#but I want Aspen to be prepared and focused

[adventures-with-aspen]

Last week, at our local farmers market & crafts fair, I met a couple who own the local photography studio. She told me that they have a monthly free pup day! It would be a digital download—but free is free!

The lady seemed very nice. She even shares life with a Siberian Husky! And, I’m happy to support a local business!

We need to work on Aspen’s extended stays and downs from a distance. I don’t know what else to expect.

Photographers, owners who’ve taken dog portraits, any advice?

[inscrutable-shadow]

Febuwhump Day 3 - Muzzled

My Febuwhump pieces will all feature Aspen Weiss/Rowan Fairbank as the Doctor from Five Card Draw, in their modern AU. This first one is set when they are around sixteen years old, still living in their mother's laboratory. Enjoy!

@febuwhump

Content Warnings: mild dehumanization, "it" used to dehumanize, minor whump

"Hey, Az, we're almost there." Joni's calling me. It rouses me from the short nap I've attempted to take in the van. I'm always tired these days.

Mother, as usual, has instructions for me, or rather, a long list of prescriptions for my behaviour. "Now, remember, this event doesn't allow team entries."

I sigh. "I suppose that's your way of telling me I'm playing robot this week." I fucking hate this whole schtick. Feels like Mother's always waiting for an opportunity to pretend I'm not really her child.

"It's a really long time, Az, will you be okay?" Joni's right. This expo is a full five days, longer than I've ever been expected to maintain this ruse.

"I'll manage." She still looks worried, but I'm not going to waste what little energy I have on putting on a smile for her. Besides, I want Mother to feel the full weight of my displeasure.

She's ignoring my silent protest. "This event is very important, I don't want any slip-ups. Not from you, Aspen," she turns to Joni, "nor from you, Johanna. The funding we can secure from this will ensure the lab functions for the next few years. I'm sure the both of you can extrapolate why that's to your benefit." Well, yeah, no shit. I like having a place to live, even if it is a shithole. Top-tier medical education doesn't come cheap either. If I'm ever going to become a doctor, the lab needs funding.

I nod confirmation and turn my face to the window focusing my attention on preparing to suppress any human impulse for the next several days. The usual cover is that I am an extraordinarily advanced android designed to make a massive bank of computers easily portable. It's not far from the truth, that is the function I perform for Joni, but my neuronal density is far higher than that of any android model currently in development. 

I'm not particularly far from a machine in my daily operation: my affect is flat, my voice monotone, my word choice stilted. I do this on purpose, of course. I have no intention of dumbing myself down or putting on a performance for anyone's benefit. I don't give a single flying fuck about a full ninety-nine per cent of things I'm expected to do or respond to, why should I pretend the opposite? Playing robot just means I have to swallow my wit, regulate my breathing and blinking, and usually that I have to sleep in the storeroom. It sucks, but it's better than interacting with other lab-raised children. I hate other children. Adults, too, but I can usually carry on a conversation with them without wanting to claw my eyes out. 

Remembering to keep my mouth shut would be the most difficult portion if not for the muzzle. Black leather and titanium alloy, it's designed to completely cancel out any noise I might make, all of the way down to my vocal cords. If that sounds extraordinarily uncomfortable, it's because it is. I hate the feeling of metal reaching down my throat, but it's a necessary evil compared to what Mother would do to me if someone heard. I fix the piece over my jaw as we pull up to the security station and Mother shows her identification to enter. I'll have to wear it constantly unless I'm entirely unobserved. 

 The intake is about the same as usual, long lines and paperwork not meant to have my attention. Mother seems satisfied with my breathing rhythm and standardized eight-second blink interval, and I can tell some of the people here are unsettled by me already. My grey hair and eyes combined with my frighteningly pale complexion and black-and-white clothing scheme enhance the effect, I'm sure. Not getting any sunlight at all does have its advantages, I suppose. I'd rather burn.

We get to the front of the line. "Name?" the bored-looking attendant asks. I keep my eyes facing forward. I'm not supposed to respond to input outside of my function parameters.

"Er, Joni- Johanna Weiss?" Joni answers nervously. I don't roll my eyes. One would think doing one of these every month would make it easier, but apparently not. Or… oh. She's worried about me. Entirely unnecessary. I'm fine. She always worries over nothing.

The attendant raises his eyebrows. "And... this is?" he asks, tipping his pen toward me. I track him with my eyes in the most unsettling way I can. This ruse has a couple of perks, I do like watching people look at me with horror. 

"Support equipment. Aspen Mobile Processing Unit, that's four S-"

Only about sixty per cent of people believe I'm a companion unit right off the bat, I often have to perform some uncanny feat of mathematical prowess before they'll believe I'm not human, but something in my affect has this guy convinced. Maybe it's the headache the fluorescent lights are giving me making my gaze more murderous than usual, who knows?

"Does it have any particular maintenance or power requirements?" Yeah, food, water, a toilet…

"Nope, it's solar so it just needs a place to sit and shut down and an occasional water refill. You can just hand it a bottle for humans, it knows what to do with it." Sometimes people will wonder how the robot drinks without a mouth, but the muzzle has lines for me to be able to drink without removing it. The tricky part about that is knocking back all the water without swallowing. It's kind of hard to explain why an android would need to swallow.

"Sure. Set it over there with the other equipment. Next!" 

Joni makes a show out of giving me the order to stay put, and I'm left to my own devices, Mostly, that involves either staring into space and blinking at appropriate intervals, or trying to go to sleep with my back ramrod straight, neither of which are comfortable. I always find myself tonguing at the parts of the muzzle that come into my mouth, the metal tastes weird and chafes at the corners of my mouth during extended wear. They do put me in the supply closet eventually. The attendants give me strange looks, but more in a way that indicates they're not sure how intelligent I am or if I can hear them than suspecting I'm human. 

While I'm alone, I take the opportunity to check the noise cancelling. Little coughs are muffled but destroy the illusion visually. I can make little sounds through my nose if I click the lever that stops the metal prongs from disabling my vocal cords, but in practice, I don't tend to do that unless I'm supposed to be talking. Everything appears to be in order. Fantastic.

They come to fetch me for a demonstration after a few hours. My dead-eyed stare and stiff gait apparently meet Mother's standards, because she nods as we approach. " Good. You haven't damaged it." I don't mind being called "it" usually, I'm used to it and I can tell the difference between someone doing it to be cruel and not, but I hate it when she does it. She actually thinks of me as a "thing", I'm sure of it, some sort of creature she has to placate to reach her goals. There's nothing that brings me more pleasure than being an obstacle to her. Aside from surgery, of course.

Joni's glad to see me at least, a little bit too glad, frankly. She's not great at treating me like support equipment. Likes me too much, I guess. "Ready to go?" she asks.

I still can't talk with the muzzle on, nor should I. I pull out my assistive communication device (which is just a normal capacitive LCD screen) and bring up one of the pre-stored messages. "I am functioning within parameters and viable for use." 

"Right. Let's go then."

Joni really has to wow the panel to justify us being here. Her power's not flashy like some of the other participants: she's a clairvoyant, and without my help, the most she can manage is short glimpses into the future at unreliable intervals. My job is to provide enormous data processing capability, turning a gale of nonsense signals she has to fight through into a gentle breeze of organized information. Not consciously, before you get any ideas that I'm some sort of savant. It's a metahuman ability just like any other. Leading theory is that I got it because we're twins, and any intelligence I might possess outside of that function is only a byproduct. Above average, certainly, but not genius-level.

For display, she'll usually have one of the panellists wait in another room while she projects a vision of which of an assortment of coloured cards they'll later pick when asked. Doing it on her own would be difficult, she'd need to look through the immediate future until she found the section she wanted and then display it, and the closer the time and location of the vision are to the present, the more interference there is. I'd theorize the distortion is mostly temporal flux, and my preprocessing allows the waveforms to collapse into the most likely outcome, but I'm not a physicist. It's not like I can even tell what's happening.

She sets her hands on my shoulders, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This hurts. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. Every nerve in my body goes white hot, filaments of agony spreading through my chest as I do my best to regulate my breathing. I can’t actually think at all in this state: every neuron is completely devoted to processing Joni’s data for her, and all I can do is feel. And scream. I do scream, quite a bit. I don’t remember anything from these experiences, but tapes from before I got the muzzle show that I cried and wailed almost constantly. As I got older, it’s clear that I tried to hold back on it a little, the screams changed to moans and sobs for the most part, and then the muzzle turned them into silence.

It does a pretty good job of turning my ragged inhales and exhales into a constant fan-like whirring sound. My vocal cords can’t get close enough together to vibrate, so I don’t have to worry about making any noise that would upset the onlookers and reveal my humanity, and the metal plate I wear under my shirt to hide the spastic movements of my abdominals is also fulfilling its intended purpose. I get to cry in peace. No tears, obviously. I don’t even think I can cry with tears, haven’t since I was a child, at least.

I have no way of telling how long it is before the pain subsides and I can think again, my memory is a jump-cut from the first spike of pain to my vision starting to clear. The room is tilting and I have to hope Joni is keeping me upright because I don’t know which direction is up. She’s gotten good at holding me up without making it obvious that that’s what she’s doing. I’m still huffing into the muzzle, and spots are dancing in my vision, but I do my best to hold still until Joni directs me to leave the stage and head back to the storage locker.

Walking is rather difficult. She realizes I’m unsteady on my feet and keeps a hand on my elbow to stabilize me. Everything still hurts and my muscles are weak, I really need to lie down. Unfortunately, Joni’s demo was a little too impressive, and people keep coming up to ask her questions.

“Is that your support unit? How does it work?” one woman asks. My hollow-eyed stare seems to have convinced her, at least.

“Oh, it’s a really powerful bank of computers that processes the temporal data for me,” Joni explains. “I interface with it directly using my abilities and it streamlines the data so that I can look deeper into the future and have higher resolution on my projected images.” That’s not all I do, but I’m not supposed to talk, and I’m really too tired to, anyhow.

“It seems to be running pretty hot,” a man comments, most likely because of the noise of my “fan exhaust”. It’s also possible that my face is flushed or that I’m sweating, not typical for me, but this demonstration was rough.

Joni blushes. “O-oh, it… yeah, I may have pulled a bit more resources than I usually do, it should be fine once it’s cooled down its internal components…” the look in her eyes is an apology, but I just look away. She’s always sorry and it never changes anything.

She does hand me a bottle of water once I’m finally parked in the storage locker. I’m grateful for the chance to sit down, I don’t think my legs would have held me much longer. I’d be more grateful for a chance to take this wretched thing off, I can taste blood where it’s cut into my cheeks and the corners of my lips, but there’s an attendant watching us from the corner, most likely curious about how a “robot” drinks. I hold the bottle up to the port instead and show off my no-swallowing trick. How’s that, asshole?

“You did a good job today, Aspen. Shut down now, please.” She really means it. Revolting.

I flick the control that lets me make noise and sound a soft chime of acknowledgement before shutting my eyes and letting my body sag slightly to indicate a powered-down state. It’s not long before I’m asleep.

[maxtravel]

Planning Your Next Luxury Vacation: FAQs and More

What Is a Luxury Vacation?

A luxury vacation is more than just a trip—it's an experience designed to pamper and indulge. These vacations prioritize comfort, exclusivity, and personalized service, offering travelers a chance to unwind in style.

Key Features of a Luxury Vacation

Exclusive Destinations: Think private islands, serene mountain retreats, or secluded villas in exotic locations.

Premium Accommodations: Luxury hotels, overwater bungalows, or high-end resorts equipped with amenities like private pools, butler service, and spa treatments.

Fine Dining: Gourmet meals prepared by world-class chefs, private dining experiences, and exclusive wine pairings.

Tailored Experiences: From private yacht cruises to guided cultural tours, every aspect of the trip can be customized to your preferences.

Seamless Travel: First-class flights, luxury cruises, or private jets ensure your journey is as enjoyable as the destination itself.

How to Plan a Luxury Vacation

Planning a luxury vacation requires attention to detail and a focus on quality. Here’s a step-by-step guide:

Choose Your Destination: Decide whether you want a beach escape, a cultural experience, or an adventurous retreat. Research destinations that offer luxury options.

Set a Budget: Luxury vacations can be tailored to various budgets. Decide how much you’re willing to spend on accommodations, activities, and travel.

Pick the Right Time: Avoid peak seasons to enjoy more privacy and better deals on luxury experiences.

Book Premium Accommodations: Look for high-end hotels or resorts with excellent reviews and unique offerings.

Arrange Exclusive Activities: Pre-book spa treatments, fine dining reservations, and private tours.

Travel in Style: Upgrade your flights or explore options like private charters.

Work with Experts: Hire a luxury travel planner or use premium booking platforms for hassle-free arrangements.

Top Destinations for Luxury Vacations

Here are some popular luxury destinations to inspire your next trip:

Maldives: Known for its overwater villas and turquoise lagoons.

Switzerland: A paradise for ski lovers with world-class chalets.

Dubai: Famous for its opulent hotels and unparalleled shopping experiences.

Bora Bora: An exotic island offering breathtaking views and ultimate privacy.

Italy: Explore Tuscany’s vineyards or Venice’s romantic canals in style.

FAQs: Your Luxury Vacation Questions Answered

Here are answers to some common questions about luxury vacations:

What defines a luxury vacation? A luxury vacation focuses on comfort, exclusivity, and personalized services, ensuring a unique and memorable experience.

How much does a luxury vacation cost? Costs vary depending on the destination and activities, but typically range from $5,000 to $50,000 or more.

What are the most luxurious destinations? Popular luxury destinations include the Maldives, Bora Bora, Paris, and Aspen.

How can I find the best deals on luxury vacations? Work with travel agents, sign up for newsletters, and book during the off-season for better rates.

What should I pack for a luxury vacation? Pack elegant attire for fine dining, comfortable clothing for activities, and any required travel essentials.

Are luxury vacations family-friendly? Many luxury resorts cater to families, offering kids’ clubs, family suites, and tailored activities.

What activities are included in luxury vacations? Activities may include private tours, spa treatments, fine dining, and adventure sports.

Is it worth hiring a luxury travel planner? Yes, a planner can save time and ensure every detail is handled professionally.

How do I ensure my luxury vacation is sustainable? Opt for eco-friendly resorts, minimize waste, and support local businesses during your stay.

Can I customize my luxury vacation? Absolutely! Most luxury travel packages are highly customizable to fit your preferences.

[indigobackfire]

26 and 30 for aspen and Diego!! -thimblerigshuffle

Thanks @thimblerigshuffle <3 <3

30) Who is embarrassed when they have to wear their glasses and who thinks they look super cute?

Aspen would definitely be embarrassed because she most certainly spent several years mocking Indigo and her glasses lovingly ofc. But then Diego would be all loving brushing her hair behind her ear, going "What's the shame in wanting to see the world clearer?" "Don't worry, we'll still be kissing eyes closed."

26) Who kissed first?

Aspen kissed Diego first. Given this opportunity, I'll try and write it 🙈 (damn is longer than I intended oops) (takes place in y6 during winter).

“Blimey, it’s dreich out here! Is this really a good idea?” Aspen asks.

Diego marches through the crisp cold air of the training grounds with confidence and excitement as if he was under the spring sun, not even his thick sweaters seemed to limit his movement. Aspen on the other hand kept her steps short on the sheet of snow and herself retracted under her two layers of sweatshirts and her chunkiest Slytherin scarf.

“Have I ever had a bad idea? Don’t answer.”

“Ya ken we can use the dueling club room.”

“It’s occupied.”

“Ugh! What about the Dragon Club?”

“They don’t appreciate my dueling very much over there since Indigo and I smashed the place. We apologized, fixed the mess up, but they’re not the most forgiving kind, unfortunately.” He turns around and holds a stance, signaling for her to stay in place, about three meters apart. “Besides, I want to duel you here!”

“But why!? It’s like two degrees right now!”

“You think a dark wizard would invite you in for a fight? ‘Oh, please, the weather is dreadful, let’s move this inside.’ I want you to get used to dueling under adverse circumstances. And with that attitude, I can’t help but wonder, are you even a Scotswoman?”

“Wow, now you—” She unwraps her scarf letting it loose around her neck, if he hadn’t such a pretty face she would’ve walked straight to him and shoved her wand in his eye. “Now you’ve offended my honour!”

“Ready your wand then!”

But Aspen wasn’t prepared, he shoots an Incendio that misses her for a hair’s distance.

“Diego!”

He smirks opening his arms. “Thought you might want a little heat.”

She shouts an Immobulus his way, but he ducks and sends an Expelliarmus making her wand fly over her head, falling behind her. Now, if she could stop and focus on something instead of her numb fingers or how her nose felt like it was about to fall off, she would’ve remembered his lesson on how to act in case a wand was lost, but her mind was still reacting to her body and instead of lowering to the ground, she tries to go after it on foot… on a straight line. He only gives her the time to pick her wand up before shouting, “Stupefy!”

She falls hard on her back and is left too embarrassed and angry to even get up. He walks to her. “What have I told you about turning your back to your opponent, Aspenita?”

“Is the duellers worst sin.”

“I even gave you a leeway, in a serious duel you wouldn’t even have time to process where the spell came from, you would be dead or worse.”

“Or worse…” She sits up. “Ah, great, my trousers are soaked! And my hair full of grass.”

“That’s what you get for not paying attention.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, ugh—”

He furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I think... ah, could ye…” And as he gets nearer, she pulls him by the ankle dropping him to the ground on his stomach. She’s cackling. “A new dueling rule for your playbook, Dieguito!”

He makes a both perplexed and impressed face to her, and as he kneels to try and advance towards her, she throws herself over him to get him back down, and with the weight of her torso, holding his arms back by his wrists, manages to keep him down.

“Does the snow feel good?” She says between teeth, pressing him down on the icy grass with her own body.

He struggles to free his wrists from her grip. “When did you get that strong?”

“Barnaby’s my best friend… or was, ah dinnae ken. I might’ve lost a couple of brain cells, but at least I put on some muscle. By seventh year I’ll be just as ripped.”

“Has Indigo and him… resolved their issues? Whatever they are.”

Aspen crosses her fingers and rests her chin on his chest, she can feel his heartbeat under her hands. “He refuses to tell me what’s wrong and she’s out acting like everything’s fine when it’s not. So no, they haven’t resolved a thing.”

“Barnaby still shows up for our fortnightly training but he’s usually quiet. Very strange for Barnaby, but on the other side, he’s never had a better performance before.”

“It breaks my heart to see them apart…If there was a pair that made me believe in true love, it was them.”

“Then there’s Phoenix and Ismelda—”

She holds his face. “Now, you stop. It’s frustrating enough the stuff with Indie and Barney, and now there’s also those two idiots—”

He holds her hands away from his face. “Ugh, your hands feel like ice needles!”

“And how are yours warm!? Bastard!”

He laughs making his chest vibrate against hers. “I’m always pipping hot, dear.”

“Blergh!”

Still holding her hands, he nears it to his mouth and blows hot breaths on them, her eyes focused on the plump of his lips, all the while her stomach flutters with snowflake-like butterflies. “And what about you?”

She blinks. “What about me?”

“Your relative’s hearts are breaking like glass, but how’s yours?”

She swallows hard. “You really asking me this? Seriously?”

He holds her hands against his lips, his voice comes as if a whisper. “I wanna know if I still hold possession of your heart.”

She drops her head to his chest. “I don’t wanna give you something you can’t hold… but it’s not like you don’t already have it.”

“Indigo asked patience of me and I’m attending to her request cause I too want what’s best for you. I’m still earning her trust in this regard. You’re too young and I might’ve not given the best examples in the past.”

“Too young my arse! You’re barely two years older.” She scoops up until they’re nose to nose, and the air in Diego’s lungs feels rarer. “I’m no bairn, Diego, I ken I want to be with ye, why isn’t that enough?”

“I love you too much to screw this up with haste.”

She opens up a smile with joy blossoming in her chest. “You… you love me?”

“Why you think I haven’t even looked the way of another girl? I’ll wait for you, the time I have to wait. Because there’ll come a time it won’t be an option to wait, we both know that.”

At the same time the weight of the world left her shoulders, a hot burden grew in her chest — laying as they were, even encapsulated in freezing air and with soaked bottoms, she couldn’t stop her blushing cheeks, the redness spreading to her whole face, speechless, leaving Diego to wonder if she was okay.

But before he could ask, she presses her lips against his and he doesn’t feel like breathing anymore or existing beyond the encounter of their mouths. He takes her scarf in handfuls and opens his mouth for her tongue, mindless about her still freezing hands on his neck. The kiss isn’t sloppy but is desperate, considering how long their wait had been, every second of it had to be made up for in this right moment.

It’s her to pull away first with burning lungs while he fishes for another and another feel of her lips — she still had a lot to learn about kissing with passion and he’d be more than willing to teach her. She stops for a moment to admire the redness her kiss left on his lips and smirks.

“You might be patient, but I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait to do this.”

He runs his thumb over her lips, tracing her skin discolorations. “Who am I to deny you of your wishes?” His stare makes her feel as if she won’t ever be as solid as she is under his eyes. “Aspen, you have me, my kisses and my victories and my dreams and all my love. I’m all yours.”

She gives him another soft kiss. “And I’m no different.”

He smiles. “And I don’t wanna ruin our moment, but I’ll get a frostbite on my buttcheeks if I don’t get up now.”

“Oh, sorry, love.” She releases him and helps him up. She looks around the training grounds, empty unless for the training dummies on the corner white with frost. She chuckles. “Damn, we didn’t duel at all.”

“I’ll make an exception just today, cause I feel like my ass is about to fall off and because I won’t be able to stupefy this pretty face. For today.”

She wraps an arm around his waist as they make their way back inside. “Perhaps I better find myself a new dueling partner…”

He looks down at her with a smile. “Never.”

[lamesiscanon]

Pine Tree

Day 8 coming in 6. DAYS. LATE. because someone's computer decided to just not work anymore :( Anyways, thats my excuse so please enjoy. (prompt list by @remus-john-lupin )

The morning chill was almost enough for Remus to tuck his feet back under the blankets and succumb once again to the comfortable lull of sleep and a warm body tucked against him. Key word: almost. Remus hadn’t set his wand alarm this early for nothing, and he was going to stick to his plan. With great effort, he swung his legs out from under the blankets and over the edge of the bed to quietly get ready for a cold morning spent in the snow. 

Lemon raised her head from her spot on the sofa when he came downstairs. If she was curious why Remus was awake so early, she didn’t show. Instead, she licked her paws a few times and laid back down again to go to sleep. Reese’s was another story. Her wagging tail hit Remus on the shins a couple of times as he leaned down and tried to pet her. He was able to calm Reese’s down by pouring her an early helping of food in her bowl, and Lemon’s too, just to be fair. The dog and kneazle best friend duo ate side by side as Remus prepared his morning tea as quietly as possible, and then he’d be out of the house. 

Reese’s came to the door with him after she was done eating, tugging on her leash hanging from a hook near the back door. They rarely used it, but it was her way of showing that she wanted to be outside. Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to have her with him, Remus opened the door for the both of them to venture into the expanse of trees they were lucky to call their back yard.

The morning was light, but there was not yet any rays of sun to warm him through the three layers of coats. Remus took Sirius’ sweatshirt as his first layer, and then wore his own jacket as a second, and finally, Lyall’s old flannel coat was bundled tightly over the whole of it. Still, Remus was looking forward to either the sun rising, or getting back to the cabin. Which ever came first. 

Reese’s walked ahead of him, diving under the fresh powder of the forest and barking at random tree branches. She disappeared under a pile of snow for a couple of seconds before coming back out with her tongue out and tail wagging happily. 

The search for the perfect pine tree was tougher than Remus was expecting. It was easy to completely disregard the few aspen trees scattered here and there and focus on the green pines, which were tall and plentiful. But that was exactly the problem. Remus was trying to surprise Sirius with the perfect real tree to put in their living room, and everything he’s spotted so far was either too tall or too bare.

Reese’s started barking again, though this time she was out of Remus’ sight. He gave up on the tree he was looking at now, which wouldn’t have been too tall if he just cut from the middle but it wasn’t full enough. Instead, he followed the sounds of Reese’s’ barking and found her facing the most beautiful pine tree in the world. It was the perfect height with the ideal amount of branches. It wasn’t bare in the slightest, but it wasn’t too full that Sirius could decorate it if he chose to. It was exactly what Remus was looking for when he came out into the forest at the crack of dawn.

In hindsight, he should’ve realized that there would’ve been a completely different reason for a dog to be barking at a regular pine tree, but Remus had it cut with his wand and levitating behind him as he made his way back to their cabin home. Reese’s was still barking at the tree when they arrived on the back porch, so Remus left her outside to get some of her energy out while he set the tree up in it’s stand in the corner next to the fireplace. When all was said and done, Remus went back to the kitchen for another cup of tea and to get started on a proper breakfast for him and Sirius. 

Halfway through cooking the hash browns, a pair of arms made their way around his waist and a chin was resting over his shoulder. 

“Hey.” Remus greeted, leaning his head against the one resting on him for just a moment before focusing back on the food. 

“Hey yourself. Would you mind telling me why there’s a pine tree in our living room?” Sirius’ voice was still groggy with sleep and his tone was accusing, though his arms didn’t go anywhere from Remus’ waist. 

“Hmmm, well if I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure I went out and cut it down this morning.” Remus took the pan of hash browns off the heat and turned around in Sirius’ arms to face him. “Since you wanted one, and all.” 

Sirius squinted his eyes up at Remus for a moment before his face broke out into the widest of grins and he leaned up to kiss him. “I only mentioned it in passing, you know. You didn’t actually have to wake up this early just to get me a tree.” 

“No shit?” Remus asked, trailing his hands up and down Sirius’ arms and relishing in the warmth that was brought back to him after his frigid morning. “I wonder why I did it anyway... hm, could be that I’m in love with you.”

Sirius kissed him, a quick peck to the lips before he was dragging Remus away from breakfast and into the other room to look at the tree.

In the living room, they found Lemon in her same spot still snoozing on the couch. One look told them Reese’s was outside the window on the back porch, no longer barking but staring intently at the tree. Remus paid no mind. 

Sirius walked around the tree, trying to look contemplative but was betrayed by his own wide grin that took over. Remus watched him, content with the peaceful moment of the beautiful morning and with himself for finding such a beautiful tree, and nothing had even gone wrong. 

“Remus?” Sirius spoke up now, standing behind a branch where Remus couldn’t see him. “Why is there a hedgehog in our pine tree?” 

Remus hurried over, putting Sirius behind him as an act of protection and getting him out of the way so Remus could get a look at whatever Sirius had spotted. Indeed, there was a little creature nestled on the branches of their pine tree. 

“Oh.” Remus reached out to the animal, looking at the branch it resided on and was careful to keep his voice low. “It’s not a hedgehog, it’s a Knarl. Similar to a hedgehog in looks and behavior, but their quills have magical properties that can be useful in potions. They are cautious creatures, but will take to you almost immediately just by avoiding eye contact and not making so much noise. They don’t like loud things, but they don’t like quiet, either. You can talk to them quietly, but usually humming a song will do the trick.”

Remus was busy trying to convince the Knarl into his open palm and did not notice Sirius staring at him until he was turned around with a tiny creature in his palm. He was smiling to himself and softly petting the animal with two fingers, completely immersed in Professor mode.

“The females are larger in size and have a darker color in quills. Males are smaller, but the unique thing about them is their quills often have a gradient change in color. More often than not, a male Knarl’s quills will start at a darker color closer to the skin and get lighter at the top. Based on the size and color of this one, she’s a fully grown female.” Remus looked up then, and Sirius reveled in the moment Remus remembered that he was at home with his husband, not in his classroom at Hogwarts.

“How do you even know all of that? You’re the DADA professor, not Care of Magical Creatures.” Sirius asked as he came up to pet the Knarl with his own fingers. Remus smiled. 

“I’m just smarter than you, that’s how.” Remus admitted, watching the Knarl curl up in his palm and sniff his fingers. “Any questions?” He joked. 

“Hmmm. How did I get so incredibly lucky?” Sirius asked, but Remus’ only answer was a roll of his eyes. Sirius hummed to himself now, a Led Zeppelin song that had played on the radio yesterday. The Knarl looked up at Sirius, who was careful to avoid eye contact just like Remus said. The creature deemed Sirius a worthy candidate and made to move from Remus’ palm and into Sirius’.

“So, what are we naming her?” Remus asked, beaming at his husband and the way he was marveling at having the Knarl in his hand. 

Sirius’ head snapped up, though he was careful to not jostle the girl. “We can’t keep her, what if she doesn’t want to stay here?”

Remus looked out the window for a brief moment to see Reese’s tail wagging and no longer staring at the pine tree in trepidation. It made sense now, that she had barked at the tree the entire way home and took up guard duty at the window before Remus or Sirius knew that they had another pet on their hands. Reese’s probably deserved a few extra Christmas presents this year. 

“We’ll let her leave if she wants to,” Remus shrugged, “But I did sort of cut down her home on accident, so maybe she’ll want to stay. I’ll name her, you can charm the tree to stay alive, and if she still wants to leave then we’ll allow her to.” 

“Wait, why do you get to name her? You named a Kneazle Lemon!” Sirius asked, careful to still keep his voice down as the Knarl crawled over his arm and explored his jacket. 

“Because she’s yellow and white, it made sense! You named a black dog after a candy that is brown and red so therefore, I get to name our new friend.” Remus stuck out his arm when the Knarl crawled to the ends of Sirius’ fingertips. The Knarl hopped onto Remus’ arm to scurry the whole way up his arm and settle into the flop of greying curls. 

“Oh Merlin, that’s just too precious. Look, Moons, even the animals know your hair is a nest!” Sirius hurried away to find their camera, and Remus was too amused in the situation to be mad. Sirius came back, snapping a picture of Remus looking up towards his hair with a dopey grin on his face while the Knarl snuggled into the curls. 

“So? What’d you decide for the name?” Sirius asked as he put the camera away and sat down on their couch. Lemon woke up and moved herself onto his lap to receive affection. 

“I thought we’d keep the food theme going. She looks like a Cocoa, don’t you think?” Remus took a seat next to Sirius, grabbing his book with his right hand and holding Sirius’ own with his other. The whole time he was careful not to move his head too much. 

“Cocoa? You had an opportunity to call her Carl the Knarl and you went with Cocoa?” 

“Well she doesn’t look like a Carl to me! She looks like a cocoa.” Remus defended. “And you don’t get to say anything about my naming choices since you named our dog after a peanut butter cup.” Remus settled back into the couch, indignant about not being able to settle into his book. 

Sirius let him be for a moment, still holding his hand and petting Lemon. Reese’s had been let in before they had sat down, and she took to running circles around their new pine tree. From the soft breaths coming from on top of Remus’ head, Sirius could tell that Cocoa had fallen asleep. Sirius was struck with the sudden clarity that this was his family, and he felt like he belonged. 

“Hey, Remus?”

Remus didn’t look up from his book, but he hummed in acknowledgement to show that he was listening. Sirius wanted to tell him how he had never before felt so happy, that his best moments were these ones spent with Remus doing almost nothing together. He wanted to tell Remus that he would do anything for him, just like Remus had got up early to go out and get a tree just because Sirius had wanted one even though they didn’t have any ornaments. Most of all Sirius wanted to tell Remus that he was truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Remus knew all of this, though. As much as they said it aloud to each other, they said it through actions, like getting a pine tree for their living room. And so Remus already knew.

“Thanks for the tree.” Sirius told him instead, but he knew Remus heard what he had meant anyway, and beamed.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 41 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Halloween

This Chapter: Things look up for Violet but turn iffy for Adore.

***

Pearl swayed a little in her heels as Adore’s lips trailed down her neck. They were half-dressed at this point, making their way to Adore’s bedroom. Adore’s jacket and shirt had been discarded, leaving her in just a thin undershirt, suspenders dangling around her waist. Pearl’s skirt was around her ankles, sweater somewhere on the floor.

She stepped out of the skirt, a sharp inhale leaving her as Adore shoved her roughly up against a wall. Her hands threaded into Adore’s hair, which was up in a tight bun, and immediately began pulling it apart. She loved the whole butch look that Adore was rocking tonight, but she loved it even more when she got to unravel it. Pearl’s hand traveled along the wall, reaching for the door handle, finally pushing it open and pulling Adore into the bedroom.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Adore breathed, pushing Pearl onto the bed.

Pearl smirked, enjoying the desperate edge in her voice as her hands groped for her bra clasp, the unrefined way she clawed at her panties to yank them down. She spread her thighs, head falling backward, hand tangled into Adore’s hair to guide her along.

“I love your pussy,” Adore continued, lapping her up vigorously, fingers digging into her thighs. “You’re perfect, so perfect…”

Adore kept lavishing praise on her, and Pearl could feel her muscles tense. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut, to close it out and focus on the way her body was responding, but it quickly became impossible. She took a deep breath and rolled Adore over onto her back, thighs straddling her face.

“Stop talking.”

Adore panted up at her, surprise all over her face as her eyes went dark. “Are you gonna punish me?”

The way she just immediately folded, immediately ceded all power to Pearl, was even more intoxicating than if she’d been submissive all along.

“I should,” Pearl said hoarsely. She ran a finger along Adore’s bottom lip. “I should show you who’s boss.”

“Do it.” Adore trembled beneath her, gripping her thighs for dear life.

Pearl took hold of the headboard and lowered herself until her pussy was pressed up against Adore’s face, riding her slowly, dictating the pressure and pace, all the while watching the blissed-out expression in Adore’s eyes. By the time Pearl came with a satisfied groan, Adore’s panties, her usual boy-cut cotton briefs, were soaked through.

It was hard not to laugh. This was the same girl who, just hours earlier, had been manhandling her on the dance floor as if she were the king of the world. And now, all it took was a few swipes of Pearl’s thumb to reduce her to a whimpering, shaking mess.

“You like that?”

“B-baby, please,” Adore begged, pupils fully dilated, hands clutching at Pearl’s hair and shoulders. “I need to come, I need-”

“Shh, shhhh…” Pearl silenced her with a kiss, finally plunging her fingers inside to give her what she so desperately wanted, stroking her g-spot until she cried out, then continuing to play with her until she was wrung out, too weak to even lift her head.

Afterwards, Pearl sucked her fingers into her mouth with a satisfied grin, letting Adore curl against her as usual, wrapping her warm body into a sweaty embrace.  

***

Sutan woke to the ever familiar scent of lavender, and the sensation of Violet’s hair up his nose.

He huffed, moving his face away, only to smile when Violet groaned, her hand coming up to grab his arm and pull him back down, forcing him to mold himself back against her back, the bed creaking underneath them.

Last night, they hadn’t returned to Sutan’s place as he had originally expected, instead, they had ended up in Violet’s apartment because Violet had insisted that she would die if she didn’t get pizza from a specific pizzeria near her building, and who was Sutan to argue with that?

“Morning gorgeous.” Sutan smiled, pressing a kiss against Violet’s shoulder, but the action only earned him another deep groan, Violet for once very clearly hungover. “Where is your bed frame?”

“Only rich people have bed frames.”

“Sure.” Sutan snorted, burrowing his face in Violet’s hair, pulling her against him.

It was strange to be in Violet’s bedroom, Sutan realizing last night with a flash of embarrassment that this was the first time he had been inside Violet’s apartment. He had picked her up from her building countless times, but they had always stayed at his, Sutan not even entertaining the idea that he should come up.

“Is there any leftover pizza?” Violet looked over her shoulder, a little bit of the mascara she hadn’t managed to get off smudged under her eye.

“You only had two slices.” Sutan had bought a pepperoni pizza for himself, Violet for some godforsaken reason going straight for pineapple and only pineapple. “I put it in your fridge.”

Sutan had never expected Violet to be someone who enjoyed cooking, but he had been shocked when he had opened her refrigerator last night, a bottle of carrot juice, a carton of almond milk and a half eaten takeaway salad all he had spotted in there.

“I’ll go get it.” Violet slipped out of bed, and Sutan couldn’t help but smile as she was wearing the tiniest pair of panties, her Hepburn jewels still around her neck since Sutan hadn’t been able to figure out the lock with a drunk and sleepy Violet in his arms.

Sutan sat up, running his hand through his hair as he looked around the bedroom, a tower of brown moving boxes in the corner. Violet’s clothes were all put away, two clothing racks holding dresses Sutan immediately recognized, but beyond the wardrobe, the room was strangely bare and devoid of personal touches.

“Huh.” Sutan bit his lip, getting out of bed. He grabbed his undershirt from the floor, cursing to himself when he realized that he didn’t have his reading glasses, using his phone without them a surefire way to feel like shit after a night out.

“Do you want coffee?” Sutan turned his head to see Violet standing in the door, now wrapped in a robe, a plate and a slice of pizza with missing bites in her hand. “I’m afraid I only have instant.”

“Instant is fine.” It wasn’t really, not when he was used to his top of the line espresso machine, but he wasn’t going to create a fuss. “Do you have anything that isn’t pineapple pizza?”

“I can make oatmeal?” Violet smiled, and he guessed that somewhat explained the strange lack of food in her fridge.

“How about I take us out for breakfast?”

***

“Raaaaaaaj,” Raven whispered, her lips right next to her fiancée's ear. “Wake up.”

They had come home from the party last night, Raja helping her out of her costume, the two of them falling into bed, drunk sex always a fucking treat, the feeling of Raja’s fake mustache against her inner thighs so strange they had both been hiccuping from laughter.

“Mmmh?”

“I’m hungry.” Raven smirked as she felt Raja’s hand travel up her back, the other woman finally awake.

“Make breakfast then.”

“I wanna go out.” Raven nuzzled her nose against Raja’s neck.

“You can starve for all that I care.”

Raven laughed. Grumpy Raja was one of her favorites, the whine in her voice one that never came out anywhere else, being allowed to see her like this, a treasure Raven guarded with her life.

“Please-” Raven nuzzled her face even closer against Raja’s neck, pressing kisses to the warm skin. “I want buttered croissants.”

“Mmh-” Raja hummed, her fingers finding the ends of her hair. Raven knew she wasn’t actually tempted by the promise of bread, Raja beyond annoying with how easy it was for her to not give in to culinary temptations.

“If you put some pants on, I can call for a car-”

“No can do buttercup.” Raja started petting her hair. “The moment I leave this bed, I have to work.”

“Seriously?” Raven sat up on her elbows, Raja actually opening her eyes now, a bit of glue still on her top lip. “Don’t look at my tits.”

“Sorry,” Raja smirked, her eyes still focused on Raven’s chest.

“You have to work? Again?” Raven wanted to throw a fit. It wasn’t a new thing that Raja worked on the weekends, it wasn't a new thing that she was constantly fighting for her attention, but this, this was a new low, both of them naked and hung over. “It’s Sunday?”

“The preparations for the Spring collection are right around the corner. You know people depend on me and Fame has unfortunately handed me a mug.”

Raven huffed, throwing herself back down on the bed, turning her back to Raja as she pulled the duvet under her chin.

“Princess-” Raven felt Raja curl around her back. “Don’t be upset.”

“And what about me? I depend on you too,” Raven grumbled, the words caught by the duvet, but Raja somehow still heard them.

“I know.” Raja peeled the duvet down, pressing a kiss against Raven’s shoulder blade. “How about we order in, eat in bed-”

“Hm?” Raven turned her head.

“And when I’m done with my very important job,” Raja smiled, her hand sneaking under the covers and settling on Raven’s hip. “I spend the very important money I make on buying very important things for our trip to Aspen?”

“Mmh,” Raven chewed her lip to keep the smile off of her face. “I guess that’s acceptable.”

***

“Ah, that hits the spot.”

Violet smiled to herself as she watched Sutan take the first sip of the double espresso he had ordered. They were sitting at a small cafe, Sutan actually cleaning up surprisingly nicely for the fact that he had only had his costume from last night at her place.

“Glad to see your craving could be satisfied.”

“Oh?” Sutan grinned, tapping his foot against hers underneath the table. “Do you really think you have room to be snarky, Miss Pineapple?”

Violet bit her lip, her cheeks heating up. She couldn’t exactly remember the entirety of last night after bumping into Courtney, Raven talking her into yet another round of shots, but she did remember Sutan’s hand on her back, did remember unlocking her door and whining when she couldn’t get her necklace off.

“Concentrate on your breakfast.”

Sutan laughed, trapping her foot between his own before he dug into his cinnamon French toast. Violet herself had opted for a sunnyside egg and a smoothie, the pizza slice she had devoured before Sutan was ready to leave sitting heavy in her stomach.

Sutan was chatting about last night, telling her a story about Detox, the two men surprisingly close for how different they were. Violet wasn’t truly listening, but it didn’t seem to matter, Sutan more than happy to just up the space.

“Lovely eyes-” Violet was pulled out of her thoughts, the man watching her with his brown eyes. “You’re tapping along with the music.”

Sutan was pointing with his fork, and Violet looked down at her fingers, her almond-shaped nails tapping on table.

“Huh…” Violet hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even listened to the music, but now that she was aware, she could hear the notes of Waltz of the Flowers, the cafe for some reason playing Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker. The music was such an ingrained part of who she was, the ballet one she had danced every December since she was 6 years old. “I’m sorry.”

“Bringing back memories?” Sutan smirked, a kind look in his eyes, but Violet felt her entire body run cold.

“Yes.” It did bring back memories, the sensation of leg warmers and sitting on hard dance floors, of chewy protein bars and being soaked in sweat, of the unbelievable satisfaction when a move was finally executed just right and she could collapse in exhaustion. “But how-”

“Did I know?” Sutan put his fork down, clearly beyond pleased with himself.

“Yes.”

Violet hadn’t told anyone in her new life that her first career had been as a dancer at the New York City Ballet, that she had been a soloist on the track for principal before her life had changed forever at 17.

“I’m a modeling agent, lovely eyes.” Sutan took his coffee cup. “I can spot a dancer from a mile away, and everything about your posture tells me that you have done ballet at some point.”

“Ah.” Violet nodded, a rush of relief coursing through her. Sutan didn’t know, hadn’t truly guessed who she used to be. “You got me.”

“What can I say,” Sutan grinned, putting his cup to his lips. “I’m the best.”

She’d tell him one day, tell him her entire story, but that day wasn’t going to be today.

***

When Violet had first started in design, she had wondered why they had several couches scattered around the room. It had started to make sense as she had seen just how social her new coworkers were, the furniture often taken up by people talking, working or even napping.

Violet had never used the couches before today, her desk and her desk chair all she needed, but while Trixie was upstairs for the  department head meeting discussing the Spring line, she had figured that it was time to test out if Trixie was actually serious about wanting them to relax.

Which was why she was on the couch, attempting to pass the time while she waited anxiously for Trixie to return.

It felt incredibly weird not to be in the boardroom, to not be standing against the wall taking notes as Fame and Raja presented the new concepts for the collections, Violet’s spine itching with annoyance over the fact that she wasn’t there.

She had considered texting Courtney, but she wasn’t sure Courtney could actually tell her anything interesting, the blonde incredibly talented at hearing but not listening, so instead, Violet had brought her backlog of magazines with her to work.

Violet had started collecting fashion magazines at 17. At first, she had only read American Vogue, but as she had started to get more and more into fashion, her monthly collection had started to grow.

Now, she bought American Vogue, British Vogue, French Vogue, Italian Vogue, Marie Claire, Harper's Bazaar and French and American Elle, her preferred newsstand knowing her by sight.

Violet knew that she could look online for fashion inspiration, knew that it was what everyone around her did, but she had always preferred either print or watching the real people of New York walk by.

Violet wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but as she flipped through the pages, she knew she’d find it sooner or later, at least one of the spots in the Spring collection belonging to her, even if she had to fight for it. Violet almost rolled her eyes as she revealed yet another page of british street style, the fabrics and cuts absolutely horrendous.

Every time the door opened, she would sit up straighter, thinking it was Trixie back with news. After 3 or 4 excruciating false alarms, he finally returned, smiling at the designers, knowing they were all on pins and needles at this point.

“Attention Team! This is not a drill!” Trixie joked. “Everyone meet me in the conference room in 5 minutes for an update on the Spring collection!”

Violet stood up immediately, hurrying directly to the conference room with her notebook, excited to hear the news. Trixie was busy sticking a handful of reference photos onto the whiteboard: A ceramic cup, an egret, a skyline of what looked to be a coastal village somewhere in Turkey, a wheat field at sunrise, a collection of fabric samples stapled together into little booklets the designers could take with them to their desks.

Apparently, this year, Fame wanted a light and breezy Spring collection. Functional and elegant with a touch of whimsy. The color palette was true Galactica: dove grey, cream, straw, ivory flecked with gold, very sparing accents of delicate pink and dusty lilac.

Violet’s mind raced with ideas of ways to manipulate silk so that it rustled and and fluttered beautifully on the runway. Of clean, beautiful lines: crisp linens and soft, feathery edges. Her fingers itched with excitement to get started as she carefully wrote down their deadlines: Thursday to turn in sketches for the in-store prêt-à-porter collection, and the following Thursday for the opening and closing runway pieces.

She knew, of course, that Alexis, Jovan, Gia, April and Maxwell had guaranteed spots in the collection, that group of designers the defining factors in the current Galactica style. She was also well aware that as a new designer, she would be doing foundation pieces.

She would be expected to pay her dues and make sure her collection pieces supported whatever final direction the senior staff chose, but Violet had never been a settler, and she was going to give being in the collection her best shot.

***

Adore sighed happily, swaying to the pounding bass of the house music, surrounded by a sea of sweaty club goers. She and her band had just played an electrifying late-night gig and she was still high on the adrenaline.

She loved being out, loved showing people why her and her band were the next big thing, but the best part of the night was that Pearl was there, had been right there in the front of the crowd cheering her on.

“Hey…” Aja came up to her, a look of concern creasing their brow, Aja’s outfit for the night a light blue latex number.

“What’s up, baby?” Adore asked, pressing a kiss to Aja’s cheek, wrapping her arms around their waist. They’d known each other since Adore first moved to New York to live with Bianca, almost 10 years ago, had been classmates at the performing arts high school along with the rest of her bandmates.

“Uh, it’s just… Dahlia is being a bit of a thot and Pearl looks… Into it…” Aja bit their lip.

Adore turned to look where Aja was gesturing, saw her friend and bass player sitting perched on a stool, back arched, plaid shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and slipping off one shoulder. Pearl stood close to her… Maybe a little closer than needed, a beer in her hand as she chatted her up. There was a bored, almost challenging look on Dahlia’s face as Pearl spoke, and the whole thing set Adore’s teeth on edge.

“Well…” Adore swallowed, fighting her impulse to march over and pull them apart, fixing a nonchalant expression on her face as she turned back to Aja, “They’re both big flirts. So what?”

“So, I don’t know if I’d be cool with it. I’m shocked you are.”

“There’s no reason for me to be a jealous bitch. I knew that Pearl was like that when we got together, so how could expect her to change? And anyway, she’s coming home with me, not Dahlia,” Adore said.

“You sure about that?” Aja asked.

Adore’s eyes narrowed, shooting a nasty look at her long-time friend, who laughed.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t realize that you were so chill.”

“I’m the chillest,” Adore said, taking a sip of her cocktail. But whether she was trying to convince herself or Aja, she wasn’t totally sure.

*

“So can I buy you a drink?”

“You can fuck off,” came the sneering reply.

“Oof,” Pearl smiled, resting her head on her hand, her elbow placed on the bar. “Kitty got claws. What got you in such a mood?”

“The company.”

There was something strangely familiar about Dahlia, but Pearl was 99% sure she hadn’t had sex with her before. She’d given up trying to place her, instead just enjoying her ice queen vibe. “I don’t think you mind my company all.”

“Don’t I?” Dahlia raised an eyebrow, her plump lips pursed, her beautiful face the picture of disinterest, but Pearl had caught her eyes flickering to her arm, had seen her notice exactly how strong Pearl was in the places where it was needed.

“I know women.”

Dahlia was hot as sin, everything about her soft and delicate, her dark hair styled in careful silky curls, the freckles on her shoulder the most delicious tease, the garterbelt that poked out from under her denim shorts promising Pearl that she’d find mouth-watering lingerie underneath Dahlia’s clothes if she ever got that far.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I could show you?”

“No.”

Pearl had to bite her lip to swallow a moan. There was something about her hyper femininity, something about how she was just a little bit mean, Dahlia radiating a promise of pink pillows, cherry chapstick and fruit scented shampoo that Pearl hadn’t even realized she was missing so fiercely it made her nipples tighten.

“Also,” Dahlia looked over her shoulder. “Your girlfriend is right over there.”

Shit.

***

Violet walked out of the elevator, a cup of steaming hot coffee and a banana in her hand. It was a little after 8--security had finally realized that her company card opened every door and locked her out, but she could still make her way to the design floor without a hitch.

Violet had come directly from the gym, her hair in a ponytail and still damp from her shower, the shoes on her feet running shoes instead of the heels she normally wore. She’d had this routine for awhile now--getting to the office early to do her makeup and hair in the big, clean Galactica bathrooms where, unlike the gym, she didn’t have to fight for mirror space, smile at strangers, or pretend to be interested in small talk. She’d have time to finish her routine and settle in to work just as the other designers began trickling in.

Today though, as she opened the big double doors to the design department, she was surprised at the sight that met her. It wasn’t one lone designer who’d arrived earlier than normal, or two people finishing a project, but rather, at least five of her colleagues sitting at their desks, busily working away already.

Violet had no idea why they were there, seeing so many of her coworkers this early honestly shocking. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they had noticed her, so she made a beeline for the bathroom, vowing to herself that she’d get fully ready before coming into the office from now on, the risk of her coworkers seeing her as anything less than perfectly put together not one she was willing to take yet.

***

Maxwell stood by the printer, waiting for the sketches he had done on his iPad to come out. For years now, he’d been almost solely responsible for all of the business separates in the Galactica line, and it suited him just fine.

Over the years, he’d perfected the kind of crisply tailored and yet graceful and feminine lines that Miss Fame preferred, which had earned him her favor again and again and again.

When he’d seen the inspiration for the Spring collection, he was immediately flooded with ideas, and after almost 2 days of working, he was quite pleased with the sheer volume and range of choices he was going to present at the meeting, already imagining the pleased nod he’d get from the head of the company.

Violet appeared in the little printing alcove, doing a jump of surprise when she saw someone else in there. “Max, hi-”

“Sorry to scare you,” Maxwell smiled. “My job’s almost done,”

“Thanks,” Violet said, taking a step in, their elbow almost bumping against each other as she snug a peak at the printer. “Wow,” Violet turned her head, looking at Maxwell. “Are these your sketches? There’s so many already.”

“Well, you know Fame and Raja. They like to have options. ” Maxwell grinned, knowing that if anyone did know, it’d be Violet. “My technique with prêt-à-porter is to give them as many choices as possible, with lots of variation. Kind of ‘throw all the spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks’ approach, you know?”

Violet nodded, a very serious expression on her face as she listened.

“I started with a bunch of different suit options, and then I’ll use these to whip up all the other coordinating separates.”

“I just can’t believe that you’ve done so many in only 2 days,” Violet said, looking quite uncertain.

“You’re pretty fast yourself, so I wouldn’t worry.” Maxwell picked his sketches up. “Are you working on any for this week, or straight for the couture spots?”

“Yes.” Violet moved up, pressing on the printer to make it spit out her own sketches before she apparently realized that just yes wasn’t actually an answer to his question. “Prêt-à-porter isn’t my strength-“ Violet bit her lip, “But I’m not a one trick pony, and I want to play ball.”

“My advice? Be ambitious. This isn’t the time to hold back,” Maxwell said, smiling kindly. In spite of his initial reservations, he’d found himself quite charmed by the newest designer. And if he could help her get a leg up, he definitely wanted to do that, adding, “Let me know if you want me to review anything before Thursday!”

“Thanks,” Violet smiled. “I appreciate that.”

***

Courtney rushed down the street in the chilly air, in a desperate hurry to get to Broadway Dance Center in time for her class to start.

She hadn’t really given her personal dreams much thought since beginning at Galactica. But recently, when Adore was telling her all about a series of gig she’d gotten--ones Courtney couldn’t attend because they were all super late at night, mid-week, and all the way in Brooklyn--a rush of envy over Adore’s ability to focus on her music completely had overtaken her, immediately followed by guilt over such an ugly emotion.

Just because Adore had someone supporting her didn’t give Courtney any excuse to be jealous of her friend’s good fortune. Maybe things would be harder for her--that didn’t mean that she shouldn’t try. Instead of worrying about what she didn’t have, she decided to instead look to Adore’s achievements as inspiration.

She’d found an 8 pm class, figuring that it was late enough not to interfere with her work responsibilities. After all, taking an hour for herself one evening a week seemed like the kind of thing she should be able to do without a problem, right?

However, today had been even crazier than usual, with the holiday collection now being finalized, the Spring collection underway, and Fame working on a deal to expand Galactica’s flagship stores in Europe. Fame herself hadn’t even left until just before 7.

Courtney had finally managed to get away, currently sprinting the 15 blocks to BDC--she’d even had the foresight to bring sneakers. If she was fast enough, there was a chance she’d make it in time for her class.

With less than 2 blocks to go, Courtney realized that her work phone was buzzing in her hand. She paused at the corner, trying to manifest some positive energy before she answered. This will be something small. Something I already took care of. This call will end with Miss Fame pleased and happy...

“Hello?”

“Why are the Berlin contracts not in my bag?” Fame demanded.

“You...wanted to take those home?” Courtney asked, though she already knew the answer. Why would Fame be calling her otherwise? She cringed at her own carelessness, stupidly assuming that she’d review them the next day at her meeting with Patrick.

Fame seemed to be just as annoyed with Courtney as she was with herself, sighing and saying, “Deliver them now. This stress is not good for my skin,” and then hanging up even before Courtney’s “Yes, Miss.”

Courtney stood on the corner for a few moments, catching her breath, before turning around and trudging back towards the Galactica offices, shoulders slumped in defeat.

So much for dance class.

[delldarling]

forest rumors | aspen i

forest being x gender/body neutral reader 3000 words sfw | size difference, flirting

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The rumors around Makeout Point have been flying about for at least a month now. They range from whispers and stifled laughter over Bigfoot jokes, to scared teenagers claiming something large and utterly frightening is living out there in the woods. No two people seem to have the same description at hand, but there are two words that stick out frequently when the rumors come up. Large and hairy. 

Despite the clear and utter lack of tracks, the general consensus is that a bear must be in the area. Nothing more than an animal, roaming in the wrong places, the papers have claimed. Skeptics repeat the words so often that outright panic is halted, even though the whispers continue. Especially after forest rangers comb the area and find no evidence of bears.  

You’re rather of the opinion that it’s more along the lines of an internet hoax though. Halloween is fast approaching, and people love to seize onto stories eerie in nature, just to give themselves a bit of a thrill. Besides, you’ve been coming here frequently for years. Makeout Point is just an old hiking trail that ends in a clearing. It’s perfect for teenage parties, complete with a fire pit made out of stones gathered from the woods or brought out specially by people that want to make a mark. During the day it’s nothing more than a nice place to wander about the trees and get away from the noise of the highway. 

It… Isn’t particularly hard to imagine the silly Bigfoot stories though. Most forests have always given off that trees have eyes vibe, but there are a few spots, particularly in the mouth of the clearing, that give you more than the chills, the feeling of something lives here. You’ve always simply chalked it up to the fact that the spot is old. You go out there anyway, despite the strange feeling, despite the rumors, because sometimes dealing with the local populace just sucks. And nature, if not always a forgiving entity, is still more soothing.  

You’ve always tended to err on the side of caution though, and generally time your visits for midday. Any earlier and frost peppers the ground, making any branches slick and dangerous, and you don’t feel like bundling up from head to toe. Not unless you absolutely have to. Any later and you risk running into couples of some sort, sometimes teens giggling and kissing, and sometimes people twice your age or more, looking to relive old memories with their spouses. Not to mention the darkness, which is almost absolute if you go wandering about in the evening.

“One day,” you mutter, cresting the hill that darkens from one step to the next. The trees grow thickly here, and the temperature drops sharply due to constant shade. “One day, I’ll bring someone out here with me.” You come to a stop under one of the trees, adjusting your sweatshirt, and then freeze when you hear a strange creaking noise. It sounds a bit like a branch bending, the creak of wood getting ready to break, and you can’t help cautiously lifting your head- but there’s nothing above you. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Leaves shift in the breeze, small slivers of sunshine casting the illusion of water over the forest floor… You’re still alone. 

You would have heard someone stumbling about by now if you weren’t, but you can’t shake the feeling of something… something watching. It’s never been quite this eerie before, but the rumors have never been quite so widespread either. 

“Letting the stories get to me,” you say, sighing, and purposely turn away from the shadows deeper in the treeline. The back of your brain is almost insisting that you saw one of them move. You ignore it. Thoughts like that lend only to potential embarrassment. Or maybe a ridiculous run back down to the parking lot. “Maybe I should have asked for company,” you mutter wryly, “just to be safe.” 

The breeze picks up, chill air seeping through the weave of your clothes like it’s sole purpose is to make you shudder. You stamp your feet a few times, rubbing at your own arms and force yourself to get moving. The only way to get a bit of warmth running through you right now is by movement, and the sooner you get this walk over with today, the better. 

You shift branches out of the way with your feet as you walk, needles and leaves crunching underfoot. Despite the strange feeling, it’s calming out here. You can’t hear the cars any longer, and this time of year it’s always fairly quiet. Most of the birds have moved on by now. That, of course, probably lends to the eerie stories most of the locals have been passing around. It’s always easier to frighten someone in absolute silence under the trees. 

You’re scrambling over a fallen log when you realize the creaking - just branches in the wind, you tell yourself - is getting louder. Your eyes dart up to the trees overhead, wondering if some kind of storm is going to blow through here soon. You’ll have to speed things along if you don’t want to get caught by fallen limbs. 

“Did you truly want company? I would have come to you sooner.” 

The surprise has you tripping over your own feet. You slide through the leaves, just barely catching yourself before your face hits the ground and pause where you are, trying to regulate your breathing. And your irritation. 

“Have you just been waiting for someone to stumble through here?” You demand, slowly getting back to your feet and whirling about. The path behind you is empty. Just the same, shadowy trail you’ve been walking, peppered with the smallest hints of sunlight and stray branches. You brush your dirt sprinkled hands over your trousers, frowning. You didn’t imagine that voice. It was clearer than a bell, ringing in your ears, though the tone was… Off. “...uh, hello?” You ask softly, heart jack-hammering inside your rib-cage, eyes searching the area in vain. You still can’t spot anyone. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” someone says and their voice- It has every hair on your body standing on end. It echoes strangely, smooth and rough all at once as it fills your senses, and then the creaking noise comes to a rustling stop behind you. 

You turn, promising yourself that you won’t scream- and you have to lift your head to meet their eyes. They’re unbelievably tall, branches curving off of their head and away from their shadowed face like horn, and that creaking starts up again as they kneel slowly, balancing themselves with a splayed hand on the ground. They’re humanoid, you notice vaguely, in that they have a torso, arms and legs. But their eyes- all you can truly see of them is the faint reflection of daylight off of their dark irises. You haven’t screamed, but you’re finding it a little difficult to breathe, air catching in your throat.

Perhaps it’s an age old instinct: sitting on the ground and curling your arms over your head. Don’t see me, the pose screams, even though you know you don’t have a hope in hell of that happening. They’ve already seen you, they’ve been speaking to you, they claimed they were waiting for you. You want to kick the ass of the person that claimed Bigfoot was out here at Makeout Point because fucking Bigfoot doesn’t even begin to cover the ent-like being in front of you. You’re fairly sure that hand of theirs could wrap around your torso - you’re willing to bet that they’ve got Bigfoot beaten in foot size. Or would it be trunk size? Your eyes flash open, darting to where their feet should be, but- You can’t focus on that now and you close your eyes again.

“For… For me?” You finally ask in a choked tone, knowing the silence has gone on for too long. Don’t make the giant tree being angry, right? That’s a good piece of advice if you’ve ever heard one. Manners help every situation. 

“Yes,” they answer, and they’re closer. You can feel them looming over you, and there’s a faint, warmer breeze that makes you think it might be their breath.

“Ah.” You swallow, preparing yourself - it’s animatronic, your brain quickly lies, and then you’re hesitantly lowering your arms and lifting your face, just a little. You blink open your eyes, focusing on what you think is their shoulder, covered with moss and dotted with the tiniest mushrooms you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You don’t even attempt to glance at their face. Cute mushrooms feel… Safe. “And… And you are?” You ask, because manners.

“Hmm,” they sit back, slow and careful. Your eyes are drawn to their chest. It’s smoother there, void of moss, and the whorls and grain remind you of polished, petrified wood. “Aspen,” they say decisively, and you can’t help but wonder if they chose the name, just now. They don’t look like an aspen tree, not that you’re an expert in tree identification, but aspen trees are pale, nearly white with markings that remind many people of eyes. Aspen is… More of a gray. Silvery.

“Lovely,” you offer, and mean it. The name rolls off of the tongue and for all that they’re frightening because of their size? Their head tilts, a pleased noise rumbling out of them, and you can’t help it, you look back at their face - and then quickly away. It’s not that Aspen’s face is horrifying. You close your eyes, and you think that looking at them from an artistic viewpoint, they’re a wondrous creation. But Aspen is- is- The problem is that you don’t know what Aspen is, and you’ve never seen their like outside of movie screens. The real wonder here is that you’re still not screaming, and you haven’t passed out. 

“Lovely,” they repeat and then they’re reaching towards you, and your heart nearly gives out. One long branch of a fingertip strokes over your shoulder, and the touch is softer by far than you thought it would be, not even catching on the material of your sweatshirt. They repeat the motion as soon as they’ve finished, adjusting the pressure when they tip you over a little bit. 

“So,” you start, focusing back on their mushroomed shoulder, letting them stroke down your arm like you’re some kind of cat. They nearly upend you with every pass, but they’re being gentle. You can let it go. You don’t dare tell them to cease because they’re tall and likely strong and- “You, uh, are you from around here?” It’s strangely charming, having such a large creature fawning over you. 

Aspen makes another humming noise, pausing in their stroke to glance back towards Makeout Point proper. “I came into being here, yes,” they tell you. “I’ve watched for many years.”

You’re not sure you have a response for that. Is Aspen saying that- that they’ve watched Makeout Point for years? In which case, part of you wants to cringe. Some kind of forest.. Forest being and they’ve been an eternal witness to human lust and the fumbling about of teenagers? There’s love there too, you suppose, but having been raised in society- The thought of being trapped there, watching humans of varying ages copulate, isn’t exactly a good one.

“I’ve seen you here too, Lovely,” and it’s then that you realize: Aspen thinks your name is Lovely. You honestly don’t know how to go about correcting them, so you let it lie. 

“Yeah,” you say, nodding as Aspen resumes their careful stroking of your arm. “I- I come out here because I think it’s nice, the trees are gorgeous-” you halt, lips pressing together to stem the flow of words. Does that count as a compliment? What if they don’t call them trees, what if you’ve overstepped?

“Yes. You drew my interest,” they tell you and they turn their face to you again, their breath soft as it breezes over your cheeks. They smell like greenery. Crushed leaves and sweet grass, and the tang of pine.

You came out here for nothing more than your usual stroll through the woods. You’ve never been particularly verbose, walking through here, and you’re not sure exactly what made you stand out to them, but- “If you don’t mind my, my asking, Aspen, what exactly did I do that, uh, drew your interest?”      

They shift even closer, leaving off their stroking of your shoulder to reach both their hands towards your face. The movement has you closing your eyes again, heart ceasing it’s rhythm, as if any moment now you’re going to be crushed, so-

“You’re not the same,” Aspen murmurs, branch-like fingers both cradling and caging your face. Their fingers prick at your skin, leaves twisting into your hair as they move, and every wince or change of expression has them leaning close to examine you. They’re being as gentle as they know how, as gentle as they’ve observed other humans acting. The problem is that they’ve only ever seen humans being intimate, if their words are anything to go by, and they’re close enough to kiss. You can’t take a breath without tasting growing things on the air. “You’re not like them. Attached. Out of reach.”

The words startle a nearly-hysterical laugh out of you, which has Aspen straightening, great eyes blinking slowly in confusion. You notice with a start that their eyelashes remind you of minuscule ferns and you find yourself wondering what they’d feel like against your cheek. “Is that why you’re interested in me? Because I’m always here alone?”

There’s a shifting, leaves rustling and branches creaking as they let go of your face, and your heart starts up again, though you hope you haven’t offended them. Instead of moving away like you expect, Aspen’s hands pluck you up as they get to their feet. Air rushes past you. They’re ridiculously careful, hand underneath your thighs to support your weight, and one across your chest and curled around your arm, to keep you from falling. You’re still not entirely sure you can breathe correctly. You feel like your brain must be short circuiting - you’re still not screaming or shouting your head off, and part of your brain says this is fine - you’re only like six feet off of the ground. Maybe you hit your head crawling over that log earlier, and all of this is your imagination.

You have no idea where Aspen is taking you, but they’re heading straight for Makeout Point now, their footsteps so slow and measured that you can barely hear them walking. They don’t fill the silence with speech either, though you notice that one of their fingers is still shifting softly across your neck and the top of your shoulder. They must like the feeling of your skin- or maybe they like the warmth? 

They come to a halt in the clearing, gently uncurling their hold on your chest to point at the spot… At the spot you usually sit. You realize with a start that the tree you usually sit at the base of is gone, and you have to glance back at Aspen in surprise. 

“You care for this place, Lovely. It calls to me,” Aspen whispers and they tilt their head towards you, eyes falling closed as they press the smooth bark of their face to the side of yours. “I had to answer.” Their hand curls back around your torso and a blazing heat spirals through you. From embarrassment, and because- because you’re touched. It sounds and feels fairy tale, that kindness or care within you called to a being made of the forest and they- what? Want to show you care in return? 

You’re not sure if or how they would ever intend to do that, but their experience of humans- well. It lends a bit to the carnal. A thrill runs through you at the thought. 

You whisper your name, which interrupts the strange moment of cuddling, and they open their eyes. “That’s my name. I- I was telling you earlier that I think your choice of name was lovely.”

“You’re still Lovely, to me,” they decide, but you think- you think Aspen might be smiling. 

“I… I have another question,” you say, breath coming a little fast as you glance away from them, towards the fire pit in the middle of the clearing. “I’ve been coming here for- for years. Why are you showing yourself to me now?”

Their jaw can’t shift, can’t curl into an actual smile or frown, but for a moment you think they might be annoyed. “I have no desire to speak with others,” they tell you, and there it is. The annoyance. It passes quickly, especially when they focus their attention back upon you. “There are many of them, often, and- I am not human,” they confess, like you haven’t truly noticed. They sound almost… Apologetic about it. “There was a chance you would flee, like those that have only caught glimpses of me.”

That gets your attention and you glance up at Aspen’s face again. “The people running from the woods lately- they came across you?” 

They nod their head in agreement. 

That explains the rumors. It still makes you snort though, because large hairy animal or Bigfoot still doesn’t even come close to describing Aspen. Never mind the fact that they don’t have a hint of fur on their body. Moss, mushrooms and a drapery of lichen - you wonder if these people even got a good view of Aspen before they ran. Not that you truly blame them. Aspen is so large. 

"But this time," they say, continuing, "you asked for company. I would never have intruded," Aspen explains, nodding at the place they're typically rooted. "But if I can give you something-"

That warmth fills your chest near to bursting. Softness and embarrassment, all at once.

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...turn the page?

[something-tofightfor]

Christmas in Wyoming - Two

Pairing: Logan Delos x Emma .... Logan Delos x Reader

Word count: 5330

Rating: M (language)

Author’s Note: Here we gooooooo

Taglist: feel free to ask me to remove you… or to add you!

@banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious @madamrogers @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @drinix @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @benbarnestongue @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12 @dreamwritesimagines @waytoobsessedwithmyfandoms @lexxierave @ms-delos @elanor-of-imladris @lynne1993 @dreams-with-thoughts @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mfackenthal  @traeumerinwitzhelden @bucky-is-my-precious @weallhaveadestiny @ladyblablabla @sweetybuzz25 @luminex3 @christinawxxx @thesumofmychoices @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf @gollyderek @honeyydippaa @thesandbeneathmytoes @malik-payne @geeksareunique @bellastellaluna @agentlingerie @elioelioeli0  @wangmangagavroche

“So you’ve lived here with your aunt and uncle for most of your life?” Logan brought the coffee mug to his lips, sipping it. “Your uncle wouldn’t stop talking about you.” Really? He laughed before he continued, Logan’s eyes flicking around the semi-crowded room. “Says you’re a huge help to them, that you’re going to run the place when they retire.” 

“He talks a lot, Logan.” You picked off a piece of the lemon muffin that you’d ordered with your coffee, popping it into your mouth. “But yeah, I came out here with them after I lost my parents, and when I turned fourteen or fifteen, they started having me do work around the place - cleaning up the campground and cabins, checking guests in and out, doing the shopping for the resort…” You shrugged. “Made choosing where I went to college and what I went for much simpler.” He quirked a brow at you and you continued. “Two degrees; one in business, one in hospitality.” 

 “Damn.” He said the single word softly, shaking his head. “There good schools around here, or…” 

 “No, I went to State in Pennsylvania and Notre Dame, so I had to leave here for a while, but I came back during the summers… we’re really busy then, and Brandon and Elle needed the help.” The story was one you told often, both to guests that you befriended and the friends you had. “It makes sense for me to take over for them, they’ve owned it for decades, and want to keep it in the family. I’m the logical… well, the only choice.” Logan smiled at you, and while you both ate and drank, you took the opportunity to look him over more closely than you had before. 

 He’d shrugged out of his coat as soon as he set his tray down, pulling the hat from his head and stuffing it into the front pocket before sitting, his posture on the chair casual. Though his cheeks had been reddened from the cold while you waited in line, they weren’t anymore, his skin pale and smooth above his beard - which he’d trimmed to a much shorter style than it had been previously. It looks better this way.  In the light of the bakery, Logan’s eyes were still dark, but you saw that they were more brown than black, softened slightly as they fell on your face. How am I here with him now? “What?” The smile had turned back into a smirk, and you shook your head, bringing yourself out of your thoughts. “You can take your coat off, you know. Stay a while.” He glanced down into his mug. “I might even get another cup. You want one?” 

 “I… sure.” You nodded. “C-”

 “Cold brew with cream and salted caramel, right?” Blinking quickly, you nodded at him as he stood, heading back to the counter with your empty cups in hand. I didn’t realize he listened to what I ordered. Huh. The line was shorter than it had been, but you knew it would still take Logan a few minutes to get the drinks, and you drummed your fingers on the table as you waited, chin in the other hand. The conversation you’d had with Logan - him asking you questions and listening intently had been nothing like you expected - and nothing like what the tabloids and Internet made him out to be. There hadn’t been a good moment for you to bring up the fact that you knew who he was, but you knew that before you separated, you had to. Be honest about it. I’m sure he already thinks you know. Taking a deep breath, you stood, unzipping your coat and sliding your arms out of it, draping it over the back of your chair - much like he’d done. “You really do dress for the weather out here, don’t you.” 

 You froze, turning back toward Logan, who was standing on the opposite side of the table, holding both of your coffees. Shit. “Yeah, Logan.” You collected yourself quickly, reaching out to take your drink from him before you sat, careful not to touch his hand. “Some of us prepare accordingly when it’s supposed to be below freezing.” You’d thrown on an oversized sweater and a pair of insulated leggings with your boots that morning - an outfit that you figured none of the women Logan associated with would be caught dead in, but still, he eyed you with a little appreciation, eyes moving downward from your face and then back up. 

 “This place isn’t what I expected.” Logan took another drink of his coffee, shaking his head before he ran a hand through his hair, pale fingers visible through the long, dark strands. “People are friendly, the scenery is beautiful, the food’s been good so far…” Logan shook his head. “There are worse places to spend the holidays, I guess.” Is that a compliment? I can’t tell. “Nothing against you or Fireside or … but like I said, I’m used to warmth and… God, the last time I saw snow had to be years ago.” Logan fell silent, staring down at his mug, and you noticed that his fingers were tightly wrapped around the container, brow furrowed. 

 “Where do you usually spend Christmas, Logan?” You were genuinely curious, though you didn’t really expect him to answer. “You said you’re used to sun and sand and warmth, so -”

 “Wherever my family isn’t.” He offered you a tight lipped smile, shaking his head. “We’re not that close, especially since my sister got married to... “ He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I… it doesn’t matter. But this… I needed to get away, and I figured that putting myself in the middle of nowhere would be a good break.” Oh, Logan. You thought back to the stories that you’d read, the things people said about Logan and his father and his brother in law. It’s serious. “You don’t want to hear about that, though, I’m sorry.” It’s time to tell him. You closed your eyes, squaring your shoulders and then took a long drink from your straw. 

 “Logan, I need to be honest with you.” He looked confused for a second, but you continued. “I… know who you are.” You watched as he stiffened briefly, waiting, the look on his face changing. “I didn’t at first, when I came to get you? But after I went home last night, a friend of mine called, freaking out because you were at Snow King yesterday.” You leaned back, but Logan stayed silent, watching you. “When she mentioned Westworld, it kind of clicked, because I’ve heard of the park before, but…” You shook your head, looking down. “I looked you up online, because I couldn’t believe it - why would someone like you stay at a place like Fireside? All of the resorts are so much more … fitting, I guess? We’re nothing compared to them, and you’re one of the wealthiest men in the world, so why would you pick a place like ours?” 

 “That’s what you’re worried about?” His voice was low, and Logan leaned in over the table, closer to you. “You looked me up online and saw… whatever it is that you saw and you’re worried about why I picked your place over one of the others?” He laughed, and you took a breath, surprised at the sound. “That’s the question you ask me?” 

 “Well, yeah.” You frowned at him, meeting his eyes again and not looking away like you’d done before. “What else would I worry about? Your personal life? Your … extracurricular activities? That’s none of my business, Logan.” He looked surprised, but you continued. “All I need to worry about is whether or not we’re doing what we need to do to make the time you spend with us what you hope it will be, nothing more.” He was silent for a while, watching you, his face giving nothing away. 

 “So you’re friends with Emma?” He asked the question casually, and though you hadn’t expected it, you were able to keep the flinch contained - barely. 

 “We were friends once, yes.” Biting down on your lower lip, you thought before continuing. “It’s hard to be friends with someone when they’re constantly trying to one up you and your business. And it’s fine, she’s focused on Snow King and her family, and she should be, but we’re… so different, that it shouldn’t matter.” Logan had leaned in again, watching you as you spoke. “It wasn’t her that called, Logan, it was a mutual friend.” He nodded. “You being here in Jackson Hole is a big deal, apparently. Everyone’s curious. We don’t get as many celebrities as Aspen or Vale or -” 

 “Celebrities?” He laughed again, tossing his head back. “I’m not a celebrity, I’m just a rich prick with too much money and not enough good sense to spend it well.” Logan grinned. “Did you tell your friend I’m staying in one of your cabins?” 

 “Of course not, that’s not… I wouldn’t ever. I don’t care who you are, you’re a guest, and you’re entitled to your privacy while you’re here. All of our employees know to keep quiet about it, too.” He considered your words carefully, wetting his lips with a few quick swipes of his tongue. 

 “I’d like to keep it that way, if possible.” That’s what I just said, Logan, I won’t say a word. “I’m… meeting your… meeting Emma for dinner tonight.” Logan’s fingers played with the napkin on the table, eyebrows knit together. “She asked and I didn’t say no, but… I’m assuming it wouldn’t go over well if she knew where I was staying, would it?” You shook your head, deciding not to try to hide things from him. 

 “It won’t, she’d try to convince you to stay there the rest of the time if she knew.” And we need the money. “She’ll show you a good time, Logan.” The words came out before you could stop them, and you widened your eyes, hand going to your mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He laughed again, leaning back in. “She’s not a bad person, Logan, she just…” You’re an idiot. You basically just told him he was going to get laid if he wanted to. 

 “No, stop.” He winked at you, and you felt your breath catch. “I know what you’re saying, and I got the same vibe.” 

 “That why you agreed to go out with her?” You spoke again without thinking, and even as Logan laughed, you put your face into both hands, groaning. You’re so goddamn dumb. “That’s none of my business, I’m sorry.” You peeked up at him, finding that he was watching you closely, one thumb pressed against his lips, teeth just visible as he chewed on the nail. Glancing behind him, you were surprised to see that it was almost 2:30, and that just under two hours had passed with him. “It’s late, I think I should get going.” He frowned. “They close at three, Logan, I don’t want to be those people.” 

 After putting your coats back on, you collected your trash and empty plates and made your way toward the front of the bakery, Logan nodding to the young woman and man behind the counter. When you stepped outside, you watched as he pulled his hat on, covering his ears. “Thanks for this.” He shook his head, stepping closer to you as a gust of wind made you shiver. “Halfway figured you’d say no… I’m surprised you didn’t, knowin’ what you do about me.” No way. 

 “Of course, Logan, maybe you’ll let me repay the favor before you leave Wyoming.” He raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the highway and then back at you, eyes moving over your face. “There’s a restaurant I think you’d like, but it’s a little bit of a drive.” He nodded twice, opening his mouth to speak. “Hey.” You closed your eyes. “I hope you have fun with Emma tonight.” He looked shocked as you continued, his mouth closing. “I’m not surprised that she asked you out.” 

 “Why’s that?” I’m not going to give you the satisfaction. He waited, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched you. 

 “Despite what the tabloids might say about you - and what you say about yourself, Logan Delos, I think you’re actually less of an asshole than you pretend to be.” He laughed again, shaking his head and muttering the word ‘wow’ under his breath. “But I still have some work to do this afternoon, and you have a date to get ready for.” He rolled his eyes. 

 “It’s just dinner.” And some drinks, I’m sure. And shameless flirting on both ends.

 “Where are you taking her?” You held up a finger. “Wait, let me guess. She picked the place… and it’s…” You thought, closing your eyes for a second. “Hayden’s, right?” He nodded slowly. “Figured. She’d want to be seen with you in her own resort’s restaurant.” Logan didn’t say anything and so you continued. “It’s a shame, really. The food’s alright, but there are plenty of other places to go that are just as good.” Before you could stop yourself, you reached out, squeezing Logan’s arm through his sleeve, surprised to find it much smaller than you’d imagined. He’s thin. “Thanks for this afternoon, Logan. See you around.” 

 “Yeah. Hey,” he called after you, following you down the steps. “Really, it’s just dinner. I just figured -”

 “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Logan. You’re an adult.” You paused, a hand on your door handle. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” He gave you a tight nod and you turned away from him, opening your door and climbing inside. You warned him without warning him. Whatever happens, happens. By the time you’d pulled out of your spot and were preparing to turn left onto 390, Logan had pulled behind you, blinker on to turn right. Raising a hand to him in the rearview mirror, you watched as he did the same, a small wave visible before you edged forward and out of the parking lot. 

 --- 

 But you didn’t see Logan the following day, though you noticed that his lights were on in the cabin when you showed up for work just before 7. Jeep’s windows are frosted over… means he’s been back for a while. There were no extra tire tracks in the fresh snow behind his car either, and though you didn’t know why, it filled you with relief. Brandon kept you busy, sending you out in a different Jeep for extra supplies for the cabins that would be filled the following week, and when you got back a little after five, Logan’s car was still parked - still frosted over. Lazy day for him, I guess. 

 You helped your aunt and uncle unpack, promising that you’d be back early the next morning to sort through the items that you’d purchased and get them to where they needed to be, and even though Elle told you that someone else was capable, you waved her off, Logan’s face in the back of your mind. After stopping home to change, you got back in the car, driving to meet Gina and Ana at Snake River Brewing, where an order of nachos and a beer were already waiting for you as you slid into your seat. I needed this. 

 The three of you talked for a while, ordering entrees and a second round of drinks, and you forgot all about Logan, about the issues at the resort, about the unease you’d been feeling for the previous few months. I needed this. By the time your food came, you were relaxed, listening to Ana talk about something that her husband had done the day before - until a voice cut in from behind you. “I didn’t get an invite?” Shit. You closed your eyes, beer glass frozen halfway between the table and your lips. “Can I sit?” Ana’s eyes flicked to you and you nodded minutely, gesturing to the empty seat across the table from you. “Thanks!” 

 Emma dropped gracefully into the chair, looking over her shoulder as the waitress came back to the table, taking her drink order. Though you stayed quiet for the first few minutes, only offering a response when it was required, you studied your former friend. Her long, dark hair was down around her shoulders, the sweater she was wearing expensive and perfectly suited for her body. Wonder what she wore last night. “How’d your date go?” Gina finally asked the question that Emma had been waiting for, and the brunette leaned in, one hand wrapped around her beer glass, perfect manicure on display. Here we go. Though you hadn’t wanted to admit it, you were curious to know, too. Did you impress him? Did he impress you?

 “Well.” She grinned, biting her lip and looking around, eyes falling on each of you in turn. “I don’t know if Gina told … everyone, but I went out with Logan Delos last night.” She paused, taking a long drink. “He showed up in the ski shop the other day, and I couldn’t not ask him out, right? He was even better looking in person than in pictures, and, I just…” She sighed, shaking her head. “He’s not staying at Snow King, but I’m sure he’s somewhere in town - he wouldn’t tell me where, though, and I tried everything to get it out of him.” She frowned, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers. “We went to dinner at Hayden’s, had some drinks, and… he’s incredible.” She leaned in, a knowing smile on her face. “If he’s here alone, and I definitely think he is, he’s gotta be interested in investing somewhere, and my parents would kill me if I didn’t make him see how great our place is.” Sure. Like you need more investors. 

 “Isn’t Delos mostly tech-oriented, though?” You finally spoke, head tilted to the side. “What kind of technology could a ski resort use that it doesn’t already have?” Emma rolled her eyes, but you continued. “Maybe he’s just here to get away for the holidays.” 

 “It doesn’t matter.” Emma shrugged, one finger moving up to her lips as she wiped away a few wayward drops of beer. “I don’t care why he’s here, I’m just glad he is.” Gina leaned in, asking a few more questions, and you caught Ana’s eye, shooting her a deadpan look. “He kissed me goodnight.” A few minutes later, your attention went fully back to Emma and you felt your stomach drop. He did? “Well, he kissed me back, I guess. When I kissed him.” She giggled. “I invited him back to my place but he said no, said that he didn’t want to give me the wrong impression.” She grinned, eyes falling on you. “He’s not usually like that, he must actually like me, playing hard to get.” Or maybe he wasn’t interested. “Anyway, one of the resort photographers got a few pictures of us eating, and those are going to go up on the Instagram page in a few days. What great publicity it’ll be for us - Logan Delos of Delos Inc, on a date with me? We’ll book the final few rooms for the holidays no problem.” Oh, how dare you. 

 After that, you tuned out completely, only hearing a few of the words that Emma, Ana and Gina said, asking for the check the next time the waitress came to the table. “You seeing him again, Emma?” You finally spoke again as you stood, pulling your coat on, fingers going through your hair as you pulled it from beneath your collar. “Seems like you had a good time.” She laughed, pressing her plump lips together and looked up at you. 

 “We are. He said he’d call, but when he does, I’m going to make sure to show him a real good time while he’s here, show him what I can offer him.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean?” Oh, I do. “I’d suggest that we all meet up together, give him a taste of Jackson Hole, but...wouldn’t it be awkward for you?” Gina hissed Emma’s name, reaching for the girl’s arm, but Emma waved her off. “I mean, since you and Colin broke up, it’s not like we could go on a group date or anything.” Rather than respond in the way you would have liked to - picking up her drink and throwing it into her face or punching her - you just shrugged, pulling your keys from your pocket and taking a deep breath through your nose. 

 “We broke up over a year ago, Emma. It’s not a big deal. And I very highly doubt that Logan would want to meet a bunch of your friends on a second date, anyway. He doesn’t seem like the type to get attached.” She recoiled, and you looked away from her, saying goodbye to the other two before you turned and headed out to your car. So he kissed her, and they’re planning on going out again. Without waiting for the car to warm up, you put it in reverse and pulled out of the parking space, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Good for him. 

 --- 

 The following morning, you woke up determined to get everything done for the coming guests before heading home for the weekend, since you’d be handling more than a few new guests the following week. You were looking forward to the time off, thinking that you’d get more done around the house as well as finish up your Christmas shopping, but mainly, you were excited to be away from Logan, especially knowing that he’d apparently hit it off with Emma. It doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to hear about it. 

 Pulling down the drive toward the lodge, you glanced over, seeing Logan’s jeep missing from it’s spot, even though it was early. Oh. Parking and letting yourself into the lodge, you busied yourself with making lists of the individual cabin needs, separating out the items that had been specially requested and designated for delivery. Emma and Brandon were gone for the day, and the rest of the staff knew what they were supposed to be doing, so you worked in the comfort of the main room, phone playing music as the boxes of items were packed. “Good morning.” 

 “Shit!” His voice startled you and you looked up from your place on the floor, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” Logan was standing in the doorway, a small smile on his face as he held two cups in his hands. Where’s his coat?  

 “Brought you coffee.” He licked his lips, stepping into the room. “Your aunt and uncle told me they had the day off today, and I figured that meant you’d be here.” What? “Ordered you the same thing you got the other day, I thought…” He trailed off, eyes on you. “What’s wrong?” Logan pulled a seat over from the lone table, settling down and holding the plastic cup out to you. 

 “Nothing, Logan.” You accepted the coffee from him, feeling his chilled fingers brush yours for a moment. It doesn’t matter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to…” He shook his head, looking around the room. “I figured you went out last night and hadn’t made it back yet.” 

 “That why you’re so annoyed with me?” Logan shook his head back and forth slowly. “You think I’m stayin’ out all night with someone after only a few days here? That what you think of me?” He paused, shaking his head. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’m sure that’s exactly what the tabloids would have you believe.” Logan sighed. “No. I woke up early and went for a drive to look around, and then stopped at that bakery, because it was good.” 

 “Logan,” you said, uncrossing your legs and drawing your knees up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you, I shouldn’t have…” He waved you off with one hand, eyes moving around the room again.

 “What do you guys use this room for?” He sipped his coffee, gesturing with a long finger that he uncurled from around the cup. “I see  the tree an’ the lights and decorations, but…” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth. “This would be a good place for groups to gather, like... “ Logan trailed off. “For events and shit?” 

 “That’s exactly what we do, Logan. When we’re booked, we usually have tables and stuff set up in here, and Elle does meals, or we have movie nights, or crafts for the kids.” You took a drink of your coffee, shaking your head. “It’s busier in the summer, like I said, and... “ Your eyes moved around, looking at the boxes of items for the cabins, remembering the previous summer months. “We do a Christmas brunch, so if you want, you’ll see it full then.” As you looked back at Logan, you saw that he was still looking around the room, eyes lingering on the corners, the windows that overlooked the trees and the empty RV lot behind the building. 

 “What are you doing today?” He spoke suddenly, snapping your attention back to him. “I mean, after you’re done here? With this?” You looked around the room. Though there were only ten cabins to prep, you figured you’d be busy until at least noon, especially since you had to lug the boxes into the different units. Wait, why is he asking? He’s …. Emma. 

 “Logan.” You looked directly into his eyes, shaking your head. “There’s no reason to…” You stopped, rubbing your hands over your face. “I went out with my friends last night, and Emma was… there.” He stiffened. “She told us all about your date, about how you’re going to see her again, about how you… about your kiss.” You almost couldn’t get the words out, but you forced them. “She seemed very sure of -”

 “Of what?” He stood, glaring down at you. “Of the fact that she kissed me? That she propositioned me in the restaurant?” He shook his head, pushing his sleeves up to just below his elbows as he spoke. “I donno what you read about me, but there’s more to me than booze and sex and…” He shook his head, hair falling over his eyes. “I have no intention of seeing Emma again, but since you’ve already made up your mind, I guess that’s all I need to know.” He shook his head and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. Stand up. Stop him. “Enjoy your coffee.” Logan turned and began walking out of the room, but you were on your feet before he’d taken more than a few steps, following him. 

 “Logan, wait. Stop.” You reached out again, gripping his arm just above the elbow. “Please.” He did, turning to face you with disappointment etched across his features. “What you do is your business, but I know Emma, and…” You shook your head, trying to reconcile that he was only inches from you, that he smelled incredible, that you could see the freckles on his skin clearly - one beneath his right eye, another high on his left cheekbone - that he hadn’t pulled his arm away from your grasp. “I like you, Logan, and she’s… she might seem…” You shook your head without breaking eye contact. “It’s not real, Logan. Everything she does is…”

 “Fake?” He licked his lips, taking a fraction of a step closer, his body shifting. “She practically screamed at me when I suggested we go somewhere else for dinner to keep it low profile.” Logan shook his head, glancing down for a split second. “You were right that she… she wanted to be seen with me.” I knew it. “And you warned me.” He laughed, and your eyes were drawn to the corners of his eyes, skin wrinkled, the same true of the bridge of his nose. He’s… I can’t, I need to step back. But you didn’t, waiting for him to speak instead. “I thought it was just you bein’... a typical woman, right? Jealous or whatever, since you two don’t get along.” Seriously? You opened your mouth to speak but he stopped you with a raised finger. “I did say I’m an asshole.” You chuckled, surprised that you were responding coherently with him so close. “But when she wouldn’t go somewhere else, and hinted before we even got our food that she was willing to show me her place, I realized you were right.” 

 “Logan, you don’t have to…” He licked his lips again, shaking his head as his raised finger turned into two, and they moved closer to your face, stopping just before they touched you. 

 “I do, though.” He took in a breath and slowly let it out, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” Oh, shit. “None of these people know what I want, an’ they just assume.” You felt him touch you, fingertips against your hair, his face impossibly close. “She kissed me, and it surprised me, and I kissed her back.” Of course you did. But the moment wasn’t broken and Logan continued, the arm that you were still holding rising, hand settling at your waist, his fingers gently curling into the material of your hoodie. “But it won’t happen again,” he said softly, leaning in, lips pressing against your cheek once before he moved them to your ear. “Because I’ve got enough people usin’ me at home, and I don’t need that here, too.” 

 All you needed to do was turn your head slightly and your mouth would meet his - and in that moment, you realized how much you wanted it, how attracted to him you were. I shouldn’t, I can’t. Frozen in place, you felt Logan’s palm on the side of your head, his hand tugging you closer at the waist, breath warm on your skin. “Logan.” Your voice was thick and you swallowed, using your free hand to push against his chest - gently but firmly. “I don’t… we don’t know each other.” His hands didn’t move but he allowed you to move his body backwards. He’s surprised. 

 “Can we change that?” He cleared his throat, finally dropping his hands from you and Logan looked down, staring at his feet for long seconds. “You know what the Internet says, and a lot of that shit is true, but…” He stopped, eyes back on your face. “There are things to…that you should hear from me, not from a newspaper or a gossip column. And if I tell you, and you don’t… you still want to know me, at least it’s ...” You wanted to say yes, wanted to agree to get to know the real Logan Delos, but you couldn’t form the words. He’ll be gone in a few weeks, and it’ll be like … he’ll go back to his mansion, back to his life, back to… “Hey, everything alright?” He was still standing there, still waiting for you to respond - and after another few seconds of staring into his eyes, you made a decision. 

 “Yes.” With a nod of your head, you continued. “I’d like that, Logan.” He again seemed surprised but the smile that he gave you in return was dazzling. Eye crinkles and all. “What does ‘getting to know Logan Delos’ entail out here in the middle of nowhere?” He laughed, stepping back and running his hand through his hair. 

 “Well, in Los Angeles, I’d take you out somewhere obnoxiously expensive, show you that I don’t care what I spend on a date, that we can go anywhere, even without a reservation, because I’m Logan Delos.” Bigshot. “But… A, I don’t think that would impress you, and B, I don’t think that there’s anywhere here like that… so…” He sighed, reaching down to run his knuckles over the back of your hand before he closed his fingers around yours, squeezing. “You mentioned that there was somewhere you thought I’d like?” 

--- 

[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 12

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Chapter 12

THEY HAD TALKED. All night. Discussed what was going to happen with them, how they needed to be careful with the dynamic they wanted—how they wanted to be together. They were up until four in the morning, talking and talking and talking, figuring everything out. It was unreal to both of them that they were, essentially, back together—and not just for the sake of Luna, but because they wanted to be. Because after everything, they realized that what they felt for each other never went away, and that it was damn near impossible to feel that way for anyone else other than the person in front of them.

They talked about taking things slow, about not rushing into anything because it wasn’t just them involved—they had Luna to think about too. Confusing her in any way was the last thing they wanted to do, but they wanted this to work, more than anything. They wanted to be together, wanted each other, wanted this small family.

“So long as we put in the effort, I know we got this. Because I sure as hell am not letting you both go a second time.”

And once Calum had said that, he’d effectively gotten rid of almost all of Aspen’s worries. Slowly but surely, they’d get this. They’d make it work. She knew they would, and that level of confidence and reassurance made her feel better. Because being with Calum—it’s what she wanted. What she felt for him. . . That would never happen with anyone else.

It was almost dizzying, how quickly she felt as though her feelings for him came back. They talked all night, and the deeper their conversation got, the clearer it got that neither she nor Calum truly moved on from the other; neither had a relationship after the break up, mostly because Aspen was too occupied with Luna and just never was interested, and Calum was too hung up on her to consider anything but a hook up. Once they came to the realization that they only wanted the other, it was overwhelming how instant their feelings for the other came to the forefront. Neither was complaining, though.

When Aspen woke the next morning, she blinked tiredly at the sight of the brown eyes already looking at her. She blinked, leaning back slightly as she sleepily admired the sight of Calum so close, so flushed with sleep with full pink lips. He laid on his side facing her, curls falling across his forehead, and Aspen was kind of floored at how gorgeous he was. Calum’s lips quirked. “Think that was the best night’s sleep I had.”

His statement was accompanied with his hand sliding under Aspen’s shirt—being one of Calum’s black tees she borrowed—making her melt under the warm touch of his hand on her waist. He slid it to her back, pressing her closer to him, his piney, Calum scent taking over her.

Aspen smiled, lower lip pulled into her mouth as her fingers lazily played with the necklace he wore, the metal cool against her skin. “I forgot how cheesy you could be,” she hummed, the teasing tilt present in her sleepy voice.

Calum pouted, fingertips trailing up and down her back gently. His left arm rested on her pillow above her head, fingers lightly pushing back her dark hair from her forehead. “I think you mean sweet, not cheesy,” he huffed. “Cheesy is the omelet I’m gonna make you for breakfast.”

A pleasant warmth spread in her chest as Calum’s legs tangled with hers, her eyebrows raising. Thy were both wearing a pair of his pajamas, Calum letting her borrow some since it was a bit cold in his apartment. She was comfortable in his clothes, but nothing could beat the comfort and warmth his body provided. She grinned up at him, tilting her head back. “You mean a cheese and tomato omelet with scallions?” Calum’s grin widened and Aspen let out an airy laugh as her hand left his necklace to slide up his neck and to the back of his head, fingers threading through his curls. “You remember.”

It was a small detail, nothing too significant. A cheese omelet with tomatoes and scallions was her favorite breakfast to eat, but the fact that Calum actually remembered made Aspen’s heart flutter as she took in a breath. That after five years, an insignificant detail like that was something that still stuck to him.

Calum’s smile softened, feeling her foot trail up his calf over his pajamas, her front against his, and it was kind of unreal how he could see the fondness light up her green eyes. There was a lightness in his chest at the acknowledgment of him making her smile so prettily, just because he remembered one of her favorite meals. No matter the years between them and what’s happened, forgetting any aspect of Aspen was near impossible.

“Course I do,” he returned with a murmur, pressing his lips to her forehead. “There’s mango juice in the fridge for you, too.” Aspen let out a soft giggle as he reluctantly untangled himself from her, sitting up and grabbing his hoodie at the end of the bed to put it on. He ran his fingers through his messy curls, bending down to press another kiss to Aspen’s forehead before getting out of bed.

After using the bathroom, Calum left the room as Aspen laid remaining under the sheets, not quite ready to get up. Before going to the kitchen, Calum walked down the hall and quietly opened Luna’s bedroom door, peeking his head inside. His little one was still sound asleep, as was Duke, and Calum smiled to himself at the sight before shutting the door and going towards the kitchen.

There was a certain contentment that took over Calum as he prepared breakfast. He used his phone to play music off his jazz playlist, the songs at a low volume as to not to wake Luna, as he gathered the ingredients and began cooking, unable to keep the smile from upturning his lips. He worked mechanically, knowing what he needed to do to cook, but his thoughts were on the woman in his bedroom—a woman he didn’t think he would ever get back. It was surreal, having Aspen back, the fact still not settling in his mind.

Calum felt like he was light on his feet, knowing the smile on his face could be described as nothing but goofy, but damn it if he cared. He genuinely felt happy. And, he knew, there was still some shit to resolve with his mother, but he didn’t want to think about that. Not right now, when he was preparing breakfast for Luna and Aspen—he only wanted to think about them. Only wanted to focus on the serenity and bliss that was flooding his body with warmth as he finished the omelet and put it on a plate.

“Honestly, since when did you become such a chef?” Aspen’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts as she came up to his left side, cheek pressing against his bicep.

“Just somethin’ I picked up,” Calum answered truthfully right as the bread popped up from the toaster.

Aspen hummed, squeezing his arm. “Smells amazing,” she said, going to her toes and Calum automatically leaned his head down a bit towards her so she could press her lips to his cheek, his mouth quirking into a smile.

He told Aspen to dig right in as he prepared his own omelet, joining her at the table when she was halfway through her food. And they ate, in a silence disturbed only by the music still playing, comfortable and serene. Calum’s eyes kept lifting to look at the woman sitting across from him, trying to remind himself that he wasn’t dreaming, that this was reality and that so long as things went well, this was something he should get used to.

Aspen looked so at home, sitting across from him at the small round table, wearing his clothes and her hair tied back into a loose ponytail. It was scary how natural and right it seemed to be there, like this, and Calum for the first time acknowledged the small knot that twisted itself in the pit of his stomach. He was beyond happy, deliriously so, that he and Aspen were giving things another shot. That he was being given the chance to have a family with her and Luna the way he realized he desperately wanted.

But he was also scared. Despite knowing the truth of everything that’s happened, he was still scared of the thought of losing Aspen and Luna. It wasn’t Aspen’s fault, though; the second he acknowledged the seed of fear, he also came to the conclusion that he didn’t blame Aspen for it. He trusted her, he found himself realizing. She was apologetic over everything that happened, their conversation last night only emphasizing how she wanted the same things he did. He knew her leaving years ago hadn’t been voluntary. But he’d lost her once—and Calum didn’t want that to happen again.

“I can hear you thinking.” Calum blinked himself back into reality, gaze focusing on Aspen as she stared at him with a gentle yet pointed expression. She was done with her breakfast, putting down a near empty glass of mango juice. Folding her arms on the table, Aspen leaned forward a bit as she added, “What’s up, Cal?”

He wasn’t going to lie to her. Calum shrugged. “Just. . .” He let out a breath before he smiled, a mix between sheepish and accepting. “Just thinkin’ ’bout how I don’t wanna lose you and Luna. Not again.”

Aspen’s expression softened at that. Immediately, she understood what was running through Calum’s mind—it wasn’t difficult to figure out, given their situation. Slowly, she licked her lips before shifting her chair, bringing it closer to him to his right. Calum watched as Aspen’s hand came to rest on his arm, naturally pouty lips pursed before her green eyes met his. “I’m sorry I gave you reasons to have those kinds of fears and doubts,” she said genuinely, making Calum’s heart tug. Aspen leaned a bit closer, gaze never wavering. “But I promise you, we’re not going anywhere, not if I can help it.” She offered a smile. “Trust me when I say you’re stuck with us.”

Calum mirrored her breathless smile at that, letting out an airy chuckle before pressing his lips together and swallowing. Her green eyes that he couldn’t get enough of, that matched his beautiful daughter’s, were earnest and hopeful and Calum had no problem uttering the next words. “I do. Trust you, I mean. I do, angel.”

God, they had a whole conversation or two all night about their renewed relationship and how the amount of trust going in was exponential, especially on Calum’s part. Aspen felt beyond lucky and relieved that Calum wanted to give them another chance, felt her feelings for him soar each time he kissed her last night. But to hear him so honestly and easily say he trusted her—Aspen was surprised she didn’t burst into tears right then and there.

Fuck, she was pretty sure she loved him, was positive that she never stopped even after all these years of loneliness and hurt and resentment. She wanted to say it, but refrained.

Instead, she smiled, happy and real and face flushed pink, and Calum mirrored it before leaning in and giving her a quick peck on her lips—they’d just eaten eggs, after all.

A couple of hours later, around eleven thirty that morning, Calum glanced at the clock on the stereo system under the TV as he settled on the couch next to Aspen. “Should we wake her up?” he questioned with a raise of his brows.

Aspen snorted, using the remote to flick through the channels. “And deal with a cranky Luna monster? You’re on your own if you do that.”

Calum let out a chuckle at that, knowing full well that if Luna was woken up when she didn’t really have a reason to wake up then she would be even crankier than usual. He’d already dealt with that a couple of times—had no idea his little baby could be such a harsh four year old. “She gets that from you, you know,” he hummed with a smirk, arm going around Aspen’s shoulders to pull her in. It’s like he couldn’t stop needing her to be close. “Bitin’ people’s heads off for wakin’ you up.”

“Hey!” Huffing, Aspen nudged his side with her elbow as she grumbled in void annoyance, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Calum snickered. “I own nightclubs, doll. The work day hasn’t started yet. I’m all yours until then.”

Aspen blew a raspberry. “Joy.”

But, really. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

                                                      *****

“Please. Say something.”

Calum’s jaw set, gaze on his hands interlocked in the space between his thighs where he sat. There was a silence in the hotel room he was in, sitting on a cushioned chair while his mother sat on the couch diagonal of him, and Calum couldn’t quite look at her. The tension hung heavily over them, nearly suffocating Calum’s lungs even as his mother’s voice disturbed the silence.

“I just don’t get it.” His voice was hoarse, quiet with absent thought. His throat worked, biting the inside of his lower lip briefly. “I just cannot understand how you could do that. How you could make Aspen leave and push her into hiding Luna from me and be prepared to pretend that never happened for the rest of your life.” Each word spiked his blood, effectively firing up his body and igniting the anger that was simmering underneath the surface. Calum finally looked up, sharp eyes meeting his mother’s own dark ones, as he ground out, “What kind of mother does something as fucked up as that?”

Joy pressed her lips together, refraining from chastising her son for his language, knowing this wasn’t the time. She took a breath. “I was only trying to do right by you—”

Calum couldn’t even let her finish, her sentence cut off with a loud, incredulous scoff from Calum as he looked away and rubbed his hand down his mouth, shoulders shaking with a humorless laugh. He couldn’t fucking believe her—was she being serious? “Do right by me?” Calum couldn’t keep sitting, he was on his feet pacing in front of the coffee table separating him and his mother. He stopped, eyebrows draw together perpetually. “By keeping my own daughter away from me? How does that make any sense to you, Mum? What kind of parent goes about and thinks, let me just hide my own child’s kid because it’ll benefit them?” He shook his head, the disbelief and anger and betrayal tensing his body. “I’m genuinely worried that the thought even existed in your head, never mind the fact that you actually went through with it.”

“I’m not the only one who had a part of this, Calum,” Joy said sharply, not at all fond of getting an earful from her son, despite the part of her that knew she deserved it. “Aspen is just as much at fault for this as I am.”

“No, she’s not,” Calum snapped, his tone harsh and unforgiving, causing Joy to blink at him in surprise. “It was fucking terrible of her to go through with it—trust me, she knows that and I didn’t let her forget for the past few months. But she’d always been insecure when it came to our relationship, knew people talked shit about her and knew that you were one of them.” The mere thought had Calum’s heart sinking, the guilt of not making it better for Aspen hitting him strongly. He should’ve done better. “She always worried about what other people thought—especially you. The fact that you encouraged and pushed her to leave me, to take our baby, is what hurts the fucking most. You played on Aspen’s vulnerability, used the fact that she was intimidated for this sick plan of yours. She’s gotten enough shit from me, cried to me about this more than enough times. So don’t turn this back on her. At the end of the day, it was you who did this to me.”

Each word was delivered sharply, unforgivingly as Calum ranted in a thick, taut tone that heavily displayed the anger coursing through his veins. But it had to be said, each and every word, but Calum still didn’t feel better. He knew, no matter how many times he yelled or ranted, he wouldn’ t feel okay; that moving on from a truth as bitter and horrific as this would not come easily, if at all.

Calum let out a breath, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs, shoulders dropping slightly and chin lifting. He felt overwhelmed with anger and grief over this whole situation, but there were no tears. Not yet, anyway.

Looking away, Calum clenched his jaw as he gazed at nothing in particular, before his lips parted and he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. His thoughts, while all revolving around the situation at hand, were many and all over the place, an invitation for a headache. Calum wasn’t even sure if he wanted to resolve anything with his mother, wondered if all he wanted to do was let out his frustration and leave without accepting some apology.

God. Calum couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t confused in the last few months.

Looking back at his mother, Calum felt a tightness in his chest at the sight of his mum’s glassy eyes, the words he spewed getting to her. But he ignored the tension, was firm on the fact that what he said was something she needed to hear. He licked his lips, sniffling despite the lack of tears. “You keep sayin’ you were only lookin’ out for me.” Calum gave a shake of his head. “But no mother would do to her kid what you did to me.”

“Calum,” Joy spoke up, her voice breathless and shaky as she stood to her feet and hastily moved around the coffee table to stand in front of him. Calum couldn’t bring himself to look at her, using his stature to his advantage as he kept his gaze straight ahead over her head, jaw tightening when he felt her hands take his. “Honey, I’m so sorry about everything.” She spoke in a watery voice, like she was about to cry, and the acknowledgment of that had Calum’s throat drying. “I crossed a line, I know that, and I’m so sorry. At the time I-I thought I was doing the right thing but obviously it was a terrible mistake. What I did to you, Aspen, and—and Luna was heartless and if I could go back and change that, I would. I certainly would. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Her hands left his and reached up to cup Calum’s face, making him jerk ever so slightly at her touch, though her hands remained, being able to feel the tightness of his jaw. “I love you, Calum. I-I’m sorry.”

His gaze remained on the wall behind her, breathing even despite the racing of his heart. He could detect the apology in her voice, could tell how sorry she was in the way she spoke and held him, but submitting to her now just didn’t feel like something he could do. Didn’t think that the forced separation from his daughter and from Aspen was something he could just forgive in one go. It would take time. Unable to trust his mother, to be able to forgive her, left Calum with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it was because of her he’d missed out on being with Luna, being with Aspen. That wasn’t something that could be forgiven overnight.

Calum swallowed, a lump in his throat he couldn’t get rid of. He had said his piece, as did she. He didn’t want to be here anymore.

So he inhaled sharply through his nose and reached up, hands grasping his mum’s wrists before pulling her grip off of him. Joy breathed shakily at the action. “I know you are.” Calum’s voice sounded empty, void of any emotion, the rasp in his tone making Joy flinch ever so slightly. Suddenly, not for the first time, Calum was tired. Letting go of her hands, Calum took a step away from his mum, chewing on his lower lip briefly before looking down at his feet. He wanted to leave. Calum nodded to himself. “Your flight’s tomorrow at ten. There’ll be a car waiting. Fly safe.”

He heard his mum let out a deep, shaky exhale as he turned around without giving her another look. His chest was tight and his head suddenly hurt. Tired. Calum was tired.

tags: @crownedbyluke @gotta-try-something-new @rishlo @bitchinbabylon @ghstofcalum @dxmncalum @letsfxckindance @unsexilexi @calumthoodsyonce @grreatgooglymoogly @therainydays4 @sadbreakfast-club @lifeakaharry @codycasperky2 @biggestslutforcalum @complete-trash-101 @kinglyhemmings @empathycth @friendly-neighborhood-michelle @cxddlyash @checkeredcalum @lovelettercalum @nostalgia-luke @captain-what-is-going-on @slimthicccal @bloodytbs @miahelizaaabeth @ghostofhood @elsysoza @writing-in-riverdale @tourettesboi @angelbbycal @bbteamlove @xoforeverx @stfujace @thebodaciouscth @helplesshood @runawaywithme-xo @lietomemyvalentine @emma070900 @cosmixcalum @babygirlcashton @calumamongmen @5sos-stan4lyfe @ihatemyself21 @lipstickstainfading @crystalisinfinite @misskarynie @wrappedaroundcal @wcstethenights @michealcliffturd @akacalciumhood @poppedpins @dollbitxhes @5saucewho @hearts-to-the-sky @booklove-2 @walkedhomealone @andreabjoerg @qualitylu @softboycal @early-thoughts @5saucefanfic @dher216 @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @babyloniancal @xlov3quotingx @aybbblondie @rexorangecouny @flowerchild8341 @romanticalumhood @kaxseychill @babyloncalm @calistheloml @calumh-excess @egyptiangoldhood @irwinkitten @soulmatecashton @gettingjillywithit @asht0ns-world @visualm3nte @xhaileyreneex @cal-pal-cuddles @invisiblexcth @cliffordcntrl @calumsmermaid @5secondssofssummer @cals-babylons @mysteriouslycali @hoodcentral @cathartichaoss @inlovehoodx @gigglyirwin @roselukes @thepixiedreambitch @calumhoodless @paqueretteash @antisocialbandmate @sunnysidesblog @escap0-with-me @thewhitestbitch-u-know @rosecoloredash @biwriting @calteahood @2k17muke @theagenderwhocriedwolf @caelumhood @kinglycalum @fucking5sos @ohhmuke @ghostofch @isabella-mae13 @5secsofsomewhere @tupeloohoneyy @sublimehood @shower-me-with-roses @hotmessmichael @pauliip @jetblackyoungblood @astroashtonio @valentinelrh @softforcal @glitterprincelu @meetashthere @hereforlukescruff

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Ale's Sidestory Part 5

Ale would remain tormented by her fears for Death for the following days that passed. It had been a week at least since his last visit, and three days since he called her the night before he was to see Lilith alone. She watched her crystal for any sign of him calling again. On the third night, she finally placed a lantern by her door. Something in her said she should do so. Course little did Ale know, her fears had indeed become reality. For as she set about her usual nightly routine after placing the lantern, Death was making his escape from Lilith. He fought his pain and exhaustion to get out of Lilith's home. Refusing to stop until he was truly free of the place, until he was out of Hell itself, only then would he feel safe using the crystal Ale had given him to teleport to her home with. Lilith did try to keep him in her home, but Death tore down any guards in his way. Finally he burst through the front door of her freshly abode. He didn't stay put long, not even stopping to catch his breath. Quickly taking off before anyone could follow him, and finding a way out of Hell as fast as he possibly could.

Ale sensed the teleportation that came shortly after. The vines along her wrists and ankles alerting her to who it was that arrived near the village. She came outside listening intently as rain began pouring down hard around her. It wasn't much longer until she heard the sounds of uneven steps and pained, heavy breathing. Cautiously she made her way towards the sounds, carrying the lantern in one hand. Her search was brief, as she heard only one word,

"Ceise?"

Hearing this, Ale quickly rushed over to Death. Realizing what she'd been hearing. The vines thankfully ensured she didn't bump into him or trip on anything as she aided him inside her home. As she set him down in a chair the vines began describing his appearance to her. She couldn't see it for herself, but did know from what was told to her, that he looked awful. Course that was putting it very mildly. He looked as though he'd beaten within an inch of his life. Bruised, scratched, and even bitten. He was also in barely any clothing aside from his trousers which were badly torn up. Ale didn't have anything to replace them, but made a mental note to look. For now she focused on covering him, bringing a towel and placing it across his back. She didn't know what to make of any of this, but did her best to comfort her Atan. Gently moving his hair from his face and asking him quietly,

"Do you need anything Atan?"

She listened intently for Death's response, which came after a long moment of silence.

"Everything....hurts..." Death said curling up slightly.

Ale nodded before saying, "I'll prepare a tea for you. And perhaps a warm bath may help?"

"Thank you....though I'd rather not....with the bath I mean...at least not right now..." Death said trying to fight the shaking.

Ale could hear it in his voice however, how much he was trembling right now. She finished the tea quickly and placed it on the table in beside the chair. Even helping Death steady himself as he took a sip or two from the cup. Overtime Ale took notice of him starting to calm down more. She figured he'd be alright with being in her home alone for a moment as she went to find replacement trousers for him. She of course checked with Death on his size, which he told her quietly. Death understood why she asked about it, and remained where he was in the chair, watching the flames of the fireplace. Ale made sure she was quick to find trousers for him after checking with her village's merchants. Luckily she found a simple pair that would do for now. She was back home within a flash, and handed the pair of trousers to Death. He thanked her before finding a room upstairs to change. After he had done so, he began smelling brimstone in the air. Panicked at this, he threw open the curtains of the room he was in. Sure enough, Lilith had found him there. He bolted downstairs, with the intent to flee the house. Ale overheard and quickly stopped him.

"Atan what's wrong? Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here! She's found me! I need to get out of here! Please move Ceise!" Death responded rapidly.

Before Ale could say anything, a knock came at the door. With an all too familiar voice of pure decadence coming through,

"Now now, no need to run away. Don't be so hasty and come out now. Come to your Mother."

Death shook with each syllable, and said nothing in his panic. Ale however, quickly began to usher him back upstairs. He snapped out of it just enough to ask her,

"Ceise what are you...?"

"Upstairs, hurry. Find a room and lock the door behind you. Don't come out until I'm back."

"Ceise you can't be serious! She'll kill you to reach me!" Death shouted in protest.

"Leave her to me Atan. I won't have her coming here and making you feel unsafe. Please do as I say while I ensure she leaves." Ale told him earnestly.

Reluctantly he finally began to slowly head upstairs, only bolting the rest of the way when Lilith called for him again. Ale's normally gentle face hardened in preparation for dealing with the demonic harlot outside her door. She only opened it once she heard a door upstairs lock.

"Finally, thought you'd be in there talking forever. Has he decided to come outside after all?" Lilith said.

"He's not coming outside, nor will I let you inside. Leave now harlot."

"Oh? Ohhohohohoho.....how adorable. Step aside rabbit. My business is none of your concern." Lilith stated smiling.

"I will not be moved so easily. And I am no simple 'rabbit' bitch. Trifle with me at your peril."

"You may be the Elder of this clan, but that means precious little to me. I won't tolerate this game any longer. Step aside or must I force my way past you?" Lilith asked in a coi fashion.

"Do you what will to me, but I WILL NOT let you harm him again! Leave my home now! Or I will not hesitate to use force!"

"Ha! Go for it rabbit! Attack me. I might enjoy it. After all, what could a blind woman possibly do to me?" Lilith told her arrogantly.

Ale shook with rage and did something she never thought she'd do to anyone. She slapped Lilith across the face, surprising the demonness at first. Ale dared to feel triumphant, until she heard Lilith laughing maniacally as she held her face. She then stood before the 5'3" Lepus before delivering a slap of her own. This one sent Ale backwards until she ran into the wall of her home. Lilith then smirked as Ale began to stand back up.

"Want to try again?" Lilith inquired with that sickening, seductive tone again.

Ale's rage rose again at the tone she used, charging at her with a sudden burst of speed. Only to be grabbed by the face and tossed backwards.

"Like I told you, what could a blind woman possibly do to me? So far, looks like nothing." Lilith stated with a coi smile to match, before picking Ale up by her ears, "I could end your very existence right now. The only reason you live is because I find this fun. Despite how weak you are compared to me."

Lilith suddenly felt a sharp pain in her back and quickly turned around to see a Dryad behind her. One she recognized all too well.

"You." She spat with venom towards the Dryad.

"This is my only warning Lilith. Leave this place. Or do I need to demonstrate my strength to you yet again whore?" The Dryad told her calmly.

"I'll find a way to truly best you one day, just you wait Dryad!" Lilith shouted.

"Leave. NOW." The Dryad repeated.

Lilith scoffed before dropping Ale, and actually leaving surprisingly. The Dryad meanwhile walked over to Ale, extending a gentle hand.

"That was foolish of you."

"I had no choice Aspen, but thank you for aiding me." Ale said softly before taking her hand.

Death had witnessed the fight, if one could call it that. It was that night, that solidified in his mind who his Mother was. Ale was and always would he his Mother, whilst he grew to despise Lilith with every fiber of his being. Tonight however, he spent the rest of it with Ale ensuring he was ok as the Dryad Aspen helped in healing him. Ale did know one thing was correct, she was powerless and could do very little against a being like Lilith. From then on, she made it her mission she gain power to protect her Atan all the better.

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

I’ve been excited to post this chapter for WEEKS you guys are hopefully gonna love it. also not to spoil it or anything but CONTENT WARNING: this chapter contains violence ok that is all. pls enjoy and let me know what you thought! 4k words

“Dick Grayson, you’re a brilliant actor.”

It had been all too easy to get into the kitchens. Aspen had pretended Dick was nervous something bad was waiting for him around the corner after his scare, and chefs are usually pretty kind-hearted, they melted. For their troubles, Aspen and Dick got a plate full of the edge pieces of brownies and cheesecake bites - not fit to serve to guests, but more than good enough for them.

They eat them in a stairwell in a hall just off the ballroom, where they’re close enough to the action and can keep from being late.

“That was the performance of a lifetime.” She continues, reaching for another brownie. Dick smiles quietly at her around a mouthful of dessert. He’s a bit of an oddball, if she’s honest, but then again so was she at that age. He’s good company, she’ll say that much. “You get dragged to a lot of these fundraisers?”

Dick nods. “D’you ever mind?” Aspen asks again. She knows she would have. She’d been a sullen fucking kid.

“No, it’s what’s right, for me to do this. It’s important work. There’s no point in catching - like, having the police catch criminals without making sure there are ways for people to survive without having to become criminals in the first place.”

Aspen’s surprise must show, because Dick glances away, like he’s embarrassed. “At least, that’s what Calum says.”

“Nah, man, that’s such an intelligent way to look at it. You’re very- see, I was going to say mature, but that makes it sound like all adults think like that, and we both know that’s not true. Dick Grayson, I’m honoured to be your partner in crime.”

Aspen had been joking, but he almost falls down the stairs laughing at that. She didn’t know it was that funny, but she’ll take it.

It’s not nearly long enough before she gets a text from Calum Hood telling her to bring Dick and come to the ballroom, the guests are showing up. He does not remember putting in his number under anything other than “Work”, so she’s confused immediately. “I didn’t know your dad had this number,” she frowns, and when Dick avoids her eyes she assumes it’s because of how she addressed Calum. “I mean your guardian, I guess. Your parental unit. Hey, look at me, need you to check me for crumbs.”

They make sure they have no chocolate in the corners of their mouths before they head back into the fray. The room looks a little less intimidating with a lower concentration of cops in, and what she can only imagine is Gotham’s hottest string quartet is playing something that sounds like Rachmaninoff. It’s not so bad.

As soon as she sees Dick head across the ballroom to Calum, she slides back to her table with the stoic police officer she met before. Officer Montoya, she remembers. “I miss anything good?” She asks cheerfully, and as Montoya shakes her head Aspen slides a bit of brownie wrapped in a napkin over to her.

They get along a lot better after that.

Donations start to trickle in. Well, not exactly trickle, since the men and women visiting her little table are giving money to the orders of thousands. Aspen had been prepared for that, she thought, but watching people put down a year’s rent in one go in making her lightheaded. Still, she nods and smiles, and no one looks too long at her, which is exactly what she wanted.

Still, it’s almost five thirty, and she’s getting antsy like this. The champagne being passed around looks more and more inviting each time a waiter passes by their table. Calum looks distracted, so she snags a flute off a tray while he’s talking to some other couple dripping with money, and after she takes a sip she places it on the floor by the leg of her chair. Just so none of the guests think they’re giving their money to some lush. Watever. Mr. Hood is drinking, so she’s probably allowed to have just a little, right?

Plus, Aspen never feels more extravagant than when she’s day drinking. She deserves to have a little fun at this thing, just a bit.

Things have been relatively quiet so far, but as Calum steps up to a podium to give his talk she sits up a little straighter. People are undoubtedly going to be inspired by whatever he has to say, so she’s got to be prepared. She takes a more substantial sip of bubbly as he starts to speak, since she’s sure she’ll have her hands full in just a second.

(Sidenote: Aspen loves champagne.)

It turns out that Calum is an eloquent guy, when he wants to be. Aspen’s about two minutes away from digging a five out of her own purse as he waxes poetic about the kids who have to go to school hungry, work to keep a roof over their family’s heads, or beg in alleys. She’s encouraged to see how many diamond earrings are bobbing along to this, how many people look pleased with how generous he’s says they could be. Everyone wants to be good, she thinks, somewhere deep down, even if it’s just to them and theirs. And these people, they’re powerful, they think Gotham is theirs.

Sometimes, when he snaps at her, Aspen forgets how smart Calum Hood is. Right now, as he’s gently wrapping Gotham’s one percent around his finger, she can’t forget it.

She really wants more champagne, as if that would help anything, but she resists as he starts to close his speech. “Gotham’s present may seem… brutal,” He says, with just the right amount of sorrow in his voice, “but together you and I can assure its bright future. When you have a moment, my assistant is waiting to take your donations right after she takes mine. Any amount is welcome, and please, for the kids’ sake, be generous. Enjoy the music!” He adds, and as he soon as he steps aside he makes a beeline for the table.

Aspen golf-claps politely for him as he comes over, and she sees him smile, like he’s bashful, as if he didn’t know he had the whole room in a bind. His guests are still applauding for him as he steps over to her, for fuck’s sake. “I’m truly moved, sir.” She says, starting to type his information into the tablet.

“You’re sweet,” He says, and Aspen misspells his last name just from that.

She corrects herself quickly enough. “I’m honest.” She shrugs, and fixes her eyes back on him. “And how much would you like to donate today, sir?”

“Match it.”

“What?”

“Whatever amount is there. Match it.”

Aspen can be a little dramatic, she says she’s going to go into convulsions or have a heart attack all the time, but this time she actually almost falls out of her chair. “That’s-”

“Match it.”

His look at her leaves no room for argument, so Aspen bites back her response. She knows he’ll see her look and that always seems to speak volumes, between them. “Cash or cheque?” She jokes- thankfully, since he pulls out a chequebook and not a bag of notes like some cartoon bank robber.

Aspen doesn’t watch as he writes out all the zeros on the cheque, she knows she’ll get nauseous. Montoya’s got a damn good poker face, she’ll say that much. When Calum’s done he draws back, but he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “You’re drinking?”

“What?” Aspen blinks. Calum taps his foot against the leg of the table, right next to her flute of champagne. Oh. Suppose she’s caught, then. “You’re drinking.” She says, instead, and fixes her gaze on him. She has to curl her hand into a fist under the desk to maintain it, but he doesn’t know it.

For once, for fucking once, he breaks first. “Fair enough.”

It’s better than champagne, this feeling, but Aspen tries not to show it. “I’m done for now, anyways, I just wanted to taste.” She shrugs. “Gotta stay sharp.”

Calum smiles. “I’ll check in before the dinner.” He says, but doesn’t sound like a warning. It doesn’t sound like just business, either. Aspen doesn’t think about what that leaves.

She focuses on her job, after that. I mean, she was focusing before, but now she’s- fuck. Whatever. She takes the money, she says thank you in her sweetest voice, she makes the donors feel good for what they’ve done. Maybe they deserve it. Aspen doesn’t know if she trusts the rich, not right now, but she can be kind for an afternoon.

She’s aching for another drink by the time guests start to filter out from the ballroom, but she keeps her hands on the table and her smile on her face while she puts down another Drake’s name. Some family, goddamn. When she finally finds time to look around, the room is almost empty. Thank god.

She stands up and stretches, arms about her head. Her back cracks, and Montoya jumps, swears beside her. “Sorry,” Aspen says, as she sits back down and they start to count up the cheques. Aspen has to make a note of someone who said they'd offer $5000 but only wrote a cheque for $500, but it still says “five thousand” on that one line, but that's all that's wrong and Aspen is elated. She expected a robbery or something, anything to justify the security, but this is good too. Now she's confident that the guests have all climbed into their limos and gone to the second leg of the gala, and she's almost - almost! - free to go.

“I'm gonna find Mr. Hood and tell him how much we made so we can go home.” She announces, standing up and trekking across the ballroom. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere, at first glance, and Aspen has to ask two waiters and some unrelated bodyguard until she gets directed towards an office. The door is open a crack and Calum’s there, he’s talking to T. Giordano (Aspen read the nameplate). When she explains that she’s only there to bring Mr. Hood up to speed, T. Giordano lets them use her office while she oversees the end of the event. Aspen’s so pleased about this; she hasn’t slouched in hours, her back feels all sort of wrong.

Calum’s had some rough days, but he looks genuinely happy as Aspen steps into the office. He’s not smiling, but there’s a lightness in his shoulders she hasn’t seen for days. “I think it’s good news, sir.” She says carefully, holding out the tablet in front of her. “I mean, it’s more than you raised last year, so that’s something.”

He takes the tablet from her and looks it over, smiling just a little. “What’s this category, the one just-”

She steps over to his side to look. “Oh, I did a column of all the amounts we actually got from the people, just to make sure there were no problems with the cheques - actually, if you see-”

“I’ll deal with it.” He says. “Thank you for your help today, Aspen, I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”

He is sweet, but flattery isn’t something Aspen is likely to fall for. “I just watched people write cheques, sir. This was always your event,” and maybe it’s the champagne that’s made her brave but she bumps him with her hip - maybe it’s just because this is the first time she’d been close enough to do it.

Whatever the reason, that’s what sets it off.

Calum’s head snaps over to look at her. They’re leaning against the edge of T. Giordano’s desk, but when Aspen sees the look in his eyes she straightens up a little. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that. He’s putting down the tablet as she starts to apologize. “Sorry if that was inappropriate, it’s been a long day.” She shrugs.

He’s standing right in front of her. “Don’t worry about it.” He says, and when the absence of any scolding in his voice makes her look up he’s giving her this look she’s never seen, like he’s trying to set her soul on fire. His brows are creased, like it hurts, and he huffs out a little breath she doesn’t dare try to interpret. “Can I just-” He says, and reaches out and puts one hand on her waist.

Her eyes are locked on his, but she can feel her chest heave with shallow breaths, feels his hand shift a little with each one. “Yes,” is all she can say, even though there was no question.

Slowly, Calum uses his hold on her hip to drag himself in, and he lowers his head. Before Aspen can remember why she shouldn’t - he’s your boss he’s insane he’s a player and you’re just - he fits his mouth to hers and they are kissing.

There’s nothing rough about this. No teeth. Nothing tears. Just the soft press of his lips against hers and the deep sign he lets out against her cheek. He’s testing again, to see how where she’ll let this go. Yes, she thinks, yes, and she lets him pull himself so close she can feel the heat off his body, and cup her chin gently. He turns her head, just a little, as their lips move against each other like whispers.

Aspen isn’t usually pliant, but she moves with him. His lips are soft against hers, and the way he feels against her- she’d follow that fucking anywhere. This feels like everything she wanted, and she reaches out and finds the back of his neck, pulls him closer, to kiss him deeper, and-

It sounds like a gasp as he pulls away and grabs her wrist, tearing her hand off his skin before she’s even opened her eyes. They’re both panting, blinking in the light, and Aspen won’t be mad about this as long as he lets her kiss him again, she swears, just- “What?”

He’s not looking at her when he says “We can’t do this. You’re drunk.”

A different kind of burning settles into her chest. “I’ve had half a glass of champagne, I’m not-”

“Then I’m drunk.” He interrupts her, though his hand is still on her waist. Aspen tries to tug her wrist out of his grip, but he’s holding tight to that, too.

Aspen wasn’t looking for this and she knows how it goes, when some secretary falls for their boss. She’s the one in danger, not him, and if he says he doesn’t want- if that’s what he wants, then… “If you say so.”

The room seems dead silent, now, so that every word she says almost echoes around the room. Calum feels it too. He shudders a little and lets go of her, all of her, and draws back.

They collect themselves. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but they find things to adjust and fix so they don’t have to look at each other. Aspen straightens out her cardigan, moves away from the desk like it’s a trap. She watches Mr. Hood smooth imaginary wrinkles out of his jacket, and when he turns to face her again it’s like a door has closed somewhere inside of him. Whatever light had been in his face is gone.

She doesn’t want to let it scare her, but - her job, his kiss, there’s so much she needs from him.

She waits for him to speak.

“We should put this behind us.” He says, finally. Aspen didn’t expect anything less, but hearing it out loud - it stings. “This was a mistake.”

That’s worse. There’s a lot Aspen can take, but right now, while she’s still got the taste of him in her mouth… She feels white-hot angry, just for a second, and then she collects herself. “Don’t worry about it.” She says, in a voice that’s way too sweet. She turns to the tablet, so she doesn’t have to see how he reacts. “‘S only a mistake if you let it happen again, right?”

“What?”

She hates the idea of looking at him right now, so she stays facing the desk. “Like - it’s only a mistake if you don’t learn from it, if you let it happen again, so don’t worry about it, I’ll see you Monday, I’m gonna-”

He spins her around in one movement and this time when he kisses her it is rough, but she’s angry too and she tangles her fingers in his hair as soon as she knows what’s happening. He’s pressed his tongue into her mouth and his hands are tight around her hips, strong enough to hold her there. He’s pressed right up against her, crowding her against the desk, and she kisses him back like she wants the air out of his lungs. His teeth catch at her lower lip and she opens her mouth a little wider for him, just so he please won’t stop.

It’s so good, but it’s too intense, and after a long moment they break apart and rest their foreheads together, still panting into each other’s mouths. They’ve still got their nails dug into each other, but Aspen can feel something more than lust and chemicals between them, and as he meets her eyes-

He steps back, like he’s been shoved. “There.” He says, but his usual sureness has melted and she can see his eyes flicker, like he’s nervous. “Now it’s a mistake.”

He’s gone before she can reply.

Aspen doesn’t remember too much, after that. She knows what she did, mostly, to get herself out of the botanical gardens and into a cab, but it’s a blur of smiling and excuses when she tries to think back to who she talked to or what she said. It doesn’t matter, really. She doesn’t scream and she doesn’t cry and she gets in a taxi and really that’s all she needs.

When she has to tell the driver to take her to Hood Enterprises, she almost stutters over Calum’s last name. It hurts, a little, because she wanted this, even though she knew this would happen. Did she think she could handle it? She didn’t love this job, but she was good at it and it payed damn well, and- she might have to quit. Fuck, she hadn’t started this with the intention of leaving before a month was up, but-

Before she can finish that thought they’re at Hood Enterprises headquarters. All she wants is to go in, listen to a few phone calls, and go home, but as soon as she enters the lobby-

“Aspen!”

Shit.

“What do you want.” She says to Liam, too tired to hide her anger. She doesn’t need this right now.

“Is Mr. Hood coming back tonight?”

Aspen doesn’t flinch when she hears his name, but it’s a near thing. “No, he’s not. Now, please, get out of my way, Liam, I just want to go home.” When she tries to push past him, Liam moves to block her, and when she looks at him properly she sees that he’s got what are very near tears in his eyes. “Wait, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Liam runs a hand through his hair and doesn’t meet her gaze. “Aspen… I really, really fucked up. I dunno if I can fix it. In sales, I- can you come? Please? I need-” He breaks off, his voice about to crack.

“How’m I supposed to help you out with sales, Liam, I’m not-” She shakes her head. Liam just gave her his biggest saddest eyes he’s got.

Well, shit. Aspen is mad at Liam for everything he did, but that doesn’t mean she can just turn her back on him. She doesn’t want to be the reason he’s fired, after all. They used to be friends, and she guesses some part of her misses that. After a long moment she sighs and checks the time on her phone. “I can’t stay long.” She says quietly.

Liam almosts lifts off the ground, he’s so relieved. “Thank you so much.” He says, stepping aside so he can lead her towards the elevator.

“I don’t know what you expect me to be able to do, Liam, you know I’m useless when it comes to econ.” She’s been through enough today, she’s not gonna let herself get carried away.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Really. Aspen, you’re - thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Aspen mumbles as he presses the button and the doors close. They start moving down - wait, down? “Why are we headed to the parking garage?” She glances at him, reaching for the panel of buttons. “What floor do you work on aga-”

The attack is sudden, and it feels so brutal that years later it’s still one of her nightmares.

Liam grabs her arm before she can finish her sentence, sliding around her so it twists behind her back all in one move, pushing her front up against the wall of the elevator in one smooth move. She gasps, but before she can panic properly she remembers to fight back. Even as Liam’s weight crushes her lungs, she jerks back with her free elbow, hitting some soft part of Liam’s torso behind her. She feels his breath on her neck as she strikes out again, again.

There’s one thought running through her head; she’s not gonna die like this. She’s not.

Liam presses her arm further up her back, sending enough pain through her shoulder to make her whole body buckle. But he’s backed off a little, out of elbow range, so as soon as Aspen hears the door open she pushes off the wall with her whole body to get out of his grip.

She must surprise him, because it works. She pushes him off enough to shake out of his grip, runs for the grey concrete of the parking lot. Liam’s footsteps echo behind her, but she’s fast, she can-

Liam tackles her with his full weight. As Aspen hits the ground she skids, palms stinging. Shit. She tries to get her knees under herself, but Liam’s got her pinned and he flips her over to her back easy - he’s twice her fucking size! She tries to punch him, but he catches her wrist slams it to the grounds about her head. The other one follows.

Aspen’s gasping for air and trying to take stock. Liam is straddling her, he’s got her wrists pinned above her head and even now he moves so that he’s got both of them in one hand. He’s reaching into a pocket for something and she doesn’t want to know what. “Liam,” she says, “don’t, Liam, I- help!”

Liam swears, and she feels him ruck up one side of her cardigan, bunching it up past her elbow. Her blood goes cold. She screams again, but this time she can’t find any words for this.. She looks around as best she can, but the lot is empty of cars.

It’s just her. She’s alone.

A scraping sound catches her attention, and when she looks back at Liam he’s pulling the plastic cover off a syringe with his teeth. She struggles against his grip. What else can she do? “Fuck, Liam, don’t- what are you doing-”

“Please stay still, please, okay, I don’t want to hurt you.” He says.

Then he plunges the needle into her arm.

Aspen fucking wails, and yes, she knows its undignified, but she can feel whatever was in that syringe flow through her bicep and it’s a living horror. Liam throws the weapon away and rolls off her, but by the time she drags herself up on her elbows she can guess what he shot into her veins. Everything feels heavy - her head is too much for her neck, and she almost collapses before Liam gathers her into his arms.

She hates him.

He’s murmuring something - it takes effort to tune in, like the world is a radio. Something… he’s sorry? “Fuck you,” Aspen murmurs. She’s too tired for this. She just needs to- for a second- just-

She closes her eyes.

[dhawkesnest]

Premonition

As Ellemeare slid the bolt into place and pressed her forehead against the shop door, she let out a slow exhale of breath. The day had been busier than she had originally anticipated it would be, between the orders that had come in, filling the orders that needed to go out, and attending to the requests of the clients who had visited The Crystal Griffin that day. While she would never complain about a good day of custom, it wasn't until she had locked the door that she realized just how tired she was. Normally, Elle would have left the clean up to the employee that would be opening the next morning, but with her in need of new help, there was no one else to leave the work to. “Well, it's not going to do itself.” She had murmured this to herself, though the large barn owl that often perched upon the counter chirped in response and tilted its head at her anyway. Smiling at Aspen, she reached out to gently scratch the bird's head with her fingernails. “At least I have you here to keep me company, hm?” The bird craned into the scritches and then made a mildly perturbed sound when Ellemeare abruptly stopped to reach into her pocket. Fishing out a bit of leather cord from it, she tied her hair up out of the way and then retrieved the cleaning cloth she kept out of view. Focusing at first on dusting, she made her way around the small room of the shop, tidying as she went. Once she was set to her work, she relaxed and began to hum to herself, working quickly to finish. The last thing she cleaned was the counter itself, beginning to sweep bits of sage and rock dust into a bin she kept out of the way. As she was collecting the last of the mess, the pet owl became suddenly agitated and fluttered off a stack of newly acquired items she had moved to, knocking the entirety to the floor. A box of divination cards spilled out, causing Elle to swear as she bent to retrieve them. “Hydaelyn be blessed, Aspen! What's gotten into you, girl?” She crouched and picked up the cards, gathering them neatly into a stack before attempting to put them back into their packaging. One card slid out of the bunch in her hand and fluttered to the floor, face side up. The Tower, a card of chaos and change. Her brows knitted faintly, but she shook her head and after retrieving the card from the floor, once more tried to put them back in their box. A card fluttered out again, landing in the same position, this time face side down. Aspen let out a screech that caused Elle's heart to leap, and she turned to grimace at the bird before reaching for the fallen item. As she turned it over, a feeling of apprehension sunk into the pit of her stomach. It was The Tower again. Twice in a row? Could it be that there was a duplicate in the deck? Elle slowly turned over each and every card in the stack, looking at the faces of each one. She could find no other. Aspen fluttered closer, perching at the edge of the counter closest to her, a nervous chirp coming from the bird's beak. Her heart thundering, she returned the card once more, closed her eyes, and began to shuffle the cards vigorously. It has to be a coincidence, she thought. As she drew a card from the deck, her hand shook, and she found that she didn't want to look. Opening her eyes, she turned the card over in her hand, and swallowed. There was no denying it now. Ellemeare looked up at her pet owl, the bird's black eyes stared back intently. Taking a shaky breath, Elle returned the card to the deck and the deck to the package with trembling hands. Setting it all on the counter, she turned her blue-green eyes to the door. There was no denying what the card had to say. The Tower was a card of change, of chaos. Both times it had fallen, it had fallen sideways. One way or another, something was coming. If not tomorrow, then soon. All she could do was prepare.

[misssophiachase]

Can you write a Peter Kavinsky hot tub scene with Klaroline?

Hey! Thanks anon and Happy Holidays! I really loved this scene in the movie. I’ve changed it though and put a Klaroline/Christmas spin on it. The title and italicised lyrics are from the song playing during the hot tub scene in TATBILB, which I’m sure you already know. 

Lovers

25 December - Aspen, Colorado - 1:03am

I’m in the dark….

“All by yourself, huh?” Caroline murmured, making her presence known. She wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been standing inside at the window watching him from afar but Caroline was fairly certain it might constitute stalking to some. 

If anyone caught her she’d say it was all his fault.

And it was.

She was pretty sure anyway.

She’d been unable to sleep, his crimson lips taunting her every time she closed her eyes. As if it was bad enough he haunted her during the day she also had to contend with his unwanted presence at night. 

“You say that like you’re surprised or something, Forbes,” he replied stoically, his eyes focused on the small ripples forming on the surface of the hot tub. 

“Well…”

“You are unbelievable,” he growled, slicing his hands through the water and disturbing the ripples he’d apparently been so captivated by moments earlier. “Who else would I be with?”

“I don’t know,” she began. “The waitress at dinner could barely keep her eyes or hands off you.”

“Sounds like someone was also distracted,” he shot back, a slight grin tugging at his lips but it was gone before she could admire just how much it brought out those disarming dimples. 

“Well, it was a little hard not to notice,” she baulked. 

And it was.

Caroline could barely contain herself during dinner but decided to blame the foreign feelings on indigestion. Now she wasn’t so sure.   

“You realise you’re not my girlfriend, right? I don’t answer to you.” He asked, his blue eyes finally meeting hers. Although it was dark, the lights emanating from the hot tub couldn’t hide his frustration. 

“Trust me, I’m aware,” she huffed. “And for that I am grateful. It’s difficult enough having to pretend with such an egotistical, arrogant jerk.”

“Say what you really think,” he muttered. 

Caroline couldn’t miss the hurt registering on his face but only for a split second. Klaus Mikaelson could be so frustrating but there were moments. albeit brief, she would catch a quick glimpse into some hidden world where he wasn’t the arrogant jock he purported to be at college. 

October 31st - Stanford College, California - 9:59pm

She remembered the first time they met like it was yesterday. Two years her senior, Klaus was well-known around college, almost as much for his womanising ways, as head of fraternity Alpha Delta Phi. 

Caroline had pledged Beta Sigma Phi not knowing just how connected the two organisations were. It was Halloween and Caroline had found herself at their fraternity celebrations, mainly because her best friend Katherine had forced her to attend. 

She was actively trying to avoid Stefan Salvatore, a guy from her English class who’d taken a rather unhealthy likening towards her. He was part of Alpha Delta Phi and this was the last place she wanted to be. Tightening her white feathered mask, Caroline was happy to be at least partially disguised to avoid detection.   

Katherine had disappeared to get some punch but she’d been taking her sweet time returning, no doubt flirting with someone. Caroline found herself distracted by some artwork on the nearby wall. 

It was gorgeous. An array of abstract dark blues and greys. Upon first glance it seemed angst filled and dark but there were a few, brief white and silver touches that signified something completely different.

“Do you like it?” A voice asked behind her. It was low and gravelly over the loud music, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck and making her shiver.

“It’s complex,” she murmured. “So many layers, so many emotions.” Caroline didn’t consider herself an art expert but she knew what she liked and this was it. 

“How so?”

“The artist,” she began, wondering briefly why she was conversing with a complete stranger she hadn’t even seen but found herself too lost in the painting to stop. “They’re drowning in fear and sadness, but these lighter colours show they aren’t completely lost. There is hope buried amongst all the despair.”

There was a long silence, Caroline almost worried she’d interpreted it wrong and the stranger was preparing to argue with her assessment. 

“Caroline, is that you?” Unlike the stranger, that was a voice she knew and dreaded at the same time. 

“Stefan,” she groaned, trying to sound like she cared but failing miserably. She could still feel the stranger behind her wondering what he was thinking right now. “You’re here.”

“Well, of course it is an Alpha Delta Phi party. I’m so glad you came, it feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.” If by ages he meant spying on her from behind a tree yesterday afternoon in the quad. 

“I’ve been busy,” she lied. “With homework and…”

“Me,” the stranger finally spoke again, now coming into view. Of course he was dressed as the devil to her angel. Rather than being weirded out she was actually relieved he’d stepped in, whoever Lucifer was.   

“Yes, we’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other actually,” Caroline babbled, wondering how her night had taken such a turn. “We even wore matching costumes for the occasion, isn’t it cute? He just loves that kind of thing.” 

By the way he stiffened against her, Caroline could tell matching costumes wasn’t really his thing. But he did start it.

“You and…” Stefan baulked, his surprise not lost on Caroline. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, wondering briefly why he was so shocked but not caring as she pulled him closer for a kiss. Might as well make this believable. 

She’d noticed those crimson lips under his mask but never imagined they’d feel so supple. The stranger was still at first letting her do all the work as her tongue ran along his upper lip. The least he could do was play along, she thought. 

But it didn’t take long before he opened his mouth slowly welcoming her tongue and intertwining it with his. He tasted like a combination of whiskey and mint and she only registered that he’d dipped her backwards when he finally pulled away. 

She could make out his blue eyes filled with something unrecognisable as he pulled her back up to full standing mode. Given the fact her legs felt like jelly she was glad his arms were still firmly fastened around her waist. But if Caroline was being honest holding her balance wasn’t the sole reason for that.

They held each other’s gaze before he let her go and lifted his mask. It took all her composure not to lose it. It was Klaus Mikaelson of all people and she’d just unwittingly thrown herself at the egotistical idiot like one of his many sycophants. 

“You’re welcome, love,” he smirked, those dimples making an untimely appearance. 

“Excuse me?” She insisted, deciding she had nothing to be grateful for, well except maybe for Stefan’s hurried exit.  

“It’s only a snowflake by the way,” he offered pointing to the artwork in question on the nearby wall. 

“Is your interpretation really that literal?”

“I suppose it is,” he murmured, a brief frown creasing his forehead before walking away, leaving Caroline open mouthed. 

“Roomie,” Katherine squealed excitedly as she approached. “You’ll never guess what happened to me.”

“It can’t be as crazy as what happened to me,” she mumbled taking the plastic cup from her friend’s outstretched hand and downing it in one go. “I’m going to need more drinks to get through this party.” 

13 hours later….Beta Sigma Phi House

“Go away,” Caroline groaned, trying to appease the excruciating headache the incessant knocking was causing. 

“I can’t do that,” Katherine shot back, throwing open the door and jumping onto her bed like an excitable child on Christmas. “He’s here to see you!”

“Katherine,” she whined, throwing the pillow over her head and trying to ignore the pain ripping through her cranium. “I don’t care.”

“You’ll care when you know who it is,” she chuckled. “The whole house is in a frenzy.”

“Great, let them greet this mystery guest that I have no interest in seeing in my current state.”

“Care,” Katherine chided, peeling away the pillow and throwing off the covers. “You must have made a real impression on Klaus Mikaelson for him to show up here.”

“Klaus Mikaelson?” She asked, suddenly somewhat conscious. “What does he want?”

“Well, how about you stop whining, change into something much more attractive than these ghastly, flannel pyjamas and get your ass downstairs,” she insisted. “He usually loses interest in a girl the moment after he’s kissed her but you must have made an impression.”

“Oh wow, my mission in life,” she growled. “To be of interest to the biggest, womaniser on campus.”

“Stop with all the compliments, love, you’re embarrassing me,” another voice offered from the doorway. She buried her head in the pillow as the previous night came back in all its weird glory. 

Caroline felt the mattress bounce, realising Katherine had left her with the smug idiot. She was going to have words with her supposed best friend later. She sat up, albeit reluctantly, noticing that her hair was sticking up in different directions and had taken on a bed-like appearance and not the sexy type. 

She took a moment to focus on the intruder, all sexy in dark jeans and a grey henley, no signs of a hangover in sight. Bastard. Meanwhile she was clothed in her most unattractive but equally warm she would argue, red tartan.  

“What do you want?” She asked, deciding that in her current state she needed to get to the point before a bathroom visit was necessary.

“Now, that’s not the way to talk to the person who saved you from your clingy, ex-boyfriend.”

“He’d have to have been my boyfriend for that ever to be true,” she grumbled. “And you didn’t save anyone, I’m more than capable of doing that on my own.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll accept your version of events, Forbes.”

“Says literal Mr Snowflake,” she shot back remembering his close minded interpretation of the painting. “What do you want, except ruining my sleep patterns?”

“I have a mutually beneficial proposal for you, love.”

Looking back Caroline realised it was the most stupid thing she’d ever agreed to given the fake endearment that accompanied it, but decided to blame it on the fact she was probably still drunk.   

Present Day

Show a little loving…

“Why am I here, Klaus?” She asked shyly, making her way towards the edge of the hot tub. “Really.” 

When they made their arrangement it was designed to deter Stefan and any unwanted girls that swarmed around him on a daily basis. 

Caroline had been surprised given she assumed he loved all the attention. But as soon as they shook on their deal the only person he seemed to want to swarm around him was her. And Caroline was struggling not to like being in his constant presence. 

It was as if they got each other but Klaus still remained a little distant. When he invited her home for Christmas at his families ski chalet in Aspen, Caroline was confused given the terms of the arrangement. However for some reason she’d said yes.

But meeting the Mikaelson family yesterday had been confronting to say the least. Mikael was a dictatorial, judgmental father who didn’t think anything Klaus did was good enough. Esther, while being kind for the most part, just let her husband behave that way. 

His siblings Elijah, Rebekah and Kol, she noted, were all similar to Klaus; cocky and apparently immune to their parent’s treatment. Although Caroline could see straight through them all. She was frustrated, wondering why Klaus didn’t bite back, why none of them did.

Dinner at the nearby restaurant last night had been the final straw, watching as the waitress shamelessly flirted with her supposed boyfriend. Caroline had told herself numerous times that she didn’t care but standing here in the darkness it was all too much to deny.

Klaus hesitated for a moment his glance now returning towards the water. For a guy who was usually so self-assured he was having a lot of trouble making eye contact. Caroline didn’t stop to think, just removed her coat and waded into the water in only her white nightie. 

She decided to address the fact that her nightie would be completely see through later. 

She could see him inhale sharply while his eyes traced every inch of her body as she submerged herself in the hot tub. There was no chance of him avoiding her gaze now and their connection was as intense as ever through the steam rising up from the water.

“I know you’re a stubborn ass but talk to me,” she insisted. “It’s just you and me.”

“I didn’t get to give you your Christmas present yet,” he murmured, reaching outside the tub and producing a brightly coloured, wrapped gift.

“You didn’t have to…”

“But I wanted to, Caroline,” he smiled. “It might also explain a few things.” Reaching for it and tearing away the paper, Caroline recognised it straight away. 

“You gave me a snowflake,” she asked, her eyebrows raised curiously. 

“It’s not a snowflake turns out,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“You don’t say,” she teased, taking in the painting she’d fallen in love with all those months ago at his frat house. 

“Everything you said that night it just hit me,” he explained. “You saw everything; every stroke and every emotion I poured onto the canvas. I was happy but also scared that you noticed and interpreted all my vulnerabilities. 

“The fear and sadness…”

“My father has never hidden the fact I’m a disappointment,” Klaus shared, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve worked my ass off to be what he expects but apparently it will never be enough.”

“And the light?” Caroline asked purposefully changing the subject as she traced the silver and white streaks. He didn’t respond immediately. Caroline, meanwhile, placed the painting on the side of the hot tub then made her way towards him.

Shine a little light on me….

“I knew there was something on the other side but it wasn’t until I met you that night everything finally made sense,” he murmured, pulling her closer so that she was straddling him and snaked his arms around her waist. “You get me, Caroline Forbes. All of me.”

“Is that so?” She teased, running her hands along his toned shoulder blades and revelling in the feeling of his bare skin against her touch.

“That is so,” he grinned, nuzzling his nose against hers. 

“Hang on,” she replied, pulling away abruptly from his warm embrace. “You tricked me, Mikaelson?”

“Well…”

“You only made this deal because…”

“Because I am utterly and ridiculously in love with you, Forbes,” he smiled, pulling her closer. “Even before we kissed I was a goner.”

“Well, I do have a certain irresistible appeal,” she giggled. “But just so you know I sometimes speak without thinking. And now that you’re my boyfriend….”

“I am?”

“Don’t tease me,” she groaned, pulling him closer so their lips were within inches of each other. “I might feel the need to tell your father what an ass he is over Christmas lunch, just a warning.”

“Just another reason I love you,” he feathered kisses along her jawbone, Caroline losing herself in the sensations it was causing below.

“Oh and while I’m admitting things,” she began, pulling back again and gazing into his eyes. “My nightie is probably see through by now.”

“You’re killing me, Forbes,” he groaned, his hands moving lower and pulling her flush against his body.  And suddenly nothing or no one else mattered now they were finally in each other’s arms. 

In my Crossroads FF collection HERE

[marshmallowatheart]

To All The Boys I've Loved Before (Part 46)

Standing with five hours of sleep, Veronica mixes together the ingredients for her classic Christmas sugar cookies.

Heather strolls into the kitchen, plops on the chair opposite her sister about to complain about her hunger when she notices Veronica's visible eye bags and drawn in expression. She knows something is wrong. She knows something's been wrong ever since she got back from her trip. "Ronica?" The girl in question hums as she focuses on her task at hand. "Are you okay?"

Veronica looks at her sister and gives her a mild nod accompanied with a reassuring smile. "I'm just tired."

she stares at her sister's face and says, "You look like a zombie."

Veronica halts in her movements, gazes up to her little sister with a mischievous quirked smile as she holds up her flour covered hands out to Heather's face and in her best zombie voice says, "I want to eat your brains."

Heather's eyes widen, shocked and panicked as Veronica rounds the counter with her messy hands. With a high screeching yelp, the little girl leaps off her chair and runs away.

Backup scurries to his feet, alert and looking for danger and then wags his tail wildly when he realises that there's no real threat to be seen.

Veronica grins, making a show of chasing her for a minute before retreating back into the kitchen, Backup follows and reverts back to laying down.

It doesn't take long for Heather to come back into the kitchen, this time with her purple skipping rope in hand. "Are you gonna be human again or do I have to restrain you to get my breakfast?" She asks, tilting her head with an arched brow as she pulls her rope in a tight straight line.

Veronica cocks a brow, eyes settling on her sister's. "That depends. Are you gonna be insulting again or do you wanna be my breakfast?" She grins, not at all threatened as she wiggles her fingers, showing Heather that she isn't afraid to get messy.

Heather swallows, lowering her skipping rope, she settles, "The option that gets Froot Loops in my mouth." She says it in the way that makes it seem like she's not at all forfeiting as she walks to the cupboard.

"The option that gets you Froot Loops requires you to wait 'cause Meg and Dad are out grocery shopping," Veronica tells her as she meshes together the dry ingredients and the wet ones.

"Urg," Heather groans, closing the cupboard door. "I'm starving," she complains, slumping onto the bar stool.

"You want some eggs?" Veronica asks, the first thing coming to her mind that she knows she had enough of.

"With some cheese?" The little Mars perks up in her seat. "And buttered toast?"

"Sure," she shrugs. "And I'll even throw in some hot chocolate if you help clean up afterwards," she bargains.

Immediately, she quizzes, "Do I get the tiny marshmallows?"

"Sure," Veronica agrees, setting aside the cookie mix for the time being as she goes to rinse off her hands and prepare the eggs.

Heather stays put, humming, hands on the counter her eyes follow her sister and then asks, "Is Logan coming to the Christmas party?"

Veronica stills at the question. She hadn't spoken to her family about Logan, about Aspen, about last night. She hasn't told them anything; she didn't know what to say to them. She doesn't know how to explain her situation with Logan without telling them everything that's happened and she doesn't want to tell them. They don't need the heartache. What good would it do them to learn about Lianne? There's no reassuring answers that mummy loves us in this tale and she doesn't want to bring that burden to her family. They deserved more than that.

"I didn't ask him," she answers in the most honest way she can. She gets why Logan's made the decisions he's made. Even when she'd thought the worst of him, she couldn't stop her heart from loving him. Right now, she just needs time to figure out how to trust him again.

He's kept this big thing from her, she knows he had the best intentions but his choices still hurt her.

Heather inquisitively continues to question her sister, "Why not?"

Dismissively, Veronica replies, "I don't think he wants to hang out with a bunch of deputies. Can you pass me the salt, please?"

Heather drags herself out of her chair and obliges, remarking, "I think he'd like to hang out with us."

Veronica knows she can't argue about this with Heather so instead she asks her to check on Backups water and fills the minutes it takes for her eggs and toast to get ready with menial tasks to avoid further questioning.

--vm--

When Keith and Meg come back home, Heather's got The Princess Bride playing on the television, munching on popcorn as Veronica doughs together another recipe off the list.

"I hope you're hungry, 'cause we've got Mama Leone's," Keith sings, dangling the bag tantalizingly in the air.

Veronica breaks out into a wide grin, "My favourite."

"I could eat," Heather calls out from her seat still munching on her popcorn.

"Veronica!" Meg loud-whispers, coming around the counter with a giddy smile. "You'll never guess who I ran into!"

"Hmmm," Veronica hums in fake thought, rolling out her cookie dough. "Was it Carlita, Biff, or Rocco? They always were our favourite imaginary friends."

Meg rolls her eyes good-naturedly, her smile never falling from her lips as she says, “Hamilton Cho.”

Veronica’s brow quirks at the enthusiasm radiating from the name. She knows him. Everyone does. His father owns Cho’s Pizza. He used to be in Meg’s class but she doesn’t recall them being particularly friendly. She doesn’t know how to respond to it so she says, “Was it awkward with you carrying takeout from Mama Leone’s?”

Her brows furrow at the question, shaking her head she dismisses it and continues, “Did you know he goes to NYU too? I mean, I’ve never seen him before.”

“It is a big school,” the petite blonde offers, shrugging.

“He wanted to hang out,” she says, biting her lip and eyes bright. “I asked him to come to the Christmas party.”

Duncan flashes through her mind like a red stop light and she fights the urge to question her sister about Duncan and if she’s sure about this. She fights it because the familiarity of standing in their kitchen with her hands pressed into cookie dough as they chat about anything and everything is something Veronica’s found herself needing ever since Meg left – and especially since Meg came back home.

Instead she grins and teases Meg with everything she knows about Hamilton Cho.

“The food is getting cold,” Keith calls from the lounge.

“Inconceivable!” Heather mimics loud enough for her sisters to hear.

Without missing a beat, Veronica quotes back in response, “You keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

--vm--

"What?" Veronica asks, she's got her leg up on the bathroom sink and tries to shave as quickly as she can without cutting herself while Mac's stands behind her, grinning as though she's got an inside joke with herself.

The brunette shakes her head, letting out a silent chuckle. "Miss Mars uses Venus razor."

Amused, Veronica smiles and remarks, "Because if she doesn't, her legs look like Pluto’s."

"And she's down-to-earth to boot," Mac quips with a grin and Veronica laughs.

For the last few days, Veronica had been cooped up at home baking for the upcoming Christmas party or helping Inga with the planning arrangements or at work. Wallace – demanding BFF time – had convinced her to take time for a beach trip. She knows he just wants to test out his toy plane (he’d just finished fixing it after an unfortunate collision with the wall).

--vm--

"Man, this new wet suits like a cheap motel. No ballroom," Dick says, snapping the latex suit against his crotch as he walks with Logan up shore. They’re both dripping with water having just finished a much needed surfing session. 

Logan shakes his head at Dick, carrying his surf board with one hand and running his fingers through his wet hair with the other. They come to a stand still when a flying object comes crashing into the sandy ground. “Hey, look a toy plane,” Dick says, going to pick it up.

”Don’t touch the plane,” Wallace shouts from a few feet away, jogging to catch up to his plane while Veronica and Mac follow behind him.

Everything fades into background noise when Logan sees her, she stops shortly in front of him, her blue eyes staring into his and he silently sucks in a breath.

"Hey," she says, offering a half smile without turning her gaze away from him.

His eyes solely focused on hers as he takes in her presence and lets out, "Hey."

It’s in this moment that she truly feels how much she’s missed him, it’s only been a few days and this tug in her heart makes it feel it’s been months. She mentally checks herself, remember the rules, Mars – no pining, no whining. Keep it light.

“Hey hey, look who’s slumming it at the beach,” Dick grins, head bobbing up and down as he checks out both the girls. "Hey, we're blowing off a little dead-week steam if you kids want to hang.”

--vm—

While Wallace tends to his crashed plane, the rest of them make themselves comfortable on the benches - except it’s Dick that makes himself comfortable next to Mac and Veronica’s left to fill the space next to Logan which makes it all the more difficult for her to keep her cool.

"So,” he starts, eyes drifting over her form to the fading fire. He has so much to tell her. He wants to tell her how much he’s missed her. He wants to tell her that it seems like even his mother and Trina miss her. He wants to tell her that she’s all he thinks about even when he tries not to. “Heather wants me to come to the Christmas party," he glances at her and sees her brow pick up in surprise and her gaze land on him. "Is that cool?"

"You've been talking to Heather?" She swallows, trying to keep her emotions at bay but his question brings about agitation in her and she feels warmth surging from within; it’s this convoluted package of feelings that she had needed a break from so she could sort out her feelings between her head and her heart. Seeing Logan, being with Logan, speaking with Logan makes it impossible for her to make sense of anything.

He tries to keep his tone as casual as possible but he knows he’s not as nonchalant as he wants to him. Even a simple hey makes him feel things. "We have our matches more often now that she's on break.” He pauses, letting her process, assuming that this hasn’t come up in conversation between the two sisters. “She asked me if we broke up."

A quiet gasp escapes her and she stares at him in shock. “She asked you that?” She lets out a breath. “What'd you tell her?"

They were playing together in an online Mario Kart championship when she'd broached the subject of his and Veronica’s relationship. He'd tried his best to not say much, lightly joking that they were on a Christmas break - he hadn't wanted Heather to worry but in the saddest and quietest of voices she'd asked him, "Don't you love her anymore?"

It's the way she sounds that makes him wish he had lied and given her an excuse for not being physically present. "Of course I do," he says, honest and soft.

"Then why are you on a break if you still love her?" She asks, urgent and confused. She tries on concentrating on the game but she's more in tuned with the sound of his voice.

He sighs and he knows he can't explain everything to her so he gives her half a truth because despite his want to lie to Heather, he can't really bring himself to it. "Because I screwed up."

"How?" She demands, completely losing focus what's in front of her as she listens.

"I did something I shouldn't have," he vaguely says, knowing he should stop talking about this with her now. There's nothing more he can tell her. "Look, kid, you’re falling behind," he intentionally remarks on the game trying to take her focus from his relationship back onto the game.

Ignoring his last comment, she insistently asks, "Did you tell her you were sorry?"

"Yes," he sighs.

"Like, in a way so she knows you mean it?"

"Yeah. Look Heather, don't worry about it, okay? You need to keep your mind on the race, you're getting beat, kid."

"The truth,” he confesses. “The parts of the truth that I could tell her anyway. I didn’t know how to not tell her."

“She’s too nosy for her own good,” Veronica grumbles, sighing. She wonders if Heather gave the same inquisition to Duncan when him and Meg broke up or if she's over compensating now because she didn't.

He chuckles, teasing, “It must be in the genes."

She gives him a half-hearted huffing laugh before turning it into a little smile. “Thank you.”

His heart thumps. “For what?”

“Keeping your promises,” she softly tells him.

--vm--

Heather happy bounces in her room with the phone in her hand, Ophelia shakes her head chuckling at her overly hyped best friend.

“Hello?” Comes the voice of a groggy Logan.

Without wasting time on pleasantries, she speedily explains, "I called KRAC like two hundred times. I kept getting this recording, and then finally, I got through. They're gonna play my request."

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” his soft voice comes through.

Heather chooses to ignore him, opening her room door, she yells with the phone pressed to her chest. “Ronica! You've got to turn on the radio."

"Why?" Her sister shouts back from downstairs.

Impatiently, Heather demands, "Just do it!"

“To a very special girl. So, if you're out there and you're listening, Veronica...”

Veronica’s eyes widen, she stills frozen in time as she listens to the DJ.

“This is from Logan. He's sorry, girl, and he wants you back.”

Meg lets out an audible gasp, eyes wide and giddy as the oh my god slips out.

Upstairs, Heather stands with complete and total satisfaction as she listens to Nick Lachey’s What’s Left of Me play from downstairs. “You’re gonna thank me,” she says with her smuggest tone as she ends the call.

[erethesilverking-blog]

End Haven - Chapter 3

hAhA i’m soooooooooo tired

Notice: This chapter is LONG! Over 3000 words (I... I think)! So please wait until you’ve enough time to start reading. And are mentally prepared.

This was a real ordeal to get through. I’d appreciate feedback, if you’ve time even more time, as well as sharing this with any you know who would appreciate it. Please continue to read and support my work!

WARNING: If YOU are easily disturbed by themes of death and referring to limbs as separate entities, please read at your own peril. If you are unsure, please read in the proximity of someone who’d be willing to comfort you. Thank you.

Chapter 3

The Walk; The Stream

The forest was dark at night. Admittedly, this was not a new revelation for Pieter. In the small village that he’d grown up in, he was familiar with how dark night times could get.

This memory of his village acted as a key, unlocking a rush of old memories in Pieter. They swirled and gusted about his head, making themselves known by stampeding behind his eyes and bouncing off his temples and screaming into his scalp. Pieter ignored them for as long as he could, focusing on his journey ahead of him.

“The hardest kind of journey,” he wheezed, “is the kind with no exact destination.”

This was, actually, a quote from the best-selling novel The Ice Hare’s Lament, as one could hardly expect such memorable words from a dying man. Though, to his credit, Pieter was the one to write the quote some twelve years earlier. He’d written it hours after being given directions to a nearby shopping center in no specific terms. He was exhausted after walking three of the “couple of streets down” and was willing to give anything to know how much father he had to walk. Luckily, a kindly police officer had picked him up and driven him to the store, a whopping seven kilometers away.

Unfortunately, there were no police officers in the forest. No lights either, and it was very dark.

It was the kind of dark that you’d read about in dime novels. It was “pitch” black, it was “coal” black, black as the “ace of spades.” But these were not the kinds of blacks that Pieter wanted. He wanted it to be black as velvet; Velvet was soft and fuzzy, and Pieter felt his mind was much too sharp to be dying.

And it was this sharpness that kept him alive yet, to his dismay. He would push his staff forward and place it onto the ground in front of him, then lift his foot to bridge the gap between it and his footing. His cloth-wrapped sole would swing like a lethargic pendulum and kick the base of his walking-stick, then plant itself firmly into the soil. From there, its brother would be dragged through the dust to meet it, and Pieter would be free once more to shove his stick away from him. But sometimes, during the arc of the first foot, Pieter’s slow moving toes would encounter some obstacle hidden in the inky, hard blackness. The foot would snag itself on this thing, and Pieter would have nowhere to put his weight. He would prepare to go and strike the ground, open to the inevitable fall that would surely kill him.

But his thin frame refused to fall at speed, instead seeming to drift downward. The very forces that brought all things down seemed to discriminate exclusively for Pieter, allowing itself to be lulled to disservice by the weakness of the man. With no gravity to pull him down, Pieter would instinctively grip the staff and attempt to finish the step, helped along by more than one hundred years of practice in walking. The foot would drift over the hindrance and take root in another place; Pieter would be left to stagger on. Had his mind been soft, he may not have even noticed the falling motion; That would have been the end of Pieter.

So he continued his trek, with nothing else to do but that, trapped in the dark shadows of the evening and morning. He wandered past the pines and over the oak leaves, around the ashes and about the aspens. He looked blindly at rabbits and tottered past ravens. Pieter was almost senseless to these wonders, as he could not see the rustling boroughs, or the snuggling ivys. He was blind to the hollows in the dirt, that looked not unlike the home of some elf from his stories, perhaps Treeline Dance. He wrote that twenty years ago. Rock outcroppings, jutting into the air and piercing the sky like a dwarven fortress from The Pearl Hill, passed his noticed. He’d written of such twenty-nine years ago. Little rivulets of barely muddied water, he stepped over, never recalling them to be like those of  The River Maid. Amilia the Maiden he created forty-five years ago. And what would have filled him full of wonder the most would be the cry of some wild cat, calling out its supremacy in the night, had he heard it. Actually, he did happen to be thinking of Cat’s Tongue, as the final scene continued to play in his mind.

There stood Ursilda, her golden locks soaked with the river’s wrath. She stood defiantly, facing Calwored the Long-toothed. “You’ve taken my mother,” she cried. “My father and sister beside. My lover and my teacher as well. But by Volkmare, you shall not take me!”

But Calwored only snickered. “You claim that, Tail-Cutter, but look now! How can you slay me when the very ground you stand on crumples under the water’s onslaught?”

“I need no earth,” she growled, “I need only fire and steel, much like the day I took your tail from you.”

This was too much. Calwored could not hold his purring facade any longer, and he snarled his lips. Bunching up his hind legs, the demon prepared to leap across the roaring river separating the opponents and tear the offender to shreds.

He flew through the air like an arrow loosed from its string, claws outstretched. His vicious cry was matched only in ferocity by Ursilda and volume by the roaring banks of-

It was the river that did him in. Pieter was murmuring the conclusion to that fateful encounter when his mind, fuzzed by his own day-dreams, neglected to realize that the ground was once again coming up to meet him. He never heard the dull clunk of flesh on root, and barely registered the pain, whelmed as he was by the sounds of running water.

The river- more of stream, in actuality- was shallow. It was maybe thirty centimeters at its deepest, but it made up for that by being more than twelve paces wide. That is, twelve paces for a young adult, not Pieter.

The water of the stream burbled cheerfully. It fizzed and foamed, swirling about itself. It picked up pebbles and twigs, spinning them about, and made ferries of leaves and lillies. Forget-me-nots and cattails periodically dotted its banks, nestled in what ever patches of soft loam could be found on the rocky shore. Between the flowers waited toads and frogs of the sort, all hoping and hopping for a meal to fly close. Their little mouths would open from time to time to croak out a challenge on entreating rivals, who’d come a waddle too close to their territory.

Of course, the amphibians were not only rivaling between themselves. It the shallows of the stream swan fish, of the freshwater variety, of course. They circled each other in a dance of glittering mail, hoping that some insect would dare to fly close to the surface of the water. Though none ever did, none were discouraged, as the water-treaders were more than enough for their gasping mouths.

It was further upstream that a mother doe was watering her child. The fawn shuddered on uncertain legs, but drank from the stream all the same. From under heavy lids the doe watched, proud yet wary. Its tail was held aloft at all times, a spark of white in the waning darkness, and showed the anxiety that she held for her dearest child.

So it was when a clunk echoed from downstream, bouncing over the water, the mother gave a warning bray and nudged the fawn out of the river, and back to the herd, back to safety,.

The stream was maybe thirty centimeters at its deepest, but it made up for that by being more than twelve paces wide. That is, twelve paces for a young adult, not Pieter.

It really would not have mattered to Pieter; He was is no state to be making any paces, adult-sized or otherwise, across any river, or stream. The glistening blood on the lower roots of a tree trunk testified to that. The morning light reflected off of the dark streak, and landed firmly on Pieter, sprawled across the ground. He was, at the moment, dead to the world, which was exactly as he’d hoped to end up.

~~~

But, Oh! That does not seem to be the end of Pieter.

Darkness. Watery, deep, incomprehensible darkness. It was the kind of oblivion that one should only hope to find in the months before birth, when the senses aren’t yet orientated enough to know how unpleasant it is to leave it... There was something about it that suggested a  warm and caring maternity, and to be held, and loved. And it was a warmth that was followed only by a brief shock of cool air, then once again back to being held and swaddled in heat and embrace.

But Pieter was not being reborn again as an infant. And it would have been quite difficult for him to even connect these emotions to a mother figure, as his own had died some hundred-twenty years before and there had never been anyone to fill that void. He simply understood, on a most primal level, that he was in a place of comfort after a long period of not being so. So he rested, and allowed himself to be wrapped in darkness for many hours.

But eventually, the heat turned on him. It started to prickle his leathery skin, then scorch him down to the bones. The sun shouted to the man, demanding that he remove himself from her sight. From his depths, Pieter was first tugged, then pulled, then yanked toward the light; It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Everyone has gone through a first birthday, though only few claim to remember the happenings of the day. But to be born an adult, especially as an ancient one, was not at all comparable to the birth of an infant, as one has the senses for feel it when grown. A comparison that Pieter would later make (to his great displeasure) was such: You are walking through the pouring rain, no, sleet. It is cold enough to curl the toes on your feet and freeze the spit in your mouth. Despite all the leagues you travel, hindered by your heavy pack, you’re blood never warms you.

Finally, there! A heated, comforting house. You are allowed to place your effects onto the ground, shed your wet clothing, and sit next to a fire, a roaring blaze that smiles and hisses. Contentment. You are handed a blanket. As your arm stretches out for it, the cover is suddenly upon your head. It is wet! Arms wrap around you. Pinned!

And then, Pieter would muse, you would be tossed into the air. And just as it began to whistle in your ear, Splat! Wrapped in a wet blanket, you have just been thrown, naked, into the cold snow.

Horrible business, really.

~~~

And awake, at last! Pieter was sprawled out on the ground, spread over the roots of a nearby oak and the dust in between. The sun beat down on, in all senses and on all his senses. His eyes, nose, and mouth were dry in the burning light and itched something horrible. These feelings prompted Pieter to run his mind, like questioning fingers, over his body.

His right arm was tucked underneath him, the elbow jetting out like a bird’s wing. The wrist was at an awkward angle, bent up towards the breastbone, making the fingertips just brush the breast itself. As he thought of this, Forefinger twitched, but made no distinction on the ridged root it sat atop. The other Four sat still, to drained to move for just a passing examination.

Next was the left arm. It had landed on the ground in a protective embrace of its owner, bent at the shoulder and extended across Pieter’s face. It extended onward, happy to have done its job, and traced the upper tendrils of the tree with the bony base of the Thumb.

Legs, both right and left, were united by more than the meeting at the waist. They were both fully extended behind Pieter, and the toes were extended to reach across the ground. The Hallux on the left was missing a swatch of skin and had long scabbed over. Little wonder, as that very foot rested on a particularly high-reaching root that had pulled down the angel to the forest floor.

And everything itched. It was the itch of lying on the ground all night in a unnatural position, of landing in dust that sought the little creases of the skin, of being unmoved in a forest full of hungering insects, and sitting in the sun; The last itch was twofold: The skin was both dry from the heat, and yet lightly perspiring, or at least trying to.

By the time Pieter had finished this examination, he was starting to sweat. The midday sun had been blocked by the boughs of the oak, but was now she was descending and peeking around the dark green leaves. Her eye would soon be fully upon Pieter, and that would surely kill him within the hour

Very good, one would think, as that’s what he has been waiting for.

But, curiously, Pieter’s body seemed to disagree.

Motherly Left and Coddled Right reached out in front of him. They looked like willow wands that had been soaked in the very water that they reached for; They pulled their frame across the roots of the oak, and Legs were dragged along for the ride, bumping over the uneven surfaces and sending tremors throughout the body. They went up one root and peaked, only to fall a few centimeters down and be pulled over the soil. Until, they began to to bend at the joints as Waist was hoisted over another root. And Legs began another climb.

Shfff…-dnk!...Shfff…-dnk!...Shfff…-dnk!...Shfff…-dnk!... And suddenly: -dnk!...shff...fff...fff...fff...fff… Then: tuh tuh tuh...tuh tuh tuh...tuh tuh tuh...tuh tuh tuh…

And Pieter was suddenly on the shore of the stream. His hands reached forward again, but, when they landed, touched gentle, cool water. Pieter could not, under any circumstance, raise his head to look at what his fingers had encountered, but he did so anyway. His shoulders strained and elbows bent. His hands were pulled back and met the delicate point where water met earth, and they grasped. With another heave, Pieter’s face was over the trickling stream.

The light of the sun, now inexplicably dancing on the treeline, landed on the water and twirled into Pieter’s eyes. It dazzled him. His chin, with wispy hairs, kissed the surface of the water, which came up the meet the skin in return. And as Pieter dropped his head at the neck, his stream came up to kiss his lips as well. The water was as sweet as a lover, and he greeted it with gusto.

His parched tongue lapped at the gentle comfort and fled back between his teeth. It shared the news of its discovery and before long had Pieter inhaling the waters.

With this new discovery, that water was sweet and delicious, Pieter would savor his life for a while longer.

And somehow, as the she sank under the horizon and Moon leaped up to trace her route, Pieter would become stronger. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted, but anything else would be welcome to descending into the water darkness again and wondering if he would be pulled out.

He drank from the water, ignoring the stars that shone white and bright, and the eyes that stared yellow and dark from the trees. He ignored the swaying trees, because how could they compare to the life-giving waters? And he ignored the growing pit in his stomach.

But he did not ignore the rising sun. She licked the back of his neck, a warning for later heat. And Pieter, outraged, found himself standing.

But where to go? Why stand if you’ve nowhere to go? The answer was obvious: to escape the harsh Sun but stay close to the River, Pieter simply stepped forward and placed his foot in the water.

The first step is always the hardest, especially if there is no destination in mind. So Pieter sharpened his eyes and focused on a certain stone. It wasn’t special by discernible traits; It was round and gray and smooth, just like every other pebble around it. But Pieter stared it down all the same and took a second step, this one towards the stone. A third.

The forth was a difficulty, and Pieter would have fallen again had he noticed. His foot, wrapped in now-soaked cloth, had plunged into a depression in the bed, but he continued onward without even blinking at the disruption. And it was so that that forth step meant nothing to those scraps of a man. So a fifth step took his insubstantial weight forward. A sixth.

And there he suddenly was, at that stone. In his mind, Pieter saw himself stoop to grab it. His arm went back and then forward, the stone sent whizzing off on an all new adventure in the forest. Pieter’s eyes followed the imagined path.

The stone landed in the bushes, rustling them as it crashed through. Pieter’s eyes stayed behind, though, to stare widely at the little shapes that dotted the leaves. He could almost count them, and felt a growing excitement. He leaned forward and began to splash through the water, kicking aside his sweet lover to clamber onto the opposite banks. Pieter fell to his knees before the bush and stretched a hand forward, caressing one of the hundred sweet berries, all black and blue and red and ripe for the picking. His bony finger tensed and pulled back, convincing the fruit to come back with it.

He stared with a boyish wonder at the little morsel, turning it over with his fingers. It left traces of juice in the creases of his fingers and almost popped in his weak grasp. So, not wasting any more time, Pieter brought the berry to his lips, then thrust it into his mouth.

He could not even describe the flavor and would never again recapture that specific brand of pleasure, but he was one of the few people to ever experience it, and he was happy.

By the coming of dusk, Pieter had stained his hands with the juice, smearing it on his cheekbones and thin shirt. He was sprawled out on the stones and loving the warmth that they had taken in during the day. His eyes drifted open and closed again with sleepy sluggishness; he was full of sweet fruit and the yawning pit in his stomach was filled, for the time being.

For the time being. Pieter sat up, disturbed in his rest. The swallows in a nearby tree looked down with passing interest as a rattle was just heard over the giggling stream.

“You’ve put your foot in it, Pieter! You came here to grow weak and pass, and yet here I am, full and feeling like a quick nap stands between me and a hearty hike up the mountains.” The swallows continued their conversation.

“But there’s nothing to do about it now,” he cried. “Nothing to do but take that nap and take that walk. I suppose I’ll find a less tempting spot to… settle down.”

And Pieter did exactly as he said he would. He laid against the the shore and quickly fell into a dreamless slumber. He would not stir, not until the Sun frolicked to the top of the other treeline. From there he would stand and set out into the woods.

The river- more of stream, in actuality- was shallow. It was maybe thirty centimeters at its deepest, and it was more than twelve paces wide. And the stream giggled and burbled, and it was cool and bright, it gave a place for mother deer to bath their fawns and cattails to grow, it gave frogs a place to sit by and an old man water to drink. It had nothing to apologize for.

And that’s that. For the moment. Yeah.

I feel I’m getting the hang of the imagery stuff, yeah.

I’m a little frazzled and tired, so I hope this looks as good as good as I think it to. Curious of what music I listen to, to keep me working? There’s this and this.

Taglist, for those who’ve shown interest:

@cawolters , @cookiecuttercritter , @the-violet-writer , @magiciswritingnow , @royalbounties , @phahbiyah 

Thanks in advance.

[lastfrontierh]

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