#had this idea stuck in my head for days. bone apple tea

[mulderscully]

"And how strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it, and it took only these few moments in time to renew its momentum, its heat?"

— ANNE RICE, The Vampire Lestat (1985)

[moonbeamwritings]

a rainy day

for my beloved @cup-of-fluff ♡

You usually loved your walk to work. You passed the local park and listened to the birds. You enjoyed the sunshine and cool air on your skin before you were stuck inside for the day, dealing with high school students and grading tests. It gave you the peace of mind you needed to start every day on the right foot.

Today, though, it seemed the universe had other plans.

You're a few minutes into your walk when it starts — the rain. As soon as the first droplets hit your head, you're racing to pull your umbrella from your bag, but your search turns up empty. You didn't pack it.

You sulk for a solid minute, staring sorrowfully between the path leading to your house and the sidewalk towards the school before finally deciding to forge on. With a defeated sigh, you hunch your shoulders, wrapping your thin sweater closer to your body as you avoid the puddles that pool in the dips of the sidewalk.

Just as all hope seems lost, your hair soaked and clothes damp, a distant voice calls your name, frantic footsteps hitting the sidewalk behind you. Before you know it, an umbrella is being slipped over your head, offering you sanctuary from the unrelenting storm.

“Good morning,” Takeda greets, the smile on his face already working to thaw the chill that’s settled into your bones. “What’re you doing out in the storm like this? Aren’t you freezing?”

You look at your feet sheepishly, desperately trying to hide your chattering teeth as you offer him a greeting in return. “Good morning, Takeda. I forgot my umbrella today.”

He tuts, tucking closer to your side to hold his umbrella square over your head. “Well, we don’t want you catching a cold now, do we? Let’s walk together.”

You accept his offer immediately. You’d be foolish not to. The opportunity to spend time with the coworker you’ve been pining over for months didn’t come around very often, and from this distance, it’s easy to discern the distinct smell of his cologne. Absentmindedly, you wonder if he’s always smelled this good. The thought brings heat to the apples of your cheeks.

You fall into stride and easy conversation then. Takeda tells you all about the progress the volleyball team has made, and, in turn, you tell him about the new novel you’ve been reading. You reach the school grounds before you know it, and you’re grateful for the warmth you find in the main entranceway.

“I can’t thank you enough, Takeda, really.”

He waves you off with another kind grin. “I’m always happy to help, and besides,” Takeda shakes the water from his umbrella, a faint rosiness to his cheeks as he adds, “it’s nice talking to you outside of work.”

You’re about to respond when you notice the left sleeve of his coat is completely soaked through, the fabric clinging to the entire length of his arm. He’d gotten himself all wet just to save you from the rain. “Oh, Takeda,” you coo, gently taking the end of his sleeve in your hand, “you’re soaking wet!”

“That’s alright,” he replies casually, his blush only seeming to deepen, “I have another coat in the teacher’s lounge. Don’t you worry about me.”

“But-”

“No buts, I’ll be alright. I’m more worried about you! Why don’t you go get settled; maybe a cup of tea will help warm you up a bit before the kids get here.”

You sigh, not having much room to argue with the idea of a nice mug of green tea. “Fine, but the next afternoon you’re free from volleyball; I’m treating you to coffee.”

Takeda brings a hand up to nervously rub at the nape of his neck. “I’d like that. Thursdays are usually our off day if you’re free then.”

Without a second thought, you beam at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. "Then it’s a date.” You offer him a wave before you disappear down the hallway, no doubt off to make that cup of tea.

Takeda is left standing in the lobby, a dripping umbrella in his hand and furious blushing creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. At that moment, he realizes that he didn’t bring an extra jacket today, but you didn’t need to know that. It was all worth it in the end, Takeda thinks as he peels his coat from his arm. He finally secured a date with his work crush, and all it took was a simple walk in the rain.

[lumosinlove]

December 14, 2020: Day One

On the first day of Ficmas, Hazel gave to you...a Russian!Leo bakery AU!

(Also where Finnlo works themselves out while still at Harvard. For this fic, Leo is 23, Logan is 20, and Finn is 21)

“It’s closed,” Logan said, breathing hot air onto his hands as he slammed the passenger door shut against the thrashing snow storm.

“What?” Finn said. “No, it’s—it’s never closed.”

Logan shrugged. “It’s closed.”

“We came here on the blizzard last year! It was open. Nothing was open, and it was open.”

“Harz, what do you want me to say?”

“It’s closed?”

“It’s closed!”

Finn sat back in his seat, staring out the frosted window. “But—my everything bagel.”

Logan huffed out a laugh, leaning across the car to press a kiss to Finn’s cheek, which was warm from the car’s heat. Practice had ended with Coach wishing them a good holiday break—and then the storm had hit. Logan had been looking forward to locking their door and cuddling up to Finn in their dorm room before going home to New York for Christmas, and then to Quebec for New Years. He was bringing Finn home. Finn.

“Oof,” Finn winced, but tucked his fingers into the curls sticking out below Logan’s tuque. “You’re freezing, baby, c’mere.”

Logan would never get tired of this. They’d spent two years dancing around each other, but when Logan had had a few too many drinks one night, they’d snapped. Finn had followed him into a back room at some house party, and Logan had reached forward and kissed him. Finn had frozen and then melted, and Logan would never get tired of remembering the way Finn had clutched to him, they way they’d broken apart and stared at each other—the way Finn had broken out into a smile and kissed him again. Logan, he’d whispered. Logan, Logan, Logan.

Finn was the last thing Logan expected to find at Harvard. He was the last thing Logan expected to get to keep. Logan was afraid of a lot of things—but after seeing that look on Finn’s face, it became the thing he was most afraid of losing. He’d do anything to protect it.

Finn kissed him now, a steadying hand against his jaw. “Let’s go find somewhere else?”

“Okay,” Logan mumbled against his mouth. “Wait, a little more.”

Logan felt Finn’s laugh when he tilted his chin up, and swayed into the open kisses Finn pressed to his lips, then up his cheek. The snow beat against the windows, and Logan could have stayed right there forever.

“Little more once we get to where we’re going,” Finn said.

“Where are we going?”

Finn put the car back into drive. “No idea.”

They drove around at a creeping pace in the snow until they found themselves on an unfamiliar street, small and with cobblestones replacing the usual pavement. Only one of the storefronts had their lights on, the open sign flipped outwards. The lights looked warm, with Christmas stickers stuck to the windows around a proudly displayed name.

“Arakhisa’s,” Logan read out. “I don’t know, sounds Russian?”

Finn put his hand behind Logan’s seat to park the car. “Whatever it is, we’re finding out.”

The door jingled as they entered. The space was small and painted in creams. There were bits of mistletoe and holly on the tables in tiny vases besides canisters of napkins and cutlery. White Christmas lights were strung along the walls, along with paper snowflakes, artful and curling, hanging around the lights and casting snowing shadows across the entire room.

“Privet,” said a soft voice. “Hello, may I help?”

Logan looked up to see—

“Huh,” Finn said from beside him. “I mean, hi.”

“Hi,” the boy said, smiling at them. “You looking for something good, I can tell.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, we are.”

“Welcome to Arakhisa’s,” the boy said. “We open last year.”

“Do you…” Finn began, twirling a finger around to gesture at the store.

“Yes, is mine. You have not come before.”

Logan liked his careful sounds, like he was putting everything he had into making sure they were clear.

“We’re creatures of habits, I guess,” Finn laughed, and then he rubbed the back of his neck. It was red, Logan noticed.

The boy held out his hand over the counter, and Logan watched Finn take it.

“I’m Leo,” he said.

“Finn.”

Leo’s hand was warm in Logan’s next. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet,” Leo glanced between them  “What you like? Sweet?”

Logan laughed and looked back down at the display case again. It was filled with golden breads, cakes and muffins.

“Or not so sweet, maybe? We have case, but also menu. Bad storm. Deserve something warm.”

Logan smiled. He liked how Leo said deserve.

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “Sweet for me, not so much for him. Anything you’d suggest?”

Leo looked down, thinking. As he did, another boy came out from the back, apron on. Leo and the boy spoke fast Russian for a moment, laughing at something, before he nodded haltingly at the two of them, and then turned back towards the kitchen again, disappearing through the swinging door.

“Sorry,” Leo said, still smiling. “Okay, I’m choose for you? Sweet and not so sweet.”

“And warm,” Finn added with a very familiar smile. Logan suppressed a laugh. Finn was flirty by nature, but Logan would know that look anywhere. He thought Leo was hot, and Logan didn’t blame him.

“Dimples,” Logan whispered when they sat down after being directed by Leo.

“Tell me about it,” Finn laughed, fishing them out two sets of forks and knives from the canister on the table. He tapped the ends of his in a little rhythm on the table. “He’s hot. How old do you think he is?”

“I don’t know, our age? Little older, maybe,” Logan said.

The boy from the back appeared again, this time with a tray of a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

“Thank you,” Finn said.

The boy smiled softly and gave a halting, “Yes, good.”

The tea was strong and Logan watched Finn drink it straight while he dunked sugar and milk into his own. He felt the warmth like it was seeping straight into his bones.

“Merde, I didn’t know how cold I was,” Logan sighed.

Finn smiled at him over his cup. “Your cheeks tell all.”

Logan snorted. “Look in the mirror.”

“Bet I can warm you up when we get home.���

Logan looked at Finn over the rim of his cup.

Finn’s smile widened. “Yeah, baby, now I know I can.”

They talked, with their ankles hooked beneath the table, about practice, about Christmas and their flight out in a few days, until Leo was walking back over to them.

“Okay, ready?” Leo said, setting plates down. “Like tea?”

“It’s perfect,” Finn said.

“Good,” Leo smiled.

In front of Logan, Leo set down a stack of what looked like crêpes. They were drizzled with a sticky red sauce, some sort of berry, and Leo drizzled honey over them himself.

“Blini,” Leo said, gesturing towards it. “Sweet. And for Finn, eggs. Don’t touch pan, very hot. Sausage, too, and dill on top. Scoop with bread like spoon, okay?”

Finn did as he was told. “This is incredible.”

Logan was caught up in the honey-sweet across his tongue. “Ouais.”

Leo stood there, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’m happy, then. I let you enjoy.”

“Thank you, Leo,” Logan said—just wanting to say his name. He remembered feeling that way about Finn. Just wanting to feel him, even if only through words. He flushed with the connection, and smiled before ducking back down to his food.

“You have welcome,” Leo said, and Logan and Finn looked at each other as Leo turned away.

“That was the—” Finn leaned in. “Cutest shit.”

“We’re coming back tomorrow,” Logan said. “We’re coming back.”

~

“Welcome to Ar—oh,” Leo smiled at them the next day. He was holding a tray of sweet smelling croissants. “Hi, again.”

“Hi, again,” Finn said, hands in his pockets against the cold. “Looks like you’re our new favorite.”

Leo laughed, reaching into the case to straighten some cakes. “Me?”

“I—well,” Finn stuttered.

“Yeah,” Logan said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Any more recommendations?”

“Hm,” Leo tilted his head. “You still a sweetheart?”

Logan blinked. “Quoi?”

Leo gestured to the case. “Still feel like sweet things?”

Finn let out a delighted laugh. “Oh. Sweet tooth.”

“Ah,” Leo said. “What I say?”

“Sweetheart is, uh,” Finn ran a hand through his hair. “Like, cute? Like, a—lover?” he stumbled over the words and Logan—sort of liked watching the way he and Leo blushed as Finn spoke.

“Oh,” Leo said, more quietly. “Sorry, didn’t mean—“

“No, it’s okay,” Logan shook his head quickly. “According to Finn, I’m a sweetheart and a sweet tooth so…no harm done.”

“Have practice or can go home for holiday?” Leo said, laughing a little as he tried to change the subject.

“How…” Logan began, and then looked down at his sweatshirt when Leo did. Harvard Hockey. “Oh. Hah, yeah, no, we can go home. We’re leaving today, actually. Tonight.”

Leo nodded, pulling two cream-filled pastries from the case. “Where you go?”

Finn held up two fingers. “First to New York, for me, and then to Quebec, for Lo.”

“New York,” Leo said, and turned towards the hot kettle, for their tea. Logan liked the way he moved, like it was all so well practiced, he could do it all in his sleep. “I have seen New York. Not…how you say?”

“Quebec,” Logan supplied. “Canada.”

“Oh,” Leo pushed the two plates towards them, and his smile turned cheeky as he looked at Finn and nodded at Logan. “Sounds better when he say.”

Finn laughed, taking the plates for the both of them. “Most things do. What are we trying today?”

“Sharlotka,” Leo said. “Sort of apple cake.”

Logan brought the pastry to his mouth, the cake crumbing back on to his plate when he took a bite. It was sweet and tart. It was perfect.

They watched Leo work from afar, going to and from the kitchen, laughing and charming customers. He tied boxes of cookies up with string, poured steaming take away cups of tea and coffee, fried up hot plates of eggs, instructing the customer to use the bread like a spoon, as he had with Finn.

Logan was—he didn’t know what. He was all caught up with the way he would accidentally catch Leo’s eye from across the room, just as he had been when he and Finn would lock gazes, across the Harvard locker room, across the showers.

“Leo,” Logan called as they left. Blue eyes met his own. “Have a good holiday.”

Leo’s eyes flickered between them, lips pressed together, and then he smiled. “Yes. Same as you.”

Christmas was a mess of happiness. Logan woke up in Finn’s childhood room, snug somewhere in the West Village. Finn walked him to his favorite coffee shop, just around the corner, and they sat at the bar in the window, warming up with the coffee and—kissing. Finn kissed Logan wherever and whenever. Finn took Logan apart at night, keeping him quiet and close. Logan took him apart in the morning. During the day, the re-fit the pieces of both of them together.

Finn was stroking Logan’s hips, kissing his chest and easing him down from a high when he asked.

“Do you think Leo had somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Logan took a second to breathe, a little surprised to hear Leo’s name out of Finn’s mouth so soon after coming, then looked down at Finn. They were both a little sweaty, and—Logan could never decide—but sometimes he thought he liked Finn best like that. Red cheeks and hair sticking up, a glisten at his neck.

“Uh,” Logan swallowed a pant. “Yeah?”

“I mean, his family might be in Russia. I didn’t see anyone other than that other boy there.”

“Maybe they’re together.”

“Oh. Yeah, maybe.”

Logan put a hand behind his head, the other on Finn’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Finn smiled, kissing just beside Logan’s softening cock. “We just didn’t ask him, that’s all.”

“We could have him over to the house, maybe,” Logan said, raking his fingers through Finn’s hair as he pushed his way up to lay beside him. “Or maybe a movie or something.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” Finn said, and turned onto his side, fingers trailing over Logan’s heated skin. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Logan just smiled. “As gorgeous as you think Leo is?”

“Hey, I can think Leo’s gorgeous,” Finn laughed, then leaned in close. “But you, Lo…I’m so in love with you.”

They went back to the bakery almost every day when term started up again, but with coursework, and the season ending, they never invited Leo out. He went from a kind smile from behind the counter to a long Sunday afternoon lunch—Leo sitting at their table between rushes—but never more. Logan had to admit…he was a little terrified of the pull he felt. He didn’t know if Finn felt it, too. And, with Finn graduating soon, what they had already felt so fragile.

They were getting ready for bed late in the Spring semester when it happened. Finn’s phone rang. He went out into the hall to answer it.

He never did that.

Finn’s face, when he came back in, was stricken, emotions waring. Logan’s first thought was that something horrible had happened, he didn’t even think about the draft—he’d been trying so hard not to think about Finn leaving, the stubborn fear that Finn was leaving him behind—

Finn swallowed hard, the door closing behind him and his phone tight in his fist.

Logan pushed himself up on his elbows from where he was laying across Finn’s bed. “Harzy? Mon rouge—”

“They think I’ll go third overall.”

The world stilled.

“Third,” Logan breathed.

Finn nodded. He dropped his phone onto his dresser.

“Finn,” Logan whispered, and then he was rushing at him. “Finn.”

He’d miss him. He’d ache over him. He was so happy for him.

“I can’t imagine it without you,” Finn said from where his nose was buried in Logan’s neck. His voice was thick with tears. “Lo.”

“You can’t think about me right now,” Logan laughed, tearfully, and pulled back, taking Finn’s face in his hands. “We always knew Harvard wasn’t forever. But you are.”

Finn sniffed, brown eyes filled. “I can’t even think about losing you.”

“And you think I can?” Logan pushed up and kissed him, mumbling the next words into it. “I’m so happy for you.”

They swayed as they hugged, and Logan closed his eyes at the feeling of Finn’s fingers running through his hair. “Will you visit me?”

Logan kissed him again and again until Finn’s back was pressed against the doorframe. Until Finn smiled.

“Send me your jersey, I’ll take some nice pictures for you. Maybe I’ll bring Leo to a game, that’ll make you happy.”

Finn brushed their noses together, laughing. ”That sounds good. And as long as you send me yours. When it happens.”

The notion send rocking waves through Logan all over again. It had happened to Finn, the NHL…it could happen to him.

And what would happen to them?

Logan opened the door to Leo’s bakery, and was met with Leo’s soft smile. It was a relief. His eyes still felt raw from saying goodbye to Finn. He still felt raw.

“Alone today?” Leo said.

“Sort of,” Logan said, smile shaky. “Well,” he looked back at the door, at their usual table by the corner. “Yeah.”

Leo’s eyes flickered with concern, and he tilted his head. “Need something sweet?”

Logan let out a breath and leaned on the counter. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

Leo nodded. “I’m find something perfect for you.”

Logan, though, really thought he had too many perfect things already. He hardly knew what to do with them all.

{A/N: Leo’s bakery’s name translates to Peanut’s…I think.]

[c-rose2081]

A Letter from Grace

—

My life, as most people’s do, began at an ungodly hour on October 31st, 1918. Father admitted once that it was the longest witching hour of his life, and that he hadn’t slept at all the days prior due to worry over the birth. I was born three months earlier then expected, and mother liked to say that I was the smallest, most fragile little baby she’d ever laid eyes on. Just the size of a decent eggplant from the market; perfectly suited to sit in the palm of your hand.

Tension was high that night, as Influenza had already taken many infants in the local Hospital. So I was born in the dark privacy of my Grandfathers New York Estate, passed down for three generations already. Father was excited to have a fourth Generation to which he could pass his legacy, or so I was told. Swaddled expertly by a matron of almost sixty years who Mother claimed to trust with her life, for a single moment everything was perfect; just my parents and their little baby girl who they named Grace.

But my weakness would not be chased away so easily.

Though I don’t remember much of the early years, I recall father once telling me that I had broken two fingers, and cracked my head open before I could even walk. Doctors who came to the house claimed my bones simply weren’t strong enough yet; that I needed more calcium which my mothers milk couldn’t seem to provide. But by the time I was on my own two feet, tottering about the manor as most young children do, bruises, breaks, and scratches had the staff and my poor parents on edge. It was around this time as well my own heart decided to betray me. It wasn’t normal for such a young child to be fatigued as quickly as I was, nor was it normal for her breathing to sound like the hard start of an automobile.

Up until the age of six, when I begin to remember some (if only a little) of my childhood, no one - no local physician nor expert - could figure out what was wrong with me. Everything, yet nothing, was the matter. Mother - who was a journalist for National Geographic - traveled and was away for long periods during this time. And though I can recall day dreaming of the many fantastic and wondrous locales she must’ve seen, it left my worrying father to…well, worry about me. It seemed falling down the stairs face first at my local day school and not only cracking my head open again, but also breaking two ribs and promptly becoming unconscious, was enough to send him reeling over the edge of hysteria for my well-being.

During my long and tedious recovery from that single incident, I caught a devilish sickness. No one knows where it had come from; another student in my school perhaps, or from a simple passing stranger. But Father claimed he had paid a fortune in phone calls to Africa in order to speak with mother who was (at the time) photographing Elephants. She came straight home of course, only to find her little girl pale and as close to death as one could be.

It’s all a bit hazy, as my brain was still young; feverish and half-delusional. But I can remember the lingering smell of tobacco on fathers hands and ground into his silk lapels as he cradled me, rubbing my back as I coughed and struggled to catch a breath. And I can still hear mother’s voice as she sat by the bedside, telling me of the many animals she had seen while in Africa. I dreamed of lions and elephants in those hours, blearily staring at nothing as lamplight flickered across damp windowpanes from an evening rainfall. I recovered slowly but surely, but that first flu had taken something out of me. Something I wasn’t ever able to get back, even as I grew older.

I was just about to turn seven, finally healthy again, when I was no longer permitted to leave the grounds. Mother and Father had a very long, loud conversation about it in the library, to which I listened in through the mahogany door. There was to be no more school; just private tutors who I would soon come to spite. No more Summer games in the park, or long nights under strings of electric lights at the carnival. No possibility of family trips, or late night escapades to the Ice Cream parlor for frozen cherries and whipped cream. There was to be no world for me beyond the fence of the Estate.

To keep me safe, Father claimed.

It was only a day after that the wheelchair made its first appearance in my life. Father insisted it would help with my heart; protect it from beating to fast from running, or walking about to quickly. Mother disagreed with the notion, I could see it on her face as I was settled into the wicker seat for the first time, but she said nothing. I hated it instantly. I wanted to run and play, and roll about in the grass like the kids at my school could. I used to envy their ability to get high, high up into the branches above the schoolyard, perched at the top with the world at their feet. I never dared try for myself, lest Father decide to cut all the trees down if he ever saw me in one.

It wasn’t bad at first; Mother stayed with me those beginning months, occupying my mind with stories of her travels and long games of chess. She began me in piano lessons, and helped with my cursive. But it wasn’t long before she once again had to leave; India this time, to photograph wild tigers. The day she left it felt like some huge part of me went with her. Father tried his best of course, and I remember riding on his shoulders or in his arms with fondness. But he was a busy man, often called away to the city for one thing or another.

The staff of course did their best, but babysitting a squirmy young girl certainly wasn’t in their daily agenda. My nursemaid - the same woman who birthed me (nasty old crone) - was a harsh matron who allowed for little beyond what was deemed safe and allowable by my Father. It was always lessons in the morning; the usual subjects of maths, geography, history, natural sciences and the like. This clockwork schedule was followed by etiquette and tea time, piano lessons, art, literature and penmanship.

I did get some exercise, but I was always well watched by Matron and at least two other members of staff. Some days it was a casual swim, no longer then half an hour, and on Saturday it was a light waltzing lesson (privately taught of course). And - on the rare occasion I could bully the other staff into it - a game of croquet or darts on the lawn. But there was little time for fun, despite my Fathers pleasure at my supposed ‘safety’, and I each day I felt some small part of me die.

I was 13 when the next incident occurred. Some local boys who I’d never seen before wandered close to our garden fence. Matron had left me to my afternoon reading as to fetch coffee (which I had come to prefer over tea). Mother - according to her letters - was someplace in China, hunting down Rhinoceros. Father had left earlier that morning to meet with investors at his office in the city. It was a rare moment I was truly alone. The boy, who’s name I can’t recall now, smiled at me. It was a cute, boyish grin and I can still remember how startled I was by it. After all I hadn’t seen anyone in what felt like years (at least six, to be exact). He urged me close to the fence.

At that point I was desperate to be out of my wheelchair, so I walked to him. He nodded to the lovely apple tree which I had been sitting under, and asked if I could climb it to fetch him one of the fruit. Of course I said no, as climbing was strictly prohibited, but he was quite a smooth talker for a boy so young. He called me pretty, and dove, and all the sweet things one calls a girl to make her waver in her convictions. And so - stupidly, might I say - I climbed the tree against my better judgement.

Three shiny red apples were tossed easily over the fence, one for each boy. They gave me a wave goodbye and ran off to do whatever they pleased. And then there was me, a fragile, tiny girl stuck up in a tree with no way down. Of course I didn’t mind at first, I was actually elated I had made the climb at all. I finally was able to see what my schoolmates had all those years ago. I could view the entire estate and beyond; I could stare at the horizon; seemingly endless in its reach. But as much as I yearned to stay above and away from my tiny world forever, Matron would soon return.

Getting out of the tree was much more complicated then climbing into it.

I remember the horrible feeling of miscalculation; falling and hitting the soft earth with a terrible grunt. Something inside me cracked, and my lungs exploded with fire as I wheezed out a cry of pain. I don’t remember now who had seen me first; one of the yard staff perhaps, but Matron was furious. Once again I was bedridden, pretending to sleep as Father puffed on his favorite ivory pipe just outside my bedroom door. He mentioned to Matron the idea of adding straps to the wheelchair, as to keep me from falling. I remember whimpering under the blankets at the thought of being tied to the thing, and sobbing myself to sleep that night.

The years came and went, and I felt more and more heavy with each passing hour. I didn’t leave the wheelchair again until I was 16, and simply couldn’t stand the bloody thing anymore. I would sit in chairs, or on window sills. I’d spend time in the woven hammock in the garden, or lounge across the evening sofas. Any place I could sit, I would, simply to avoid being stuck in the contraption I loathed. I got sick more often during these middle years; on again off again fevers and dizzy spells that left me dazed and began the chain of worrying my father and caretakers all over again.

There were endless nights alone where I’d stare at my naked form in the mirror in golden lamplight, using a finger to count the ribs poking from under my paper-like skin. It’s true my body was changing into that of a woman, but it hardly mattered when the lightest of touches could leave a mark on me the size of a continent.

Mother was traveling again, to and from as she always seemed to do. Letters and phone calls were exchanged often, and I often studied the places she traveled when she was away in my geography lessons. But it often felt like it was just Father and I against the world. He was dear of course, moving his work to the home office as illness became more common. He’d bring me gifts from the city; strings of diamonds and beautiful mink furs. A brand new motorcar, just for my use (not like I could ever go anywhere). But there really wasn’t much that could bring a smile to my face.

Burning the wheelchair and the Matron in a fire the size of Connecticut might have done it. But I didn’t have the heart to ask.

Father even hosted a large ball for my Birthday that year, with dancing and music and people. But even that couldn’t seem to bring my heart from its dark and lonely place. Only when Father allowed the wheelchair to be folded up and hidden away in the closet after almost ten years did I finally feel whole again. I was more careful after that; I did little to aggravate my condition. The fevers and fainting spells were still present, but the bruises and breaks healed. I took a fondness for the writings of Edgar Allen Poe, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice. I read the articles in National Geographic which Mother had sent in her letters over the years, and sketched the animals which she herself had photographed. For a while, everything finally seemed ok.

Until Mother returned home from her second trip to Africa deeply ill.

For the first time in my life, I finally felt what father must have for me every time I lay bedridden. I was only allowed to see her from the doorway, out of fear of me catching the disease as well. I wasn’t allowed to speak with anyone who entered or left the room, and Father had to bathe and keep his distance whenever he came to see me. I was 18 when she finally died in the night. This year. Though it feels like just yesterday.

Yellow Fever they said, from a mosquito bite in Africa.

Nothing - not the breaks, bruises, fevers or constant illness - prepared me to see my own mother dead. I wasn’t even allowed to see her; to say goodbye. I could only watch, held back by three of the staff, as she was carried out under a sheet. The Doctor had to sedate me for my own health after I managed to break loose and nearly fell down the stairs after her corpse. I woke up numb, and couldn’t convince myself to move for days after that. I knew I should’ve been grieving with father, but I couldn’t manage it. There was so much pain. The wheelchair came out of the closet again, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

The funeral was attended, and the casket buried. Father and I didn’t speak much in those long weeks after; in fact I wondered if I even could. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years. There was just a horrible, overwhelming chill in me, and I grew weaker with grief. After a few months, Father became worried for me, as did the house staff. They opened the windows, and trimmed the gardens. The rooms were dusted, and filled with light. I was taken outside the fence for the first time since I was a girl, in the automobile which I hadn’t ever used. But there was still only emptiness.

After four months, Father left the house to attend a meeting in the city. He returned with a man whom I didn’t recognize; a fancy man who bowed and kissed my hand and smiled from under his white mustache. He said his specialty was in dealing with those lost in grieving, and that perhaps it would be best if we (my father and I) left New York and all it’s memories behind. Naturally I was appalled at the idea, but couldn’t seem to match my face to my feelings.

Before I knew it the house was emptied out, packed into boxes and taken away by trucks and wagons. Anything not moved was sold at auction, and the house was passed on to the highest bidder.

“New Orleans, my little Bluebird,” Father told me as we settled in for the long journey by car across the country, leaving New York behind, “truly a city of culture. I’ve bought us a beautiful new home just outside town; you’ll love how big it is.”

And big it was. The old Hatchaway Estate was an ivory mansion in a traditional New England style. Surrounded by the most beautiful trees and well kept fields, it was a far cry from the fenced in world back home. The staff, pre-hired, were a gloomy looking bunch dressed in green and black stripes. But father liked their quiet (somewhat somber) fortitude, and so I said nothing as they helped us settle in. There was something…unusual about the new house. I could feel it the minute I walked through the door. A heaviness; like someone was watching me. It was just enough unease for me to forget my quiet grief for a moment.

I learned quickly that the house itself was seemingly unnerved. The first week I had seen at least two items move on their own, and heard giddy singing from the back garden only to find no one there. The staff was practically ghostly, saying very little to us, let alone one another. And I spent a lot of time exploring the grounds on my own. It was a few weeks after moving in, about a month before my 19th Birthday, that father hired two new drivers; a Mr. Harrod Fairchild, and Mr. Rudolph Martin to tend to the cars.

And this, my friends, is where I find myself now. Writing this overview of where I’ve been so far, and now disclosing with utmost discretion my newfound interest in the man father has hired in my name. Mr. Martin is…how to describe him is a puzzle. Handsome? Certainly. Charming? Quite so. I find myself endeared to his presence despite myself, and I grow weary of this…this little tickle of something other then emptiness that has suddenly flared up inside me. Have I once again caught ill? How to explain to father (or anyone really) this fever in me whenever he’s nearby. I’ve barely spoken to him, but have watched him tend to the car and grounds from the windows. I know he’s gentle, but still quite strong. I can sometimes hear him singing down there, leaning against the porch as he plays the banjo for the staff keeping the porch.

Every time I do get close, or think about approaching him myself, I feel that fever begin to rise and I wonder if something is truly very wrong with me. It feels like I’m dying, and I can hardly stand it. I’m bewitched. Perhaps it’s this terrible heat? What’s wrong with me?

I wish mother were here, she’d know what to do.

Eternally yours, dear reader

Grace

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[z3ld4]

Mercy Me - Part Two

PART ONE

Summary: Jacqueline Laymore can’t really tell when it started to hurt to call Spencer her friend. But that didn’t really matter after she got kidnapped. Right now all that matters is getting home and getting Spencer Reid.

Warnings: Dissociation, PTSD trigger, slight wlw moments if you squint, the word hippie? (idk if people find it offensive bc i feel like it could be but im not sure but better safe than sorry right?)

Word Count: 1k i think

A/N: i have no concept of time or how hitchhiking really works. bone apple tea ����

Surprisingly, it was pretty easy to find a person willing to let Jacqueline catch a ride. She sat on the side of the road with her thumb sticking out and after the first four cars, a salmon Volkswagen van pulled onto the shoulder.

A girl poked her head out of the window. She had a medium complexion with ambiguous features. What stuck out the most was her rich brown hair and eyes, the curly hair was left natural, bound into a loose ponytail by a bandana. “Where are ya headed, Darlin’?” The thick Georgian accent caught Jacqueline off guard. But it reminded her of her friend JJ’s husband, Will.

“Uh… DC?” Jacqueline called out, the back of her neck was beginning to burn, and right now, the person driving a van probably won’t kill her.

The girl’s face lit up and Jacqueline noticed that she had pink braces. “I’m goin’ there too! Hop in Doll, it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything!” Jacqueline stopped walking to the side of the can. Her body looked almost posed with her hand reaching out for the door handle.

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.” Jacqueline knew that it was irrational, thinking that way. That the girl with the hot pink blush didn’t really seem like the murdering type but, maybe it was the job, maybe the trauma, she can’t bring herself to fully trust her.

The girl feigned hurt, “Okay then. My name ‘s Gertrude, but you can call me Trudy pretty lil’ thang, Grayhiker. I’m twenty-three and I am currently driving back to DC so I can finish up my degree.” The girl stuck her arm out the window of the car and grinned down at Jacqueline. She looked nineteen, it was almost amazing Trudy was even able to drink.

“My name is uh Jacqueline Laymore, you can call me Jacqie I guess.” Jacqueline's fist-bumped Trudy’s open hand awkwardly, “I need to get back to DC for my job.”

Jacqueline opened the car door and stepped inside. The inside of the van looked like the 60’s vomited in it. It was extremely colorful and the walls were plastered with ‘hippie’ bands. There was also a dreamcatcher dangling before a window. Jacqueline wondered if it was authentic or not, by the looks of Trudy’s personality she would assume so. Trudy patted the passenger’s seat and Jacqueline crawled over the console and situated herself in the seat.

“If ya’ don't mind me askin’, what’s your job?” Trudy smiled at Jacqueline as she started driving again. Jacqueline hurriedly buckled her seatbelt and uncomfortably dragged her nails along the fabric of her pants. “I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m actually a licensed psychologist.” A piece of her bangs started irritating Jacqueline’s right eye and she rubbed at it harshly.

Trudy looked over to Jacqueline and giggled, “You have gorgeous eyes, Babes. Very exotic looking with the one blue and the other brown. You look far too young to be a psychologist though. Isn’t it a little coinkydink that I’m studying for my doctorate and you’re already a psychologist?”

Jacqueline found herself at a loss for words, it’s not that people didn’t compliment her eyes — they did, a lot — but the genuine compliment was something new to her. Most people just think it’s cool that her eyes are different colors, and others think she’s a freak. All of the people at work just pitied her for her eye colors due to the relentless animosity from her hometown regarding her eyes.

“I’m only thirty-one. I went to college a little early. How is your degree going?” Jacqueline’s eyes follow Trudy’s profile and gauge her microexpressions.

Trudy turned to Jacqueline for a second and smiled and Jacqueline’s heart skipped a beat. “Thirty-one? You don’t look a day over eighteen!” Jacqueline mumbled thanks before looking out of her window. The blush covering her cheeks started flowing to her ears and by now Trudy must have noticed.

There are eight years between the two and Trudy is trying to make a move on Jacqueline. While Jacqueline has no problem with girls and stuff like that, the idea of being intimate with anyone at that moment would be the equivalent of eating salt and vinegar chips after biting your lips.

Jacqueline happened to love salt and vinegar chips, but at that moment, literally anything else seemed like the better option.

No one needs the baggage that came with Jacqueline Laymore.

“Angel? Are you doing alright?” Trudy asked. Jacqueline didn’t pay attention to anything past that because her eyes kept going in and out of focus. Eventually, the world just faded to nothingness, though Jacqueline could feel herself moving.

Her state of mind was brought back to the present when Trudy set a warm hand on Jacqueline's shoulder. “Jacqie? Are you alright?”

Jacqueline realized she was dissociating. The name ‘angel’ must have triggered her. Gabriel always called her, ‘his angel.’ “How long was I out of it?”

“You were dissociating, right? Did I trigger your PTSD or something?” Trudy’s eyes were moving from the road to Jacqueline so fast, Jacqueline thought they might roll out of her head. Jacqueline nodded. “Only a few minutes. Are you alright?” Jacqueline nodded again before leaning her head onto her hand. The countryside was passing her by and all she could think about was Gabriel’s voice.

Everything felt like she was underwater. Jacqueline always used to tell Spencer that everything bad that’s happened to her started with a bath. So far, it was true. The feeling of submerging your head underwater and being able to hear the pipelines. It was nostalgic for Jacqueline. Not the good nostalgic. Just because it was a simpler time for her didn’t mean it was a better one. The van kept driving along. 

The two girls knew they were in for a long drive west so Trudy started turning up the volume on her radio. It got to the point where Jacqueline couldn’t think past the music and the two started singing and dancing along to it. Trudy seemed to really enjoy how Jacqueline was reacting to the songs so Jacqueline started singing louder. Always the people pleaser.

At some point, Trudy stopped and pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru.

“What do you want Jacq?” Trudy asked.

“Can I have a cheeseburger and fries with a coke? I can pay you back.” Jacqueline fished out Gabriel’s wallet and pulled out ten dollars to give to Trudy. Trudy took the money as she pulled up to the next window.

Once their food comes they eat as they continue to drive west. Theatrically, they drove into the sunset.

[queen-scribbles]

Good to be Back

Oh, look. Callie started talking. Because I’ve never had over-eager muses before. :P Just a little something about her favorite hobby until I’m more familiar with the lore ;)

---

Normally coming home was a relief. The promise of quiet after one of their missions, having time for the adrenaline to fade and her heart rate settle back to normal was a good thing. But today Callie couldn’t stop pacing.

And there was no outlet around the house for all her lingering nervous energy; they hadn’t been gone long enough for anything to need fixing. She bit her lip and looked at Delia. Her sister was asleep on the couch, half covered in a woven dusky rose throw blanket, with Charlie sprawled protectively on the floor in front of her. If history was any indicator, Delia wouldn’t move a muscle for at least four hours, forget waking up.

Callie looked down to catch Charlie’s eye. “You gonna watch her for me?”

The answering “wuff” sounded like it came from under the couch--or maybe out in the kitchen? But it was good enough.

“Great.”Callie darted upstairs to change, stuck a note--”Bouldering :)”--to the blanket over Delia’s chest with masking tape when she came down, and was out the door with one final “Good boy” nod to Charlie. Time for the one thing that could reliably clear her head.

---

It wasn’t far to her favorite spot, a handful of knobby boulders that ranged from nine to fifteen feet tall and back again, some jutting relatively straight up, others tilted at varying angles. Some days there were other climbers, solo or in pairs, but it looked like she was truly solo today.

Delia’ll kill me if she finds out I did this alone alone, Callie thought with a wry smile. Even though I know this one like the back of my hand.

She eyed her usual target out of the bunch, a wide, sloping, moderately difficult specimen nicknamed Widow’s Peak--more for its resemblance to the hairline than any particular danger in climbing it. There were no obvious changes to the familiar ridges and crevices that pocked the surface, and she really did know this one well enough she could probably climb it blindfolded(she wouldn’t, not alone, but she could).

Callie cracked her knuckles, stretched a bit, and started up. All her jittery abundance of energy instantly swung into focus on finding her next grip, another toehold, moving up the rock face with practiced speed. Just because she knew it well was no excuse to get sloppy. It’s good to be back.

One foot slipped from its perch halfway up, the split second shock all it took for her other foot to dislodge as well. Callie looked at the crash pad six feet below, grit her teeth, and curled her legs back in. Her left foot found purchase easily, her right scrabbled for a minute before landing on a small protrusion.

Same place every damn time, Callie groused silently, then huffed hair out of her eyes and continued climbing.

It didn’t take long to complete the well-versed climb and mantle up over the edge. She plunked down on the bumpy rock with a triumphant grin and braced her feet against a large ridge in the boulder’s surface as she took in the view while catching her breath.

Same gorgeous trees, same quaint houses, same barely visible shadow of city life on the horizon. It never really changed, and she was settled by the familiarity of it. The breeze picked up, chillier than down below, and a shiver crawled up her spine. Looked like t-shirt instead of tank top had been a good call. Goosebumps still prickled her forearms, but it wasn’t unbearable. She ran her fingers through her hair to comb it back from her face and exhaled a slow breath.

It had been a real close call this time, circumventing what Delia Saw. Not as close as some, but probably in their top five. Top ten, for sure. It really wasn’t any wonder Delia had passed out from exhaustion on the couch--at least she made it as far as the couch. But they’d done it, and the dryad from Delia’s vision was still alive and well(even if her tree was down a smaller branch or two).

“All’s well that ends well,” Callie muttered to a passing bird, flicking a pebble off the edge with the toe of her show. That was what to focus on. Not the getting lost in an apple orchard or rabid werewolf or skin-of-their-teeth rescue; the happy ending  She was still allowed to need a decompression climb with a success.

“Here’s hoping the next one involves a little less mortal peril, all the same,” she sighed into the growing breeze, followed by a soft snort at the low odds her request would be granted. She knew how this life went.

The breeze gusted strong enough to pull at her clothes and Callie shivered as she held her hair back. Probably a good idea to climb down now...

Or... she countered the little voice, glancing at the next boulder in line; a two foot gap she’d have to jump and then three more feet she could go up before making her way down.

That sounded more fun. So that’s what she did. She didn’t mantle at the top, just smacked a hand over the edge to count as ‘done’ to herself, then started down. This boulder was a less familiar climb, which took longer and called for more concentration, but that was a good thing. Distraction was one of the reasons she was out here, after all. Burning up leftover adrenaline. And there were few better ways to do that than bouldering down a semi-familiar rock she hadn’t gone up in a couple months. She banged her knee twice--skinned it the second time, she could tell--and almost lost her grip once just high enough to be a problem.

It definitely did the trick. By the time she dropped the last couple feet to the crash pad, Callie was free of any adrenaline let-down jitters and had replaced them with a deep sense of contentment that seemed to curl around her bones as it settled.

Almost as good as sex, she smirked, giving the rock an affectionate pat before she walked away.

---

She stopped at The Kettle on the way home, bought a white mocha to top off the good climb. After a moment’s hesitation, she added an apple tea for Delia. Even if she was still asleep when Callie got home, she could reheat it. It wouldn’t be as good, but hopefully could still minimize any concerned scolding headed Callie’s way for her choice of stress release activity.

Delia was indeed still asleep when she got home. Callie smiled as she set her sister’s drink on one of the end tables that flanked the couch. Between Delia’s Rip van Winkle impersonation and her own insomnia after the finished a job, looked like the Cole girls were headed for another round of ‘What’s a Normal Sleep Cycle? Bingo. Joy.

Nothing to be done about it now. The month’s worth of mail Azalea had been nice enough to neatly pile on the dining room table, however, she could do something about. Taking a sip of her coffee, Callie settled in to start sorting junk mail from the important stuff.

It was the little things that really made it good to be back.

[ted-and-bill]

Let It Snow, Dude

Here’s my Secret Santa gift for @senator-mothman! I hope you like it! :)

Ted had often hoped that one morning in late December, he would wake up to see a fresh blanket of powdery snow on the ground.

Unfortunately for him, temperatures hadn’t dropped below freezing for long enough to make his wish come true in a long time.

He supposed California wasn’t going to switch climates with Vermont any time soon, so all he could do was dream.

After a fight with his dad, Ted goes to Bill's house for some cheering up.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

It was winter break, and Ted was ready. After a grueling four months of school, he finally had ample time to sit around all day watching MTV, hanging out with Bill, and practicing his most mediocre guitar riffs. His history homework was over for the time being, and Ted was going to make the most of it.

Winter break in San Dimas, unlike other places, didn’t have the same seasonal connotations that one would expect of the holidays. His hometown wasn’t exactly the ideal winter wonderland. For as long as Ted had known, it had never once snowed there. He supposed that the lack of freezing temperatures could be a good thing, but at the same time, snow could be worth the gnarly cold.

He’d often hoped that one morning in late December, he would wake up to see a fresh blanket of powdery snow on the ground, just waiting to be made into a snowman or packed down to make an ultra fast sledding course right there in his front yard. Unfortunately for Ted, temperatures hadn’t dropped below freezing for long enough to make his wish come true in a long time. He supposed California wasn’t going to switch climates with Vermont any time soon, so all he could do was dream.

Today, ‘making the most’ of his break meant sitting on the couch in his living room, watching some old action movie he had never heard of. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Deacon was out at a friend’s, so Ted had the house to himself. Well, himself, and his dad, who was busy finishing up some paperwork in his room. Close enough to all alone, he thought. It was in the middle of a black-and-white car chase that the telephone rang. Ted rolled off the couch, and rushed over to pick up before it went to the answering machine. He slid across the kitchen, and answered just before the last ring.

“This is the Logan residence,” He said. He had to be formal, just in case it was one of his dad’s heinous coworkers who wouldn’t hesitate to shout at him for a single usage of ‘dude’.

“How’s it hanging, dude?” Bill’s voice said.

Ted’s mood was immediately improved. “Hey dude! I haven’t talked to you in a most egregiously long period of time.”

“Ted, we talked for like four hours last night.” Bill said.

He was right. “Still, my friend, that was ages ago.”

“Most accurate. Anyways, Missy and my dad are gone today, so the whole house is free for us to rock as loud as we want.”

“Excellent! I’ll come over right away.” He hung up quickly, eager to leave as soon as possible.

Ted was halfway out the door when a voice sounded from behind him. “Where do you think you’re going, son?” Captain Logan said.

Ted turned to face him. “Just to Bill’s house. We have to practice in order for Wyld Stallyns to become world-renowned, you know.”

Captain Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling with annoyance. “How many times have I told you that your band nonsense has to stop? If you really want to be successful, go out and get a real job like a normal person.”

“But dad, dude-”

“And stop with the ‘dude’!” He was getting really angry now. “Did I raise you to talk like some, some delinquent?”

“Delinquent?” What did that mean, again? Something bogus, Ted assumed.

“It’s that Preston boy, isn’t it? He’s a bad influence on you, Theodore. I know all of this,” He gestured generally to Ted. “Isn’t my fault, so it must be him who is making you so abnormal.”

Abnormal? “What are you saying, dad?”

“I’m saying that you need to stop being so childish, and grow up already. Leave your band and friend behind, and start acting mature for once in your life.”

Leave Bill? He would never. “Bill is my best friend! I can’t ‘leave him behind’!”

Captain Logan’s temper was worsening. His face was cherry red, and he looked like he was about to explode. “Yes, you can Ted! And you will! It’s not normal for two young men to be close like you are. People are going to start thinking bad things about you unless you straighten out. Do you understand me? Or are you too stupid to get that one thing drilled in your head?”

Ted had had it. He could handle being called weird, being called stupid, and even being called a failure, but saying any of that about Bill was a step too far. “You’re bogus, dad! All you want is for me to be exactly like you! You know what? I’d rather be a failure with Bill than a success with you and your heinous ideas about what’s allowed and not allowed!” And with that, Ted turned and slammed the front door right in his dad’s face. He ran off before his dad could shout at him to come back.

Ted’s face was hot with rage as he ran all the way to Bill’s house, not caring that he was out of breath by the time he rang the doorbell to the suburban home.

The door swung open only seconds later, and he was greeted by Bill’s smiling face. “Hey dude! What’s-” He paused, staring at his friend’s face. “Ted, you look most troubled.”

Ted shrugged. “It’s my dad. He was saying some heinous stuff about me being a delicatessen, or something like that.” He walked into the house, closing the door behind him. “He was talking about how I should grow up and stop hanging out with you.”

Bill shook his head. “What a dickweed! Don’t let him get to you, dude. He just doesn’t realize how excellent you are.”

Ted smiled. “Thanks, Bill.” They went into the kitchen, where Missy’s expensive cooking appliances were littering the counters. “Still, it just bothers me, I guess. He doesn’t have these problems with Deacon…”

“Ted, it’s not your fault that your dad is so non-triumphant. He’s old. That’s what old people do. Criticize the youth to perpetuate a cycle of generational divide.” Bill said.

“Woah,” Ted said. “That’s deep, dude.”

“Nah, I just read it somewhere.”

Ted sat down at the table and began to run his fingers through his hair. “I dunno, dude. It’s just like… I feel like even if we become huge rockstars, he’ll never respect me, y’know?”

Bill nodded. “I get it.” He put a hand on Ted’s shoulder.

Ted looked up to see Bill’s soft features, and a comforting expression that said ‘everything is gonna be fine, dude’. Their eyes remained locked on each other for a moment too long, and Ted felt his cheeks heating up. He looked down quickly, hoping that Bill hadn’t seen him blushing.

Bill stepped away, and moved to open a cabinet above the messy counters. “I know what’ll cheer you up, dude!” He pulled a can of cocoa powder out of the cabinet. “Hot chocolate!” He set it down, and grabbed two cups. “Remember when we used to have contests to see who could drink the most?”

Ted remembered their feats of strength from when they were no more than nine or ten. “Yeah. Those usually ended with both of us hurling.”

“True, my most esteemed colleague, but this time, we will regulate ourselves.” He filled the kettle and set it on the stove. In just a few minutes, the water was boiling, and Bill mixed the powder, water, and milk in the mugs, before setting them down on the table. “Bone apple tea,”

“Thanks, dude.” Ted said, picking up the cup and taking a sip. It was, well, hot chocolaty. “Most flavorsome, my friend.” He said, quickly chugging the rest of the drink.

“Dude! You’re supposed to savor it.” Ted looked to see that Bill had barely even sipped his cocoa.

“Sorry,” Ted smiled apologetically. “I guess my old habits got the best of me.”

Bill shook his head, but Ted could see the hint of a smile on his lips. “Now I’m going to drink mine as slow as I possibly can to make you pay.”

“Bill,” Ted groaned, “Why must you torture me like this?”

After an agonizing ten minutes of Bill drinking his cocoa sip by sip, the cup was finally empty. “Do you see the errors of your ways now?”

“Sure, sure,” Ted said, grabbing the cup and putting in in the sink. He’d wasted enough time already. Now, it was time to get rocking. “C’mon, dude!” Barely realizing what he was doing, Ted grabbed Bill’s hand, and dragged him out of the kitchen and to the side door to the garage.

Okay. This was new. He was holding his best friend’s hand. It was casual, and Bill had hardly noticed. Ted couldn’t let go of his hand, or it would seem like Ted knew it was weird, which would make it even stranger that he had held it in the first place. But every second he held onto it, it made his heart beat faster and faster. He hoped that Bill wasn’t freaked out by the sudden, unexpected hand-holding.

“Ted?” Bill was looking at him, confusion in his blue-green eyes. “You okay, dude?”

Ted snapped out of his jumbled thoughts, and realized that they were already in the garage, standing there, holding hands. “Yeah, I, uh-” He quickly let go of Bill’s hand, shoving his hands in his pockets instead. “Sorry. I was just spacing out.”

Bill frowned. “Okay…” Thank god, Bill hadn’t totally freaked out at what had just happened.

Ted was reaching to pick up his (well, Bill’s) Fender when-

“Ted!” Bill yelled. “It’s snowing!”

“What?” Ted turned to see that, sure enough, through the small glass panes on the garage door, there were tiny white dots floating down against a light gray sky. “No way!”

“Yes way, Ted!” Bill slid the garage door open, and they two boys rushed out to see the snowflakes falling around them. It was light, and the snow seemed to be melting as soon as they touched the ground.

The two of them stayed staring at the sky as the snow continued. Ted stuck out his tongue, struggling to catch a snowflake on it. After a moment of trying, he managed to get one. “Dude! These just taste like water!” He said, turning to Bill.

“What did you think? They’re made of water.” Bill smiled at his friend.

“I dunno.” Ted caught another one. “I kind of thought they’d taste like peppermint.”

The wind picked up, and Ted shivered. No wonder it was snowing. This was the coldest that San Dimas had ever been.

“Woah, it’s freezing.” He said, rubbing his hands together to generate warmth.

“Give me your hands,” Bill said, reaching out to Ted.

Ted chucked awkwardly. “Uh, what?”

“It’ll keep us both warm. Like how penguins huddle and stuff.” 

That makes sense enough, Ted reasoned. He held out his hands, and Bill took them. It was nice. Warm. He liked it. The wind stirred up dead leaves around their feet as the snow dampened Ted’s hair. It wasn’t a winter wonderland, but it was close enough.

Bill shifted a bit, and moved his hand so that their fingers were intertwined. But Ted didn’t question it. Even though this was new, it already felt normal, like the two friends had been doing it for years.

Still, Ted couldn’t get his mind off of Bill as they stood in the falling snow. Bill’s cheeks were rosy, flushed from the cold temperatures, and his eyes were bright, fixed on the sky above. Ted couldn’t help notice the way that a few stray snowflakes lay on his blonde curls and the way that his soft pink lips were parted just enough to see his almost perfectly white teeth. Ted wondered if Bill’s lips needed warming up, too.

Bill looked over to him, catching him as he stared. “What is it, dude?”

Ted glanced down, face flushed as he averted Bill’s gaze. He really shouldn’t have been staring like that. “Nothing.” He said, shaking his head.

“Dude,” Ted looked back to see that Bill was looking him right in the eye. Bill’s eyes moved down, trailing until he was looking at Ted’s lips.

Ted could feel his cheeks heat up as his friend let go of his right hand. God, he had just majorly screwed up! He was about to apologize to Bill when he felt a warm hand move to his cheek. Ted looked to see that Bill was reaching up to cup his face as his other hand moved to Ted’s back. Ted kept his eyes locked on Bill as the boy closed his eyes and leaned in.

His eyes fluttered closed as Bill’s lips met his, warmth spreading from his head to his toes. Ted moved his hands from his sides to rest on Bill’s waist as he held his friend closer to him. He could feel the snowflakes melt on his skin as they stood there, taking in the feeling of each other together like that, while the wind ruffled Ted’s hair.

After a moment, they both were out of breath. Ted opened his eyes as he broke the kiss. He looked into Bill’s eyes, which were wide in amazement, as they both broke out into laughter.

“Woah,” Was all Ted could manage as he broke out into a goofy grin.

Bill nodded, smiling just as wide as him. “Yeah, woah.”

Ted felt his heart swell as Bill leaned in again, this time much quicker, and held Ted’s face in his hands. When they broke apart again, it had stopped snowing. Ted couldn’t care less. Because in that moment, he only had one thing on his mind. Bill.

That day, in late December, in a town called San Dimas, something miraculous happened. Most people considered the miraculous thing to be a small snow flurry, the first in years, that had lasted only minutes.

But for two Californian valley boys named Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan and Bill S. Preston, Esquire, the real wonder wasn’t the snowfall, but what had happened during that snowfall.

What had happened wasn’t just miraculous.

It was, as the two of them would say, excellent.

[katyamber]

Now that we’ve found love

Chapter 4

Anne had woken up naked with her wife sprawled across her, they were stuck together. The night had been heavy and full of passion and Anne could feel aching in her muscles from the efforts. She knew that Ann would be even worse.

It was still early; she could hear the cock outside crowing into the morning sky. Pink and blue dappled sky hugged a lush green mound that stretched over the estate. Early Autumn was Anne’s favorite time, so many colours, yellows and browns, pinks and reds, orange and green. It had to be the most colourful of all the seasons. Summer was wonderful but although it warmed the skin it did not warm her bones like Autumn.

Ann was like autumn. She looked at her and felt warm like she had been wrapped in a shall and given a hot drink. She was full of colours and felt cosy. She was safe and warm.

Anne let out a slow breath and breathed in Ann’s scent and smiled “My God, I love you so much.” She whispered to herself, kissing softly along the top of her head.

Putting her harder exterior back on, Anne pursed her lips and reached for her watch “Ann, darling we have to get up and leave soon.” She told her quietly, the backs of her fingers stroking Ann’s cheek.

Slowly Ann roused and sat up, looking at Anne with a smile “This is it then.” She told her and let out a shaky breath.

They both got up, helped each other dress and went down for breakfast.

The table was set for 5, and Anne had a sense of urgency about her.

Once everyone was seated, Anne looked over at her wife and smiled softly. She then looked at her father, and then her aunt.

“So, I guess it would come of no surprise to you that Miss W…Ann and I are going on a very long trip to Europe. The reasoning for this is that we are celebrating.” Anne explained and Aunt Anne nodded and put down her tea.

“What are you celebrating dear?” she asked nervously, she always sounded nervous even though she wasn’t.

Ann was very focused on the food she wasn’t eating on the plate to hide her nerves, she felt her stomach knotting up. She had already been nervous that morning because of their trip – and now she was even more nervous because she could sense what Anne was about to announce to the family. Knowing her own family as well as she did, she was sure that this would end badly and she would be in tears within minutes.

Anne reached into her pocket and put back on her wedding ring.

“Ann and I, we took the sacrament together a week ago. I didn’t tell you before now because I didn’t want to upset the apple cart. I’ve changed my will and I am leaving all this to Ann in case of my death – and Ann has done the same with her own estate. Do you not think it a clever match?” She asked, looking at her father whose facial expression hadn’t changed as he gnawed his bacon.

“What do you expect? A gift?” he asked, slurping his tea noisily.

“I’m glad you have found happiness. If that is what…this is.” He explained and carried on eating his breakfast as though nothing had happened.

Aunt Anne, however, struggled to hold in her excitement the way Jeremy Lister did.

“Oh…Oh!” she gasped “That is a very smart match, you’ve both been so close since you were reacquainted.” She said with a smile, reaching for Ann’s hand who was sitting beside her.

“I hope you are strong enough to tame her, she’s like a ship on a stormy sea.” She laughed and patted Ann’s hand.

Ann was red-faced, shyly looking between her breakfast and her wife.

Marian nodded and smiled at her sister “Well done.” Was all she could muster, jealous of her sister getting married before her. Although, it wasn’t a real marriage in her eyes. Not the same as if she had married a man in the church and bared his children as she would.

The first hour or two of the trip kept Ann in a trance, looking over the rolling hills as they passed them. Her attention soon turned to her wife and the daunting trip ahead.

“So…What’s it going to be like crossing the sea, I’ve never been on the sea.” She told her “How long does it take?” she asked.

“It’s really rather quick, the weather is clement so the sea should be nice and smooth for the crossing. Within a few hours of leaving Margate, you will be sampling French culture…you might even experience some of what I did when I was last there. The medical schools, their unique way of cooking…the women.” She added, looking up at Ann with a raised eyebrow.

“The…T-the women?” she asked, shaking her head “Why would I want to experience the women?” she asked.

Anne smiled and tilted her head to the side “You’ll see when you get there.” She told her.

Anne wondered if maybe a beautiful French woman would be a delectable addition to their bed for the night. She wasn’t sure if Ann would want that, but it did make her mind wander back to the night before.

Anne bit her lip and her eyes trailed the length of her wife.

“In France, actually, in Europe you are free to do…anything you can imagine. It’s not like Halifax. Everyone is accepting. We could really be us in Paris, we wouldn’t be the only female couple.” She told her with a smile “I think you’re going to love it.”

A burst of excitement hit Ann as her wife explained how they could be, she couldn’t wait. Maybe the trip would help her realise who she was. What she was.

“What about Switzerland?” she questioned.

“Oh, purely for the beer.” Anne teased with a laugh. “And the saunas.”

Their arrival in London a few days later was expected, Mariana had put them up for a couple of days rest before they continued on to Margate. Anne had found it very uncomfortable at first bringing her wife here to her ex-wife, but it had made her realise that she no longer had romantic feelings for her or any other feeling than friendship. She felt the same about Vere. She was no longer tortured by flashbacks when she was with Ann, she no longer felt the need to wear black, she felt free and calm.

She was free of her demons and only Ann Walker had cured her of them.

The journey from London to Margate was relatively short, they had snuck in some kisses along the way inside the gig without being seen. They had stopped off a few times to look at birds and other wildlife that Ann had never seen.

When they arrived in Margate they had stayed at an Inn for the night, the boat due to leave at 8am.

Ann had complained about the food that they had been given, proclaiming that she wasn’t a fan of seafood. Early to bed for them, Ann was sick. Anne frustrated at herself for not slowing down and introducing Ann to things more patiently.

On the morning of their departure, Ann didn’t say much, she was pale and sickly still after the food the previous night. Anne was fine, Anne felt great – if not a little frustrated still. Once on the boat, they were shown to their cabin and Anne had gotten Ann into bed and read her stories about ancient Egypt. Eventually, Anne had convinced Ann to try Rum, as this was what all sailors drank to help with sickness.

Ann drank the rum enthusiastically, and 4 glasses later she was slurring her words and Anne was having to quieten her down from shouting various ideas out. Anne could drink much more, and did.

Eventually, they were both stumbling around the cabin and telling each other exciting stories about past experiences. Dancing to imaginary music.

Anne excused herself to the toilets and on her way back found cigarettes and more rum from a sailor. When she got back to the room, she was hot. Taking off her jacket and letting her hair down. She rolled a cigarette and looked at Ann who was sitting on the edge of the bed with lazy eyelids.

“Have you ever smoked?” she asked

“No of course not!” Ann exclaimed, holding her chest.

“Do you mind if I?” she asked, flicking her tongue over the edge of the rolling paper and closing one eye as she concentrated on rolling it.

Once rolled Anne held it in the flame of the candle and puffed on it, blowing out smoke.

Ann watched her wife and the smell of smoke filled her lungs. It was very appealing. It was not something a woman normally did. She lifted the bottle of rum from beside her and took a mouthful, coughing after she swallowed and involuntarily shaking her entire body with the taste.

Ann reached forwards and took the cigarette from her wife, taking it in her lips and taking a breath in. She felt her throat burn, but it wasn’t as bad as the rum. She looked into her wife’s big, brown eyes – glass stare looking back at her.

“I like rum.” She admitted, smoke pouring from her nose and mouth.

Anne protectively took the cigarette back, as much as she could watch Ann letting herself go, she didn’t want her to cause any harm.

Anne leaned back in her chair and parted her legs, letting her head fall back and her eyes closed as she enjoyed the warmth of the smoke inside her lungs.

She heard Ann moving. She heard another gulp of rum go down and then she felt hands on her knees. She felt hot, uncoordinated hands spreading her legs wide.

“Umm.” Anne murmured and half-opened her eyes and looked down at her wife.

“Keep smoking.” Ann mumbled as she reached for Anne’s skirt and pulled it up “I really fucking love watching you smoke and drink”

Anne’s eyes almost rolled in her head as she heard her good little wife swear, but she did as she was told and put the cigarette back between her lips. She had one hand wrapped around the bottle of rum and one found its way to Ann’s hair.

Wasting no time, Ann pulled everything away from her wife so she could get to her, her shoulders wedging her legs wide open.

Ann hadn’t really thought through what she was doing, she was just enjoying the warm feelings and following her body.

Fingers started at Anne’s knees but quickly made their way up her inner thigh, wrapping around her hips and squeezing tightly.

Anne looked down and was met with Ann’s stare, it was quite intimidating. But that was soon gone when Ann dipped her head forward and flicked her tongue over her clit.

Ann kept her eyes locked on her wife’s, watching her smoke and drink whilst she fucked her with her mouth. Ann had never felt this free, this uninhibited. She breathed hot, wet breaths against Anne as she moved her mouth and it wasn’t long before drunk fingers found her hot, wet opening.

Thrusting her fingers into her wife, Ann bit at the skin around her opening, licking and flicking the soft skin there. She let out a guttural moan and pushed her fingers hard and fast into her wife before violently flicking her clit with her tongue. Ann was relentless.

Anne had since put the bottle of rum down, the cigarette between her lips, hand tightly knotted in Ann’s blonde curls. She bucked up against her hand and tongue. she came, hard. Ann’s name being shouted and reverberating around the room.

“Oh Ann, fuck!” She groaned, gripping her wife’s hair harder and thrusting into her face with as much force as she could without hurting her.

“Oh fuck! Yes!” she moaned again, this time her breath hitched in her throat and she arched her back, reaching for a breast as she rode out her orgasm into Ann’s mouth.

Ann moaned and lapped up everything Anne had to offer; it was wetter than she was used to. She didn’t know much about anatomy but she knew that women didn’t jet out as men did.

Anne came back quickly to earth and met Ann’s eyes again. This time there was a darkness in them that Anne had never seen before.

Reaching between her legs, she reached for Anne’s throat and wrapped her hand around it. “Up.” She demanded.

Once Ann was standing, Anne closed the gap and kissed her wetly, tongue dipping into her mouth and teeth clattering together at force. She walked Ann back until she hit the small cabinet in the room, using her arm to clear whatever was on there onto the floor.

Once pressed up against the cold wood, Ann moaned and reached for her wife’s shirt, pulling her in closer as they kissed.

It didn’t take much for Ann to part her legs and guide her wife’s fingers into her, throbbing already at the contact, Ann pushed up and her fingernails dug into her wife’s back drawing blood.

Still, with one hand wrapped around her throat, Anne used her free hand to thrust into Ann. She had never felt so aroused in all her life and if she had known that Ann was this thirsty, she would have tried to marry her sooner.

Ann’s orgasm didn’t take many thrusts, she screamed and it was loud. Her legs shaking as they hung in the air but quickly wrapped around her wife to pull her in closer to try and prolong the pleasure. In the morning, bruises were found, cuts were cared for, and heads were weary. They had reached France.

[stitchkiss]

Living On A High Wire

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377113

Winifred Rose is completely enamored with the fiery redhead she met in Avonlea, so she sets out to do something about it. Cue an adorable girl’s day!

Winnie x Anne

—

She had fun with her family and with Gilbert and meeting everyone he knew. The entire day was a fresh breath of air Winnie so desperately needed. There was just one problem.

She did not want Gilbert Blythe to court her.

He’s a lovely boy—a perfect suitor with a charming smile who can pass any test a parent will chuck his way. He just never passed hers.

The day they first met wasn’t a fairytale dream like she always wanted. When she looked into his eyes, there was love and warmth, just none reserved for her. There was no real connection. None romantic, at least. She liked Gilbert, of course. He met her parents! That was a big step, and she felt horribly for leading them all on. She didn’t know how to explain it.

Winnie heard whispers during the fair about “Gilbert’s girl in Charlottetown” and nothing had infuriated her more. Maybe Mr. Bones, but they were on a break. She was very much her own person, not just an arm piece for a boy. If anything, he was her arm piece. Winnie could not let herself be tied down by a such a title. Labeling was not Winifred’s thing, thank you very much.

She knew most of those whisperings were made by his classmates, and it jerked her to reality. The way Gilbert always tried to act, especially around her, reminded her how unprepared he was. Gilbert’s entire personality around her screamed he is a boy trying way too hard to be a man. Winnie knew he only liked her because she made him feel older, whether or not he knew it. She wanted Gilbert to face the music already.

Then there was Anne.

Beautiful, enamoring, fiery, Anne.

She’s never met an Anne with an E before. She wondered how Gilbert never mentioned some one as alive and enrapturing as her. He’s never mentioned anyone from school, come to think of it. Why did Gilbert have to pretend all the time?

The second Anne came bouncing into Winnie’s life, she was blinded by the pure vibrancy Anne radiated. She hadn’t even seen her face yet. Anne’s back was turned at first, and her red hair reminded Winifred of the Dahlia flowers growing in the beds of soil in front of her house. When Anne spun around, her hair seemed to float in the air as her curls obediently followed the sway of her body, and they swished with her dress as she halted face-to-face with Winnie.

Winnie couldn’t breathe. Anne had an array of constellations delicately painted on her face, each freckle dotted with its own purpose. Her button nose gave Winnie the sudden urge to reach a hand out and poke it. And her lips! Oh, her lips. They were plump and red like a freshly plucked strawberry in the late summer. Strawberries were Winifred’s favorite fruit.

But her eyes enchanted Winnie the most. Her eyes told a million stories and gave a million thanks to the world around her. They were the color of the soft earth beneath them, and they were probably golden under the sun’s gaze. There, in the shade of the tent, Anne’s eyes widened brighter than her smile, which gradually vanished from her face.

Winnie felt an unexplainable, indescribable pull to this girl.

She knew there was something wrong when Gilbert introduced the pair, and even more so when they shook hands. Though it was more of a hold, Anne’s light touch ignited the spark in Winnie, and a fire suddenly burned. The inferno blazed and blazed, but the air became smoke.

It wasn’t until Anne ran out after her cake failed spectacularly, and Gilbert rushed to follow her, that the suffocating smoke cleared. Anne wasn’t just Gilbert’s classmate, but did she know that? Did Gilbert?

Winifred certainly did not miss the whims of teenage infatuation. Maybe it was love, in their case. She had only met Anne, but couldn’t help but to feel as if they were connected. This mystical connection allowed Winnie to draw the devastating conclusion that Gilbert liked Anne and Anne liked Gilbert. Maybe Anne could like her too.

Winnie felt a stronger connection to Anne in mere seconds than she did with Gilbert. Time did not discriminate. It chose, but it did not discriminate.

And that’s what made all of this so devastating. She was stuck with a child. Yes, he’s annoyingly charming, but he wasn’t what Winnie needed. She needs someone who can understand her and her experiences, she needs raw honesty, she needs adventure. She needs connection. Gilbert could offer her none of that, especially in the way she wants.

Anne could and, unknowingly, she already gave Winifred a taste of everything she needs. And she was desperate for more.

That’s why, days after the fair, Winifred was currently knocking on the Cuthbert‘s front door on a bright Wednesday morning.

Summer illuminated the peace Winnie longed for, and standing on the porch belonging to her newest fancy, she took a deep breath and thanked the gods Anne was relieved from school now.

Marilla let her in, shock and delight framed her features as clear as this day. She showed Winnie to the parlor and called for Anne.

Winnie heard Anne before she saw her. A smile crept to her face as Anne’s stomps echoed throughout the creaky farmhouse.

“Marilla,” Anne called, “Whose carriage...” Anne cut off at the sight of Winifred Rose sitting directly in her parlor. Just as she did when they first met, Anne gaped at the blonde beauty.

Meeting Winifred Rose was the shock of Anne’s life, on par with getting adopted by the Cuthberts and realizing she might have a crush on Gilbert Blythe. Anne knew what heartbreak felt like, and it was not as scrumptious as she usually made it out to be. Seeing Gilbert arm-in-arm with Winifred stole the very breath out of her lungs. But here, seeing Winifred now, Anne felt the cold rush of air trickle down her throat as she gasped out her name.

“Winifred.”

When she looked at Anne, her cerulean eyes seemed to shine like the Lake of Shining Waters when the afternoon sun hit it just right and Anne spent hours lost in the hues of shimmering blue. Anne never met anyone with eyes she could compare to the Lake of Shining Waters as much as she tried to. The closest she’s come to finding the perfect match was her dear kindred spirit, Cole Makenzie. But alas, his eyes were the blue of the ocean in the afternoon sun. It seems as though only Anne saw the diffeence. It was quite astronomical in her eyes.

“I do hope I’m not intruding.” The accent. The accent.

Anne found her voice, “Oh no! I didn’t have exciting plans today.” Great, now you sound utterly boring. Good going, Anne. She sat down on the sofa adjacent to Winifred. “Why, pray tell, have you come all this way? It can’t have been for little ole me!”

Winifred smirked at the hands folded in her lap, then glanced up. It reminded Anne painfully of Gilbert. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Finally; “You must think higher of yourself, Anne. I did travel here for you, as a matter of fact.”

Anne froze. Her hands clenched and throat was dry. Me?

Winifred continued, “When we first met, I felt a strong connection between us, and I just knew we were going to be such great friends!” Her demeanor quickly shifted to one of hesitance and her eyes focused on the hands in her lap once more. “I—I know it is bold of me to say, but I am being genuine.”

It was silent for a long while. A long, suffocating while. She did not have the strength to look Anne in the eye. Winnie was sure she would burst into tears right there at the rejection when she her ears perked at a breathy laugh. Her heart soared and she slowly lifted her head.

“Oh, Winifred!” Winnie’s stomach coiled as Anne said her name. “I, too, felt a budding connection as soon as you asked me if I spelled my name with or without an E!” She giggled and Winnie found herself smiling along.

“We are kindred spirits, Winifred!”

At least an hour had gone by, a glorious, glorious hour, of Winifred and Anne talking and basking in the simply positive energy that illuminated from both girls. It seemed to be the most fun either had had in a while. Anne lurched in a moment of fear; Was she replacing her dear Diana? But thought better of it the second the idea crossed her mind. Diana was the only person who could make Anne feel so safe and free, it was most unusual how quickly Winnie filled that space. Winifred and Diana both had separate places in Anne’s heart, she refused to compare the two, and let her feelings be just those.

Marilla had popped in, barely acknowledged by either party, to give them scones and tea, and in those few seconds she spent with them, Marilla knew something was starting. And it was starting fast.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Winnie swallowed the sip of tea currently in her mouth and set the cup down, “Gilbert did what?”

Anne waved her hands erratically. “The very first day we met, he pulled my hair and called me ‘carrots’! All because I wouldn’t accept the apple he was trying to give me.” She huffed.

“Oh, please tell me you did something to that boy.” Anne blushed and Winnie, intrigued, leaned in.

“I smacked my slate across his cheek.” Winifred howled.

“In front of the entire class? That must’ve been hell for your reputation. Wasn’t it already fragile at this point?” She sipped her tea again.

Anne gasped and covered her mouth with both of her hands. “You swore,” she stage whispered. Winnie set her tea down again and nodded.

“It is not swearing if you are talking about the place. However, if my mouth offends you, I shall not speak in such tounges.” Anne stayed quiet. “As an adult, I swear, especially around other women. You may swear around me if you would like, Anne. There’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I am English after all.” This time she munched on a scone.

When she finished the pastry, Anne spoke again. “When I was living with the Hammonds, every other word they said was a curse. Their cruel words were usually directed at me. From then on, I always associated swears with them. I apologize for my childish reaction.” Anne forced down the mass that formed in her throat with a big gulp of tea.

“Take it back,” Winnie said. Anne looked her in the eyes. They whispered to her. “Take it back. If you want to say a word, say it! The Hammonds do not and will not control your life anymore.”

“Take it back,” Anne echoed.

***

“We still have an entire afternoon ahead of us for our girl’s day,” Winnie said as they strolled the boarders of Green Gables. Anne glanced up at the sun directly above them, signaling high noon. “What say you we go out and you can show me more of Avonlea?”

Anne would honestly rather go to Charlottetown, but Gilbert was there today on his apprenticeship. In the summer, he would go to Dr. Ward’s every Wednesday and Saturday instead of just Saturdays when school was in session. The extra time he spent at the office no doubt accelerated the his level of education for his vocation. Anne wondered if dusting was all Winnie did at Dr. Ward’s. It would be a terrible waste of talent if that was the case.

“You’re thinking of Gilbert, aren’t you?” Anne snapped her head up. Winne (it thrilled Anne to her bones she was allowed to call her that) was giving Anne a soft smile. Anne nodded.

For the first time since this morning, Anne realized how much older Winnie was. How many more experiences she’s had. Anne felt like a child.

“I know you like him,” before Anne could give a weak protest, Winne cut her off, “and that’s perfectly okay.” Anne was amazed how calm the silences between them could be. Gently, she broke it just as they reached the porch of the house.

“I don’t know what I feel exactly, but I know I don’t want to think about him right now. I’d rather just be with you.”

Winnie laughed, “Good. Now, I can tell you’d prefer to spend the day in Charlottetown. I am content with whatever you choose as long as we do it together.” Together. Anne felt a light hum in her chest.

“Gilbert’s in Charlottetown,” she sighed. Winnie found herself grinning when she watched Anne’s face scrunch up as she made her decision. “But I suppose he would be cooped up in the office all day.”

“We can stay in Avonlea,” Winnie quirked an eyebrow, “unless you want to risk it?”

A bride of adventure.

“The foundations of our girl’s day should not be constructed around the whereabouts of some boy,” Anne stuck up her nose. The defiance simmering in Anne’s eyes was enough to make Winnie’s knees buckle slightly.

“Let’s go to Charlottetown.”

***

Winnie and Anne giggled and shrieked as they got ready for their day out. Marilla allowed Winnie to paint light makeup on Anne, with supervision, and she fixed her hair down in luscious waves, already curled by Anne’s braid. Winnie picked out the blue dress Anne was gifted for her birthday, and with another approval from Marilla, Anne was allowed to wear it for the day. Anne thought herself beautiful.

Winnie offered to buy anything and everything Anne desired, but Anne insisted she could pay with the 50 pence Matthew gave her. Speaking of Matthew, he was kind enough to give them a ride to the train station, as Winnie only rented a carriage to take her to Green Gables. At the station, Anne hugged Matthew and Winnie kissed his cheek. He flushed a deep red.

“Have fun, girls. Be safe, and—and look out for each other, okay?”

“Goodbye, Matthew!” They chorused as they leapt on the train. They took their seats and waved to Matthew until the train pulled away and they could no longer see him.

“It is so refreshing not having to be escorted for once! I’m glad you’re an independent adult, Winnie,” Anne gushed.

“Escorts are so boring,” Winnie complained, “all they want to do is marry me!”

During the ride, Anne could not help but feel like someone was watching her. The back of her neck pricked and she turned around. Her eyes met with a blond boy, easily a few years older than her. When they made eye contact, he blushed and looked down. Winnie nudged her.

“It seems you have an admirer.”

Anne scoffed. “What? No. No, he just...” but she couldn’t find any words to defend herself. Was he really staring at her? Winnie looked at her pointedly.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s a girl’s day, remember?”

Winnie and Anne were certainly the loudest two on the train, no one could rival the pair. For once, Anne could not care less if her presence vexed anyone. The aggressive side-eyes she received didn’t sting like they usually would. She was having fun with an amazing person, and she would make the most of it. Anne laughed harder than she had in days. Her heart filled with an intense warmth, and it was spreading throughout her entire body. This new wave of excitement coupled with courage and confidence. Anne didn’t shrivel under this sudden abundance of emotions, rather, she flourished. Her smile was so wide it hurt her face.

The girls grasped each other’s hands as tight as they would at the gates of Hell while they walked through Charlottetown and weaved in and out of every shop it offered, a new bag in hand every time they exited a door. Winnie secretly bought a few gifts for Anne, and would reveal them at Green Gables later that night.

Men and boys alike tipped their hats at the pair and often tried to stop them for a conversation. Winne (having experiences exactly like this all her life) easily brushed most of them off, only stopping for a brief conversation with young enough men they both approved of. It positively thrilled Anne to get attention from the opposite sex, though she knows this type of vain attention does not validate her and only she does. Winnie, however, would clench her jaw rather harshly if a man got to close to Anne, or touched her at all. Mostly, they would be politely waved off. It was a girl’s day, after all.

Anne realized she quite liked the attention she got, but gaining Winnie’s attention seemed to intoxicate her. The female gaze was nothing quite like a male’s, it was much more electrifying and it resided longer than any touch. Whenever Anne had these thoughts, she felt closer to Cole, and understood him the more she accepted what was truly in her heart.

Right now, Winnie was in her heart.

***

Winnie felt her heartbeat thumping in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but watching Anne twirl in her newly fashioned emerald green dress, she couldn’t even bring herself to breathe.

It was silk, and had a black lace basque, stretching from her collar to the top of her tiny waist. Winnie hoped Marilla wouldn’t find it too scandalous, especially since this particular dress called for a corset. At first, Anne protested, having wore one before. But the boutique owner, Jeannine (who Winnie found out was an acquaintance of Anne), properly educated Anne on the usage of corsets. They were supposed to be supportive and comfortable as long as they were made specifically for you and not tighted to kill. Anne relented because she had, in fact, borrowed a corset instead of wore one made to fit her measurements.

Then something changed.

Their twirls shifted to a waltz, and they were no longer smiling, but staring at each other as rows of mannequins and tables of fabric blurred by. Anne blinked slowly, and Winifred forced her hand not to bring itself to Anne’s face or tangle it in her copper hair. It became wild throughout the day, but the curls still maintained an impossible edge of sophistication. The shop windows allowed glowing rays of sunshine to stream in to illuminate the room, but the only thing it illuminated for Winnie was Anne’s eyes. They pooled golden honey, and Winne longed for a taste of Anne.

Anne hardly noticed the strain in her neck as she beheld the Lake of Shining Waters with her own two eyes. The wide, glossy lake staring back at her dried her mouth, and Anne was hit with the sudden thought her corset might’ve been tied too tight, despite it being perfect a minute ago. She couldn’t breathe now, but had she been breathing all day? Just as she began to lean up and flutter her eyes shut, just as Winnie craned her head down, a smile on her lips, the shop door jingled open and they were pulled apart.

Never in a million years did either Winnie or Anne think it would be Gilbert Blythe who marched right through those doors.

Winnie recovered first because she had a firmer grasp on her emotions, but she was red hot and curing the existence of men with every horrid word she knew in every colorful way she knew how to string words together. It was poetic if she thought about it.

“Gilbert!” She threw him a pointed look, “Anne and I were sharing the loveliest of dances, how dare you barge in here in the manner you just did!” It was a half-hearted lecture, but Anne still needed to gain her wits. Winnie hoped she threw him off.

“I...I saw you two through the window,” he spoke slowly, as he always does, “and I thought I’d come say hi.” His eyebrows did what they always did, and Winnie successfully ignored the part of her brain that told her to roll her eyes just now, even if it was the most difficult task she’s performed all day.

She felt and arm link through hers, and the corners of Winnie’s lips immediately lifted up. Gilbert’s eyebrows acted of their own accord, and this time Winnie had to look away to roll her eyes, because the urge was simply overpowering. She did not understand why this was so alarming to him; hadn't he just seen them in each others arms, romantically embracing only moments ago?

“Winnie and I are having a girl’s day!” Winne could hear the smile through Anne’s voice, and thought to herself how angelic it sounded ringing in her ears. She supposed Anne probably had a delicate singing voice as well. Being the absolutely infuriating boy he was, Gilbert pulled Winnie out of her serene daydreams.

“I’m not a girl, but would you mind terribly joining me for tea?”

***

Gilbert watched as Winnie taught Anne to properly drink tea. They sat opposite him, and he had a front row seat to the blossoming relationship. He noticed how Winnie’s hand lingered longer than it needed to on Anne’s, and how their smiles were brighter each time they gaped at each other. Or how they seemed to frequently forget Gilbert was even there, despite the fact that he literally invited them to tea.

He wasn’t stupid. They were much more than the kindred spirits they claimed to be, that’s for damn sure. He tried not to sigh so loud or dejectedly. He figured it was his fault. If he couldn't choose between the girls, it’s only fair they would choose each other, and what a grand couple they make. He peers down to the pile of shopping bags and boxes at their feet. They would be incredibly well off and happier with each other than he could make either of them.

He hopes he’s invited to the wedding.

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

Fields of Gold.  (Bumbleby fic)

She was loath to leave behind a good job with a reputable newspaper that she had worked hard for, but things with her ex-boyfriend had gone too far, so she had packed her most cherished belongings into her car, she had hugged her housemate goodbye, n tearfully parted, not telling Sienna where she was moving too so as not to put either of them in danger. Plus she had no idea where she was going. Absconding in the middle of the night, she had driven to a dealership,which coming to think of it had seemed at bit sketchy, swapped her car, bought a new sim card  and deactivated all her social media accounts.

She couldn’t remember how far she had driven, Route 66 meandering across America, she was sure she passed a number of state lines, she had stopped off at diners in the small nondescript towns.. 

None of them taking her fancy.

It was in Oklahoma, 10 or so miles outside of somewhere called Clearwater that the engine gave out. Spewing up steam n making a bit of a gurgling sound as she willed the car to keep going, inch by laborious inch the noise became too loud to ignore giving one last pathetic squeal before the lights on the dash flickered and died and Blake thunked her forehead against her steering wheel in defeat. 

It was only when she was rummaging through her purse she remembered that she had forgotten to purchase data, so there was no googling mapping where she was or figure out if there was any local tow companies.

Maybe if she got lucky she would be near one of the orange emergency phones that were dotted along the highways of America in case of this exact emergency.

With a deep sigh, she collected her purse and got out of the car to be instantly hit by a bank of oppressive heat and the glare of the midday sun. Shielding her eyes, she scanned the horizon and was meet with nothing but two fields either side of the highway, tall grain, rippling as far as the eye could see spread out like a vast yellow ocean.

The highway stretched like a snake, basking in the rays, heat shimmered off the surface and in the far distance a twinkle, more than likely a mirage.

She wasn't dressed for this vastly different weather, clad in heavy black jeans, a black tank top and leather jacket.

Reaching back through the car door, she retrieved her sunglasses from her visor and peeled out of the jacket, tossing it haphazardly on the back seat. She began rummaging through the trash she had accumulated over course of her journey in the already sweltering car, sifting through candy wrappers, crisp packets and sandwich covers, stretching out, she blindly searched under the passenger seat, and let out a squeak of triumph when her fingers coiled round the familiar feeling plastic of a water bottle but her victory short lived as when she retrieved it, there was barely a drop left.  The  ground beneath her feet began to vibrate. like the very asphalt itself was coming alive and a deep rumble began reverberate the car. Blake crawled backwards, trying to get out of driver’s side door only to hit the back of her head on the roof.

“ Fuck! ... God damnit!”  She cursed, outloud to no one in particular

In a fit of temper and mounting frustration, she threw the bottle back into the depths of the car as the rumbling noise almost became deafening. 

Turning to investigate the hellish sound, the journalist saw in the distance a huge green tractor approaching at a speed that surprised her. She had always been under the impression that tractors where slow and lumbering. This was anything but, it was large, much larger than she ever anticipated and it was fast approaching. Maybe whoever was driving was local? Maybe they would know a tow company or maybe they were a country bumpkin serial killer and all they would find of blake was her busted car?

She could be easily buried in a field  and turn into one of those cold case shows her mother liked to watch. It's not like anyone knew where she was.. OR, She could stand on the side of the road, roast to death and  die of thirst. They were her options! looking up at the cloudless cerulean skie, she spotted a bird hovering over the field... .  I'll die here and my bones will get picked clean by vultures, what a fitting end! In university, she hadn't been voted most likely to die in a freak accident and she had  no intentions of putting herself in the running.. Death by country bumpkin serial killer it is then! Wiping her already damp hands on her jeans, she stepped out giving the universal  symbol of hookers everywhere and "Im available to be mass murdered." , stuck her arm n thumb out and shielded her sunglasses from staring in the direction of the sun. The tractor ate up the asphalt,  leaving a plume of what looked like off coloured clouds from its side attached exhaust pipes. The machine looked monstrous, as it drew closer, Blake could make out the height n width of the tyres, at least another foot towering over her decent 5ft 7 in ,and she tried not to imagine being squished underneath them instinctively causing her to take a step back from the road.  The wind screen was tinted making it near impossible to make out the driver.

The noise of the machinery clunked and clonked, almost as if making a mockery of Blake's car's plight, its cabin rocking and bouncing with its suspension,even on the supposedly flat surface of the road and did not seem to be slowing down any time soon.

In desperation, Blake flipped her long silky dark hair over her shoulder and flashed what she hoped was a megawatt inviting smile. With a deafening roar the tractor sped past, with a rush of wind, leaving Blake in a cloud of dust, dirt and nasty exhaust fumes that stuck in the back of the throat, causing her to cough and splutter. With watering eyes, she was about to flip the jackass the bird when she noticed the tractor beginning to slow down before  coming to a halt up ahead on the side of the road.

Nobody alighted from the cabin and Blake remained cautiously beside her car, the driver’s door open, in case she needed to hastily duck back in and lock the doors. Not that it would offer much protection from a LeatherFace kind of creature hell bent on ripping her limb from limb. 

After what seemed like an agonisingly long moment, the door to the cabin opened and someone hung out.  From this distance, Blake could just about make out a brown cowboy hat, the sun glinting off a pair of glasses and a mass of unruly blond locks. A voice called out that invoked images of apple pie,  iced peach tea on the wrap around porch, nights spent plinking a guitar round a campfire on the plains, and lazy summer evenings watching the fireflies  dump into each other.  "Is everythin alright there, darlin?" Ignoring the slight electric shock down her spine,  and the 'darlin' part of the question, two very conflicting feelings, which right now was not the most opportune moment to act upon. Blake took a step forward, n away from the car. Holding up her hands so the other woman could she see wasn't armed.  "My car..." She called out,  "It conked out.. and my phone.." She gestured, " has no data...  was wondering if you might know a tow company I could call." The blond paused, almost as if she was weighing the options as Blake stood there  sweating her tits off in the midday sun in the middle of the road in buttsville county in whatever the fucking state she was in. Finally, coming to a decision, the woman climbed down from the cabin. As she approached, Blake began to wish she hadn't.  As the Cowgirl, as Blake was beginning to think of her, came closer she could see the glasses were aviators. The blonde moved in confident strides, a roll to her hips n shoulders. worn brown cowboy boots, skin tight blue jeans held up with a chunky buckled belt. a yellow n brown flannel undone, but knotted just on the tummy, accentuating the woman's flat stomach and the rather impressive assets currently been held back by a straining bright white tank top. 

The only words that the journalist could bring to mind was ‘breathtakingly beautiful.’  As she came to a halt just in front of Blake, the journalist could make out a slight honeysuckle brown texture to the skin of her collar bones and her strong looking forearms, no doubt gained from long hours spent outside.  Blake licked her lips, finding her mouth suddenly dry. The blond woman's teeth were bright white and her lips were moving. Her ears finally getting the attention of her brain, Blake realised the blond woman had been talking as she had been staring. She sputtered,  "I'm sorry... I didn't quite catch that." With her fingers in the loop of her belt and a relaxed cock to her hips, the blond regarded her, making Blake suddenly conscious of the fact she had been practically living in her car for the past few weeks and the last time she had showered properly was at a truck stop. She attempted to draw her fingers through her hair. The blond removed her glasses and asked,  "How long you been out here? Did you get a touch of the sun fever?"

At first Blake bristled until she caught the hint of a smirk playing on the blonde's lips. She's damn well knows and she’s she's teasing me about it, the journalist thought. It was both parts hot and infuriating, but she couldn't help it when a laugh bubbled from her stomach and erupted from her chest, causing the blonde to break into a huge grin, with a devilish glint in her eye. Blake stuck out her hand in introduction. "Blake!  From New York."  The blonde took her hand shaking it with a firm grip. Her palm was surprisingly cool in heat of the day. This close blake could make out a smattering of sun dapples across the bridge of the blondes nose and apples of her cheeks and in the light her eyes looked almost lilac. As she shook her hand, she replied in that easy going almost teasing way,

 " I was gonna say, you dont look like you're from round these parts.". "Its that obvious?". “ Yup..... 1)  No one wears black out here, not on a day like today. 2) You're waving down strangers on the side of the road and 3) i know every one round here and I mean everyone  and you, I  don't recognise.... So you're either new to town or passing through.!” She paused,  "Also...... Imma gonna need my hand back if you want me to have a look under the hood"  And that's when Blake, the supposedly sophisticated big city slicker,  realised she had been grinning like a buffoon, her sweaty palm still pumping the cowgirl's hand. She let go, giving an embarrassed cough, mumbling,  "Of course.. of course." Once again the cowgirl regarded her with a look Blake couldn't fathom, as the flustered woman tried to regain some composure. Her cheeks were burning that had nothing to do with being under the sun's intense glare. In an attempt to hide her blush, Blake gestured with a incline of the head,  "I’ll just go pop the hood..... shall I ?"  "That would be ideal. "  Blake ducked back into the car and almost yelped when her hand touched the metal of the door, it was scorching to the touch. Sucking on her fingers, she slid into the driver's seat trying to ignore the pair of ever so slightly mocking lilac eyes watching her intently. 

Reaching underneath the steering wheel, she fumbled about. With it being a new car she wasn't entirely sure where anything was. Atleast she could duck her head n find some respite. Fingers clasped solid metal and she yanked hard to hear something click  and the bonnet of the car popped open. The blond flashed her a thumbs up before lifting the bonnet and disappearing from view. Blake hastily checked her reflection in the rear view mirror and quickly brushed her fingers through her hair before alighting from the car and returning to the front to come across the cowgirl bent over inspecting the engine, giving Blake a view of a very firm and pert backside, the skin tight jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. The white vest top had ridden up slightly showing off a muscular lower back and the ever so  slight hint of a red thong poking out of the lip of the jeans. Blake swallowed, biting back the urge to fan herself, just as the cowgirl straightened up. She removed her cowboy hat, taking a brief moment to look around before popping it on Blake's head and returning to what she was doing.  Blake parked her backside ever so slightly on the bumper and watched as the blond began checking the oil and water gauge. "I didnt catch your name."  "Cause i never gave it to you." Echoed from the depths of the engine straightening up the cowgirl gave Blake another annoying smirk,   "I'm Yang..... From down the road."  The two women held each other's gaze, before Blake once again broke out in laughter. As Yang removed a hair tie from her wrist and tried to bundle her unruly thick hair into a ponytail, Blake was certain she caught hints of gold glittering as it caught the sun light. "Would you have some water?" Yang asked. Blake shook her head,  "I'm sorry."  Yang gave a playful roll of her eyes.  "Now i definitely know you ain't from round here." Bracing herself on edge of the bonnet with her hands, Yang added. "Theres some in the tractor."  "You want me to go to the tractor?" Blake replied in slight disbelief, "Are you not afraid that I might just abscond with it?"  "Do you know how to drive it?"  "No." Blake admitted.  "Then I think i'll take my chances." There came another pause, ".... It's under the seat." Blake seemed to stutter at the trust she was being given as Yang's eyes raked her up and down watching in interest. Pushing herself off the car, the journalist set off in the direction of the tractor. Arriving at the monstrous vehicle, it took her two attempts to climb up the awkwardly shaped steps. She almost fell off when she yanked the door only to find that it swung from left to right rather than a car door, right to left. She hung precariously for a few moments as her trainers slipped on the steps and she was able to nimbly correct herself.  The cabin was surprisingly cool, tidy and smelt of freshly cut grass with a hint of lavender. With minimal effort she found the bottle of water retrieving it before ungracefully stumbling back down the steps, though she tried to be extra aware of her foot placement and closing the door with a slam. Head long, she rushed back only to find Yang casually sitting on the bumper of the car bonnet, flicking through her phone. At her approach, the blonde looked up and Blake spotted a dash of dark oil on her cheek.  Handing  over the bottle of water, she watched in fascination the way the column of Yang's neck bobbed as she swallowed the clear liquid. How it met the collar bones opening out to an expanse of honey coloured skin that looked soft to the touch, leading down to her cleavage that rose and fell ever so slightly. 

 For the second time in 10 minutes Blake was reminded just how dry her mouth  really was.  Another sickle of a smirk was her greeting alerting the brunette to the fact that she had been caught staring again.  Offering out the bottle, Yang innocently asked,  "Thirsty?"  A second, seemed to last an eon, as the implication hung there, crackling like an electron, and Blake caught the wicked flash of mischief.  Two could play at this game.   Blake reached out for the bottle, allowing her finger to graze Yang's as she took it. With a smirk of her own, she held Yang's gaze, as she replied with a sultry,  "Parched!"  She continued to hold the other woman's gaze as she drank and she was delighted to see a bit of colour blossom across the cowgirl's cheeks and a bite of her bottom lip.  Finished, she screwed the cap back on the bottle, slowly and deliberately drawing her thumb across her bottom lip to catch the slight moisture left there Without a word, Yang pushed herself off the lip of the car, closed the bonnet with a bang. She stepped up close to Blake, the other woman registered how the purple of her eyes was barely a thin ring, bordering huge black pupils that almost reflected her back.  She leaned closer,  her eyes darting all over Blake's chest hungrily before coming back to her face. Leaning closer still, she breathed against the brunette's ear,  "Bring only the essentials and come with me.” Blake barely had time to drink in the intoxicating smell of the cowgirl so close, before Yang deftly plucked the cowboy hat from Blake's head, popping it on her own, giving her a down right salacious wink and setting off back to the tractor.  Unable to move, Blake stood there in a stupor as her brain short circuited and a shock went straight from her stomach to her core, it was only when she heard Yang  shout from up the road,   "Unless you got better things to do."  that she was finally able to move It was almost like a jump start . She flailed and tripped over herself, yanking on the door, scrabbling around the backseat, tearing open bags in an attempt to find a change of clothes, underwear,a towel  and stuff them in a small backpack. She rammed in her toiletries bag, grabbed her laptop  and her purse. Closing the door with a slam as the sounds of the tractor's engine roared to life, she had  to retrace her steps so she could lock the door. 

She rushed almost head long across the bleached tarmac in the sweltering heat on a road in the middle of buttsville, wherever the fuck she was, about to willingly and very eagerly jump into a stranger's vehicle, leaving  behind no trace as to being there and as she scrambled to up the awkward steps and a strong yet cool hand reached to take her belongings, coupled with a warm megawatt smile, Blake realised, that she couldnt find it in herself to care. Her stuff safe stashed, she hovered a little awkwardly, as there was only one seat and tractors were not designed for two, until Yang patted her firm muscular thigh.  "Come mere, darlin, you ever ridden a cowgirl's knee before?"  Blake shook her head, trying not to laugh, instead she cheekily leaned forward, breathing against yang's ear,  "But i'm a tryer, i'll try anything once."  Before swiftly snatching Yang's hat from her head and placing it on her own once more. This time is was Yang's turn to laugh. "You're a feisty one, that's for sure." Blake grinned, wickedly,  "You have no idea"  "But I'd sure like to find out, Darlin."  Hands reached, helping turn Blake around  and pulling the slightly smaller woman on her lap on her lap, sitting her side saddle so Yang could see the road and reach the wheel. Blake lay one arm round Yang's shoulders and back, the other holding onto the stability handle to brace herself. "You comfy, darlin?"  And for the first time in over a year, Blake truly was. As Yang pressed the throttle, the tractor lurched forward, causing Blake to let out a surprised yelp and a giggle and Yang to guffaw.  As they thundered down the road, the cabin shaking and bouncing, which from Blake's vantage point gave her a very jiggly eyeful, she yelled out.  "High ho Silver.. Awaaaaaay!"  Much to Yang's amusement and a shake of her head. Never in her life had Blake ever imagined she would find a fresh start in the cabin of a tractor that smelt of freshly cut grass and lavender, wearing a cowboy hat from a girl from in the middle of the road in Buttsville, wherever the fuck she was. 

[purrincess-chat]

Midnight Rose CH1

Hello! Here is the first chapter of my JuleRose story for my fantasy AU! It technically goes along with a few prompts from the JuleRose June calendar, and I will warn you now, this is a sad story (for now anyways), so come chapter 5 don’t expect a happy or even bittersweet ending like A Merman’s Heart. The ending of this one is kind of a wtf moment, but that’ll make sense when we get there. No one dies (who isn’t already established as dead from the beginning), so don’t worry about that, but this story isn’t as cheerful as Within the Garden Walls, okay? I say this with full transparency so no one gets their nose into something they don’t want. You’ve been warned. Proceed with caution.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Rose didn’t like to cause trouble.

She was a good girl from a well-off family, and she bore her title with grace and propriety. Of course, this didn’t mean she was stuck up, in fact, she was quite the opposite. Wherever she went she did her best to show everyone kindness and fairness, and as such, she had friends in many different walks of life. Working women, nobles, and even a few peasants for Rose never really saw herself as being above anyone else given the circumstances of her birth, and she sought to treat everyone with respect.

It made her one of the most well-liked bachelorettes in town, and many sought her hand in marriage, though she had yet to find a match that suited her. Most tempting was a prince in a neighboring kingdom, but she was reluctant to leave behind her friends and family, so she had declined him for now. They still wrote each other letters from time to time and remained good friends.

It was a rather bemusing situation that she found herself in with so many men asking for her hand in marriage and yet none of them quite convinced her to take the plunge. How could someone so eligible have such a hard time finding love? She absolutely adored the idea of being with her true love, but the truth of the matter was that she just hadn’t found that person yet, not that she let it get her down. No matter how bleak her love life looked, Rose strived to live every day to the fullest, brightening as many faces as she could with kind words and service. She’d come to know everyone in town quite well this way, and new faces didn’t go unnoticed by her. Which is why when a mysterious new girl moved to town, she was the first to know.

Rose first spotted her in the market picking up some herbs and fish, and after a moment, she realized that it was a face she’d never seen before. It was against her personal code of conduct to allow someone to go ungreeted, so she approached her with a sunny grin.

“Hello,” She said, stepping in front of her as the girl sifted through the fresh sage.

“…” The girl seemed to startle a little upon being addressed, and she mumbled what Rose supposed was a greeting.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. My name is Rose; are you new to town?” She asked, and the girl flicked her gaze around as if looking for an escape route. Coming up empty, she simply nodded, hoping to appease her. “That’s so awesome! Do you need help carrying your groceries home? Which direction do you live in? I’d be happy to walk with you.”

“Ah…” She averted her gaze, covering her mouth with her fingers a little.

Why was she so interested in Juleka’s life? Had she been acting suspiciously? Did she suspect Juleka’s secret? She wasn’t used to people talking to her so much, and she suddenly missed her quiet village back home where most people left her alone in peace. Moving to this town was already risky enough, but Juleka couldn’t stay at her old home any more. The people there had become too wary and had she stayed longer, things could have gotten dangerous.

This girl seemed nice, but Juleka knew that underneath her cheery smile was someone that could never accept her for who she truly was, and when you lived a life like hers, it was better to keep your head down and avoid making connections with people. Doing so would only cause her more trouble in the end, and the last thing she wanted was to be discovered.

“I’ve got it. Thanks,” She said quietly, but Rose didn’t seem to hear her because she took the bag off Juleka’s arm and draped it over her own.

“So tell me about yourself. Where are you from?” Rose continued as Juleka debated just leaving her purchases and making a run for it, but she really needed that lavender for her latest…project as she’d call it.

“It’s a small village. You’ve probably never heard of it,” Juleka replied, attempting to distract herself with shopping to no avail. Rose was quite persistent much to her annoyance.

“I have friends from all over the place just try me,” She insisted with a proud glint in her eye, and Juleka suppressed a sigh knowing that it would be easier to just cooperate until she was satisfied.

“Étoile,” She answered finally, and Rose tapped her chin in thought.

“I think I have heard of it actually,” She said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the place where they burned a witch coven 15 years ago?”

Juleka felt her blood run cold at the mention of that day, but she hid her fear behind an emotionless mask. She’d learned a long time ago how to conceal her true feelings to save her life, but that day was a particularly sore subject.

“Yeah.” She said flatly, examining a potato and concentrating on remembering the things her brother asked her to pick up. “I don’t really remember it much cause I was just a little kid.”

“It must have been awfully frightening, but I bet you felt safer once they were dead.” Rose shuddered at the thought, and Juleka trailed her thumb over the ring on her finger with a frown.

“I really don’t remember.” She shrugged.

“Oh, I guess it’s for the best then,” Rose pursed her lips but didn’t stay down for long. “Do you need someone to show you around town? I’d be happy to give you a tour!”

“No thank you,” Juleka shook her head and quickly added, “I’m actually staying with my brother who has lived here for a while, so he’s already shown me everything I need.”

“Oh really? That’s awesome! Who’s your brother?” Rose was really beginning to grate on her nerves, but she knew better than to let her temper flare up after what happened last time, so she played along throughout the rest of her market trip until they made it back to her brother’s apartment.

“Hey, you should come to my house for tea some time,” Rose offered, handing the rest of the bags off to Juleka.

“Uh, I’ll probably be busy for a while, settling in and whatnot,” She said just wanting this interaction to be over.

“Oh, right.” Rose winced, knotting bits of her dress in her fist. “Well, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

If Juleka had her way they’d likely never speak again, but she offered a nod and pushed the door open with her back effectively closing the door on that relationship as she made her way up the stairs. Luka was napping on the couch when she entered, but she made no effort to be quiet as she slammed the bags down on the table in the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets to put everything away.

“Julie, you’ve always been the quiet one. Why all of the noise now?” He groaned after a while, shifting onto his side.

“Sorry, I’m just annoyed,” She mumbled, and he sat up with piqued interest, stretching an arm above his head.

“What happened? Are you okay? Do you feel like you’re gonna-”

“No.” She cut him off abruptly, stuffing the vegetables into the fridge and slapping a fish down onto a cutting board. “I’m fine just some chatty girl at the market.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of those around here,” Luka said dismissively, retrieving the carton of milk from the fridge and taking a swig.

“She brought up the night mom died,” Juleka stated as she cleaned the meat off the bone for her lazy black cat who laid in the window in the living room, and Luka paused momentarily before closing the milk and returning it to its spot.

“And?” He cocked a brow. “How’d you handle it?”

“It just reminded me that I’m not exactly welcome here,” She growled, eyes burning, and Luka placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re lucky that you ended up mortal like dad. You don’t have to worry about hiding your secret from the world.”

“No.” He nodded, pressing his lips into a firm line. “But I do have to worry about my baby sister being burned at the stake for something she can’t help.”

Luka placed his hands over hers and gently removed the knife, setting it aside as Juleka buried her face in his chest. He held her tightly, petting her hair and whispering soothing vows of protection until her shaking ceased. Penny left her perch to join them, rubbing against Juleka’s legs and purring until she stooped to pick her up.

“I’m surprised this old hag is still alive,” Luka remarked, scratching behind her ears.

“Familiars live as long as their masters do, so hopefully she’ll have many more years left in her life,” She said matter-of-factly, kissing her forehead and setting her on the counter next to the plate of tuna she’d cut up. “Besides, she’s one of the last things I have that Mom gave me.”

“Are you going to practice in the woods tonight?” Luka asked, rubbing an apple on his shirt before taking a bite.

“Just a few protection spells to cast on the house,” She said with a nod, leaning against the counter while Penny munched away happily.

“Be careful,” Luka instructed solemnly with a pointed look, and Juleka flashed him a sardonic grin.

“Aren’t I always?”

[simply-m-a-d]

Pillow for Two

For the DGM Fanworks Intiative

Day 7:  OTP; Friendship; Love; Romance

A bit late but here it is! ( T u T)/ and it’s the last day! Thank you so much to all of you that supported my work haha I appreciate it :)

Again I’m really sorry if there’s any mistakes! English is not my first language ;u;

( @loony-in-a-blue-box omfg last day!!! We did it my friend hoho TuT writing this almost killed me…)

Summary: Kanda and Allen have to share a bed a few times (but at the end they don’t really mind it).  

i.- 

“No fucking way.”

 "There must be a mistake.“ 

 Except there was no mistake and what stood in front of Allen and Kanda was a single bed. The room was small, with just two nightstands by each side of the bed, a small door to their left that led to a smaller bathroom and a window on the wall in front of the door, it was simple,just like the rest of the hotel. Just like the damn bed. 

 It was already hard enough for both of them to go on missions together, having to share a bed was crossing way too many lines for them. But it was way too late to go back down to the front desk and complain, and Allen felt that at any moment his legs would give out. So he sighed deeply and moved to get the bed ready. He had been through worse situations where he had to sleep with another 4 persons in a bed like this one, or where there was not even a bed. This was nothing compared to that.

 "I’m not sleeping with you Beansprout.”, Allen enjoyed pissing Kanda off whenever he could and oh he was so gonna take that chance. 

 "And why’s that Kan-da?“, he turned his head over his shoulder with the best foxy grin he could manage given how tired he was, and Kanda, only now realizing the double meaning of his words, glared at him. Allen dropped the grin for a smirk, “There’s always the floor Bakanda, all for you" 

 Kanda took that as a challenge and dropped his bag just like Allen had done before moving towards the bed. Allen shrugged his jacket off and sat on the bed to remove his boots, he turned around when he heard rustling behind him. What he saw made him raise an eyebrow to the other man. 

 It was kinda funny, were the bed lacked space, it had plenty of pillows. Which Kanda had arranged to form a small barrier at the middle. Really, Allen wanted to laugh. 

 "Really?”, Kanda shrugged his jacket off as well and removed his boots before taking his side, his back towards Allen. 

 "If you don’t wanna lose a hand keep them on your side”, the pillows rested against his back and Allen allowed himself a short laugh before taking his side as well. 

 Next morning Kanda felt oddly warm, which would have been normal since they were in the middle of summer, but still it was too fucking warm. When he opened his eyes he found his face way too close to silvery-white hair, his arm draped over a way too thin waist, and the pillow barrier only god knows where. His body tensed immediately and he allowed himself 5 seconds to think ‘What. The. Actual. Fuck.’, then he did the one thing he could think of. 

He kicked Allen out of bed. 

 He heard a groan before a messy mop of silvery-white hair popped out beside the bed. 

 "What the fuck is wrong with you?“, Kanda barely shrugged.

 "You crossed the line.“ 

 ii.- 

 The second time it happened, Kanda almost threw the only bed in the room out the window. 

 To make it worse, it was freezing outside and of course, of fucking course, the heater in their room was broken. They weren’t surprised if they had to be honest, that was just their luck. This bed was bigger, but there were not as many pillows as that other time, which meant there was no barrier between their bodies, and the bed sheets were so thin it made no difference if they used them or not. Kanda was trying not to tremble, he cursed this hotel more and more with every passing second, and the idea that only a few centimeters of space barely separated his back from Allen’s made his skin prickle. 

 "Hey Kanda,” Kanda’s body automatically tensed but he gave no answer, not that it stopped Allen from continuing, “you cold?” , he could hear the smugness in the tone. 

 "Fuck off Beansprout”, he heard a huff that might as well be considered a laugh. 

 "Come a bit closer.“ 

 "Fuck. Off.“ 

 "Oh just shut up and do it would you?”, Kanda didn’t move. Next thing he heard was a deep sigh, and before he knew what was happening he felt something warm against his back. More like someone. 

 Allen had moved closer and their backs now rested against each other, well more like a part of their backs. Kanda was about to move when he realized he couldn’t, there was no more space in the bed. Besides, he realized, the damn Beansprout was a living furnace. The warmth felt so good, traveling down his spine and finally relaxing his muscles, Kanda found himself unconsciously getting closer. 

He could feel Allen’s spine bones softly skimming against his back every time he breathed, Allen could feel Kanda’s back muscles slowly heating up and relaxing with every breath. Before they knew it they were asleep. 

 When morning came neither said anything about it. 

 iii.- 

 Kanda doesn’t like to talk, or even remember the third time they had to share a bed. 

 Mainly because that time consisted of an extremely hot and humid night (fucking summer), and of fucking course, Allen decided to sleep with no shirt on. In his defense, he had been trying to find a comfortable position when the main problem started. That main problem being Allen’s back.

Scars were foreign for Kanda, a merely passing thought that never stayed too long, so seeing Allen’s back adorned with them made his hands itch. The moonlight that filtered through the small window gave his skin a pale, almost sick, tone. He (unconsciously) counted 13, some short and thin, others longer and thicker, he could see his shoulder blades and spine bones a bit too much, not to mention how thin his waist was. “Where the fuck does all that food he eats goes to?”, he asked himself. 

 Before he could think about it or stop himself, he reached and softly ran the pad of his fingers down the first 5 bumps of his spine, the skin underneath slightly trembling. The soft sigh that came from the other side brought the realization of what he was doing and he retracted his hand quickly, as if he had received a shock. 

 He quickly turned around feeling frustrated and angry with himself, and closed his eyes, forcing himself to go to sleep. 

 (What he didn’t know was Allen wasn’t asleep, he had felt his fingers run slowly down his spine, and in the heat of the room Kanda’s fingers felt cold; it felt good. And when Kanda turned around and fell asleep, Allen turned around and took his time staring, from the way Kanda’s hair cascaded over his shoulders to the way his ribs showed through the thin shirt he was wearing every time he breathed). 

 iiii.- 

 They lost count of how many times they had to share a bed. However, there was one thing that never left their minds; the scent. It stuck to their clothes after every night, and it was driving them insane. 

 The scent of honey and apple that clung to Kanda’s clothes was extremely distracting, it was sweet in a soft way but strong enough to remain, it kinda relaxed him. It was even clinging to his hair, he still couldn’t get used to the sudden waves of smell that hit him from time to time. 

 Allen really enjoyed the smell of tea and damp soil that clung to his clothes and skin. He found himself spacing out way too frequently because of it, mind and body relaxed every time the smell reached his nose. Sometimes he would unconsciously take deep breaths just to get a sniff of that scent.

(Neither of them would ever admit it, but they actually didn’t really mind sharing a bed)

[gobigorgohome2016]

USATF 15k Champs / Gate River Run

I was talking on the phone with my mom earlier this week and mentioned how I wasn’t going to make it to my great-niece’s birthday party on Sunday, with the race happening this weekend and all.  My mom’s response was that she didn’t even know I was racing.  Let me remind you that, like a true millennial, I talk to my mom approximately 35 times per day.  Apparently racing on the circuit has become so second nature to me that I fail to even tell my mom about it.  

The USATF 15K championships were held in Jacksonville, FL this weekend as part of the Gate River Run. One exciting aspect was that I was able to cross a new state off my list.  I have now raced in 21 states, and have gone for a run in 28 states.  

Since the race was on Saturday, I left for Jacksonville early Thursday morning.  I’m a big fan of arriving 2 days ahead of time, the earlier the better.  As an added bonus, since I have been going to bed earlier it wasn’t a big deal to go to bed at 10 and wake up at 5:30 AM for my 7:30 AM flight.  PS, I LOVE living 15 minutes from the Indy airport.

I arrived to Jacksonville around noon and was able to finish up some work for the day before taking a nap. My roommate arrived around 3, and at 4 PM we went for a run along Jacksonville’s riverfront.  Afterwards, I attempted to find a grocery store, but quickly found myself in an incredibly sketchy part of downtown and retreated. I ran into the ZAP fitness team, and they invited me to join them for dinner.  I was really apprehensive because they were heading to a Thai restaurant, and I wasn’t so sure how my garlic and soy sensitivities could be accommodated.  However, I was STARVING and not really in a position to be picky about food.  

I wound up ordering the only thing on the menu that appeared safe:  Beef pho.  Even though it was a huge gamble, I didn’t have any stomach issues whatsoever, and it turns out that pho is just bone broth with onions and bean sprouts. Major fortuitous win on my part!

After dinner I headed back to the hotel and met my other roommate.  Even though races generally allow you to request roommates, I like to leave it up to chance.  So far, I have had great roommates and made many new friends.  

The next morning, my Oiselle teammate, Andie Cozarelli, texted me about finding a grocery store. She also has food sensitivities, and oftentimes it feels like she is one of few people who really “get” what I go through when it comes to fueling.  A lot of the time I feel self-conscious talking about my food sensitivities, especially because I have been increasingly accused of having an eating disorder.  While that is a whole other blog post in itself, I will just say that it is really nice to have someone I can talk to about the challenges I have in regards to finding the proper foods for my body.  

We found a Fresh Market about 1.5 miles from the hotel and walked over.  Even though these races definitely have a “business” component, one of my favorite parts is catching up with all of my running friends and meeting new ones. What does a runner with food sensitivities buy when fueling for a 15k race?

-kombucha -a bag of pre-cooked quinoa -an 85% dark chocolate bar -vegetables from the salad bar -a can of salmon -Fage Greek yogurt -Magic Hat #9 beer

What food did I pack?

-4 Lara bars (cherry and peanut butter chocolate chip) -1 microwaveable forbidden rice bowl -3 Kashi peanut and hemp crunch bars -3 oranges -3 bananas -3 packets of Justin’s almond or hazelnut butter -4 packets of apple cinnamon oatmeal -1 bag of granola -rice cakes -2 Perfect Bars -3 bags of black tea; 3 bags of green tea; 3 bags of peppermint tea

After the grocery store excursion, Andie, my ZAP friends, and their friend Tim and I all went for a run. I was planning 5 miles in the AM and a 3 mile shake out later, but I decided that 3 mi round trip of walking was already kind of a lot so I only did a 5 mile run.  During our shakeout we saw a pack (flock, murder, group, school?) of dolphins.  

Then I had breakfast (2 bags of oatmeal with almond butter and a banana) with Andie, and we made plans for work.  I had a 1700 word article entitled Can You Run a Marathon without Training? due that day, and she had some work of her own. After a highly unproductive 1.5 hours of work, we took a break for lunch.  I had a microwaveable bowl of forbidden rice (80 grams of carbs in one serving!!!) with some of the veggies from the salad bar and a can of salmon, as well as an orange and part of my chocolate bar.  Then I finished my article.

Next, I had signed up to go with a bus group to The Sanctuary, which is an after-school program for inner city/underprivileged kids.  This was so much fun.  We formed a circle around the kids and introduced ourselves while talking about the role running has played in our lives.  Paul Chelimo brought his silver medal and allowed the kids to try it on. They clearly loved the experience. One thing that stuck out to me is the importance of representation.  These children were primarily African-American, and during the q&a session they were given the opportunity to choose a runner and ask him or her a question.  With the exception of me (I was asked by a little girl if I thought I could win the race) (I said I stand on every starting line believing that winning is always a possibility), the African-American runners were clearly the ones that these children looked up to.  It really bothers me that people become so upset about the number of African-born US runners.  Besides the fact that many of these people are my friends and I know that they did not simply wake up one day and say, “I am going to become a citizen” and then a week later started waving an American flag, I feel we should be more understanding that greater competition and representation in sport makes us all better.  I’m not going to get upset and complain that a non-US native beat me; I’m going to try and get faster.  

Anyway.

After that we had our tech meeting, and then dinner.  The pre-race dinner wasn’t one that I felt comfortable eating – pizza and pasta – so I opted to bring my own food.  While pizza and pasta are two things I love to make at home, they almost always contain garlic, which is one food that I am most highly sensitive towards.  Instead, I brought up my packet of pre-cooked quinoa and the rest of my veggies.  After that meal, I had my “dessert” of Greek yogurt and granola, finished with peppermint tea and a beer.  

Before I went to bed, I was texting with Dave.  Leading up to the race I had been feeling pretty nervous.  I’m not typically nervous going into races, but I’ve known for the past few weeks that I am on the verge of a breakthrough.  My workouts have been going better than ever, and I really wanted this race to be the one that showcased my improved fitness.  I told him I had two mantras for the day (both borrowed from oiselle):  Be a gritty bitch (thanks Sally!), and dig deep, get ugly (thanks Heather!).   I went to bed telling myself I was ready for a breakthrough.

I actually slept very well and even woke up a couple times pleasantly surprised I still had hours left of sleep.  I woke up around 5:20 AM without my alarm and ate breakfast:  two packets of oatmeal, a banana, and Justin’s chocolate hazelnut butter. I drank a mug of Jasmine green tea, one of my favorite pre-race drinks.  

I sat in the hotel room and got my gear together, debated the merits of compression sleeves or no compression sleeves, put on my makeup, then realized I would be wearing sunglasses so it really didn’t matter if my mascara looked good or not.  We bussed over to the start line at 6:30 AM and still had about an hour before it was time to warm up.  I sat around with Andie, Obsie, Aliphine, and Tim.  Obsie is my good luck charm at races.  Her positive attitude is infectious, and we first became friends at Twin Cities in 2015, where we both hit the Olympic Trials standard after warming up together.  

I suppose part of my nerves for this race was the fact that I was trying something a little bit different. I really dislike the feeling of being passed during a race.  I mean, duh. Who doesn’t hate that feeling?  In nearly all of the races I have run in the past 2 years, I have started conservatively and tried to negative split. While I don’t always negative split, I do tend to slow down less than other people.  But, I also tend to never actually be in the race.  

My coach and I have been discussing taking a more aggressive approach.  For this race, we decided that I would go out with a group of women that I know are faster than me.  I anticipated the first mile of this race to be ~5:10.  I did something I never do, which is stand directly on the start line instead of 3 – 4 women back.  While this wasn’t exactly my intention, I found myself sharing the lead with Aliphine and Jordan Hasay for the first 2 miles.  I have no idea what our mile split was (I didn’t start my watch for this race), but I do know that we went through 2 miles in 10:41.  So, my strategy kind of worked out in my favor. It wasn’t a crazy fast first couple miles, and if I had simply felt the need to run x distance behind the lead group, I would have probably disadvantaged myself from the get-go. Around 4k the group kicked it up a notch which wasn’t really a move my legs were able to cover.  Instead, I remained steady.  I went through 5k in 16:58, which is an 11 second PR for me. Going into the race, I anticipated the first 5k might be a PR.

After the 5k I started to feel the effects of running a PR and still having 10k to go.  I got passed by a couple girls, which temporarily put me in a mental state of wow. This sucks.  I went through 4 miles right at 22:00, so I realized I was probably going to struggle to hold 5:30 pace.  The toughest miles for me, mentally, were miles 4 – 6.  It was around here that the chase pack passed me, and I began to struggle.  But, when I went through 5 miles I realized that even if I ran 6:00 pace I would hit a 10k PR.  I got a bit of a 2nd wind here and told myself to go for the PR, and if I died after that I could at least say I ran two PRs.  

I went through 10k in 34:41, which was a 20 second 10k PR.  My splits were 16:58 and 17:45.  

Once I got through 10k, I knew it would be a matter of holding on, not dying on “the green monster,” and then using the downhill for home.  

All weekend, “the green monster” had been spectacularly talked up.  I had seen the bridge and foolishy thought my experience at the Pittsburgh Marathon meant the bridge would be a piece of cake for me.  The bridge is 3.8% grade and approximately a mile long.  We were told to expect to slow down ~20 seconds that mile, but most people slowed down MUCH more than this.  

The bridge was death. In addition to the hill, we also had a decently strong wind to contend with.  From the top of the bridge there was 1600 m left in the race.  

I’m pretty bummed that my chip didn’t register a time at 8.3 miles, because I would LOVE to know what I split that last 1600.  I battled with a couple women here, which pushed me really hard in that last mile. My split for this last 5k was 18:08, but this was definitely the hardest portion of the course.  Overall, my splits were 16:58, 17:45, and 18:08.  Those splits aren’t spectacular, but after looking at the results and analyzing other people’s splits, I actually ran fairly evenly. It’s also good to know that I was able to hang on after running two PRs today.  

My overall time was 52:49. I actually split 52:48 for 15k at Houston in 2016, so I can’t claim this as a PR unfortunately.  I’m a little bit surprised because I really expected to be sub-52:00. However, I did hear times were about ~2 minutes slower across the board, so who knows?  I was 18th overall, and 17th out of Americans

I guess I wouldn’t say that this was exactly the breakthrough I was looking for, but there are certainly more positives than negatives.  I proved to myself that I can fearlessly take the race out with the lead pack and that finding myself next to runners like Jordan Hasay or Emily Infeld doesn’t phase me.  I am proud that I did not walk away wondering what if I had started faster?  

I do think that I was a little complacent during 8 – 12k.  I have a secret weapon that I have been working on:  breathing.  With a mile to go, I started counting breaths and I noticed I was able to pick up the pace quite a bit.  I think I had a little bit more left than I should have.  

Something that bothered me a little bit was that I ran the same pace today as I ran at the 10 miler in October, and also the same pace as my half marathon PR at Houston.  I KNOW I am in better shape than I was at the 10 miler, and I strongly believe I am in better shape than when I ran my half PR. But, I have to remind myself that it is impossible to compare races, especially when I had such a different approach each time, and was in vastly different points of my training.  

I’m getting kind of tired of making comparisons.  Maybe it’s the airplane wine that I’m drinking right now, but I want to abolish comparisons between races and days and PRs and etc etc.  I’m a gritty bitch who digs deep and gets ugly, so what’s the point of saying that one race was better than the other?  From here on out I just want to compete hard and be fast.

That’s not too much to ask, right?  

[fairylights101writes]

Breathe

Read on AO3. The rest is beneath a read more.

Hanamaki leaned heavily against the sink, hands shaking, leg jostling as he glared into the mirror. His eyes burned, his throat felt thick. An uncomfortable weight had settled in his chest, heavy, almost squeezing him. It only grew tighter as his eyes raked along his face, his body. A face too soft and rounded. Lips too full, too pink. A throat with no Adam's apple. Narrow shoulders. And, even with the binder hooked as tight as possible, bumps.

A tremor rippled through him. He sucked down a breath and held it, desperate to stave off the building panic attack. Stop. It’s okay. You’re okay. But he felt like anything but. It was a bad day - understatement really. Ripping his skin off felt like an option that was all too viable to be good. He just wanted to crawl out of it and curl up in a dark corner, nothing more than a pile of bones and a weakly beating heart.

But he couldn’t.

There was no escaping his skin, the body he’d been stuck with, full of things he dreaded to even think of. No relief from the swirling mess of black that had him by the claws either. It shoved thoughts to the forefront of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to crush them. All the flaws, all the things wrong. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand things that made his mouth clenched tight, choking back sounds. Wrong. It’s wrong. You’re wrong.

A full-body shudder rippled through him and he hunched over, breaths ragged. Losing control. His eyes screwed shut as he clutched at the cool porcelain, lip caught between his teeth. Breathe. Fucking breathe already.

Another gasp punched through him, taunting, and with a weak sound he slithered down, too weak to stand. He crouched there on the balls of his feet, hands clinging weakly to the sink in a pathetic attempt to ground himself as the sear behind his eyes finally grew too much, tears slipping down his face as his jaw dropped open into a silent wail that made his jaw shake as his head rolled forward. I don’t want to be like this! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t!

But there was a far more toxic side that curled around him, bit in as poison dripped down his spine, turning his blood cold. They’ll never see me as anything but a girl. It’s the hair - dying it pink was a stupid idea. Cutting it doesn’t help. The piercings are a bad idea too - only girls have so many, right? The makeup - stupid. My voice is too fucking high. Every time I open my mouth they know, there’s no fooling them.

His shoulders hitched with another quiet sob. Tears splattered onto the tiles. Hands buried into hair, tugging until pain prickled at his scalp. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t I just have stayed like I was? Unaware of all of this shit. It would’ve been better. Fucking easier. I’m so fucking stupid, why do I have to be like this?

A high-pitched sound broke out and it made Hanamaki sob harder as he finally sank fully to the ground. Icy tiles pressed into his cheek. Limbs jerked in. Palms pressed into his eyes, vicious, harsh. No more, no more, I don't want this anymore, make it stop- An inhale, sharp, caught in his throat. The mess of sobs and gasps broke into coughs. Hot tears spilled out past his hands. Everything collided in his brain, waged war in his chest, left chaos in it's wake. He tugged on his hair again, lips sputtering with gasps. Tooru's lying. They're all lying. I don't pass, I'll never be a man. I'm so fucking stupid, just-

“Hiro.”

Hanamaki’s entire body body twitched as a smooth voice sliced through the ringing in his ears. He curled up tighter. Stopped breathing altogether. Don't look at me. Don't. Go away, just- A weak sound bubbled from his lips as he shuddered, thumped his head onto the tile floor.

“Hiro, baby, I'm here. I'm right here.”

“Go away…” he choked out between sharp gasps that made him shake. His chest was tight, heavy - his binder was digging in, harsh. Make it stop.

“Hiro, look at me, okay?” His fingers twitched. Oikawa’s voice sounded so calm, so sure. Something that would surely know what was right. Hands trembling, he slowly slid them down his face until he could peek out from between unsteady fingers. Oikawa was crouched a little bit away, hands jittering as he held them to his chest. But a sweet smile broke out as Hanamaki managed to look at him. “That's good, you're doing good. Can you take a breath? Hold it?”

Hanamaki's teeth chattered, jarring he tried to shake his head and remember what it felt like to breathe. His head was swimming. Oikawa's voice felt like it was coming through cotton. He was so cold.

Fingers dug into his scalp, fresh pain flaring to life. Grounding. A jagged inhale scraped its way down his throat, settled in his aching chest, and Hanamaki clamped his hands over his mouth and nose. Hold it. Tooru said hold it. Hold it so he could calm down. So he could find something solid and steady to cling to.

“You're doing great, Hiro,” Tooru murmured, soft voice bleeding through the cracks. “Can I come closer?”

Hesitation. He frantically nodded, let the air out in a rush and sucked down another breath. Heartbeat wild against his ribs. Pounding in his head. Hanamaki watched as Oikawa scooted a little closer. A hand stretched out, brushed through his hair and settled on the back of his. Calm. Warm. Certain.

Oikawa carefully drew one of Hanamaki’s hands from his head. His fingers whispered across the skin, tracing the bumps of bones, knuckles, veins. Tracing paths along the webs of his palm. A breath crackled out of Hanamaki’s chest and he squeezed his eyes shut again as more tears slipped out. “Make… make it stop,” he croaked.

“I will.” Another touch whispered across his palm. “You can do this. You’re so strong. Keep breathing, okay? Just listen to me. I’m here. I’m with you.”

His head jerked in a nod to those smooth, reassuring words. An inhale, quavering and weak, but longer and steadier than the ones previous. Under Oikawa’s guidance he held it for a few seconds, then released it. Another cycle. Then another. Over and over until the rush of blood in his head quieted, until the thrum of his heart faded. The dark waters receded, a tide finally leaving his head for the time being. And finally his body was still, limp on the cold tiles, warmth seeping in from the tender hands that cradled his own reverently.

His eyes cracked open again. Oikawa’s eyes were on him, deep, warm browns that made him smile weakly. “Sorry,” Hanamaki whispered into the quiet of their bathroom.

Oikawa shook his head, thumbed Hanamaki’s wrist. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay. I understand.” He bit his lip at his boyfriend’s words, but he nodded. Slowly he pushed himself upright, wincing as the tightness in his chest and the burn in his lungs edged back in. Oikawa scooted closer, bumping their knees together.

“It’s too tight, isn’t it?”

A nod, hollow.

“Do you want me to loosen it, or undo it?”

Hanamaki bit the inside of his cheek harshly. He knew it needed to be looser, probably come off entirely, but he didn’t want that - didn’t want to feel even less incomplete than he already did. But he sucked down a steeling breath and closed his eyes.

“Undo it. Please.”

“Okay.”

Lips whispered across his, an apologetic kiss, and then Oikawa’s gentle fingers slipped beneath his shirt. Hanamaki twitched as the touch skirted along his belly, and then up to the binder. One hook came loose. Then another. Two more and he was free, and that lingering tightness rushed away as Hanamaki took a deep breath, the first of the day that truly filled his lungs. He opened his eyes, found a smile and a tender expression waiting on him.

“I’m so proud of you,” Oikawa murmured as his hands skimmed Hanamaki’s cheeks before he cupped his face. He couldn’t help but lean his weight into those palms, eyes glued to his partner, chest fluttering as that smile stretched wider.

Hanamaki sniffed, managed a smile. “Proud of me? For crying on the bathroom floor?”

A thumb brushed along his cheek as Oikawa shook his head. “No. I’m happy because you’re getting better at letting me help. I remember when I couldn’t calm you down at all. So it really means a lot to see how much you trust me.” Heat rushed to Hanamaki’s cheeks and he squirmed, chest filled with a pleasant bubbling, but he didn’t say anything. He just let Oikawa go on with that low, smooth voice of his. “You let me undo your binder too, even though I know it sucks. You’re so strong, with this and everything else, so how could I not be proud of my beautiful boyfriend?”

Hanamaki sniffed. The prickle was back behind his eyes once more, lips wobbling to the ache. His hands came up, curled around those strong wrists. “I’m not,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I let everything get to me again. I know a lot of people accept me, but I know others still look at me all weird ‘n stuff ‘cause I don’t sound like a guy or anything, and-” His jaw snapped shut, hands tightening around his boyfriend’s wrists. And today someone made a comment in the bathroom. Yesterday someone said trans people were just attention-seeking. I still have everything I’m not supposed to have, and it really hurts, and just-

“Breathe.”

His eyes snapped back open and his heart stuttered, too quick once more. His chest hitched with another gasp, and then he clamped down, held it. Beneath that steady gaze and the touch of those warm hands he managed to time his breathing until they inhaled and exhaled together. Sweeps of calloused thumbs smeared fresh tears along his cheeks. Oikawa smiled. “Takahiro, no matter what the world says, you’re still a handsome, brilliant young man. I see it, and so do all of our friends. Eyes are opening. It’ll be okay. So don’t forget that people see you for who you are, and love you desperately for it. Especially me.”

Hanamaki’s lips spread into a wobbling smile. He nodded. “I love you, Tooru.”

The brunet grinned, pressed a kiss to Hanamaki’s forehead. “I love you too. Now let’s get off the floor and make you some tea, okay? I brought home cream puffs too.” Hanamaki smiled and let Oikawa pick him up, effortless with all those wiry muscles, and clutched that strong, gentle hand tight, their fingers threading together as they made their way through the apartment, steps certain, steady.

[doctortreklock]

Flax-Golden Tales to Spin - October 9, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale and the Tower of Babel (also a bit on early wine-making in Georgia-the-country) (from ImprobableDreams900 as a birthday present)

Fandom: Good Omens

Title: “Invitation” by Shel Silverstein

Words: 1341

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

"I hope you realize that I'm not speaking with you right now." Aziraphale bit off the my dear before he could utter it. It wouldn't do to be encouraging his counterpart at this juncture.

The demon looked a little dismayed at his words, his face falling and his shoulders slumping a bit. It was enough to make any decent being want to bundle him in a warm blanket and give him a hot cup of-- No. Stop it, Aziraphale. It's that kind of thinking that got you into this mess in the first place.

He kept his expression stiff and stern, even as the demon gently bit his lower lip anxiously before deliberately loosening up.

"Pfft," Crowley said, waving off Aziraphale's comment and very transparently pretending that he didn't care that the angel was apparently no longer on speaking terms with him. "Don't matter to me," he bluffed poorly. "I was just wondering if I could tempt you to a drink. I hear there's a group up north who's doing fascinating things with grapes."

While the idea of a fruit-based drink was quite enticing (grain-based alcohols really weren't Aziraphale's cup of metaphorical tea and the water was barely drinkable without a half-dozen minor miracles), he reminded himself quite firmly that he and Crowley were not friends and certainly not allies. Not after the Tower business.

"I couldn't possibly," Aziraphale said primly, before turning with a decisive sniff back to his latest acquisition, a truly fascinating scroll with beautifully flowing script laying open on his table.

"C'mon, angel," Crowley wheedled, sliding closer and lowering his shaded lenses to look over them beseechingly at Aziraphale. "Just one drink?"

"No," Aziraphale insisted, glaring at Crowley. He had been led astray too many times to count by those enticing eyes and he would be - figuratively - damned if he would let it happen again.

"Why not?" If Aziraphale hadn't known better (which he most certainly did), he would have sworn the demon was pouting.

"Because," Aziraphale snapped. This had gone on too long. First it had been the Garden, and he'd thought no harm, no foul, it wasn't like anyone had known what would come of the apple business at all. So he'd let it slide. Then there had been Ur, and he'd let it slide. And then Nineveh, and he'd sworn to himself that enough was enough. And now this.

He turned the scroll around and showed the script to Crowley. "What does this say?" he demanded, pointing at the text.

Crowley looked taken aback. "Er..." He stared at the words for a half-second before tilting his head and squinting. "Huh. Does that part--" He gestured to a few lines of text in the middle "--talk about the flood?" He looked up at Aziraphale for approval.

Aziraphale didn't give it, continuing to scowl at the demon instead. "Quite," he agreed succinctly. Then he reached across his desk for another scroll and opened it to the last section he had been working on, laying it next to its fellow. "What about this one?"

Crowley looked like he had no clue why he was being asked to look at the scrolls when it was clearly Aziraphale's area of interest, but complied. He ran his finger over the text, a hair's breadth from the surface of the parchment. He frowned. "It says the same thing?" He looked back and forth between the two. "But in a completely different way?" He looked at Aziraphale in obvious puzzlement, and Aziraphale was surprised by the amount of vindication he felt.

"Exactly," he said shortly. "These are two accounts of the flood. This one--" He gestured to the first "--is in Tamil, while the other is in something the speakers have taken to calling Sanskrit." Aziraphale looked at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley just looked confused.

Aziraphale sighed heavily and decided that he wasn't in a good enough mood to wait for Crowley to hit upon the right questions to ask. "Different groups of people have started developing their own languages," he explained, frustration mounting. "That's why the scrolls are so different, even though they're the same story. You and I can still understand everyone because we are fluent in the language that came before. However--" Aziraphale took a deep breath, feeling his irritation buzz through his bones "--our superiors don't have that advantage. Which is why I am attempting to solidify my grasp on the thirteen different personal pronouns used in Tamil, so I can write up my report on your latest adventure." He really hoped his aggravation was coming through loud and clear, even through gritted teeth.

Crowley blinked a bit, but it looked like he was still trying to wrap his head around what Aziraphale had just laid out, so he graciously gave the demon a few minutes to come to terms with the invention of linguistic diversity.

"Hang on," Crowley said slowly. "Let me see if I've got this right." He started ticking points off on his fingers. "All of a sudden the humans start making their own languages. Then, you have to make Angel-to-Earthling dictionaries for all your bosses in case they ever decide to take a jaunt down here. So now you're holed up in a tiny house in the middle of Babylon, missing the beauty that is the gardens at midsummer, because you're working on verb charts. And you think this is somehow my fault?" The worst part was that he seemed genuinely perplexed by Aziraphale's leap of logic.

"Yes," Aziraphale hissed, feeling like the snake that Crowley ostensibly was. "That is exactly what I am saying."

"Why?" Crowley looked positively bewildered, and anger rushed through Aziraphale, leaving him practically spitting with angelic wrath.

"Because it is, Crowley! Because it Is. Your. Fault. The Tower was your handiwork wasn't it? I'm rather certain you took all the credit for the Tower of Babel, a Tower which literally makes humans babble in other languages, even if it involves making up new ones!"

Then, as soon as it had come, his righteous indignation fled, leaving him in his small house with a demon and two scrolls that by all rights should have been mutually intelligible. "I just..." Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers, hoping that when he opened his eyes the demon haunting him would be gone and he could work on demonstrative pronouns in peace.

"You know," Crowley said slowly. "I'm pretty sure I owe you a drink." Aziraphale looked up to find the demon still standing where he'd left him, his face a touch paler than usual, but rapidly regaining its typical color.

"No you don't." Aziraphale allowed himself to be distracted from the scrolls for a minute. Crowley would leave soon enough and the pronouns could surely wait a few hours, right? "I've never bought you a drink."

"And that is going to change tomorrow," Crowley said, pushing his shaded lenses back up his nose from where they had been languishing. "You can buy me a drink then. Because today, I owe you a lot of alcohol." Aziraphale was not in the mood to argue that point.

"Fine," Aziraphale said, starting to close his scrolls and set them aside where they couldn't be accidentally crushed.

"Really?" Crowley looked surprised. "That's what convinces you go get a drink with me?"

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed, quickly straightening up the rest of his worktable. "You are going to buy me several drinks, all of which will be alcoholic and made of grapes. Second," he continued, "you are going to promise to consider the implications of your actions before encouraging anyone to build any more towers." Crowley looked like he was going to protest that one, so Aziraphale plowed ahead without pause. "Thirdly, I am going to vent about verb conjugations and noun declensions and you are going to nod sympathetically and get me another drink. Okay?" He looked at Crowley.

Crowley looked back at him, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Okay," he agreed.

"Excellent." Aziraphale felt better already. "Lead the way, my dear."

--

A/N: The thing about Good Omens is that with the creation of the Earth dating back to 4004 BCE, there's a lot of license to throw all of ancient history in a blender and see what comes out. So...this, glaring anachronisms and all.

Also, since ImprobableDreams mentioned it and now it's stuck in my head:

Roman legionnaire: Sir, do you know how fast you were going?

Crowley, with large innocent eyes: No idea, my good man. I just let the horses do their thing.

Roman legionnaire: The gentleman who owns this villa says that you were going at a speed in excess of 100 mille passus per hour down this road. *points to stretch of road that will one day be Oxford Street*

Crowley, with a butter-wouldn't-melt sort of expression: That doesn't sound right. His water clock must be broken. These horses *gestures toward two horses that look like they were taken directly from a fresco and had never actually seen a heredium of green pasture in their lives* couldn't have possibly been going that fast!

Roman legionnaire, hesitantly; I guess that's a good point. Carry on.

Crowley, doffing an invisible hat: And a good day to you as well.