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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Snowy Favours

i wrote this for one of my favourite humans in the entire world! @queen-of-demons-and-hell i just kind of forgot to post it on here oops

masterlist; my links

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She smells coffee. And then pancakes, and then freshly squeezed orange juice. And suddenly she's three days into a Indonesian island holiday and there's sun streaming through her windows and the sheets draped over her bared skin are cool and if she opens her eyes she'll be met with ruffling lace curtains and the sight of the ocean just over the deck.

Annabeth Chase wakes up to silence. To darkness. To New York plunged into winter as if Khione had taken her rage out on the city over night. Snow covers the concrete buildings, already turning sloppy and muddied with the trek of never ending people. She is nowhere near Indonesia, nor in a villa overlooking blue waters. She is in her grungy apartment in her more-mattress-than-bed bed and the single window in her bedroom looks out onto the brick of the building next to her. In short its just another Monday morning.

The disappointment that floods through her is breathtaking. She feels her life swallow her up, wrapping around her lungs and squeezing as if it had taken lessons from a python. Her fingers curl around the duvet pulled over her as she stares at the wall, at the pictures littering it. She takes a deep breath, another, another. Slowly the python loosens, her heart returns to it's normal rhythm.

Glancing at the small pink clock on her bedside table she almost groans as she sees the time. Three minutes till her alarm rings. Not enough to dive back into bed but enough to consider it anyway. She forces herself to get up, feeling the cool of the wood under her feet and traipses to the bathroom where she is met with tile, the sudden cold pulls a hiss from her.

With a zombied look in her eyes she goes about her morning routine: pee, teeth, shower, change, scrounge around in empty cupboards for something at least half edible, scarf another energy bar when nothing better makes itself known, and then finally pack her bag and make her way out. She can do it with her eyes closed by now, sometimes she even does.

Still as she steps into the biting air that comes with snow her body wakes up considerably. With a curse that middles Greek and English, she twists her scarf tighter around her neck and pulls her beanie over her ears. She decides she can spare a moment to go to her favourite coffee shop this morning just to throw down a hot drink that hopefully scorches her insides.

With a determined step she sets off to the subway, earbuds shoved into her ears blaring "do re mi" by blackbear. A violent song for this early in the morning but one she mumbles along to all the same.

The coffee shop, as she so lovingly calls it, is more like a caravan sized hole wedged between two skyscrapers. It fits maybe five people comfortably, ten if you're looking to be smothered. But the coffee is beyond magical and they have the most decadent blueberry muffins she's ever had the pleasure to eat. Besides her best friend works here and really if anyone can turn her from bruised-eyed zombie to semi-human it's Percy Jackson.

The door creaks as she steps through, announcing her presence. She's too busy basking in the warmth of the little hovel to worry about the greeting thrown her way.

"Gods it's cold out there." She sucks in a breath, feeling her lungs defrost.

"Yes," Percy grins, "I suppose someone pissed off Khione again."

She rolls her eyes, as her body collapses against the black marble counter. "Khione gets pissed off about everything that's hardly an excuse to give us all frostbite."

"I suggest you take that up with her, because I cannot see any of us coming out alive after that conversation."

"Just give me a coffee you menace," She scrunches her nose in distaste, but cannot keep the playfulness out of her voice.

"Want a blueb?" He shakes a paper bag, something thumping inside. "On the house." The accompanying wink sets her cold skin on fire.

Her eyes narrow as she surveys him. His unruly black curls are kept back by three butterfly shaped clips, bright pink and probably Estelle's, and his skin browner— like dark roast coffee— from the weekend his family had taken in Spain three weeks before glows softly under the warm yellow light hanging above then. The black polo neck he wears under his "Holed Up" company t-shirt, makes his eyes look darker than normal. His jeans, faded blue, stand stark against the rest of his outfit. Even like this, in work appropriate clothes, he looks beautiful. Looks like the beginning of spring, and the happily ever after of stories, and the change of tides.

"What are you planning?" His look of incredulity almost makes her laugh.

"Why would you think I'm up to anything?"

"I've known you since we were twelve Jackson," She scoffs, as if his question is ridiculous in itself. "I know every face, every expression, every movement of your body. I know when you're up to something." She finishes off with a glare for good measure.

His green eyes are bright as he studies her, emotions warring across his face. To spill or not to spill. He pushes her coffee across the counter and she looks at him expectantly as she grabs the cup with both hands. Her numb fingers instantly start to sting with the sudden change in temperature.

"Fine." He sighs, looking at her through his lashes as if maybe be could get away with not telling her. She raises a brow. He curses under his breath and flops down on a chair hidden behind the counter.

"I need your help with something—"

Yes, of course, is on the tip of her tongue. She would do it. No hesitation. There's not much, not anything, she wouldn't do for him.

"But before you say no or worse get mad you have to hear me out." He finishes quickly. And then his eyes are big and pleading and she doesn't know if she wants to turn away or lean in closer, study that captivating green like it's the newest find in her paleontology class.

Instead she clears her throat, "What is it Percy?"

"I need you to be my fake girlfriend." He says it in one breath.

She almost asks him to repeat in case she hadn't heard right. But she knows she did. She knows she couldn't have heard anything else

He swallows. She blinks. He drops his head to his hands, a sigh already on his lips. She opens her mouth, snaps it shut.

"Okay I know it's...odd," He starts, "But I kind of got roped into going to a mixer with some people from my class and this one guy asked if we could go together but I don't really like him so I said no." Percy was rambling but she was too speechless to stop him. "But then he looked really hurt and I felt really bad so I kind of said I already had a partner which made him look less hurt but then Piper, the girl hosting the mixer, over heard me and said I should bring my partner along, since a few of them were bringing their partners, and you know I couldn't exactly back out of the lie after that so I said I would and well..." He gestures between them. "Then this happened."

Annabeth takes a sip of her coffee. And another, she downs almost half the cup before she has the ability to talk. "Why don't you just say your partner is sick on the day?"

It's her first question and instantly she wants to take it back. Because the flinch Percy tries to hide is enough to have her scrambling for a way to take back the words. Because it's not that she won't be Percy's (fake) partner, or even that she doesn't want to.

It's more that she doesnt know if she'll be able to draw the line between fake gestures and her very real feelings. Having a crush on someone for the better part of eight years tends to tug at her emotional side in a way that overules her logical one. Yes she can be Percy's fake girlfriend. No her heart won't believe the lopsided grin he gives her when he makes a bad joke will be 'just for show'. Yes she can hold hands with him and meet his friends. No she can't help the jump in her stomach as she sees the interlaced fingers.

"You don't have to." He says quietly. "I'll think of something." He waves it off, a small smile already finding its way onto his face. She knows, even without careful study, that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. She has to fix this.

"No." It comes out in a snap of rushed regret. "I will, I want to."

He looks at her, gaze wide, hesitant. "You do?"

She nods and then, as if the gesture isn't good enough stumbles through her words. "Yes, I want to." Her smile is shy, but the beam she's rewarded with nearly knocks her off her feet. "I think it'll be fun."

He scoffs at her, waving a hand. "Everything we do is fun. We're Percy and Annabeth."

And he says it's like there's no other way their names could be said. Like if someone says his hers must follow. Like if someone says hers his cannot possibly be far behind. He says it like they belong.

Her heart does a giddy sort of flip that spreads warmth through her chest and in her stomach, better than the coffee ever could.

"Okay Percy Jackson." She holds out her hand, to shake on. "Let's pretend to be madly in love."

With a wink, that causes her brain to explode, he takes her hand in his and turns it over before placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles.

She becomes the air itself. And as she floats to lectures she decides maybe it's not just another Monday. Maybe she did wake up in a paradise of sorts. Maybe life isn't so dull. She laughs to herself.

It can never be dull if Percy is there. It never has.

#percabeth #pjjg fanfic #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy #jackson #annabeth #chase

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 3 years ago

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FIC: SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE III

—

PART ONE

PART TWO

“Now, you need to make your eyes really wide-” Jo’s ears perked hearing the false whisper from somewhere behind her as she worked at the stove. Biting down on the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling, the blonde continued to work on the pancakes for breakfast - using her squeeze bottle to pour the batter out into the shape of a batarang before spelling out her boy’s name inside before flooding the middle as she listened to the talk. “Nice and big like that, yeah. And then what do we say to Mommy?”

“Mommy, can we have blueberries too?”

“That’a boy.” Jack’s whisper disappeared in favor of the warmth in his tone as he smiled down at the boy. Jo glanced over her shoulder, catching the amusement in those blue eyes for a moment before looking back at her pancake. “Let’s go, huh?”

“Yes!” Billy’s voice was high and excited, and Jo schooled her face into a look of surprise as she flipped over the current pancake and then looked down at her son when he tugged on the hem of her sleep shirt. “Moooommy!”

Blinking a few times, Jo smiled down at her sweet boy before answering. “Yeah babyboy?”

“Mommy, I… Umm..” Jo fought down a laugh watching the sudden look of confusion swallowing the young boy’s face, Billy’s eyes blown wide and worried before he held a hand to his lips in thought. Glancing up, she could see Jack’s shoulders shuddering with concealed laughter, before the tug of Billy’s hand caught her attention again. “Mommy, can… can we have blueberries too?”

The way his finger tapped against his bottom lip and his green eyes were big and open and pleading, Jo knew immediately that she was absolutely screwed dealing with him going forward ever saying no. Puppy dog eyes added to that soft pleading tone was just too potent and she let out a small whine of frustration realising just how screwed she was.

“Oh darling boy, of course you can.” Kneeling down as she turned the temperature of the pan down lower in her off hand on the way, Jo leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead with a loud ‘mwah’ noise. “You get Jack to help you grab them out and wash them proper, alright?”

“Yes Mommy!”

Sending a tiny, pretend scowl over her son’s head towards the smirking man, Jo turned back to the pan and checked the base of the current pancake before sliding it out and onto the boy’s black and red plate before starting on the next pancake for the other adult. Slowly drawing out a spider followed by its web, she flooded the gaps between as she kept one ear out for any trouble from her men as she carefully made Jack’s pancake, and then a cutesy looking mallet for her own pancake design; Jo bit down on a chuckle hearing her love explaining carefully how to rinse and then dry the blueberries and pile them into a little bowl to share on the table. Looking over her shoulder as she flipped her pancake, she looked on fondly as she watched the little blond boy carry his bounty of blueberries onto the table like they were something special.

“Alrighty boys, who’s ready for pancakes?” She chirped happily as she flipped her pancake out onto her own plate and turned off the burner for now, picking up all three plates carefully before carrying them to the table herself. “I know I am.”

“Me me me!” Billy cried happily, clambering into his seat and kicking his feet joyfully, before letting out an excited squeal seeing his little batarang pancake. “Batcake! It’s a Batcake!”

“Now, is that what Batman eats for breakfast?” Jack replied curiously, pressing a kiss to the little boy’s head as he sat a sippy cup of juice in front of Billy before placing a glass of the same down for himself and another for Jo with another kiss to the crown of her head that made her tingle all over with how right this all felt. “Oh!” The surprised noise made her smile as she looked over to the look of pleased surprise on his face at seeing his own pancake design. “Jo…”

“What? Only the best for my boys!”

The chuckle she got in response was cut through by the shrill sound of a ringtone from the end of the table where their mobiles were kept in a basket, keeping technology out of family meal times at a suggestion from Jack’s that made Jo feel so special and focused on when that was first suggested. The sound cut off pretty quickly, and both adults rolled their eyes, whoever it was would be called back later. As soon as it stopped though, it started again. And then the other phone was going off as well. And then the duller sound of the singular landline from the front hall chimed in as well.

“What the fu-” Jo cut off her swear with a glance at her son, the need to cut down on her swearing around the last year really having become prominent after a few too many comments from his daycare teacher, but found it hard not to finish as all three phones quieted and then started ringing again. “Okay, rule break?”

“You help Billy with his bluebs, I’ll check what’s up.”

“Thanks, hun.”

Jo let out a soft sigh as Jack set his utensils down and stood up to fish his ringing phone out of the basket and answer it, as well as taking her distractingly ringing phone, out to the hall while she refocused on breakfast.

Billy ate not only his first batarang, but another two full pancakes and almost the whole bowl of blueberries through the meal, sipping his juice and asking with those big green puppy-eyes to go to the playground that afternoon; and Jo got through another pancake all her own as well as her juice and a cup of matcha before their missing member finally reemerged. Followed unexpectedly by Ellen and Bobby, still in their shoes and holding Billy’s overnight bag.

“Nanny! Bobby!” Billy screeched happily, flinging himself away from where Jo had been getting him to help her with unstacking the dishwasher while they’d awaited Jack’s return. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Billyboy, we thought you might like a weekend sleep over?” Ellen said happily as Bobby had bent down to scoop up the excited, wiggly boy. “We missed you so much, and you haven’t been over in ages.”

“Mom, you babysat last week-” Jo started with a frown at the unexpected arrival, glancing at the clock and fully surprised to even see her step-dad so awake and focused at such an early hour, let alone dressed and at her own house. “What’s-”

“Jobug,” her mother spoke softly, as Bobby turned towards Jack to double check on any extra toys to pack for Billy’s weekend, as she’d come up to wrap Jo up into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you didn’t mean this to happen-”

“What to happen?”

“You just talk to Jack, okay Jojo? You take the whole weekend, my darlin’ girl, you take the love you deserve okay?”

“Mom?” Jo was beyond confused, wide eyed and uncertain as she received a kiss to the forehead from both her parents in a whirlwind of quietly spoken words between the other three adults that made no sense to her before her son was whisked off to his grandparent’s place amid happy cries of adventure leaving her bewildered and confused as to what just happened. “What-”

There wasn’t even time for her to vocalise her questions - what happened, what was going on, what was wrong, was everyone okay - before she was pulled into and wrapped up in loving arms and felt a strong hand gently soothing over her hair and down her back.

“Jo, love, I’m so sorry.” Jack’s voice was rough and hoarse, and as she looked up at him she could see something swirling in his eyes that troubled her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you, I should’ve known, I’m sorry.”

“Wha- what is going on, Jack?” She asked firmly that time, staring up at him and feeling her face twisting into a scowl at the sympathetic sadness flashing across his face chased along by some guilty look. “Jack fuckin’ Grey, you tell me right fuckin’ now what’s goin’ on!”

The quiet that followed on from her growled words echoed in the quiet space of their home, and Jo felt uneasy at how cautiously the other looked at her - his hand still gently rubbing at her back as the other held her steady - as he chewed his lip before saying softly. “The article came out… And I think you should read it with me.”

—

THE FUTURE MRS. GREY?

The Modern Fairy Tale Inside The Wedding Of The Year

By Chuck Shurley

Just off the main shopping district of the West Side there is a place where fairytales begin. Inside a deceptively worn building there was the start of many stories that are shaping the news of tomorrow - and I was fortunate enough to uncover the true Cinderella story that was unfolding in secret behind all the cameras and spotlights on the wedding of one French aristocrat-turned-investor Ian Essaim and socialite Shada Grey.

As all good fairy tales must start - this story started once upon a time…

Once upon a time, there was a new American Sweetheart in the form of the beautiful so called Shada Grey. She portrayed a version of herself to the cameras that was viewed as bubbly and perky, with a love for eclectic fashion. Those who knew the woman that would become this girl would say her acting skills were wanting for all she did was play herself on the silver screen - just with a wardrobe founded by and crafted by a studio and their stylists rather than the money from her brother’s pockets. The sister of famed and elusive artist, Jack Grey, who has shied away from the spot light after what was described as a ‘manic depressive episode’ by some - Shada Grey has captured the imagination of those who strive for the women of Golden Era Hollywood wrapped up in a pair of Louboutins and Prada. The Darling of America and the fairy tale princess having a fairy tale wedding.

However, there was another woman who has the capability of capturing the hearts of the country who will be standing five steps back from the princess on her wedding day.

…There was once another young woman with a wedding on the horizon. Joanna Beth Harvelle was getting married to the love of her life, an idealistic captain in the Marine’s called William Mark Reynolds. A pivotal moment in any woman’s life, and the same type of event that I have been lucky enough to be covering for the aforementioned Essaim/Grey wedding this year. But this story could not be further removed than that story - this story is of loss and love instead.

Miss Harvelle and Captain Reynolds were married from the court house, the only photo of their day a Polaroid taken by the bride’s mother on the steps outside. The bride wore a white dress from the bargain bins, and the pair spent their wedding night bidding one another farewell in preparation for the groom’s deployment two months later. In contrast, Miss Grey and Mr Essaim’s wedding is being held at an undisclosed location costing seven-figures, the bride will be wearing a custom Vera Wang and the whole wedding is being documented by not only print media such as myself but covered in depth by Miss Grey’s television show in a ten-episode special season and by most other media outlets.

But as fairy tales go - there must always be an early loss. Hansel & Gretel their abandonment, Rapunzel the pricking of a finger upon the spinning needle, and for our Cinderella was the loss of her love. Captain Reynolds was killed in action six months after his wedding, leaving a pregnant widow behind to receive his Purple Heart and put the pieces of her life back together. When speaking with Joanna, known affectionately by most as Jo, about that point in her life - the clear sorrow is still evident in her voice and the listing of her husband’s achievement. However those clouds passed quickly with the birth of their son, William Dean Harvelle who is nearly five at the moment of writing and has a love for frosting sugar cookies, and her “other baby” as the blonde would say.

Metallicake has become an icon in the city over the four years of operation from the old warehouse building just off the beaten track. According to it’s owner, many souls have found their way to her door through word of mouth and the scent of baked goods on the air. One particular soul was, indeed, drawn there out of the rain and drawn back time and time again as anyone who has tried the baked goods from this modern day Cinderella’s kitchen would attest - coming back is inevitable. According to Ms Harvelle, her ties to the Wedding of the Year began almost three years ago when Jack Grey returned to her bakery and subsequently fell in love with the flour-coated princess.

Entering the building you will see exactly the impact of this diamond in the rough woman who carry’s a purple, bruised heart for the loss of a national hero. Ms Harvelle has drawn not only the eye but the artistry out of the most elusive and most revered artist of his time in the country to her walls among other things. Those who visit Metallicake are greeted with an ever changing mural designed, refined and painted painstakingly by the famed Mr Grey. From the photos provided by the baker herself, and a subsequent valuation by several esteemed art buyers - the walls of the bakery itself are worth more than the cost of the elaborate wedding the bakery will be producing a mammoth cake for and then some. The tattoo parlour next door, owned by a man known as the ‘Doctor Badass of Tattooing’ Ash Miles, shares equally in Ms Harvelle’s fortune with not only signed art work on display but also the unique privilege of being the only authorised tattoo artist of such artwork. This work, as well as his own, is on display not only in INKED magazine and this publication, but upon the very body of Ms Harvelle so far.

Being a muse and accomplished baker does not appear to be the extent of this Cinderella’s ambitions though. Listening to the way Ms Harvelle would speak of love and marriage - a self-proclaimed realist who expects little more from her life, supposedly - and her joy for both bride and groom to be, one cannot believe to suspects she’ll long be a widow rather than to take up the name almost as soon as American Sweetheart Shada Grey surrenders it.

When sent to the small converted warehouse to cover the baking and artistry connected to the creation of what will be an extravagance on-top of the already fantastically over designed and over quaffed wedding, the preparation was to hear about the difference between genoise and chiffon sponges, the merits of fondant and buttercream, and inevitable discussion about the endless creation of edible flowers. And that is what was covered, and yet so much more.

Ms Harvelle has a skill with words and with applying them to the work she does. She is an artist in her own right, but with shaping the perceptions of those around her. She can talk at length and display great skill with the multiple display cakes that were crafted and recorded in a special behind the scenes look hosted on Rolling Stones website at time of publication. However she can also draw others into her theology on the connection between her work and the world around her.

“People are like cakes,” Ms Harvelle said. “And everyone pairs with someone else perfectly. Take Shada for example - she’s so sunny and bright and vivacious. Full of spirit and life and carefree. She also has a little bite to her when protecting those she loves, but is simply so versatile and beloved it’s hard to remember she can be sweet and sour.” In this journalists time spent with the bride and bridal party so far, this interpretation appears to be true, though perhaps only just from the magic weaved by Ms Harvelle rather than any truth. “And Ian is so grounded and down to earth despite how he may appear, he too is versatile and always there for people. He’s a genuinely kind man, and they both work so well together. Sunshine and earthiness, but altogether sweet.” Ms Harvelle weaved her story together in her cake baking, and the slice of lemon chiffon cake with a blueberry and basil frosting that was served up as a demonstration of the couple was phenomenal not only in tasting, but in the craftsmanship of the story telling.

When asked about herself, the widow is far less vocal and considered. “Me? I’m just flour!” The lack of concern or thought evident, but the nature of her choice showing how pivotal her role in the creation of not only the physical cakes to be loved and adored, but the metaphorical cake of life and her underappreciated value is.

Watching Ms Harvelle work and seeing the creations coming out of her small kitchen, one would believe there was an army of bakers behind the scenes crafting the wide array of baked goods and speciality items which fill the counter of not only the storefront but several other establishments around the city. But instead, there is a one-woman powerhouse working diligently, day in and day out.

On the week I followed Ms Harvelle through her daily routine as she developed, trialed and presented the socialite couple with their wedding cake options, the true meaning of hard work was on display.

The days started before the sun rose three days out of five, and Ms Harvelle was always wide awake as we met at her bakery. From there I witnessed the whirlwind that was something out of a movie scene itself. Her world feels like a montage of beeping alarms, constant tray movements, and endlessly creaming butter and sugar. The tireless Cinderella toiling away that has no time for anything but baking, cleaning and yet sings as she works without a single mouse around to lend a hand, before closing shop as the sun would go down and she would head home before doing it all again.

One would be mistaken to think she had time for nothing else but the extravagant cake that would need to be presented at the end of the week, but life goes on.

A lengthy photoshoot for INKED magazine on one day, and a day’s shopping for dresses with the rest of the specifically chosen bridal party to reflect that ‘down to earth’ narrative of the wedding couple were somehow sandwiched in between the tireless work to create fondant ruffles, edible floral arrangements and all sorts in between for the discerning eye of America’s Sweetheart to dissect by week’s end.

And yet on top of these inconveniences - of which Ms Harvelle never had anything less than a smile and a warmth when speaking of completing these tasks for her friends and loved ones - she still has a life.

Her Prince Charming in the form of the aloof Mr Grey would visit the bakery each day to bid her well wishes, steal a kiss and perhaps walk her home to the brick townhouse Mr Grey bought twelve years ago and according to sources moved his soon-to-be fiancé and son into two years prior. Her role as a mother is still needing to be completed each day, and watching mother and son interact - there is no question that this Cinderella finds time to be both baker and mother to her fullest. And her role as bridesmaid and friend seems to be never ending either, with the beauty taking the bride out for lunches and always having time to fend off frenzied, worried phone calls and provide the soothing voice of reason among the socialite crowd on display regularly throughout the week.

Perhaps it is naïve to believe in fairy tales and magic in today’s age where romance is a fabricated story pumped out through television and movies, where women compete against one another for the so called Bachelor, and a woman playing herself had caught the imagination of the country.

And yet, in this story where the bride and groom met over a coffee in the small kitchen of a tiny bakery, perhaps the true Cinderella story does exist and the real Cinderella doesn’t need any saving by a prince - she’s happy with the flour, cocoa and soot on her face - but instead will bring her prince back to the fire with her.

---

Hollow. That was the word to describe how she’d felt with every word of that reading. Absolutely hollow.

What she’d expected after the confusing appearance of her parents to whisk away her boy and the unreservedly supportive hold that she’d been wrapped up in as Jack’d guided her through to the lounge and onto the couch to read the beautifully presented and laid out article on his laptop. The cover photo was beautiful - the gorgeous three layered mock up with the gentle sunlight catching the glimmering gold specks on the fondant photographed so beautifully - and as he’d brought the article up Jo hadn’t even read the title as she’d initially excitedly pointed at the embedded video at the top and focused on wanting to watch that before reading any silly words. Jack hadn’t stopped her, and had rubbed her shoulder and quietly reiterated how lovely her work looked and how amazing a baker she was and how lucky his sister was for her to work on the masterpiece for her and how well she discussed the techniques and design choices as they’d watched the video. That she had finally registered the title of the article halfway through the video below it changed the sweet taste of maple syrup still lingering in her mouth to something bitter tasting like bile as she smiled and nodded through the remaining minutes of the video before she couldn’t stop herself reading the article.

Hollow, and wide open. As if she was a pumpkin carved out and put on display. A cream puff full of air and such a flimsy shell of existence without the filling to stablise her if left in this condition. Like a meringue - fragile and likely to collapse in on herself if the oven door was opened too early.

That photo - her pregnant and haunted in the illfitting black dress shaking hands with the man who’d sent the other to war and brought him back to her in a coffin - was in there. The one she’d asked not to. Right beside a picture of her tugging on her new love’s scarf and their smiling and in love in her sacred kitchen space.

She’d felt torn open and like her skin had been peeled off and displayed for anyone and everyone with each cut into the private bubble she’d been living in broken open within the writer’s words. She hated it.

And worst of all, Jack’s hands had rubbed at her comfortingly, and he’d spoken gently that it wasn’t her fault for being trusting, and that he was sorry she had this happen to her, and that he loved her and supported her just made her feel all filled up with love and support all over again even as she was left open and empty he was there to comfort and helped to fill the void left behind by those black and white words. And she’d broken down in a way she hadn’t for years - she’d actually found herself crying at the fresh loss of that protective scab that had kept her intact all along now she had someone to let her deflate like a forgotten souffle.

Once she’d finally stopped crying - babbled words between the gasps as she’d tried to explain what she was crying over of ‘sorry’ and ‘so long ago’ and ‘not like that’ - Jo was surprised to see the love and concern pouring out of the other’s blue eyes as he watched her carefully, not at all guarded the way she’d expected at finding out about her hiding yet another big secret from him. Hiding her history yet again.

“Here,” His voice was soothing as he’d held out a tissue to her, the box moved to his knee as he continued to rub her back gently with his other hand. “It’s okay, Jo, it’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” She gasped the words out hoarsely, voice rough and tired from her crying. “I-”

“You did nothing, Jo, you didn’t do anything.”

“I lied-”

“Did I ever ask?” He asked gently as she was getting worked up again, hands fidgeting and picking at each other and brown eyes wide and panicked. Jack’s hands covered hers, holding her gently like she was something to be handled carefully. “I didn’t ask, you didn’t have to tell until you were ready. And I’m sorry that the choice was taken from you.”

“I shouldn’t’ve-”

“You’re an open heart, trusting person - it’s what’s so sweet and endearing about you and something I love so dearly, Jo. Don’t apologise for being you.”

“I...would’ve told you. Eventually.” She mumbled the words out, hands shaking even despite the comforting squeeze of his over hers. She would have. One day. Probably that mythical moment she’d thought about when they’d be curled up in bed and he’d have said something about their future and wanting life together and asking if she’d wanted to get married some day eventually, and she’d have told him the truth then and in much simpler words than the bullshit that the journalist had flourished her story with. She had felt that day approaching, but they hadn’t quite gotten to talking about the future further than plans for a vacation next year before Billy started school. “I… I can’t believe this- Oh fuck! What about Shada?!”

There was a second before Jo noticed the look on his face shift from concern into something closer to surprise for a moment, before his mouth twitched into that soft loving smile that made her stomach flip. “Shada’s okay. She was the one who was calling - she is… not happy with that asshole journalist.”

“Oh… Oh, should I step down?”

“What?”

“I’m ruinin’ the weddin’ - a distraction - should I step out-”

“Jo!” The smile she got then was practically blinding, tugging her in for a tight hug as Jack laughed gently. “Shada’s worried about you! She’s upset for you, not because of you. She’s already screaming about getting a new writer in and getting lawyers to sue or something if you want to. I mean, she’s thinking to for defamation for herself-”

“As she should!” Jo cried back, letting out an awkward giggle as she curled into the warmth of his chest. “That was so mean and wrong for what was said about her. That asshole-” Jo’s eyes blew wide as she thought about how nice and friendly the reporter had seemed, how he’d seemed to care what she had to say - that she’d been tricked and manipulated into telling her story when all she’d wanted was to make a good cake and share her love for her dark haired friend. She felt the sharp stab of betrayal in that, and shivered slightly to think that she’d have to meet with the reporter again sometime soon. He was due back to write about the flowers, and Shada’s dress, and so much more - the idea of facing him after such a humiliating manipulation made her stomach twist. “-oh I hope he’s fired! He should be! What is her manager doing? Does Bobby know? Oh, what about-”

“Jo, my love, it’s fine.” His voice was calming and soft as she’d started to work herself up again, breaths sharp and short and caught up on the edge of panic and mania filling her mind as she thought about just how much she’d misjudged and maybe ruined the whole of her dear friend’s special days. “Bobby’s already got the shows lawyers onto it, and Shada said her manager is already demanding a retraction of the article and it to be suppressed online until they can determine the legal ways forward-”

“Good!” She seethed quietly, feeling queasy and responsible and guilty all in one at how much the words written must had hurt the other woman to read. Every other sentence was a backhand compliment, a knife designed to dig and cut and hurt the poor girl, and that Jo’d been used to do that to her hurt too much to consider. She’d have to bake something as an apology as soon as her legs felt strong enough to support her weight. And something for Bobby. And the show team. And Ian and Ombre. And for Jack. The thought of her boyfriend brought her mind whirling into how nasty the reporter’s words, the focus on who Jack was and what he had been that had to have hurt too brought her into herself with a gasp; brown eyes wide and focused onto her boyfriend’s face with a distraught look. “Oh and you! You should sue too! For what he said ‘bout you-”

“Nothing written in there was wrong when it came to me, Jo.” Jack’s eyes were that darker blue, the shadowed look that always showed up when he was serious about whatever he was talking about. “I’ve got no issues with it about me.”

Jo shook her head, tucking into his chest with a sigh as she felt a shiver run down her spine. “It wasn’t- It said that we… that you were- that we’re going ta be-”

“I mean, I was hoping to ask on our anniversary next month, so if you can wait until then…”

She froze at his words - the warm, bemused tone rumbling in his chest she was pressed up against - and felt like that hollow feeling was suddenly gone as quick as it had arrived. Replaced with a stomach-flipping surge of happiness she hadn’t even felt the first time around, her whole body felt like it was on fire and her heart felt like it couldn’t be held in by her chest it was so full and light. Her head was spinning, and pulling back a little, she blinked in confusion as she looked back into the flushed but openly smiling face of the other. How could he be so open, so honest, especially to her when all she had ever done was hide things from him?

“Wh-what?”

His eyes lit up and the edges of his lips pulled up into an amused grin as his hands moved from her back to hold her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the top of her cheekbones gently. “Do you not want to wait til then?” His voice was quiet and she strained to hear him over the thudding of her heart filling her ears. Jack’s smile got softer as he shifted one hand back over her ear and into her hair gently. “Do you want me to ask now? Because I will. I’d ask in a heartbeat if you wanted me to, Jo. I’d ask it every day if that’s what you want or what it took.”

“You… Wait-” She paused a second, heart beating out of her chest and her eyes drinking him in as if she’d never really seen him before. Like she could finally see all the colors that made him whole - the blue of his eyes brighter, the pink of his lips more soft and kissable than ever, even the dark purple under his eyes from their late night movies and early morning starts - after having lived with some filter on. Living in a glass box to protect her from hurt again, and him from being cursed like all the others that had had her heart so far. Swallowing thickly, Jo blinked repeated a few times before shifting closer into his lap, prompting his other hand to drop around her waist and support her gently instead. Support her like he had ever since they’d become an us not two separate entities. There was a pause that he just looked at her, before Jo found herself leaning in closely and that thudding in her ears entirely disappearing into the background as she heard herself speak from her heart before her brain could stop her. “Will you marry me?”

That pause drew out longer - every tiny noise from the ticking of the clock on the wall to the buzz of the muted television to the muffled sound of the world moving outside without them was like thunder as they stayed in their quiet, frozen bubble - before there was a surge between them. Like a bolt of lightening sending energy into both of them had her lips smashed against his, and his hands gripping her tightly as she pulled him into her all the harsher.

That she’d asked and that he hadn’t answered didn’t matter, the fact was this was right in a way that it’d never been right for her before. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was who she’d been waiting for. She might not be a blushing bride like his sister, but she was who he’d been waiting for, and he was who she’d always meant to find. The safety and feeling of home and support she’d been missing even before she’d been left alone before, before she’d said her vows to a man she loved but more as idea than a man, before she’d thrown her roses on the coffin as a child. This was the support she’d been craving and needed - the love she’d searched everywhere for and then glassed herself off from when it didn’t show up when she wanted it. Even if it was a few years late.

---

Her hands were steady and forceful as she continued to roll the fondant thinner and thinner, to the longest roll it could before fluting it gently as she cut the thin strip in half and laid the ruffle down across the nearest baking tray with all the rest. These ruffles were the thinnest she'd ever made, and there was only six more to make before she'd have to start assembly. Or start the gentle paintwork of dusting the edges like an ancient book with gold dust. Or maybe she would do a third crumb coat on the cakes. Just to make sure.

Jo's mind was working seven steps ahead of herself and she had to pause at the trembling in her fingers. This was the most important cake she'd ever made. It had to be perfect.

Nervously working on the next set of ruffles, she felt herself having to pause and try the deep breathing exercises her therapist had taught her months ago. The exercises to calm her down from spiralling into an absolute destructive frenzy. She'd been struggling with keeping herself balanced for months now, ever since that article shook her core, and she was so thankful she had the support around her to work her way through it.

The weeks following that article had been some of the hardest of her life but nothing except for her seemed to be changed. Nobody except for her few newest friends had learned anything they didn't already know. And aside from a bone crushing hug from Shada every time they met for a month, and the gentle coaxing from Jack to remember everything was fine, nothing changed aside from her. Her whole world had tilted the wrong way but no one else seemed to notice it.

It had taken up until the week of crafting the extravagant and beautiful wedding cake for how hard she was struggling to really hit her. The only time she felt in control of herself and happy that week being the long hours she spent in the bakery - perfecting batches upon batches of buttercream and the fillings for the cake, the sheets upon sheets of cake baked and cut to an unusual and beautiful geometric diamond rather than the traditional circle, the hours after hours of sugar work in vibrant purples bad shimmering golds and silvers along with the delicate edible flowers to match the bride's overflowing bouquet. That week she'd devoted more time than ever to her work and it was the only times she felt happy and normal and like herself didn't really sink in until the night before the wedding.

Jack had been waiting up when she'd finally decided it was done and got home at two in the morning despite having to be up in three hours to start the bridal party work. He'd held her close and been all things supportive, and that she'd cried all three remaining hours and somehow functioned and floated happily beside her future sister-in-law the whole day through was probably more to do with running on fumes than her genuine excitement she had for the beautiful bride and her husband. It was probably more to do with the appointment booked for the following week for her to finally talk to someone and start working through her issues instead of hiding from them.

It was how she'd found herself reflecting on how important that cake had been for her - it had represented all of her guilt over her life becoming something new all again, her desire to please and her want to be part of something bigger than just her and her boy again - and the unexpected amount of stress that had come along with the entire process that was how she’d been convinced to speak to someone. Seeing her work splashed over news sites for weeks, and the months leading up to her sister-in-law’s wedding from that horrible article all the way through that while not always a focused part of the story, that her life was splashed across the media and her motives dissected as much as her work was had sent her spiralling in need of help. That her fiance was beside her the whole time - praising her work, encouraging her and protecting her and her son from the worst of it - helped soften the blow that she wasn’t as strong as she’d always made out to be. And that despite pouring every bit of love she had into that beautiful purple wedding cake had been enough to keep her solid until it had been delivered.

Placing the last of the delicate ruffles she’d made to the side, Jo pulled a ball of sunshine yellow fondant towards herself to work on instead. The next crumb coat could wait. Instead, she rolled that fondant out into thin strips again - however rather than rolling the edges thinner and thinner until they fluted into soft ribbons, the baker collected the delicate piece of lace she’d collected from the trimming of her dress and pressed it flush against the fondant. Rolling over the fabric and then peeling it gently off each strip of fondant, the beautiful lace design embossed into the yellow sugar confection to mimic what she would be wearing the next day, before moving each stripe of fondant onto another baking tray to be stored away until they were needed later. It was a rhythm, one she was used to, and working slowly she kept up her calming breaths as she tried to sink into the pattern. It was just any other cake, after all.

Where she’d poured so much thought and weeks of consideration into balancing the meaning of ingredients, the personalities of the bride and groom, and the early summer vibes of the wedding into the beautifully tiered cake she eventually crafted for Shada and Ian’s wedding - the creation she was making now was somehow so much less thoughtful in her mind. She didn’t spend hours testing different cake types and deciding on the main flavors before deciding on something that perfectly matched like berries and lemons - she knew it would be a chocolate cake from the moment she’d even tried to consider what to make, and she’d known that there would be a hazelnut filling based off of the brownies her love begged her to make the most. She didn’t spend her time crafting different decorations trying to balance the extravagance of the event, the importance of those getting married and to make something both timeless, classic and modern and fashion forward - she knew that it would be a simple white cake with minimal color but the buttercup yellow and gold to balance the classic, stark white elements. She didn’t worry about trying again and again to push the extremes of what she could achieve, even as that had excited and thrilled her to surprise everyone with such a decadent and beautiful creation unlike any other - she knew the small single tiered cake would be more than enough for her loved ones, and there was no one she needed to impress or thrill more.

The sound of an alarm brought her out of her thinking as she finished the last few yellow fondant decorations, turning to pull the brownies out of the oven and replace them with the waiting tray of cupcakes. The baking of all the other treats that she intended to fill the small trestle table for desserts with the next day was in itself another thing entirely - delicate tiny pastries with perfectly presented lemon tarts and tiny chocolate brownies, cream puffs and mille-feuille, chocolate eclairs and marzipan treats, treacle tarts and miniature cherry pies - each carefully selected and decided upon based on their family and friends favorite treats.

But when she pictured the table in her mind it was with the simple white cake on it’s pedestal surrounded by a bounty of treats and the tiny bouquets of baby's breath that would tie into her bridal bouquet and the flowers that Billy would throw before her and would be tucked into the lapel of her love’s jacket as they said vows she believed in again now. It was full circle and fully ready - the image of a day unfolding as she moved onto the final little dessert decorating, that she’d never had before. The day she’d dreamed about that never happened the last time, that she didn’t fantasise about before like she was now, the way she wanted every little step to be just so where before she’d never pictured herself walking down an aisle, and exchanging vows, and wearing white, and holding flowers, and staring into loving eyes, and making promises she fully intended to keep, and exchanging rings that she wouldn’t then take off, and celebrating with everyone she cared about not sharing a pepperoni pizza and counting down days on a calendar, and knowing that Sunday morning she’d wake up happy and fulfilled and the person she’d not yet become the last time, the person she hadn’t realised she was meant to be. It was her dreams coming true for once. And her being her own dream.

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#au stories #bakery au #jopov

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