Terra sees an image of (Vexen) in a long, black cloak, cross-legged on a white lounge chair, resting his chin on his hand and staring hard at pieces before him. Not that Terra knows a Vexen, but it comes to him as brim as a memory, as though they’ve only played together last year. As pleasant as it seems, it makes Terra nauseous just to know. Maybe tea would have helped, but his cup sits on the wheeled cart, having lost its steam.

“On to why you are here,” Ansem says, closing the journal and pressing against the cover, shutting the door to one life. “I assume you would need assistance in finding Master Aqua’s lost Keyblade. I can surely confirm one was with Xehanort when we found him.”

Aqua, who’s been swirling her mug of tea, sits up at the sound of her name. 

“I don’t need much help, actually,” Terra says. “I know where it is.”

Even leans forward, bending over the desk to study Terra’s eyes. All he would really need is a magnifying glass. “Peculiar. You carry with you a record of those memories?”

Terra won’t mention Naminé’s involvement. That girl deserves time to herself. “Yep.”

Ansem leans back onto his chair, his brows furrowing. “Where did he keep it?”

Terra doesn’t know. But he does. “Downstairs.”

Aqua and Ven glance over at him. Even straightens himself. Ansem huffs. Downstairs. It’s such a weighted word.

“Even is the only one willing to venture down there,” Ansem says. 

“I may be of assistance,” Even says, bringing his binder to his chest. “Master Ansem—”

“I know what this means.” Ansem grunts when he stands up, folding his hands behind him and turning his back on whatever will come next. He takes Even’s papers with his abrupt leave. “I thank you again for the visit,” he says to Terra and Aqua. 

Something about his shame unnerves Terra, reminding him of his own many years ago when he started a whole, brutal journey for himself and his friends (if only he stayed behind and congratulated her on her Mark of Mastery). In his desire to make everyone comfortable, he sees something else: by a window to a sunset and a flower garden down below, another chessboard competes with an open book and a hot mug of tea for space on the table. Terra stands up. 

“Thanks for having me,” he says, and it sounds as stupid as the waver in his voice. All that needs to be said will remain unspoken, he realizes, the glacier in this room needing months to melt. “We can play a round the next time I come? Chess? My Master taught to be good at it.” It may be invasive to ask, but when he sees Ansem relax, he can take comfort in the small solace of whatever good they shared twelve years ago.  

Aqua smiles up at Terra, her tea finished.

“I would like that very much,” Ansem says, nodding off to Ventus. “This one minds his manners.” He shuts the door behind him.

“As opposed to who?” Ven asks the room, but no one replies. 

“It will be this way,” Even says. He takes the painting down as if it’s weightless, as if it doesn’t have any relevance to anybody here. Aqua stands up like rubber plucked, her hands folded into each other. The anticipation kills Terra, too. Finally, they’ll be done with this exhausting day.

He doesn’t see what Even’s doing to the wall, but it vanishes, opening up to a hallway. Where it begins. They follow him to a personal computer room, which sits in an alcove overlooking an enormous factory stacked with huge glass pods, like vials but big enough to fit an adult.

Neither of them ask what those are about, not even nosy Ven, who’s been too quiet lately. Terra can almost feel why, like whispers of ghosts. It’s for the best they don’t speak about this factory. Spoken words confirming what lived in those prisons would be the straw to give them all nightmares. 

“How old is this castle?” Ven asks Even.

“Radiant Garden is the flagbearer of light,” Even says, operating keys on a giant computer as big as the wall itself. This they already know. It has been for decades, a golden chalice that all Keybearers of the past have visited. “The castle was built millennia ago, reformed by remnants several years after the Collapse of Fairytales.”

Ven should know this already, but he winces as though he’s been lied to. “Are you sure?”

“Ven,” Aqua hisses. “This is his home, and that is rude.”

But Ven isn’t convinced. “It just feels weird around here,” he mumbles. “And the basement?”

Even doesn’t answer the specific question, but says, “We’ve made arrangements to seal it off completely.” He pulls out a disc from his binder. The sight of it—it’s so familiar and so ugly. Slipping it into the computer, Even types a password (ANOTHER), which prompts him to enter several more, all hidden behind what look like stars.

Names of apprentices, starting with Xehanort. There’s Even, Dilan, Ienzo, Aeleus, and… Braig.

Braig. Terra knows that face for sure. Word has gotten out he disappeared after the Keyblade War, quite possibly done for. Good riddance. 

There’s a whir and a bang somewhere close by but far away, the twist of a lock unlatching.

“Shall I accompany you downstairs?” Even asks. He says ‘downstairs’ like it’s a typical basement. It must take strength to face your crimes head on. He’s got guts.

“No, thank you,” Terra says at Ven’s expense, who’s fidgeting more with every second. “I think I can lead the rest of the way.”

Even eyes his binder resting on the terminal, removing the disc as it’s spit out. “I suppose that is practical. You won’t necessitate my presence if the doors open for you… in actuality, one of those doors is meant only for Xemnas. If it opens, please inform me.” He picks up after himself, pausing twice before continuing. “If that is the case… I would ask that you allow me to study your body afterward. We can schedule appointments—”

“What does that mean?” Aqua asks, stepping by Terra as if bracing to shield him. “What kind of studies? Will they cause him harm?”

Even gasps before chuckling. The whole scary-scientist mask is a facade; he just doesn’t bother with painted smiles or with attempts at making other people comfortable. A take-him-as-he-is kind of person. “Not at all. Merely some blood tests. Perhaps a scan of his heart at the most invasive. If the doors open, then that would suggest some unusual attributes which would be helpful in our restorative work.”

Aqua opens her mouth to say something, but she stops when she notices Terra smiling gently at her. They pass a silent conversation, one where she knows to let him go despite her worries, and one when he hears her and lets her know it’s okay. She nods and steps away to give Ven comfort. 

“It’s part of her charm,” Terra says to Even when she’s far enough. “But sure, I’m game.”

“Perhaps we can play a round, as well,” Even says. 

“Of chess? That will be fun.”

“Most indubitably.”

Even gives them limited instructions in accessing the basement—the rest, he says, is intuitive and simple. It starts at the base of the empty factory, where a trap door reveals a winding spiral ramp down that disappears into a black pit. It’s going to take a while.

“This looks like a tacky scene from a crime novel I’ve read,” Aqua says, her arms crossed for comfort with her head held high and a sharp sniff through her nose.

“This is weird,” Ven mumbles, sounding more sick than usual. Terra checks his temperature with a palm to the forehead, but Ven seems fine and unaware of what Terra is doing, totally transfixed with how dark it is down there. 

It’s a long descent, some passed in quiet, and if not, with small talk about the architecture, the humidity getting thicker the more they take steps. Light travels far down here, but it’s unnatural, an artificial lamp used to show the trespasser the way and keep them from tripping and breaking necks, like an undetectable odor.

The more they descend, the heavier Terra feels, like tar soaking his hair too much and the weight of it pulling on his scalp. Like cement filling his stomach and it takes more strength to drag his feet. Like lead shackled to his ankles and he just wants to hoist himself over the railing and fall all the way down. Let’s get this over with. 

Then the memories hurt. 

He doesn’t get a say in which one comes to him: one of a man he does not recognize sitting on a red couch, fingers crossed and fumbling, lips mumbling, eyes trembling, confessions of a secret he carries deep in his heart and Terra doesn’t know what the secret is but he knows it’s  guilty. Will you help me get rid of it? this man asks. And Terra replies with, Yes.

Another of Braig (of all people), setting up machinery and needles.

Another of Ansem the Wise (again and again), erasing sentences on a chalkboard, sipping tea late in the night. Work and work, chemical smells and bubbling tonics and hearts placed in jars. 

It’s not fair. After all he went through, he deserves one of the Master. He wills himself to think about Eraqus. What comes is the feeling of sand in his mouth and there’s a beach far away that looks like Destiny Islands but Eraqus isn’t there. Eraqus isn’t in any of these. Time is a picture, a flash of light and then an image printed on love and worry, cycling in one direction. It’s like death in that way. It’s not kind. Even in the desire to replay memories over and over, time is apathy. It’s never re-lived. Never reversed. 

“Are you doing okay?”

Aqua has stopped, Ven far in the lead like he’s magnetized. They may be halfway down, but it’s hard to tell. 

“Sure,” Terra says, unable to say more. His muscles are stiffening as if he’s cold, his knees tightening as if he’s aging. He doesn’t know, he knows. He doesn’t see but he feels. Down there is a realm of darkness handcrafted by scientists. A modern kind of darkness, expelled and sanctified and sterilized. 

Aqua rests her hand on his shoulder blades. “I want to say you don’t have to do this—”

“But I have to.” 

She doesn’t soften. “We’re almost there,” she says, like when Ven got sick and they had to hunt for a specific herb in the forest, the Master staying behind to brew the right potion. Like when they were taught in class that duty comes first and Terra had asked Aqua if she’d ever fight him in the name of it. When Terra looks down, like she’s a real light guiding his way, he sees a door at the bottom when it once was nothing. They’re almost there. A set of double doors in a single circular room and nothing else, a secret tucked deep in what felt like a canyon to hike down. 

Ven runs ahead. Instinctively, Terra wants to cry out, watching that head of blond hair rushing up to the door, a miner’s canary at the mouth of the cave just before it stops breathing.

“I can’t open it,” Ven says when he tries to pry them open with his fingers. 

“You can’t because you’re not supposed to be here,” Terra says, sluggishly walking forward. Aqua keeps a firm hand on him, as if to catch him if he falls. The door seems designed to sense him—when he comes near, it opens. Just like Even suspected. A wave of heat passes over him, giving him a long, white hallway with a military of doors and chains on both sides. 

Ven lurches backward as if inhaling in a horrid stench, his eyes seeing something that isn’t there. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” Aqua asks. 

“You don’t feel that?” Ven is waving his arms as if shooing something away. “It’s awful. This whole castle is awful and… old. So old.” 

That doesn’t make any sense. There’s an odd feeling to the hall, yes—a toxic atmosphere from too many chemical experiments, too much darkness dampening the ceiling and sweating down the walls. “This level was only built a decade ago, Ven.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he whines. “What are they not telling us? What else is this castle hiding? What happened here?”

Aqua leads Ven away, shushing his pleads (Please, don’t go in there). It’s like he’s hallucinating, forgetting where he is or what time has settled this fate on them. She bends to her knees to calm him down, Terra stupefied.

“You still okay?” she asks Terra after sitting Ven down at the bottommost step. 

No, he isn’t. “It kind of smells bad here. You?”

“It’s cold.” 

To him, it’s hot. 

“We’re going in, Ven,” she says, who has his arms wrapped around his knees. 

“It’s just at the end of this corridor,” Terra says softly, not out of fear but out of exhaustion, his heart about to give in at any second with the swell of information christening his brain like a thick cement. He should have taken Naminé’s advice. 

The doors in this hallway are barred, just to give the tiniest of merciful crumbs to the prisoners inside by giving them each other. What did they talk about? Nothing comes to Terra’s mind when he wonders. White on white, like the Castle Oblivion Aqua described, pristine and clean and filthy. The rooms are dark inside, but Terra doesn’t dare to look, and Aqua won’t either. 

Terra smells acid—formaldehyde maybe, a faint trace of it that gives him a sense of déja vu, despite that he’s never smelled it before and he doesn’t even know what formaldehyde even is. 

A scream bounces through the walls. Terra holds his head. 

You, but not you.

A soft sob from the room to his left, and he’s nauseous, bile coming up so quick that he holds his mouth. 

You, but not you.

A face, a little girl with long black hair, and Terra leans onto his knees to keep himself upright. 

You, but not you.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. That is real.

“You okay?”

If he answers, he’ll vomit. He shakes his head. 

“Should I go ahead?” Aqua asks softly.

He shakes his head again and moans. It’s just a few more steps. He’ll not think about the memories, not think about the someone asking for water or the hearts stuffed in jars or the recliners with wrist straps. Not think about the monitors and the faces, so many faces, so many little girls in particular and grandmothers who left children behind and the scratching of pen on paper. 

There’s a whisper and Terra shuts his eyes so he doesn’t hear what it has to say. 

“What’s going on?” Ven calls out. He’s at the edge where the doorway meets the staircase, peeking his head inside, never placing a foot. 

“We’re fine,” Terra answers. 

Aqua wraps his arm around her shoulders, hoisting him up. Nothing truly stops her. 

“Talk to me about anything,” Terra says. 

“I don’t know what to say,” she says, surprisingly calm, gazing around the room for the familiar and unfriendly. “It doesn’t feel the same as the Dark Realm, which… I guess you could say commands respect. It’s as old as life. It feels so much like yourself sometimes.”

“We all have Darkness in our hearts,” Terra mumbles, head foggy.

“Yes.” She holds him closer when he sways. “Sadness or anger, Darkness is your mirror. But this place…” Her tone is flaccid and exhausted, as if this place has drained her happiness with a syringe. “This place is sick.”

“I’m sick,” he grumbles. “You can say you told me so.”

“I never said anything.”

“That’s the thing, you never have to say anything, Aqua. You always know the right thing to do.”

Aqua stares holes into the floor, waiting for him to step before she does. “It wasn’t right to push you away.”

And he waits for her to catch up before stepping another. “I wasn’t right at all.”

She squeezes the wrist over her shoulder, a silent acknowledgement without correcting or denying him. “Thank you for doing this for me,” she whispers. 

At the end, there stands that door. This one probably answers only to (his) behest, to the touch of (his) palm on the monitor. Yes, that’s right, no one else can enter. 

“You would have needed me here anyway,” he says to Aqua, his mouth dry. 

It opens to a small round room. Chains link the doorway and the ceiling and around, connecting to a single throne in the middle.

“Why does it look like—?” Aqua hisses. “I don’t understand. What was this room used for?”

“Sitting,” he mutters.

Terra looks up when she stirs, trembling under his arm. Waiting alongside the throne is a color of blue, dull and dusty. Her cracked armor and the quiet patience of Rainfell sitting together, as if Darkness held one star in its hands that needed a little shine, waiting for the right sunrise to give it life.

When Aqua cries, a triumphant peace settles in Terra’s bones. It’s worth it. This is the very best he could ever give.

[scriptaed]

his side, her side | 7:10 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; (bold = genre for this particular drabble)

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 2.7k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: this is not a chronological series; more so, his side her side is a collection of drabbles in which each drabble helps paint the overall picture. each drabble can be read separately without having read the others. // alternatively: his side, her side pt. 5;

her side;

“So are you attending next week’s Q&A?” 

Jungkook’s aloof reputation is no secret to anyone. This observation has only been exacerbated ever since you had been paired up with him for an overtime project, especially considering that your own detached demeanor was what had landed you a spot right next to that of his own in the first place. After months of working closely with this infamously stoic albeit deathly dashing colleague, you’ve come to acknowledge his one redeeming quality: this boy might not have the best work ethic amongst your colleagues and he really does not give, in his own words, “one shit” about work, but he is willing to invest the least amount of hours in order to avoid a big fat “fired” on his resume.

And that’s when you start wondering, regardless of how “little of a crap” someone gives about others’ opinions, no one would be willing to attend a work-related-turned-social event without an equally sadistic friend… right? So, as his partner at work and one of his few colleagues that he actually interacts with, it would only be natural for your curiosity to be piqued, right…? At least that’s what you’ve been trying to tell yourself lately to keep you asleep at night. 

“Are you?” Jungkook answers your question with another in the classic Jeon Jungkook fashion. 

Still, you can’t help but pause in an odd sense of admiration over the deep cut of his voice amid the frosty winter air. Low, groggy, rough, it’s almost as if he had just awakened from his weekly nap after gym or perhaps even throughout the workshop session. Some might have found it ditsy, some might have even found it embarrassing, particularly the pair of colleagues who had made a joke out of your partner, but you find it endearing… maybe a bit dorky, but mostly endearing, because that’s what’s so different about Jungkook. 

“Uhhh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “I guess I’ll ask my friends if they’re going and decide from there.” 

On the outside, you and Jungkook have your fair share of differences. To others, you’re the outgoing one often found laughing in the corner, despite keeping to your circle of friends. Jungkook, on the other hand, is reclusive and, more often than not, found in the other corner of the room with the one colleague he considers a friend. The more you spend your Tuesday evenings working overtime with Jungkook, however, the more the gaping similarities stand out to you. 

Sure, you have a wider range of peers at work, but none of them are as close to you as your friends at home. Still, you’d rather make friends out of your daily acquaintances than enemies. It isn’t that you’re fake per se… it’s just that you never clicked with them. It’s ironic how the friends whom you’ve spent the last two years with are the ones most distant in your circle, while someone you just started to interact with in the past months has already been one of the few to know the real you; because somehow at some point in time, you’ve noticed how much more real you feel around your partner Jungkook. Maybe he doesn’t realize it, but you two definitely share more similarities than differences. 

And as much of an indifferent persona Jungkook put on at work, you have to wonder if he ever felt the same around you as you did around him?  

“Oh,” he answers, pausing before adding, “you mean Yezi?” 

Wait a minute, you ponder internally whilst turning to look at him in slight bewilderment, he knows you’re friends with Yezi? The only way he would ever know that is if he had noticed you from afar throughout the past two years… so the fact that he’s aware of whom you keep in your circle of friends must mean he had taken note of you to some extent, right?  

Well, for now, the only fact you can surmise is how silly you feel having just over-analyzed his simple question… not to mention the way your heart races with an unfounded exhilaration. 

“Yeah,” you nod and clear your throat in fear of having catalyzed a dead end to the conversation, “I-uh-I heard Q&A is actually really helpful. Aaaand considering how you’ve been doing on monthly evaluations, maaaybe you should go?”

“Woooow,” he gawks at you—it’s the most exaggerated expression he’s ever adorned in front of you and it’s most certainly a playful one feigned as offense, but something about having elicited such a reaction from a usually apathetic boy makes you prouder than anything in a long while. “You really had to call me out like that?” 

“I don’t know,” you sing-song with a grin stretching from ear-to-ear and a voice rising just like the high building in your chest, “maybe some time off of Fortnite might help you.” 

“Whaaat? You’re saying I have to work at work?” he drawls. 

“Maybe, just maybe,” you giggle to your heart’s delight, but his softer chuckle and the silence that follows have you regretting just how loudly you had laughed. It wasn’t really that funny, huh? 

Thankfully, your slight embarrassment is short-lived before it’s replaced by a dejection that settles in your chest when you notice the next block approaching. To your disappointment, this intersection would usually signal the end of your weekly, ephemeral conversation. Usually, you would bid your casual goodbyes as you watch him walk off in the opposite direction and he only utters a cool “see ya later” before heading off to his car in the parking lot. Tonight, however, and to your pleasant surprise, the boy crosses the street with you. 

“Hey, don’t you usually park over there?” you question when he opts out of providing an explanation. 

The boy continues to stroll through the dimly lit sidewalk with you, “I’m heading to the gym now.” 

Doesn’t he usually gym before workshop? His sudden change in routine has you and your usual shrewd self intrigued, but all you can manage to mutter is a short “oh,” as the two of you prolong your fleeting, shared moment. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to ask him why he had changed his plans, yet a part of you feels reluctant enough to overpower the curious side of you. Maybe it’s the desire to spend these precious minutes on more exciting topics outside of work, or perhaps you would like to retain this fantasy of yours that maybe, just maybe, he, too, searches for an excuse to extend these ephemeral conversations? 

Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter how his detour had gained five extra minutes for the two of you, because time passes by in the blink of an eye when you’re genuinely enjoying yourself. Maybe Jungkook wouldn’t say the same, maybe these five minutes are nothing but a burden to him, and maybe he’ll start parking in his usual spot again next week, but you would rather not dwell on it. Why? It’s a natural defense mechanism. 

“You live across that bridge?”

“Huh?” you say, dumbfounded that he had actually remembered something you had told him during your first real conversation with him. Turning to face him and squinting in the direction of the gym that outpours a warm, golden light which outlines his silhouette and casts shadows onto his profile,  you find yourself stuttering in bewilderment. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“So you gonna run now?” he quips with the cockiest of quirked grins. 

This shithead is teasing you over a genuine fear you had shared with him months ago, isn’t he?

A quick scan at the jet black skies bedazzled by glittering stars that loom over you two is all that precedes before you reply with a meek, “...maybe.” 

“Better get going then,” Jungkook smirks with his hands in his pockets as he starts taking a few steps backwards toward the gym but never unlocking his gaze from yours. 

You should have been irked, you should have responded with your own clever retort against his teases, but all you can do is stare at him silence with that stupid, cheeky grin of yours, because maybe you had just discovered the true reason behind his detour tonight and the remainder of your shared weeks. You can hear him calling out to you in that smug tone of his even as you begin your trek over the bridge and you can’t help smile even wider. 

“Hey Y/N, try not to get mugged!”

You know it’s more than you should ask for or even expect, yet you still wish he would completely follow through and cross the bridge with you; but if your theory is correct and you’ve truly unpeeled a second layer of this enigma that is Jeon Jungkook, then you think you’ve found yet another reason as to why you had fell so hard. 

-

his side;

“So are you attending next week’s Q&A?” 

Before he really got to know her, Jungkook had been under the impression that Y/N was just another good girl at work. He’s always seen her as the bubbly gal with the diligence and work ethic of a model employee, especially when compared to his own. It isn’t really a bad thing—Jungkook would never belittle others like that, unless narcissism was in the equation—but it’s always been the one noticeable gap between the two. 

“Are you?”

Of course she is, he figures, yet he answers the question with another for the sake of conversation. 

Within the short timespan of the last few months, however, Jungkook has come to acknowledge the fact that Y/N really isn’t as much of an open book as he had once thought.  To a certain extent, she’s become somewhat of an enigma to Jungkook. Y/N has always been surrounded by at least one friend or two regardless of when or where he bumps into her—which occurs enough times for even an unobservant boy like Jungkook—so the empty spot beside her on the first day of the workshop came as a surprise to him. It only took one real icebreaker of a conversation for him to recognize that this girl, in fact, is anything but a bookworm. 

“Uhhh, I don’t know,” she shrugs and Jungkook subtly glimpses at her in surprise. “I guess I’ll ask my friends if they’re going and decide from there.” 

She always answers his questions—which are certainly much more elaborate than his to hers—but she never gives herself all away. Maybe it’s the repercussions of working overtime, but it surprises him to observe the frown she wears paired with a stoic demeanor whenever he’s around her. The most confusing—or rather, amusing—factor of it all is in those occasional moments when she bursts out laughing with a profuse, genuine joy after hearing one of his rare jokes. Why do those moments outshine the dull smiles he often spots her adorning around at work? 

In other words, why does she appear much more like Y/N—or at least the Y/N he knows—around him than around her close friends? That is the last puzzle piece of hers that he just can’t quite figure out. 

“Oh,” he answers, pausing to recall the name of the girl he would often spot by Y/N’s side, “you mean Yezi?” 

Jungkook isn’t exactly the most likely person to intermingle with his colleagues; but he’s always had the decency to at least learn their names… whether or not they know of his name, however, he doesn’t give two shits. He never really talked to Yezi after that one icebreaker he was forced to partake in during orientation, but he always noticed her strolling through work with her elbow attached to Y/N’s.

“Yeah,” he sees her nodding her head through the corner of his eyes, “I-uh-I heard Q&A is actually really helpful. Aaaand considering how you’ve been doing on monthly evaluations, maaaybe you should go?”

There it is, her constant teasing that has somehow become a normal dynamic between him and her. He would have laughed it off with a chuckle if it were anyone else, yet he decides to play along because heck why not? 

“Woooow,” his gawk blends with his cocked grin, “you really had to call me out like that?” 

“I don’t know,” she sings with the smile that has him confused to no ends, voice rising and lips stretching ear-to-ear like that of a jubilant child, “maybe some time off of Fortnite might help you.” 

There she goes again, insulting his almighty, favorite pastime. The disrespect.

“Whaaat?” he opts out of defending his hobby for whatever reason. “You’re saying I have to work at work?”

“Maybe, just maybe.” 

He can tell her giggles are a genuine manifestation of her filled heart and he can’t help the chuckle that befalls his lips. It isn’t exactly that funny to him, but he doesn’t mind being teased if it means she could be as seemingly carefree as she does now. In fact, he finds an odd sense of amusement over the satisfaction she seems to garner through her teases against him. 

He must have been really funny to her, huh? 

“Hey, don’t you usually park over there?” 

There it is, yet another element of his partner’s that takes him by surprise. Jungkook didn’t anticipate for her to notice his usual location of departure, although any other normal person would have done otherwise, so he assumed she wouldn’t notice his change in locations tonight either. She might have been the reason behind this change, but it isn’t exactly something he wants to flaunt nor explain. 

After witnessing the genuine fear underlining the mask of what she only wanted to pass on as a joke, he surmised that it was only reasonable for a girl like Y/N to fear crossing a dodgy bridge in a pitch black night. It really only took a minute or two after that conversation for Jungkook to decide on a schedule change that would accommodate the newfound revelation. Gym after workshop would be fine and he could get in more sleep before workshop. He doesn’t want any praises or favors. He just did it because it felt like the right, decent thing to do for his partner. 

Plus, an additional five minutes of conversation doesn’t sound too bad. 

“I’m heading to the gym now.”

Thankfully, Y/N doesn’t press him further for an explanation—which, judging from the curious impression he had of Y/N, is surprising—nonetheless, he figures it comes as much more of a relief than anything when they reach a gym that sits a short distance off a street across from the bridge. 

Jungkook breaks the silence as he turns to face her with his back on the gym entrance, “you live across that bridge?” 

“Huh?” she utters, turning to face him. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

The trace of bewilderment plastered across her face is evident to even a dense person like Jungkook. Initially, he had fallen under the impression that he would like to avoid any sense of gratitude from Y/N—and he still does—but something about the way her eyes light up, as if reaching an epiphany, has him patting himself on the back…

...and he wonders, has she realized the intentions behind his gesture tonight? 

“So you gonna run now?” 

He can’t help but grin.  

The girl scans the darkened skies that she had mentioned as her one nemesis just weeks prior, before replying with a meek, “...maybe.” 

That cheeky grin of hers is enough for him to know his job here is done. 

“Better get going then,” Jungkook chuckles under his breath and sticks his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts. He starts backing up toward the gym but, for whatever reason, his gaze never budges from her darkened silhouette that proceeds down the street off in the distance. It would have been odd for him to follow her along the bridge—because it isn’t like he’s her boyfriend or bodyguard—but he would like to see his intentions through to the end. The least he could do is to ensure you make it across the bridge in one piece. 

Is he being too kind? Will she start expecting much more of him if she discovers his intentions? The thought irks Jungkook, so just as she starts her trek over the bridge, he decides to return the teasing she had initiated just minutes prior. 

“Hey Y/N, try not to get mugged!”

And when she whirls around at the sound of his voice only to flash him a scowl, Jungkook finally realizes just why Y/N finds so much joy in teasing him because he, too, finds an equal sense of pride in evoking such a response out of his enigma of a partner. 

[wherewindysurgeswend]

keeping time

ok so here’s keeping time! as you can see, it’s quite short, but i hope you enjoy my spooky little story :)

taglist: @veiliza

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“The school year will be starting soon,” Opal remarked, apropos of nothing. Virginia nodded. 

“I suppose you’ll have a whole new batch of students. Must be exciting.” Opal smiled, tenderness in her green eyes. “Yes. but I’ll miss seeing you so often.” Virginia laughed. 

“You’ll miss hanging around the library and asking pointless questions while I’m working, I trust.”  Opal elbowed her in the ribs. “I know you don’t really mind. You’re only putting on your stern librarian act.” Virginia didn’t say anything. She was too busy admiring the effect of Opal’s flaming red hair against the pearl-grey sky, the emerald green silk scarf tied around it flying in the sea breeze. God, she loved this woman. Every last freckle on Opal’s face was a masterpiece to Virginia. “What are you thinking about?” Opal asked. 

“You.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.” Opal laughed and tossed some sand at Virginia, then took off running down the beach. “Don’t be so dreamy, next time,” she called. Virginia ran after her “Why, you –” Virginia shouted, laughing. 

Virginia caught up with Opal and they both fell to the ground, laughing. Virginia let herself fall backward until she was lying flat on her back in the sand, still laughing. Opal bent to kiss her. “Wait,” Virginia protested, “someone might see us.” Opal glanced around. 

“No they won’t. Nobody around.” Virginia didn’t argue, and Opal kissed her. 

“What’s that?” Opal asked, when they were lying in each other’s arms in the sand.

“What’s what?”

“That. by your elbow. The shiny thing in the sand.” 

“Looks like part of a chain.”

“Well, dig it up and let’s see what it is!” 

“All right. Just give me a second to put my glasses back on.”

With her glasses safely on her nose, Virginia went about extracting the shiny thing. “It’s a pocket watch,” she said triumphantly, dangling it by its gold chain in front of Opal’s face. Opal grabbed it and popped it open to examine it. “How romantic!” she exclaimed, “It looks very old. I wonder who it belongs to.”

“Probably just someone in town. Must have dropped it.” Opal shook her head.

“We found it below the high-tide mark. Might have washed up on shore. I wonder if it came from a shipwreck or something.” 

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, you doubt everything. You librarians are too practical. I say it belonged to a drowned sailor – what if it's haunted?” Virginia laughed.

“You don’t really believe that, do you? No, that watch’s owner is alive and well, I just know it.”

“Well, I say the watch is haunted,” said Opal stubbornly. 

“Fine. You want to make a bet? Let’s make a bet. If we find the watch’s owner and they’re alive, you have to come with me when I visit my mother in America next spring – it’s such a dull trip and I desperately need company.”

“All right. And if the watch is haunted you have to take more time off from that job of yours. I barely ever get to see you during the school year. Deal?” 

“Deal.” They shook hands solemnly and started heading back towards the seaside cottage they shared. 

“I’m absolutely covered in sand,” Virginia remarked as she unlocked the door, “as much as I love it when you kiss me, I could do without this part.” Opal laughed.

“You go clean up. I’ll make us a cup of tea.” 

In front of a steaming mug of tea, Virginia examined the pocket watch. “Looks pretty old,” she remarked, “I bet it’s a family heirloom. Whoever lost it must be pretty upset.”

“Or they would be… if they were alive.”

“Oh, stop it. You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

“Of course. Don’t you?” Virginia scoffed.

“Of course not. No such thing as a ghost.”

“That’s because you’re an American. If you were Welsh like me you’d understand. Americans are too logical. You don’t allow for any magic in your lives.”

“An hour ago you said it was because I’m a librarian. Which is it?”

“It’s both. You’re an American and a librarian, so you don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I see. And you’re Welsh and a primary school teacher, so you do? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe not. I think that’s your problem – you need everything to make sense. Sometimes things just don’t.” Virginia laughed.

“Well, that can’t be true. I’m in love with you, after all, and nothing you say makes any sense.”

At three o’clock that night, Opal was jolted out of a deep sleep by a loud thump coming from the kitchen. She glanced over at Virginia, who was still sound asleep, and decided not to wake her. She would come to regret that decision when she saw what was making the noise: the pocket watch, seemingly suddenly possessed of a mind of its own, was on the ground, shrouded in a sort of dreamy mist, and it seemed to be scuttling towards the door. Opal grabbed it, and it seemed to struggle to break free from her grasp. It was as if a magnetic field was pulling it toward the door. Not knowing what else to do, she stuffed it into a half empty coffee can and slammed the lid shut. 

Opal went back to bed, resolving not to mention the incident to Virginia. It wasn’t like Virginia would ever believe her, anyway. She would think Opal was just trying to get her to believe in ghosts. 

The next morning when she was slicing bread for breakfast, Opal heard Virginia let out a small gasp when she opened the coffee can. “Opal?” she asked, “why is the pocket watch in the coffee can?” Opal hesitated. “You’re not going to believe me…” she began.

“Try me,” Virginia insisted, giving Opal her best stern librarian look over the rims of her glasses.

“I woke up in the middle of the night because I heard a thump, so I came into the kitchen. Virginia, the pocket watch was scuttling around on the floor like a crab! It was moving towards the door and I didn’t want it to get lost, so I put it in the coffee can.” Virginia looked thoroughly unconvinced, but she didn’t say anything. And she still kissed Opal’s forehead as tenderly as ever when she left for work. 

Although Virginia insisted on taking it out of the coffee can, the pocket watch didn’t give them any trouble that night – or so they thought. Before long, Virginia discovered a note on the kitchen table. “Take me back,” Virginia read aloud, “I belong by the sea. Let me cross the bar – don’t hold me back.” Opal was silent for a while.

“Well,” she said slowly, “you must know what I’m going to say.”

“There’s no ghost, Opal.” 

“But do you have a better explanation for this? Wouldn’t you rather think we’ve got a ghost than that someone broke in last night to write us ominous letters?”

“I suppose I would, but I don’t have to believe either. You wrote the note, didn’t you?” Opal sighed. “I wish I had, but I didn’t. I promise.” Virginia still didn’t seem convinced, but she dropped the subject.

During the following week, the watch seemed to become more and more troublesome. A few times, Virginia could have sworn she had seen someone – or something – out of the corner of her eye. It looked like a young man in a military uniform. The best look she got at him revealed him to be tall and lanky, with messy hair and a forlorn expression. If Virginia had believed in ghosts… but then, she reminded herself, a war had just ended. Aberystwyth was full of ghosts, after a fashion: not the souls of the undead, like Opal thought, just the unfinished business of all the young men who hadn’t come home. 

Come to think of it, the young man Virginia had seen looked something like young Peter Lloyd, the druggist’s son who had died at Dunkirk. Virginia had known him fairly well. A shy, sensitive sort of boy, he had spent much of his time at the library, poring over poetry collections. They had been friends of a sort, taking walks along the beach and talking about books for hours. Peter had loved the sea. He had told Virginia that he could never be happy when he wasn’t near it. The news of his death had affected Virginia more than she cared to admit. Even now, six years later, Virginia couldn’t even look at a volume of Tennyson’s poems without feeling a little wistful – Crossing the Bar had been Peter’s favourite poem. 

After eight days of this, Virginia came to a decision. She still didn’t believe in ghosts, but all the same, she wasn’t overly fond of seeing her dead friend in her peripheral vision. “I want that pocket watch out of the house,” she told Opal, “it’s not that I really think it’s haunted, mind you, because I don’t, but I don’t altogether feel safe. The school year starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?” Opal nodded. “Good. I don’t work tomorrow, so I’ll drop in around noon and show the students the watch. It might belong to one of their parents.” Opal agreed.

When Virginia walked into her girlfriend’s classroom, she recognized most of the students. It was no surprise, really: Aberystwyth was a small town, and many of its residents frequented the library. Some of the children seemed to recognize her, too. “Good afternoon, children,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. Opal gestured for the children to answer. “Good afternoon, Miss Goldberg,” they all said in unison. Virginia took the pocket watch out of her coat pocket and showed it to the children. “I trust Miss St. Clair has told you why I’m here?” she asked. Most of the children nodded. “Do any of you recognize this watch? We found it on the beach.” There was a long silence, and, finally, a small boy in the middle row raised his hand. Virginia recognized him immediately as Thomas Lloyd – Peter Lloyd’s younger brother. “That’s my father’s watch,” he said quietly. Virginia let out a sigh of relief. “Excellent,” she said, much more cheerfully, “I’ll be over to your father’s store to drop it off later today.”

True to her promise, Virginia walked into the drugstore at three o’clock sharp that afternoon. Mr. Lloyd was sitting behind the counter, but he stood up when he saw Virginia. “Afternoon, Miss Goldberg,” he said, in his usual cheerful fashion, “what can I do for you?” Virginia showed him the watch. “Miss St. Clair and I found this on the beach. Your son says it’s yours.” Mr. Lloyd’s usually flushed face turned dead white. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t seem to say anything. “What’s wrong?” Virginia asked.

“Nothing. That’s my watch, all right, only… you weren’t supposed to find it.”

“Why not?”

“I hid it on purpose. Buried it in the sand. I didn’t want it in the house anymore because… damn it, Miss Goldberg, the watch is haunted!” Virginia’s eyes widened. She forced herself to laugh.

“Nonsense! How can a watch be haunted?” Mr. Lloyd sighed. “That watch is a family heirloom – belonged to my grandfather. When my son Peter joined the army, I gave it to him. When he died, the watch was all they sent back to me. Whenever it was in the house, I would see Peter out of the corner of my eye. He started leaving notes, saying he needed to be by the sea. So I buried the watch. I thought he would be happy that way. Would stop haunting me. My son is dead, Miss Goldberg, and I want him to stay that way.”

On the walk home, Virginia tried not to think about how she, too, had seen Peter out of the corner of her eye, and how, now that she thought of it, the note she had found alluded to his favourite poem. She hoped she could just quietly take the watch back to the beach and bury it again – maybe toss it into the sea. She would let Opal think she had returned it to Mr. Lloyd. She would simply call off the bet – it was silly anyway. But no such luck. 

Opal greeted her at the door. Before Virginia could say anything, Opal blurted out, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Mr. Lloyd.” 

“He’s told you about the watch, then?” Opal nodded.

“Yes. I told you it was haunted.”

“And I told you its owner was alive and well. We were both right, I suppose.” Opal acquiesced. 

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll throw the watch into the sea,” Virginia began, “then you’ll buy some new luggage for the trip to America, and I’ll hire another part-time librarian so I can take more time off. We’ve both won the bet, and fair is fair.” They shook hands, and Opal rested her head on Virginia’s shoulder. 

They both slept soundly that night, and never again did they pick up a strange pocket watch on the beach. Virginia still believed there was no such thing as a ghost, but then again, it was better not to take risks. Peter Lloyd was dead. He had crossed the bar, and regardless of what Tennyson said, there had been plenty of “sadness of farewell.” Aberystwyth might be full of ghosts, but that didn’t mean Virginia wanted or needed one in her home. Peter Lloyd was dead; let him stay that way.

[whereflowersbloom]

Fly with me

Chapter III: Take a chance on us.

The tower was silent, the rest of the occupants not yet awake. The pale pink light of an autumn morning was beginning to color the horizon. Raven couldn’t sleep. She woke up a bit earlier than usual. She brew a cup of Earl Grey, added a small pitch of milk, two teaspoons of honey. Done. She was sitting quietly, started sipping her tea as she recalled the events of yesterday. She’s always been honest and open with Damian, over the years they became close comrades, friends, things changed though, lately she felt troubled looking at him in the eye. His observant eyes perceive every little detail. Her stomach was in knots and it seemed to be something not even meditation could solve. She found herself losing focus. The reason? Thoughts of Damian consuming her, completely, slowly, like a fire spreading. She had to find a way to fix this.

She heard light footsteps on the kitchen floor. She turned and looked back to find Kori.

“Raven, I’m sorry if I startled you.” Kori’s soft voice said as she smiled serenely.

“Kori, you’re up early. Good morning.” Raven replied weakly, it was evident she didn’t have a goodnight.

“Morning to you. I was sent on a mission to get an ice-pack and a mug of black coffee, for Richard.” She explained as she proceeded to brew the drink for her partner. However the Tamaranian noticed Raven’s bewildered look on her face. “Raven, is something particularly bothering you?” She asked eyebrows knit together in concern.

Raven looked at her for a minute. How was she supposed to explain the situation. It was strange and silly. On second thought, perhaps Kori could guide her, give her an idea of how to handle her emotional conflict.

“I’m not quiet sure how to deal with certain new emotions surging. It’s overwhelming at times.” She confessed.

Kori nodded and took Raven’s hand in her own. “Does these new emotions involve Damian, by any chance?” The older woman carefully inquired.

The dark haired teenager opened her eyes widely in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Call it woman’s instinct.” Kori replied confidently. There was more to it. Raven knew it. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question. “Alright. Richard did mention Damian is going through a similar situation. They had a bonding moment last night.” She gave Raven an apologetic smile, her cheeks flushed.

Raven has never been so mortified in her life and Kori was telling her, Damian Wayne, always calm, collected, disciplined, sure he had a bad temper at times, sharp tongue, but he appeared to be in control all the time. Those fits of emotions she was getting through her empathic powers were also Damian’s. Raven seemed to be notoriously absentminded, lost in her tangled thoughts. But why did they affect her so much?

She felt the weight of Kori’s hand fall on her shoulder, catching her attention, snapping back to reality. “You two have gotten intimately close over the years. Have you considered you are developing romantic feelings for each other?” The alien ex-princess asked pointedly.

She held her breath as she considered Kori’s question. Romantic feelings. It hit her like splashed water on her face. Was Damian romantically interested in her? He did ask her on a date. She was going to meet his family, formally. Oh Azar. She didn’t want to take it too seriously. Because Of her insecurities, she felt inadequate. She wasn’t human like the, after all. Even so Damian wasn’t the type of person to play around, he means his words and actions. When did this start? How? Why her? She wondered how long he has harbored affection for her. And did she like him? Of course, she did, but falling in love was never supposed to be part of her life. Until you met him she thought. In her heart he was unparalleled to anything in the universe. She admired his intelligence, his passion, he’d shown her he could be kind and thoughtful, stood up for justice in a world that was often more focused on doing what was more comfortable. He was also very attentive to her and gentle. She loved those sides of him.

“I have feelings for Damian Wayne.” Raven said quietly, speaking the words into existence, practically falling over the weight of the words she just said.

“Doesn’t it feel nice to admit it?” Kori teased her, smiling warmly.

“Oh, Kori. I have no idea what to do about it.” Raven but her lip, covering her face embarrassed.

Kori nodded, understanding her friend’s concern. “I think it’s something you two should discuss. That’s my advice. Honesty is always the answer in these cases. In my humble opinion.”

“Thanks, Kori. For your words and listening.” Her leader nodded and told her it’s what friends are for. She left the kitchen, deciding to meditate to regain composure. Think clearly before speaking with Damian about their developing bond.

~~~

Hours later, she standing in front of Damian’s door. She tried to gather courage to knock. Anxiety had poooled in her chest. She was about to do it when the door opened, the figure of Damian appearing in front of her. Both looking surprised, to see each other. She couldn’t help but smile, her heart fluttering. Had his eyes always been this beautiful, like two pools of the deepest, richest green known to human kind? His strong jawline. Apparently her presence astounded him.

“Hey, I was about to find you.” Damian said casually. Going back to his neutral expression.

“Oh. Anything you need? I also wanted to have a word with you.” Raven said looking away, feeling heat on her cheeks, her nerves getting the best of her.

“I was going to ask you. Would you mind accompanying me to walk Titus?” Damian muttered serious, masking his emotions. Be in control. Reminded himself.

“Sure. I’d love to. We can talk on the way to the park.” Raven said quietly, almost in a whisper. It’s not the first time they walk Titus together.

The park was relatively quiet for a Thursday afternoon. There were a few joggers. Other dog owners walking their canine friends or more like canines with their humans, because most of the time it seemed like the dogs made the rules. Except Titus. Damian trained him personally, and he proved be obedient and a fast learner.

Damian let Titus off his leash, he did it for a little time on their walks, so that he could get a good run and taste of freedom. He never went too far though. However sometimes he’d come back bringing an abandoned ball or an empty soda can. Damian raised his eyebrows and gave him a look and somehow Titus knew it wasnt a toy to play with. But Raven loves spoiling him, playing with him, giving him secret treats she thinks Damian doesnt know about. He didn’t mind pretending he wasn’t aware of it, if it made her happy.

“Raven” he repeated her name. “Have I done something to offend you?” He asked considering if he did something incorrect. “You haven’t said a word the entire time.”

“No!” She said loudly and feeling guilt, tentatively taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Actually, I want to apologize for my behavior these last days.” They were so close, she gulped nervously.

“Apologize? Why? Care to elaborate?” He said firmly, calm. His eyebrows rising questioning her.

“Perhaps I gave you the idea I wasn’t taking your proposal seriously. The date.” She exhaled. Getting a weight off her chest. Those mixed feelings messing with her again. The words stuck in her throat.

“Damian” she said holding her breath, her throat dry, heart speeding. “You like me.” said in a low voice, only Damian was able to hear it. Raven bit her lip painfully once she realized what she just said. Damian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at her words. He looked at her, analyzing her expression. Choosing his words carefully. He took a step forward.

“Yes. I like you.” He said slowly, his tone firm, direct, speaking with all seriousness. His eyes locking with hers. That was the truth, why deny it anymore? He liked to think he was doing things properly.

Even knowing it, hearing it from him, made her heart soar. Wishing to hear him say it again, and again. She didn’t want to give herself the pleasure to replay the moments in her mind. She had questions.

“But. Why?” He cut her in. He was frowning and suppressing his temper. It was exasperating how blinded she was by her self-doubts. He wanted to make his feelings and intentions clear.

“Please, stop and listen to me.” He pleaded. “How could you not understand why?” concealing his anger at her incomprehension, not understanding all the things she was. Things he discovered everyday about her. Everything she was becoming. He exhaled his frustration. And cleaned his throat.

“I could tell you a million reasons why I harbor romantic feelings for you. It’s something complicated to describe in detail. If you’d let me, I’ll, do it. But I’d rather show you.” He confessed.

He took her hands in his. They were warm, practically engulfing her small, pale hands in his larger, rougher ones. Those precious hands. Hers. His eyes were the same as they had been yesterday burning and filled with desire and passion. Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. She was breathless at his declaration.

“There’s no one quite like you. There’s only one Raven. The one I want.” Damian murmured, his voice low, soft, expressing all his devotion. “This date is a chance for us to see everything we could be together.” She took a deep breath, found truth in his emerald eyes and nodded silently. Agreeing. She would do it. Take a chance. Damian only sneezed her hands still in his gently.

It was about time for a update and I was inspired. Hope you enjoy it. 🥰🥰😂😂😂❤️💜🙈

@chromium7sky enjoy 🙊🙊

[aroworlds]

Those With More, Part Two

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness.

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. This section includes characters embracing and touching.

Length: 4, 691 words (part two of two).

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all. 

***

She isn’t surprised when Moll strides, their braid and girdle book swinging with each step, down the path to her garden. Sirenne rarely leaves its rules unsaid, an admirable quality to Suki’s way of thinking, but one needn’t long elaborate to impart the expectation that junior priests arrive promptly when summoned. Moll, despite the lifetime of alienation that leads to questioning rules and a habit of interaction best described as “restrained”, hasn’t dawdled upon hearing her request. A problem, that.

She understands, though, in the way of a woman once a girl who couldn’t have understood at all.

Obedience to conformity isn’t something she feels in the heart; Suki responds to being haltered with sharp words and loud arguments. Amadi, knowing this, kept her with em for a year before taking her to Sirenne, a year of learning to accept reasonable restrictions before facing the greater challenge of an acolyte’s service. That bitter, aching, defiant Suki would have scorned Moll’s flushed face and hurried pace, not seeing that she reacted to the same set of weighty, dehumanising beliefs and demands.

Submission and rebellion are just two sides of the same coin.

She doesn’t approve, but she understands.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she says, gleefully irascible, as Moll opens their mouth. “No clucking allowed. Sit down. The food’s safe, but it’s been half an hour. The tea’s probably cold.”

Moll nods and settles themself on Mara’s recently-vacated bench, the tea tray resting between them and Suki’s chair. As always, they move slowly, carefully, cautiously—like a wolfhound sniffing a newborn kitten or a man allowing a butterfly to alight on his finger. Like a tall, broad, boulder-shaped priest attempting to avoid threatening or scaring, however inadvertently, those around them. Like a puppy lying on its back, belly bared and paws tucked under its chin, its defencelessness a performance made before all would-be predators.

I won’t hurt you, so don’t hurt me.

They look more like a fig tree towering over the world’s seedlings than a puppy, but while a fig possesses an ancient, confident majesty in its quest to subsume another life in its great roots, Moll is … Moll. Shy, awkward, hesitant, uncertain. Rarely does she see them widen their arms or roll their hips, as if forever working to make their immense body appear smaller, softer, lighter. Just as a fig, for all its grandeur, lies vulnerable to any woman wielding an axe, Moll lies vulnerable to the wounds wrought by tongue, expression and gesture.

She wants to, simultaneously, swathe that nervous puppy in a warm blanket while taking a sharp blade to that fig’s trunk and daring Moll to defend themself.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

“Do you … mind, if I heat the tea?”

“Clucking,” she says, fighting to bite back her impatience. She doesn’t want to be the kind of old woman who moans about the young’s blathering, but sometimes they make her silence difficult! “If I objected, couldn’t you cool it down? Or tell me to pour a cup and let time have its way? I’d tell me, personally, to stick my head where the sun never shines. Try, if you want.”

Moll’s deep-set brown eyes put her in mind of shadowed pools—their fathomless serenity now disturbed by a crotchety priest’s thrown rock. Wordlessly, they pour a small amount of tea into a saucer before resting one hand on the teapot’s handle. The other guides a finger to the saucer, dampens a fingertip and traces, with careful delicacy, evaporating glyphs atop the tan glaze.

Many magicians speak loudly or write in great looping script, their magic become another performance of wordplay and artistry—as if, Suki always thinks, they find adoration for their art more useful than magic itself. Moll works in gestures and murmurs, collected and subtle. Everything must be reduced, depressed and lessened for safety, and she sighs, for even she recognises that they’re no casual magician. Why shouldn’t the world outside a small, backcountry monastery welcome or accommodate such ability?

Why shouldn’t Freehome welcome Suki’s free, unrestrained, honest self?

Such pondering, when she knows the answers to both questions, provides only one thing: delay.

“How old were you,” she asks, “when you learnt the word for your aromanticism?”

A slight frown, more the suggestion of expression than the actuality, shifts Moll’s brow. “I know exactly,” they say in their slow, deep voice, “because I learnt five weeks and two days after my acceptance as acolyte.” They purse their lips, studying the movement of their finger across the teapot. When a breath of steam issues from the spout, they pull back their hand. “I knew what I was since childhood, but knowing that I am loveless isn’t the same as a more … academic term. Loveless … people have other ideas about what that means.”

She always knew whom and what she was, clinging to a truth so obvious part of Suki still finds it absurd that Mama Lewis persisted in her stubborn obliviousness. Knowing, though, isn’t recognition, isn’t identification and permission; knowing isn’t the certain categorisation of the self as a different, acknowledged, communicable manner of ordinary.

Knowing isn’t pride.

“When do you think I found the word?”

Moll shakes their head, pouring now-steaming tea into a clay mug, the glaze chipped about the rim from years of use, the handle too small to fit all of Moll’s fingers. Their expression shows not the slightest hint of curiosity towards her questions. “I wouldn’t begin to guess, sir.”

Given Moll’s newness to the red, they can easily rough-reckon the numbers, so she answers as they did. “One and a half years before you, and leave off the ‘sir’! What are we, Astreuch?” Suki draws a shaking breath, her voice undeservedly sharp, but how can she fight both her acid tongue and the awful surge of hurt? How can she fight both her acid tongue and a nebulous tension that only fuels and strengthens her aching joints? “I was accepted, in a ‘some people don’t like relationships’ way. My mentor, Amadi, was like us. But the word? I didn’t know words until a cluster of young priests brought books from Khaloun. I found it, unexpectedly, while reading. So I made it my life’s work to have, here, our library.” She pauses, rueful. “Or the rest of my life’s work, since…”

Moll has given only patient, considered answers. Moll hasn’t asked questions coated in that dread mingling of need, hope and dismissal. Moll has done nothing to deserve her mood beyond asking one question, in the vegetable garden, that they had and have every right to voice.

Anticipatory fear and aching memory, poisonously entwined, have ever raised her hackles.

Suki counts backwards from ten, breathing long and slow, before realising that the Stormcoast’s culture of tiptoeing around advancing age—one daren’t observe that another approaches a state of “elderly” or “ancient”—has left Moll dwelling in a stone-faced, finger-entwining, staring-at-the-ferns silence.

“Which relative told you off as a child for calling another relative ‘old’?” she asks, grinning. “You think I don’t know I’m over the bloody hill and rolling down the other side? Yes, it’s the rest of my life’s work, because most of my life happened beforehand! Why pretend otherwise?”

“Many.” Moll rolls their shoulders back, softening. “How old were you?”

“Seventy-nine.” Suki silently applauds them for avoiding the tired “may I ask how old were you” approach and leaves the rest of the reckoning to Moll, carefully shifting her hands. Too often, these days, she earns nothing for her restful efforts but more time yearning for the work around which she has anchored her life. “Sometimes I feel like I was alive when the Sojourner supposedly lead hir band of survivors from the Change-ravaged North. Sometimes the world feels impossibly different, from then to now. Mostly, I feel the same as I always was, and the world's less different than people think, but people treat me like a ... a relic. Fancy attempting to educate me about theories I promoted because the old can’t understand the new!” She sighs. “Pour me a cup of plain tea, please, and put a pill on the saucer. The rats are gnawing today. Bloody rats.”

If her pain becomes unbearable, she’ll ask Thanh for hir set of nerve-blocking spells. She won’t be able to move or feel much of her body, but since she’s already remaining still, the real difference lies in consideration for Thanh. Ze’s had enough on hir metaphorical plate over the last week without Suki’s adding to hir work—and she hates to call on hir when she unnecessarily provoked at least half the throb in her hands, knees and ankles. Thanh has never made her feel as though she shouldn’t, but she does nonetheless.

She’s learnt the hard way how much her mood, and her guilt over wishing for relief, stokes and banks her pain.

Moll sets down their mug and pours another. “Can I do anything for you?”

Suki laughs. “I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you’ve figured out Thanh’s nerve blockers?”

They shake their head with speed enough that she guesses this a source of some frustration. “I don’t know how! There’s so much grafting onto nerve points, and in trying to describe it all and then shell … I make too many mistakes in the spell compression. It isn’t something in which you want mistakes.” They stop, breathing out long and slow. “I’m sorry, s—I’m sorry.”

Suki considers asking why, since she can’t expect a former quartermaster to reveal mastery of an art for which Thanh spent years studying at Eastern universities, but isn’t all this another distraction? “Don’t be. Thank you. Can you put the tray, just the cup and saucer, on my lap?”

Moll shifts the teapot and plate of corn muffins onto the bench before, as carefully as if handling fragile porcelain, arranging the rest of the tray on Suki’s lap. “Do you want to eat?”

“No.” Once, she could clasp a cup without provoking or worsening the pulling, throbbing pain in her wrist and fingers. So simple a thing to hold a cup, to drink, to return it to her tray! The tea’s heat doesn’t ease her pain, but the warm, tingling sensation distracts her somewhat, so she cradles the cup in both hands before raising them to her face. Now, at least, she needn’t waste her time in hope. As much as she yearns for Mara’s unlooked-for shape of witchcraft, there’s no reason to think her magic anything but sorcery, distant and unattainable. So be it.

She has blessings to count: a home, acolytes to help her wash and dress, purpose.

The bitter pill sticks to her tongue before she swallows it down.

“I can imagine,” Moll says, settling themself back onto the bench, “but in that way of theory. I can’t know, in the heart, the longest rhythms of time unknowing or half-knowing, given all denied us because we lack comprehension’s authority and…” They trail off, taking up their mug and, likely unconsciously, mirroring the position of her hands. “Place. That sense of place in time, in space, in community, in family, that … existential assuredness. Place. I know separation, distance, but I won’t pretend that I know that deeper shape.”

That Moll thinks their service should encompass only the safety of the vegetable garden is both tragedy and metaphor, but their still face suggests they don’t realise the contradictory echo of old words behind the new.

Mara wanted her kindred’s acknowledgement of her pain, someone to help her shoulder the weight of her agony in the validation and sympathy offered only by one who understands. Was Suki wrong to think, for so long, that she can’t risk seeking comfort? Does Moll’s rare consideration, offered unprompted no less, betoken safety enough for her to try?

“Do you have place, now?”

Moll cocks their head to the side, tapping one finger against the mug’s brown handle.

Suki waits.

“I don’t know that I will ever have that … neat, puzzle-piece sense of fitting into any time or space shared with others. Just autism alone, just aromanticism alone, just genderlessness alone … possibly. But they can’t stand alone, even if others want them to.” Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their lips in the loud, habitual easing of a priest performing and, through performance, encouraging the behaviour. “Sometimes … I want, so much, the ease of that fit, the confidence of an unquestioned place. And always … not, never, at that price.”

It shames her that, for all she has long held Moll at arm’s length, they are so willing to share.

“Burn the whole damn puzzle,” Suki says through a terrible, crooked grin.

Moll nods, a slight frown creasing their lips.

Do they realise? The shock of their first conversation in the vegetable garden, followed by an induction into the events surrounding the Hill siblings, may have seen them miss or put aside the obvious, for all that they touched upon it in their question of her. Moll owns too much perception to remain in acceptance of the thick paint covering the wallpaper beneath, and priests must do just that: question.

No thought or word can be worth anything if crumpling under curious, inquisitive challenge, so the question remains: have they the courage to ask?

“Do you know,” she says in a would-be conversational voice, “that the best thing about being a priest is that you can, amongst other priests, speak your mind? The trick lies in only having something worth speaking. Try it.”

With the speed and presence of a glacier, Moll turns their head to look Suki in the eyes. Their brow sits low and heavy, their controlled voice too tense for indifference: “What is this, then?”

Suki shakes her head. “No, try again.”

Moll’s lips shift, as if they mean to mouth a word before deciding otherwise. “Do you want honesty?”

“Your own mind will tear you apart if you say anything less, so why should I expect otherwise?”

A slight crease of Moll’s brow may suggest amusement—or consternation. Both, perhaps. “You’re discussing,” they say with painful slowness, “aro—” They hold up a hand, stopping her from remarking on their woeful statement of the obvious, and Suki, despite her anxiety-fuelled throbbing, works to hide a smile. “When you’ve had five years to start a conversation, why now?”

Their breath hisses over lips and teeth, one hand sketching lines on the meat of their robe-covered thigh.

Suki nods her encouragement.

“I did think that if this were well-known, I’d have heard. Someone would have said so in explaining to me? I also thought that your answer to my question … undermined your sense of the importance that we guide our own, especially now.”

“Do you feel that with Esher Hill?” Suki asks, wondering if they’ll dare put damning thought to voice. “Importance?”

"Yes." Moll shifts the girdle book and the bunched-up length of brown belt fastening said book to their waist. Their robe spills over thighs and knees, leaving ankles and shoulders bared; unlike Suki, they don’t appear the least bit cold. “He doesn’t trust me, but I think seeing himself reflected in that tangle of sharedness does more to help him survive than anything else. It matters.” They draw a breath, their voice firming and harshening: “So why do you talk sharedness now?”

Good! Only pain and the fear that Moll will take a somewhat-deserved offence keeps her from clapping. If she spends her remaining months or years helping Moll craft a more intentional relationship to obedience, even the Sojourner must reckon this time well served.

Easier to think about that than her own fear of an unvoiced answer.

Easier to frame this as a lesson or a guiding, her conversation possessed of another’s purpose.

Easier to think of anything but guilt and the damning thoughts an old woman must dare speak.

“Why do you?” Moll sips from their mug, their body angled towards her, their soft tone less a question than a prompting. “Isn’t that it?”

Only then does Suki realise that she embodies her own lingering, encloaking silence.

Her eyes rest, fleeing Moll, on the fern-encrusted garden wall and its uneven rows of red and yellow orchids. Her plants, fronds and leaves stirred into bobbing by the evening breeze, appear peaceful and fearless, but even allowing for flora’s unknowable sentience, that can’t be true. What stops a priest from consigning her flowers to the compost heap? A swarm of thrip from devouring the vegetable garden? Ferns, too, live their lives at the whims of the weather, the season, the denizens of the land upon which they take root. Plants grow, flourish, sicken, die. Peaceful?

What is peace but illusion: the hope of a perfect shelter from nature’s whims, ways and hurts?

“It goes the same way,” she says, now staring at her lawn and its mushrooms, those glistening fruits of the fungus conquering the soil beneath. “You learn something you didn’t know existed: the word. Once you find it fits, you feel the betrayal, the ache of once not knowing something fundamental, the deep cuts left by ignorance. You want sympathy, reassurance and validation to heal, and where are they when most don’t understand?”

Deep creases form across Moll’s brow as they thread their fingers together. “Yes. Esher needs it from me.” They hesitate, lips parted. “He needs it. So does Mara.”

“You can say it,” Suki murmurs, wondering the cost of standing, stepping onto the lawn and pulling the closest mushroom … with her back, conveniently, facing the priest beside her. Perhaps she and Moll aren’t so dissimilar if she wants to turn her hurt to fighting fungi. Perhaps this only crosses a mind looking to find a replacement for her knitting. “Please.”

“And I needed it from you.”

They may be referring to that first vegetable garden conversation. They may be referring to the years that passed between Moll’s learning the word “aromantic” as a descriptor and discovering that another priest is also aromantic. Both are truth.

“Nobody but Amadi had anything close.” Suki yawns in the first touch of medicine’s giddiness. Pity, as always, that she feels the effect in her head long before her joints. “Given nameless, remaining nameless with eir last breath.”

Only the stirring of hair and robe by breeze and breath mars Moll’s quiet stillness.

“Those with more,” she says bitterly, “serve to guide those with less. How doesn’t aromanticism apply? But we know the other side of its truth: a priest must have more to serve. More knowledge, more support, more sense of place, more safety, more community. A priest offers sympathy, provides reassurance, validates feeling, illuminates direction. A priest does what the world so often can’t in telling the different that we aren’t wrong to exist as we are.”

Mama Lewis wanted Suki to be safe, happy, loved. Mama Lewis never valued the daughter she had over the image of the daughter she thought herself entitled to have.

The part of Suki still yearning for the promise of her mother’s love can’t surrender one tainted, maggot-ridden idea: that a concept bearing an academic-sounding, official name must have made a difference.

Or will she still exist in this same circumstance, a trailblazer struggling with the full and challenging consequences of being this path’s guide?

“You think that I’ve known our word for years. You think that age means my hurt no longer throbs and I will carry your pain. You think I have more.” She presses her lips together, fearing the tears threatening to burst their dam. No, Suki takes pride in being the human equivalent of a splinter under a fingernail! She doesn’t weep. She rebels. “I have more knowledge only! You’ve … thirty, forty, fifty years of knowing ahead. You won’t find the word when you’re at death’s doorstep. You won’t bear the pain of a word unknown for eight decades. Your guide came delayed, but your guide still came!”

Suki learnt her words from books, not other priests. Moll had Gennifer, who’d learnt of aromanticism from her and affirmed in person the name of their identity and human worth. Moll, now, has Suki, even if five years later than right or deserved. Mara and Esher Hill have the wonder of identified validation provided by other aromantics, but Suki lived in a time when even the best affirmation went unnamed.

She tried openness for a year. She tried talking, despite such guiding never being her strongest art, to those guests who showed signs of aromanticism. She tried to find and connect with her own.

Easier, so much easier, to withdraw, to leave nurturing the younger aromantic starting their novitiate to other priests, to trust that Moll’s future will achieve what hers can’t.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid the young’s self-involved cruelty in relegating her only to their mentorship: the provider of their needed validation and support, the priest with more.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid speaking of her named identity with her aromantic kin … until a man almost died in part because of how he took a priest’s careless words, a situation that may not have existed if everyone knew “aromantic” described her and understood its context. Her failure, her cowardice, her unwillingness to build aromanticism more obviously into all her priests’ knowledge and service. Her inability to survive the bruises dealt her by others in pain. Her rebellion offering no direction or answer.

“You want me to strengthen you, shore you, shelter you. I can’t. I can’t when even thinking of sharing your agony reminds me of mine. I can’t when listening to you…” She sucks in a harsh, shaking breath, her throat tightening like a python’s jaws around a struggling rat. “I don’t have more. I’ll never have more. But acknowledging that isn’t enough!”

No lie slipped from her lips when she spoke to Moll in the vegetable garden, carefully dealing in careless and shallow words: how can a priest best guide someone when that guiding means taking further injury to damaged flesh? How can she serve their guests and her belief when she fights to keep back her screams, when pain and defensiveness sharpen her words to cruelty?

How much did the ostensible Sojourner struggle in leading hir collection of rent and ruined survivors along such a frightening, untrodden road?

She wishes herself able enough to march into the kitchen, grab a stack of the cracked plates she kept aside for such purposes and find a private courtyard where she can hurl them at a particularly offensive wall.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, “because you needed. Because what happened to Esher wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t retreated. I didn’t question. I didn’t try to find an answer. I used the precept as a shield; I failed it. I’m sorry, I—”

She doesn’t realise she’s weeping until Moll slides towards her, closes their warm hand about her bony shoulders and pulls her into their chest, her tears soaking their red linen robe. They don’t speak. They don’t do anything but sit, awkwardly leaned over the arm of her chair, and hold her like a fresh-hatched chick in a pair of sheltering hands.

Guiding priests don’t, by custom, embrace their guests.

A lifetime’s grief spills from her eyes, stinging creased, dry cheeks. Not until the evening’s chill increases to something unignorable does Suki find again her composure. She sniffs, draws a shaking breath and speaks in her ever-readily barbed tongue: “Ten years ago, before your novitiate, I’d have asked if you were interested in bedding. Or even just sleeping, because you’re better than a dog and a hot brick for keeping an old woman toasty.”

Moll sits upright, only a strained shift of shoulder suggesting any stiffness or discomfort. Their wet eyes glisten even in the dim light, an odd contrast to their twisted lips and crumpled chin—and then a noise between a hoarse laugh and a snort explodes above the breeze’s whisper. “Don’t distract!”

They sound like Suki does when objecting to the young's woeful blathering.

She straightens, wiping her face on a corner of her shawl before smiling in pride. “Yes. I…”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to share.” They’re priestly words, taken right from the instruction manual, but Moll’s following sentences aren’t: “You said my guide came delayed, but she came, she showed herself when needed, she served. She’s here. I don’t know … how people reacted, what was asked, all of what you feel, how you bear the weight. I want to know. Your guide came delayed, so delayed … but they’re here. Even at the last.”

Emotion cracks and shreds her voice: “I’d rather not cry again, thank you very much.”

Moll doesn’t dilute their blank stare with speech or gesture.

“What path, then?” she croaks—tired, giddy, shivering, relieved.

Part of her, the wary woman once a distrustful girl, feels it ludicrous that Moll, so junior a priest, can answer something she can’t. The girl does them no justice: Moll hasn’t asked her to carry their pain. They’ve shared only at her prompting. They’ve treated her with a friend’s warmth and courtesy. If she holds no faith in their sacred service, is there anything left of Suki but damaged bones in an aching body? Isn’t this the same old difficulty: a woman fighting herself to trust another person, simultaneously needing and fearing?

Moll rests a hand on the arm of her chair, fingers half curled in invitation.

Suki nods and rests her stiff hand in their soft one.

“Someday,” they say slowly, “as how it seems incredulous to question one eschewing gender, we will be history. My school, years ago, taught that: the tears and blood spent to make a world where I can shrug at gender. Not just as a past to avoid repeating, but as … respect for the pain that birthed the now.”

They motion with their other hand, fingers curled inwards—the mug and teapot sitting, long abandoned, on the bench.

Suki yawns, presses her trembling lips together and waits.

“We need books of names and definitions, and we need books of stories. Our futures and hopes written on the page. Stories of the past that we’re hoping become … incredulous. We need the stories of those who wept. We can’t forget.” They turn to glance at Suki before speaking in a voice marred by quivering: “May I write down your story? So I can understand—so we can understand, all those who come after?”

They won’t offer power. They can’t violently remake a world so wrought against her. They don’t provide resolution to the ache felt by a woman struggling with the community who need her to help them bear and understand theirs. They haven't a solution.

They offer direction, one balancing their hopes for the future with the harms of the present. A direction that doesn’t make her feel like a relic to be cast aside but a paving stone at the road’s beginning, one small part of ensuring the steady, continuing passing of feet and wheels.

Moll’s suggestion is why she believes in the concept of the Sojourner, even though she can’t make herself ascribe to certainty in god.

“I don’t mean to be impudent—”

“Never cluck when you’re doing a bitchy old woman a kindness.” Suki draws a shaking breath of her own. “I’d … like that. Very much. Thank you.”

At first, she thinks Moll’s expression—a slight curve of lips, only a smile by comparison—speaks more of relief than happiness. No. Don’t they also straddle a complex and confused struggle to build their place? Don’t they also feel the sacred power in their service? Aren’t they also in need of friendship?

“May I ask—” Moll stops themself, raising a palm. “Why did you talk to me, at the beginning, as though guiding a priest? Why didn’t you talk about this straight out?”

Suki grins at both the correction and the question. “I’m the Guide. What else do you think I’m going to do?”

[danthectoman]

Home for the Holidays

This is my Christmas Truce 2019 gift for @enmitypark ! I had tons of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy!!!

Read it on AO3!

The Fenton family has just arrived at Vlad’s Colorado retreat by RV at Jack’s insistence and had already hauled their belongings for the week-long trip into their rooms. Gathered in the living room, Vlad passes out four large gift baskets, each emblazoned with the person’s name on an oversized tag in his loopy script. Danny notices that his name has a green tint to it, and gives Vlad an inquisitive look, which is returned with a mischievous wink.

“Alright everyone, open your baskets!” Vlad said with a smile.

“Vlad it’s not Christmas yet!” Maddie argued before being shut down.

“My dear, what is in there will be needed for the rest of their stay. There is no need to object.”

Inside each basket was an assortment of gloves and hats in various styles to match each person’s taste, mixes for each person’s favorite hot drink, mugs, and ski goggles.

Danny's mug is black on the bottom half and white on the top, with a green-tinted NASA logo on both sides. "The logo glows in the dark, by the way," Vlad added. There’s hot cocoa and apple cider mixes tucked inside the mug. His goggles are white around the eyes with a black elastic band. The gloves and a hat are both black with green horizontal stripes down the center. Jazz’s items were all turquoise with black accents in a similar configuration to Danny's. Jack’s gifts held a black and orange color scheme, matching his signature jumpsuit. Maddie’s items were aquamarine, dotted with accents of black.

Everyone gave Vlad a hearty thank you for the gifts and Jack, of course, envelopes Vlad in a bone-crushing hug, lifting the smaller man off the ground. Before, Vlad would have yelled at him for such an act, but after making up with the family and being allowed to be a real godfather to the children, he's come to enjoy Jack's affection. After being placed back on the ground, Vlad lead his guests to the sitting room, the fireplace lit and the undecorated evergreen tree already on a stand in the corner.

“Where are the ornaments? And the decorations? I figured you’d have this whole place decorated to the nines already.” Jazz asks with a questioning look on her face.

“Well, I figured it would be fun if we all decorated the house together. This is Christmas after all, and simply hiring someone to do the decorating feels too impersonal for such an occasion." Vlad said with a genuine smile on his face. He's been smiling quite a lot lately. It was something new and entirely welcome.

“That’s right! So, let’s get a move on and start decorating already!! So, where’s the ghostly garland and tinsel?” Jack was so excited he could hardly wait. This time of the year always meant cookies and fudge, and he couldn’t get enough of those.

“Ah, ghostly garland? Do I even want to know what that is?” Vlad asked, an admonished look on his face.

“Sure ya do, Vladdie! It’s just like normal holiday garland, but dipped in ectoplasm! That way, it glows in the dark!” Jack explained with a smile on his face. If the man thought any of what he just described violated the millions of lab safety rules he learned in college, he didn’t show it.

“….Oh, no, that’s not part of the decorations. I have more… traditional decorations than that.” Vlad replied, wondering just what kind of Christmases the children had had. Perhaps this was a splendid idea after all.

“Oh darn. What about,” Jack began, hurriedly cut off by Maddie, a somewhat exasperated look on her face.

“Jack! Be patient, we just got here! At least let us all catch up and enjoy some time outside of the RV before we start working.” Maddie chided her excited husband. She may love the man, but he sure did like to act like a child when it came to Christmas.

Vlad stepped back and motioned to the large sitting area around the fire. Since the last time Danny and Maddie were here, two couches had been added, creating a semicircle around the fireplace. “Excellent idea, my dear. What would everyone like to drink?”

Everyone gave their drink orders and Vlad went to the kitchen to grab them. Everyone finds their spots on a couch; Maddie and Jack taking one couch, Jazz sitting on the other, and Danny taking a chair, assuming Vlad would take the one next to him. Vlad returned with everyone’s mugs balanced on a wooden serving tray and made a loop around the room, everyone grabbing their drinks. After returning the tray to its place, he sat down in the chair next to Danny. As the conversation picked up between the three adults, Danny couldn’t help but think back on how much the other halfa had changed since they met.

The two had formed an almost loving relationship in the past few months since the Pariah incident. Danny supposed that was just the kick in the ass the old fruitloop needed, since almost immediately after the horrible schemes to kill his father and seduce his mother stopped. He didn’t see hide nor hair of Vlad until Danny came home one day to find the man sitting on the couch with his parents, explaining almost everything and working through some of the misunderstandings the three had had for the last twenty years. It had been odd, to say the least, to see Vlad not only without his signature suit but without the bravado the man had exuded from their first meeting. It suited him, this vulnerable look, every expression genuine.

Shortly after that night, Vlad began visiting more often, at least two nights a week sometimes, just to visit and see what was going on in the family’s lives. At first, Danny was against the visits, still caught up in the way Vlad had treated him and thinking the two were still rivals. Then while Danny was on patrol one night, Skulker surprised him and hit him with a shock strong enough to knock him out. When Danny came to, he was laying on Vlad’s couch with a thin blanket over him, the man himself looking quite concerned over the boy. That night, the two had an actual, honest, and open conversation about everything. After that, Danny was more comfortable around the man and even allowed the older halfa to be his mentor.

Danny was pulled out of his thoughts as his father laughed particularly hard at a joke, probably told by Vlad. As everyone finished their drinks, Danny went around and collected the mugs, cleaning them quickly in the kitchen. When he returned, the boxes of decorations were being brought into the sitting room by Jack and Vlad as Jazz and Maddie took items out of the boxes and set knickknacks around the room. Danny jumped in with his sister and mother to set up a mini Christmas tree on a side table by the entrance to the room, delicately unboxing the tree and fluffing its green plastic branches.

Jazz began to decorate the large pine tree while Jack hammered nails into the mantle and hung the stockings, all of which were embroidered in each person’s name. Maddie was next to him on a stool setting up a village of ceramic snowmen, complete with little ceramic buildings and animals, on top of the mantle. Vlad set to work on untangling a new strand of Christmas lights that, despite just coming out of the box, managed to tangle themselves into a nest of wires. Vlad looked as if he has given up on humanity as a whole for creating those lights.

And so the night went on in peace, the family going from room to room decorating the cottage in Christmas cheer. One box from the pile had different types of holiday hats, including 5 Santa hats in varying sizes. Maddie grabbed the elf hat for herself, Jack simply took a Santa hat at his wife’s insistence, and Jazz took a headband with felt reindeer antlers on it. Danny rooted through the box and found the absolute perfect thing for Vlad; a pair of candy canes attached to a headband to look like antlers, bells attached to the curved ends so they jingled with every movement. Danny thought about taking a stereotypical Santa hat, but decided against it, going instead for a headband with foil presents attached to springs, also with bells on the end.

Vlad was currently rooting through a box in an attempt to find the tree topper he’d picked out for this occasion. Danny crept up behind Vlad as quietly as he could with several bells bouncing about at each movement and placed the candy cane headband on his head with a wild grin on his face. Vlad rolled his eyes and looked up at Danny, giving him an amused look through the hair now messily spread over his eyes. Falling back onto his haunches from his earlier position on his knees, Vlad gave a small laugh and commented, “Thank you, Little Badger, but I believe a headband is supposed to move the hair OUT of your eyes, not further into them.” An adjustment of his hairband so he could see later, Vlad resumed the search for the tree topper, a smile on his lips.

“Ah, here it is!” Vlad cheered as he finally found the topper, proudly displayed in its box. It was a giant silver snowflake, with what Danny sincerely hoped were large ruby rhinestones embedded in the center and emeralds embedded in each arm of the snowflake.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Maddie exclaimed, with a slight sparkle in her eyes. She had always loved Christmas so much when her father was alive and was ready to have a traditional Christmas this year.

“Jack, would you do the honors? After all, you are a guest here.” Vlad asked while standing up and removing the topper from its box.

“Aw, sure! Plus, I think I’m the only one who can reach the top without a ladder anyways!” Jack said with excitement laced in his voice and a shine in his eyes.

Jack reached up with both arms and attached the snowflake to the top of the nearly seven-foot-tall tree as carefully as the large man could. After the snowflake was secured and plugged into the light strands, Jack stepped back to admire everyone’s work. Vlad had tucked in the lights, Jazz added the garland, Maddie had strategically hooked the ornaments on the branches, and Danny had added the tinsel. The whole tree was gorgeous, even without the lights lit.

“Daniel, would you like to do the honors?” Vlad asked, raising the plugin for the lights in Danny’s direction.

           “Sure thing, Uncle Vlad," Danny said with a soft smile thrown the man's way as he approached and took the wire from his outstretched hand. Sure, that looked sappy and showed he had feelings, but it was the holidays! Danny was allowed to show some feelings.

           Danny bent down in front of the electrical socket and plugged the cord in, the tree casting an atmospheric kaleidoscope of colors across the room. He stood back up and joined the others in staring at the magnificent tree they had put together, a sense of accomplishment filling the room. Jack threw an arm over Maddie’s shoulder and looked down at her as if she was an angel and brought her into his side. Maddie shifted to wrap an arm around his waist and place a hand on his chest. Jazz placed her left arm over her brother’s shoulder and rested her right hand on his other shoulder, placing her forehead on the side of his head in the kind of hug only siblings can give.

           Vlad sat back and watched the family interact with each other, showing affection earnestly, and was still not entirely sure where he fits in in this dynamic. This was the first Christmas he had spent with people that were not related to his business, after all. Before he could get too deep into this line of thinking, there was a pair of arms wrapped around his midsection and a head of fluffy black hair pressed against his chest. A longer pair of arms, a little above the first set, joined them. A taller set wrapped around his arms and chest, gluing his arms to his sides. Finally, a pair of arms came from above and lifted the group into the air, laughter escaping everyone as they had the life squeezed out of them in a loving embrace.

The group stayed locked in a hug for a long time, simply enjoying the moment, antlers and hats and springs lightly bumping into each other as the soft jingles of bells wafted through the air. As everyone separated, they were filled with love. The feeling floated through the air and mingled with the light scent of cinnamon coming from some pinecones sitting in a glass bowl on the coffee table.

This moment is what Christmas was supposed to be for the Fenton family, which now included one billionaire with a reformed heart of gold. Not the fighting over theories of Santa that usually come about this time of year, or the hyper-focus on ghostly happenings, or any of the other things the two parents dis that detracted from the holiday cheer for their children. A moment of unrestrained happiness for everyone in the room.

“This has been fun and all, Vladdy, but what’s for dinner?” Jack asked with a sheepish look.

With a laugh, Vlad answered, “There’s a stew in the Crockpot that I prepared before you all arrived. It should be ready by now.”

“Great! Let’s get a move on! All this holiday cheer has me starving!” Jack yelled, already charging for the kitchen and the gold and green Packers crockpot sitting on the granite countertop.

Maddie followed her husband into the kitchen with a soft and loving smile, leaving Vlad and the children standing next to the tree. With a gesture of his arm towards the kitchen, Vlad told the children, “Go on, I have to go last anyways since I'm the chef.”

“Thanks for all this, Vlad. This is just what we needed.” Jazz said with a laugh and a hug. “I better go before dad eats it all.” She entered the kitchen and took a bowl from her mother.

Vlad smirked down at Danny and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Better hurry, Little Badger. You’ve had a long day.” The two entered the kitchen as everyone else filed out and grabbed their bowls of stew.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, with everyone piled around the fireplace in their pajamas. Holiday movies played on the television on a lower volume, stories of snowmen and reindeer and Santa interspersed with advertisements. Outside the window, snow fell lightly and piled into small drifts in the pale moonlight. An owl hooted in the distance. The stars above twinkled unobserved, and the night was calm.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Vlad awoke to the smell of coffee wafting into his room. He simply laid in bed for a few more minutes, knowing he was going to have a long day and wanting this moment to last forever. Brilliant white light reflected through the red curtains, showing there was a good snowfall last night. Vlad had hoped that would happen so there would be fresh powder on the slopes of the hills around the cabin for everyone to enjoy.

With a long stretch and a yawn, Vlad carded his hands through his long silver locks, straightening some of the crimped hair around his crown. He should probably brush it out before he leaves his room, but he’s sure it won’t hurt if he just threw his hair into a quick bun. Vlad rose from his bed and stretched once more, made his bed, and slipped a pair of house shoes on as he prepared to face the day. Straightening his shirt and pants, he follows the rich aroma of coffee to the kitchen, where Maddie, Jack, and Jazz were already fixing their cups with sugar and creamer.

A chorus of ‘morning’s’ met him at the doorway, which he returned. Out the kitchen window, his suspicions of snow were confirmed. It looked like there may have been six inches or so of snow, based on the covering, perfect for a good day of skiing and snowboarding. Grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, Vlad began making his coffee as the others went to the sitting area. Jazz set her cup down and walked to the tree, plugging it in and opening the curtains on a set of windows to give a full view of the surrounding landscape.

The entire scene was comforting to Vlad, who was so used to this cabin being empty save for himself and Maddie, his cat. Setting himself down in the chair he sat in last night, he couldn’t help but try to memorize every sensation he felt in this moment, focusing on the fuzziness and softness rising from his chest. Vlad was glad he was a better man than he was a year ago, but he also knew just how slippery of a slope he was on. One wrong move and all this comfort would be lost.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, Vladdy? Got something big planned for us, aside from opening presents and making dinner?” Jack asked with a yawn behind his coffee cup.

“Well, I was thinking we could all go skiing this morning. That’s why I placed a pair of goggles in each of your bags, after all. It would give us a chance to go outside for a while, and the fresh snow will make for some amazing skiing. Next, we could make up the ham in the fridge and some sides, then open the presents” Vlad explained as he cradled the warm cup in his hands.

“Oh, that sounds great! That doesn’t give us very much time to get everything done, though. Maybe we could push the skiing back a day, just to make extra time for cooking. After all, Christmas dinner is the last big meal of the year.” Jack said.

“Besides, we don’t even have skis.” Maddie pointed out.

Vlad waved his hand and explained, “Firstly, that does sound a bit better. I honestly forget how long it takes to cook a full dinner. Secondly, don’t worry about the ski situation. I’ve already bought everyone both a pair of skis and a snowboard. Everyone can choose what they want to use.” The one drawback to having a kitchen crew is that when you're without them you forget that cooking could take a long time.

"That's very kind, Vlad. Where will we be skiing? Do you own a resort around here or something?” Jazz asked in earnest. She just knew she was going to tear it up on a snowboard.

Vlad barked out a chuckle and replied, “No, I do not. Though, I suppose since I own a large expanse of the woods around here and have certain hills outfitted with miniature ski lifts, I may as well own a ski resort. There’s also a large pond not far from one such hill. If you would like to ice skate, it is open to you all. It should be fully frozen by now.”

“Oh, that should be fun! I’ve never ice skated before!” Jazz exclaimed. “I just hope I can keep my balance.” Jazz said with a nervous laugh.

“I’m sure ol’ Vlad could teach you! He was an amazing ice skater back in college! Practically had the ladies in line to learn from him!” Jack boomed with a hearty wink in the direction of his old college friend.

“Jack, you know just as well as I do that you’re exaggerating. Rest assured, we were unpopular enough that nobody waited in line for us, or even thought to make a line, for that matter.” Vlad said in a voice that sounded too much like his college whine for comfort. “Sure, I was pretty good, but it HAS been twenty years. I highly doubt that I have enough leg strength to successfully do what I did back then.” Vlad explained with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, I know you can do it, Uncle Vlad! Please, could you teach me? It’d mean a lot!” Jazz asked, making puppy dog eyes at the man in hopes he would buy it. She didn’t think she would do good. At all. But she has always wanted to try, so why not?

With a sigh, Vlad answered “Alright, fine, I’ll do it. It looks like I’ll have to hunt out my pair of skates, though. I haven’t seen them in years, so I have no idea what kind of condition they’re even in.” The next day was going to be full too, it seemed.

“Thank you so much!” Jazz exclaimed as she rose from her seated position on the couch. “Would you like any more coffee?” she asked Vlad as she held a hand out for his mug.

“No, but thank you for the offer, Jasmine. I want to make sure Daniel can have as much as he wants as well.” Vlad answered as he handed the mug over.

While Jazz is in the kitchen putting the mugs down, she threw a good morning in Danny’s direction. The boy’s hair looked as if he had just woken up and ran his hands through it, sticking up at odd angles. He still had some dark bags under his eyes, but they seemed lighter today since he was finally getting some sleep on this vacation from Amity Park. No ghosts had messed with him so far, and he almost wanted to live here with the billionaire on that fact alone. He contemplated this as he picked out his black and white mug from the drainboard and shoveled in an obscene amount of sugar, followed by a flood of peppermint-scented caffeine.

Walking into the living room, Danny curled up in his chair and yawned, still not awake. “Good morning, Daniel. You look well-rested. Finally have a good night’s sleep, I assume?” Vlad asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. For once the boy didn’t look half dead, and Vlad was overjoyed to see his godson look that content.

“Mornin’ Fruitloop. I slept almost as good as a dead man, honestly.” Danny replied, a small and tired smile on his face. The only reply Danny received from the billionaire was a deadpan expression of earnest disbelief at his antics.

“Guess what, son? Today we’re all going to pile into the kitchen and cook, just like a real family!” Jack exclaimed, a smile on his face.

“Really? What’re we having? We don’t usually cook on Christmas, aside from warming up some ham and making those bagged potatoes.” Danny was almost scared. His mom wasn’t the most amazing cook, and don’t even get him STARTED on dad. It took Jazz pulling dad aside to make him realize that boiling frozen crinkle-cut French fries and mashing them wasn’t the same thing as mashed potatoes. Just the memory sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.

“Oh, we’ll be having a honey-baked ham, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and some desserts. All of which we’ll be preparing today.” Vlad explained, mentally taking stock of what needed to go into the oven at what time, the ham being the first dish since it took so long to cook. “Dinner should be done around four or five, depending on cooking times.”

“And we already made up the Fenton Fudge this morning while the coffee was making. I probably should have prepared it last night, but it slipped my mind. It should be hardened enough by tonight, though.” Maddie explained as she rose. “So, should we get this cooking show on the road? We’re burning daylight just sitting here talking about making dinner.”

“I suppose we should. I did get a fairly large ham this year, and it may take a while to cook. Thankfully, it shouldn’t take long to prepare.” Vlad said as he rose from his seat, Jack copying his movements.

“That’s great! While you all do that, I’ll bring the rest of the presents inside from the RV and wrap a few more. Jazz, honey, want to help? Then Danny-boy can take the time to wake up.” Jack asked his daughter with a smile on his face.

“Coming dad! I still have a few I need to wrap up too!” Jazz said as she stood and followed her dad upstairs to get her coat.

Vlad and Maddie walked into the kitchen, chatting about their favorite holiday recipes while Danny took his time drinking his coffee, knowing today was going to be a great day, despite his previous dislike of the holiday.

The rest of the day past in a blur for the family of five as dinner was cooked, gifts were wrapped, and Christmas tunes gently echoed through the house. Occasionally, the radio would belt out a crowd favorite and everyone would sing, Danny’s voice cracking horribly as he tried to hit the high notes of “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Another time, Danny and Vlad teamed up to echo the lyrics of “Deck the Halls,” followed by Jack and Maddie performing a heartfelt duet of “Silver Bells” while they mashed the sweet potatoes and covered them in marshmallows. Jazz, not one to sing in front of others, even found the confidence to sing along with Wham! to “Last Christmas” for an impressive solo act, complete with a can opener microphone.

As the last of the dishes were finished and placed on the dinner table, the group sighed in relief. After hours, and a few burns, the meal was complete. The ham had a perfect brown glaze and delicious pink meat, perfectly moist. The marshmallows were a golden brown, and the mashed potatoes were white and fluffy. The smells that rose from the table were divine, and nobody could wait to dig in.

“What are we waiting on, let’s eat! I’m starved!” Jack exclaimed as he reached for a serving of mashed potatoes.

“You just read my mind, dad.” Danny laughed as he picked a piece of ham from his place on Vlad’s left. Maddie and Jack sat on the other side of the table, and Jazz was seated on her mother’s left side.

With that, everyone dug in, passing dishes around the rectangular dining table and eating their fill. Stories of family holidays were exchanged among the three adults as the children sat back and listened, laughing at times and giving their input at the end of each story.

Vlad shared stories of his childhood, of days spent playing on the family farm chasing chickens and running through cornfields without a care in the world. Danny never pinned Vlad as a farm kid from southern Wisconsin, but clearly, looks can be deceiving, especially those from a man who painstakingly crafted his professional appearance out of spite. Jack shared similar stories of caring for his parents’ cows on the dairy farm he grew up at. It was all the same stories that everyone at the table had heard a hundred times over the years, but each time was said just a bit differently. Maddie loved to talk about her and Alicia’s childhood as well, rambling about roaming the dirt roads in their home town on cool fall nights.

After dinner and a quick interlude to clean up and put the leftovers in the icebox, the family gathered in the family room once again. This time, Maddie and Jack sat on one couch, while Jazz and Danny occupied the other. Vlad moved one of the armchairs to Jack’s side of the couch and placed the other against a wall, which was immediately filled by Maddie the Cat. As was tradition, Danny and Jazz, being the youngest, handed presents out, each person’s piles stacked high with colorful boxes, bags, and misshapen lumps that definitely held clothing.

“3…2…1… Have at it!” Maddie shouted, throwing her hands into the air.

After a moment’s hesitation, Danny and Jack tore into the presents in unison with little regard to saving the shiny gift wrap. Danny received the telescope he’s been wanting for months, a Meade Polaris 130 EQ Reflector Telescope, and a tapestry that listed the different constellations with each individual star meticulously labeled. Those two alone were the best gifts he could have asked for. He also got the expected shirts, pants, and socks, along with a few new journals with stars on the covers.

Jack received items that mainly revolved around ghost hunting and science, like the pajama set printed with a cartoon version of Slimer from Ghostbusters. Since he worked almost constantly on the engineering side of their business, he was given a new set of wrenches and pliers, having lost many of them in the portal. He unwrapped a few sets of socks and a new jumpsuit, too.

Maddie, contrary to the boys’ style of unwrapping, carefully removed the tape off each metallic fold in her gift wrap and refolded the paper to use again. Her boxes contained a peppermint and cinnamon bath set and a beginner’s crochet set intended to help her achieve her goal of relaxing more in the new year. There was a colorful box of glitter pens and a journal wrapped in ribbons in her pile, as well as a new jumpsuit from her husband.

Jazz wasn’t as careful in her unwrapping as her mother, but she took her time opening each present. One package contained a large empty scrapbook with white paper, and another had a sticker set, colorful pens, and other little additions one would need to start scrapbooking. There were also two psychology-related books that Vlad had helped Jack pick out, one full of thought experiments and the other a textbook on teen and young adult mindsets for therapists-in-training. There were also a few new scarves, sweaters, and jeans.

Last but not least, Vlad opened his gifts slowly, treasuring the feeling of community and love he felt with his new family. He received a new red tie and handkerchief with some square cufflinks. In a bag was a collection of classic horror novels, which Vlad considered his guilty pleasure. He also received a box filled with yellow, wrinkled pages that held the writings of his old D&D campaign from back in college. Jack and Maddie seemed eager to start a new campaign with him, as they missed playing, and Vlad agreed immediately.

Finally, in a big square box, labeled from Danny, there was a black square scrapbook with an embossed gold Green Bay Packers logo on the front. Vlad didn’t even know the boy knew how to scrapbook. Upon opening the front cover, Vlad found a selfie Danny took the first time they had a real outing together. The two had gone out for coffee and had ended up going to the local observatory to watch one of their star tours. They had walked through the museum, and come to a replica cockpit for the Apollo 11 space shuttle. Somehow, Daniel convinced him to climb into the small seat with him and had taken a few photos, the last of which Vlad had finally smiled in, knees shoved into his chest and a raised eyebrow looking into the lens. Vlad decided to look through that later, almost afraid of what might be in there.

After all the presents were opened, Maddie collected the shredded paper and piled it into trash bags. As the night wound down, everyone looked through their presents and removed them from their packing, then changed into their new pajamas.

Jazz settled in with a book and Maddie began to write about the day in her new journal. Danny sketched some animals into a journal with the NASA logo on the front in metallic ink. Jack looked at his new tools and started planning new gadgets, making small sketches in his idea book. Vlad was focused on sorting out all the old papers from their many college campaigns and organizing them based on the time they happened.

The house was calm and warm, and all was as it should be on Christmas day.

[komorebirei]

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 20: Kettle

(AO3)

“I was wondering if you’d come by.” Marinette closed her sketchbook and straightened up, crossing her legs like a pretzel in her lawn chair.

Chat Noir found it incredibly cute how she could still fit comfortably in the chair, sitting in such a childish way.

“We’re becoming good friends now, aren’t we, Chaton?” Marinette grinned.

“The best of friends.” He winked and flashed a winning smile, hoping to make her blush… she didn’t. Ah well, worth a try. “By the way, how’s learning the piano going?”

“Heh…  not going, really. I’ve been busy with work lately, so I haven’t had time to practice. And I’m not taking lessons or anything, so… still as lame as ever.”

“Don’t sweat it, Princess.” He perked up as an idea hit him. “Hey, how about I play for you?” That was a friendly, non-flirty thing to do. His guilty conscience could be okay with that.

Marinette quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t?”

“Not while transformed.” Chat tilted his head, chasing a wink with his cutest kitty smile as he let the implication set in.

“Chat Noir…” She leveled him with a warning look that reminded him of the way Ladybug got when he pushed the line with their identities.

Chat laughed off her seriousness. “C’mon, Princess, don’t be like that. You think I’m trying to reveal myself to you? I know better than to play with fire. We’ve got eyelids for a reason. Go ahead, make yourself comfortable on the couch and close your eyes.”

She tapped her lips with a finger and hummed, feigning deep deliberation. “I don’t know, Chat… seems a little risky.”

“What’s risky about it? You’ll be nice and safe on the couch, temptation-free. Unless I’m so good that you can’t resist taking a peek.” He grinned his trademark Chat Noir grin, more wolfish than catlike.

Marinette shot him a look that could curdle milk.

Chat deflated. “Okay, you’re a warrior princess—I respect you. I know you’d never cave and look. That’s why I trust you!”

Marinette’s expression was still dubious, but her lips quirked up at the corners, showing that her resolve was crumbling.

Chat gave another push. “Don’t you want to hear me play? I’m willing to bet you will love these songs I have in store for you.”

“… All right, fine, you win. I really do want to hear you play.” With a smile, she stood up and unlatched the door, holding it open for him. “After you, Minou. No funny business.”

“Thank you, Princess!” He bounded inside excitedly. He knew Marinette would be squealing in minutes. He slid into the piano bench as Marinette followed him in and settled into the couch. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Ready—Wait, hold on. Let me heat water for tea.”

“Go ahead.”

While Marinette put on the kettle, Chat Noir ghosted his fingers on the keys, brushing up his memory.

“Okay, you can detransform.”

Chat glanced over and took in a side-view of Marinette curled up on the couch, sunken into the cushions, her lips peacefully upturned.

“Don’t do anything shocking,” she warned. “I might accidentally look.”

“The only thing that would shock you is how stunningly handsome I am,” Chat joked.

“Don’t make this hard for me,” Marinette teased back.

He blushed, abandoning the sinking ship.

He realized he felt very nervous. He was about to detransform in front of Marinette. There would be nothing but two paper-thin layers of skin separating this moment from the utter chaos of Marinette finding out it had been Adrien Agreste, her boss’s son and a taken man, visiting her home all along.

Terror clawed at his chest, and he was about to call it off, when Marinette called out quietly, “Minou?”

He took a deep breath and glanced at her, waiting patiently with her eyes closed, her forehead furrowed with concern due to his lack of response. She had felt reservations about doing this, but she trusted him enough to let him. He decided that he trusted her.

“Claws in.”

As the magic left him, materializing in the form of a tiny floating cat beside him, and the world didn’t implode, a mad grin swept across Adrien’s face.

Plagg shot a questioning look between him and Marinette.

“All in good fun,” Adrien assured him quietly. Yes—this was fun, not terrifying. “Marinette knows about kwamis, so you don’t have to be too subtle.”

Letting a momentary silence clear the air in preparation for the music, Adrien pressed the opening jazz chords of the first number, butter-smooth. Since the style was different from the original arrangement, it took a moment for Marinette to recognize what he was playing, but her reaction betrayed the exact moment when she did.

“Oh my gosh, Minou!!!” Marinette squealed, sitting up in excitement with her eyes still closed.

Adrien smirked. He had expected this reaction. He knew her favorite Ghibli films and which songs she played on repeat while stitching for hours.

“Merry Go Round of Life—a jazz version? I love it!! You’ve watched Howl’s Moving Castle, Chat?”

“Of course, Princess,” Adrien answered without stopping. I’m the one who recommended it to you, after all. “It’s my favorite. Don’t you think I’m as charming as Howl?”

“Much more charming,” Marinette replied slyly, and Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. “If by charming, you mean over-the-top and ridiculously dramatic.”

He chuckled. “Ah, but Princess, you’re far too kind.”

Marinette snorted and settled back into listening. “The jazz style sounds so cool! You’re really good, Chaton.”

He soaked up the praise, feeling on top of the world. Plagg jumped on the keys, dodging Adrien’s fingers, a game he often played to make his chosen’s practice sessions more fun. Adrien laughed when Plagg was too slow and he felt the odd sensation of his finger going through his kwami.

“Ouch, speared me, kid!” Plagg teased and fell dramatically onto the keyboard, letting the keys buffet his little body, tossing him here and there.

Adrien laughed again at Plagg’s antics.

“Is that your kwami?” Marinette asked. “You guys are cute.”

Plagg flew over to say hello.

The kettle started to whistle.

“Chat,” Marinette nudged.

Right, she couldn’t get up and walk around while he was detransformed.

He stopped playing. “Got it.”

“The tea bags are in the top drawer to the left of the stove… take your pick.”

Adrien switched off the kettle and opened the drawer to find a variety of colorful boxes neatly nestled together like a Tetris board. “And for the Princess?”

“Plum for me, please!”

“And cheese for me!” Plagg piped up.

He found the box labeled ‘Plum Tea’ in Chinese.

“It’s the pink box in the front,” Marinette guided him unnecessarily.

“Found it.” He knew where she kept the mugs, so he took two out of the cabinet, selecting for her the red one he’d seen her use before.

“Ah, and there’s cheese in the fridge.���

There was only Gruyère, but Plagg liked it well enough.

“Just to let you know, my favorite’s Camembert,” Adrien heard Plagg tell Marinette in a stage-whisper. Funny how well they seemed to be getting along. Nothing seemed to faze Marinette. What an admirable girl.

“Which tea did you pick, Chaton?” Marinette asked curiously.

“Plum.” He smiled to himself. “So we can share the experience, to make up for the fact that you can’t see me.”

Marinette snorted. “What a sap.”

Once the tea had finished steeping, he brought the mugs over and placed Marinette’s on the coffee table by her knees. “Careful with your fingers—it’s hot.” He set his own on a round mini-table by the piano, beside a photo of Marinette posing in the bakery with her parents. He missed the bakery.

“Any requests?”

“Finish Howl’s first. It’s my favorite!” Marinette gave him a pleading smile, eyes squeezed shut adorably. “Actually, could you start over? Please?”

“Anything for you, Princess.” He started over.

She listened in contented silence, and Plagg came to dance on the keys some more.

After finishing, she gave him enthusiastic applause. He moved on to another Ghibli jazz number, this time from Spirited Away, smiling at the appreciative noises she made.

In the middle of playing, she stopped him. “Okay, pause.”

“Hmm?”

“Your tea’s getting cold! Why don’t you drink some before you continue?”

“As the Princess wishes.”

He stopped and took a sip. It was pleasantly warm, instead of hot—the perfect temperature to drink. She must have known because hers was that temperature right now, too. Adrien smiled, savoring their shared experience more than the tea.

“How did you know I would like this music?” she asked.

“Just a hunch.”

The transient perfection of this moment—drinking tea with Marinette, the memory of Ghibli jazz lingering in the air like a fragrance—made his heart ache. It was like freshly fallen cherry blossom petals on their last breath before decay. He sighed, watching her eyelids tremble with the effort to stay shut.

This moment didn’t belong to him, Adrien Agreste. It belonged to Chat Noir. Chat Noir, who could be anybody. Or nobody.

He could run into Marinette at the office tomorrow. Unlikely, but possible. If he did, she’d give him her usual professional greeting, and the same smile she gave everyone.

That thought felt like a punch to the stomach.

He placed his hands on the keys and started to play again, shifting his mind away from these distressing thoughts. The chill, whimsical notes that filled the air seemed laced with melancholy this time. Maybe only in his own ears, though.

As he played, he watched her longingly. She and Plagg were talking in voices too low for him to overhear over the piano. A sad smile tugged his lips when she doubled over, giggling. The pain settled deeper into his chest, the longer the moment wore on.

“Want to watch one together when you’re done, Chat?” Marinette asked in a small voice.

“‘Watch one’?” He stopped playing and stared at her incredulously. “A Ghibli film?”

“Yeah, whichever one you want—I have the collection. You put me in the mood.”

His chest warmed. Marinette hadn’t watched any Ghibli films before he introduced them to her, and now she loved them enough that she had the whole collection? He counted this as a conquest, as proof that they were two peas in a pod.

There was work waiting for him at home, but nothing he minded losing sleep over if it meant a couple more hours basking in Marinette’s presence. “I’d love to, Princess. How about now?”

“One more song, please?”

“How could I refuse?”

He played one last, an upbeat, jazzy version of the Totoro opening theme song. Marinette wiggled her shoulders in a playful accompanying dance, Plagg doing the same in the airspace around her.

Cute.

Smiling at her fondly, he beckoned Plagg and called his transformation back on.

“Open your eyes, Princess.”

When Marinette opened her eyes, she was bursting with glee and enthusiasm to convince Chat Noir of his talents. “Chat, you’re amazing! I can’t believe you play so well.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Only because a beautiful girl was listening.”

This time, she did blush, which did something to soothe the ache in Chat Noir’s chest.

“Want to watch Howl’s Moving Castle?” Marinette asked. “You said it’s your favorite, right? Or—whichever one you want.”

“Sure. But next time, Kiki’s Delivery Service. It’s about you and me.” He winked. “Though, honestly, Jiji acts more like Plagg.”

Marinette laughed. “You got it, Minou.”

Next time—the words echoed in Chat Noir’s mind like a dangerously enticing promise.

How had they fallen into this?

—

In the middle of the film, Marinette suddenly slid an arm behind Chat’s back and draped her other arm across his stomach, nestling her head in the dip between his shoulder and chest.

Melting against her, Chat wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for my charms, Princess,” he joked, the line falling from his lips as naturally as an exhalation. He barely even felt guilty for flirting with her anymore. It was inevitable. She was irresistible.

“This is your hug of the day.” Her voice sounded more serious than he would have expected. “I can tell when you’re sad, Minou.”

“Wow, Princess. Are you sure you don’t have super powers?” He tightened his grip and rested the corner of his mouth on her head, inhaling her scent—rose shampoo and something sweetly Marinette—wishing to press a kiss to her hair if that weren’t crossing the line.

Marinette didn’t answer, but she hugged him tighter, taking his response as confirmation that he was feeling down.

They stayed like that for the rest of the movie, then Chat Noir went home, feeling like a moth whose wings had been crippled by the flame.

[thewriterofmanythings]

The Monster Inside of Me

Day 7 of Widojest Week-”Are you secretly in love with me?” or Zone of Truth “Are you secretly in love with me?” she asks, and the weight of that question rests heavy upon him. 

An angsty and abstract short fic for the final day of Widojest Week. You can also find this on AO3. Thanks so much for reading this, and as always so much appreciation to @3fling for the support and feedback through this week and always. Here’s to Jester and Caleb!

“Are you secretly in love with me?” Jester Lavorre asks, and Caleb Widogast is too shocked, too afraid to answer. He’s known for some time deep down that he is in love, but having the words spoken aloud is a different beast entirely. It’s terrifying, the size of his feelings for her. The monster gnashes its teeth even when he isn’t looking, and the claws rake across its own skin in an attempt to destroy itself. But the hide is impenetrable and he knows he will be forced to live in this dark space with the monster until he finds a way to crush it, to rid himself of it for good.

For now, the monster only hurts him, but he knows if the beast gets loose it will hurt others. He’s seen it before; as much as he cares for the Mighty Nein he knows what he is capable of and has vowed to himself never to let that happen again. Jester, and everyone else, is safer if he keeps his distance. Fire burns everything it touches.

“Are you secretly in love with me?” she asks, and instead of saying yes or no, he answers by showing her. He knows he shouldn’t feed the monster, that will only let it grow, but she’s right there, her bright blue eyes looking up at him with admiration and mischief twinkling and he just can’t tell her no. In battles he watches out for her as best he can, though she is often the one rescuing him. At night he makes sure she gets enough rest, sometimes volunteering to take watch so she can sleep the night through. 

She voices her concerns about her mother, how she is worried she won’t be safe or that she’s lonely, and he does his best to comfort her. Reassuring Jester seems like it isn’t hard; she puts on a good face for others and acts like things don’t bother her. But just as Jester can break through his icy exterior and make him laugh, he too can see past her front and tell how much she is hurting inside. So he encourages her best as he can, giving her a shoulder to cry on when she needs it and whispering positive happy thoughts into her ears as she drifts off to sleep.

“You are sweet on him, ya?” he asks her one day, and the monster rears out in full force. He knows she has feelings for Fjord; even when she is unsure of her answers it seems to be a given and he only does it to ask the monster to hurt him, in hopes if it draws blood it might finally be satisfied and go away. She deserves someone like Fjord, a better man, a good leader, someone who hasn’t killed everyone he loves. It’s not jealousy, exactly; the monster bears different names and none of them are flattering.

She confides in him and Beau that maybe she’s just in love with the idea of Fjord, but he watches how the two of them interact and he knows there’s something there, lurking underneath the surface. Sure they save each other, but she’s saved you too, he can’t help but think to himself. Some part of his soul refuses to let the spark in his heart die, holding on to the hope one day they will be in a safe happy place, and he will be healed and be deserving of love again.

“Do you like my painting?” she asks, and how could he not? No matter the medium or the canvas Jester is an artist. She puts her soul into her work and every little piece contains a fragment of her heart. He wants to collect them all, to hold them close to him in hopes of clinging to her light in the dark cell he has made for himself.

He traces the flowers along the wall of the house, reveling in the blue color that matches her eyes. How can something so beautiful and pure exist in this cruel world, the same world that shaped me, he wonders. She giggles at his transfixed expression and the laugh rings through his heart.

“Are you secretly in love with me?” she asks.

“Ah, but what if you are secretly in love with me?” He dares to reflect the question back to her. It’s foolish, he’s just asking for another swipe from the monster, but the words are out of his mouth before he has time to think. They’re sitting there, enjoying the sunrise for the first time since they allied with the Krynn Dynasty, and Caleb has to ruin the moment. He winces, knowing what’s to come.

“Of course I am, silly.” She looks down into her mug of cocoa, refusing to meet his gaze. “I can’t believe you had to ask.”

There’s a chuckle, and she wraps the blanket a little tighter around her. It’s quiet, save for the chirping of birds, and the silence lingers for a moment between them. He’s numb from shock, fear and awe. For the first time in months the monster inside him is stunned; it doesn’t know how to lash out to this, how to use this to hurt him.

His hand, resting on the railing of their inn’s balcony, feels a weight on top of it, and he looks down to see her hand. Her fingers intertwine with his, and the sudden warmth of her compassion overwhelms him. “Jester, you don’t-”

She pulls him around to face her and before he can stop her, she’s planted her lips on his. It’s a soft, simple kiss, but it’s enough to stop his protests. As she pulls away she buries her face in his chest and wraps her arms around him.

It takes him a minute to adjust to her presence, but he settles into her, resting his chin on her head and holding her in his arms. The two of them stay there as the sun rises, quiet and unmoving. The monster inside Caleb has transformed, and whatever its name is now he has plenty of time to figure it out. For this morning though, he allows himself to just enjoy her presence, drinking in her face, her smell, her soul.

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: Secret Santa

This is one of the drabbles that I wrote for @randomcevans. Normally, I wouldn’t repost them here, but with tumblr still holding that blog hostage, I’ve decided to. This drabble was originally posted in four parts, but I have consolidated it here.

Title: Secret Santa

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Captain America x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

It was Secret Santa week at work and you had mentally prepared yourself all weekend for the usual disappointment that came with such exchanges.

You’d never been a fan of Secret Santa gift exchanges, because you’d always gotten the short end of the stick when it came to the gifts you received. For example, the last time you had participated in one, you'd gotten a used candle.

Now, though, you worked for Stark Industries at the Upstate New York campus that S.I. shared with the Avengers. You'd started there at the beginning of the year, so you hadn't known how much of a big deal Secret Santa was until November. You'd declined to participate, at first, but then the peer pressure had started and you'd eventually given in.

The Secret Santa questionnaires had been handed out during the first week of November and had been due a week later, so that Pepper Potts, the coordinator for the exchange, and her office could assign the Secret Santas.

The Monday before Thanksgiving, everyone had been given an identical, medium sized, Christmas gift bag that contained their recipients questionnaire as well as their name written on the attached gift tag. There'd also been a printed copy of the rules, listing the suggested $25 value of the gift as well as when and how to turn your gift into the coordinator's office.

Like a wise Santa, you’d done your shopping on Black Friday and had dropped off the wrapped gift to Pepper Pott last Friday when you’d arrived for work. You’d taken the practical road and had gotten your giftee exactly what she'd requested: fuzzy socks and a silly mug. Now it was Monday and the elves had been to your desk by the time you arrived. As there had been no rule about when you could open your gift (as deliveries would be made all week), you went ahead and opened the tacky Christmas bag, finding two tissue paper wrapped items.

Unwrapping the first package, you found a beautiful silver scarf that wasn't really practical for winter, but would dress up a casual winter outfit. In the second package, you found a pair of gloves that complimented the scarf, but would actually keep your hands warm. Both items were things you could see yourself wearing and using often.

You left that afternoon with your faith slightly restored when it came to Secret Santa exchanges. Especially, when you saw that the person you'd been the Secret Santa for liked her gifts so much, the silly mug was sitting on her desk with her other collectibles.

On Tuesday morning, you stopped at the entrance to your cubicle and spotted another Christmas gift bag on your desk. Judging by the fact that it was identical to the Secret Santa bags, you suspected that the elves had delivered another gift for you.

After taking off your winter gear, which included the gloves from your S.S., you sat down at your desk and opened the new bag, revealing a rectangular velvet box. Opening it, you found a silver locket with your birthstone embedded on the front of it with the first letter of your name etched on the metal. A pair of simple stud earrings, also in your birthstone, were also in the box.

"Hey, what is -"

You looked up to see your closest work friend standing at the wall that divided her cubicle from yours.

"I thought you got your gift yesterday," she said, coming into your area fully.

"I thought so, too," you replied as you handed her the jewelry. Then you turned and looked at the name of the giftbag's tag to make sure it hadn't been delivered to the wrong desk, but it had your name on it.

"Lucky girl, I suppose," your coworker said as she handed you back the box. "I wonder if you'll get something tomorrow, too."

You did.

You came into the office Wednesday morning and found another bag on your desk waiting for you. This time, you waited until your coworker showed up to open it. You both gasped when you opened the bag and pulled out a black cocktail dress.

"Go try it on," your friend encouraged.

You dragged her down the hall to the closest bathroom with you and put the dress on, finding it fit you perfectly. Stepping out of the stall, you found yourself not only with your coworker but with a few other ladies in your department, who'd found about your third gift and had come to check it out, too.

They were all complimentary of your appearance in the dress and you slipped back into the stall, your face flushed from embarrassment. To your relief, when you exited the stall after changing, the only person left was your friend.

"Your Secret Santa has great taste," she said as the two of you walked back to your desk.

"They do, but how did they know what size to get?" you asked, feeling slightly ill at ease about it.

"Human resources would have it if you expressed any interest in undercover work," she pointed out.

"True," you replied, feeling slightly better about the situation.

By lunchtime, everyone in your department knew about your Secret Santa going above and beyond. There were a few people that gave you bitchy, jealous looks, but for the most part, your coworkers were excited for you.

Two of them had even started a wager on if you'd receive a gift all five days as well as who people thought your Secret Santa might be. By the time you left, most of your department had either wagered or had added a name to the list of potential Secret Santas. Of which, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson were all listed with tally marks next to their names, indicating the number of people who thought it was one of them.

Due to a previously scheduled appointment, you were one of the last people to arrive at work Thursday morning and your arrival created a stir as everyone followed you to your desk, cluing you into the fact that elves had visited again to leave another gift.

Sure enough, another Christmas bag was there, patiently waiting for you to open it. A part of you wanted to ask everyone to leave so you could open it in private, but you didn't want to wait that long.

Still wearing your winter coat and boots, you pushed your chair out of the way and opened the bag, revealing what you suspected with a wrapped shoe box. You quickly tore off the paper, dropping it onto the floor as you felt your coworkers crowd around you in anticipation.

Upon opening the box, you nearly dropped it out of shock due to its contents. A pair of very expensive bright red heels. The heels alone had cost more than 10 times the suggested $25.

You could hear your coworkers buzzing behind you as they found out what your gift was.

“Well put them on!” Someone at the back of the group called when word finally reached them. As if on autopilot, you dropped into your chair and pulled off the winter boots you'd worn into the office along with the warm socks you'd put on over your tights. Then you put on the new shoes. They fit perfectly. “Someone obviously knows you like a pretty shoe,” your closest work friend said with a smile. “And it isn’t me. Or rather, I know you do, but I’m not your Secret Santa.”

Her sentiment was echoed by the others gathered and it was another few minutes before everyone headed back to their own desks.

Since your new shoes were so comfortable and didn't clash with the dark gray dress you'd worn that day, you didn't bother to put on the black heels you'd intended to wear.

As you worked that day, you could hear people talking amongst themselves and trying to figure out who your Secret Santa was. The identity was something that distracted you, as well, and you found yourself pausing in front of the "suspect" list every time you walked past it.

By the time you went home, all but two names had been scratched off the list:

Steve Rogers

Sam Wilson

All the way home, you thought back to your interactions with both Steve and Sam. You'd worked with them both during your time at Stark Industries on off-the-record research projects for the Avengers. They'd both been super nice to you and Sam had been borderline flirty with you, but he was borderline flirty with everyone.

Steve, though. Steve had a quiet confidence about him that you admired and found attractive, if you were being honest with yourself. You'd been hoping to work on another project with him, but nothing had come up.

You wondered, for the briefest second, if this was Steve's way of telling you that he was interested in not only working with you but getting to know you more. Then you laughed it off, because what would Captain America need from a woman like you?

Wanting some privacy in case there was another gift for you, you got to work early on Friday and were relieved to see your plan had worked. There was a bag on your desk, but no one else had arrived yet.

Unlike the days previous, however, this bag wasn't sealed and the contents, a poinsettia plant with speckled leaves, were on display. Pulling the plant out, and not noticing that something had fallen onto the floor, you set the poinsettia on your desk with your potted ivy plant, loving how the red and white of the poinsettia leaves brought out those of the dark green ivy.

It wasn't until later, when the others had come to see what your Secret Santa had left for day five and left disappointed, that you found the envelope that you had dropped earlier.

With your heart in your chest, you broke the seal of the envelope and opened it. Inside, you found a ticket for the local ballet's performance of The Nutcracker scheduled for that night as well as a written note from Pepper Potts giving you the afternoon off to get ready for the performance.

Wanting to keep this part to yourself, you didn't mention the envelope or the ticket to anyone until you'd gotten home. Then you shot your friend a text and told her what was going on. The string of cuss words and exclamation marks that followed told you how she felt about your keeping it a secret, but she'd ended with a simple: "have fun and tell me who it is right away!"

At six o'clock that night, you took a cab from your apartment to the performing arts center that was hosting an out of state ballet company for a "one weekend only" performance of The Nutcracker. Since your ticket was in a private box, an usher escorted you to a second level and you found yourself alone in a two person box.

You sat there for a few minutes before you heard voices growing closer. Standing up, you turned and felt your knees practically give when you saw Steve Rogers standing in the curtained entrance wearing a dark suit that fit him perfectly.

"I'd hoped it was you," you heard yourself confess, before you'd had time to really process the reality of the situation.

He smiled as he tipped the usher and then came into the box. "And here I thought I was good at being a Secret Santa," he said with a hint of amusement.

"Oh you were an excellent Secret Santa," you assured him. "It's just that I work in the research department and we like to research." You told him about the wager and that they had narrowed it down to himself and Sam.

"Parts of it were Sam's ideas," he confessed. "But only because I asked him for advice on how to tell you that I was interested in you by way of being your Secret Santa."

Maybe it was the way he looked combined with the way he made you feel, but instead of questioning that he was interested in you (and why), you expressed your own interest in him by leaning over and pressing your lips against his.

"Merry Christmas, Steve." You whispered, when the two of you finally parted.

[alwaysaglader]

Truly, Madly, Deeply In Love

Newt's P.O.V

"Y/N, I know it will happen, love. I know it will" I hushed, holding her tightly in my arms as we laid on the couch in front of the TV, watching some kind of random movie that got displayed on some kind of channel we often look at when we have a sleep over.

"But no one has ever wanted me Newt..." I heard her mumble against my chest and I cupped her cheek and lifted her face slowly only to see her eyes filling with tears, breaking my heart to a million pieces at the sight.

"D-d-do you know for my prom every girl had a date except me ?" she sniffled, cheeks glowing bright red in what seemed like shame, "and the worst part was..... you know what, it's a silly thing. Happened a while back" she wiped her tears and averted her gaze from me suddenly. "Y/N, it's not silly. Please tell me, love" I hugged her soothingly, "tell me. Please".

Y/N looked at me nervously before letting out a sigh, "I've always wanted that moment where the guy puts the corsage onto the girl's hand at prom to happen to me... but I had to watch every girl get that moment when I've been dreaming it for so long... but I couldn't have it".

"There were more boys than girls too and yet no one wanted me" she said quietly. "Y/N, that's because they ain't worthy of your love" I said earnestly, "you have to need someone who's worthy of you... cause you are precious" I grabbed her hand very gently and intertwined her fingers with mine, as she nuzzled her face to the crook of my neck, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"I just don't think that anyone could ever want me Newt" she murmured very quietly, tightening her grip on my hand. "Y/N, anyone in the world will have all the luck in the world just to be with you" I said immediately, and wiped the tears away, brushing a strand of hair out of her face making her grin softly.

"Just seeing couples getting ready to do cute things together for Valentines day... I just can't help but wonder what it's like to have someone fall for you" she said in a whisper, her voice was almost inaudible, but I still sensed her words, "I mean really in love with you. Not just by looks but be consumed with every little piece of you. The way you laugh, the way you talk... the way you just exist".

"I'm so afraid" I felt her small hands clinging to my hoodie, "that no one will ever fall in love with me... I'm just-- " but I cut her off immediately tackling her with a hug not wanting her to finish her that sentence knowing what she was going to say. My heart broke even more.

"Y/N, if I could give you one thing in life I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realise how special you are..." I whispered and pressed a kiss on her hair, and took in her scent.

"You know what?" I said, wrapping my arms around her, until there was no space left between our bodies, "I'm going to make you feel special like you deserve to be felt everyday. She tilted her head with a wet chuckle,  "Newt, what are you talking about ?".

"I'm going to plan Valentine's day" I grinned excitedly. The look in her eyes changing noticeably, flickering with joy, as her smile turned to giggles, making my heart skip beats.

She had a smile worth dying for, but oh when she laughed.

Time skip to Valentine's Day

Y/N's P.O.V

I woke up to the familiar smell of pancakes coming from my kitchen. I lazily opened my eyes to see a figure at the door.  "Newt?" I asked sleepily, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. "Good morning!!" his cheerful voice echoed as he walked closer, carrying a big tray in his hands.

"Breakfast in bed" he smiled, placing the tray on my bedside table only to grab a pillow and place it on the head board so I can sit back comfortably. Once he was satisfied he placed the tray on my lap and I was amused by how lovely it was.

Rose petals were scattered around the plate located in the middle which was also accompanied with my mug filled with steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and little pink heart shaped sprinkles.

"Newt..." I glanced up to see him smiling sweetly at me. "Do you like it?" he asked bouncing on his heels. "It's homemade with love" he grinned cheekily with a wink. "Come here you" I laughed, patting the spot besides me.

Once he nestled himself next to me I handed him the fork knowing he hasn't eaten anything without me but instead he took the tray and cutlery positioning them on his lap. My confusion soon turned into admiration and I got so lost in his charm as he began to manipulate our breakfast, pouring the rich maple syrup onto the stack of pancakes and then  slicing it to small pieces.

"Open up, love " Newt spoke as he looked up at me, holding the fork pierced with a piece of pancake, carefully stuffing the food between my teeth. "It's delicious" I giggled, covering my mouth so as not to spill anything out of it while chewing.

He smiled proudly before he supplied himself with a bite of our breakfast but right before he put the fork in his mouth he suddenly halted with widened eyes and excused himself running out in a flash only to come back a second later holding something more in his hands.

"T-t-these are for you" he said with a shy smile handing me two flower bouquets, one with red roses and the other with pink. "I-I-I didn't know which one you would have liked most so I got you both" he said smiling sheepishly, his soft face gazing at me adoringly.

"Do you like them ?" he asked in a keen tone, sitting back in the bed and brushing his fingers on the pinkish petals. "Newt, they're so beautiful" I exclaimed happily, bubbling with joy and it made his cheeks turn to the shade of my roses. "Thank you so much".

Breakfast resumed with Newt delicately feeding me as he nourished himself with other half of the stack. I opened my mouth again, expecting Newt to satisfy it with another dose of sugary dough but it never came. "I'm sorry, love. But we're done here" he informed, when I looked at the plate with nothing but the traces of syrup.

I chuckled embarrassedly and grabbed the hot mug when I felt a soft kiss being placed onto my cheek making a lovesick feeling wash over me, numbing my senses and fluttering hard in my stomach. Warmth spread over my body, consuming me. I felt loved.

"Sooo what are we going to do today ?" I asked, clearing my throat and snapping myself back to reality. "What do you prefer, love ? Something outside or inside?" he asked, smiling widely, while collecting the dishes back on to the tray.

"Newt what ever you have got for me I am sure it's perfect" I chuckled, feeling happiness exploding in my stomach for the time and effort he had gone through for me. "Noooo" he whined childishly with a pout, "you have to choose".

"If you want indoors I got snacks and your favourite movies ready to get all snuggly inside a blanket fort" he explained enthusiastically "and if you wanna go outside, I've got a picnic ready at the back of my jeep so we can drive off to somewhere".

"Outside?" I tilted my head and he smiled back warmly with a nod. "Give me some time to get ready ok ?" I said and he rolled his eyes playfully, "Y/N, take all the time you need love. You know I always wait for you" he chuckled making me laugh too.

After he left I dragged myself into the bathroom to see my bath all ready, filled with bubbles with a few candles around the tub which was scented with what seemed like roses too. It looked so breath-taking I had to take a few moments to admire it.

After refreshing myself, I wrapped a towel and walked straight to my closet to take out the outfit I have been waiting to wear for quite a while now. It was a dress Newt chose for me at the mall some time back but I felt too self conscious so I pushed the idea of buying it.

But I couldn't seem to forget the look on Newt's face when I tried it on and showed it to him. His deep brown eyes were full of warmth, as his pink lips quirked in a full blown smile. My heart bursted with love as I noticed him looking at me, his eyes sparkling as if I were the only person in the world. Therefore, I went back to the store later on and bought the dress to wear it as a suprise for Newt one day but never did I ever think it would be on such a romantic situation with him.  

Once I was fully dressed and walked out of my room, Newt's mouth gaped open as his widened eyes looked at me, gawking silently and mindlessly with his cheeks tinting red by the second.

"You look incredibly gorgeous, love" he managed to say or stutter with an ever growing smile. "Thank you Newt"I giggled coming closer to him and placing a soft kiss to his cheek. "And you look very handsome yourself" I reciprocated genuinely making him break into a shy grin.

"I got something for you" Newt spoke up and slowly bought his hand that was hidden behind his back to reveal a beautiful corsage. "I made it by myself" he told me very shyly and looked down again, which was one of the most adorable things I've ever seen in life, "so I could do it with all your favourite flowers".

When Newt looked down while blushing, I lifted up his head by lifting his chin up with two fingers and his cheeks began to burn, leaving them to glow when he noticed me staring already. "It's the most beautiful corsage I've ever seen Newt" I smiled, his gesture making my heart warm and makes butterflies tickle the walls of my stomach. "Thank you so much..." I said softly, trailing the back of my fingers over his cheek to caress while keeping my eyes on his, which were sparkling brightly, "for everything".

"I-I-I can't b-b-believe you did all this for m-m-me" I started to stammer, unable to express how grateful I was in proper words when I was cut off with a hug. "Y/N, you know I do anything for you. No matter how bizarre it is" he murmured into my ear, peppering a few kisses all over. I hummed happily and smiled, loving this moment.

--

"So what type of guy did you have in mind if you were to have a date today?" Newt asked while we climbed down the flight of stairs. "You just tell me what you want and I'll be that for you" he prompted eagerly and a chuckle left my lips as I stopped and turned to face him, grabbing his hands in mine, "goofy and clumsy".

"But Y/N that's just me" he frowned. "I know and I wouldn't change it for the world" I grinned and kissed his cheek making a big smile appeared on his face, love pulsing through my chest as a genuine smile flooded my face.

When we walked out of my building and reached the the car, Newt opened the door being the gentlemen he always is and helped me in. "I've got your favourite CDs ready. Pick what you want, love" he smiled with a quick peck on my cheek before coming around and getting in himself.

The drive was quiet, except for the music yet comfortable as it always is when we're together. Newt drove through a forest-like area. The sun was shining right through the spaces of the leaves on the trees that surrounded us, giving it a captivating beauty. Newt parked the car somewhere alongside the road and grabbed a basket from the backseat of the car, along with a checkered plaid that draped over it before coming over and opening the door for me.

He grabbed a hold of my hand and laced our fingers, feeling it glow. I placed a quick kiss to his crimson red cheek, as we started walking down a gravel path, leading to a beautiful lake in an open area that was surrounded by trees.

The sight was romantic and so breath-taking that I stopped walking for a few seconds to take in the environment. "Y/N?" Newt suddenly spoke up, as he looked over his shoulder at me. "Sorry, it's just so beautiful" I smiled, and did a little twirl making him chuckle while he unfolded the plaid, to lie it down on the ground. He then held out his hand inviting me to sit with him before we started pulling out all the home-made goods Newt had in the basket.

Newt's P.O.V

I quietly pulled out the camera from the bag on the side and quickly snapped a picture of Y/N already stuffing herself with french fries. She was just so adorable I couldn't resist not taking a picture and then I heard the familiar squeal of her not wanting any pictures taken.

I think she'll will never know how much I want to take a picture of her when she's not looking, to capture her in those moments when she's just being herself, caught up in some daily task or thoughts and daydreams that I would never even know, times when she's unaware and unabashedly imperfect.

"You took a picture of me stuffing french fries in my mouth" she grumbled playfully with a slight push to my shoulder, "and I bit my finger".  I let out a laugh before moving closer to her and handing the camera for her to look while grabbing her hand to kiss her tiny finger. "Newt I look hideous" she pouted and I sighed with a small shake of my head as I held her hands bringing them close to my chest where she could feel my heart, every beat which is meant only for her.

"You are the loveliest, gentlest and most beautiful person I have ever known" I said looking deep into her beautiful pair of pearls, "and even that is an understatement".

A blush rose to her cheeks and she shyly looked at my eyes, biting her bottom lip to hide her growing smile making her look so adorable and I couldn't help but pepper her beautiful face with many kisses.

I still haven't figured out how sit with her and not be madly in love with everything she does.

Y/N was unexplainable. You think she was a good girl, but once you get to know her, you realise she's everything.

She's deeper than anyone else and that's probably why nobody gets her. She's a bit too much for anyone, and she has this weird habit of being herself all the time.

She is insecure with her flaws and has a hint of sadness in her eyes but she hides it well behind a smile that almost appears natural. She's delicate but tough, mostly tough on herself, the mistakes in which she made, often eat away at her conscience, she's honest but there are things she keeps to herself, understanding that not everyone deserves to unlock her secret door.

Y/N has always been so extraordinary to me and there's no goddamn universe that could be as much as her. But she doesn't believe that, and she blames herself every night for not being ordinary. She hates herself for being this unique human being but I fell in love with her for her uniqueness.

She's got a heavy heart, a messy soul, a reckless mind but there's this quiet sense of hope that still lives within her soul and I think it's absolutely beautiful the way she carries herself.

She was made of magic that only I could see.

"Do you know what my favourite picture is ?" I asked in a whisper, eyes dancing over the blush on her face, as she tilted her head to the side with a twinkle in her beautiful eyes. I let out a chuckle at her cuteness before reaching for the pocket in my pants to get my wallet to show her my favourite picture that I carry around everywhere, every single day.

It was a photo taken a long time back, we were sitting on the kitchen floor waiting for our cookies to be done while listening to the radio and 'Can I have this dance?' from high school musical suddenly came on and Y/N smiled at me like she wanted to dance but didn't want to ask so I grabbed her arm and spun her around the room.

Y/N had her hair in a messy bun, with no make up on, and a pair of baggy sweat pants and a giant Star Wars t-shirt and she looked absolutely stunning in my eyes, by just simply being her.  

So after we finished dancing or well mostly tripping over with lots of smiles and giggles, which cheered me up, honestly, I held her in my arms and smiled, to take a goofy selfie but we both looked at each other instead of the camera which captured that moment in a perfect picture.

Y/N's P.O.V

"Oh no" he panicked, quickly standing up. "Newt?" I asked worriedly. "M-my wallet" he stammered nervously, "I-I must have dropped it somewhere". I sprung on my feet instantly, "Newt calm down. We'll go look" I said seeing him turn pale by the moment, "did you have it this morning ?".

"YES!!" he said frantically looking around. "Newt we will look here and then you go look at your place and I'll check at mine. It can't be anywhere else" I suggested and he nodded in agreement.

After a while of looking around here, we packed everything and went back to my place. "I'll come back as soon as I can" Newt said sadly as he dropped me at my door even though I told him not to. "I'm really sorry for ruining--" he started to say feeling guilty but I cut him off. "Don't be".

Once Newt left I looked in all my rooms and then moved to the kitchen to find it fallen under the table, where he must have dropped it when he came to make breakfast in the morning.

I quickly picked it up and opened it to see if anything is missing, but the first thing I saw was a picture of me and Newt right in front. I was wearing a giant Star Wars t-shirt and my hair was an absolute mess and I had a goofy smile on my face while Newt hugging me from behind, smiling so happily.

The same goofy smile I had made its way across my as I thought of how much of a mess I looked like here regardless of how much Newt said I looked 'bloody' beautiful. It would've been almost comical, if not for the absolute adoration encompassed within his eyes when he said so.

I remember the feeling I had when I first met Newt. I noticed his eyes instantly, they were beautiful brown orbs that got brighter and brighter every time he saw me.

He looked at me as if I were something special, the feeling of being special so foreign, it almost hurt to be looked at like that.

I've always thought Newt was plain amazing. I remember talking with him day and night and telling stories and talking about things we loved endlessly. He made it so simple and effortless and I couldn't help myself but fall in love with him.

But I've always been too terrified to tell him how I felt, especially anxious about the fact that if I would have said it, it could ruin our friendship.

I couldn't stop my ever growing smile on the thought of him as I searched through the rest of the wallet, but did not come across any cash or credit cards, just a folded paper in one case. Curiously, I pulled it out and opened wondering why Newt was so eager to find the wallet if there was nothing important here.

Moving my fingers along the neatly folded paper I opened it carefully, only to be shocked and amazed the next moment. A gasp rolled over my lips before I could swallow it down.

It was the first letter I ever wrote to Newt, years back when we first became friends. My mind couldn't even begin to comprehend the fact that he treasured it with him for so long. My thoughts were blank, clouded and unclear, as if the feeling of love fogged up my senses.

I sat like that for a while, just staring at the letter when the door suddenly flew open and Newt came stumbling inside. "Did you find it? did you find it?" he asked running up to me and I nodded still speechless."Y/N?" his worried voice echoed in my mind as he quickly knelt next to me, "sweetheart, what happened?".

"Y-y-you still kept this ?" I asked with a tremble in my voice. The air seemed to be knocked out of my lungs. "Yes" he answered in a quiet whisper as I looked up at his big brown eyes, which had one of the most beautiful mixture of colours I had ever seen in my life, staring at me. "Why?".

Newt's P.O.V

"Because you matter the world to me" I murmured softly, and looked down before looking back into her eyes. Once I looked at her and could feel the happiness blooming inside me, as if her eyes were the calm, beautiful morning after a night full of storm.

Suddenly, while we stared at each other in silence, I couldn't believe I held myself back for so long when I always wanted more. I wanted more than just looks and brushes of arms and legs. I wanted to taste her lips and her neck and her cheeks and everything. I wanted to run my hand through her hair and feel the electricity of love rush through me. I wanted to pull her in and never let her go.

"Can't you see it ?" I whispered with a trembling voice as I gently caressed her cheek, "I am hopelessly in love with you Y/N. I have for so, so long now". A soft sniffle left my mouth and I was soon bought into the familiar loving embrace of her arms. She held me tight as I started crying.

"I am in love with your big beautiful eyes and perfect laughing smile and rosy cheeks and little nose and pretty hair that makes your face glow. I am also in love with your voice and the way you blabber about the things you love endlessly and your warm hugs and sweet kisses and hilarious faces and corny jokes. I love it all" I said breathlessly, tears rolling down my face.

"Y/N, I want to make you happy in any way I can. I want to make you the kind of happy that when you lay in bed at night you're gonna think that who even knew this was possible" I said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, making her more beautiful than she already is, "and I want to be the one to make you happy".

Y/N pulled her face from my chest and looked at me with sparkling eyes. Her irises shined bright, so bright they almost blinded me. "I love you".

"It's you" she continued softly, her head resting on mine as I saw tears starting to trickle down her cheek. She placed her hands in my neck, cupping half of my jaw, "it's always been you Newt. Even though I never told you".

"You're have always been my everything always" the quiet, melodic tune of her voice drifted through the air. The smile resting over my lips twitched, spreading into a blown-out grin as our eyes shyly found each other for a long, craving stare.

Her nose was pink and her eyes were watering. I noticed her eyes were even more beautiful when she cries. Most people would look at her, see a regular girl who's upset over something. To me, she's no ordinary girl. To me, she's the most beautiful, most lovely girl in the world.

Even now, as broken as she is, with her shoulders slumped over and knees wobbling in weakness and bloodshot eyes that can't cry anymore because she's already shed so many tears, she is still beautiful.

"I'm so sorry for taking so long to realise..." I faltered. "Newt, you have nothing to apologise for" she cooed, and pressed my head against her where I left a few kisses, "I am sorry for not--".

"You don't have to be" I hushed her immediately, wrapping my arms around her body and pressing myself against her to hold her listening to the change of her breathing pattern as our eyes kept staring at each other, drowning in the colours of our irises, heartbeats changing until they were beating on the same rhythm.

"C-c-c-can I k-k-kiss you ?" I stumbled suddenly, unable to stop myself from looking to her eyes to her lips and back again. She looked into my eyes in deep thought as to what spluttered out of my mouth.

"I've been dreaming about it" she admitted shyly, with bright red cheeks and that was all it took for me to kiss her like every fibre of my being was dying and she was my medicine. And oh my love, it did feel like it, because suddenly, I was more alive, I felt stronger, happier and I felt at home. Her arms felt like home and bloody hell, I never wanted to leave home again.

We were entirely in our own little world as we sat there, taking in each other's taste and enjoyed our what seemed like an ever lasting hug. Pulling back, I let my hand caress her cheek, taking in every little bit of her into my heart.

I smiled at her, making her blush. "Do you mind?" she said jokingly, smiling foolishly to herself. "I can't help it. You're so perfect" I trailing the back of my fingers over her cheek to caress while keeping my eyes on hers but she shyly glanced down and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm far from it".

I shook my head and sighed. "I hate it when you think of yourself as nothing. You're so beautiful and amazing. You may not be perfect to someone else, or to even yourself but you're perfect in my eyes".

"You have no idea how many 11:11 wishes, shooting star wishes and just plain wishes I have made to be good enough to be able to deserve you" I whispered and kissed her lips gently, causing her eyes to shine. A smile from ear to ear appeared on my face to the sight of her beautiful face smiling at me.

"Am I the reason you look so happy in the picture ?" Y/N grinned cheekily, picking up my wallet. "Oh darling" I cooed pulling back to look at her beautiful blushing face, "no camera could ever capture the look in my eyes and the feeling in my heart when I'm with you".

In silence, she pressed her lips gently on mine, a smile spread all over her face. My hands slid from her face to cup her soft cheeks back in my hands again and she slid her arms around my neck and held them there keeping me close.

My thoughts were blank, but at the same time filled with thoughts about her, about flash-forwards with her; our future. I thought about us, causing my happiness to grow even more.

"Can you stay here for the night ?" Y/N stirred in my arms, and pressed herself tighter against me, nuzzling her face just underneath my chin. Smiling to being her adorable self, I caressed her back. "Of course darling".

"Sure?" she asked again still unsure of whether I was comfortable with my decision being the kind hearted person she is, "or at least stay till I fall asleep?".

"Well that's given" I chuckled as I felt her gaze resting on my face, "pancakes in the morning?". Y/N let out a happy sigh against my chest as I nuzzled our noses together. Her eyes were sparkling, dancing with the kind of light that made you feel warm inside to see.

With my face pressed against hers, I noticed her eyes being closed in tiredness. Softly, my lips left a kiss on her forehead as I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist and moved us into her bedroom before laying her on the mattress with flushed cheeks.

I gave a sweet kiss on her lips before walking over to wardrobe to get her a change of clothes and to get mine which I kept here because I basically live with her. Y/N had always been someone I couldn't stay away from; a few moments is all it takes for me to miss her like crazy.

It was something only she could make me feel like; it was something I could only define it as love. Pure love. I was dazed into my thoughts when a thud made me turn around to see Y/N on the floor, with a sheepish smile on her face. "Shouldn't have bounced".

A cheerful fit of laughter escaped my mouth without my permission. In return, she tuck her tongue at me. "Is this what made you fall in love with me?" she chuckled nervously, while I walked closer with a big nod and sat next to her but she shyly looked down, fiddling with her fingers.

"But I'm not like other girls" her small voice sounded quietly, "I prefer to eat and sit on the computer than to party. I'm weird and awkward".

"Sweetheart" I whispered, to which she snuggled closer to me, pressing her front against my own. My lips left a kiss on her forehead to soothe her. "Oh, my angel" I murmured gently, while caressing her head with the palm of my hand to which she hummed and nuzzled her face into my chest, "I love your awkward quirky charm".

"And no you're not like other girls at all. You're way better" I cooed and turned to her lips, where I left a few kisses, "and baby girl, you are never ever alone... I'll always sit next to you while you're on the computer and eat with you till we 're both stuffed" I exclaimed in a joking kind of way, what made her giggle.

"This is me Y/N, hands out, heart open, always loving you, whether you fail or fall, just as you are" I said truthfully and pressed a kiss on her nose making her smile softly with such pure eyes that it took me aback a little.

"Please don’t ever leave me behind. I’m never going to find a person as sweet, loving, caring and patient as you. Nobody will even come close. I don’t want anyone else" I pleaded, as she cuddled into me, making herself comfortable.

Her eyes sparkled brightly, showing me her happiness as she placed a few fingers underneath my chin to invite me closer for a kiss. "I love you" she smiled against my lips, repeating the three words over and over while we lost ourselves in each other.

After we got changed to our pyjamas and quickly snuggled under the covers, Y/N buried her cute face into the crook of my neck. I chuckled, and rolled us around, so she could sleep on top of my chest, like she always did when I bunked over.

We looked at each other for a moment before I leaned in and pressed a kiss on her lips."Can I stroke your hair while you fall asleep?" I asked, with a pouty face, my hand already stroking her head tenderly. "Do you want me to fall in love with you even more?" she giggled sweetly, unable to hide her full-blown smile as she grabbed a hold of my free hand, sliding her fingers between mine.

"Only if it ends with you in my arms every night for the rest of my life" I smiled, holding her protectively against my chest and pressed my lips against her forehead to rest them there for the rest of the night, watching her eyes close with a smile resting on her lips which I would be able to kiss every morning when I wake up from now on like I've always wanted.

I craved the simplest of love with Y/N. A cold night, warm sheets and her skin against my own. Certainly, that is all I could ever ask for. Sometimes you can't explain what you see in a person. It's just the way they take you to a place where no one else can.

Never in a million years did I think I'd find someone so utterly and completely perfect, someone who would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be, someone that would touch my life so profoundly and just give me a whole new reason to breathe. And then I found her and realised that everything I anticipated doesn't even compare to her.

We found each other in this crazy, messed up, beautiful world because we belong together, we belong in each other's arms and we are connected by more than love. For the one simple reason that Y/N is the one and only person I will ever truly want for the rest of my life.

She was life itself.

Wild and free. Wonderfully chaotic, a perfectly put together mess.

She is the kind of magic that you marry.

[okimargarvez]

A NOT TOO SECRET ADMIRER

Original title: Un ammiratore non troppo segreto.

Prompt: at the same time Luke and other man court Penelope.

Warning: none.

Genre: comedy, family, friendship, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Matt Simmons, Phil Brooks, BAU team, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 50 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🔦🎈.

Song mentioned: Il regalo più grande, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

A NOT TOO SECRET ADMIRER  

*

The man puts the mug on the table and turns his head towards his friend, who perceives what he is about to ask. -So, what about your colleague?- but he still pretends not to have understood.

He takes time. -What do you want to know?- he asks in the most neutral tone he knows. The other doesn’t let himself be discouraged. A giggle is heard in the background, coming from the third bystander, which for now just assists without comment.

-You know.- says the first. -Penelope is already dating someone?- is so easy to notice that light turns on in the eyes of the man with Spanish features when he hears the feminine name. The first one turns to the Asian. -Matt, do you know something? It seems that this one does nothing but work.- Luke is about to protest, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

-For what I know, she's not dating anyone.- Agent Simmons replies quietly. Then a smile appears on his lips. -Are you interested in her?- from the corner of his eye, he sees the annoyed expression of his colleague.

-Yes, she is an extraordinary woman, very nice... and beautiful.- the first, the one with African-American features, admits without problems. They might seem a table emerged from an immigration office, and instead they are all three 100 percent American and often keep us point it up in the course of their work. -I saw her only twice, because Luke always has a good excuse to avoid combining another meeting.- he rebukes his friend, who cleverly decides not to reply. A good silence was never transcribed, Matt thinks.

-O maybe he doesn’t want because he likes her, too.- he points out with studied nonchalance, grabbing the glass in front of him to take a sip. As expected, Luke tries to defend himself.

-What are you saying, Simmons?- big eyes, almost more agitated than the time a girl was about to stab him in the back. -It's obvious that I like her, we're friends, she's part of the team.- he tries to sound convincing, but even if his best friend Phil is not a profiler like them two, it's since he has know him that he can read his mind.

Simmons is not discouraged and exchanges a significant look with the other federal. -But I meant in another sense and you know it well.- there aren’t even malicious nuances in his sentence, nor insinuations, because it is a pure and simple truth that doesn’t need to be enriched in any way.

-What?- Luke says, moving his chair backwards and shaking the table. -I like Penelope more... more than a friend?- he seems to have pronounced a dirty word, or worse, a blasphemy. But his eyes, more and more frightened, are enough to betray him.

-Matt is right.- Phil says. -In fact, I suspected it myself, the first time they came to bring me Lou.- he begins to tell. -You should have seen it. He hugged her, held her by the hips, and then by the shoulders, and smiled...- Agent Alvez finds himself dragged back into the past and he seems to feel again those sensations, as it was nice to hug her without the need of overcome a tragedy (like the death of Walker), or an absurd fact (like the denial of the bail to Spencer) -They were both smiled.- he comes back to the real world, in time to catch the glimpse of his best friend. For a moment Phil thinks to take his hand. Maybe he would have done if there hadn’t been Matt and if it was more late, with a few drops of beer... -Luke, brother, why did not you just tell me that you had a crush on her?- he asks with all the simplicity of the world. Of course, because others always make it extremely easy. They aren’t the ones who have to face their confused feelings almost every day, the shame of always appearing to be stupid or an ugly insect before her eyes... -I would have stopped tormenting you.- he concludes, spreading his arms.

-I don’t...- he tries to say, but is interrupted by the colleague.

-Do you want to deny it?- his dark eyes are those he uses when he conducts an interrogation and the technique works. He finds himself signing the surrender after not even half a minute.

-No, you have won.- a series of dramatic sighs. -I don’t deny it.- he repeats, to make clear his defeat. -But it doesn’t change much.- he starts again with a petulant tone. -Phil, if you want, you can still hit on her, because I don’t have a chance.- the same conviction of his friends when they said that he liked Penelope in a sense very different from simple friendship; and they were right, but there is a small detail to add: she doesn’t feel the same for him. -Maybe you are more lucky.- he looks at the bottom of his glass.

-What are you saying, what is this melancholy and depression?- Matt tries to shake him. -You must at least try, do something, and then, later, if it goes bad, you can be depressed.- he tries in every way to instill a bit of rationality, he can’t bear to see him so surrendered, he is grown attached to him in a short time, they understood each other immediately, perhaps because they both belonged to the military world. For him, especially on these occasions, he feels a bit like a sort of older brother. -But it will not be so.- he reaffirms convinced. -Trust your friends.- not being able to shake his hand, he is satisfied with a pat on the shoulder.

-Your colleague is right.- Phil helps him. -You're a hunter, Luke.- he reminds him. -Study the prey, think about how to smell the ground.- all very tempting, as if he had never thought of it, to use the resources learned in previous experiences, with her.

But then, he hadn’t had the courage. Some provocation, some flirting, but more he couldn’t hazard. -And how should I do?- he says but doen't leaving time to answer him. -The only step forward I have done is that now she calls me Luke or Alvez, and no longer Newbie.- a great victory, perhaps. Because since she had stopped using that nickname, the moments when she seemed to want to try something with him or... flirt, were decreased. -About the rest... she still keeps me on my toes.- and he doesn’t mind, but he doesn’t add it. He prefers to undergo such treatment rather than being like any other colleague for her.

-Yeah, she teases you.- Simmons agrees, chuckling. -It's fun enough to see, you know, Brooks? You're missing a real show.- even the other man bursts out laughing, not struggling to imagine the scene.

-I am glad that my misfortunes amuse you.- Luke comments, not too resentful. -Anyway, even Tara often makes fun of me, but I don’t think she likes me in that way.- he sees a possibility of getting out of it, not entirely losing. -Or it’s not so?- but he is assailed by doubt. -What do you think, Matt?- the other doesn’t let himself be fooled.

-I understand what you want to do, but you will not be able to confuse us.- he says, with a half-smile on his mouth. -Tara teases you like a sister, while Garcia... with her there is also malice, there is another kind of interest.- he doesn’t feel to have to add more details, although he would be ready to discuss a thesis on this topic. Maybe he talked a little too much with Kristy.

However, something not completely expected takes place. -Do you also mean for her part?- Luke asks, with a voice so full of hope, and that look, how can Garcia have resisted so long to that look like a puppy that would also compete with that of Roxy? This is the real question to be answered.

-Yes!- he cries almost, he barely holds back. -I can’t believe you didn’t notice...- he interrupts the sentence in half and looks at Phil, who does the same. -No, I believe it.- both nod.

-And then what should I do, ask her out?- he asks, torn, torn by fear and hope that now began to sprout in his heart. -However, there are so many cases that we wouldn’t even have time.- a convenient escape, this. The most valid he has found to prevent himself from acting until now.

-I would try a nice old courtship.- Simmons suggests. -According to me Garcia would like it.- this time his smile is genuine. -It seems to me exactly that kind of girl.- Phil nods with conviction.

-I agree.-

 **

As soon as he enters through the glass doors, he sees her in the dining area, alone; he walks in the direction of the woman. -Good morning.- he says, the voice that miraculously doesn’t tremble leaves too much imply of what he feels.

-Good morning, Alvez.- she says, continuing to give him her back. It seems, however, that she was able to read in his greeting much more than he himself imagined. -Are you in a good mood today?- she asks him, turning her head slightly, just to give him a quick glance. Man strives to keep his eyes at the height of her neck and no longer low.

He swallows. -Yes, I decided to try and take things differently.- it is a very difficult task to follow. She wears a fiery red dress that frames her body so to say almost illegal and he knows that the sight of red increases heart beats because it reminds of the blood... and that's why it's hard not to gasp, for nothing else.

-Good, there is hope for everyone.- she comments, turning off the stove and placing the kettle on a table. She notices the cup containing a dark liquid in the hand of the colleague and doesn’t hold back from making another joke. -Do you know that someone who drinks black coffee, pure, without milk or sugar or anything else, is potentially a serial killer?- it wasn’t a lie, she had read it in some magazine... or someone had told her. At that time, she had laughed.

But at that time there wasn’t a man like Luke staring at her so ambiguously. -Well, you don’t seem to be afraid of being alone with me.- he points out, moving to her table, but without ever breaking eye contact.

The blonde can hardly do it, fiddling with the sachet in the teapot. -Yeah, because I know another person who drinks coffee like that.- she replies with a moment of delay. For a few moments she thinks he will ask her about who is that person, but then he changes his expression and, it seems, but it could also be just an impression, he comes closer.

-And about who drinks tea, what do they say?- he asks in a soft, velvety tone that makes her shiver a little. Luke doesn’t seem to have noticed, luckily.

- Depends, there are millions of different tastes of tea.- she incredibly manages to answer him. Before speaking, the man looks at her intensely, too intensely, but it is not the first time he does it, and afterwards there have never been great consequences, so Garcia is forced to face him.

-About who drinks peach tea in an octopus-shaped cup.- he adds, emphasizing every detail, but always continuing to penetrate her with his eyes.

And she finds the usual way out. -You are too funny, Luke!- she says giggling. -For a moment I thought you really wanted to know.-

 ***

That same evening, by O'Keef, Luke is intent in his reflections on his accomplished hazard, his first real step towards something concrete, when he feels touching on the shoulder. He raises the head and sees that it is Matt.

-So, lady killer, how is it going?- the friend immediately says, sitting down.

-It’s going.- he decides to be cautious. -I made the first move, and I'm waiting to see the results.- but he can’t hold back a half smile, because he really hopes that this is the right time. How can he go on, otherwise?

It doesn’t take long to influence the colleague. -Oh yes? What did you do?- he asks him. -Come on, tell me, I'm curious.- he insists. Luke seems to read the thousand hypotheses that run in front of the operating system of his brain. -Kristy infected me.- he tries to justify himself, just blushing. -But I will not talk to her about it.- he is already making the gesture of the oath, then his honesty prevails. -Perhaps.- he adds, in a lower tone of voice.

-Ha ha.- he pretends to find the thing funny. -This morning when I arrived there was only her and we talked about... tea.- he rolls his eyes, embarrassed as if he was telling him who knows what. -So I did some research and I found something that I think she'll love.- he smiles, again. He doesn’t want to reveal more, because deep down, in his veins, Latin blood still flows and it is known that it carries a pinch of superstition.

-From the way you are gloating, I really hope so.- Matt gives him a pat of congratulations and encouragement at the same time. Then he raises his eyes over Luke’s shoulders. -Hey, the girls are coming.- he warns. Luke turns and sees that he is right. -Garcia seems to me... different.- he says in a voice quite low, while the female team of the BAU is approaching. -Happier than usual.- he concludes.

-For me she's always beautiful.- Luke comments, spontaneously, automatically. -Oh, fuck, did I say it out loud?- he opens his eyes wide and covers his mouth as if he could take it back.

Matt can barely hold him in the face. -Yes, you're done.- he has just the time to say; the arrival of the girls prevents Luke from replicating anything and must be limited to fulminate him quickly with his eyes. -Good evening, ladies.- he greets them with a warm smile.

-Hi Matt, Luke.- the head of the BAU says. Luke, however, remains focused on the dazzling figure of the computer technician who, after greeting them with her hand, is going to the counter to make their orders.

-Where are Rossi and Spencer?- JJ asks instead immediately, worrying about the absence of her best friend, known, among other things, also for his punctuality.

-I know Rossi had a date with Krystall, while Reid... I have no idea.- Simmons replies with a shrug.

Tara seems lost in her thoughts, then, suddenly, approaches them, up to be only a few inches from Alvez. -You two were confabulating something; you have a conspiratorial air.- she decrees. The two men look at each other, before returning to stare at their colleague and show their best innocent expression.

-Us?- Matt asks, but he is ignored. Dr. Lewis continues to focus on Latin. He seems stranger than usual.

-Yeah.- she nods. -Hey, Alvez, Roxy got your tongue?- feeling called by name, the man emerges from the waters.

-Huh?- he replies with a confused and strange look. As if he had just come out of a daydream. And indeed, he was forced to divert attention from the subject of his desires, just in time to avoid being noticed.

-You're a bit overweight.- the friend points out, sitting next to him. -Is it not that you found a girl?- in the meantime the others have taken their place, and, case or fate, Garcia is sitting just parallel to him. He feels too much attention on himself.

-What?- he blushes to the tip of the ears. -NO!- he protest a little too hard. You don’t need to be an investigator of the mind to understand that there is really something cooking. Tara squints, peering at him.

-But we can say that there are works in progress.- another male voice intrudes.

-MATT!- Luke screams, worsening his situation.

-Oh, there must be something in the air, then.- JJ comments. The girls giggle, all except Penelope. And now it seems they are the ones who are planning how to sneak into the coke factory and steal the recipe.

-Why?- Simmons asks for both.

This time Emily answers. -Nothing, do you know Colornì, the one who works at the second floor?- the image of a man a little older than them, light hair, green eyes, nice, as well as federal agent who works only a few floors lower than theirs, crosses Luke's mind. He doesn’t understand the connection.

-He helped us with the case of the Bern Strangler.- he says, at the height of his naivety. Instead the friend has already begun to follow the dots and to guess the final image that will appear. -What happened to him? Is he getting married?- the first thing that comes to his mind. He doesn’t notice an exchange of looks between the two blondes.

-No!- JJ exclaims. -Perhaps it happens that someone at this table has a not too secret admirer.- she concludes with a tone of voice full of malice.

-A secret admirer?- Matt already knows how the evening will end and tries to help him as much as possible.

-He and Penelope have chatted a lot and he has also asked her to going out.- their leader says in fact very diplomatic and quiet. In order not to reveal too much what he thinks of this information, Luke digs a fingernail in the palm of his hand, concentrating every part of his brain on that feeling.

-But for now she gave him a nice two of spades.- Tara says, who does not seem to have ever stopped to keep an eye on him.

-You like to keep him on his toes, don’t you?- JJ provokes her. -It doesn’t seem to me, however, that his attentions bother you so much trouble...- she continues in the same tone, until Penelope feels obliged to defend herself.

-Hey, I just want to not rush.- an excuse, but only in part. -It's quite a while since I'm not on the market.- she adds innocently. -I'm a bit rusty.- she concludes, with a shrug, considering the speech closed and focusing rather on her drink.

But Simmons thinks differently. -And then, why secret admirer?- maybe he really has to stop discussing the love life of his colleagues with Kristy.

-Because he gave me a very strange thing.- the blonde replies, before one of her friends can do it in her place, making it seem most ambiguous or full of meaning of what it really is. -A supply of tea bags, a different taste for each day of the year.- she announces, letting a small smile peep over her face. Matt almost chokes with his own saliva, reacting in place of his friend.

-Hey, Matt, are you okay?- Emily asks. He only nods and makes a gesture with his hand.

-I didn’t think he knew me so well.- Garcia continues, unaware of the damage that is causing. -In fact, I think the next time he will ask me to go out I will say yes.- Matt can almost hear the sound of the heart of Luke that breaks in thousand pieces. -He really surprised me.- so, with any excuse, like a nice little match of pool, between men, he takes him away.

-Hey, Luke, why did not you tell her the truth, that you gave her that gift?- he asks as soon as they are far enough away, putting an arm around his friend's shoulder, who is walking like a zombie.

-No.- he replies, struggling to get back to a standing position. -What would have been the point?- he gesticulates and the other notices the wound in his hand. -She is convinced that it was Jules... that's okay.- he decrees, positioning himself on one side of the pool table.

-Do you intend to give up on the first try?- Simmons tries to encourage him. -I didn’t think you are so weak, Alvez.- this time doesn’t work, because he feels exactly like that, when it comes to addressing his own feelings for Penelope: a nullity.

-See, the fact is that I haven’t only sent the package, but I added a note with some phrases of a song.- he confesses with a broken voice. -I thought she would recognize my calligraphy.- he adds, arranging the cue with chalk, while the friend does the same.

-Why the hell didn’t you sign it?- he asks after taking the first shot.

Luke observes a red and a blue balls going into the hole. -Because... a little because I'm cowardly, and then I really thought she would understand.- he doesn’t ever look away from the green fabric, striking his ball and watching it end up in the area where there are no companions. He sighs. -I had no idea that Colornì, that traitor, was already spinning his web...- already, now he regrets having found him nice, also because of similar experiences that they had shared, but then he emerges from his own egoism. -But I can’t blame him.- any non-committed man would fall for her.

Matt makes his own shot and then goes around the table. -Hey, Luke, you don’t have to beat yourself up.- he strokes him on the shoulder. -Even for you it was hard to admit what you feel.- he tries to remind him. -Promise me that you'll do at least one more attempt.-he adds with a much harsher tone, as he returns to his side.

-Only because otherwise you would call Phil as reinforcement.- Luke immediately surrenders. -It was wrong to make you two know each other.- he adds.

-You said it.-

 ****

She hears footsteps approaching her, steps heavy enough for her to sense that he is a man wearing boots, hypothesis not compatible with Spencer or Rossi, and Matt warned that today he would be late because he had to accompany his wife somewhere. So, she expects to know the identity of the mysterious man, but she is wrong. -Hey, Penelope, how are you?- she recognizes the French accent of Jules and she jumps.

She takes a second to regularize the heartbeat, then turns to him. -Very well, thank you.- she replies, adding a polite smile. -And you?- the man takes a step in her direction, diminishing the distance between their bodies.

-Better, now that I saw you.- he says, evidently flirting. -Would you like to eat something with me for lunch?- he asks her. His attentions, as noted by JJ, certainly don’t bother her, on the contrary, they make her feel flattered. And he's definitely a handsome man, too bad that...

-It seems like a nice idea, but we have to see if there will be a case.- she replies, showing herself available but diplomatic and not overly enthusiastic; she doesn’t want to delude him, she knows what it feels like and it's not a good feeling. -You know how it works.- she adds, spreading her arms as if to say that it is not her fault.

He nods. -Yes, unfortunately.- the sad expression. Then a sigh. -And speaking of work... I have to go.- another step, closer and closer. -Have a good day.- he says to her, before setting a kiss on her cheek. She greets him with her hand, quite blankly by this gesture. It's since Morgan's gone that a man didn’t kiss her like that. -Hello, Alvez.- she hears him says. She moves her eyes and sees her colleague walking in her direction.

-Hi, Jules.- Luke says, then he takes the place of the other. -No tea, today?- he asks, the voice full of malice but also something new, maybe anger, as if he was angry with her for something she did. And the same are telling her those eyes.

-I didn’t do it yet, I'm a bit distracted.- she finds herself answering, strangely compliant, not replying with one of her jokes. Then, noticing that Luke doesn’t seem to want to stop staring at her, she adds: -What's the matter, would you like a cup?- and unexpectedly he nods.

-I wouldn’t mind.- he says. Why does something suggest that they are not talking about beverages at all? However, she turns to the stove, goes down to take his teapot, moves to fill it with enough water for two cups, also extracts her own, in the shape of an octopus, and one with printed image of a dog on it. She caresses it for a few seconds with her fingers, before putting both on a table, like a perfect maid. All the time, the man remains silent, almost recording her every gesture.

-So... you and Jules...- he begins. -I didn’t expect it.- Penelope sighs, preferring to concentrate on avoiding spilling hot liquid. So, she allows herself to look him in the eye.

-Yeah?- she asks, feeling the re-emergence of the Garcia that she had been with him in the early days. -Would you have seen me better with someone else, more like you, for example?- the joke dies immediately, because Luke seems to look at her in shock. -I'm joking!- she hurries then to add, giving him back and stretching to reach the locker where all the tastes of tea are conversed, now greatly increased thanks to the gift of her not too secret admirer. -What flavor you want?- she asks him in a neutral tone. Still, she is sure to feel his gaze on her body.

-Tamarind.- he answers in a tone too ambiguous, strange.

-Oh, interesting choice.- she comments, continuing to act as if this were her real work. - Anyway, with Jules nothing has happened yet.- she finds herself saying, without knowing why. She adds less sugar than usual and passes to him the sugar bowl a little too brusquely.

-But is about to happen.- he replies with the same tone, while their fingers touch each other. -He asked you a date.- he says, as if she had forgotten, and again, he seems almost angry. -I haven’t eavesdropped, but I have a developed hearing.- he justifies himself before she can start accusing him of not making his own business.

-Whatever you say.- she sighs, but something pushes her to continue that speech. -Anyway, yes, but we'll just go for lunch together.- she wants to specify, as if the fact that it takes place during the day and not in the evening doesn’t make it a date in all respects. Luke doesn’t seem to agree. -If a case doesn’t arrive. she adds. -It means nothing.- but why the hell is she trying to convince him more than herself?

-For now.- Luke continues to insist, turning his attention away from the cup to look at her.

-Yes, for now.- she echoes. A silent pause follows. Then Luke suddenly blurts out.

-However why you were immediately sure that it was he who gave you that gift?- a good question, especially because... if it were so, how to explain the fact that she hadn’t thanked Jules for the gift so much liked, that showed how much that person knows her? Perhaps because she hoped the author was another?

And then, more than the gift itself, those words. -Well, there was also a note, a song by Tiziano Ferro and he had told me that he liked a lot...- she says in fact, before doing something even more unexpected. She puts herself to sing those words. I would like to give you a gift... something sweet, something rare... not a common gift... of those you lost, never opened, left on the train or never accepted... of those you open and then cry, that you are happy and you don’t pretend... This day of mid-September I will dedicate you... my greatest gift... I would like to give your smile to the moon because, at night, those who look at it may think of you, to remind you that my love is important. -And then... he's the only man who has showed interest in me, recently.- she adds, suddenly stopping, and truncating the refrain in half, so abrupt enough to make him jump.

When he resumes, he moves a little further towards her. -The only one, are you sure?- he asks, completely inclined in her direction.

-Yes.- she answers firmly. -You know something I don’t know?- a flash in his eyes.

-Not really.- he answers while drinking his tea, a taste that he doesn’t like and that he said only to demonstrate his knowledge in terms of variety of tea, just to throw a hook so that maybe she could understand that Jules wasn't her admirer... he hears a very familiar beep. She looks at her cell phone and sighs. -Let me guess. We have a case.- he smiles.

-Why it seems to me that you are not so displeased?- Garcia even notices. Luke shows one of his most innocent expressions.

-Just your impression.- he replies, hiding the crooked smile behind the cup.

-Mmm.-

 *****

In a hotel room, the lights off, you can hear an unspecified dialogue.

-So, what did you think?- the Asian man asks to the other, who is in the bed next to his.

The latter sighs. -I bought tickets for a show. I heard her talk about it with JJ.- he explains, trying not to think about the fact that Agent Colornì was in Quantico, in the same building as her, while he is far away miles. -I hope we will solve the case before Saturday evening.- he concludes. A smug giggle.

-You'll see, desperate lover.- he adds, trying to get serious again. -Tell me this time you made things clearer...- Luke nods, but he can’t see him.

-I left her only her own ticket and I wrote to her that she will find me in the next chair.- a theatrical thing and so old-fashioned, as he had suggested. He is so excited at the idea of seeing her face when she will realize that the one who left that invitation was nothing but him.

-What show?- Matt asks him. However hard he tries, he can’t remember the title.

He leans over to the backpack, begins to rummage, always in the dark. -Wait, I have it here, the ticket, not to lose it I put it...- but it's not even in his wallet. The light is switched on suddenly. -But where is it?- he asks desperately. -I put it here, I'm sure.- he throws the contents of his bag around the room.

-Hey, Luke, stay calm.- Matt tries to reassure him. -You may have left it at home. When we come back you will look.- but there is no hope.

-I have a bad feeling.-

 ******

Evening, a table from O'Keef. This time, the first ones to arrive are the girls.

-So, how's it going with Jules?- JJ is the first to start the subject that matters to all of them. But after all, she pushed her into Kevin's arms at the beginning of their story, so she feels that this is a part of her.

Penelope fiddles with the lemon slice in her drink. -I don’t know, he surprised me again.- she admits, yet her tone doesn’t seem too enthusiastic. -He bought tickets for La Traviata.- she says. -When I arrived, he was already there, waiting for me. It was a nice evening. He's very different from any man I have dating before and... You'll know nothing more.- she decrees, just before the rest of the team reaches their table, Luke included.

-Guys, you're late.- Emily scolds them, moving to make room for Rossi.

-And you, Spence, tell the truth!- the blonde says. -Are you coming out with a girl?- she asks him hopefully, practically forcing him to sit next to her.

-JJ!- her boss shouts, pretending to be scandalized.

-What?- she asks, without any shame. -You all want to know.- she accuses them and no one feels like replying.

-In any case the answer is no.- the young doctor replies, with her total disappointment. - I'm preparing for a new FBI course. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure of making it.- he admits, showing insecurity that seems unusual to him.

-Oh, Spence!- JJ exclaims with a sweet tone, caressing him slightly. Tara turns to Agent Alvez, who again is suspiciously too quiet.

-Luke, what's wrong? Roxy is sick?- she doesn’t feel like teasing him until she knows the real reason for this behavior.

-No.- the man denies with a flat tone.

-You look sad to me.- his friend insists.

-Tara is right, what's happened?- Simmons also says.

-Nothing, Matt, really.- he answers both. -You know, I was wrong to go out tonight.- he adds, before standing up. -I should go home.- but two pairs of arms on each side force him to return to his seat.

-No, what the hell are you saying.- Matt blows. -You need to take a break. Let's play a pool match.- and he drags him away. -So?- he then asks impatiently.

-Did not you know?- he answers with another question. -Penelope and Jules went out together, went to see La Traviata.- he explains, halfway between anger and disappointment. -Jules must have found my ticket.- it's the obvious deduction he'd got to when, Friday night, just back from the case, he has turned his apartment inside out. -Fuck!- and he understood that he lost him in the locker room common to all federal agents. And who he had crossed, at the exit? -What's the sense of insisting?- maybe he's asking to himself. -If she’s fine with him...- he shrugs and this time doesn’t even try to pretend to want to play seriously at the pool table.

-Again, Luke?- he takes him by the shoulders. -Looks I really need to call Phil.- he threatens him. -They came out together once and then?- he shakes him. -Come on, it's not over. Instead of mysterious gifts you have to go straight to the point.- it's almost an order. -Ask her to go out. You'll see she'll say yes.-

 *******

A few days later, Garcia is thinking if she shouldn't skip her tea ritual for once, when she hears those obviously male steps, boots, and this time she know who is the owner. -Hello, Penelope.- Jules says. Yes, he's very nice, funny and cultured. He knows a lot about theater and music, and it's nice to chat with him.

-Hello, Jules.- she says, again that smile on her lips, this time less for education and a little more for spontaneous happiness to see him.

-How are you- he asks. He is also polite, she continues to mentally list his merits. He likes animals, even if it's not that they have really talked about that topic.

-All right, you?- he makes a strange expression before answering.

-Me too, especially when I'm close to you.- again, he expressly flirts with her, it's not a game, there's no prey or a hunter, he showed her the cards in his hand and now she has to decide.

-Oh, you're very nice.- she only answers him. It seems to her to hear the sound of other steps, but...

-You are much more...- Jules tells her, then approaches even more, gently takes her shoulders and lays a kiss just as sweet on her lips. Penelope doesn’t kiss him back and her eyes remain wide open; that's why she notices Luke, his shocked expression, his hands opening up, dropping something to the ground, before he leaves, almost running. That's why she chases him, breaking away from the kiss, which actually lasted less than three seconds, and leaving poor Jules high and dry.

-Luke, Luke, what the hell, stop!- after a few steps she's already out of breath. -Do you have no pity on a woman with heels?- she asks, even hazarding a joke and feeling on her lips the taste of another man, not what she would like. If only she had known, what he wanted to do, she would have stopped him. She didn’t want to delude Jules, even if she can't exclude a priori that one day she might fall in love with him, but... but first she would have to get rid of another one.

Luke stops but continues to give her the back. -What do you want?- he asks in a low tone, almost a growl, which should frighten her. She reaches him and touches his arm.

-I think you lost this.- finally the man turns to her and observes his package. He sighs. He never looks her in the eye, seems to want to convince himself that she doesn’t exist.

-Thank you, you shouldn't have bothered.- but she doesn’t move an inch. -Seriously.- he adds then, moving away the package and who holds it.

-What’s wrong?- Penelope manages to force him to look at her. -Does the idea that a man could seriously feel something for me upset you so much?- she asks him, even giving him a little push on the chest to make sure he is hearing her. But he catches her by the wrist, without tightening too much, without hurting her.

-No, Garcia, you didn’t understand anything, ok?- he says, unbalancing her. -Go back to your Canadian boyfriend, he misses you.- and he seems willing to start walking again, even he doesn’t even know where to go.

But the woman doesn’t give up and follows him. -First of all, it's not my boyfriend and then it's not Canadian, it's French- she is going back in time, in front of an elevator, someone had just become a BAU member -and then... he kissed me.- the last sentence has the power to stop him.

He turns in slow motion towards her. -Oh, but you didn't certainly walk away.- it seems almost a reproach and his voice is bad. -Do you like him, what's wrong with admitting it?- why he wants to force her to say something that's not true?

-Jules is nice, but unfortunately for him, there is already another guy that I like.- then she decides to say, looking in his eyes, clearer than hers, and he can’t help but does the same.

-Oh yes? So why did you accept his court?- without realizing it, he lowers his head slightly towards hers.

-I... I don’t know, I thought the man I like didn’t like me ... the man for whom I have a crush.- she admits. -But now I'm not so sure anymore.- one more step in his direction.

-Why?- he asks her only, almost a whisper, looking at her eyes and then at her mouth.

-Because he seemed a bit too jealous.- Penelope is tired, if this is not enough to make him understand that the man for whom she has a crush is him, then she just doesn’t know what else she has to do. But Luke naturally shakes his head.

- I'm... I'm confused.- she sighs, disappointed.

-Do you want to ask me something?- she says, to fill a void that would feel her only more embarrassing and worse than she is now.

-Yes, in fact...- in her disappointment Luke seems to read something that gives him hope and courage to tell her the truth. -I wanted to ask you if you wanted to take a walk with Roxy and me.- and he would have done it, if he hadn’t been anticipated by Jules. It was something quite neutral, but it could lead to other developments, especially after opening the package.

-And this box?- Penelope asks him, doing to give it back to him.

-It's just... just a thought, something...- he shrugs, just blushing.

-Luke, was it for me?- she asks directly, serious tone and intense look.

- Yes, it... it’s still.- he stutters. -If you want it.- he smiles.

-I'd like to go out with Roxy.- she says.

-Really?- but it is a rhetorical question. -Do not you think that your mysterious man could get jealous?- she would have willingly slap him, how could he not have understood that she was talking about him? But in the end his naivety is part of his charm.

-I would say no.- she says convinced. -And would it bother you to kiss someone who's just been kissed by another person?- Luke doesn’t seem to understand at first.

-What?- he asks, in fact, then, the light comes on. -Uh, no...- she grabs him by the shoulders, moves her hands on his neck and he finds himself lowering his head.

-Sometimes you are really naive...- she reproaches him, before kissing him, for a long time, immediately reciprocated. It’s hugged to him that she opens the package, discovering its contents: knitting material. And she's sure she never talked with him about that passion. Perhaps to support the intensity of the woman's gaze, Luke finds himself stuttering.

-Penelope, I... I should tell you something... Here, you know, that collection of tea?- she nods. -And the tickets for La Traviata?- another nod with her head before she decides to help him and release him from the embarrassment of a confession.

-Yes, it was you, right?- she strokes his cheek. -And also the song. It seemed like your calligraphy, but, you know I told myself that someone like you... well...- it's his turn to shake his head. He cradles her, resting the chin on her hair.

-You never have to think such a thing. You're fabulous.- he whispers. -Even my best friend was crazy about you.- he confesses, cursing his big mouth.

-Who, Phil? Seriously?- he nods, then hugs her.

-I love you. I know it's not a very creative declaration but...- she interrupts him.

-It's perfect, it's right... The greatest gift you could make me.- they laugh together softly. -I don’t need anything else. I love you too.- they share another kiss.

-Love as big as the time that didn’t give up, love that speaks to me through your eyes, it's you, it's you, it's you, my greatest gift.- Luke concludes, singing in a low voice.

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