#but it’s funnier if he’s just six inches now

[listenupcupcakes]

MWAHAHAHAHAHA

I, M! ANON, SHALL NOW SHRINK THE SOLDIERS OF YOUR ARMY TO THE SIZE OF HAMSTERS! FOR 9 ASKS!

I-

[he is smol]

WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING

[sometimesanalice]

Sweetest Devotion

Summary: Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you've ever done, and coming home to him is always the best part of your day. Especially when you come home with cake. But a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5k

Warnings: So much fluff (side effects may include giggling and kicking your feet)

(Author’s Note: this fic was written for my one year celebration of the ‘Like I Can’ series, but it can be read on its own!)

After a long week, there was no place you’d rather be than at home with Bradley.

The two of you have been living together for a couple of months now, but seeing his Bronco parked in the driveway of the condo you shared knowing the empty spot next to it is meant for your own still made your heart flutter out of sheer giddiness.

Even if he still teased you about your practical Honda Civic’s lack of street cred. But it did have a spacious backseat with its own set of doors and an actual trunk, unlike the Bronco.

And on the rare rainy days you got in San Diego, Bradley was asking to borrow your car rather than risk the interior of his big blue baby. Those days you just got to preen as you handed over your car keys to him. Sure, you could be the one to drop him off, but it was funnier watching the way he valiantly attempted to hold back his grimace as he tried to adjust the driver’s seat to comfortably fit his bulk.

As you pull into your spot, you’re hit with that same gust of summer breeze warmth you always are as you. It was a feeling you didn’t expect to go away any time soon.

It takes a bit of finesse getting the front door open with your work tote and purse slung over one shoulder while you cradled the paper bags of bread and box of treats you’d stopped for on the way home in the other.

Bradley had texted you to let you know that he was making dinner earlier, but had forgotten the bread during his grocery run and had asked if you didn’t mind making a quick stop to grab some. He’d promised to make it worth your while, and while you would have done it for him anyways, a little extra incentive was always nice.

Especially after the way he had teased you in the shower this morning.

You picked up the baguette that he’d requested along with a couple loaves of fresh bread for sandwiches that you were planning to stick in the freezer for later. At the checkout, they’d had a few fun pink bakery boxes packed with six individually wrapped cake slices in different flavors. It seemed like more fun than the basic red velvet cupcakes you had been debating as you waited for your turn to pay, so you’d picked up one of those boxes too. Since it was Friday, you figured a little treat was very much deserved after such a long week.

The two of you had just gotten back from a little trip back home not too long ago, but you were already dying for another vacation. Ideally one that involved creamy blended beverages served in coconuts and Bradley Bradshaw wearing some 5-inch inseam swim trunks with his thick thighs on display in the golden sunlight.

It had been so nice to see your parents and to visit the sights of your childhood growing up together. You’ve always gone home for holidays, but it had been years since he’d been there with you. Some things had stayed the same like the ice cream shop where Bradley had had his first job. And some things had changed with the times like the empty parking lot where he’d first taught you how to drive was now the site of an upscale organic grocery store. Now that you and Bradley were you and Bradley, the nostalgia of your younger years felt extra sweet as you’d strolled with his hand tucked yours.

It’s a miracle you get through the door without dropping anything.

You’re waiting to hear the scamper of little paws against the laminate floor headed your way as you kick off your heels, Duck was usually the first one to greet you when you got home.

The puppy was growing all too quick for your liking. For as much as Bradley grumbled about being woken up early on the weekends by the black and white ball of fluff, you’ve caught him on more than one occasion cooing at the dog and slipping him treats. The sweet, goofy little dog was the perfect addition to your dynamic duo.

Even if Bradley still got huffy about the name and how Duck had come to be in your life.

On the occasional night when Bob’s friend Casey from the animal shelter- the man you’d been on exactly half of a date with once close to a year ago- was invited to come hang out, your boyfriend always was finding reasons to stand a little closer to you or leave his hands lingering a little longer on your hips. Those nights usually end with the two of you sweaty and out of breath, tangled in the sheets of your canopy bed.

You can hear Bradley singing along with one of his playlists in the kitchen and the sounds of drawers opening and closing as you tuck your purse and tote under the side table at the entrance. You smile to yourself as you drop your key fob into the bowl where his are already resting, the key to his Bronco was on the same keychain with the little fighter jet charm that you’d given him when you were teens when Mav had given him the Montero for his 16th birthday.

Taking the bread and box of cake slices with you, you pass through the living room you see Duck passed out belly up on his Sherpa lined dog bed. His ears flopped out to the side and his little paws twitching as he dreams about chasing balls or squirrels. It’s a good think your hands are full or you’d be collecting even more photos of your sweet boy in addition to the hundreds you already had on your phone.

“I’m home,” you greet, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the savory smell of onions and garlic growing stronger the closer you get, “And I come bearing a baguette.”

Standing in front of the stove is Bradley with a checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His curls look a little damp, still drying from the shower he must have taken earlier. The soft looking shirt he’s wearing is pulled taut across his back, and the sweatpants he has on are hugging the curve of his ass in the best way. He looks so at ease and comfortable, none of the tense strain in his body that he sometimes comes home with.

Bradley looks over his shoulder towards you with a grin on his face, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His pretty brown eyes rake over you in a way that has you wondering about just how he is planning on thanking you for picking up the baguette you’d stopped for. He lets out a low whistle, “Damn, I love that skirt on you.”

“I’m glad you clarified,” you say, sending him a wink and setting your bakery haul down on the island counter, “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me or the armload of freshly baked carbs.”

He leans his hip on the side of the counter, “A little yeast and flour have got nothing on you, kid.”

“Now you know you can’t go around saying things like that an expect me not to fall in love with you,” you tease, opening the freezer to put the sandwich bread away.

“I’m failing to see a problem with that- oh shit,” he curses, hastily turning back to the stove to adjust the range knob as something spits and sizzles on the top of the convection cooktop.

You step around the island and over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. He’s always been the right kind of warm, the kind that makes you want to melt into him. You press your face against his back, his shirt soft against your cheek. Under the woodsy smell of his body wash there’s still a faint lingering scent of jet fuel. It’s your favorite smell.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, settling his big hand over yours, still stirring the sauce with the other. And you can almost see the easy, contented smile on his face just from the gentle tone of his voice.

“Hi, Bradley,” you hum, happy to be home.

“How was your day?”

“I’m glad it’s the weekend,” you say with a sigh, “The beach day tomorrow with everyone is going to be much needed.” A sympathetic sound rumbles from his chest as his thumb runs over the back of your hand. You were looking forward to sitting under the shade of the stripped umbrella and feeling the sand between your toes as you sip on an icy cold beer. “How was yours?”

“Not too bad, I took Seresin out and now he owes me $200. So overall, it’s been a pretty good day,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Cyclone let us out early, so I was productive. Did some errands, got the groceries. Well, most of them. I even took Duck to the dog park and let him run around for a bit. He made friends with a Great Dane, I took a few videos of them playing on my phone for you.”

The mental image of Bradley recording a video of your puppy being cute and playing in the park in the same way a proud dad would film his kid’s little league game makes you feel more than a little weak in the knees.

Pressing up on your toes, you skim a kiss against the side of his neck and prop your chin on his shoulder to peer at what he’s cooking up.

“It smells really good in here,” you tell him, taking in the pot of sauce simmering away on the stove. Off to the side there’s a cutting board with some fresh basil chopped up and a pile of papery vegetable scraps and a couple empty cans of tomato sauce.

“Yeah? It’s been awhile since I’ve channeled my inner Stanly Tucci, so I thought some homemade spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”

Your eyebrows raise on their own, the surprise evident in your voice, “Homemade meatballs?”

“Ok, maybe those came from Trader Joe’s,” Bradley admits, “But the sauce is all me. I even put the red pepper flakes in it the way you like it.” He reaches over for a handful of basil and adds it into the pot.

You send your thanks up to Carole for making sure her son at least had known the basics of cooking. He could more than hold his own in the kitchen, and the competent way he handled a chef knife in his big hands was endlessly attractive to you.

“‘Semi-homemade with Bradley Bradshaw’ has a nice ring to it, want me to pitch it as a reboot to the Food Network?” You feel the way he chuckles under your palms, the muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing.

“I don’t think I’d make it out with my liver intact. That woman loved her cocktails strong, I’m pretty sure her sangria recipe would send me to the floor,” he jokes, “No wonder why our moms were always watching her.”

“A woman after my own heart,” you sing, “I’m so glad I inherited such good taste from them.”

Bradley shakes his head amused, “The good news for you is that there’s a bottle of red open and waiting for you, funny girl.”

The promise of wine perks you up immediately. Pasta, wine, cake, and Bradley. What more could a girl need?

“God, you’re the man of my dreams.”

“I sure hope so,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“Oh, you are so getting lucky tonight, Lieutenant.” You take advantage of the way he leans his head back and laughs to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

You slide your arms back from around his waist, only managing to take one step towards the bottle of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon that’s breathing over near the sink with one of your wine glasses set out next to it before you’re being stopped with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Hold up, where do you think you’re going, kid?” Bradley asks, tugging you back to him with a grin.

He doesn’t wait for your response before he is leaning in to properly kiss you for the first time since he left for work this morning.

At the press of his lips against yours, you feel every ounce of strain you’d been carrying from the day dissolve like melted sugar. A satisfied hum escapes you and you feel the way the corner of Bradley’s mouth ticks up at your reaction to him. His hands cup your face, tilting you head until it was at the perfect angle for him to deepen the kiss. You don’t even notice he’s back you up against the island until the countertop is digging into your lower back, too distracted by the way the coarse hairs of his mustache scrape along your upper lip.

If it weren’t for the sound of the timer going off the two of you might have almost would have forgotten about dinner entirely, it wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt from the way you’d had it clutched in your fists just moments ago before letting go of him so that he can silence the beeping coming from the oven.

“You want to make us a salad to go with it?”

“Yes, chef,” you purr as you spin on your heel taking off in the other direction.

And really you should have expected the cheeky way his hand connects with your ass in a quick, sharp slap. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but he’s already facing the stove and stirring the sauce again as he adjusts the seasoning with a smirk.

You take a moment to pour yourself a glass of the wine Bradley had opened for you and take a sip. The bold, juicy flavor dancing across your tongue as you set about gathering the things to make a simple salad to go with the dinner he’s made for the two of you.

This is your favorite part of the day, when it’s just the two of you together.

The back and forth has always been easy with him. Whether it’s making dinner or running errands or doing laundry together. The things that always felt mundane on their own had become some of the things you most looked forward to during the week. It’s not that you need to be around him, but you always want to be around him.

When Bradley declares the sauce to be perfect, he comes and joins you at the island. Grabbing a cutting board of his own he starts slicing up the fresh baguette you’d picked up, offering you the end to snack on.

“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, picking up the box of assorted cake slices.

You continue chopping the cucumber in front of you, “Isn’t that fun? They had a stack of those at the checkout. I think they must have made too many cakes this week on accident, but it’s so smart of them so sell them that way. Why get one flavor when you can have six? Best of both worlds for everyone.”

“That so, huh?” he sounds amused by your enthusiasm, “Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”

It hadn’t been a particularly noteworthy visit, other than you’d been able to score a parking spot in front of the building, “Uh, not that I can think of?”

“You sure?” Bradley prods.

“No?... Oh! I was going to pick up that marbled rye you like while I was there getting the baguette, but they were already sold out. So I got a loaf of the multigrain brown bread and some sourdough instead.”

“Mmm, interesting.”

Stopping your salad prep, you look up at him skeptically, “Ok, why are you mmm-ing me, Bradshaw?”

Bradley’s eyes are alight with playful mischief as he slides the box of the cake slices towards you and pointedly double taps on the sticker on the upper right corner of the pink box with his finger.

You hadn’t stopped to read the shiny gold label when you’d grabbed it at the bakery, the tempting layers of cake and frosting and fillings had immediately sold you on it, but you couldn’t unsee what the curly scripted font said now.

Wedding Cake Sampler

“So, when’s the wedding? I’m assuming I’ll be invited,” he grins.

You feel your face get hot as you realize your mistake. It wasn’t just a sample box, but a very specific type of sample box. A very specific type of sample box for a very specific occasion.

Suddenly the interaction with the bakery employee as you were paying makes so much more sense now.

“Oh my god, the girl at the checkout said ‘Congratulations’ and I said ‘Happy Fri-yay’ back to her,” you groan, covering your eyes with your hands, “I thought she meant it like ‘Congrats on making it to Friday’ thing.”

He laughs, “Sweet girl, that’s about the damn cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Happy Fri-yay, Bradley! She was congratulating me on our- I mean- the nonexistent impending nuptials she thought I had and I reply to her that? We need to find a new bakery, I can’t go there ever again,” you lament. It’s truly a tragedy, since they have the best sticky pecan rolls in the area.

“And you call me a drama queen,” Bradley lightly teases, “She probably thought it was funny.”

You groan again, louder this time. If he was going to call you a drama queen, you’d at least try out your best Mariah Carey impersonation.

Your face is still hidden behind your hands when you feel Bradley gather you into his arms, running a warm hand up and down your back. “C’mon, it’s not even that bad. I’m sure I did at least three things more embarrassing than that today.”

“Yeah, I bet you did too,” you grumble into his chest without heat. The way he chuckles at your surliness lets you know he doesn’t take it personally. Not only is he getting laid, but you decide you’re definitely going to give him head too for being the sweetest man alive.

He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls the away from your face, “I gotta tell you, I’m glad it was just a little mix up. It would have sucked to find out my girlfriend had a fiancé I didn’t know about.”

You can see every shade of brown in his eyes as he looks into yours, the affection and amusement rippling there the same way the light catches the surface of a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning.

At this point you really do just have to laugh at yourself. It’s such a silly thing to get worked up about, especially since you know you’re probably more ruffled about Bradley potentially thinking that you’re trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint with it. And fact of the matter is that you still probably would have picked it up anyways, you just might have peeled off the incriminating sticker off in the car before bringing it in.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bradshaw. I’ve got my hands more than full enough with you.”

“Yeah, you do,” he boasts, the insinuation is not lost on you.

You snort a laugh and shove at his chest lightly. He drops a kiss to the side of your head and makes his way back to the other side of the kitchen island as you get back to your salad making duties.

“Hey, just so you know, I can’t wait to eat wedding cake with you later,” he says as he continues to slice up the baguette.

You playfully toss a cucumber at him for his teasing and he pops in mouth with a grin.

A little later, when you have your steaming bowls of pasta in front of you at the dinner table, he raises his glass of wine to you, “Happy Fri-yay, sweet girl.”

And your laugh is as crystalline as the clink of your glass meeting his in cheers.

After the leftovers are put away and the dishes cleaned, the two of you are cozied up watching the new romcom that was just added on Netflix.

You’re stretched out across the couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap eating the cake you’d picked up. You try a bit of each flavor deciding which one you like the most to save it for the end, while Bradley takes his chances and eats one slice at a time before moving on to the next one. It’s truly unhinged behavior and you couldn’t help but tease him about it when you’d noticed his cake tasting methodology.

Bradley moans around a forkful of cake and you know he’s just found the carrot cake- his favorite.

He’s always been a bit of a pseudo health nut with questionable logic. “It’s got carrots and walnuts, it’s basically a superfood” he’s claimed on multiple occasions, while purposefully excluding the part about the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the frosting.

“I’d clear my schedule in heartbeat and take you to City Hall any day of the week as long as we get to have this carrot cake when we get married,” he says right before he licks the frosting off of his fork.

Your breath catches in your throat.

When, not if.

He says it so easily like there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’ll be you and him facing each other at the end of an aisle as vows about forever are exchanged.

He says it like a fact.

He says it like he knows.

“I didn’t realize I missed the part where you asked me,” you say, setting your plate on the coffee table in front of you, too full of the hope of it all to keep eating.

“And here I was waiting on you, kid,” he says playfully, taking another bite.

He’s teasing, you know he is. Bradley isn’t the type of man who would lead you on or play games with your heart.

“Bradley.” It’s an almost whine the way his name comes out of your mouth as you nudge his thigh with your foot. You turn your head to bury your face in the cushion of the couch, suddenly feeling very bashful.

The two of you have never talked about it, at least not like this before. Only in casual passing comments like getting a place with a bigger backyard for Duck or about setting up a joint banking account. A hypothetical future.

“Hey, c’mon. Look at me,” he coaxes, squeezing your foot. When you peek at him, the look on his face is all open sincerity, “You’re my forever girl. I love you and I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’re ok with that.”

A rush butterflies happily swoop and swirl around in your stomach.

He’s been in your life for almost three decades now. You’d known the boy, the teen, and you more than liked the man he’d become. You had absolutely no intention of ever letting him go. He was yours. Forever and always.

“That’d be ok with me,” you tell him freely. You watch as his smile gets wider and broader until it’s taking up his whole face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I think I could handle quite a few more decades with you, Bradley Bradshaw.”

“Is that so?” he drawls, his fingers skimming up and down the top of your calf.

“Oh, definitely. You’re stuck with me,” you grin.

“Good.”

He tugs your ankle, pulling you until your back is flat against the couch. You squeal in delight as he pins you down on the cushions, your arms and legs wrap around him on their own drawing him in even closer. Then he’s kissing every inch of your face that he can reach as you laugh in delight.

If it weren’t for Bradley’s sturdy bulk on top of you, you’re pretty sure you might have just floated away. You’ve never felt this incandescently light in your whole life.

He brushes one more quick kiss to the top of your nose before he pulls away, “But just so we’re on the same page, that wasn’t an official proposal. More like a declaration of intention.”

“I don’t know,” you muse, stroking his pink cheek, “Sounds like you’re desperate to wife me up, Bradley. Practically begging for me to take you to the courthouse.”

His hands go straight for curve of your waist, attacking that ticklish spot that’s always made you giggle and squirm. Only taking mercy on you once you’re out of breath. You’re almost positive that the smile on your face might be there permanently.

You don’t miss the intensity in Bradley’s eyes as they trace over your face as he settles himself more fully on you, “You don’t know the half of it, kid. But I’m letting you know now, I’m not going to make either one of us wait long for it.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

You feel the promise he’s making to you in his kiss. The caress of his hands along your body feels like a vow. You feel every ounce of just how much he loves and cherishes you. The cake was sweet, but his honeyed kiss tastes even sweeter.

“Tell me we can have carrot cake at our wedding, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips.

Our wedding.

The thought of it made you giddy.

You wanted to wear his ring on your finger just as much as you wanted to see him wearing one of his own one day. You liked your last name, but there was nothing more you wanted than to be Mrs. Bradshaw. It would be another thing you and Carole could share. A name and the everlasting love for her son.

“Ok, we can have carrot cake at our wedding,” you agree, wholeheartedly, “It’s basically a superfood, after all.”

“Damn right it is,” he beams.

The cake is quickly forgotten in favor of pulling your shirt over your head.

You might not have a ring. Yet.

But you did have a lifetime with Bradley and a carrot cake to look forward to. And that was more than enough for you.

Bradley was pretty sure that there was nothing better on this Earth than having you draped across his chest as you slept soundly in his arms. Your breathing had softened and evened out ages ago, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of his bright future with you.

He’d meant it when he’d told you he wasn’t going to make you wait long. Bradley didn’t know how much longer he could go on calling you his girlfriend when all he really wanted to call you his wife. He’s imagined you in a white dress walking towards him more times than he could count.

When he’d planned the surprised trip back to your shared hometown as a gift for your six-month anniversary, he might have had some ulterior motives. While it was nice to see the place you’d both grown up in again as adults, there had been a more pressing issue on his mind the whole time.

He hadn’t been able to control the nervous bounce of his leg or his sweaty palms when he’d ask your mom’s permission for your hand in marriage. It hadn’t been any easier the second time, when he’d had to do it all over again with you dad that sunny day at the golf course.

Bradley knew it was a bit of an antiquated tradition, but he’d never proposed to anyone before and he wanted to get it right. He wanted you and your parents to know just how serious he was about his intentions to love you for the rest of his life. He’d even asked Mav for his blessing too, just to make sure he had his bases covered.

It had thrown him through a loop when at the end of the trip you mom had slipped him the ring she’d worn while she was married to your dad. She’d told him there was no expectations or pressure to use it, she just wanted him to have it just in case.

The engagement ring his mom had worn had been tucked in the back corner of his nightstand for almost four months now. Bradley had pulled it out of storage sometime around the third month of officially dating you. It would be too soon for anyone else, but he’s already had decades with you. And he’d never been more sure about anything in his life as he was about knowing you were the one for him.

The two of you had always been perfectly right on time in your own way.

He’d dwelled on it for weeks trying to figure out if he should give them both to you at once. Or if he should propose to you with one and save the other to you during another monumental moment, like when the two of you started a family. He figured could turn one into a necklace or something for you.

Bradley could feel the presence of both rings every time he walked into the bedroom. They were both equally were important to him, he wanted to get it right.

His mom had known and loved you, he knew that she’d have been so excited to see her ring on your finger. And after his mom had passed, yours had helped him during those rough days in ways he didn’t think he could ever properly thank her for. Even though your parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out, they were the reason that you were here and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.

It wasn’t until Natasha had shown him the Toi et Moi style ring that things locked into place in a way that made his heart race at the very idea of it.

The right ring for the right girl.

He lets his fingers trail up and down your back gently as you slept soundly against him.

In the kitchen earlier that night, he might have bent the truth about his day just a little bit.

The final design had been sent to his email that morning. And it was more perfect than he could have imagined.

He did win $200 from Jake and had gone to the dog park with Duck, but he’d also stopped by the jewelers across town to give them both of the family heirlooms because he didn’t want to waste a single minute.

Two diamonds, one ring. The start of you and him. A story of your beginnings to be worn on the finger that would tie him to you with a golden thread for the rest of your lives together.

He’d even paid extra to have it engraved.

My sweet girl. My forever girl.

I genuinely thought I was one and done after I wrote my first fic in December of last year. And then came these two. 'Like I Can' was meant to be a oneshot that turned into a 3-part series that turned into half of my masterlist. I adore this couple with my whole heart. Thank you for reading along and celebrating with me!

Elle (@callsignspark) thank you for sending me the TikTok that inspired the headcanon about the wedding cake sampler, I'm showering you with shiny 'thank you' shaped confetti! And another big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for getting as giddy about these two as I do and for always enthusiastically reading the snippets I send you! You both are the best!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[coquelicoq]

i know we're all losing it at this sudden insight we've gained in the [tarik voice] uhhh why is there a drone in my face scene, so i wanted to pull out some moments from previous books in which murderbot uses drones to look at people and see how differently they read if we now assume said drones are hovering inches away from their faces. reviewing my notes to look for examples is how i found out that mb doesn't pilot drones to look at people's faces until FT/NE, with one exception, and it's a doozy:

When it [the drone] reached Wilken, I had it stop and hover in front of her face for twenty-six seconds. Okay, so I was a little angry. (RP, ch. 5)

so like, it knows putting a drone in somebody's face is gonna freak them out, and it uses that to fuck with a human that pissed it off. lol.

that's really the only moment in the first four books where mb could conceivably be droning right up in someone's business, and it's made explicit. so i don't think we missed anything there. FT and NE are another story. here are some of my favorite moments:

FT

Indah faced me and asked, "You have experience at this?" Watching her via the drones, I kept my gaze on the Starchy Foods!!! sign, which had little dancing figures around it which I guess were supposed to be starchy foods. (ch. 1)

there's something about having a drone in your face while you're trying to talk to a person who is staring very seriously at a whimsical sign that contains three exclamation points...

Indah stared at Tural. So did I, with my drones. (ch. 2)

MULTIPLE drones in face incident! plus your boss giving you the eyeball?? tural is doing their best u guys please have mercy!

He [one of Mensah's assistants] was used to me and used to confidential council stuff, so he didn’t even glance up at my drones, just nodded to us and slipped out as we stepped in. (ch. 6)

whose job is it to tell newly hired assistants "ignore it" when there's a drone in their face? it's probably part of the standard onboarding procedure at this point tbh.

Then me, Aylen, and Indah were standing in the office looking at each other. Or they were looking at me and my drones were looking at them. (ch. 6)

mexican standoff if instead of guns you had eye contact and also one of the people involved doesn't like making eye contact. or something.

NE

The drone I had watching [Mensah's] face increased magnification, its low-light filter rendering her features in black and white. (ch. 2)

POV you're having a tense conversation about trauma therapy in the dark with a little flying camera buzzing around your head. just little secunit teammate things! (i actually think mensah finds this very comforting though. she smiles at the drone four pages later <3)

I wanted to use my drones to look at [Amena], but while that was calming for me, it wouldn’t be for her. (ch. 3)

hmm would it not be calming for amena to have something hovering in her face right when she's about to be abducted by raiders? ya think??

I had a drone view of Amena watching the hand scanner, her brow furrowed in half-wince, half-concentration. (ch. 6)

it doesn't have to be like this [mb 🤝 performing surgery] when it can also be like this [putting a drone in amena's face 🤝 mb 🤝 performing surgery]. mb has two hands (metaphorically)

My drone watched [Amena] eyeing me. (ch. 20)

every time mb says it sees through a drone that someone is watching it gets 200% funnier if this means that the person is deliberately ignoring the drone invading their personal bubble in order to look at the person that is outside of their personal bubble. like that's commitment.

[Mensah] came and sat down next to me in the lounge and I adjusted a drone to be able to get a view of her face. (ch. 20)

read: "a drone zoomed down from where it was circling above my head and stopped an inch in front of mensah's nose." i mean, you don't have to read it that way, it's never made explicit and i'm not the boss of you. but isn't it fun to imagine?

[cxffeeink]

MORE NOLI OCS

[ ☀ ] Maybe I should do this more often--- drop like a somewhat colored sketch and then a BUNCH of sketches

Anyway !! On your right would be Marisol Dimayuga and potential love interest, Phillip Escheverria ( they make my heart hurt but more on that later. soon ), I know my anatomy is really wonky--- I find it funny how I sketched most of these in school

[ 🍂 ] THINGS YOU MUST KNOW

Marisol's parents are Elias and Salome Dimayuga ( Elias took Salome's last name because of all the tragedy surrounding his family--- he believed it was ill luck + Salome has a surname from Batangas despite being from Mindoro because her father was from the first province teehee + you can see how much time I spent thinking about this )

Marisol is canonically SIX FEET AND ABOUT NINE INCHES TALL. It's even funnier to think about because there is a certain rumor in San Diego ( there are far too many about her small family to count, from her father being a bandit to her mother being a sorceress from the islands--- she isn't entirely sure which are false ) stating that Marisol is really just a giant and her mother is a goddess or something ( in Filipino folklore, I think humans and deities make giants, which I found super interesting )

she is into art and hyper-realism while sketching + she prefers charcoals and pencils over paint but will make an exception with oil paint, PLUS she is very good at math + carrying stuff around and doing "heavy" chores

she has a sort of ghostly connection w her aunt, Elias's twin sister--- she often sees her ghost hanging around the house with a bout of roses growing in her chest it's spooky

she loves her parents, her brother Amihan, and the friendship she finds with Victoria Ibarra and her siblings ( they make me so 💕💕💕 )

I'LL STOP YAPPING NOW BUT YEAH HUAHAHAHAHA

[gretagerwigsmuse]

may may may!! this was SUCH a treat and made me so unbelievably happy to read this morning! it was so festive and i’ve (tragically) always been an anthony girl, but lordddddd if you keep writing benedict i might just have to switch! there was so much yearning and pinning. god he’s so fucking CUTE 🥰 i included my favorite parts below, but this was such a gift and a lovely surprise!

"Hyacinth can be pretty persuasive," you acquiesce, thinking with a shudder of the time the prepubescent girl stared you down until you gave her your brand-new Charlotte Tillbury lipstick. Sort of like being bullied out of your lunch money. - this was so perfect and so hyacinth and i would also lose my shit if someone took my charlotte tilbury lipstick

This is the thing: Worse than Benedict's six feet, worse than his messy hair and blue eyes and dimples, worse than all of that, is that he's actually nice. A genuinely good guy who talks to you like you're more than just his little sister's best friend, more than the annoying girl that gets invited to family holidays because her home life isn't the best, who moons over him at every turn. That's the thing that keeps you hoping, stubbornly, stupidly. - sorry i know this isn’t the point, but i wish my best friends had an older brother, they’re legit all only children or have sisters, which is SO LAME. i like how it’s also specified that only benedict does this out of eloise’s siblings and not that the others are rude to her, but ben specifically singles her out by being particularly sweet

You don't want him to leave. All your time spent with Benedict is stolen, clipped, bookended by family dinners, or movie nights with his sister. The closest you've ever gotten to him was when you all crowded into the back of a cab on your way to a club, his thigh pressed against your own and his arm awkwardly angled somewhere behind your neck. Just half an inch of space between you, but your ribcage cracked open like somebody wedged a crowbar in there. - may?? MAY??? this is so beautiful! oh i love your writing so much, i could feel every single part of this as i read it 🥰🥰

It might be dramatic to say that your whole life depends on whether your best friend's older brother likes the gift you picked out for him, but apparently, that's where you are now. In the most pathetic turn of events of all time, you're pretty sure the trajectory of your future hinges on this moment. - girl! you are not being dramatic!! gift giving is SO HARD because it reveals so so much about you and how you feel about that person! and then to find out that the rest of his family doesn’t quite appreciate/take his painting seriously and SHE DID!! also ben def painted that watercolor she received

You stay in your spot on the couch, still sitting on your hands, trying not to think about the way Benedict looked at you. Trying not to dream. - TRYING NOT TO DREAM 😭😭😭 SWEET GIRL

For a moment, you imagine what it must be like. There was such warmth in that room earlier, such joy and love, but there were so many people, too. All of them loud and charming and lovely. All of them wonderful. All of them captivating in their own way. How easy must it be to get swallowed up by the sheer force of all of them? How easy must it be to feel passed over as the second of eight children, always surpassed by somebody else? Always somebody cleverer or funnier or more lovable? Sometimes, you think, it must be a lonely thing to never be alone. Sometimes, you think, he must feel invisible. - this was just gorgeous and what i imagine it must be like to have a bunch of siblings and each of them more captivating than the next 🥺 it’s lovely and beautiful but also must be a little lonely

Then, when he pulls away, just for a beat, he lingers, his exhale a gasp, and for that instant, it's like you're the last two people on the planet, like he's the only thing that matters, like nothing existed before you and nothing will after you're gone. Suspended in time. - SUSPENDED IN TIME!!! CRYING THIS IS GORGEOUS!!! MAY!!! i’m officially a ben girlie!

all the love (under a misteltoe) . benedict bridgerton

pairing ; benedict bridgerton x female!reader

synopsis ; modern!au. you have been in love with your best friend's older brother for years. on Christmas eve, things finally come to a head.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; explicit lanugage, some allusions to reader having a shitty family, christmas angst, pining, one mention of margaret thatcher

note: i'm not british (english isn't even my first language) so pls excuse any inaccuracies in any slang etc etc... also this was supposed to be a smutty thing and no instead it's exclusively tooth-rotting fluff so I'd like to apologize.... merry Christmas??? if anybody does want a steamy part two... well, hit me up I guess!

i stole the title from britney spears' my only wish (this year)!

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. They've got it all - the stockings above the merrily crackling fireplace, the Christmas crackers twinkling on a long table, the boughs of holly climbing up doorways. It's like a Selfridges on the 21st of December just vomited all over the place.

"Seriously," you say, blinking in a mixture of awe and fear, "how big is this thing?"

Eloise, much more accustomed to her family's display of wealth and Bridgerton harmony, shrugs without looking away from her phone screen. "No idea. Benedict is like 6 feet, and that thing is twice his size, so, like… 12 feet? I don't know, it's Christmas. You do the math."

She turns away, still glued to an Instagram page plastered with pink graphics informing about various social issues in carefully-designed typography, and leaves you standing alone in the entrance hall. If you didn't like the Bridgertons so much, you'd be the first to say their Christmas tree is obnoxious. It's a ridiculous thing, wide enough to commandeer half the room. It's covered top to bottom in tinsel, dark blue ornaments dangling from every branch and reflecting the light until the thing looks less than a tree and more like a hallucination one might have two hours into an LSD trip.

The London townhouse you've crashed at more than once after a night on the town gone to shambles is impressive enough, but the Brdigerton's ancestral home in the countryside is a whole other beast. From the sprawling gardens to the sheer endless rooms, from the stucco ceilings to the servant stairs, from the life-size portraits of nineteenth-century family members to the white marble busts, you half expect a tourist group to round the corner at any moment. You're pretty sure you saw a hedge maze on your way in.

Sure, you've known your college best friend Eloise Bridgerton was loaded, but you didn't expect this. Then again, her sister is married to a Duke and shows up on the Sun's front page semi-regularly, so maybe this one was on you.

"So what do we think? Sufficiently Christmas-y or too much?"

You sink your teeth into the tail-end of a scream, letting out a strangled sound instead. Benedict Bridgerton really is six foot tall, and fuck him for that. Couldn't he at least have been some sensible height? Five reasonable feet and seven nice inches? Has he got to be perfect? Has he got to be the six feet you've been dreaming about for the past four years in increasingly more frenzied fashions? 

He stands with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, with his hair tousled and his face relaxed into the same friendly, good-natured smile he always gives you.

"Uh… What?" Immediately, you curse your lack of eloquence. And earlier on the ride over, you'd sworn to yourself that, for once, you wouldn't act like an actual idiot in front of him.

Benedict, grinning, points forward. "The tree."

"Oh." You crane your neck back to look at the star mounted to the top, floating somewhere above the marble railing hugging the walkway to the second floor. "Well. It's very… big."

Benedict chuckles. "Yeah, I agree. I did tell Mom it was excessive, but she insisted. I'm pretty sure Hyacinth would mutiny if she ordered anything under ten feet."

You hum, faintly wondering what it must feel like to get a tree, let alone one big enough to get put up in front of the Rockefeller center. "Hyacinth can be pretty persuasive," you acquiesce, thinking with a shudder of the time the prepubescent girl stared you down until you gave her your brand-new Charlotte Tillbury lipstick. Sort of like being bullied out of your lunch money.

"You can say that again." 

Benedict falls silent, and for a moment, you just stand there, side by side, staring up at the tree. Dean Martin drifts over from the dining room. Your stomach is on the most terrifying rollercoaster ride of its life. 

Then, out of nowhere, Benedict says, "You're wet, by the way."

"I…" You splutter. "What?"

He nods down toward the floor. "Your shoes, I mean. You're soaking the rug."

You follow the line of his eyes down to your boots, still caked in the snow and sludge you drudged up on the way up the ten-mile-long driveway. A grey puddle has accumulated around you.

"Bugger," you mutter. "Eloise did say I could leave the shoes on…."

A conspiratorial grin crosses Benedict's face. He says, "Remember when you and El caught me smoking that joint in the study? I won't tell if you won't."

This is the thing: Worse than Benedict's six feet, worse than his messy hair and blue eyes and dimples, worse than all of that, is that he's actually nice. A genuinely good guy who talks to you like you're more than just his little sister's best friend, more than the annoying girl that gets invited to family holidays because her home life isn't the best, who moons over him at every turn. That's the thing that keeps you hoping, stubbornly, stupidly.

"Maybe you should go change for dinner," he suggests. "I'll take your suitcase up for you."

"You don't have to!" you protest, even as he's already bending over to retrieve it, even as you're secretly glad you won't have to try and lug that thing up all those stairs yourself.

"It's fine." Benedict waves you away, then tests the weight of the suitcase. "Jesus. I thought you were only staying for three days. What the hell did you pack in here?"

The sight of your bedroom floor at home, every inch covered with discarded clothes and toiletries and last-minute Christmas present purchases, overcomes you like a war flashback. "Uh… Books," you say, falling into step beside him as you climb the stairs together. "I brought a lot of books."

If Benedict knows you're one of the worst liars in England, he doesn't let it on. Instead, he hums Wham! 's greatest hit while ascending the stairs two steps at a time. You try your best not to stare at his butt when he overtakes you and focus instead on the plush velvet carpet and the actual footsteps you leave on it, cringing.

You follow him down a long corridor, past decorative Chinese-style vases filled with out-of-season greenhouse flowers. "This is your room," Benedict says, pushing the door at the end of the hall, somewhat separate from the others, open with his hip. "Eloise is just down the hall."

Like everything else in Aubrey Hall, the room is so tasteful you're scared to touch anything. Held exclusively in shades of pastels, in the softest blues, pinks, and creams, a huge four-poster bed is pushed to one wall, flanked on both sides by nightstands. The opposite side of the room is covered in floor-to-ceiling French windows that offer a spectacular view of the grounds, powdered with snow. Somebody lit a fire in here too, and above the mantle…

"Oh, God," you squeak, staring at a huge oil painting depicting perhaps the most miserable-looking man you have ever seen. Margaret Thatcher and her iron lady posturings have nothing on this bloke.

"Right, that's Uncle Barnaby." Benedict deposits your suitcase on a stuffed armchair. "Us kids just call him Uncle Fester."

"Yeah," you say slowly. "That checks out."

Benedict laughs. "Sorry, you got stuck in this one. All the other guest rooms are in the West wing, and Mom figured you'd be more comfortable not being that far away from everybody else."

The West wing. You get the sudden, spectacular image of yourself in an ankle-length lace nightgown wandering down stone hallways with nothing to light the way but a single, flickering candle. If you can fantasize about Gothic romances set in your own home, you decide, you should start thinking about downsizing.

"Right." Benedict runs a hand through his hair, and you track the movement, watching the muscles rippling in his forearm. He's wearing a grey cashmere sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight could make a stronger woman swoon. "I'll let you get settled in."

You don't want him to leave. All your time spent with Benedict is stolen, clipped, bookended by family dinners, or movie nights with his sister. The closest you've ever gotten to him was when you all crowded into the back of a cab on your way to a club, his thigh pressed against your own and his arm awkwardly angled somewhere behind your neck. Just half an inch of space between you, but your ribcage cracked open like somebody wedged a crowbar in there.

"Where are you sleeping?" It's a desperate attempt to prolong the moment, to keep him in this room alone with you for just a little longer, and you regret the question the moment it's out. Either he now thinks you're a stalker or, even worse, that you're secretly trying to draw up a layout plan of the estate to prepare for your inevitable heist. You wouldn't be surprised if there were several million pounds in cash stashed in a vault somewhere in Aubrey Hall, and rent in London has reached astronomic heights. Who could blame you for indulging?

But Benedict doesn't look concerned. Instead, he pauses just a step or two from you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and answers, "I'm right next door. Just knock if you need help with anything."

For a split second, Benedict's hand finds the curve of your spine, fingertips pressing through the thick knit sweater and painting a shiver down your back. It goes through you like a bolt of lightning.

Then he draws back as if nothing happened, gives you a crooked, curling smile, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

You drop down onto the mattress with a groan, bury your face in the 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and pretend you're not actively trying to strangle yourself. 

"Well," you mumble, voice muffled by the pillowcase, "Happy Christmas to me."

+

Christmas dinner with the Bridgertons is a bizarre experience. Everybody talks over each other, Hyacinth and Gregory chuck spoonfuls of peas at each other, Colin spills a whole ladle of gravy across the tablecloth, Anthony and his wife Kate spend half the meal whispering to each other and the other half stealing kisses, Eloise starts debating politics with Simon (who isn't half as stuffy as you expected a duke to be) at the top of her lungs, and Benedict drinks at least five glasses of sparkling wine before his mother takes the bottle from him.

You watch the whole thing with a feeling in your stomach like a bullet wound.

After a dessert of indefinable mush Hyacinth swore up and down was her homemade plum pudding, you move to a large sitting room. There is a second tree in here, this one a little less obnoxious and covered in homemade ornaments, the exploits of eight children and countless pre-Christmas arts and crafts sessions. The crackling fire paints flushes into the family's cheeks and gives the whole room a homey, rustic atmosphere that seems at odds with the overall elegance of the house.

Everybody is allowed to open one present. You think you see the instantaneous regret on Violet Bridgerton's face when her youngest son unpacks his new portable speakers with a whoop of joy loud enough to bust several eardrums. Watching the pandemonium unfold before you, you sit squished into a corner of the sofa beside Eloise, your hands trapped under your thighs, and try not to feel out of place.

Maybe this was a mistake, you think to yourself. Maybe you shouldn't have intruded on a family holiday as you are, regardless of Eloise's invitation. It must have been a pity thing anyway, what with you saying you were just going to stay in London for Christmas, in your shitty flat with the broken radiator and the leaking pipes. You pretty much guilt-tripped her into that by mentioning the frozen curry you were planning to get from the Tesco frozen section, now that you think about it, and God, you were definitely forcing yourself on them, weren't you, and they were all just way too nice to mention it and…

"Here," Violet's voice tears you from the downward rollercoaster ride about to plunge neck-deep into the pond of anxiety. "Merry Christmas."

She places a flat present in your lap, wrapped in deer-print paper. 

"Oh," you say softly, and your chest feels tight like somebody is pulling a cord taut around it, "you didn't have to…."

"It's just a little thing." Violet has the kind of smile so warm you suspect it could melt ice cubes within seconds. "We're so happy to have you for Christmas."

You feel self-conscious as you unwrap the present, aware of all eyes on you. The paper reveals a picture frame, simple yet tasteful dark wood that feels smooth and supple against your skin. Behind the glass is a watercolor painting, a study of a tulip. The pink petals seem almost life-like in their detail as if a drop of dew should drip off the edge and roll down the picture any moment. You can practically feel it, wet and cold against your fingertip.

"Eloise said you're very fond of flowers. I thought you might find a place for it in your room."

For a head-spinning, gut-wrenching moment, you think you're going to cry. "I… thank you," you choke out. "It's… lovely."

Violet smiles and pats your hand. "It wouldn't be Christmas without a present. You didn't think we'd forget you, did you?"

They move on to Colin, who tears at his wrapping paper with such eagerness he gets a papercut, but you feel stuck. There is a lump in your throat, and you clutch the picture too tightly. Somehow, you realize, you did think they'd forget you. Only that's not really right. To forget you, they'd have to think about you first, and you can't imagine any of the Bridgertons wasting a single thought on you, apart maybe from Eloise. Sure, you spend more time at their house than in your own flat, but that doesn't mean anything, does it? It's not like your own family misses you much this Christmas. You've gotten more than used to being invisible.

"I want this one," Benedict says and, to your horror, lifts one of the presents you left there earlier. "I like the sustainable vibe."

Feeling obliged to get presents for everyone, you'd spent yesterday running through a department store for at least three hours. Mostly it's boxes of chocolates and a book for Eloise, stuff that diminished your already meager savings more acutely than you'd planned for. And then it had come time to choose something for Benedict, and you'd spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over possible presents. By the time you'd made it home, only to realize you'd forgotten to get wrapping paper, all the stores were closed. So you'd wrapped everything in the newspaper the ancient couple living next door hadn't picked up off their welcome mat yet. They're in Cardiff visiting her sister for the holiday, and you're supposed to be watering their plants while they're gone. Which is a task that might be a bit hard to accomplish, seeing as you're currently several hours outside of London. 

"Oh, that's… that's mine," you pipe up, then immediately clear your throat. You've somehow managed to sound like a cartoon mouse. An especially squeaky, pathetic cartoon mouse.

Benedict glances at you, gives you a smile he most certainly inherited from his mother, and says, "Perfect."

Whatever that's supposed to mean.

He has a similar approach to unwrapping presents as his younger brother, but at least he doesn't injure himself in the process. As you watch him, your heart beats somewhere in your throat. Suddenly you're right back where Violet picked you up, on the verge of anxiety about to perform one of history's most spectacular dives.

It might be dramatic to say that your whole life depends on whether your best friend's older brother likes the gift you picked out for him, but apparently, that's where you are now. In the most pathetic turn of events of all time, you're pretty sure the trajectory of your future hinges on this moment.

The improvised wrapping paper floats to the carpet like that plastic bag Katy Perry immortalized in her magnum opus Firework. For a moment, Benedict says nothing, staring at the gift in his hand.

"I can… If you don't like it, I can just return it," you say, even as you start frantically searching your memory for where in the world you put that receipt. Your heart is pumping blood through your veins at a pace that makes you dizzy. "It's not a big deal. It's fine, it was…."

Benedict holds the box of watercolours in front of his chest like some sacred artefact. He opens the lid and peers inside, examining the different shades wordlessly. Then he closes it, looks up, and right at you. A beat passes with him just looking at you, with your heart fluttering its feathery wings against the cage of your teeth, with you squirming in the spot. And then Benedict smiles, wide and bright and honest. "I love it," he says, "thank you. It's fantastic."

Your chest caves in.

"Oh," you whisper, half deaf over the rushing of blood in your ears. "Okay. Cool."

For a second, it looks like Benedict will say something else, like there are words forming on the tip of his tongue, and you feel like you're clinging to a cliff's edge by the tips of your nails. But then Hyacinth pulls the box from his hands to look at the paint, to run her fingers over the shades, and the moment passes.

If somebody asked you later, you wouldn't be able to tell them how the rest of the unwrapping goes. It's all a blur, a mirage of different exclamation and laughter and more or less well-thought-out presents that passes in front of you like a supercut, all of it accompanied by a playlist consisting mainly of Mariah Carey and Michael Bublé. You stay in your spot on the couch, still sitting on your hands, trying not to think about the way Benedict looked at you. Trying not to dream.

When the younger kids rope Colin and Anthony into a game of charades that requires an exorbitant amount of physical movement, you help the others clean up the abandoned shambles of the dinner table. Benedict is doing the dishes in the kitchen when you enter carrying a pale of plates so high you see nothing but the dried gravy Jackson Pollock sprinkled all across the edges.

"Careful." Benedict's fingers brush yours as he takes the plates from you and places them gingerly on the countertop.

"Thanks," you mutter, then spend just one second staring at the broad expanse of his back, holding your hands uselessly in front of you, before turning back toward the dining room, intent on finding something else to occupy yourself with.

Benedict's voice stops you. "Do you want to help me?"

You whirl on your heel embarrassingly fast, clearing your throat when you find him smiling at you. "Uhm. Sure."

He nods toward a dish towel on a rack and asks, "I wash, you dry?"

"Yeah. Sounds amazing." For a second, you genuinely consider slamming your head into one of the kitchen cabinets. Since when has drying dishes ever sounded amazing?

Benedict gives no indication that he thinks you might be the weirdest girl he's ever met, though, so you take that as consolation. He's rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue button-down again, his arms elbow-deep in the sudsy water of the sink, and you pretend not to notice the droplets running down his skin. Outside the window, snow falls in thick ribbons, covering more of the grounds. The faint sound of the Bridgertons enjoying themselves drifts into the kitchen's silence.

You accept the pan he was washing and start running your towel over it. A wet stain soaks into your dress where you press the Teflon-coated edge to your stomach.

"We can put the plates in the dishwasher later," Benedict says, filling the silence gaping like a canyon. "But I think the big stuff we should do by hand. Pots and pans and all that."

Unsure how to answer, you nod. Your mind is whirling, reeling, somersaulting. For so long, you've wanted to be alone with Benedict, have imagined it, dreamed it, conjured it up in your mind. And now here you are, and you can't seem to open your mouth. And it's not even like you have nothing to say, quite the opposite. You have so much to say you don't know where to start.

Like: You look great in that shirt. I hope you like my present. I think you're a great artist. If the Torys keep passing that PM cap around instead of letting us vote, I'm going to scream. I think capybaras are criminally underrated, and I'm glad they're having their moment on social media. How do you feel about turnips? I might have been half in love with you since the first time I met you.

Benedict, putting an end to your spiral, says, "It can be a lot, right?"

"Sorry?"

"The whole thing." He jerks his head in the direction of the dining room, an indulgent smile on his face that tells you all you need to know about Benedict's feelings for his family. "The whole Bridgerton Christmas chaos."

You shrug, lowering your head so he can't see your face, can't see whatever emotion might betray you. "I like it."

"Even Hyacinth's plum pudding? I think that could pass for a murder weapon."

"Yeah," you say, and find that your voice is much too sincere. "Even that. It's not… I've never had this." You cut yourself off immediately, not even sure why you said it in the first place. It's much too easy to be honest with Benedict, and it scares you in ways you can't describe.

"What do you mean?"

It feels like an impossible task to look at him, so you don't. You're too afraid of what you'll find - pity, maybe, or incomprehension. How could someone like Benedict possibly ever understand?

If you turn on a TV around Christmas time and watch a commercial or a movie, if you walk down a shopping street and look at the advertisements playing on screens or smiling from posters, if you pick up a holiday-themed novel, there is a certain feeling being sold to you: of warmth and joy and community. Of smiling grandparents and colorful sweaters. Of presents heaping like molehills beneath gleaming trees. Of roasts and mashed potatoes and peas and carrots and Christmas puddings and beaming families devouring them in perfect harmony. It's the same feeling you encountered right here in this house, in the perfect rooms populated with perfect Bridgertons. In those images, people are always happy.

Christmas, to you, has always been terrifying.

"It's not…." You hesitate. "In my family," you say finally, and hope your voice sounds steadier than it feels, "it's never been good. It was just a lot of yelling, and… I've never had this. The laughing together and enjoying each other's company and all that stuff. The love. And I… I look at it, and I can tell, you see? That it's just so normal to you guys, I think maybe you don't even notice it. But I do. And it just… it doesn't really seem fair."

You don't wait for an answer, instead turning away from him in a way you hope makes it clear that this is not an avenue of conversation you want to pursue. It's like you've just stripped yourself bare in front of him, exposed yourself to his ridicule and his gaze under the unforgiving kitchen lights. It's like you have handed him a map to the innermost parts of yourself. All those ugly, pathetic parts you've spent your life hiding.

Benedict seems to understand because the next thing he says is, "Thank you again for the present."

For a beat, you close your eyes. There, you think. You've got what you wanted. He's ignoring it. He's looking away.

You chance a glance at his side profile, at the furrow between his brows as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of charred carrot sticking to the pot. "You're welcome," you answer. "I'm glad you didn't think it was shitty."

"Why would I think that? It's perfect." When you chuckle, shrug, when the self-deprecating note sneaks into the sound, Benedict ceases his scrubbing to look at you. "I mean it. It's really special."

"It's not even…." You hesitate, wondering if maybe you're fishing for compliments here. Whatever, the validation feels nice, and Benedict seems willing to give it to you, even if he probably finds you annoying. "It's not even a very creative gift. All things considered, you know?"

Everybody knows Benedict likes painting, even though there was some botched stint with the Academy a few years back. He eventually dropped out, but you don't think his aspirations changed.

He shrugs and turns back to the pot. "It is to me. My family all seem to think I'm not serious about the whole art thing, so it's nice to be acknowledged. It doesn't happen that often."

You pause to glance at him. Thrown into relief by the golden spill of the light, bracketed on one side by the winter night, for a moment, he's so pretty you feel your stomach clench. 

"But you're so…" You break off, swallowing. Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. "Everybody sees you."

"What do you mean?" Benedict looks at you with real confusion scrunching up his face, and you feel almost stupid.

Helplessly, you shrug, dry the last drops of water off the pan, and put it down on the counter. "Just… People always notice you, you know? When you enter a room or when you go somewhere. I just thought… I thought you must feel really acknowledged. Like all of the time. I don't know."

Your heart is beating so furiously that you wonder if he can hear it. Embarrassment leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as the words escape you. Now he really should file a restraining order, you think. It would be perfectly justified, with you exposing just how much attention you've been paying to everything he does. God, you're a freak, aren't you?

When he smiles at you, there's something sad to the expression. "I've noticed," he says, forming the words carefully, "that what most people acknowledge about me is my family. But that's not the same as acknowledging me. That's not the same as seeing me."

For a moment, you imagine what it must be like. There was such warmth in that room earlier, such joy and love, but there were so many people, too. All of them loud and charming and lovely. All of them wonderful. All of them captivating in their own way. How easy must it be to get swallowed up by the sheer force of all of them? How easy must it be to feel passed over as the second of eight children, always surpassed by somebody else? Always somebody cleverer or funnier or more lovable? Sometimes, you think, it must be a lonely thing to never be alone. Sometimes, you think, he must feel invisible.

"I do," you say, and your face feels hot, your voice sounds far away, your palms are sweaty. "I see you."

Something in Benedict's gaze changes, something transforms, and then he whispers your name, holds it in his mouth like something precious. "I think you…." He swallows, and his eyes rake over your face as if he's searching for something, as if he's hoping for something, and finally, he pushes on, his voice as uncertain as you feel, "I think there's so much more here than you realize. Because I do, too. I see you. And I know you're lonely, and I know you're scared, maybe even as scared as I am, but I think... I think maybe you don't have to be."

It's like being on a frozen lake, right in the middle, side by side, moving step by step, nothing solid in the world but his hand in yours.

He takes a step closer to you at the same time that you move forward, his hip bumping yours, his gaze on your mouth, his knuckles knocking against yours, your breaths hitched, your hands shaking, your head spinning…

"I've got more dishes," Kate chirps, stepping into the kitchen. Immediately, you and Benedict jump apart. You busy yourself with drying the pot furiously as he accepts the new pile of tableware, eyes on anything but you. Then, completely ignoring her brother-in-law, Kate wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you away. "I'm supposed to tell you guests don't have to do dishes. And that's coming from the hostess herself."

If Kate noticed anything off between you two, she doesn't comment. But you could swear you see her casting a long, searching look at you when she deposits you on the couch.

You spend a little longer enjoying the overall Christmas charm of the night. You and Eloise pull apart a cracker together, put the paper crowns on each other's heads, and sit on the rug by the fireplace for hours, chatting, ignoring the general mess around you. When Violet starts making people sing Christmas songs whether they want to or not, you excuse yourself. You've been hiding yawns in the crook of your elbow for the past half hour anyway.

On his way back in from the bathroom, Benedict almost bumps into you in the doorway.

"Oh," he says, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder, and then you both say sorry simultaneously. By now, the eggnog and the absolute shame of whatever passed between you in the kitchen have caught up to you and you giggle like a school girl, staring at the bit of skin exposed where his shirt is unbuttoned.

"Off to bed?" Benedict asks. His voice is gentle enough that, for a moment, the yearning resonates somewhere in your bones.

You nod. "I'm tired."

"Okay." It might be wishful thinking, but he sounds almost disappointed to your ears. "Sleep well, yeah?"

It's definitely wishful thinking. Right?

"Hey, Ben!" You glance over your shoulder to find Hyacinth grinning at the two of you with something in her eyes you can only describe as the glint of the devil. A dawning sense of horror sends a shiver down your spine. "You're, like, right under the mistletoe, you realize that, yeah?"

Following the line pointed out by her finger with your eyes, you feel the dread pooling in your stomach. And lo and behold, above your eyes, fixed to the doorway, is an unassuming twig of mistletoe.

Have you mentioned that you feel like you're in a Hallmark movie? One with an exceptionally uncreative screenwriter?

When you finally tear your wide eyes away from the mistletoe, feeling helpless, you find Benedict already looking at you. "Ignore her," he says, smiling the smile of the long-suffering. "Hyacinth just wants to stir up trouble. It's fine, nobody's going to make us…."

"Well." From her perch on the arm of Anthony's chair, a saint-like expression on her face, Kate looks once from you to Benedict. "It is tradition."

And then, to your horror, she winks at you. Your stomach plummets down to your feet.

Benedict stares at Kate like she just told him she thinks the moon landing was faked. "I… I don't think…."

Anthony, after exchanging some private glance probably only decipherable to spouses, shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I agree," he says. "It is tradition."

"And a very nice tradition, too," Daphne affirms, crossing her legs and taking a dainty sip from her wine glass. No wonder not even the gossip columns ever have anything bad to say about her. She's perfect. "It would be a shame to let that opportunity go to waste."

With a look on his face you can describe only as aghast, Benedict turns to you. “I… uhm… Is it… okay?"

If you lived in the nineteenth century, you'd be asking a servant to bring you your smelling salts by now. Slowly, you nod, even though you're so dizzy, you're not sure you don't completely mess up the movement. "It… it's fine, yeah," you agree.

Benedict's hand finds the side of your face. You're so aware of all the eyes on you that, for a moment, you think you might be sick all over Benedict's shoes. He's so close you can feel his breath on your face and smell his cologne. Your toes are going numb.

"You sure?" he mumbles, leaning even closer, only an inch separating you. He has very kind eyes. If you said no now, you know he wouldn't even be mad.

Beyond words, beyond any thought past oh god I can't believe this is really happening oh dear god he's about to kiss me, you just nod. 

"Oh, for god's sake!" That's Simon. "Just kiss the girl and be done with it, Benedict."

So he does. It's little more than a quick press of dry mouth to dry mouth, but your heart almost beats out of your chest. You feel his fingers tighten against the side of your face, feel his slightly-chapped lips, taste the eggnog and the chocolate and the wine. Then, when he pulls away, just for a beat, he lingers, his exhale a gasp, and for that instant, it's like you're the last two people on the planet, like he's the only thing that matters, like nothing existed before you and nothing will after you're gone. Suspended in time.

"Great!" Eloise calls, throwing her hands into the air. "First, Colin starts going out with Penelope, and now Benedict is snogging you. Will you people ever leave my friends alone?"

A collective burst of laughter travels through the room, and then the chattering returns, the paused music resumes, and you stand there, unsure what to do with yourself, unsure how to continue on when it feels like the whole world just shifted an inch to the left and nothing is where it's supposed to be anymore.

Benedict's hand is solid against the small of your back. "Will you… will you stay a little longer?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

It doesn't sound like he just means tonight. You don't think he just means tonight.

You swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but him, "Yeah. I'll stay."

Benedict beams. It's a sight that lights up his whole face, rivaling that ridiculous Christmas tree out in the Bridgerton's entrance hall. "Lovely," he says. For a beat, his eyes flicker back to your mouth, but then he just grins. "Merry Christmas."

You can't help it - you laugh. There's relief in the sound, the kind you haven't felt in a long, long time. Here, with the fire crackling and Gregory and Francesca delivering what could perhaps be the worst rendition of All I Want for Christmas Is You the world has ever known, it feels a little like maybe, just maybe, being seen isn't half as scary as you thought it was.

"Yeah," you agree and slide your fingers into the spaces between his. "Merry Christmas, Benedict."

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. But, God, are you happy you were wrong.

[singular-braincells]

genshin characters (diluc, thoma, albedo) + gender neutral convenience shop owner reader 

or my funnier alternative title: when i agreed to temporarily take over my grandparents’ shop i did not agree to meet hot men

tw: some swearing and not proof read

uh six month hiatus? nah i wouldn’t know her even if i tried.

anyways, if anyone wants a continuation of this or has a brain rot of this too do shoot it in my ask. i’d love to brain rot together <333 have a good day y’all. if anything in this is weird or doesn’t make sense sorry brain juice isn’t flowing

ALSO IF I MESSED UP WITH THE GENDERS DM OR SHOOT ME AN ASK BRAIN HURT AT 2AM AND IS PRONE TO MISTAKES ;-;

background: 

your grandparents have been running their small cosy convenience shop for as long as you and your parents know

you’ve decided that for a year you would run the shop while they went out on a well needed vacation (to visit your parents, go sight seeing, etc.)

they’ve left instructions in a big 4 inch binder for handling shipment, closing shop, opening shop, dealing with problematic customers, stocking shelves, taking inventory, etc.

anyways, the locals who always see your grandparents are very surprised to find a new face running the store. they’re understanding when it takes you a just a tad bit longer to bag their belongings or giving back their change

after that week, there is a buzz around the neighborhood (or shop plaza if you will) about a new face running the small family grocery mart run by your grandparents. now people are going to the shop at least once to sneak a peak at you, after all it’s not very often that they see new faces

diluc

you first met when he saw you struggling to lift two large boxes of snacks and juice at six in the morning

it didn’t help that you happened to be in bed by one am and actually went to sleep at two am

you just received a several notifications at 5 am of your delivery of chips, granola bars, and orange juice. how wonderful

cue you having to wake up even earlier than normal to move a bunch of heavy boxes in the middle of the dark

a tall figure approaches you. they come closer. you recognize the uniform as the ones the coffee bar, next to the shop, that the employees wear. “do you need help?” the person asks. you look at the other nine large boxes and then glance at the granola bars you just dropped earlier. “if you wouldn’t mind. help would be greatly appreciated.”

you were able to move half of the boxes before you arms start to burn from all that lifting. you weren’t sure how your grandparents were able to carry all these heavy boxes when they were running the store

carrying the 8th box of granola bars, you hasn’t noticed the box started to slip from your hands and they make a very loud “thud” on the ground. you let out a stream of curse words before trying to pick the box back up

you hope only a couple of the bars would be broken and not the entire box of granola. you hear someone calling out to you, but with the wind being as harsh and loud you couldn’t really hear them

the guy gets close to you and effortlessly carries the box that you had dropped. “be careful. wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” he carries the box of granola away and leaves you low key flustered

you notice that the man looks really buff. like not to be creepy (you definitely weren’t staring 👀 but like you kinda were), but he made moving 4 boxes of orange juice look like it was nothing. absolutely weightless??

wait... now that you’re looking at him, he looks super hot??? his bright red hair tied into an effortless high pony tail?? the way his dress shirt is rolled up that show his forearms?? you can see some of his biceps when he lifts another big ass box of juice?? dude, this man looks like a male lead straight out of a Korean romance drama?? you on the other hand had rolled out in your crusty pajamas with bright pink slides that your grandma gifted you

talk about unfortunate. anyways, you tried to assist with carrying the smaller boxes to the inside of your shop. you two work on moving the boxes with only the buzzing of the bright white fluorescent lights coming from inside the store

you thank him vigorously for the help. you try to straighten out any bed head hair strands, but not gonna lie you look like ass at this point

“you work next door right? are you sure the owner won’t get mad at you for being late for your shift or something? i would hate for you to get in trouble for helping me out.”

“no? what makes you say that?”

“well if they fire you for being late, you’re more than welcome work here. I’m sure your boss is ass anyways.”

“i’m the owner?”

“oh.”

you ended up giving him a cold bottle of grape juice and a milk bread bun as a “sorry I mistook you as an employee and not the owner” and for being delicious eye candy at six am helping you out so early in the morning

every now and then he occasionally stops by the store with a warm cup of tea for you whenever he’s there to pick up dairy products for his coffee bar. in return, you give him a bottle of grape juice (at first he tried to pay for it but now he’s learned to just take it)

you and diluc are pretty good friends? well you can’t really tell... he’s not very good at sharing things about himself but that’s okay! you can understand and respect it

in general, i think the two of you enjoy each other’s company? i would hope so because you don’t really see him hang around anyone else...

thoma

he's a regular to your grandparents shop. in fact, your grandparents like him so much that they said specifically in their guide to give him a discount. always

he was there on your first day running the shop. you weren’t quite used to waking up at 6am and opening the store at 7am so naturally, you overslept 

you wake up at 7:05 am and you’re shitting bricks. you hastily change out of your pajamas and into normal clothes. you go to the bathroom and quickly brush your teeth while washing your face. by 7:15, you’re out the door with your work apron and with the keys to the store. 

you arrive at the store five minutes later and see a tall man with blond hair tied into a low pony tail. he has a red jacket on and he turns to see you. 

you greet him as nice as possible considering you just woke up and you were sure that the grogginess in your voice didn’t help. he waves back at you with a bright smile on his face 

“good morning! i’m not sure where the owners are, but i’m sure they’ll be here soon. they’re a lovely old couple so i’m sure there’s a reason to why they’re late.” you cough as you fish out the keys from your apron pocket

“ah, they are my grandparents.” you move towards the locked door and unlock it with ease. “i’m their grandchild, (y/n). i offered to run the shop while they take a long and overdue vacation.” you explain as you open the door for the tall man

you flick the lights on and allow the blond to gather whatever things he needed

while waiting at the cash register, you notice how handsome the guy looks while opening the fridges to access the whole milk. the white fluorescent lights highlight how soft his features are, the way his green eyes are focused when they’re glued to the different price labels, how he has a confident stride with the way he’s walking towards you

wait he’s walking towards you

oh shit and he has definitely noticed the way your eyes were glued to him

quick look at something else! it can literally be anything else... cat food?

you cough into your sleeve. “you find everything okay, sir?” he places his basket of goods onto the counter and nods. “oh, i didn’t even realize i hadn’t introduced myself.” he extends his hand out to yours. “my name is thoma, nice to meet you.” you extend your hands as well and take his hand. thoma has a very firm handshake and not to mention how incredibly warm his hands are 

“again, i’d like to apologize for being late this morning. my grandparents would kill me knowing that i made their favorite customer wait outside. that and being tardy on my first day.” you quickly scan the goods trying to get him out of the store as soon as possible so you could go into the janitors closet to cry

“oh no it’s quite alright! i think you’re doing a fantastic job for your first day. don’t worry i won’t tell a soul.” he registers what you said for a moment. “wait, i’m their favorite customer?” you laugh at the blond

“yes you are. they describe you as the perfect grandchild.” they’ve also said that you and him should go out on a date but do you really need that kind of complication in your life? absolutely not

“anyways, this is yours.” you hastily hand thoma his receipt. “have a good day! do come again.” you wave goodbye as thoma leaves the store. he waves back as the bells on top of the door jingle to signal his leave

thoma is a frequent customer of the shop and so far you can see why your grandparents want to set you up with him

he is single handedly saving the cat food industry with the amount he buys every time he visits

you ask him once if he has lots of cats with all the cat food he’s buying. “i don’t have any pets unfortunately, but i do use all the cat food to feed all the stray cats i see just outside of town.”

so he’s nice, polite, hot, and he’s caring towards animals??? how is he still single???

you and thoma are pretty good friends. small talk with him is not like the small talk you have with customers just to be polite. he shares things about him and in return you feel comfortable enough sharing some things from your old town with him

 overall, a 10/10 friend. you enjoy his company and vice versa. now, if only if you had the time to hang out with him outside the store :/

albedo

albedo works at the flower shop right across from your grandparents shop and every now and then you see him with a sketch book out

he looks ethereal. heavenly. delicately created from the gods themselves with the perfect hot to cute ratio

you always see him with a sketchbook out and he’s always sketching flowers or the different types of birds that perch on the flowers right above the entrance to the shop

honestly, you could watch albedo for hours. the way he cuts the thorns off of roses and places them with the bunches of brightly colored lavenders and how he arranges each basket and bouquet very thoughtfully 

your grandfather on more than one occasion he’s bought flowers from albedo for your grandmother for her birthday or on their anniversary

your grandmother always sends pictures of said flowers in the family group chat and they look lovely every single time

when the first holiday comes around you see the shop swamped with people and you feel kinda bad for albedo

so when the crowds of people died down at the flower shop, you grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of fruit snacks and headed out of your store. surely it couldn’t hurt to leave it for 5 minutes to give him water and a small snack... right?

you quickly rush over to the store while trying to keep an eye on the store. albedo is working at the counter and greets you as you walk in.

“good afternoon. I’ve never seen you around town before. are you new here?” You explain that you are temporarily running the convenience store across from his shop.

“it looked like hell from where i was. that rush of people looked really stressful not gonna lie.” you hand him the fruit snack and water bottle in your hands. “anyways, my name is (y/n) and if you ever need a break you’re more than welcome to crash at my store.”

“um, good luck with the rest of the holiday. see you ‘round” you wave good bye to him. you see some elementary kids enter the store and you make your way back to the shop.

later that evening you find a pot of the brightest yellow lilies right on the porch of the shop with a note attached to the terra-cotta pot

i think that you and albedo are friends but the amount of times that you stare at him makes you feel like a stalker than a friend. YOU FEEL REALLY BAD ABOUT IT but how could the gods make someone so pretty and how could you not just stare at them for hours on end ;-;

[rynnaaurelius]

Hi! I went scrolling though your tumblr and stumbled upon one of your previous asks where you mentioned a carter-and-sadie-get-thrown-back-in-time au. I’d love to hear more of that!

Oh hell yeah let's do this. Mind, this AU is The Absolute Most at all times.

-Okay, so, first off, extremely obvious place for this to happen is at the end of The Serpent's Shadow, when they fail to banish Apophis for whatever reason during the final battle. This is a fun place, sure, but I think it's A, better for character development, and B, funnier, if they both bite it while in the Land of Demons with Zia and Setne. Let's say they both wind up in the Sea of Chaos, win the lottery spin of various universal outcomes, and boom. Time travel.

-This is totally how magic works. Uh-huh.

-Carter has a fucking aneurysm That's Not How The Force Works-style over this, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. It's great.

-Seriously, the PJO time travel thing is fun because Percy angsts and things go wrong and he tries to do everything Alone. The Kane Chronicles one is fun because Carter and Sadie have negative respect for authority, neither of them have any issue with throwing someone through a window to save time, and they both know about a dozen different ways to get it done.

-Oh yeah, speaking of throwing! They both wake up with massive headaches right after Julius explodes the Rosetta Stone. Carter stabs a bitch (Set) with a magic sword, then passes out because ~head trauma~.

-Also, bear in mind that these kids are fourteen and twelve and the House of Life just went to six years' worth of trouble to try and keep them as much out of the know as possible. And then they show up, kicking ass and taking godly names and knowing things that they really shouldn't, like they've been at this for years.

-Desjardins needs a drink. Or possibly six.

-Something something butterfly effect something something chaos. Anyway, things here are largely Their Past But Two Inches To The Right. Sometimes things change that are small but explainable, things that are big and inexplicable, and some are medium-sized and only resolved after an offhand comment from Zia a decade from now. The biggest thing here is Carter and Sadie struggling to manage everything.

-See, the fun thing in TKC is a lot of the big decisions? You can't just speedrun that shit! Re-opening the path of the gods is dangerous and takes time. Zia won't be in a spot where she's willing and/or able to take on Ra for years. Sadie can't just walk up to Walt and say that he should just merge with a god to fix all his problems when he's barely come to terms with Tut's curse.

-Fuck, they can't even go to the Duat and start shit with Apophis because. . .well, first off, they need to go and get the shadow, which they didn't even quite manage last time, because Setne and Land of the fucking Demons. Second off, no matter how powerful they are, starting shit with Apophis with an extra plan or two is pretty suicidal. Also! There are a lot of magicians who want to kill them! They need to be careful!

-Half of the gods are extremely freaked because Carter and Sadie's minds are Not Right and getting Horus and Isis to play ball is a chore, since they need that agreement do things like the combat avatar or casting really complicated spells, even if they have two-ish years of experience under their belts.

-This does not, to be clear, stop them from trying to speedrun The Red Pyramid, or this being their exact attitude towards their resident gods-in-the-head:

[Picture ID: GIF of a Black man pointing two fingers at his eyes, staring at someone off-screen with a serious expression, and saying, "Look at me. . .look at me. I'm the captain now." End ID]

-Since. . .well, uh, look. Carter and Sadie are incredibly hyper-competent. But they're also incredibly freaked teenagers who haven't had serious adult supervision in. . .a while. They also the ability to warp reality, and have the respective jobs of: Future king of the universe and his sister, saving the world from the snake who wants to eat the sun, and re-opening an really dangerous path of magic that the Reigning Magic Organization has said they'll kill for doing.

-Also, all their friends no longer have a fucking clue who they are. Carter already did this song and dance with Zia, too, which is. . .huh. Fascinating neuroses forming there.

-The Kane siblings are very fun here, because Sadie is Very Loudly Not Fine about very mundane changes, but not saying a peep about the things that are actually fucking her up until someone taps her on the shoulder at the wrong moment when she's gone vacant-eyed at the sight of her gran and she flinches like she got punched in the jaw, while Carter is Insistently Just Fine until Jaz says hi to him one morning and he starts sobbing.

-Bast doesn't count as supervision either, because she's a cat god. Bast wants to shake them by the scruffs of their neck until they start acting their own ages or she gets a satisfactory explanation for what's taken residence in their heads. Their magical auras are wrong.

-About the only fun part of dealing with the gods is when Sadie sucker-punches Serqet and goes What, Like It's Hard?, Legally Blonde-style, to a very confused and unnerved Zia. This move is not something she can make a pattern of, to be clear. But it feels good and she can do it now, so she does.

-I have no idea if Amos is definitely still possessed here by Set, for the angsty comedy of Carter and Sadie repeatedly knocking him out and dragging him around until they have time to Deal With That, or if it's ambiguous and possibly actually in someone else? And they have to go Holmes and Watson on the case.

(Of course, they may have different gods themselves altogether, and goddammit, I need to stop coming up with AUs)

-Like, yeah, sure, they know Set is the problem, their dad is probably fine, but they have to explain this in such a way that people don't think they're possessed! This is a very valid concern and leads to worries that they're terrorizing their younger selves by stealing their bodies or something.

(they're not. but it's a Recurring Thing that people think that they've possessed Younger Carter And Sadie)

-Anyway, they still get dragged to the First Nome, because Julius broke half a dozen rules of magician-ing, these kids are acting. . .like they've been possessed by Horus and Isis, to be honest.

-Carter tries to warn Zia about the being-possesed-by-a-god thing before Iskandar tries to save her life and inadvertently consign her to Watery Nightmare Coma Hell, to convince her to come with them, and thinking honesty may be the best policy--Zia's pretty morally upright, and more than trustworthy and willing to trust the Kanes, after all.

-This does not go as Carter planned.

-Sadie, remembering Iskandar fucking dies and not wanting to deal with the complicated and short reign of Desjardins as Chief Lector (or the whole guilt thing about him dying and just. . .complicated. Inconvenient. Just make sure it never happens!) by giving him a boost in the health department and extending his life.

-This does not go as Sadie planned.

-Oh, and neither of them know how to convince Nephthys to play ball since neither of them know Set's name, so even though they know how to defeat him, short out of an out-and-out brawl that there's no guarantee they can win, they need to get that! And Anubis is super suspicious and not into getting bullied by Isis into giving them a Feather of Truth!

-On the bright side, they decide to pull the Carter Will One Day Be Pharaoh Card and convince Sobek to be, like, marginally useful as the pharaoh's enforcer after Sadie dropkicked Serqet into next week.

-Meanwhile, Iskandar is alive, but reluctantly all They Should Probably Be Brought In And Restrained At Minimum. Zia is contemplative and ends up pursuing Carter and Sadie on her own after her powers start going sideways and Iskandar nearly does knock her out.

-So now Zia's a fugitive. Sort of. Iskandar really doesn't want to do it, but Desjardins is doing the Godlings Must Die thing, and a lot of the First Nome is on his side.

(He lightens up after the Kane siblings + Zia manage to save the world and certain things about Sadie and Iskandar's health come to life. Marginally)

-Anyway, things are chaotic, sort of working out for the better, but Carter and Sadie are about fifteen times more traumatized than they were last time.

-Also, Jaz is canonically from Nashville, so I say that when they decide to drop by Thoth's place to try and get an idea of What The Fuck happened, they find her and she joins their ridiculous quest to Save The World: Electric Boogaloo, because Highly Enthusiastic Southern Cheerleader Who Just Found Out She Can Commit Arson With Her Mind is a brilliant person to have along.

-I think the last big thing I have from this, beyond everything going so sideways (The House of Life is, like, ninety percent sure that Carter and Sadie are possessed, but can't do much about it at the moment beyond periodically trying to kill them) is the whole power thing.

-The urge to basically blast their way through everyone until they agree with what's up is strong, guys. Also, the urge to drag Setne out of the Underworld just to beat him up for a bit. Lots of power struggles and reminding themselves not to commit too many war crimes in the face of an oncoming apocalypse where they have no idea what their best plan is, and also, half the people they could trust off the bat this time? Don't trust 'em this time.

-Oh yeah, and for a while, Amos and Julius/Osiris aren't unconvinced that this isn't some sort of power play by Horus and Isis to leverage things in their favor, so. . .. Sad times. :(

-I am a big fan of "Time travel doesn't necessarily fix everything", but this trilogy is just so fucking chaotic, and so many of the biggest parts rely on character growth, and you can't force that! No matter how much you may get frustrated and want to, if you're Sadie and/or Carter.

[tangledstarlight]

For the prompts thing...

You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you.

Juke, preferably.

not entirely sure what this is. it went on a very weird journey. don't hate it. i know you probably wanted something either angstier or funnier but this is very...middle ground? idk man it's 2:40am. enjoy! thank you for sending one!😊💜

24. you’re my ex but i think i still have feelings for you

50 cliche tropes and prompts!

Julie remembers every little detail about the day they broke up.

She remembers the way her coffee had tasted in the morning, how she’d struggled to make her hair look semi-presentable for school, how the radio had played a new Taylor Swift song, how they’d all laughed at lunch like everything was normal. She remembers knowing it was coming but not being able to do anything to stop it.

Her and Luke broke up a week before High School graduation at 4:37pm on a Thursday that felt just like any other.

It was because she’d gotten into her top college choices, Luke said. It was because he and the boys were going to tour that summer, she said. It was because they were 17 and everyone said a high school romance would never last that kind of distance or difference in lifestyles.

The last time she saw him had been at Carrie’s graduation party. A stolen moment in a locked bedroom that had left them both a little breathless and both a little teary eyed and promise to never settle for less than their worth. Flynn doesn’t comment on her rumpled clothes and she sees the way the boys don’t ask about the wet patch on his shirt over his heart where they all know reaches her eye line.

They steal one last look at each other as the night ends and they get into different cars to go home. One last smile, one last wave, two last words whispered across a drive, “Bye Jules.”

Then Julie locks away the part of her heart that belongs to Luke Patterson and moves on.

//

College is different then she expected it to be. Less like the films she’d seen growing up and more like, well, reality she supposes. Her roommate is friendly and they get along fine. There’s no stolen food or ruined clothes or spontaneous parties in their room. It’s nice, it’s normal, it’s fine.

There’s parties on campus and off that never get as wild as she expects them to. And Julie starts to wonder if maybe she’s doing college wrong. If she’s maybe not experiencing all the wild and terrifying things that other people are. There’s no one night stands or running from police or walking up with traffic cones in her room.

She tries to explain it to Flynn. How she’s worried she’s doing college wrong. That she and Luke broke up because they were supposed to experience life and he didn’t want to hold her back and how he had never asked her if she even wanted to go on tour with them.

There’s silence on both ends of the phone after she confesses that, before Flynn slowly asks if she had wanted to go with the boys.

And Julie doesn’t know. She doesn’t have an answer, and even if she did, what did it matter now?

//

Her first boyfriend after Luke is a guy named Henry.

He’s soft spoken and doing some sort of business degree and knows how to cook fancy foods and goes to bed at 11pm on a weekday and has no real opinions on who is a better guitarist –– Eric Calpton or Jimi Hendrixs –– and he’s basically the complete opposite to Luke.

And Julie likes him. She likes that he’s kind and polite and that he listens to what she has to say and that he’s predictable.

Which is also what she dislikes.

There’s no give or take or pushing to be better. She can always guess exactly what Henry is going to say or where he’ll want to eat or what he’ll want to do on the weekend. And it’s not because she knows him oh so well. It’s just that he’s predictable. He’s mundane.

And Julie hates that because of Luke she knows not to settle for ordinary.

//

She graduates college and moves in with Flynn and for the first time in her life, Julie realises she doesn’t know what to do next. Doesn’t have a plan. It’s terrifying the same way it’s exhilarating.

Creating music has always been the goal, now she just has to figure out how she’s going to do it. What kind of artist she wants to be. And she remembers –– or really it’s not remembering, because it’s always there in the back of her mind –– what Luke had once said. How it’s not about the money, it’s about making a connection with someone. With everyone.

And Julie knows he’s doing that.

Knows that the band put out an ep, that they have a small following that grows a little more every day. Knows that Luke hasn’t sacrificed his goals for money.

She’s happy for him. For them. She just tries not to think about it too much.

//

Julie sees him for the first time in six years at a supermarket of all places.

In the cereal aisle.

He’s still wearing his stupid band tee’s that he’s cut the arms off, and still wearing beanies just to contradict himself, and still squinting at labels because he refuses to get his eyes tested.

Julie knows, as she stands with her basket at one end, that she can turn around right now. That he’ll never have known she was there. That she can carry on with her life without him in it.

“Need me to read that for you?” she finds herself asking as she stops next to his side, the distance between them feeling like miles rather than the handful of inches it really is.

For a moment, Luke doesn’t say anything. Just looks at her, eyes tracing over her face, her body, probably taking in all the ways she’s changed. Like what she’s doing to him. Taking in the way his shoulders are broader, biceps more defined, how there’s a stubble dusting his cheeks and his hair looks a little longer. How he seems to hold himself differently, more confidently.

And then one of his hands rubs at the back of his neck, and a sheepish smile pulls at his lips as he holds the box out to her, “Yeah, please.” He finally says, and it’s the first time she’s heard him speak in six years and his voice is a little deeper, a little raspier like he’s been shouting. But it’s still him. She’d recognise his voice anywhere.

Swallowing, Julie accepts the box and turns it around, eyes scanning the tiny letters quickly and, before she can start reading, Luke is saying something.

Two little words.

“Hi Jules.”

Julie feels something inside her click. Something unlock as a smile breaks out across her face.

“Hi Luke.”

[masked-disciple]

I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S FUNNIER THE FACT THAT YOUR EXPERIENCE WITH THE MAN IS FUCKING ONE TO ONE WITH MINE OR THE FACT WE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM WITHIN A FUCKING MONTH OF EACH OTHER

OH MY GODS

I JOINED THE FANDOM LIKE A WEEK BEFORE HALLOWEEN. NOV 6 2022 IS WHEN HE HIJACKED MY NANOWRIMO PROJECT AND FORCED ME TO WRITE 30K OF HIS AND GREGORY'S RELATIONSHIP AND THE SHITSHOW AROUND DL-6 AND I HAD ZERO INPUT ON THAT

I WAS ALSO PUT OFF BY HIS STARTING DIALOGUE AND THEN HEARD HIS OBJECTING AND THEN HIS RELATIONSHIP TO GREGORY AND WENT OFF THE SHITS ABOUT IT

Canon did tell us indirectly that they had met! Miles recognizes him in the beginning of Imprisoned, but notes that they haven't seen each other in many years and that he's never won a chess match against Ray. (This relates back to my theory that Ray didn't know who killed Gregory until probably Inherited, and when he says he was in Europe for the anniversary which doesn't make any sense with the rest of his character, he was looking for Miles to try and bring him home. Regardless.)

STILL I AM LAUGHING MY ASS OFF WE REALLY DID GET INTO THIS MAN WITHIN A MONTH OF EACH OTHER FOR THE EXACT SAME REASONS. LOL. LMAO EVEN. HOW DID WE NOT NOTICE EACH OTHER UNTIL A YEAR LATER.

Remind me later (at any point) to go into my theories on his early words towards Miles in Imprisoned, what he means with his jokes, and also I can explain the swapping clothes joke. That's just a man who was looking forward to giving Miles his fanciest jacket when he was older and is now annoyed that Miles is six inches taller than he is. He's just got something wrong with him. (It's trauma.)

you should. tell me your thoughts about ray shields

OH GOD OH FUCK OKAY IF YOU INSIST. I hope you’re ready cause hooooo boy do I have some for you HERE WE GOOOO

Where the hell do I even start. Raymond Shields…my ray of light. My hotshot wonder. My weirdgirl king. I guess before anything else I’ll tell you about how this man absolutely blindsided me—Uncle Ray put your friend Mel through a turnabout of her own and she’s gonna explain how it happened so buckle in. I’ll try to make this as coherent as possible but I need you to understand this man has way too much power over me and a single fleeting thought of him can melt my brain into mush so. Apologies if this comes out as completely nonsensical it’s his fault not mine

I’ve been in the Ace Attorney fandom for a little over a year and had a couple of things accidentally spoiled for me as a result (some of which was my own fault, admittedly) but when I started Investigations 2 last September all I knew about Ray was his name and (sort of) what he looked like. Like a lot of English-speaking fans, I was initially put off by his portrayal in the localization. This immediately stuck out as odd to me because my personality is such that I don’t have a lot of characters I genuinely dislike, especially if they’re part of the main cast—even if they’re not my favorite I can almost always find something to love about them. It made me wonder if maybe some of his quirks got lost in translation somewhere (and I did find out later that this was indeed the case), but I didn’t actively seek out that information at the time for fear of being spoiled, so I just suffered through the early parts of The Imprisoned Turnabout doing my best to ignore what I perceived as questionable behavior on his part.

However, if I’ve learned anything from my time in this fandom it’s that nothing in Ace Attorney is surface level—one of my FAVORITE things to do when playing this series besides voice acting the characters is figuring out what makes them tick and speculating character motivations as the game progresses using the little hints scattered by the writers here and there—I was already somewhat intrigued by Ray’s apparent grudge toward Miles but when the revelation of his partnership with Gregory dropped my brain immediately went BRRRRRRRRR. I started wondering what that experience of working for him was like and how it affected him (and if his unwavering loyalty to Gregory was related to his grudge toward Miles). I started exploring the whole WEB of parallels between him and Gregory and Miles and Phoenix and Mia and Maya and Kay (and probably more but those are the main ones). I fell in love with the beautiful mentor-student relationship he developed with Miles, even if in the moment I was baffled by the weirdly flirty things Ray sometimes says to him (like the line about swapping clothes in the Winter Palace. What the fuck was that about sir) and VERY confused/worried about whether Miles had met him as a child or not (I still don’t know/can’t remember if the game ever gave us a concrete answer on this btw—if any of you know please do enlighten me). And above all I knew—I KNEW that he was hiding a boatload of trauma regarding the DL-6 incident; made even more clear to me by the contrast between his teen and adult selves once I got to The Inherited Turnabout. I knew he was using humor as a mask to hide the pain of what happened. I knew from the fact he still had Greg’s old coat and wore his hat every day that he hadn’t moved on. This, I thought to myself, is a deeply emotional man deathly afraid of emotional vulnerability haunted by the ghost of a loved one. And let me tell you, as someone who’s been in a similar position myself, to say that really struck a chord with me is an understatement.

AND THEN THE THIRST. Oh boy. If I’ve sounded really eloquent up until now that shit’s about to go out the goddamn window because SWEET MOTHER MARY I AM DOWN SO BAD IT’S EMBARRASSING. I recorded my playthrough starting from Chapter 2 (just for fun—I’m not nearly brave enough to post any of it on the internet except maybe some short clips here and there) and you can literally see the clear turning point I had after hearing his Objection voice for the first time. I started making innuendos left and right (IT’S NOT MY FAULT his dialogue lends itself really well to that sort of thing ok). In true Ray Shields fashion it started half as a joke but devolved into absolute chaos. This coupled with the fact that I was slowly but surely becoming more invested in the inner conflict of his character? I was beyond saving at that point. No hope for me. Nothing left but to leap into Uncle Ray’s arms and let them wander where they will. “Ride that stallion into the sunrise,” as it were. I could go on but quite frankly the things I want that man to do to me (and what I want to do to him) are too unholy for this world so I’ll leave it there.

And that’s the story of how Raymond Shields permanently infected my brain. It’s been an absolutely wild ride but I hope you enjoyed the journey—glad we can share our love of this silly disastrous emotionally repressed paper-eating man together <3

[ilovebeingcalledawhore]

BASKETBALL | CHENLE

Content: Fluff, Basketball Player Au, Athlete Au, Highschool Au, Suggestive Content

Summary: Just moments with the man you’re in love with.

IMAGINE

Chenle loved playing basketball, mostly because he was good at it. He’s part of the varsity team in my school and everyone would easily understand why he got the spot out of 200 other students. After convincing me to play with him with chocolate and ice cream I decided to finally agree.

You see, I’ve watched a ton of his basketball games and cheered him on with the cheesy posters he asked me to make, something he did just to make fun of me. When we hang-out, sooner or later you would expect a basketball game coming up on the TV. After dating Chenle, I went from knowing one or two things about basketball to shouting at the screen when a player misses a free throw.

I’m not complaining though, I enjoyed the way we bonded over something he loved. Something that was his passion next to music, which I didn’t know about until six months into the relationship. We always focused on what I liked, what I wanted and I can see how much he wants me to be spoiled with attention and gifts but I wanted to give back as well.

So here I stand in the middle of the empty gym, seven at night wondering when my boyfriend would run out of energy. “Ok so you go like this” he stands beside me and does the action on how to shoot the ball. I slowly copy him making sure that I don’t drop the ball accidentally.

“Now jump and throw, focus on the net!” He reminds me before I did my first try, the ball flew up and landed on the rim, it circled around quite a few times and as it did, I wondered whether it would fall in or out.

Thud! The ball fell in. “Ah!” Me and Chenle screamed in excitement, lady of luck was truly by my side today. He engulfed me in his arms, lifting my legs up the air and wrapping it around his waist. “You’re amazing!” he compliments, giving me a loving peck on the nose.

Butterflies. 

“Put me down” I whined even when bits of me wanted to stay. He pouts and I grin, cupping his face and kissing him. He melts into it, his lips molding with mine like it belonged there. 

Well...it did. 

The boy finally puts me down with an evident smile on his face. “Now let’s play!” he runs to the ball that rolled away. 

-----

“Did you have fun?” Chenle asks as he sits on the driver’s seat, shutting his side’s door. “Yeah” I replied as I looked at the time on my phone. It was already nine in the evening and I was tired. He noticed that with the way I replied. 

He connects his phone to the plug in his car and starts to search through his playlist. He bites his lip as if this was the most important decision he’s making today. I rolled my eyes and grinned tiredly. 

“Ah! Here we go” he mutters as he presses on a random song that I wasn’t able to read. 

As the first second of the song played, I felt my heart softening. It was the song we slow-danced to a few years ago, who would’ve thought that I was gonna be with him now.

“Don’t you tell me that it wasn’t meant to be” he sings along, making sure to look me in the eye. “Call it quits, call it destiny” I sing along and we chuckle. He places his head on my shoulder, taking my hand and intertwining our fingers together. 

“Just because it won’t come easily, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try”

I shut my eyes, falling asleep.

---

“Y/n” he says my name with his lips dangerously close to my ear. “What?” I muttered continuing to read through the doc my professor sent. “I think you’re cute, will you go out with me?” he asks and I feel a grin coming up my lips but I fight it off. 

“I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend” I rejected and I felt him pout. “But I’m better than him!” he whines and I try to hold in my laugh.

“I’m smart”

“He’s smarter”

“I’m funny”

“He’s funnier”

“I’m handsome”

“He’s more good-looking”

“What else?” he asks with a grin and I laugh.

“He plays basketball”

Chenle laughs happily and wraps me around his arms. “What can your boyfriend not do?” he asks and I turn my head to face him, the puppy eyes he gave softened my heart. 

“He can’t sleep without me saying, I love you”

The boy snuggles into my neck and I turn my head away to continue reading the doc. He rubs on my waist lovingly, humming against my skin. “Your boyfriend seems cool” he compliments himself and I laugh.

“He really is” I agree and we both laugh together. 

____

“Let’s go Chenle!” I screamed as he dribbled the ball into their court. He steps to the side avoiding the other team and shoots it, his form looking perfect. The crowd screams once more knowing that we’ve won already. 

It’s cringey how people talk about everything going in slow motion when they make eye-contact with their partner but that shit’s real. It felt like time stopped and my heart beat fastened to the beat of the ball hitting the gym floor.

It was less than a minute before Chenle easily stole the ball from the opponent and gracefully avoided the rest of them, he found himself stuck in between tall players so he decided not to shoot but instead to pass to another great player, Mark Lee.

The boy across him catches it with ease and takes a step back, bending his legs and fixing his form. He shoots the ball into the hoop but it misses by an inch. The crowd groans but there was still a 25 score gap between each team, us winning.

The sound of the whistle going off and the cheerleaders running in the middle to perform in the half-time gave an ease to my mind, he can at least rest till the fourth quarter because his coach doesn’t want him to get worn out by the third quarter.

He sits on the bench in front of me. I reached my hand out and gave him a light massage, hoping to comfort his tired body. “You’re doing so good” I reminded him and I watched as he nodded.

“It’s ‘cause you’re watching” He turns his head and gives me a grin, making me grin back.  “Don’t want to disappoint my princess do I?” He asks and I scoff playfully, hiding a smile beneath a pout. 

“I swear, we win every single time I watch your games” I reminded him with pride in my voice and we chuckle together. “You’re my goodluck charm, I need you everywhere I go” he says playfully but deep down the boy meant it, you knew he did and you felt the exact same way. 

——

“Who was that?” I asked calmly but if you stared at my face hard enough, you’d see the crease between my brow and a forming frown on my lips. Some cheerleader walked up to him and started talking but that itself was nothing to me. What mattered was how she stealthily turned her back towards me and tried to hold Chenle’s hand, the only way I found out was when Mina, my friend, passed by and told me in a whisper, making sure to speedily walk away.

“That was Yuna, rumor says she’s interested” he replies, placing his hands behind his neck, stretching his arms and back. “Ok” I try to brush it off so I look down and continue scrolling through my feed. I feel Chenle’s gaze on me, I feel the way he’s trying to figure out if I was actually fine with it or if I was hating it. With my peripheral vision, I watch as his hands crawl up my thigh, rubbing on the covered skin as a sign of comfort.

“Hey” he speaks but I don’t look at him. I do raise my brow as a sign of acknowledgement. “Hey,” he says again, I hum as a reply. “Hey” he calls out and as I let out a defeated sigh, I turn my head towards him.

 “Don’t overthink it, she’s nothing.” There was a brief moment of me searching his eyes for a sign of fear, for a sign of doubt. I stopped because it felt wrong to think that, to think that someone who never failed to stay by my side would even cheat; so this time I nod, facing the flashing device once more.

_____

Chenle pushes me down the bed, ignoring the fact that I hadn’t changed into comfortable clothes. Leaning closer, he leaves pecks on my cheek, my jaw, then down my neck, nipping on the skin to leave love bites.

“Is he trying to make up for what happened?” I thought to myself but before I could process anything further, he gently grabs my chin and turns my head to face him, pressing his soft lips against mine. 

I muffle a moan as his hands crawl down to my neck, wrapping his fingers around that part with his cold metal rings sending internal shivers down my body. The rest was a blur but all I knew was that I fell asleep right after.

___

92-89

The crowd screams as the ball enters the hoop the last few seconds. “We won again!” I yelped excitedly, jumping up and down my spot. “Congratulations to Seoul University for getting into the nationals, we’ll see you soon” The announcer officially ends the game and with excitement in my eyes, I shove my things down the seat and I run down the steps to the court. 

“You did it!” I screamed, opening my arms wide, mirroring Chenle’s movement. He pulls me off the floor and wraps my legs around his waist like he normally does. Instead of us screaming together, he leans forward and with a smile on his lips, he kisses me.

It was gentle and slow, it felt right. The crowd turns silent and murmurs of awe echo through the gym. Slowly I pulled away but we never broke eye-contact, instead I stayed there telling him how much I love him without needing words.

5 more months and he’s leaving. 

____

He intertwined our fingers together, leaving a soft peck on my knuckles. “I’ll see you soon alright?” he whispers, one enough to shatter my already broken heart more. “Okay” I reply, trying to swallow the sobs and the voice crack. 

“I love you” he whispers, “I need you, I want you” he reminds me and I feel the motor on my chest fastening. “Fuck I can’t do this” I let go of his hands and look away, the view of the Incheon Airport exit before my eyes. 

He walks closer to me and wraps his arms around my body just like the way he does to catch me off guard. “No” I croak as I feel a single tear slip down my cheek. Chenle gulps frustratedly but he didn’t stop holding me. 

“I’ll see you soon” he says and I nod, convincing myself that it was alright. 

He gently turns my body to face him and when our eyes met, I swear if I stared harder, I’d drown in his tears. “I love you so much” I cry against his chest and I feel him shaking into the hug. 

“Y/n, you’re all I need and nothing else, so don’t worry,” he sobs. “and  just in case you forgot, I am never not thinking of you and it’ll stay that way, you’ll be my inspiration for university and when it’s time, we’ll live in a house far far away, just like you wanted. Trust me on this one alright?”

“Flight 307 to New York, now boarding, please enter gate 14”

I nod into his chest once more, trying to remember his scent even in the million times I’ve smelled it. “We’ll get there,” he kisses me. “You promise?” I ask and he smiles.

“I promise”

[refinedbuffoonery]

Quarantine Moments (5.5)

By popular request, here’s QM #5 from Mac’s POV. This idiot is pining so hard and he doesn’t even realize it. 

*****

Mac watches the sun set behind them in his truck’s side mirror as Riley drives, the sky shifting from blue, to pink, then orange, then a dark burning gold, before fading to inky black. In front of them, the rising moon is barely more than a glowing sliver in the sky, and once they leave SoCal’s sprawling metropolis behind, the vast desert darkness swallows the beams of the truck’s headlights. 

Riley rolls her window down, letting the warm night air tug wisps of hair from her messy bun, and Mac can’t help but watch the way she smiles softly and breathes deeply, completely at peace. He rolls down his own window, and the wind ruffles his hair like a lover’s playful fingers. 

Mac is surprised when Riley parks in the empty campground. He assumed other people would have the same idea, but but as far as he can see, the area is devoid of human life. 

Mac turns his gaze to the glittering sea above. His eyes land on Vega and Arcturus—two of the brightest stars in the sky—before trailing the Milky Way to find Sagittarius along the southern horizon. 

Riley’s soft gasp draws his attention back to earth. Her lips part as she smiles, awestruck, and the stars are reflected in her big, dark eyes, almost as if she’s robbing them of their light. Thankfully Riley doesn’t notice his staring, because Mac can’t bring himself to look away. 

He should. He knows he should. But, for some reason, he can’t. 

Mac is still looking, minutes later, when Bozer yells at him to help make their bed. 

It’s not until he’s lying beside Bozer on the mass of pillows and blankets that Mac realizes how small his truck bed really is. In his mind, they all fit perfectly, but in reality, it’s only wide enough for two grown adults, not three. Mac and Bozer scoot to the sides to give Riley as much space as possible, but their shoulders will be overlapping no matter what. 

Riley’s arm brushes Mac’s as she squeezes her slim frame into the space in the middle, her warmth soaking into his skin. Mac likes her this close, likes her steady, reassuring presence at his side. They used to gravitate toward each other more, before he got back together with Desi, and Mac will never admit it aloud, but he misses the closeness he once had with Riley. 

Quarantining with her, there were moments that felt like their old selves—the people they were back when Jack was still around and their biggest problem was Mac and Riley’s respective daddy issues—but then there would be a long, awkward pause in conversation or Desi would come up, and then that weird gap between them would be right back, wide as ever. 

Mac isn’t sure how it even got there in the first place. 

He tries to forget about it, distracting himself by searching for constellations while he waits for the first meteor to appear. Finally, one does, zipping across the horizon in the blink of an eye. 

“Did you see that?” Bozer squeals.

Riley laughs softly. “Yeah, but I have no idea where it came from, or where I should be looking.” 

Mac opens his mouth to explain, but Bozer beats him to it. “For starters, don’t look straight up. Look near the horizon. As Perseus gets higher in the sky during the night, the meteors will appear to come from higher up too.”

“Thanks.” 

They watch the sky in peaceful silence. 

Eventually, Bozer gets up to pee, and while he’s gone, Riley nudges Mac with her knee. “You’ve been quiet,” she says. 

How is he supposed to say that even though their shoulders are literally touching right now, that even though they’ve been locked in his house together for months, he’s never felt farther away from her? That there’s this ever-widening chasm between them that he doesn’t know how to bridge? 

Mac doesn’t look at her as he speaks, his eyes finding Vega overhead. “Ancient Chinese astronomers believed Vega and Altair were lovers, forever kept apart by the Milky Way.” He points with two fingers, one toward each star. “Vega is one of the brightest stars in the sky. It’s in the constellation Lyra, which just looks like a parallelogram. And over there is Altair, which is part of Aquila, the eagle.”

Riley doesn’t say anything. Mac glances at her in his peripheral vision. She’s squinting slightly, the way she always does when she’s focusing on something. She must not be able to find the stars, he reasons. Mac doesn’t think before sliding an arm beneath Riley’s shoulders and pulling her closer so that her head rests on his shoulder. His arm brushes her cheek as he points again. 

It’s odd being this close to Riley without catching lingering traces of her perfume—a warm, dark scent he can’t pinpoint but likes anyway. She hasn’t worn it since quarantine started, and Mac is starting to miss it. 

“I see it,” she breathes. Mac lets his arm drape across Riley’s body. 

She tenses, but she doesn’t try to extricate herself from his side. Part of Mac knows he probably shouldn’t be holding her like this. A bigger part doesn’t care. Riley is his best friend goddammit, and he can cuddle her if he wants to. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

“Show me something else,” Riley says softly. 

Mac takes a slightly unsteady breath before pointing in a different direction.  “Over there are Sagittarius, which looks like a teapot, and Scorpius, which looks like a hook or the letter ‘J.’ Between them is the supermassive black hole that exists in the middle of the galaxy. All of the matter in the Milky Way orbits around it.” 

Black holes are easy. Black holes make sense. But Riley...Riley doesn’t. 

Especially when the moment passes, and she turns her head away to holler at Bozer. “You good, man?” 

Bozer yells back from the other side of the truck. “Yeah! Got a little performance anxiety from this creepy bug staring at me.” 

Mac imagines Bozer having a staring contest with some random desert bug sitting on the hood of the truck and bursts out laughing. His arm inadvertently tightens around Riley, and the wicked gleam in her eye when she looks up at him makes the moment even funnier. 

He feels it again, that gravitational pull toward her. He’s tempted to let it drag him closer, but he’s afraid of what it might mean if he does. 

Riley squirms when Bozer climbs back into the truck, and Mac hesitates before letting her go. 

The three of them lay together for hours, just looking up at the stars, until Bozer initiates a chain reaction of yawns. “Mac,” Bozer says. “Did you set the alarm?”

Patting the pillow above Riley’s head, he answers, “Yeah. My phone is right here.”

Riley twists to look at him in horror. “Alarm?” 

Mac explains, “The meteor shower’s peak is between three and four am. So unless you’d rather stay up all night...” Riley groans, pulling up a blanket and rolling onto her side. Chuckling at her dramatics, Mac grabs a blanket for himself and watches the stars until he falls asleep. 

~ 

The volume of his alarm is set far too loud for the phone only being inches from his ear, and Mac winces as he’s forced into consciousness. Beside him, Riley growls, “Turn it off.” 

He’s lying on his side with an arm around Riley’s waist, holding her in the curve of his body, but it doesn’t feel weird or awkward. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way Riley fit against him. Mac accidentally bumps her face as he silences the alarm, and he mumbles, “Sorry.” There’s no room to move away from her, so Mac just brushes Riley’s hair out of his face and puts his arm back around her. “I hit snooze. You have five minutes.” 

She sighs, absentmindedly brushing her thumb over his hand, and warmth spreads through Mac’s body that has nothing to do with the fact that it’s still nearly eighty degrees outside, even in the middle of the night. He lets himself snuggle closer. If he could live in the calm safety of this moment forever, Mac would. 

But he doesn’t hold Riley for long before feeling like he’s about to explode. Mac rubs her shoulder. “Riles, move. I have to pee.”

Riley groans again, but then her hips press into his as she pushes Bozer away, and Mac scrambles to get up before anything awkward happens. 

“I’m awake,” Bozer slurs.

“Sure you are.”

He’s back by the time the alarm goes off again, and Mac can hear the soft popping of Riley’s joints as she sits up and stretches. The meteors are more frequent now, nearly two a minute. Most are quick, bright flashes, but a few are slower, gracefully crossing the sky before burning up.

“Riley stop blocking the view,” Bozer says, kicking her in the back. Riley flops back down. 

A massive, glowing meteor arcs across the sky in slow motion, lingering for a few seconds before winking out of existence. “Wow,” Riley whispers, smiling. 

Wow is an understatement. Mac would’ve driven all the way out here for that meteor alone. 

Mac keeps his eyes trained on the heavens until the sky lightens and the first rays of sunlight stretch across the desert. The air seems to hum, the way it always does in announcement of the scorching summer sun. 

When they pile into the truck, Mac blasts the air conditioner. He’s already sweating, even though it’s barely six am. As he drives out of the campground and toward the highway, Bozer rattles off suggestions for where to stop for breakfast burritos on the way home. 

Apparently content to let Bozer decide, Riley demands, “Wake me up when you have my burrito. Goodnight.” Mac glances at her in the rearview mirror and smiles; she’s sprawled across the pillows and blankets, already fast asleep. 

[justactsupernatural]

The Ax

- Based on the fact that Alan has an honest to God ax on the wall next to his bed (even if it is like a collectable from his game) that I believe is a 100% real blade and he knows how to throw it

- And we know that he can use it because it was showed in Endgame (Season 3, Episode 11) so…yeah

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

They had no idea where it came from, because none of them bought it for him and they know for a fact that he didn’t order it online, it just appeared one day on the wall above his bed, with no explanation on the how, when, or where.

He never answered their questions about it, deflecting until the topic was forgotten or something else came up, not even Kayo managed to get an answer, and Kayo always got answers.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Gordon was the first to see it, and, after questioning his brother with no success, he decided to raise the subject at dinner.

“So, are we going to talk about the ax on your wall or are we just supposed to ignore it?” he not so subtly asked Alan, causing the attention of everyone else at the table (including John’s hologram) to turn their eyes in their direction.

“The what?” asked Scott, his tone of voice and the way his eyebrows were disappearing into his hairline showing his obvious ignorance and shock on the subject. The rest of the table wasn’t any better, everyone with varying degrees of surprise and/or concern in their faces (if it was for the youngest Tracy’s security or their own no one knows) at the aquanaut’s comment.

“The ax on my wall” said Alan without missing a beat and happily shoving another spoonful of ramen inside his mouth, blissfully ignorant of the alarmed looks sent his way. “Alan why the hell do you have an ax on your wall?” asked Virgil, looking thoroughly disgusted when the blonde tried to speak with his mouth full before realizing he would have to swallow to answer “Why not? The space next to my guitar was empty and the ax fit, besides, it would have gotten dusty in the closet” replied the teenager shrugging his shoulders.

“I think what Virgil meant is why do you have an ax at all and where did it come from?” said John, turning slightly to check something in one of the monitors in Five before looking back at his fellow star-lover sibling.

“Wouldn’t you like to know” replied Alan cheekily before taking his empty plate (the third one, his stomach really was a bottomless pit) before excusing himself and going to his room, leaving everyone to look after his retreating back and wonder just what the fuck.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 After carefully paraphrased questions and no answers, six months later they still had no clue where the ax had come from and why Alan had it. The youngest Tracy insisted that it was firmly secured to his wall and it wouldn’t fall on top of him and chop him up like pork while he slept (starting with the fact that he slept on the floor more often than not), so he was allowed to keep it.

Life kept going and the knowledge of the ax hanging on Alan’s wall became one of those things Scott talked about on his whiskey and complaining meetings with Colonel Casey, but there was no other mention on it, aside from the time John told them he figured out it was a toy from the video game their little brother was always playing (Cave Trek or something like that).

With the reassurance that the double-blade ax was a toy and presented no real, sharp threat to the resident astronaut’s life, rescues and other shenanigans kept happening on Tracy Island as normal.

And then the spider happened.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 It wasn’t common for all the earthbound brothers to be at the house at the same time with no rescue taking any of them away, but it appeared that whoever was out there ruling the universe decided that giving the four Tracy brothers a good scare was funnier than only scaring one of them.

Virgil saw the spider first, screaming his head off and yelling at Scott to kill it while climbing on top of the couch to escape the bug; the brunette, who at the moment had been doing some paperwork on his desk, looked up to see what the commotion was all about.

Alan and Gordon had been playing a rather aggressive hand of Go Fish in the kitchen table before deciding that laughing at his older brothers’ shenanigans was more interesting, only to have any amusement in them die at the sight of the arachnid.

That thing could only be a demon trying to take a physical appearance because the size of its body was not normal.

With a newfound respect for Mother Nature and all her creatures, the four boys slowly moved towards the staircase that would take them to their rooms, moving with a synchronization that could only come from years of working rescues together. But the spider saw through their plans and attacked.

Separating and looking around to try and spot the arachnid before realizing it was nowhere in sight, the brothers jumped on the table and formed a circle to try and see where the spider could come from at all angles.

“Wait!” screamed Alan “I have an idea, I’ll be right back!” with that, he turned and ran towards the stairs and their rooms, leaving his brothers behind. Ignoring the outraged and betrayed cries of his fellow spider-kidnap victims, the blonde ran up the stairs and disappeared down the corridor.

“Coward” screamed Gordon, turning to look at the remaining two before looking to the couch and walls to try and spot the home invader. “Now what? I can’t find it and I am not getting down from this table if we don’t kill it” said Virgil while holding a pillow in front of him, mimicking a shield.

“Look we just need to reach the holo-phone and call Grandma or Kayo, they can find it and kill it and then we can ju-OH MY GOD IT’S THERE!” hollered Scott, jumping out of the way just as the spider jumped in his direction. The other two scrambled off and started walking backwards towards the kitchen, never losing sight of the arachnid.

The demon spawn followed them slowly, climbing to the floor before making its way across the wall leading to the kitchen and corralling the brothers when there was a sudden yell from the balcony upstairs.

“Get down!” dropping to the floor without a second thought, the three of them heard a whoosh over their heads and an inhuman screech followed by the sound of running footsteps. Slowly rising and turning to look, they saw what could only be the remains of the spider, nailed to the wall by a very real and sharp looking ax.

Alan reached them and grabbed the ax, pulling out of the wall and grimacing at the spider bits that clung to the blade. Looking at their baby brother, Scott could only register one thing in the whole situation “IT’S A REAL AX?!”

“Uh…yes? What other kind would it be?” responded Alan with a not-so-subtle condescending tone to his voice.

“WE THOUGHT IT WAS A TOY!” apparently, the oldest Tracy was far from calming down and he had more to say “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU HAVE A REAL AX HANGING OVER YUR BED ALAN?! AND WHY WOULD YOU THROW IT AT US?! YOU MADE A HOLE IN THE WALL!”

“Ok, first of all it’s not going to fall alright? Its pretty secure” started the blonde, ticking off his fingers with each point made “second of all, I know how to throw an ax Scott, I’m not going to chop your head off” rolling his eyes the youngest Tracy walked over to the wall and continued “and third, we can just cover it up” moving the big pot slightly to the right, the astronaut successfully covered the hole.

“There is still spider in it” pointed out the resident aquanaut, a confused and slightly disgusted look on his face.

“Meh, I’ll clean it up later” stated the blonde ax-thrower before turning back to his brothers with a smile.

“I’m too sober for this” sighed Scott, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning towards the kitchen, Virgil at his heels.

Turning towards his fellow blonde, Gordon looked Alan up and down before focusing on the ax and nodding slightly “Cool” with that, he turned and followed his older brothers.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 That incident was the first of man, and a lot of the pots, tables, jars, paintings, and decorations throughout Tracy Island were moved a few inches to the right or to the left, rescues keeping them from fixing the walls or floors.

So, it was only natural that they completely forgot to tell their father about this when he came back.

“Why is there a hole in the wall?” asked Jeff Tracy perplexed, holding the painting he was trying to admire more closely while looking at his sons for an explanation.

Turning to look at Alan, the other four brothers turned around and left, leaving the blonde to explain to their father the reason behind the many, many, many holes in the villa.

“Well…you see Dad, there was this spider”

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 5: Case Fic

Fearful | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1430 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, IT Crossover, Angst Summary: It comes for children, it feeds on their fears. Dean and Cas arrive to end its reign of terror.

He Wanted More (WIP) | @becky-srs

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1621 Main Tags/Warnings: #HeWantedMore #Destiel Summary: After years of self-denying and depressing Dean realized he's in love with Cas. Cas loves him too but this two morons won't see it, until Sam takes of with Eileen to a romantic vacation and put Dean and Cas on a case with a monster who kills gay couples what takes them to be an undercover couple... may the cover fall and revel their true feelings?

Curse me | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 3099 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean loves balett!! Summary: Dean had always loved ballet, even though he never told anyone about that. When he and Sam find cursed ballet shoes, Dean can’t resist and tries them on anyway. He gets surprised in more than just one way.

Lost and Found | @unforth & @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4885 Main Tags/Warnings: Horror, Ambiguous Ending, Memory Alteration Summary: Dean and Sam's hunt in a haunted forest was bullshit from the moment the fog rolled in. And then the ghost silenced the world.

On This Night | @mittensmorgul

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5688 Main Tags/Warnings: case fic, djinn, fluff, dean knows his tropes Summary: Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways.

Heavenly Flavor | @songbird211

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7190 Main Tags/Warnings: First Time/Fluff/lust monster/Sam Ships It/Anal/Blowjobs/Nipple Play/Top Dean/Top Cas/Bottom Dean/Bottom Cas/Voyeurism/Wing Kink/Love Confession Summary: During a case involving college men going missing Dean and Cas are taken by the creature responsible. This creature loves having sex with humans, hence the kidnappings, but this time she wants to fulfill her fantasy of watching two men have sex and she thinks Dean and Cas will do nicely.

The Unexpected Consequences of Amnesia | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10539 Main Tags/Warnings: Casefic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Secret Relationship, Miscommunication, Dubious Consent Summary: When a spell backfires and results in Sam losing a year’s worth of memories, Sam’s really not that worried. After all, Dean reassures him that he hasn’t missed much and for the first time in a long time, the supernatural world’s at peace. Except then Dean and Cas exchange a look. Except then Sam keeps seeing them sneak around at night, into each other’s bedrooms, or whispering stealthily into each other’s ears whenever they think that he’s not looking. So naturally, Sam just has to investigate. Or the one where Sam obliviously and almost single-handedly brings about the collapse of Dean and Cas’ marriage in the span of one week.

Angeleech | @noiproksa

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 14457 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Compliant, Team Free Will, Hugs, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Banter, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Case Fic Summary: It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but then everything goes sideways. Dean and Sam have to take care of an injured Cas and find out what is going on with the angel before it is too late. (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Ten Inch Hero | @banshee1013

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16689 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Witch Curses, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Researching Sam Winchester, No Archive Warnings Summary: After returning from Purgatory the second time, Castiel and Dean were just beginning to explore the new direction of their relationship, when on a case involving missing hunters, Dean is struck by a witch's curse and turned into a ten-inch plastic figurine. Can Sam find a way to revert the effects of the curse and return Dean to himself before the tiny spark of life Cas detects in him fades away? Or will Cas lose Dean just as their relationship has begun?

Trouble in Paradise | @its-funnier-in-klingon

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1746 Main Tags/Warnings: canon divergence, human!Cas, post 14x09, Hawaii, case fic, bed-sharing, ghosts, mutual pining Summary: Sam finds a case where gay couples are being tormented by a ghost in a resort in Kauai, Hawaii. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack embark to the resort where Dean and Cas must go undercover to take down the ghost, all while trying to sort through all their own personal issues.

Unthought Known | @noiproksa

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 18337 Main Tags/Warnings: Temporary Amnesia, Profound Bond, Team Free Will, Banter, Canon Compliant, Hugs, Case Fic, Soul Bond Summary: Dean wakes up in an abandoned mental institution with no memories and two strange guys, ‘Sam’ and ‘Castiel.’ They have to work together if they want to find out who they are and what happened to them. And what the hell is this profound bond he seems to share with Castiel? * Dean woke up with a pounding headache on the floor of a bright white, windowless room and no recollection of how he got there. What the hell was he doing in what looked like some sort of psych ward? Before he could get his bearings, he heard moaning coming from behind him and got to his feet, swiveling around, ready to fight whoever was in the room with him. ‘Whoever’ turned out to be two someones. One man with abnormally long hair and one guy in a trench coat who had a ‘tax accountant’ vibe to him. Who were these clowns? (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Suck It, Judy Garland | @midrashic

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20116 Main Tags/Warnings: N/A Summary: It had to be St. Louis. Or, the one where Sam and Cas get fake married for a case, and Dean loses his mind.

Making it Up as We Go | @Foxymoley

Rating: Mature Word Count: 24439 Main Tags/Warnings: Case fic, ghost, Angel!Cas, choose your own adventure Summary: A choose your own adventure story! The Winchester's catch a case—an ordinary salt and burn—but Dean's decisions along the way are up to you!

The Memory Remains | FriendofCarlotta (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 28408 Main Tags/Warnings: Case fic, post-canon, POV Dean Winchester Summary: With Chuck defeated, Dean's trying hard to get his head back in the game. What he needs is a bit of peace and quiet, and maybe a nice, straightforward hunt. What he most definitely doesn't need is this thing about monsters trying to summon some kind of hermaphroditic goat person. Or dealing with Cas, whose powers are still failing and who is acting more human in increasingly disconcerting ways.

Human Error | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 33435 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate season 9, case fic, wendigos, human Castiel, Cas in the bunker, miscommunication, drunk sex, top!Dean, bottom!Cas, 69 (sex position), bedsharing Summary: Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Fade to Hell | @alisuwink **Also in English**

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 37549 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester,Alastair (Supernatural), Bobby Singer, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Season/Series 05, Fanart, Action/Adventure, Violence, Dark, Humor, Hell, Tortured Dean Winchester, Madness, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Summary: It didn’t seem to be enough with Lucifer wandering free and the Apocalypse up our asses. Of course not! Now, Sammy’s soul has ended in fucking Hell, and I have no choice but to go down to that fucking hole with Castiel. When we rescue Sam, he is going to be buying me beers for the rest of his damn life. *Note: the fic is finished in Spanish, I'll have it in English by June.

Highway 9 | @ellis-park

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 38909 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, suicide attempt Summary: Dean Winchester is a private investigator working what should be an open-and-shut vandalism case on an isolated stretch of rural highway. Except it’s not an open-and-shut case, because whatever is happening on Highway 9 isn’t vandalism — it’s something far more sinister and unnatural. And if Dean is going to get to the bottom of this case, he’s going to have to rely on the one person he’s learned he can’t rely on for anything — his ex-best friend, Cas Novak.

Someone Who’s Feeling for Me | @ellis-park

Rating: Mature Word Count: 45876 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, case fic, canon universe Summary: Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight. Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away. Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

Silver and Cold | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 64851 Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Hunter Castiel, Small Town Setting, Religious Themes, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Minor Character Death,Tragic Backstory, Nightmares, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switching Summary: The death of a young man in an apparent animal attack brings hunter Cas Novak to the small town of Sydnam, Maine. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s tracking a werewolf, but discovering the killer’s identity is no easy task. All signs point towards Dean Winchester, a lonely recluse who lives in the middle of the woods and whose antagonistic behaviour does little to lessen Cas’ suspicions. As the investigation drags on, their mutual distrust gives way to a wary alliance. Cas’ instincts warn him that Dean is hiding something, but as he uncovers the man beneath the mystery, his professional interest becomes far more personal. Praying his faith in Dean isn’t misplaced, Cas races to catch the killer before the next full moon rises and another life is abruptly cut short.

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 6: Rudyard

Day six: the investigation fruitlessly continues.

❃❃❃

“Any luck today?” Yuen asked.

After six fruitless days of combing over Berilo’s house and garden, LLAC had once again returned to the usual meeting place. By that time, Yuen, Rudyard and Sardion were already waiting for them, and the sun was inching down past the horizon.

Lillian shook her head in disappointment. “Nothing. We searched the house from roof to basement as usual, but we didn’t find anything that wasn’t already marked or mentioned in the initial report.” She informed them.

“Yeah, same here.” Cait added. Under their breath, they grumbled; “This is so not cool at all.”

The search of the garden on the first day had been under pleasant weather, but that was the only upside that they recalled— most of that day had just consisted of crawling around underneath the plants and staring at every inch of grass and dirt for footprints. Consistently, the highlight of each passing day seemed to be their short lunch break.

Sardion sighed. “We’re in the same boat, then. Nothing turned up for us, either— I guess we’ve hit a dead end.” Yaara’s house, in comparison had been spick and span, just like how she organized it. Like Berilo’s, a blood spatter marked the area where she had died, but the house was in better shape than his— the door was still on its hinges, with no sign of lockpicking.

“So, what are we going to do next, Detective?” inquired Rudyard. Despite his annoyance at the lack of any new leads, he managed to keep his tone calm.

Yuen raised a hand to her temple, exhaling heavily. “For now, we should head back to my office. I’m sure the lot of you are hungry, I have some food stashed there. We can talk over a nice meal.” she answered.

Sardion raised an eyebrow. “You keep food in your office, too?”

“Ah, just some Dr. Piper and a few packs of Simple Wok instant noodles,” Yuen replied. “…Er, lots of Simple Wok instant noodles, to be honest.”

***

Yuen prepared some water for the instant noodles on a hot plate, as the group sat huddled in the small space.

“Sorry that this is all I have. Whenever us detectives need to stay for the night, cup ramen and soda become our nectar and ambrosia.” She said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Rudyard laughed, giving Sardion a gentle nudge in the arm. “It’s alright, detective. Truth be told, it makes me remember when I was back in the academy. Sardion, Berilo and I used to sneak boxes of these from the cafeteria to our rooms every once in a while, so that we could have late-night snacks every time we needed to stay up to finish our written assignments.”

“Oh gods, yeah, I remember that.” Sardion said. “And you remember that time Yaara yelled at all of us because we pulled an all-nighter and made the entire room smell like broth? She said if we had just eaten enough at dinnertime like ‘normal people’, we wouldn’t be hungry and therefore wouldn’t stink up the dorm. She was right, of course, but that never stopped us from doing it again and again.” He started laughing along with Rudyard.

“Man, we should try that out, Hattie.” Cait suggested. “Knowing ol’ Branwen, there’s no way that he’ll let me off of that paper just for this assignment, so we might as well have something to eat.”

“Yeah!” Hattie agreed. “We can eat whenever we want!”

Sardion adopted a comically authoritative demeanor. “Hey, hey, bad idea. Don’t do it. And if you ignore me and get caught, don’t tell Lionheart we did it too at our time there. But, if you pull it off and don’t get caught, then you gotta tell us how you did it.”

Rudyard shook his head, grinning. “Man, we must’ve done it ‘til the day we graduated. That grouchy old lady who worked there would always wonder why some of their food was lost, but we never got the blame for it.” He clicked his fingers “Say, you remember the time Hidalgo and Gin found her stash of chocolate pudding and took as much as they could carry?”

“The Great Pudding Robbery of ‘56. How could I ever forget—?”

This time, it was Lillian’s turn to interject. “Wait, Hidalgo? As in Hidalgo Ferrante?”

Sardion turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, he was one of our pals in the academy. You know him?”

“Sort of.” Lillian replied. “I mean, I’m dating his daughter right now.” She explained, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Wait, no kidding?” Sardion’s eyes widened. Turning to Rudyard, he mouthed ’did you know?’

“Yeah, her name’s Rosario.” Rudyard continued. “Talks about her all the time. Showed me a picture of her once, too— she’s definitely her old man’s daughter, has his eyes.”

As he spoke, Yuen sat down with them, placing the pot of now-boiling water in the middle and gesturing to the box of cup ramen. “Okay, grab whatever flavor of noodles you want. And before we continue with the nostalgia and all that, we should first discuss what we want to do next.”

“But… we still haven’t really found anything. How are we supposed to know our next move?” Amaryllis asked.

“Well, it’s not like we can just sit here until something else happens.” answered Yuen.

“Actually, they could stand to do so.” Sardion suggested, indicating LLAC with a nod of his head. “Not for long, but just half a day should suffice. We need to have clear heads, and that goes double for you, Detective— you’ve been pulling all-nighters trying to connect the dots on that corkboard. We all deserve a moment’s rest before we try facing the problem head-on.” he suggested.

Rudyard pensively nodded. “Sardion and I can carry our own independent investigations during then. We’ll try and reconvene with you in the evening, Detective, and LLAC can join us the next morning. The last couple of days have been a whirlwind, and while I’ve no intention of stopping my search for the killer, I don’t want us to burn out— or you guys, for that matter.”

After a moment’s pause, Yuen nodded in agreement. “Alright, team, you kids get tomorrow off starting at noon, and you two get the morning to make your own inroads. But when we all get back, we immediately pick up from where we left off, agreed?” She remarked.

“Agreed!” LLAC responded in unison.

***

“You know, despite all the preservatives, this stuff isn’t half bad.” Lillian said, shoveling a hunk of chicken-flavored noodles into her mouth. “I can see why people would get addicted to it.”

Yuen laughed. “What, don’t tell me you never ate this growing up? Not even once?”

Amaryllis shook her head as she followed her sister’s example, holding up a cup of beef-flavored noodles. “Aunt Izzy was always pretty strict about what we ate. Sure, we had breakfast cereal and juice and the occasional sweets, but that was pretty much it. Said that we had to follow a good diet, and that taste was one of the first things Huntresses sacrificed in the field.” She slurped some of the broth. “Hope I never have to find out what she meant by that.”

“Mmmllpphh... uhh knww whuhh duhs’ lhhk,” Cait said through a mouthful of noodles. “Than’th fuhh th’ muhhll.”

Yuen nodded. “No problem, kid. Eat up, you need it.”

“RRURRRRRP!” Their conversation was interrupted by a loud burp from Hattie. “Ah, ‘scuse me.” She said sheepishly

“Hah! I’ll have whatever she’s having!” Sardion laughed, countering her with a slightly louder belch of his own.

He barely even finished before the petite girl grinningly returned the favor with an even louder eructation.

“Are you… perhaps challenging me, Miss Lazuli?” Sardion inquired, his face turning comically stony as he repressed the urge to snicker.

Hattie smirked, holding up an unopened soda can. “Mayb—b—buUUUURRRRUUUPPPP!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Lillian groaned at the childish antics of the two. “Okay, saying it right now; I’m not being the judge this time.”

***

“Okay, you two, you know the rules. Whoever burps the longest wins, brownie points for whoever starts the loudest,” Amaryllis recited, holding up the timer on her Scroll, her finger raised just above the screen. “Ready.”

Sardion and Hattie each snapped open a can of soda, looking each other dead in the eye as they did so.

“I must let you know, Miss Lazuli, that I was the burp-off champion of Haven Academy in my time.” boasted Sardion.

“That was a long time ago, old dude. Now, it’s my time to shine.” Hattie shot back.

“Set.”

Both of them raised the metal edges of the cans to their lips, still maintaining their locked gaze.

“Last chance to back out, kiddo.” Sardion said, in a taunting voice.

Hattie didn’t reply, but narrowed her eyes and gave Sardion a thumbs-down.

“Go, Sardion.” Rudyard cheered halfheartedly yet amusedly, who sat on the couch watching the game.

“Get him, Hattie!” Cait crowed.

“Begin!”

Glup, glup, glup, glup. Both Hattie and Sardion began swigging down their cans in one long draught, their eyes beginning to water against the drink’s stinging carbonation. Within the span of a few seconds, they had poured every last drop down their throats, only for their cheeks to pouch as the carbon dioxide came rushing back up their gullets.

“Aaaaaaand… go!”

(For the reader’s own sake, this ridiculous match has been abridged by the author, who apologizes for this shameless, childish, and blatantly filler chapter. If you wish for a much funnier burping match, please follow this link.)

“And… time!” Amaryllis turned off her Scroll’s timer as Hattie and Sardion’s burps died down at the same time. “Geez! Thirteen seconds, not bad.” She remarked, swiping on her CCCT browser. “Says here that the world record’s over forty, apparently.”

“Which one had that time?” Hattie asked, wiping her chin with the crook of her elbow.

“Both of you, actually. Tie.” Amaryllis said, lifting her gaze.

Without missing a beat, Hattie grabbed another can of Dr. Piper and thrust it at Sardion. “AGAIN!”

***

While they continued with their childish contest, Cait, Lillian, and Rudyard were busy talking about some of their older missions. Cait found the pair’s recollection of the Kumoyuri assignment far more interesting than the day’s work, and found the part where Lillian had gotten dunked in mud wildly funny.

Personally, they didn’t find their extracurricular Grimm-hunting work to be as interesting, but Rudyard still politely listened nonetheless. Lillian, having been there along with Cait, only half-listened to them as she poured water into another cup of noodles.

“Oh, man. So there we were, looking right in the eye the largest Boarbatusk I’ve ever seen in my whole life. It huffed, and it puffed, it almost blew us away, but we still weren’t scared!” Cait exclaimed, gesturing with their hands to the best of their ability. “Thing is, it was pretty simple once we got down its attack pattern. Charge, turn around, charge, turn around, snort, repeat. Fourth pass around, Hattie managed to chop off its tusks with Whirligig… uh, her saw-gun thingamabob.” They continued, snapping their fingers as they tried to recall the exact name.

“Whirling Dervish.” Lillian said.

“Yeah, that, thanks Lilly.” Cait said, nodding. “Well, as I was saying, she cut off its tusks and got its face pretty good, and I shouted, ‘Guess you’re just a “Boarba” now!’” They sniggered for a moment at their own joke. “You wanna know why I called it that?”

Rudyard chuckled, bracing for the terrible pun he knew was incoming. “No, I have no earthly idea. Why?”

“Because it lost its tusks. Gettit? Boarba? No ‘tusk’? Cut its tusks off?” Cait grinned, acting as if the wordplay had been anything resembling clever.

“Oooof.” Rudyard groaned, shaking his head despite the grin on his own face. “Bad one.”

“I know, right? I should get an award for my combat banter. S’not as easy as everyone thinks it is.”

“Ignore them.” Lillian said, rolling her eyes.

Rudyard leaned back, taking a helping of his own noodles. Despite his inner tension, the pain he still had in his heart, he felt relaxed and eased by LLAC’s company. It felt nice for all of them to gather like one big family, even facing the stark reality of the next day to come. It would take far more than one good night to heal, but watching his protégé and her team… it filled him with determination.

It gave him strength and determination, seeing the new generation take the reins the old had once held. More importantly, it gave him hope.

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter 5: No Air

Series Premise: With a six week old daughter, Liam finds himself suddenly widowed. When the Royal Council demands he find a new queen and endure another social season, he gets a little help from someone unexpected–his late wife.

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Implied thoughts of suicide.

—————-

Liam stirred mashed potatoes around his plate; making careless trails of tine grooves that ran across his plate into his roast lamb and asparagus. He could hear Drake speaking to him about a new development on the boardwalk–but wasn’t really listening. While he nodded and gave a half hearted smile so that his friend didn’t think he was rude, Liam lifts his glass of scotch, taking two quick sips, wishing to hell it would finally numb his tortured mind and take him away for a few hours.  Normally, the drink would leave him refreshed and relaxed, perhaps even incapacitated, yet he hadn’t felt its much desired effects since that night. The night he worked late while his wife tantalized him with texts of want and desire for him. The night he kissed every inch of her velvety, smooth skin and their bodies intertwined with unspeakable passion and devotion to one another. The night death stealthily entered into his bedroom, robbed him mercilessly of every truth he ever believed in and left behind nothing but bitter lies. It was the night Liam watched his purpose and meaning drift away into nothing. 

There is no perfect way to explain how it feels to lose someone. Liam dreaded being asked several times each day by friends and staff, how he was doing. How am I doing? 

He pondered that If all the great minds in the world can’t explain what love is, how does one properly define a loss. 

How do you tell people your heart was literally ripped out of your chest without rhyme or reason, leaving a void so painful that life was no longer something you desired. How do you answer that truthfully and not leave them feeling monsterous for asking. It’s a mindless question really, because in all honesty they want a false answer. He was fine. 

It had been exactly four weeks since Riley died. Four agonizing weeks of loneliness and sorrow- the kind a person will never fully heal from.  Liam’s face had grown paler and his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and appetite. His tall, muscular frame was just starting to show evidence of wasting away and if one didn’t know better, might say he was ten years older than he actually was. He had grown irritable, withdrawn, and found no pleasure in things he typically enjoyed. If not for Ellie, who was quite possibly the only thing keeping him somewhat together now, he seriously contemplated the merits of pursuing the ultimate Shakespearean ending. 

As he prodded the asparagus and slid it back off his fork, he tried to imagine what Riley was doing at this exact moment. Liam believed in an afterlife; he wasn’t sure exactly what it entailed, but imagined a place where his wife was surrounded by beauty and color his mortal eyes couldn’t begin to imagine. Was she dancing carelessly through a field of her favorite lilies while her laughter carried a melody so sweet and magnificent, the angels were envious? He knew she didn’t have any close family, but perhaps his mother was keeping her company while they exchange funny stories of Liam’s mishaps and clownery.  Does she even remember me? 

No matter how glorious or wonderful her time might be there, one fact remained: there was a chasm that separates him from the greatest love he’s ever known. Until he would be able to break through that barrier himself, he would never feel whole again. Riley was his life and without her, he surmised, he no longer existed.

As he stared at the disarray of intermingled food on his plate, Ellie’s soft cry ripped him from his thoughts. Before he could lift the cloth napkin from his lap to attend to his daughter,  Drake was already up from his chair across from Liam, unhooking the baby from her glider and bouncing her on his chest. This wasn’t anything surprising; if it hadn’t been Drake, it would have been Hana or Maxwell. Liam wasn’t sure if they realized he had caught on to their patterns of, ‘just dropping by’, visits, while attending to his every need and want. Even if he wanted to be left alone, which in large part he did, those three friends most likely used the opportunity to heal themselves of the heavy hearts they were feeling too.

Drake, the ever proud godfather, handed the little girl to her daddy and grabbed an already prepared bottle from the refrigerator to heat up. 

“So, what do you think Neville’s plans are for this emergency council meeting tomorrow?” Drake asked, while he placed the bottle into the warmer and leaned back into the counter waiting for it to finish.

Liam let out a heavy sigh. “You know Lord Neville as well as I do-”  He bent over to pick up the rattle Ellie dropped on the floor and placed it back inside her tiny little hand. “I’m sure whatever it is he wants will likely end with me trying to pamper his spoiled ass and you wanting to kick it.”

Drake knit his brows with a chuckle. “Heh. I do find kicking that nutsack’s ass to be one of my favorite pastimes. Right after drinking my weight in whiskey, moping around the palace on your dime and pounding the hell out of myself to a picture of Madeleine.”

Liam’s face twisted as he stopped rocking Ellie for a moment to let Drake’s words sink in. Did he really just say that about himself? The more time he had to think about them, the funnier it became to him. 

“Drake-” He chortled with amusement. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Drake smirked and started to respond when the warmer beeped, letting him know it was ready. He grabbed the bottle, checking the temperature on his wrist and handed it over to Liam. “That’s usually the kind of ‘Drake Walker’ jokes,” he emphasized with air quotes, “Liv tells that makes the group laugh … thought you could use one. Looks like it worked too, since that’s the first time you’ve laughed or even smiled since …” 

With that unfinished quip, an awkward silence began.  Drake rubbed the back of his neck, feeling terrible for bringing up Riley’s death. Even if he didn’t actually utter those words, the smile that instantly faded from Liam’s face before he turned away from him, told Drake all he needed to know. 

Later that evening, after Drake left, Liam gave Ellie her bath and put her down for the night. With the baby monitor in hand, he stepped out onto the living room balcony-just as he had done every night for the past four weeks- to talk with his beloved. With a full, spring moon overhead, he could see her place of rest clearly and mused how the mound of dirt before her newly placed headstone was beginning to flatten out. Liam leaned against the railing, as he did every night and told her how much he loved her and missed her. He spoke about his day with Ellie and how it must have been Drake’s turn to spend time with them. 

Liam placed both elbows on the cool, concrete railing, clasped his hands together and rested his forehead on them. “My Love, I want to be where you are.” He lifted his head from his hands and glanced upwards toward the stars. “I’ve thought about it a million times since you left. All it would take is one pill and then you and I can reunite … be together forever.” 

Liam dropped his hands over the railing and rubbed the tips of his fingers along the roughened grooves of concrete. The scent of lavender from Ellie’s shampoo still clung to his hands and traveled with the breeze. He let out a heavy breath. “I’m stuck between two great loves though. You’re there and Eliie and I are here and I can’t leave her … I’m just …  really missing my other girl tonight.”

In the silence, Liam turned when he heard the calling out of his name from the living room. He rubbed the dust off his hands and elbows and made his way back inside to find Ellie’s nanny coming in for the night. It was the first time she would be spending the night there. Liam would be returning to his full time duties in the morning and an early morning, emergency council meeting meant her services were needed more frequently now. 

Rolling a suitcase through the foyer towards the stairs, she stops immediately to curtsy when she sees Liam.

“Your Majesty.”

He motioned with the monitor in his hand to the stairs. “Ellie’s been asleep for 20 minutes. I would imagine she will be out for another few hours and the staff prepared your accommodations earlier. Is there anything you need before I retire for the night”

She rolled her suitcase back and forth as she thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I have everything I need right here,” she patted her suitcase with a playful smile.

Liam thanked the young, brunette and carried the luggage to her room at the top of the stairs. Once the door was shut, he drifted slowly to his bedroom. He had been in there several times, however, this was the first night he would sleep in the bed he’d shared with his wife. Obviously, his hand was forced in that decision; he couldn’t remain in Ellie’s room with the nanny coming and going throughout the night. It was time to face his fears.

After he showered, Liam perused his closet for the suit he would wear in the morning. He wanted something loose, but also knew that Neville had something up his sleeves and wanted to ensure his look didn’t allow the slimy bastard to think he could best him. While contemplating his options between the blue tie and black tie with the suit jacket he chose, a peculiar thought crosses his mind. 

Liam exits the closet after tossing the black tie over the hanging suit and leaves the bedroom. He walks back down the hall and stops in front of Amanda’s door and raises his hand to knock.

“Amanda! Open the door!”

He could hear faint scurrying inside and the closing of a dresser drawer.

“I said open the door, now!”

Amanda opened the door a few seconds later with a shocked, but puzzled expression. “Is there something wrong, Your Majesty.”

Liam gives her a questioning look. “How did you get in my quarters tonight?”

Flustered, she furrowed her brows. “What?”

He placed his hand on the barely opened door and pushed it in a little further.  “How in the hell did you get in my quarters tonight.” He asks again while peeking over her shoulder suspiciously.

Amanda let go of the door and under the watchful of the King, walked to the desk drawer of the guest room, opened it and pulled out a key ring. She held it up in front of her and jiggled it nervously. “Queen Riley gave me the key. After she had the baby, it was easier for me to have one when she needed me to drop by and she was nursing. I … I didn’t think it would be an issue to use it again since I’m caring for Eleanor now.”

Liam dropped his head and rubbed his thumbs over his tired and puffy eyes. Without knowing who killed his wife, everyone and everything suddenly became suspicious to him. He was edgy with everyone and completely annoyed by the lack of of lead yet.

 “My apologies for scaring you … I’m just … a little questioning of everyone. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” 

Amanda placed the key ring back in the drawer and walked back before Liam at the door. She placed her hand on his arm and slightly squeezed with an understanding nod. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, sir. I want whoever took my dear friend away found also and if you need to question me to feel some reassurance, I completely understand.”

After he apologized once more for interrupting her nightly routine, he bid her goodnight and left her be. She turned the lock on her door and crossed the room into her own personal bathroom. As she stood before the large mirror that clung to the bathroom wall, she grabbed her toothbrush and looked at her reflection with a sinister smirk formed on her lips. She winked at herself in the mirror and gave herself a gleeful smile. “This is too easy and it’s only just begun. You haven’t seen anything yet … My King”

________

Liam glared at the bed he had not slept in since Riley passed away. His heart was pounding faster than he could ever recall; he had reached an anxiety level that was insurmountable. After several minutes of trying to control his breathing and his shaky hands, he finally pulled the duvet down and eased himself slowly onto the bed. Liam lowered himself down and tossed the blanket over himself and adjusted his head on the pillow.

After staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he knows he can’t do this. The bed felt so hollow and empty and was a constant reminder of her touch, her scent, her missing place on the other side of him. 

Liam rose from the bed and walked to her vanity in the corner of the room and grabbed a bottle of her perfume. Standing over her pillow, he sprays a generous helping on it and places the bottle back on her night stand. Trying once more, he crawls back into the bed, grabs her pillow, and snuggles his body and face into it. It wasn’t the same-it would never be the same-but it was all he had. “Goodnight, My Love.”

Just as his body and mind began to feel some comfort, he heard the small cries of Ellie followed by an unmistakable voice come through the baby monitor, that shot his eyes open quickly.”

“Baby mine don’t you cry. Baby mine dry your eyes …”

Liam threw the blankets off his body and twisted around to snatch the monitor from the table beside his bed. He placed the device to his ear, not sure if what he heard was what he thought he did.  He held his breath as the all too familiar voice carried through it and prayed it wasn’t a dream.

“It can’t … can it?”

Still carrying the monitor to his ear, he runs out of his room and across the hall to Ellie’s nursery. He stands before the door and braces himself for the possibilities that lie beyond it.

He carefully twists the door handle, still hearing the sniffles of his infant daughter and a song he hadn’t heard sung in a month.

His blue eyes widen with anticipation and he can feel the blood rush away from his eager mind as the door swung open.

He lets out a small gasp as the baby’s room becomes visible and immediately drops to his knees.

"Riley?”

[musicalluna]

Can I get some domestic Avengers watching a movie or cooking together? :)

@miss-kitty-fantastico i combined your prompt with this one because they went well together! i’m sorry about your puppy. :(

--

“Where’s Nat?” Tony asks, eyes flicking up from the potatoeshe’s cutting.

Clint, sitting nextto him peeling the potatoes before handing them off, raises hiseyebrows and checks his messages on his glasses lenses. “Thor’spicking her up right now.”

“Yeah?” Stevesays from in the kitchen where he’s mixing a steaming pan on thestove. His face lights up with a smile. It’s the kind of smilethey’d have never seen five years ago. He’s so much lighter thesedays and Clint’s pretty sure that’s part of why they’re alldoing so much better. His mood kind of guides them all and he’sbeen so much more even-keel the last few years.

Bruce turns behindhim where he’s pulling small fluted tins out of the proving drawer(they’ve all been watching way too much Great British Bake Off) andhe’s smiling, too. “So she’ll be home soon?”

Clint grins. “Twentyminutes.”

“OW-OW!” Tonycrows, “babygirl’s coming home! Bruce, how’s that dessertcoming?”

Bruce rolls hiseyes. “It’s coming.”

“I’m going totell her you called her babygirl,” Clint tells Tony and Stevetries to hide a grin.

Tony puts the knifeover his heart, affecting a wounded expression. “We haven’t seenher in six weeks and the first thing you’re going to do is throw meunder the bus?”

“Babygirl.”

“Stop stomping onmy sandcastle, Barton!”

“Hey, you wannastop bickering?” Steve asks, delving into his inner Brooklynite.“We need those potatoes sometime this century.”

Tony raises hiseyebrows at Clint and goes back to chopping. Clint snickers.

“JARVIS, play theboyband list,” Steve asks, shifting the pan to another burner.

“Again?” Brucesays, amused.

Steve shrugs as “IWant You Back” starts, already starting to mouth the words. Thestuff that he’s taken a liking to is hilarious to Clint. It’seven funnier when Sam is around groaning about how his attempts toeducate Steve have gone horribly awry.

“’And I want.You. Back!” Tony warbles along with the song. Even Bruce nods alongwith the opening chords.

The mood in thekitchen is buoyant as they prepare dinner and wait. Thor had won thedraw to go meet Tash at the airport, despite the fact that he can’tdrive. Grudgingly, Tony hadasked Happy to take him.

She’sbeen gone just under six weeks andeven he doesn’t know whatexactly she’s been doing, onlythat she’s been out of the country. Beforeit had always been him missing her on his lonesome. Thistime around he and the others had all missed her. Clint’s a littlejealous (she was his friend FIRST) and a little proud (damn right,she’s amazing). It makeshim happy to see them appreciate Nat the way he does.

Heand Tony finish up the potatoes finally and Steve has them throw themon a couple baking sheets after smothering them in a layer ofcornstarch mixed with garlic powder. They fill an entire oven withthe potatoes alone. Bruce hasfilled up the other with the little tins—he’s making rum baba. Ifthey come out right, Tash will lose her mind. Even if they don’t,she’ll probably still lose her mind.

Stevestrains the pasta over the sink, enveloped in a billowing cloud ofsteam as he hums along to “MMMBop”.He tosses it into a huge skillet that’s simmering the sauce onanother burner and stirs all that together. Clint’s starving andthe little ducts in his mouth are firing out saliva like it’s goingout of style in response to the smell.

Whilethe rum baba are cooking, Bruce gets another pan going on the stovenext to Steve, full of sugar and a bunch of other shit. Tony’shands aren’t busy anymore, so he disappears for a couple minutesand comes back with vodka cranberries for everyone, onecarefully set aside for Nat on the kitchen island.

Thepasta’s just come off the stove and Steve’s gut-laughing whileTony grinds inches from Bruce’s ass to the sound of “Everybody(Backstreet’s Back)” when the elevator doors open up and out comeNat and Thor.

Tonybreaks off mid-lyric and stops molesting Bruce to whirlaround and yell, “ITSY BITSY!”

Natlooks tired, but she breaks into a smile despite that. “We’rehaving fun, aren’t we?”

“Musicwas Cap’s choice,” Clint says, loud enough to be heard overeveryone else.

“Hey,welcome back,” Steve is saying, completely oblivious. They all lethim get to her first and he leans down, hooking one arm around herback and giving her a squeeze. Then he leans back and blurts, “Shit,what happened?”

“Aye,it’s impressive, isn’t it?” Thor says.

Natbrushes back her hair—much shorter than the last time Clint sawher—and he sees what Steve saw. She has a nasty looking cut arcingup the side of her face. It’s bruised bad enough that she has alittle crescent of bruising around the outside of her eye socket. “Ihad a disagreement,” is all she says. Then she smiles and squeezesSteve’s arms. “It’s good to be home.”

Brucemanages to get a quick little hug in before Tony worms his way to herand pulls her into a bear hug, kissing the top of her head. “We’reglad to have you back,” he says, voice quiet. Thenhe leans back and adds, “Bruce made rum baba.”

Natashacups Bruce’s face in her hands. “Oh, zolotse.”

Brucegrins even as his face goes pink. “Clint said they’re yourfavorite.”

Shelooks back over her shoulder at Clint and it’s like getting sucker-punched. God, he missedher. “He was right,” shesays, and breaks away from Bruce to come to Clint—she’s limpingjust a little and he files that away to ask about later—and hescoops her up, crushing her to him.

“Hey.Welcome back. Missed you.”

“Imissed you, too,” she sighs and he can feel her unwinding in hisarms. She lays her head on his shoulder like a cat and pointsimperiously to the table. “Feed me.”

Clinthikes her up on his hip and heads over to the table, the othersswirling around them putting food on the table and he feels warm allthe way to his toes. Finally, things feel right again. He’s here,and so is his family. Doesn’t get better than that.

“Wait till you hear what Tony called you.”