#i emptied out another portion of our kitchen cupboards that is away from the wall and planned on keeping the dishes there

[goldennika]

need an eldest daughters support group fr

[abarbaricyalp]

Hand holding 37

37) not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

I assumed SamBucky. If not, just let me know!

Reblogging with the AO3 link ASAP so hopefully it'll stay in the tag this time.

i wanna hold your hand

Bucky had been in Delacroix for six months when the invitation rolled in. He flipped the heavy, glossy card over in his fingers, stacked the multiple envelopes and smaller cards and pieces of tissue paper together, and then looked at the fancy golden script again.

Albert James Wilson and Stephanie Marie Pujols cordially invite Captain Samuel Thomas Wilson to celebrate their wedding with them on the Third of August Two-Thousand-and-Twenty-Five.

There was more text--RSVP instructions, food preferences, a location--but Bucky’s eyes kept drifting to the scrawled message at the bottom of the invitation next to a quickly drawn shield.

Please bring Sergeant Barnes as your plus one -❤️ Stephanie-

He just about flung the invitation across the kitchen when he heard the door open. “Will you go get the rest of the groceries out of the truck? It’s about to open up and I don’t want to be dragging shit through the rain,” Sam said as he stumbled through the entryway to the kitchen. “Oh, you saw the card, great. You can remember what day it is. They sent a Save-the-Date ages ago but I totally forgot about it.”

Bucky felt a little hollow in the chest as he listened to Sam carry on like it was nothing that someone Bucky didn’t even know asked for him by name. Asked Sam for him. “Uh, who's Albert?” he finally managed to get out through the heavy lump in his throat.

“He’s one of my cousins. One of the babies. I think he’s, like, twenty-six or something? Maybe a little older. Him and Steph have been dating for ages but they took everything really slow. She went to grad school and they always said they weren’t getting married until they were totally graduated and had jobs. And then, you know, the Blip and all.”

Sam set the bags of groceries down on the oven and started to stack cans below the cupboards they went in, fruits by the baskets on the breakfast bar, drinks on the other side of the fridge.

“Right,” Bucky said and tapped the invitation against his metal hand. “Do you think it’s really a good idea for me to go?”

Sam shot him an unamused look. “Listen, you don’t get to invite yourself to the fun parties on the water and then decide that you don’t want to sit through a long ass wedding. Besides, you’ll like the reception. Lots of dancing.”

“Sure, it’s just… I mean, they don’t know me. This is a serious moment and they’re just asking for a stranger to come sit in the audience and watch them...fucking become one under the eyes of God.”

“You’re so Catholic,” Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re coming with me. I’ll be bored out of my mind if you don’t. Besides, if you don’t go, who’s gonna be the ugly, old one?”

“I hate you,” Bucky sighed.

“I know. Now go get the groceries before the bread gets soaked.”

Bucky had been promised dancing and food. But, while most of the church had cleared out for a local dancehall for the reception, Bucky found himself standing awkwardly by the altar while approximately four million pictures were snapped of the wedding party. Sam, leaning against a beautiful statue that he probably shouldn’t have been leaning against next to Bucky, was the only thing keeping Bucky from royally losing his entire mind.

He hadn’t been in a church basically since DC all those years ago. Who knew about before then. Occasionally, when he’d been on the run, he’d crept into an empty rectory to snag a few minutes of quiet where he could rest his eyes without feeling like someone was staring at him, waiting for a moment of weakness on his part. And, sure, growing up Catholic had put this indelible mark on his soul that reacted to any church, empty or not. A deep longing and belonging that he’d never been able to fully grapple with.

But empty churches where he just wanted to sleep were not the same level of overwhelming that a church in the midst of celebration was. Now, all that longing and belonging was spilling over his ribs and soaking into the rest of his body, alive and hot and so tangible he felt like he could almost reach inside himself and touch it.

He missed this.

He missed the happiness and the family and the love that he could find in the walls of a church, in the midst of a celebration. He missed being able to feel something bigger than himself.

The bride and groom hadn’t stopped smiling and laughing all afternoon, always good sports about redoing a photo or trying a new pose or bringing new people into the same picture they’d taken a thousand times already. They couldn’t take their eyes off of each other, couldn’t let go of hands or waists or cheeks.

God, Bucky missed it.

“Okay, how about something with all of the couples?” the photographer asked. “Mom, dad, get on in there. Any bridesmaids and groomsmen paired up? Alright, you go there. Sirs? Sirs?”

“Yo, Sam!” Albert called out and Bucky looked up sharply from the jostling of people in love with each other and the moment.

“I’m not here with anyone,” Sam called back.

“You’re holding your date’s hand?” the photographer said, clearly unsure of what was before her own eyes now.

Sam and Bucky both looked down at their interlocked fingers, hands pressed between their thighs, and then jumped apart with muttered apologies.

“Uh. We’re not. We’re not.” What a stupid thing to have to say after everyone had just seen them. “We’re not together,” Bucky finally got out.

Stephanie frowned deeply for the first time all afternoon, a scheming furrow appearing between her eyebrows.

“Alright… Well then, is that everyone? Okay, cheese it up hard…”

The pictures continued.

“Sorry again,” Bucky said a while later while he and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder in the church’s small bathroom, both looking at their own reflections while they washed their hands.

“Nah, it’s fine. I probably just kept shifting closer to you,” Sam said and there was a strain in his voice that Bucky couldn’t quite place. He didn’t think he’d heard it before. Not on Sam.

“Sometimes I kind of tune out what that arm’s feeling,” he said. “There’s- a lot of nerve activity, y’know. I didn’t notice I’d grabbed you.”

“It was the moment,” Sam agreed. “We were watching a bunch of other people hold hands and shit.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He shook water off of his fingers and then wiped his hands on his slacks. “Can we go eat now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding quickly. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure other people are waiting.”

The dancehall was dim, lit up only with white string lights draped over the rafters and around the tables and columns. It smelt heavenly, a mix of well cooked food and an open bar and desserts that Bucky couldn’t even name. Sam grabbed Bucky’s wrist--this time he felt it--and pulled him through the crowds lingering at the dance floor’s edge. He gave as short answers as was possible to stay polite until they got to the food.

Sarah was waiting for them.

“What took you two so long?” she asked. “I’ve had to fend off a dozen people looking for Captain America.”

“You will not believe what happened to us at the church,” Sam said, loading up a plate with more food than Bucky felt comfortable taking. It was fine because Sam was making Bucky a plate too and they were pretty similar in portion size.

“Oh, yes I will,” Sarah said. “Stephanie told me all about it.”

“What? How did she beat us here? We got in our car first.”

“Why did you two lie to that poor photographer?” Sarah asked.

Bucky looked up with a meringue half in his mouth. “We didn’t? She made the assumption herself.”

“You said you weren’t together,” Sarah clarified. “Why are you playing coy with me?”

“We’re not together,” Sam insisted for the second time that day. Bucky ignored the cinch of his heart and grabbed a brownie to add to Sam’s precarious stack of food.

Sarah brought two fingers up to the bridge of her nose. “Samuel Thomas,” she said and Sam squawked out an indignant sound.

“Don’t say my name like that. You sound just like mom.”

“You’re lucky it’s me and not mom listening to you lie to yourself.”

Sam was about to argue with her, Bucky could tell, when the plate in his hand suddenly tipped. Bucky’s hand shot out to steady it, fingers sliding over Sam’s to hold it still, wait for the food to stop moving before adjusting their hands under it to continue carrying it.

Sarah shot them a very pointed look. “Cass and AJ are holding our table down and Mrs. Reynolds has already said she wants at least two dances from you,” she said to Sam.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, just a little sarcastically. “Come on, Buck. And grab an extra roll. AJ’s gonna take all the good desserts if we don’t distract him.”

Sam did far more dancing than Bucky did. Just about all night, he had someone on his arm, cutting in, or pulling him back to the floor. Between everyone at their table, they cleared the plates Sam had made but Bucky didn’t think Sam had had half of what he wanted. He made sure to collect another plate when he was sure everyone had had a chance to eat and kept it safe at his side, even with AJ curled up in his lap, snoozing against his metal shoulder soundly. True, most kids couldn’t eat while they were asleep but after watching him put away way more carbs and sugar than Bucky thought should be possible, he wasn’t putting anything past the kid.

When Sam managed to drag himself away from all of his fans for the sixth time that night, and when he shot Bucky a curious but pleased glance between AJ and his shoulder, Bucky just said, “Sugar crash,” and pushed the plate of food over to Sam with the arm not currently holding AJ in place.

Possibly, AJ got his appetite from his uncle if the way Sam dug in was anything to go by. “Jesus, man, breathe,” Bucky laughed and passed over the bottle of beer he’d been nursing most of the last hour.

“Thanks. I forgot how much a full night of dancing takes out of you. Not as young as I used to be, y’know,” Sam said and took a long pull from Bucky’s drink.

“You literally moved a boulder off a road yesterday,” Bucky pointed out.

“I only had to do that once and I had the jetpack. I’ll tell you, my feet wish I had the wings about now,” Sam answered. He put away a roll and one of the sweets Bucky didn’t know before finally sitting back a little, forearms rested on the tables. He’d discarded his jacket after the fourth or so dance and at some point he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. That, plus the brown suspenders over his light blue shirt had him looking like a hundred old memories in Bucky’s mind.

“AJ and I filmed you a few times,” Bucky said to distract himself from the sweat cooling on Sam’s forearms. He brought his phone out and left it on the table as it played a video. Sam leaned forward and then laughed.

“Oh, you liked that one, huh?” he asked.

“Nah, that was AJ’s choice. I liked this one,” he said, swiping to the previous video.

“Of course, something more lindy-hop,” Sam said with a nod. “That lady called me every single day after mom died, y’know. She always said it was ‘cause she missed her already and our voices were similar, but I think she was worried about me.”

“Who was this one?” Bucky asked, flipping through a few more clips.

“Oh, shit,” Sam laughed. “I can’t believe you recorded that. We went to the prom together junior year. Her dad hated me. He’d probably hate that this video exists.”

“Captain America couldn’t even clear the bad blood?” Bucky joked.

“Hell no. Prom night, he busted into the living room after the dance thinking he was gonna catch us in some act but we were just watching movies. It was never like that with us, but you couldn't convince him.”

Bucky flipped to another video. “Her son joined up with me but ended up dropping out and going Navy instead. - She was my first boss. - I played baseball with that guy and he came out a few months after we graduated. - I dated her daughter very briefly. - That’s the daughter and the little one is her daughter. - That’s my favorite teacher’s son. He just wanted to say hi from his mom.”

“Hey, what are you looking at?” AJ asked groggily suddenly. He leaned over the table, small hand coming to rest where, once again, Sam and Bucky’s had drifted together on the other side of the phone. This time they couldn’t jump apart.

“Uncle Sam, Uncle Bucky danced with my teacher and she said he had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen,” Cass shouted as he came bounding back to the table with Sarah in tow behind him. Bucky had seen her dance with a handsome man for three dances in a row so if she cut any new knowing looks at where their hands were being held hostage, he had some retaliation this time.

Bucky finally let Sam drag him out to the middle of the dancefloor just as things were beginning to wind down. Many guests had already left for the evening, catering had cleared out the food, though Sam and AJ really did their part in making sure there was no bread left for them to clean, and the band had packed up and left a local DJ to close out the night.

This time, Bucky was more than aware of his hand sliding into Sam’s, his metal hand settling against Sam’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the strap of his suspenders. Sam’s other hand was warm and welcome against his hip. Bucky couldn’t help but step closer to him as they swayed to the slow song.

“You were really good with all the kids all night,” Sam said. “I saw them dogpile you earlier.”

“Kids like me,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Entertaining them was my job at weddings back when too. All those nights of dancing and I never got to show off at family functions,” he joked.

“You showed off plenty. I think it’s gonna be you Mrs. Reynolds asks for next time someone gets married. Hell, maybe she’ll be marrying you.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Hey, she’s got spirit. I think if we’d gone a few more dances, she might’ve found one I didn’t know.”

“Well, it was a jazz band. Can’t blame you for not keeping up when you didn’t grow up with good music.”

“We had jazz,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. “It was nice, getting to see more of your life.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, it was nice stepping back in time a little bit, getting to see how everyone’s grown up.”

“You’re so loved here. Not Captain America. Sam Wilson. People adore you.”

Sam ducked his head shyly and Bucky reached up to catch a knuckle under his chin. The music had stopped and their feet must’ve realized it before their brains because they weren’t dancing anymore either.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Sammy,” someone called from across the room. Bucky recognized the groom’s voice. “You haven’t let go of his hand all night. Just kiss him already.”

Sam and Bucky both looked down at their tangled fingers and let out a little laugh. “Well, if it’s what your fans want…” Bucky suggested.

“Shut up, man,” Sam laughed and leaned forward to kiss him.

[tenebris-melodiam]

Stefano Valentini x Reader: Facade - Chapter 5

Pairing: Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (18+)

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Light Swearing

Current Time: December 24th, 2015

=2=

[Vinny]: Oh man, (Name). I’m tired of waiting in this line to get into the club. I’m thinking about just trying to sneak in around back with the guys lol!

[Me]: Mhm, we’ll see where that gets you, haha. I’d recommend not getting arrested tonight, Vincent.

[Vinny]: Awww, are you saying you wouldn’t come bail me out? You’re so mean, (Name)! Well, we’ll probably be standing out here for a while now… there’s still plenty of people ahead of us. Damn, I wish this place wasn’t so popular!

[Me]: That’s exactly why I’m not there right now. It’s too cold to be standing outside right now for hours on end… plus that means the place is packed!

[Vinny]: Yeah, yeah… it’d be more fun if you were here though! After all, today is the only day this club is open from 5 at night to 4 in the morning! It usually doesn’t open until like 9:30 on regular days. The guys and I made the horrible mistake of thinking people wouldn’t show up until later, though… hence why we’re stuck in this long ass line at 5:30…

[Me]: Shit, is it that late already? I lost track of time… Vince, I’ll talk to you later, okay? I have some stuff to do.

After finishing off your text message, you placed your phone upon the table and hastily finished wrapping up a mid-sized box that had arrived only thirty minutes ago, (thank God it actually got there on time) and then rummaged around in your bag for the black and white ribbon that you had bought earlier that day. You peeled the backing off of it, then placed it gently upon the center of now-wrapped box—hopefully this gift would be something your dinner partner greatly enjoyed. Once you made sure that the box was entirely perfect, you made your way into your bathroom to take one final look at yourself, then ran your brush through your hair to get rid of any stray strands. Finally, you were ready.

You made your way back to the front of your apartment, slipped your coat on over your shoulders, grabbed the gift and your keycard from the living room table, and then made your way out into the cold. It was already nearly dark outside, with only a sliver of light coming over the horizon as the sun bid the wintery city goodnight, but there were countless people out and about this evening. As you stood at the bus stop in front of your apartment building, you absentmindedly watched the various groups of bustling people wander their way around the snow-covered city, and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your lips when you noticed a family of four walk past you—a husband and wife, and two young children… a boy and a girl. The children were giggling as they stooped down and tossed makeshift balls of snow at one another whilst they walked, and the parents were closely watching to make sure neither of them got hurt.

Your attention was tugged away from the family as the city bus came to a halt in front of you, and you greeted the driver as you made your way to the first empty seat (granted you could have sat anywhere if you wanted to—the bus was devoid of all life aside from you and the driver). You carefully set the gift you had been holding on the seat beside you, and then gave a soft sigh as you leaned your head back against the seat.

“Where you headin’ to, love?”

“Krimson Tower, sir.”

“Ah, that fancy place, eh? Ya got family that lives there?”

“No, sir. I’m just going to spend the evening with an acquaintance of mine.”

“Ah, I see. Always wondered what it would be like to be able to live in a fancy place like that, y’know? Heard the rooms there are huge! An’ that studio on the very top of the buildin’ is the size of a small house!”

You chuckled quietly to yourself as you listened to the bus driver talk—he was right, though. The studio that Stefano lived in was absolutely huge, and not to mention how gorgeous it was on the inside. You hadn’t seen any of the other rooms, but you knew they would probably be way over your budget to afford; Krimson Tower was known for being one of the most prestigious living buildings in the entire city, so it made sense that the other rooms would be rather large and accommodating.

You and the bus driver continued to make small talk throughout most of the ride around the city, and when it was finally time for you to get off, he bid you farewell and wished you a “happy holiday.” You gave him a wave as you got off the bus, and then sighed softly as you made your way into the large building in front of you. The sudden warmth of the building made goosebumps appear upon your skin, and you unzipped your jacket as you made your way over to the elevator. While you waited for it to reach the bottom floor, you completely took off your jacket and hung it over your right arm—it felt much better to have it off now that the air around you was warm. You heard the ping of the elevator as it finally reached its destination, and you stepped inside to begin your journey upward.

On the way up, you glanced down at your watch to see that it was now 5:54, so you still had a few minutes before you were considered late. You knew that it wouldn’t be much of an issue if you arrived a few minutes later than six, but you were the type to make sure you arrived on time to events such as these. You didn’t want to seem rude, after all. You felt the elevator come to a halt, and began to make your way down the hallway once the doors slid open—once you arrived at the door, you were surprised to see that it was already being opened by a very well-dressed Stefano.

“(Name), it’s lovely to see you again. I knew that you had arrived when I heard the elevator.”

“I was actually just thinking about that, you know?”

You slipped past him and into the studio, which was a bit different than it normally was. To start, the lights had been dimmed, and you noticed the living room had been rearranged into a dining area of sorts. A larger table had been placed in the center where the coffee table once was, and two chairs sat on either end of it—upon the top of the table sat four candles, all of which were lit and formed several dancing shadows upon the walls of the studio. There were also wine glasses on either end of the table, alongside dinnerware, which you would be using soon. The next thing you noticed was the scent of the studio itself. It was something that you hadn’t had the pleasure of smelling in quite some time, but you recognized the unmistakable scent of a roast. It was a wonderful aroma, to say the very least. And finally, you heard the beginning notes of 1812 Overture, performed by none other than Tchaikovsky, playing throughout the entirety of the studio.

“Wow, you did some rearranging, huh?”

“Indeed. I’ve been meaning to set aside a space for a dining area, but this will do for now. However, I am most curious as to what you have within your hands, (Name).”

“It’s a gift! However, I’m going to be mean and make you wait until after dinner to open it.”

You gave the man a mischievous smile, and this elicited a quiet chuckle from him as he walked further into the studio. You followed him and saw that he was making his way into the kitchen, where the scent of food only grew stronger and more enticing. You placed the box down upon the counter, making sure it was far enough away from the edge that it wouldn’t accidentally get knocked off, and then leaned your right arm against the wall to relax a bit—finally, you could no longer stand your curiosity, so you asked the question that was continuously on your mind.

“Stefano, do you mind if I ask what we’re partaking in for dinner?”

“Ah, of course not! I’ve prepared one of the traditional Natale dinners that is served back home in Italy. Brasato al Borolo, which is simply beef that has been braised in Barolo wine, complimented with some purè di patate, or mashed potatoes. I thought a nice Merlot would pair well with the meal, as well.”

Well, well… you’re quite the chef, aren’t you? That all sounds wonderful, Stefano.”

“Hmm. When one lives alone, you often tire of the same meals day after day. I challenged myself to find variety, so I began preparing various things for myself, and thus built my fondness for cooking over time.”

You smiled at his words as you watched him elegantly slice butter into the bowl of potatoes sitting in front of him upon the counter, then begin to mash them into a smooth mass once he had added several spices to them. It was mesmerizing to watch him prepare dinner, and you eventually found yourself moving to his side to get a better look. This caught his attention, and he gave an amused smile in your direction as he continued to fold the potatoes over themselves in order to make sure they were properly mashed. Once that was done, he opened one of his cupboards and grabbed two rectangular plates from within, which he gently set upon the countertop—he then grabbed two bowls, and placed them on the right side of the plates.

He turned his attention to the roast, which was wrapped in aluminum and sitting atop his cutting board, then gracefully undid the metallic covering and tossed it into the trash bin that was to his right. He took his knife and carefully cut the meat into thin slices, then placed an even portion within both of the bowls—to finish off the meat, he added a ladle of broth to each bowl, which made your mouth water. You watched as he then added a healthy portion of potatoes to the left side of each plate, and added a dash of parsley upon them to finish them off.

“Come, mia cara. Sit down at the table whilst I get our wine.”

You followed Stefano to the table, where he waited while you took a seat, and then placed a plate down in front of you and the other upon the opposite end of the table. He then walked over to a mid-sized cabinet, which housed his collection of wine bottles, and hummed softly to himself whilst browsing through to find the bottle he desired. Once he had found the bottle, he removed the cork from the top with ease, and poured each wine glass approximately a third of the way full before setting the bottle down in the center of the table with the candles and taking a seat opposite of you. He wrapped his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, and then raised it across the table—you smiled as you did the same, the glasses clinking together gently as you gave yourselves a toast.

It was quiet whilst the two of you ate, save the gentle music in the background and the quiet tapping of dinnerware against your plates. However, Stefano eventually decided to break this silence with a question that caught your immediate interest.

“(Name), have you ever had the desire to be with someone?”

You glanced up at him while placing a forkful of potatoes into your eager maw, and then took a sip of your wine before responding to him.

“Not particularly… I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was in tenth grade. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but the most I’ve ever done was hold hands with a guy. Pretty sad coming from a twenty-five year old, huh?”

“Not entirely. Hearing the same circumstances from a thirty-one year old male might be a bit worse, hm?”

You stopped, your gaze turning away from the remaining food upon your plate to the man sitting across from you. His attention was on you, a smile that reflected both pain and longing sitting upon his lips. You had to admit, hearing that Stefano had never been with another person was rather surprising—it’s not like he was an unattractive man, quite the opposite, in fact. You placed your fork down upon the plate in front of you, then picked up your wine glass and took another sip of your wine before speaking.

“Is there a reason you’ve never been with anyone before?”

“Several. A vast majority of it comes from my love for photography, you see. Throughout my life, my beautiful creations were all that I ever needed. My longing for creating wonderous works of art far outweighed the longing I felt for a partner. Besides, not many women would be entranced by the art I create, and I couldn’t be with one who didn’t love it as I did.”

You cocked your head to the side a bit, becoming increasingly interested in what Stefano was saying. You were honestly quite relieved that you weren’t the only one who wasn’t experienced in the vast realm of romance—for the longest time, you had felt rather out of place since everyone else was already experiencing such things, but it was nice to share that inexperience with someone else now. You heard Stefano clear his throat, and he leaned back a bit in his chair before parting his lips to speak once again.

“Another reason stems from my childhood. I seldom speak of it, but I refuse to be a man like that of my father. I’ve never met him, nor do I wish to, but my mother told me stories of him. He was a man who sought only the physical pleasure a woman could offer him, and in turn, he hurt my mother deeply with such ideologies. My mother, you see, was my everything. And knowing how that bastard hurt her… well, it helped form my views on love. I’ve simply never found another whom I’ve connected with.”

“Well, perhaps you will someday, Stefano. That’s entirely up to you, you know?”

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I already have. Only time will tell, I suppose.”

It was quiet between the two of you for a long while, and then you cleared your throat as you slowly rose to your feet from the table. You grabbed your plate, which had been picked clean by this point, and then smiled in Stefano’s direction before walking into the kitchen. He soon followed you, and as you washed your dish off in the sink, you looked over at him to see him in what seemed like deep thought.

“Stefano… I’d like to hear more about your mother. If I’m not prying, of course.”

Your words shook him out of his trance, and he gave a slight smile as he began to recall the days of his youth once more.

“I was a single child. My mother and I had very little money, and we lived in the underbelly of Florence. We stayed in a tiny house, which she worked hard to keep clean, and she worked two jobs—damn near twenty-four hours a day, each day of the week. There was hardly a time when she wasn’t working, come to think of it. But… it was all for me. So that she and I could have food upon the table. So, as I grew older, I wished to give my mother a better life than the one she had been forced to live.”

As Stefano continued to speak, he had made his way beside you and began to help clean the dishes. You never once took your attention off of him, however, since you were more than interested in the story he was currently telling you. It was the first time you had learned anything this personal about him, and it was something that you knew he was trusting you with.

“When I was twelve, I was given a gift by my mother—the camera that I take everywhere with me. She had been secretly saving any bit of spare money that she made just to get me that camera. I discovered my love for photography then and there, and between working my job to help her earn more money, I was taking pictures. When I turned eighteen, I went off to photograph the horrors of war and begin making a life for myself and my mother. Several months before I lost my eye… she stopped returning my letters. I came to find out that she had passed on while I was away.”

He stopped washing dishes for a moment, and the longer you looked at him, the more you could tell that he was hurting. Before you had a chance to do anything, however, he cleared his throat and continued to speak.

“My mother is why I am where I am today. I worked so hard to make a life for myself, mostly out of the guilt that I was unable to give my beloved mother the life she deserved. My love for photography, my current lifestyle… I owe it all to her.”

“Well, I’m sure that she’d be proud of you, Stefano.”

“Hmm… of that, I am not certain.”

You gave a soft sigh as you began to dry off the dishes that you had already washed, and then stopped when you noticed that Stefano was still in a trance-like state as he continued absentmindedly running his cloth over the dish underneath the running water. It took a lot of convincing to ready your mind for what you were about to do, but you eventually won it over and took a step towards him.

When Stefano felt a light pressure press against his back, it tugged him out of his thoughts and he looked down, only to see a pair of hands wrapped gently around his midsection. He glanced over his shoulder, just barely able to the top of your head that was leaning against his back—this brought a very light smile to his lips, and he cleared his throat before placing the dripping dish upon the countertop.

“(Name), let’s not worry about these for now. We’ve done enough already, and I’ll finish up what remains of them later.”

You gave a nod of your head as you moved yourself away from the man, a sheepish smile upon your lips as you did so. Had the room not been dimmed, the artist surely would have seen the clear embarrassment spread neatly across your cheeks—but to you, if it made him feel any better at all, it was worth it. It was then that you saw Stefano turn his attention towards his office, and he gave a small gesture towards the table.

“Ah, I nearly forgot. Would you mind taking a seat at the table for me, (Name)? I’ll be right back.”

You followed his figure as he made his way over to the door of his office, which he opened and promptly stepped inside of. As you took a step forward to return to the table, the black and white package that you had brought with you caught your eye, and you gently took it off the countertop before making your way back over to the table and taking a seat—after all, you had promised that you would allow Stefano to open the gift after dinner, and that time was now. Your gaze fell upon the shadows that were dancing gracefully along the walls, each one given life only by the illuminated candles upon the table; just before they were able to entrance you, your attention was drawn to Stefano as he returned from the depths of his office. You noticed that he now held something within his hand, and you hummed quietly to yourself in wonder. What was it?

He took a seat upon his end of the table, and then cleared his throat before gently sliding whatever he had previously held within his hand across the table. You carefully picked it up, and saw that it was a rectangular object covered in light red wrapping paper; from strictly holding it and eyeballing it, you assumed that it was some kind of book, and you gave a small smile as you began to tear away the paper that encased it. In order to keep it as much of a surprise as possible, you closed your eyes as you continued to tear bits of the paper off, and when you could no longer feel any more upon it, you opened your eyes to reveal what exactly Stefano had given you.

You had been right—within your hands was a mid-sized book, the front and back covers textured in a way that felt akin to what one might feel if they lightly touched the back of a reptile. Your (color) eyes fell upon the golden plaque that was embedded into middle of the cover, where Hidden Beauty was engraved in elegant cursive; the same cursive that you recognized in all of Stefano’s other works. You glanced up at him, only to see him give a slight nod of his head which seemed to say that he wished for you to open it. You flipped the book open, and the first thing that you saw was an image that you had been proud of whenever it was taken—it was a profile shot of your face, your head tilted back ever so slightly as several dark lines of liquid ran along the curve of your cheek. Your eyes were closed, your lips barely parted, and several droplets of the liquid had been captured as they plummeted from your jaw. Though the photograph was now monochrome, it was still beautiful—you honestly couldn’t believe the woman you were looking at was you.

You began to flip through the various pages of the book, each one containing one to two photographs that you had taken during the photoshoots that Stefano had conducted with you. On the second to last page, you found the same bust shot that Stefano had sent to you only a few days earlier via text, and you gave a small smile as you looked at it. This man really had such skill when it came to photography and making his models look perfect. Finally, you flipped to the last page of the book, which had a single photograph upon it. It was the only photograph that you had ever taken with Stefano himself, in which he was tenderly cupping your cheeks as the two of you stared at one another in a profile shot; however, the palms of his hands had been covered in the same substance he used to create his blood effects, and had left several dark streaks across your cheeks in the photograph. You remembered that during the course of his sessions, you had learned that the artist almost never photographed himself, but he had said this particular picture was an exception.

You closed the book and gave a soft sigh, then turned your attention to the man sitting across from you. You felt your lips curl upwards into a smile, and you held the book against your chest for a moment before speaking.

“Stefano, this is amazing. I’ve… honestly never felt beautiful in any pictures that have been taken of me before, and you somehow managed to make me feel and look beautiful. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, (Name). You’ve made my days much lighter by allowing me to photograph you.”

You hummed softly in response to his words, and then used your right hand to gently scoot your box across the table, just as he had done for you only minutes earlier. You watched eagerly as he elegantly tugged bits of paper away from it, and then saw him cock his eyebrow whenever he set eyes upon the object that had been hidden away beneath the paper. It was a black, flocked box, about the size of a small jewelry box, that had a golden latch upon the front to keep it shut. You grinned as the man carefully undid the latch, then opened the top—a look of surprise immediately crossed his face, and he turned his attention to you for only a moment before returning his gaze to the item within the box. There, nestled snugly within crimson red felt, was a lens for his camera.

“I had to do a bit of research to find out about that camera of yours, Stefano. You have quite a rare one, you know that? However, that lens should fit it, and it will allow you better clarity and zoom.”

“(Name)… a lens for my camera would have to be custom made at this point.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You gave the man a smile, and the look of disbelief upon his face only seemed to worsen. He gave an awkward chuckle, and removed the lens from its resting place with the softest of touches. He looked it over, then placed it back within the box and shut the lid.

“I honestly cannot believe you’d obtain such a thing for me. Surely the cost of this was-“

“Ah, ah… let’s not bring up numbers, okay? I was honestly kind of scared it wouldn’t get here in time, since, like you said, it had to be custom made. But the man who did it was incredibly hard-working, and even though it cost me a bit more, it made it on time and in perfect condition.”

=2=

Stefano leaned back in his chair, a long sigh leaving his lips. This was honestly the last thing that he had ever expected to be within the box that you had brought, but it was something that had utterly made his entire night. In fact, he was incredibly tempted to take this new lens out for a test run, and he already had several ideas in mind for how he was going to do that. However, it might be just a bit too early to do so—yeah, he’d wait a while before finding a new subject for his camera to photograph. He cleared his throat as he listened to you keep talking about the lens that you had given him, however that wasn’t what he was paying attention to. In fact, his mind was somewhere else entirely. Aside from thinking about how desperately he wished to create some new art with this lens, he was thinking about you. He was thinking about how you had gone out of your way to please him this holiday, and about everything else that you had done for him—you listened to him, you worked to make him happy, and you cared about his career and his artwork. Perhaps… just perhaps.

He was driven away from his thoughts when he saw you rise to your feet, and he glanced down at the watch that was hidden beneath his sleeve: 10:02 P.M. Had it truly been that long already? He rose to his feet and followed you to the door, where he watched as you put on your jacket.

“Stefano, thank you again for tonight. It made me so happy, and it was really nice to just… have an evening to ourselves, you know?”

He gave a nod of his head, then took your hand within his own and gave a gentle kiss to the back of it. This seemed to embarrass you, which made the man chuckle before opening the door for you to walk out of. He heard you tell him goodnight, and he gave a slight smile as you walked down the long hallway towards the elevator that would lead you down to the main floor of the building. The smile upon his lips, however, eventually began to fall once you were out of his sight, and he made his way back into his studio and into his kitchen. He looked at the few dishes that still had to be done, then slipped his hand into his pocket to remove his phone from within it. After a few minutes, he placed it down upon the counter, turned on the water of his sink, and began to quietly hum along to the tune of Dean Martin’s Return to Me.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Congratulations, we’ve finally hit some fluff! Also, congratulations on learning quite a few head canons that I have for Stefano’s past! (Feel free to speak to me privately if you want more info. I know not everything is discussed in-depth here).

Author’s Note (2): Before you light your torches and grab your pitchforks, yes, I have an idea that Stefano isn’t experienced at all with intimacy or physical romance like many believe he is. This stems from my head cannoned childhood for him, and the fact that, canonically, he is shown to love his art above everything else. Am I going against a majority of what the fanbase believes? Yes, yes I am, and I completely understand and recognize this.

Author’s Note (3): I had to do a bit of research on Stefano’s camera, and I found that it closely matches the Canon P Rangefinder, which was only in production for 3 years (between 1958 and 1961) and only approximately 100,000 were ever produced. Hence why Reader had to order a custom lens for his specific camera, and why she made the comment that it was a rather rare one at that.

Author’s Note (4): Next chapter will be a rather large time-skip. I know I put dates at the top, but I’m just letting everyone know so it doesn’t take you by surprise.

Author’s Note (5): Please remember that, even though x readers are meant to have you inserted into them, Reader is also a character of their very own. Not everything Reader does reflects you specifically, (there’s no way on earth I could make a character to match every single human on this planet) so please remember that certain traits about Reader may or may not match up with you as a person (I.E. her being completely inexperienced with intimacy, or partaking in various types of alcohol).

[taatje]

Charlisse

Taatje is soaring across the blighted Western Plaguelands with the Vindicator’s sermon fresh on his mind. He sits atop the saddle of his great Nether Drake Ohnaku, his powerful sides rising and falling in time with his grand wing strokes. The night air is cold on his face and the sky is clear tonight, the stars dazzlingly present.

He isn’t paying particular attention, thinking hard on the Vindicator’s words. He had talked at great length about the contrast in the ways in which the Light is used. On one end, soft golden Light that stood for all the kinder things. The knowledge of when to stay a weapon and instead offer healing and comfort. Still another, the need to protect one’s self and companions in the face of evil or danger. The stalwart shield against the imminent night.

He also talked about the harder aspects of the Light; the drive to mete out justice against those unpunished transgressors. A stark white light, spiteful in it’s judgement of the sinful. The last part resonated deeply with Taatje, his greatsword an ever-present part of his armament.

He is almost flung from his saddle when he hears it. ‘Help me,’ the voice is quiet and almost wavering. A child’s voice, but distorted and warped. Ohnaku, already sensing Taatje’s distress, pulls himself into a holding pattern; a low grumble issuing from his chest as his eyes search, his long sinuous neck sometimes turning to look back at Taatje.

‘Help me, I can’t find anyone…’ Again the voice, wavering and trailing off as abruptly as it started. Taatje is turning in his saddle, the voice right in his ear, yet he flies sixty feet above the ruins of a small village. He again turns about, this time catching a white shape on the ground outside a small house, waving up to him. He squints for a moment, mind trying to fit together the disjointed information.

Ohnaku is already banking and diving down lower to investigate before Taatje can open his mouth. The deep purple drake spreads his amethyst wings, slowing their descent; his strong strokes shove away the corpse-light fog, great eddies of it swirl off in every direction like liquid smoke.

The drake lets out a warning rumble from deep within his chest. Taatje feels the vibrations bodily, teeth chattering minutely. He distractedly looks to the specter, the form of a little girl with a terrified visage. She’s wringing a small stuffed bear in her minute hands whilst looking to Taatje, ‘I’ve looked everywhere….I can’t find anyone. I checked in our house for mommy and daddy and they are gone too.”

Taatje opens his mouth to reply when Ohnaku again growls deeply with menace, his great tail thumping the ground and sending more eddies of the corpse-light fog swirling away. A crowd of the undead have gathered and begun to draw near. Their clothes and skin are tattered, bone sometimes showing through the dessicated flesh. The nearest appears to be wearing coveralls, typical farmer apparel. They are the deceased villagers, reanimated by the dread magic blighting the region.

Taatje swings his leg over the saddle and hops down with a dull thump, his well-crafted armor hardly making a sound. The greatsword swings free from it’s sheathe the next moment, right in-time with Taatje’s stride toward the nearest undead.

As he closes with the shambling corpse, he swings the sword in a humming horizontal arc that parts the zombie cleanly in two. The two halves falling to the ground; the torso with it’s arms still reaching and teeth gnashing is then bathed in a soft golden glow that stills it’s movements.

Taatje raises his head, peering at another three corpses as they shuffle toward him unflaggingly. He raises a hand and another wave of golden light flies forth and envelopes the figures. They shake in exorcism and drop to the ground, a final rasping wrattle escaping the torn lips of one.

Taatje strides manfully to the last; a great ruin of a man. He was likely the blacksmith of the village, his size remaining apparent even unto death. The keening sword whips through the air, the blade assuming a soft golden glow as is it neatly divides the zombie’s head. It’s body crumpling to the ground thereafter.

The Blood Elf is calm throughout the brief sortie. He has specialized training from his Order for dealing with threats of this nature. His mind is instead still lingering on the sermon and vacillating to the ghost of the little girl.

‘Part of our mandate is to provide Judgment and retribution as Paladins. There is a time for mercy, but there is also a time to punish those villains and criminals that would otherwise walk freely.’ He hears the Vindicator’s words as he walks back to the house where the little girl yet stands. His head swivels around as he strides, a brief reprieve has been earned if the apparent emptiness of the village is any measure.

Taatje nears the little girl and drops to a knee in reassurance. He removes his helm and peers at her with sympathetic eyes. ‘I am Taatje Morningdew, a Paladin. What is your name child?’ He asks in the most soothing voice he can manage, worried about startling the incorporeal child off. The little girl raises her hands until the small, ragged stuffed bear is in front of her face. She peeks around it, ‘I’m Charisse….’ Her voice trails off shyly. The little girl’s eyes suddenly widen and she takes a few faltering steps backwards. She turns abruptly and bolts into the house, the ribbon in her hair desperately trailing in pursuit.

He feels a sensation creep over him, something like the cold legs of a hairy spider. Goosebumps raise in response as his gauntlets groan slightly in the grip of the greatsword. Taatje turns to Ohnaku and gives him a faint nod, his eyes meeting The great Drake’s. The Drake lets out a warbling roar, the sound seeming as if to come from multiple Drakes as his four powerful legs thrust him into the air where his wings catch and bear him aloft into the night sky.

The Paladin steps through the entry,deftly avoiding the door laying to the side, it’s hinges shattered. The sickly-orange glow reflecting off the Paladin’s armor, giving him a vaguely nightmarish outline.

He’s steps into a large open room that seems to serve as the both the living and dining room. There is a small kitchen adjoining it on the far left corner and on the far right, a narrow flight of stairs lead upward into darkness. There rests a dust covered table to the left, the ends of it’s legs disappearing into the fog that rolls through the open doorway; blanketing the wooden flooring.

The floors groan and squeak as Taatje strides into the structure. His gleaming sabatons leave clear depressions in the deep dust beneath the fog. He walks almost soundlessly, his steps cushioned as he advances inwards. There is nothing inordinate about the lower portion of the house except the kitchen cupboards which have drooped and the deeply rusted stove.

Taatje, still scanning, makes his way toward the stairwell. His softly glowing sword sending shadows skittering about in every direction, only for them to again close hungrily as he shifts in yet another direction. He begins his ascent, eyes peering upwards into the shadow. The sagging stairs groan as Taatje mouths a silent prayer for safe passage upwards.

He alights at the top of the stairwell which terminates to the left where a wall runs along with three consecutive doors. He stops at the first door, the sudden silence seems to press in aggressively, seeking to swallow him. He turns the knob and pushes the door open. Inside resting against the far wall is a small bed with two pillows on it. The coloring of the material is difficult to discern with so much dust, but this is clearly a pairs’ room. He can see two nightstands on either side of the small bed and a large dresser on the opposite wall.

His eyes continue to sweep the room, his glowing sword buffeting the shadows back. His eyes come to stop on an ornate loom, it’s delicate swirls and silver trimming indicate the clearly-valued item. It is well-maintained and was obviously loved by the previous owner. ‘Taphrina.’ He whispers softly, an image of their last interaction coming to mind; her sitting on the edge of her large bed, doing her best to choke back a sob.

His heart drops in regret at the memory of his departure as he softly closes the door. He will later return for the item and take it to Chapel for cleansing and restoration. He takes a few muted steps and stops at the second door. This one is slightly ajar when he pushes it open, the hinges squealing loudly in protest. Taatje hisses softly, the shadow swirling about him in agitation as he brings the sword forward into the room; shoving away the crawling shadow.

The room is a standard washroom, a thick coating of dust blanketing the fogless floor. Inside, attached to the left wall is a sink with a polished steel mirror afixed above. There is also a also a small clawed bathtub with lantern grilles on each corner for heating. Taatje surveys the room and backs out, but is unable to pull the sagged door closed.

He turns and makes his way to the last door. The door is wedged closed, having warped inside it’s frame. With a grunt, Taatje shoves the door open, the wood of the door squealing against the door frame. The room is swathed in gloom, inside it contains a simple bed, nightstand and an armor rack with a grey cloth suspended from it. The room is spartan and without much decor. Except for Charlisse.

She is crouched behind the large rack, her incorporeal form shivering. Taatje sees and steps into the room slowly, afraid of again sending the little human fleeing. ‘Hi Charlisse. Can you tell me what’s wrong?’ He softly asks as he draws a little nearer and again takes a knee. Charlisse looks at him, her eyes are wide and her mouth set in a line. She has an odd clean scent to her, a stark contrast to the ever-present smell of mold and decay of the town.

‘Big Tom always let me hide here when I get scared. He is the town guard, but I can’t find anymore either.’ She whispers, still shivering slightly, her hands gripping the small ragged bear. As Taatje extends his hand to her, that sensation of a large spider crawling about him again seizes. He looks up, only to see Charlisse’s form vanishing through the wall as if it were not there.

The sensation is stronger this time, he can almost feel the individual spider hairs on his flesh. A sudden urge takes him to remove his armor as he sags into his kneeling posture. It feels so heavy; he can hardly move in it. And the cold sweat now soaking his body, it runs into his eye from the stifling helm. He feels weary, his eyes growing heavy.

But a small alarm is blaring red in the back of his mind. The warning bells are sounding and something alerts him to the assault. He shakes his head, teeth gritting when his eyes shift like a strobe from fel-green to stark white. As suddenly as it began, the assault is over and the sensation gone.

Taatje stands firmly, the lethargy shaken off like so much dust. He turns to depart, an ember of flame alighting in his stomach. An idea of what is afflicting Charlisse beginning to take form.

He exits in time to see Charlisse vanish into yet another house, this one diagonal to the desecrated home he just left. Taatje strides manfully across the paved street, his sabatons clicking mutely over the dust covered-paver stones toward a lurking armored zombie standing vigil near the house. It dawns on Taatje, so much like a struck torch in a dark room. The armored zombie was Big Tom. His stride doesn’t slow as he strikes the risen man down.

His heart is heavy, but anger at the blasphemy spurs his movement. Taatje strides into the gloomy home, his Light-given sense allowing visual clarity in the gloom. His speckless white eyes scan the room, he can sense great evil in a small room, set just below the stairwell. His stride lengthening, he covers the distance and sends a sabaton crashing into the door. The hinges shatter and the door explodes into flying shrapnel.

Inside, he notes a small bed, covered with a thick layer of dust and more of the small stuffed animals. Small pictures on thin, cheap vellum adorn the walls. ‘Charlisse!’ Taatje nearly shouts, his eyes scanning the room until they come to rest on a small pile of bones resting on a softly glowing mark.

A feeling of dread washes over Taatje as his eyes focus on the fel thing. He recognizes it as a sacrificial rune, the elegant swirls of the thing hide it’s foul nature. Taatje lets out a low growl, now understanding why Charlisse has been stuck. Taatje resumes surveying the room, confusion mounting by the moment.

Taatje strides just inside the room and not far from the rune rests a much larger skeleton, still garbed in decaying purple robes. There is a clear slit in the robes, the skeleton’s hands almost seem to cup the slash. The paladin lets out a weary sigh, the corpse of the town guard had been lurking near the house, almost as if standing vigilance. ‘I see ‘Big Tom’ brought you low before you could finish, you damnable creature.’

As soon as Taatje closes his mouth, he again feels the crawling sensation. This time it brings him straight to his knees and then onto his face. His eyes slowly close as they fix on a small ornate pot just hanging from the deceased necromancer’s pocket. Taatje drags his sword arm forward with a grunt, cutting arcing lines into the deep dust until his blade is oriented point-first towards the small pot. He can see a red shroud of guilt, almost a veil swaddling the pot like a newborn.

Taatje’s hands and sword take on a stark-white glow of divine judgement. The suddenly explodes forth, growing in size until it parts the ornate pot into halves. The glow diminishes and the sword retracts, having cleaved a surgical line into the base of the house. Taatje blacks out to an unearthly wailing as the necromancer’s soul is destroyed; purified by both the Light and the destruction of it’s vessel.

The Paladin awakens some time later to rhythmic tugging on his pauldron. He slowly opens his eyes to Charlisse leaning over his form. ‘I just want to go back, why can’t I go back to how things used to be?’ She pleads between great choking sobs. Taatje sits up, his own throat clenching. ‘I want to see mommy and daddy again. I miss them so much.’ She continues, great tears rolling down her incorporeal cheeks.

‘I will take you to them, child,’ Taatje replies with a grieving heart as he stands, slowly making his way to the glowing rune. His back hurts, the flesh burnt right in the center of his back where the Lich attempted to usurp his body.

Taatje kneels at the rune and beckons the little girl over. She tearfully approaches, great sobs still rocking her small body. As she closes, Taatje wraps a thick arm around her in a half-hug. ‘Sometimes we can’t go back child, only forward.’ He whispers softly as he brings a gauntleted hand up to muss her hair softly; the other glowing hand he runs across the rune and destroys the fel binding.

Abruptly as she appeared, she vanishes. The only proof that she was there is a strip of ribbon caught on his gauntlet. The cloth is almost translucent and glows a soft white. He slowly collects the small pile of bones into a cloth and then plops wearily onto her small bed. A small cloud rising to greet him as his weight settles.

Regret, like a swallowed brick rests in his stomach. He can see her her still in his mind, the image frozen of Taphrina collapsing into herself as if trying to vanish. He wanted so much to reach out to her, to make it ok, but he couldn’t tamp down his anger and instead walked out of the door. He sighs, not even sure why he was upset in the first place. He had done for her, what she had not asked of him. He had placed expectations on her, almost nearing personal divinity. Her confessions, brought that burning down to the ground. A nation’s flag set aflame, some inscribed truth marred. Reality, like a warhammer, shattered all of that.

But what he wanted so much to say, yet failed at in the moment. Was that cared more for her as she is and that what had happened, did not diminish her in his eyes. He pulls a gauntlet off, eyes still fixed on the damning comb; his still-unbraided hair tucked into his armor.

He pulls himself off the bed after peering at the comb for a spell. He again equips his helm and strides from the ruined home without ceremony. He lets out a piercing whistle and mere moments later, Ohnaku’s great form descends to the ground. He nuzzles Taatje briefly, clearly happy to see him. ‘Wait just a moment, I need to grab something before we leave this cursed place.’ Taatje disappears into the first structure he entered previously and leaves a minute later, a curious shape wrapped in an old curtain torn from a window.

He lashes the parcel to the Drake and then turns back to the village after retrieving an unlit torch from his saddlebag. He turns and surveys the ruined village for a long moment. The vaguely orange fog rolls and coils about his greaves as if hungry for life in the oppressive silence of the place. He finally strikes the torch and commences to setting flame to each of the former homes. He returns to the Drake just as the heat and smoke of the collective pyres thickens. He swings himself up onto the saddle with heavy eyes.

‘To the Chapel, Ohnaku. We have a little work to do before Silvermoon. Before Taphrina.’

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Proxy Cosmos

(An alternate reality where Alec Ryder lived, and both twins were awake during the events of Andromeda.)

Chapter Four:

"If you're trying to hide, I don't think you're doing a great job."

Scott looked up at the Turian, regarding her with a soft smile. He remembered meeting Vetra, but had little time to get to her know her in the whirl of events since boarding the Tempest. Most of the drama had been utterly the fault of his family. Scott wished that he was more surprised.

"Yeah, I'm trying the broody act," Scott felt a smile curl a corner of his lip, "but I gave up halfway there."

"I don't know, seems pretty broody to me."

He chuckled. But now came the silence, he didn't want it, but it permeated the space between them. It wasn't for any particular kind of company, and certainly not for the physical kind of attention. He just craved the basic kind of affection from another being that was not a part of his family. Or someone not involved in that craziness. He wasn't open like Elsee, or gruff enough to prefer his own company like his Dad.

Vetra's mandibles vibrated, and as if sensing his need she sat down beside him. Long arms hanging over her knees. For several minutes they sat silently, breathing syncing together slowly.

"Isn't family a pain in the ass, sometimes?" Vetra spoke softly.

"Literally," Scott smirked, leaning his head against the metal wall, "do you have any family of your own?"

"Yeah, a little sister...Sid. Brought her with me."

"She a pain in the ass?"

"Major pain in the ass," Vetra smirked.

"I always wished I could be the older sibling; you get so much crap being the youngest. I watched you pick your nose; I watched you shake a turd out of your pants camping one year."

Vetra chuckled, "the whining is not worth it. I'm hungry; I had an accident. I'm bored. And oh, the crying. All the crying."

Scott's laughter fell a little short, his attention returning to the darkened window of the med clinic. Dad was fine; he would recover with sufficient meds and rest, but that didn't make it any easier. Or perhaps it was everything, this entire shitty mess, starting to collapse on him. Now that the fires had stopped popping up, the calm allowed him to think rather than to simply react. It weighed on him, weighed on everyone on the Pathfinder's team heavily.

"How did you hear of the Andromeda Initiative?" simple questions might keep her there longer.

"Short answer? Kesh," the turian's rumbling voice recalled the memory with pride, "She was looking for some experimental ship mods, and I knew how to track them down. I thought it was a one time deal, but she came back. Once, twice... eventually I figured out something was going on. Something big, with creds behind it," Vetra paused, looking out into the hallway like it had been just moments ago, "I asked, and she told me about the initiative. New galaxy, new home- couldn't pass that up."

"Wow, that's some laser will."

"Yeah? Was it too much? Some people get intimidated," Vetra purred.

"We need that sort of drive," Scott kept it cool, "I just hope I can keep up."

"You'll keep up. And I promise I won't tell if you don't," the Turian got up from the floor.

"If you didn't just big sister me," Scott teased.

She huffed, offering out her claw, "Come on, 'little' Scott. I know something that might cheer you up."

======

Kallo pushed against Suvi, who in turn tried not to crowd Cora who waited in the doorway of the crew quarters. Gil, Liam, Vetra and Scott waited in the corridor, just out of reach of the sensor that would open the kitchen door. Lexi pretended not to be involved in the scene quietly happening outside her door, but she was just as interested. Even Alec's attention turned to the gathering groups.

"It smells sooo good," Suvi whined with a growl of her stomach.

"I want to eat it, even if it would kill me," Vetra agreed.

"You will not eat the human food, Vetra!" Lexi warned.

Gil smirked, "I'm going to savor it slowly for you Vetra."

"Who brought spices with them to Andromeda?" Cora asked, pretending to be focused on anything other than the smell of food.

"That would be Elsee," Scott snickered.

"The things I could get from that collection," Vetra murmured.

"Vetra, you can't. This smell, I cannot forget it," Kallo added in an appalled tone, "ever."

"Hopefully it's as good as it-"

"Ooof!" Elsee squeaked, suddenly running into the crowds gathering just outside the galley. She had shooed away a curious hand or two, but not the entire crew.

They grinned, each with differing amounts of guilt. Cora stumbled forward as one of the two behind her pushed. Elsee twirled, keeping the covered pot safely from crashing.

"Well," Elsee started slowly, gaining a smile, "we can all eat upstairs together. If, if you guys would like to."

"I'm up for it!" Gil volunteered first. The rest agreed with him.

Elsee beamed, "Good, Cora if you would grab the large silver pan in the oven. Watch it; it's hot. Vetra if you wouldn't mind the small silver pan also in the oven. Suvi, if you'd grab the white one, also in the oven." Her first commands came sheepishly, but her confidence grew as each member agreed to their task, "Kallo, if you would be a dear and get the plates at the top of the cupboard. Gil and Scott, can you manage silverware? Including two spatulas, and two serving spoons. Liam, something to drink? Oh, Lexi, if you would grab the pan still on the element."

Scott and Gil battled over how many pieces were needed, and who would carry what. Much to nobody's surprise it ended in a duel of cutlery to the upper meeting room. Kallo remarked about how useful his height was, and the females took to their task with little shenanigans between them. Vetra seemed to be off put but wasn't going to ruin the fun.

Elsee barely made it out ahead of Liam who was juggling the drinks.

The team had arranged the meal around the different displays on the central round table. They waited patiently for Elsee to set down the bulky container before they dared to think about approaching the food.

"Alright, guys," Elsee cleared her throat, "the menu for tonight is Chicken flavored with my special, secret seasoning," which sounded horribly dirty, "a buttered pea and lettuce bake, and garlic mashed potatoes. Vetra, dextro-friendly food is in the smaller pans, turian-chicken, and appropriate vegetables."

Vetra pepped up immediately.

"And on behalf of the good doctor, I must remind you all to eat a healthy portion of veggies, without just focusing on the potatoes. And also for the rest of us to avoid Vetra's portions," Elsee's glibness earning a smile from the doctor.

Cora started the line, muscling her way passed the rest of the rowdy crowd- Suvi who stayed on her coat tails was next. Gil, Liam, Lexi, then Scott made it up front next. Kallo urged Elsee to go before him, and Vetra unworried about getting enough food was fine with filling in last. After each got a plate they sat on the couch, with some taking the floor so that they did not need to be far from the rest of the group.

Elsee parked herself in the middle of the floor, waiting for everyone else's reactions.

"What is in your super secret seasoning?" The engineer asked with a raised eyebrow, double entrada fully intended.

Elsee made a face at Gil, "None of your beeswax."

"Not even a hint?" Suvi prodded.

"Fine, basil and rosemary are two ingredients of the blend," she answered with a smirk.

"Where did you learn to cook, and flavor dextro foods?" Vetra commandeered the conversation after a few moments of silence.

"We had a few Quarians on pilgrimage at one of our dig sites, and a Turian from time to time. I even bought food neutralizers so I could test the recipes out myself."

"Nerd," her brother accused.

"Careful, Scott, tormenting the cook still trumps annoying the doctor," threatened the asari with a point of her fork.

"Where does the pilot fit in that list?"

"Oh come one, how about the engineer?"

"You'd all having nothing without the requestion officer!"

Any debate in the room ended as the boss entered the meeting lounge, all attention immediately turned to him. Waiting to see if he disapproved of an unauthorized use of the meeting area. Alec's eyes wandered the room, his jaw clenching. The Ryder twins jumped to their feet, Elsee taking the lead. But before her mouth opened his hand waved to dispel the words, taking up the last plate. The twins returned to their seat, but the conversation did not.

Alec leaned against the consoles, brown eyes focusing on his daughter, "So what happened on Eos?"

"N-nothing that I didn't report," Elsee stammered.

"I mean," the man sighed, "how was it? How was activating the vault?"

"It was great, scary, but great," she was fumbling, grasping at something to discuss, "I just wonder why they would program a death cloud to chase the person trying to fix the planet."

"That is curious if they had meant to inhabit the world I wonder why they would secure it in a way that required running away from the vault on activation."

"Unless they were that worried about having someone to protect if from, perhaps someone... or something had tried to use their technology against them?" More answers at this point would be helpful, but it all came with more questions.

"That is a good point, the Milky Way can't be the only place where the locals like to fight each other," Alec's smile crept across his face, relaxing the rest of the crew into eating.

"I'm just surprised we haven't found anyone else, other than the machines after all Eos was at least survivable with the right protection from radiation," she mused, "the flora and fauna still seemed to be active enough."

"Or perhaps we came after an extinction event."

"You think the Nexus will let us borrow a drill?"

"Leave that to the colonists," Alec countered with a full smile. Enjoying his first taste of food. His daughter had learned well from her mother; it was just painful to mention. The familiar dish leaving him feeling less empty than he thought. Had that been the last time they had all enjoyed a meal together? "Just for now, we can be curious once we are completely established."

"To escaping a death bubble!" Vetra began.

"To not dying," Liam added.

"To excellent food," cheered Lexi.

The rest agreed with the doctor, with one notable person simply raising a glass.

"I think Elsee here should be designated cook," Gil looked over the empty pans, "this puts my best dish to shame."

"I'm sure I can find more contraband spices," Vetra hummed.

"I have some nice Salarian dishes I think the crew would enjoy."

"Not if it involves bug, Kallo," Cora teased, "I don't think she could even make that taste good."

"That's very r-"

Suvi cut off the Salarian, "say you can bake too?"

"I think it needs less baking soda," Scott's words drew an eye roll from his sister and a bemused smirk from Alec.

"Har, har, Scott," Her eyes wandered to Liam, who still said nothing. She glanced away, pretending not to make awkward eye contact with the Turian that sat next to him.

The crew returned to conversation in various groups between themselves. Alec mostly questioned Elsee who was at ease answering his questions and sharing theories with him. Scott urged himself to look away, and focus on his plate. Still not finding his place in this group. He didn't want to end the rare bonding between Father and Daughter as they discussed the potential of their discoveries on the Heleus cluster. They would never see it, but they shared a fair amount in common. When they weren't busy egging each other on about something asinine.

Vetra leaned into Liam, "Say something nice, stupid."

"Just like mum's cooking," Liam blurted into a crowd that had long since changed subjects, Vetra pinched him for good measure, "thank you for the meal, El."

The crew regarded him curiously, and Elsee colored. Scott glanced between the two, and Alec glared fiercely at the man.

"I'll, uh, I'll gather plates and start cleaning up then," Liam bound from his seat, yanking the empty plate away from Vetra.

[jetgirl1832]

4,21,24 hamliza

Making BreakfastIt's the smell of burning that pulled Eliza from her sleep and she found Alex's side of the bed empty and cold. They'd been living together for nearly a month now and Eliza was starting to get used to sharing the small space with Alex. The biggest thing to get used to was sharing a bed, but she was definitely enjoying it. Eliza rose and adjusted her nightgown before following her nose to the kitchen."No, no, no!" Eliza heard loud clanking as she peered into the kitchen, "Alex are you alright?" she asked.Alex looked up from the pan that he had just pulled off of the stove. "Pancakes," Alex explained weakly, obviously alluding ti the blackened discs Eliza could now see. She nearly laughed at the utterly devastated look on his face, like burned pancakes indicated the end of the world."I wanted to make you pancakes..." Alex sighed, "I'm a failure, I can't even make pancakes!"Eliza really did laugh at that, taking the few steps to cross the kitchen. She removed the pan from Alex's hands and put it to the side before looping her arms around the back of his neck. "Why don't we go out for breakfast?"----------Mornings in the Hamilton household were a little chaotic and today was most certainly no exception. With four rather young children in the house breakfast tended to be a difficult task to manage, one that could not be done alone.The two younger kids were always up earlier, Jamie bright eyed but Junior still sleepy and uncoordinated. Philip and Angie took some effort to wake, particularly Angie. Once that was done, the real fun began. Each child was very particular about what they would and wouldn't eat for breakfast. Philip was perhaps the easiest to please, a glass of juice and a bowl of Trix (any other cereal was deemed unacceptable by the nine year old).Angie was a bit more picky. She needed her toast to be just on the edge of being burnt and if it was even a smidge wrong, in either direction, she wouldn't eat it.Junior liked two pieces of toast, one with peanut butter and the other with grape jelly, and never the two shall meet.Jamie was like his oldest brother, and easy to please. He liked oatmeal (the kind with the dinosaurs) with a little bit of cinnamon sprinkled on top. But too much cinnamon would be considered close to a disaster.Even after all of the childrens' breakfasts were made to their exacting specifications, neither Alex nor Eliza could think about making anything for themselves.Alex would dash off to work with a cup of coffee in hand while Eliza took Philip, Angie and Junior to school with Jamie in her arms.Only after returning from carpool duty would Eliza get a chance to sit at the table and have a bowl of corn flakes, Jamie playing quietly in the living room.----------Eliza never used to wake up before Alex, but it seemed to be happening more and more in the time since Lizzie had moved out to go to college.She looked at her husband and smiled noting the grey streaking through what was once an inky black mess. Since it was the weekend and it was just the two of them, Eliza decided to make breakfast.She made her way to the kitchen. Some memory from long ago made her dig through the cupboard and fridge to collect the ingredients for pancakes.After all this time it was just the two of them again, she could hardly believe it but all their kids were busy with their own lives and families.Eliza reached for the vanilla, the secret to her recipe."Morning."Eliza looked over at Alex as he entered the kitchen, his hair still disheveled from sleep. The bags under his eyes were darker than they used to be, just another one of the signs that they were both getting older."Good morning," Eliza smiled as she mixed the batter.As usual Alex walked towards her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "Pancakes?""Best way to start any morning," Eliza replied.Alex hummed in agreement and put his hands on her hips, leaning in to nuzzle the side of her neck. Eliza giggled. "Why is your nose always so cold?""Must be that Caribbean blood working over time," Alex muttered kissing her neck."You've lived here more than forty years, that's not an excuse anymore," Eliza laughed.In response, Alex blew a raspberry against the skin of Eliza's neck, causing her to make a high pitched noise and pull away. "Gross," she laughed, "Now let me make these pancakes. I haven't started the coffee maker yet, why don't you go do that."Fine," Alex huffed letting go of his wife.Eliza rolled her eyes fondly. Alex would complain and pout, but she knew that he needed his coffee to survive even now and would feel better after having a cup.These mornings were like a dance, one they had learned and practiced over many years. One that kept evolving and changing with each day, and they learned to adjust, Eliza was just glad she got to spend her time with her Alex.No-good-very-bad-day cuddlesAlex waited until he was out in the hallway before allowing himself to collapse against the wall. His legs were just barely keeping him up, but he needed to keep up a strong front when he was in that sterile white hospital room because Philip was still in pain and Angie was a mess and neither of them needed to be worrying about him.The tears and anxiety he'd been holding in this whole time began to flow out of him as he leaned against the wall. How some thing like this could have happened to his son..."Alex?"Alex stiffened at the sound of his name and immediately he made an attempt to pull himself together.Eliza could see right through it, though, and when Alex saw her standing in front of him he gave up trying and simply drew her into his arms and buried his face into the crook of her neck. They'd been at the hospital so long that the scent of her perfume had faded, but her hair still smelled of honey shampoo and it made him feel safe.Eliza threaded her fingers through his hair as they held each other, "The worst part is over," she whispered.Alex swallowed down a sob and held her tighter. Logically he knew that to be true, but his eldest son was still lying in a hospital bed after being shot. Eliza hushed him gently and kissed the top of his head. Alex loved her so much in this moment and her ability to be so strong and to allow him this moment to break. They stood there for a long time, wrapped tightly in each other's arms.Sharing Ice CreamBy some magic, the first truly warm day of the year happened on the day after their final exams."Where are we going?" Eliza asked as she and Alex walked hand and hand."We need to celebrate finishing your first year of undergrad," Alex grinned."Okay, how are we doing that?" Eliza raised her brow."Ice cream, of course," Alex scoffed, "How else do you celebrate? I'm going to take you to my favorite place.""Lead the way," Eliza giggled.From the outside it looked like any other ice cream parlor, "What makes this place so special?" Eliza asked looking around."This," Alex proudly pointed at the bottom right corner of the menu, in bold letters it described what was called "The King Kong Split.""A banana split fit for an ape king," Eliza read, "containing five large scoops of ice cream, three whole bananas topped with our decadent house-made dark chocolate sauce, a mountain of whipped cream, and three maraschino cherries.""If two people finish it within twenty minutes, you both get free ice cream for a year!" Alex pointed out excitedly"Are you crazy?" Eliza looked at him with wide eyes."Please?" Alex stuck out his lower lip in a pout.After a long moment, Eliza sighed, "I am so gonna regret this.""Yes!" Alex cheered, pumping a fist in the air, "You're the best."The two of them approached the counter and Alex got the attention of the bored looking high schooler behind it. "My girlfriend and I would like the King Kong Split," he announced. The high schooler didn't seem phased, "Vanilla or chocolate ice cream?""Vanilla," Alex said decisively. He loved chocolate but for some reason he couldn't stand chocolate ice cream."One vanilla King Kong Split," the high schooler muttered typing it into the register.Eliza shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Why do I let you convince me to do these things?""Oh like I really had to twist your arm that much," Alex smirked.Eliza rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide her grin at way Alex was waggling his eyebrows at her. "You're lucky you're cute," she told him."Do you really think so?" Alex asked as they sat down at one of the booths."Well you were cute until you started fishing for compliments," Eliza replied."You're just saying that because you've never had to do it," Alex said, "I bet people tell you how beautiful you are all the time."Eliza blushed. Even nearly half a year into their relationship, Alex could make her blush like they were on their first date."It's actually kinda hard when you're competing with two other sisters," Eliza muttered."Betsey, I love your sisters but they hardly compare to you-""You're just saying that-" Eliza blushed even deeper."Are you the couple that ordered the King Kong Split?" Another server approached them."That's us," Alex confirmed.  The server placed the large bowl on the table between them, two spoons sticking out of the pile of ice cream and toppings. "You've got twenty minutes to finish it if you want to try for that," he said, "but you don't have to.""Of course we're going to try," said Alex with a grin. Eliza sighed and picked up a spoon hesitantly.Alex took the first bite of ice cream scooping up a large portion of whipped cream as well."Dig in," he urged through a mouthful. Eliza complied. They made progress on their mountain as their time ticked by. Alex seemed determined to keep a steady pace going. Until, that is, the server said that they had five minutes left. His new, hurried pace soon took its toll and Alex clutched at his head with a moan. "Brain freeze!" he gritted out, "Go on without me!""But-""Please Betsey we're so close," Alex winced."Two minutes," the server said. Alex gave her those puppy dog eyes again and Eliza shook her head fondly, but picked up her pace slightly. Only slightly, though. No need for her to get a brain freeze too."One minute."There was very little ice cream left now, and Eliza's competitive side kicked in.The last few bites were the most difficult and the loud count down being shouted out by the rest of patrons certain didn't help. But she did it with barely a moment to spare and Alex watching her with awe."Time's up!" the server called.Eliza let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, "We are never doing this again."