#my friend said i should knit tiny scarves for his hands and he’s so right

[creaseninja]

since this acc is relatively new i have no fucking idea where to start w posting my art so i’m just gonna start with this scarf i knitted for my hydreigon plush. isn’t he handsome

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 10 - Intimate (2)

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Fluff 

Summary: Gojo uses you to relieve some of his stress after his little argument with your best friend, and poses a question that catches you off guard.

A/N: this chapter was a bit difficult for me to write and I think it's because it turned out to be sort of a filler chapter! Also, please excuse any errors - I am definitely posting this half asleep lol! but I am really excited to share the upcoming ones! I initially said that this was going to be 25 chapters but I outlined the rest of the story and there will be more! Hehe I do plan on doing the few extra one-shots in the end, so I hope you enjoy.

- - - 

“Tell me you’re mine…”  

You blushed at the thought of Satoru’s words, painfully aware of the knot that tightened in the pit of your stomach which then tugged at your lungs, slowing your breath. You reached for the seasoning packets, ripping open the colored wrappers to prepare the ramen broth. You watched as tiny circles began to form from the bottom of the metal pot, bubbling it’s way to the surface. You could hear the shower still running from your bathroom, a bit relieved that Gojo was taking his time because you wanted to bask in the few precious minutes you had to yourself to try and quieten your racing thoughts.

You couldn’t focus on the task of preparing dinner because the word “mine” slipping from Gojo’s lips in a feverish claim was playing on a loop in your head. The way his tone darkened with urgency when he held his body close to yours sent goosebumps to run up your arms. You couldn’t figure out where the possessive streak came from or why he felt the need to assert his dominance over an act that should not have been as intimate as it felt. You folded your arms over your chest, subconsciously pinching your skin as you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

There was a difference when you made your own personal comparisons in the safety of your mind versus Gojo bringing it up in the bedroom. Somehow admitting your confession to him made you feel vulnerable and his reaction didn’t make it any  better, appearing to be competitive about the entire situation.

That doesn’t make any sense, why would he care? you wondered.

You never actually paid attention to how Gojo felt about your ex-boyfriend. For the most part he’s always been nice to him. Although the two of them weren’t the closest of friends, they seemed to get along whenever you all hung out together. You never would have anticipated that Gojo would be…

Jealous of him ?

That he would resent him?

Honestly, you didn’t even have an explanation for what it could possibly mean.

“ Pay attention…”

Gojo’s voice startled you, you didn’t even realise he was standing right behind you until you noticed him reach his arm forward to reduce the flame, stopping the water from bubbling over the pot.

“Whoops! Lost my train of thought for a second...” you lied, refusing to look in his direction in the hopes that he wouldn’t catch you blushing.

“That’s a safety hazard, you know?” he teased, still standing dangerously close behind you as he reached for the dry noodles himself and placed them into the pot. “You need sharp eyes when cooking otherwise you’ll end up having an unnecessary accident.”

A nervous chuckle escaped you as you circled to face him. Gojo had borrowed one of your black silk scarves, using it as a makeshift blindfold since his own was now tumbled between your bedsheets on the floor. You could smell your coconut and hibiscus body wash off him, the scent combining with the residual cologne on his clothes. An easy smile spread across that handsome face, his relaxed demeanor contrasting the state he was in when he first knocked on your door.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself. What happens in the bedroom doesn’t mean anything…  

It shouldn’t mean anything.  

“Whatever you say, sensei ...” you chirped, burying your wayward thoughts. “Why don’t you grab those mats and I’ll bring these over to the table”

You assembled the two bowls, adding a little extra broth for Gojo because you knew he preferred it that way. Meanwhile, he had placed the two mats on the opposite side of the dining table, taking care not to disturb your work set up.

“Here you go,” you said, as you slid the bowl in front of him while he took his seat.

“Thank you!”

At first you both sat in silence, Gojo was responding to a few unanswered text messages but you were studying him with curious eyes, waiting for him to give you an explanation for his sudden visit.

“ Sooo, you want to tell me what that was all about?” you asked.

“That being?”

You waved your chopsticks in the direction of your bedroom, raising your brow before replying, “That being the sequence of events that just transpired…”

“ Stress relief ...” Gojo explained in between bites as he casually tucked his phone back into his pocket.

You thrummed your fingers against the warm bowl in your hands, fidgeting with the chopsticks in the other.  “Well, I’m glad I could help you unwind, I guess...”

He flashed you a wicked grin, “Me too, because I need a repeat of the show...”

“I can’t look at you when you say that,” you remarked, focusing your attention onto the noodles and growing shy at his comment.

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“A little…”

“I don’t understand why, that was fucking hot ...”

Your face burned, the heat radiating all the way to the back of your neck from his words. You cleared your throat as you rolled your eyes at him, desperately trying to brush off his statement in a cool manner. You could feel the knot in your stomach, the thoughts you were having crept back into your mind as you tried to hush them away.

You decided to shift the conversation away from the bedroom and back to Gojo instead. If he wasn’t so flustered by his own emotions, you might have accepted his excuse of needing to relieve stress but you knew there was more to the story.

“Did something happen at work?” you questioned.

Gojo chuckled to himself, “It’s funny how you won’t even acknowledge my compliment... ”

“Are you really going to make me pry a proper answer out of you?” you huffed, and he could hear your annoyance in your tone.

Gojo wished that he didn’t have to get into this particular part of the conversation with you, knowing full well how it was going to bring down the mood.

“No, nothing happened at work,” he said with a sigh, “I was with Rina. She asked me to stop by her shop…”

You knitted your brows in confusion, “That’s kind of random.”

Gojo nodded his head, “I thought so too. She initially told me that she wanted to get my opinion on some new items she was dropping for her menu. Turns out I was only there because she wanted to know how long you and I have been sleeping together for…”

You choked at his statement, his nonchalant words nearly going over your head.

Gojo kept eating, unphased by your reaction. “Need some water?”

“Y-yes…no, ugh, nevermind …she asked you how …”

“ How long you and I have been fucking… ” Gojo replied, flicking his index finger back between you both to fully clarify his statement.

The knot in your stomach cinched, a wave of nausea swirling in your gut as you placed your chopsticks down.

“How... how did she even find out? ” you whispered to yourself as you slumped against the back of your chair.

“She saw us at the park.”

“ Oh .”

You and Rina have both had your fair share of arguments before but sometimes when her emotions got the better of her, Rina’s outbursts often came with her sharp tongue. Over the years you had to explain to her that her words carried more weight than she thought, and in turn she became more conscious around you. However it suddenly dawned on you that Gojo might have been on the receiving end of Rina’s unfiltered anger.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning with frustration. “What did she say?”

“ Hmm ?”

“What did Rina say to you?”

Gojo shrugged his shoulders, “don’t worry about what she said to me. I know she didn’t mean anything by it...”

“But you were upset when you got here…”

“Let’s clarify something, Rina was upset because she was hurt. I was just annoyed by the situation. There’s a difference...”

You wished he would take your conversation a little more seriously and not brush it off with such ease but sighed knowing full well that Gojo wasn’t going to tell you what exactly happened which meant that Rina must have said something deliberately hurtful towards him.

“ I’m sorry… ”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You picked up your utensils, “For dragging you into this unnecessary drama I started. I should have just told Rina what was going on between us…”

Gojo paused after slurping a noodle, “well, why didn’t you tell her?”

“She’s been overprotective recently… ” you explained, not wanting to get into the details that the reason was purely based on your break up and how terrible you have been about getting over it. “I knew that if I told her about our arrangement she would analyze me to death over it and I didn’t want to deal with that…”

“Fair point,” Gojo acknowledged with a hum.

His short responses unsettled you, and you found yourself overcompensating to make up for it. “I’ll talk to her and smooth things over and I’ll make sure she apologizes for whatever it is that she said to you. She shouldn’t take her frustration out on you just because she was upset with me...”

Gojo nodded his head but you could clearly sense that he was not in the mood for any serious conversations right now. Taking himself out of this particular topic, Gojo quickly changed the subject after you made your last statement.

He kept the rest of the chat lighthearted, distracting your worries by telling you little anecdotes he had about his co-worker, Nanami. You suddenly found yourself giggling when Gojo revealed that he practically stalked Nanami for an entire day just so he could force the man to hang out him.

“I feel bad for the poor guy, you completely terrorize him,” you stated, clearing the table once you were both done eating.

You made your way over back to your kitchen where you rinsed off the bowls before placing it in the dishwasher. “You’re free to hang out if you want,” you offered, noticing Gojo get himself together as he was preparing to leave.

“I think I distracted you enough for tonight,” he replied.

You walked him to the door, following in line with his long strides. Just as he was about to reach the handle of your front door, he stopped before turning to face you.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation about what is going on between us,” he stated, his voice low and serious.

You blinked a couple of times in surprise before parting your lips to respond, “I know I don't owe anyone an explanation but I know what Rina’s feeling and the only way I can see myself fixing this problem is by telling her everything. We never keep secrets from each other and I would probably be equally as hurt if she chose to hide something from me too... ”

Gojo pressed his lips together, navigating the words floating in his mind before reaching his hand out to touch your fingers.

“I get it but I just…”

“ Just ?...”

He exhaled, “I don’t want you overthinking anything between us, okay?”

“Don’t worry, even though we are terrible at sticking to our own rules, I am fully aware of where we both stand…”

You notice the relief wash over Gojo’s face as he slips his fingers away from your touch, “Good, because I like what we are doing.”

“I-I like it too…” you replied almost instantly, your heart racing at your own admittance.

The sorcerer left you a bundle of nerves when he said his goodbye. The knot in your stomach made its presence known, twining itself around your insides as you couldn’t escape this foreign emotion that seemed to have infiltrated your body.

*** 

CHAPTER 11 - FRIENDS

[binniesthighs]

a/n: and we’ve got another lil valentines day drabble eeee hope you all are staying cuddly and fuzzy! 

sweet like strawberry | reader x felix

Paring: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee felix 

Genre: fluffy fluff hehe 

Tags: valentines day special, coworkers au, friends to lovers, cafe au, two cuties in love, stuck with you au, wintertime au, teeeny bits of magical vibes, mentions of food, teensy bit of food play (sfw but like a leeetle suggestive), that good good makin’ out hehe 

Word count: 4.7k 

Tagging: @stayhavens​ thank you for letting me join for Felix as well ❤️

“Oh! And one more thing, for some reason, the security system keeps acting up. If the doors don’t lock up the first time around, just try it a couple more times and I think that it should work...I kind of just try it enough times until it works.” 

Felix nervously adjusted his cap with the little embroidered yellow chick. 

“Okay. Sounds good to me.” 

Your boss tucked his neck deep into his cable scarf, then tipped both you and your coworker a little salute. 

“Thank you both for being here on Valentines Day. Just a couple more hours! You can do it!” 

The back door to the café slammed shut from the blustering winter wind behind your boss’ coattails. 

“It’s really coming down out there isn’t it?” Your friend, and coworker-in-suffering Felix, shifted from foot to foot. 

Outside of the shop windows, the howling of wind shook at the shutters of the the display case filled with little mock-up cakes and pastries. The snow storm had been unexpected, but it hadn’t seemed to dampen anyone’s spirits on the holiday. Since the snow had picked up in the afternoon, customers still came rolling into the cafe with flakes all caught up in their hair, scarves and hats. On this day in particular, you had seen dozens of school girls and boys come in carrying their stash of valentines letters, bouquets of flowers and all kinds of candies. Little groups of friends would share slices of your special Valentines Day cake and smear cream over each other’s noses in a tizzy of laughter. 

You didn’t mind Valentines Day; there was something extra heartwarming and universal about it all. One day, out of all the days of the year, everyone stopped for just a few moments to say “I love you” or give out an extra hug or kiss on the cheek. How could you not feel all lovey and gushy from it all? Maybe you were a romantic, or maybe you really had just watched one too many dramas to make you feel this way. 

Earlier, you had been making a couple lattes, and a couple sitting by the window had arranged to meet right at the loveseat by the door to exchange gifts. One of them had given the other a couple books and a journal, and the other gave them what looked like hand-knitted mittens. They held the frayed fabric in their hands while the watched how their partner reacted. Of course, they accepted the mittens with a wide smile then pulled their love in to give them a giant hug. 

I love them. So much. Thank you. 

You thought that was what they had said from as far away as you were. 

This kind of love, was your favorite kind. The kid of love that was unconditional, that was given no matter what time of day, no matter what it looked like or how it was expressed, it simply was. 

You had always hoped, this was the love that you would have some day. But, you hadn’t found it yet. Not in all your years of crushes from afar, or love letters written in the night when you should have ben doing work. You had wondered, what was it really like to have someone love you like that: a love that existed in the early mornings, and dead of the night; the kind of love that looked over at you for no reason, and smiled at you just because. 

Perhaps you would spend your whole life looking: and while it saddened you, in a few ways, you had come to terms with it. If you had to wait, that just meant that you were waiting for something really great...right? 

You wondered what kind of love Felix wanted. The thought had crossed your mind time and again. You figured, he was the kind to fall in love fast and all the time. He would even get crushes on people who would come to the register to pay for their coffee and custard tart. It was supremely adorable. He’d stammer over his words with hands trembling at the keys of the register, and the tips of his ears would turn rosy pink. 

“U-ummm here-here’s your receipt....” 

A tiny smile would spread across his freckled face after they would leave, then he would rake his cute little hands though his hair, stammering even more about what a fool he had made of himself. 

“Well, when you think about it, you might never see them again?” You’d joke to him with a playful jab to his side. 

“But what if I doooooo??” 

Maybe Felix was the kind of person who wanted a love that would last forever, or the kind of love that he could daydream about. You thought that this might’ve suited him. It seemed as if that boy was often in a faraway place. There had been a couple times when he would stare out the shop windows wistfully with his mop in hand, or would giggle a little when he made designs into the lattes and mochas. He was just so happy all the time, but for what, you had no idea. 

Maybe Felix already had a love. You wouldn’t put it past him seeing how dreamy he was often. Felix deserved love more than anyone in the world you had decided. He deserved some to love him so hard and all the time. Admittedly, it made your heart ache a little thinking about how badly he deserved it. He deserved someone to kiss away on all those freckles on his cheeks on his cute little wrists. He deserved someone to shower all their love into his strawberry pink lips, and ruffle up his golden hair just to make him laugh. 

Maybe...you wished that you could’ve been the person to do so. 

“Do you think that we’ll get any more customers?” 

Felix had squatted down on the floor behind the counter into a pseudo-sitting position. His tan apron crinkled on the ground. 

“Don’t you think that everyone’s gone out by now? And the snow is picking up?” 

You squatted down next to him. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing anyone else. There’s only one more hour left anyway.” 

A sly smirk started to sprout on his lips, “What if we left a little early? No one is coming so...” 

“Have somewhere that you need to be?” You patted his head. 

“...No, unless spending the night with my cats counts as “plans.”” 

“No...date?” 

“Date?” He scoffed, “Me? Nooooo.” He paused, and with a tentative air, met your eyes. “Do...you have plans tonight?” 

“Mm-no.” 

Felix sucked in a tight inhale, as if he was mustering his courage. 

“Well, m-maybe, after we leave, --only if you want--we could--” 

The bells over the café door tinkled, sweeping in snowy and white air in with it. 

“I’m sorry, are you still open?” 

The old woman carefully closed the door behind her and clung tightly to her shawl that was wrapped around her shoulders. Only dressed in the thin fabric, you figured that she must’ve been freezing. Both you and your coworker sprung to your feet to attend to her. 

“Yes! How can we help you?” 

She was an odd woman, the kind that you could only really describe to look witch-like. While she had warm features, her aged skin had grown stretched with little marks and veins feebly showing. Bags under her eyes were deep, but they didn’t look tired, but like they held many years of wisdom, like he had witnessed much, and knew much. 

“A-aren’t you cold?” Felix rushed to the other side of the corner to help her to a chair. “It’s so freezing outside, and you’ve barely got on a hat.” 

His tone was gentle, like the one that you guessed he would speak to his cats with. 

“I’m fine. Nights like these, I’ve lived through many of them. They don’t phase me any more. I just thought that I could come inside for a moment to have a slice of that strawberry cake that you have in the window. It looks very delicious.” 

You nodded quickly then plated the second to last slice for her. You brought the dish over quickly with a little fork. “Anything else that we can get for you?” 

The woman shook her head politely, then took up the fork in her shaking hands. She ate quietly, merely making little “mm’s” as she licked the cream away. You and your coworker didn’t really know what to do, seeing as she hadn’t paid, and wasn't shivering from the cold at all. Felix shot you a confused glance, then rushed to the back of the café and to his locker. You heard the usual metallic clang, and he came jogging back with his own scarf that he had worn that day. 

“H-here. Please put this on.” He offered her the periwinkle blue fabric. 

“Oh. Dear, you are so kind. I just knew that you would be such a sweet soul. I could sense it.” 

The woman dabbed her mouth with the napkin that you had placed under her plate. 

“That was wonderful, I could really taste the love that had been baked into that cake. It’s always refreshing to feel that.” 

You and Felix nodded, still unsure of the situation, but smiled as politely as you could. She then swaddled her neck in the scarf, and sighed in her contempt. 

“No one has ever offered me something like this before. You are quite special young man.” 

She had voiced the comment about Felix, but she had held your eyes as she said it. Her eyes were a bit hazy, some kind of color that must’ve been blue at some point, but here now a type of soft grey-lavender. They were enchanting, and mysterious, but you had felt that you had known them somehow. 

The old woman rummaged around in her pockets, the pulled out two gold coins that were hefty in size, and thick like the kind of candy ones. You had never seen anything like them before, and they were a bit comical to look at, but still shone like the golden sun. On both sides of the coin, there was no writing, but merely an insignia of two arrows crossed over eachother. 

“I think that should suffice.” Her chair creaked under her as she rose, and placed one in your hand and the other in Felix’s. “Thank you so much for taking care of me. Both of you deserve all the love that’s coming to you. I hope that you remember this.” 

Felix muttered and turned over his coin in his hand. “T-thank you.” 

You shot Felix a glare. You had not the slightest idea how you could have accepted this as payment, but Felix seemed completely fine with it. 

The woman’s crinkled hand wrapped around the door handle, and she pulled her shawl around her once again, then buried her neck back into Felix’s scarf. 

“Happy Valentines Day!” She waved to you both, and you found yourself waving back. 

The door slammed, and you felt as if you had been snapped out of some kind of hypnosis. 

“Wow.” Felix whispered with a little smile. 

“What. The heck. Was that?” Your body trembled in the way that you would’ve have as if you had plunged right out of cold water. 

Felix stood smiling and gazing out, not even paying attention to your remark. 

“Felix? ...Felix?” 

“Hmm?” He turned nonchalant. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“What?” 

You reached your hand down the pocket of your apron to study that strange coin only to find that you couldn’t feel the cold metal. 

“...What?” You rummaged around even further. “I could’ve sworn...” 

In Felix’s hands which he had left cupped in front of him, his gold coin had vanished too, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I hope that this works.” 

Felix’s mittened hands tapped over the keys of the security system keypad and he mouthed the numbers as he did so. The pad illuminated with a green light and made little beeping sounds with each number. Once he finished the sequence, it flashed with a red light. 

“...Does that mean that it didn’t work?” 

“I think so?” 

The two of you had shoved your bodies together in the little corner nearest the back exit of the café. 

“I should try it again?” 

“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” 

Felix gave a determined nod, then did the passcode, only for it to flash red again. 

“Oh my god, what if we mess this all up and then someone breaks into the café and then we get fired--I mean--I get fired because it would be all my fault--” 

You snarked out a laugh and pushed him lightly aside, “Here, let me try. No one’s getting in trouble.” 

You pressed in the same code, getting red once more. 

“What do we do????” 

As if it was his security blanket, Felix tucked his neck into his coat collar. 

“One more time, alright? Maybe there’s a manual in the office or something. We can try that.” 

An ahhh circled Felix’s mouth and he let out a relieved exhale. “Right. Right. That’s a good idea.” 

This time, you pressed the numbers in hard, as if that would make any difference, but you thought it best to try. But, red again. 

“I’ll go check the office,” Felix announced, and shuffled closer to the manager’s office near the back door. He wiggled the doorknob, finding it locked as well. “We’re doooooommed.” 

“No, we’re not. I’m not giving up.” 

In your head, you cursed out the damned security system up and down. If it wasn’t going to work, you would make it work. 

“5. 9. 2. 5. 0. 8.” 

beep beep beEP! 

“Oh my god!!! It worked!!” Your friend jumped up and down in his excitement. 

“Thank God.” 

Felix hiked up his backpack on his shoulders, grabbing the door handle at first, but then stopped. 

“Wait.” He licked his lips, “Before we go out there, I...I wanted to ask you, since it seems like we’re both not doing anything tonight, would you like to maybe...do something...with me?” 

His anxious eyes widened, and you could see his breaths quicken under his wool coat. For a moment, you couldn’t even believe that he had said such a thing. Normally a timid boy, his strike of courage was something that was astonishing to you, but it also made your heart beat just a bit louder in your ears. 

“You want to do something...with me?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Me?” 

He giggled lightly. “I just said you.” 

“On Valentines Day?” 

“I-is that weird? I-I’m sorry if I’m weirding you out, I didn’t mean to. I know that we’re friends a-and I think that you’re really cool--I’ve always thought that--but, I never really had the guts to say so, and honestly I don’t know how I’m getting it out now but, I just don’t like the thought of being alone right now, or you being alone. So--” 

“--Felix! Felix, calm down...” Even though your chest was thumping, your sweating hands squeezed your palms to calm yourself down. 

“Sorry...I ramble when I get kind of nervous.” 

His hands nervously fidgeted at his sides, and under the light of the emergency exit sign, a glimmer of gold winked between his fingers. 

Felix asked his question with glimmering eyes. “Would you like to?” 

“Yes. Yes. I would really really like to.” 

“Really?” His smile was filled with the very sunshine that he seemed to carry with him every day. 

“Really.” 

“Okay.” He reached for the handle once more, yanking it down, but instead of it swinging from it’s hinges, it clanked, glued to the wall. 

“What?” Felix shook at the handle once more. “It’s not...budging.” 

“Let me try.” You mirrored his action, and sure enough, the door had locked itself in place. “Wait. I thought that it wasn’t supposed to lock after we exited?” 

“I...thought the same.” 

Once giddy, Felix turned solemn and worry chased across his brows. 

“No. Nononono. This can’t be happening.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll just unlock it again.” 

You went back to your mortal enemy, the keypad, and pushed in the buttons, but no green light came from the action. 

“Is it on? Is that supposed to happen?” Felix’s tone edged with anxiety. 

The display screen on the interface had turned blank too. You had seen in movies that if you slapped the thing, maybe it would turn on, but after you had tried, nothing happened. 

“I’ll try the other door.” Felix scuffled over the the front of the café, and you could hear the answer loud and clear even from the back. The other door also had locked and it’s metallic clang resonated through the empty tables and chairs. 

“What do we do?” He asked once he returned to you in the back. 

Even though your heart was racing its way up your throat, you remained as calm as you could. “We call for help. It’ll be okay. Look, there's a phone number here on the panel to call the service company.” 

You drew your phone from your pocket, and it added yet one more object to your list of worries. “I-I don’t have service?? What the hell?” 

Felix opened his phone screen too, and showed you his non-existent bars. “Me too. It’s gotta be the storm right?” 

Your coworker’s eyes flicked back and forth in the darkened hallway, and you could hear his breaths start to quicken one after the other. 

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” You fluffed his hair like you had down a few times before, an action that never failed to make him giggle, so you hoped it helped put him at ease. He keened his hand into your hand a bit like a cat would, and it was just too frickin’ cute, even in a situation just as this. 

“So we’re just gonna wait? Wait until our service comes back?” 

“I guess so.” 

Felix started with taking his coat off, and hung it back up in his locker. “Who knows how long that we’ll be here?” 

You did the same, but left your hat on, merely liking the way that it warmed up your head. “Maybe we can make ourselves something to drink? How about, I make something for you, and you make something for me? Sounds kinda fun?” 

“Sure.” Felix responded with a faint smile. 

In the dim lighting of that hallway, you reached for his small hand at his side. 

“Um, looks like we’re still getting to spend tonight together. I wish that it wasn’t like this, but, it’s something, right?” 

He was startled by your action, but let your fingers lace between his. The small connection was the one that had made you feel butterflies just thinking about, and now it really was happening. 

“Felix...I’ve thought before, I think that you’re really cool too.” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knew that using the ingredients for your own experimentation was against the rules, but you had hoped that your boss would’ve understood considering the situation. The rule had been written on the little spreadsheet that he kept taped to the side of the syrup holder, but that wasn’t going to stop you. 

“No peeking.” Felix giggled as he shook something together in one of the hand-held mixers. 

“No peeking to you either.” You said, scooping some macerated strawberries into the bottom of a cup. 

For a boy as sweet as him, you knew exactly what you wanted to make: it was your own version of the strawberry milk that you had made in the café, but it had chocolate dripping down the sides of the glass and it was topped with chocolate shavings and a lovely amount of whipped cream. 

“You done yet?” You asked while adding your finishing touches. 

“Juuust about.” He rummaged around the little array of fresh prepared herbs that you kept in the minifridge under the counter. “Oookay! Now I am!” 

In the corner of your eye, that last slice of strawberry cake called your name. You thought to yourself, I could always make more. It was the last slice anyway. 

The two of you made a little set up at one of the tables and Felix even thought to turn off a few of the light fixtures, and brought out a couple of those birthday candles that you would use on customers, and arranged them in a cup to burn. 

Celebrate! 

Happy Birthday! 

You Are Special! 

Congratulations! 

“Aw, cute.” You slid your drink for him closer, and admired the way that the yellow glow of the candles flickered in his soft brown eyes. 

“I-I thought that it would make it more special, considering that where we are isn’t like, the most special place. Especially for tonight.” 

“I think that it’s special. Or, who you’re with is what makes it special.” 

Your coworker smiled coyly, then took a sip of your strawberry milk. 

“Try yours!” He pushed the iced drink in front of you. It looked a bit like lemonade, but not exactly. Swirls of purple juice danced along with the pulp of the lemons. He had garnished it with a sprig of mint. “It’s blackberry lemonade. I’m sorry if it’s kind of tart. It was my first time making it, but I thought that you would like it.” 

You took a sip, and the second that the concoction touched your lips, it was heavenly. While it was a little tart, the juice of the lemon bit wonderfully on your taste buds, and was complimented well with the sweetness from the ripe berries. 

“Good?” 

“Really good. Thank you.” 

He sighed a sigh of relief, then passed you a fork. 

“Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.” 

“You thought that being trapped with me would be a bad thing?” You teased. 

Felix’s eyes adorably widened, looking as if he had spilled his strawberry milk all over the table. “N-no, I didn’t mean that, I just thought that being locked up would feel--” 

“--I’m kidding! Kidding, okay?” 

A tiny oh formed on his mouth, so he took another sip to fill the gap of silence between you. “Your drink is really good too. How did you know that I liked strawberries so much?” 

“Hm, it was a hunch.” 

Actually, he had said it a dozen times or more, but, it was much cuter letting him think that he hadn’t said it before. 

With the light of the candles now dripping a bit of wax onto the table, all of his features seemed so much softer: he was like some kind of dream, almost like a mythical being that you must’ve imagined. 

You wondered, maybe this was the kind of love that he wanted: the kind of love that was sharing something that you had made, something special to you in a simple place, a place that was not much else other than the people who made it. Or, maybe this was the kind of love that you wanted. 

Your pants pocket felt a little heaver, and you snuck your fingers in. The touch of your fingertips felt the cold and smooth metal first, then they ran over the outline of the arrow shapes on the flat side. 

“Mmm. You made this cake so well!!” Felix did a little dance while popping in a bite. 

“Felix?” You ran your finger over the golden piece. “I’m glad that we’re stuck here together.” 

“Me...too.” He shied. 

Carefully, you took your fingers to trace the yellow strands of his hair dipping over his forehead, taking in the way that they tickled your skin. In his nervousness, he took another sip, gulping loudly with eyes fluttering. On his lower lip, a bit of the cream streaked, and all you could do was wonder how it might’ve tasted there on his strawberry pink lips. 

“Can I...kiss you?” 

You could nearly see the way that his heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird in the way that his shoulders rose and fell with his anticipatory breaths. 

“Yes.” He whispered. 

You leaned forward slowly as to not scare him, tilting your head to the side as you pressed your lips against his. You had thought right: there really was nothing sweeter. His shaking breaths quivered over your lips while he tentatively kissed back, and it made your chest ache thinking about how nervous he must’ve been. You didn’t want to startle him, bur rather gently kissed him slow, carefully and respectfully. He shivered at the feeling, and his hand crinkled the napkin in his hand. The other, he had drawn out to rest on your leg, and rubbed his thumb into your jeans. The sweetness of the cream on his lips caught on yours, and it was unlike any kind of flavor you could have ever imagined. 

After a moment, you drew back, and Felix appeared like he was about to burst with giggles but held himself back. 

“I-I really liked that.” He tried his best to keep his composure. 

“Me too.” Turns out, you really didn’t know what to do with yourself either. Instead, Felix made the decision for you. In seconds, he had launched his small body into your arms and wrapped himself around you in a hug so tight that it was nearly suffocating. 

“I always kinda wondered what that would be like...with you.” He squeezed you tighter. “I can’t believe that just happened.” His smile cracked though his words. 

You wrapped your arms back around him and you could have sworn that you could feel his fluttering heart against your own. 

“Me too Felix.” You breathed in his scent which was that of daisies and candy floss. 

“Can we...do it again maybe?” He leaned back with arms slung around your shoulders and pleading eyes. 

“Of course.” You wove your hands into his puff-ball hair. “Can I try something?” 

An even more sickly sweet idea crept into your brain. 

“What’s that?” 

You took your thumb to scoop up just a little bit more of the cream bubbling on his drink, then carefully wiped it over his bottom lip, just as if you had been coloring him like a finger painting. You sucked off the excess, and he watched as you did so with wonder. 

“You’re just so sweet, I can’t get enough of you.” You hushed into him, leaning closer once more. 

His eyes fluttered closed, and with his quivering breath, he waited for you to kiss away the taste there, sucking the flavor into your mouth, then going to kiss over his parted mouth. A rather awkward creaking of chairs echoed, and he pulled his body closer to yours, and let you fill him to the brim with kisses in all of the places that you desired. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he even giggled into some of your kisses too. His hands found the sides of your face where he held you there gently. Once he was comfortable, the warm feeling of your tongues met, and he nearly melted from the sensation. Your hands crept around his tiny waist, and you never let go. 

It felt like the moment that you had been waiting for. 

Your lips broke, and Felix threw his arms over your shoulders again, dipping his head into the crook of your neck where he stayed for a while as you ran your fingers up and down his back. 

Outside it was a much colder and harsher world, but here, it was your own kind of paradise, and it was sweet like strawberry. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

At some point, you had fallen asleep together on one of the loveseats: a pile of legs and arms all tangled up together. When the morning came, the snow had subsided, but rather was caught up everywhere in the streets and sidewalks, and sparkled like diamonds. 

It was your manager that had woken you up, and of course you had gotten in trouble, not at first for sleeping in the café, but for leaving the all the doors unlocked. 

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[ikevamp-shrine]

It’s a match up baby

hi, i'd like a matchup if they're open! i’m a female aries, ISFP, 5'3, and a hufflepuff! i’m kind, soft-hearted & cheerful, & i’m pretty smiley unless i’m upset, then i tend to withdraw, falling silent and retreating somewhere quiet in case i might cry. i can be kind of childlike as well; i get excited easily! i’m clumsy too, and my legs are usually covered with bruises and scratches. i’m pretty introverted around strangers, but i become more open and hyper around friends and family! i’m an affectionate person, i’ll hug or cling to friends (especially if i'm scared)! i like baking whenever i have free time (baked goods will be shared with my friends)! i knit scarves; i like writing, reading, listening to music and watching movies. i get mood swings sometimes, or i’ll feel sad suddenly (plus i get anxious and stressed, overthinking and assuming the worst), so reassurance is appreciated! i also hate thunderstorms and loud noises, since they scare me! thank you so much! 💛💛💛

Thank you @3rdgymbros for requesting, I hope you enjoy. Have a good rest of the day.

I MATCH YOU WITH...

Arthur Conan Doyle

at first he would be absolutely terrified to come near you, besides to flirt obviously, because he would think the moment he touched you- you would disappear from his arms just like everyone else in his past

when I say this man’s heart would melt when he saw how kind you were and how soft your heart is- I mean it. 

If he happened to see you go an extra mile to help someone he wouldn’t be able to stop just looking at you with that soft boi smile and love in his eyes

And when you smile at him- my lord- it’s like he can feel all his darkness he keeps in his heart just float away from how bright you look

when he first saw how you reacted to being upset or hurt he was angry honestly, and a little sad

angry because the thought that, normally, the people who shut down when sad are the people who have been hurt by someone else telling them that their emotions make them weak, that you should just get over it, or they had their emotions used against them, wouldn’t stop running through his mind

and sad because he wants nothing more to help you and hold you in your moment of need, but he knows that if he pushes you too far you will never open up to him. So all he can do is make you a drink, give you tissues, and fudge, and tell you he is a great listener if you ever needed an ear

if he happens to catch you crying, and you are okay with being seen at that moment, he wouldn’t hesitate to grab you and hold you close while either humming an old tune he knows or distract you by telling you a wonderous tale of great adventures 

this man notices everything so when he noticed your childlike excitement even towards the tiniest things he can’t help the devilish smirk that just spells trouble that appears on his face

he would take so much advantage on this fact. I mean- surprises, gifts, sugary sweet words, basically anything that makes you smile he’ll do it- just to see that excitement of yours one more time

Clumsy and constantly has small injuries or bruises? No problem! Doctor Doyle to the rescue. He would constantly carry around a few first aid supplies just in case you happen to trip over air and scrap your knee, or bump into a pole in the middle of the walk way that any normal person could see and get bruised

of course working in a few sweet, flirty words while he bandaged you up

while you being introverted towards strangers was definitely a problem at the being of your relationship, Arthur would always find a way to bring you out of your shell and do something with you that you enjoy

he honestly thought it was adorable how you were so quite and shy at the beginning 

and whenever you felt comfortable enough to show the hyper and excited side of you he loved seeing it just as much

basically this man would love every inch of you

one time you two were sitting in his room, he was writing and you were doing your normal thing to entertain yourself, when the sound of the originally distant thunder crashed loudly right above your heads

the screech you let out shocked Arthur, yes, but the moment he felt your trembling arms wrap around him and you hide your face in the soft fabric of his clothing, he thought he heart would stop from how fast it was beating

he would be terrified of the feelings he would have for you- the way you keep him on his toes, guessing what you will do next makes him weak to you and you alone

if you ever baked him a treat he would definitely lick his lips and stare at the treat with big puppy eyes before digging in and making a dramatic scene by picking you up, twirling you in his arms, and go on and on about how you’re the best baker he has ever met

you made him a scarf once.... and now he won’t take it off. Worships it like it’s gold honestly.

Once he would find out you’re a writer too, the teasing would not stop

he of course would read over what ever you allowed him too- pushing his glasses up every once in a while, while poking his lip out, and mumbling how you just ended his career

you better bet once he finished another book you would be the first one he shows it to

I can just imagine it now... you would be doing... whatever you shall please and he would appear out of no where- skipping towards you- with his writing in his hand

he would shove it in your hands and smile at you- not saying a word- and glance down at his writing then back at you... once again with puppy dog eyes

he would know you like music, just by the way he caught you humming one of Mozart’s pieces, so he would always take you gently by the hand and dance with you whenever you two heard music (if you like to dance)

when- if ever- he saw one of your ‘mood swings’ (as you call them) and saw how sad you were, he would do everything in his power to 1- make you smile and 2- to be prepared the next time it happened

you had a hard day, a very hard day, one time and your anxiety and stress was just rolling off you in big, old, fat waves. I mean the whole nine yards- shaking, playing with your fingers, looking side to side constantly, breathing fast, you name it

he would whisk you away, take you to a quiet room away from everyone else, and just hold you while you cried (if you would cry in a situation like that) on his shoulder- no questions asked

his hand would not stop petting you gently, his humming would not stop until you calmed down, his encourages he knew you loved hearing would not stop, his compliments, whispers of love, small kisses on your forehead would not stop

once you had settled down he would pull away from you while still keeping his hands on your shoulders, just to reassure you he was there, and ask who he needed to beat up

OTHER MATCHES INCLUDE:...

Wolfgang Mozart

I might ship you with him a tiny bit more than Arthur (I’m not too sure) I just think that your kindness and soft heart would break through the wall he places between himself and others. When he first saw your childlike excitement his stone cold façade about dropped by how shocked he was at the emotions he was feeling, witnessing you bounce around like a toddler. The first time he saw you walk away, to hide, tears brimming in your eyes, the guilt and self hatred he felt was so overwhelming. He had said a nasty comment that went too far, obviously hurting your feeling, and he loathed himself- like wanted to punch a wall loathed himself- and you know his hands can’t take any damage or his career and passion is over. This man would practically be on his knees, face red as a tomato, looking everywhere but your tear filled eyes, begging for you too stop your unnecessary crying and get over it because he had... feelings of regret (his way of apologizing lol). 

Your introverted reactions towards strangers both brought him closer and pushed him away. Closer because you reminded him of Jean and he thought it wouldn’t be too bad to get to tolerate your presence, some. And it pushed him away because ya know... both of you are introverts that don’t look for conversation or human contact at the beginning. When there would be a thunder storm and you grabbed onto him he would tense up at first and tell you to get off but once he saw how bad you were shaking he sighed, shook his head, rolled his eyes, and awkwardly pat your head until you calmed down. You like baking, he likes chocolate BOOM! ultimate couple. Mozart is not the best with words but he would encourage and reassure you in his own way (you're job is just to notice it and accept that, that is just how he is). He is also not good with emotions or people touching him but whenever you get stressed or anxious he’ll allow you to rest your head in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around him (Jean would be sooo disappointed knowing you two do premarital hugging *sigh* the shame)

MASTER LIST

[gryffindorcls]

Knitted Miracles

Hello, lovely readers!

This is my piece for the ML Secret Santa 2019 exchange ( @mlsecretsanta ).

@miraculousnisses, this for you. I heard that you liked Marichat and Adrienette, so here is Part 1 of a fluff-filled fic with both! I hope you enjoy it!

Be on the look-out for Part 2.  It will be posted later this week!

AO3

FanFiction

---

Part 1

“So, bakery girl, huh?” Plagg poked his holder on the arm.

Adrien glared at his Kwami. “Not now, Plagg.”

“Oh, yes, now. Kid, we really need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t. Why are you bringing this up right now anyway?”

Plagg looked at him with sadness behind his eyes. “You really don’t know?”

“No,” Adrien said, shaking his head.

“Let’s just say that for someone who’s supposed to be trying to start a relationship with Kagami, you looked like one smitten kitten with Marinette today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Even though you’ve never said it out loud, I think we both know that you have very strong feelings for Marinette."

Adrien turned away. “Stop it. I’m not in love with Marinette.”

Plagg deadpanned. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. Marinette is just a…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘friend’. I saw the way you were looking at her when you two went to the park with Alya and Nino. That’s not the first time I’ve caught you looking at her like that. You didn’t even look at sword girl like that when you took her to that fancy restaurant last week.”

“Really?” Adrien ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you sure? Because I felt like the two of us had a connection.”

Plagg groaned. “Felt or wanted to feel.”

“Uhhhh…”

“Kid, this isn’t my first time watching two teenagers drool over each other. You look at Kagami with fondness. I can tell that you care about her, but I’m really not feeling the love. Now, Marinette...that’s a whole other look. I’ve seen pictures of you as Chat Noir, and the only other girl you looked at like that was your spotted partner.”

“I don’t want to think about Ladybug right now.”

“Is that because you’re thinking about Marinette?”

Adrien took a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I can’t be in love with Marinette. She is in love with Luka.”

The Kwami crossed his arms. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t sound too sure just then.”

“They’re together all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean that they’re dating.”

“I guess not.”

“So, go tell the girl how you feel.”

Adrien walked over to his bed and took a seat. “I can’t.”

“That’s not true, and we both know it.” Plagg zipped over to Adrien and landed on his lap. “You were able to tell Ladybug how you felt.”

“That was different. Marinette is different. She’s…”

“Real. There are no masks to get in the way of you two getting to know each other. Marinette is a girl who you see almost every day, and she’s your friend.”

“Yeah, I...Plagg, no! I can’t think about this right now.”

“And why not?”

“I just can’t.”

Plagg met his gaze. “I swear on all the cheese in the world, if you can tell me with one hundred percent certainty that you are not in love with Marinette, I will stop.”

“I can’t do that either,” Adrien said, shaking his head.

“Let me get this straight. Right now, you’re saying that you can’t tell Marinette that you’re in love with her.

"Yes."

"And at the same time, you can’t tell me that you’re not in love with Marinette.”

“Also, yes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Does it really?”

“Uhhh...yes?”

The tiny being sighed. “I’m tired of seeing you look sad all the time. I was hoping things would work out with Kagami, but I knew they wouldn’t. She isn’t right for you. It’s like trying to fit a brass key into a silver lock. You two aren’t made for each other. I think it’s time for you to go after something that will make you happy.”

“Happy?” Adrien stared blankly across the room.

“Yes, happy. I think Marinette could make you happy. Last Christmas, you ran out of this room and almost Cataclysmed a tree. I don’t want that for you again this year. Or...even worse...I don’t want to see you get Akumatized. That would be catastrophic. This time of year seems to make you feel sad, and being in a relationship with someone who you really love could change everything for you.”

“I don’t know, Plagg.”

“Trust me, kid. A miserable Chat Noir is not nearly as effective as a happy Chat Noir, and you’ve been unhappy for a while. You need this. Paris needs this. We all need this.”

Adrien drooped. “But I can’t just go up to her and tell her that I like her. We’re friends, and she’s never shown any interest in being anything more.”

Plagg cackled. “Please tell me you’re joking? That’s a joke, right? I mean, I know you said that when you thought she was in love with Luka, but I thought you were just saying that to make yourself feel better.”

“I’m not following you.”

“That girl has been head over heels for you two met...well, once she stopped being mad at you.”

“That’s not possible. She told me that she only likes me as a friend.”

“And you believed her?”

“Yes? Was I not supposed to?”

Plagg shook his head. “Wow. Your love for Ladybug really blinded you from the truth, didn’t it? I think it’s time that you started paying closer attention. What you see might just surprise you.”

Adrien’s mind began to wander. “Do I really like Marinette? She’s always been just a...no. Plagg’s right. Marinette is special, but is that love? And if it is, could she really be in love with…”

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as an alarm pierced through the silence. “Ugh. I don’t have time for this right now. I have a solo patrol tonight, and Ladybug will be really ticked off if I miss it.”

The Kawmi shrugged. “I guess I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Plagg, CLAWS OUT!”

***

Marinette sat quietly at her desk and did her best to focus on the steady pattern she was supposed to be creating with her knitting needles. It was a repetitive activity, but it helped to take her mind off of the creeping sadness that threatened to bubble to the surface if she let her thoughts wander for too long. Her hands moved rhythmically as she tried to ignore the tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. As her vision blurred, her frustration grew.

Upon reaching the end of a row, she did her best to blink away the tears before inspecting her work. Marinette held the dark blue scarf up to the light only to find that she had skipped several stitches. Wetness fell from her eyes and warmed her cheeks as she pulled apart her work.

In an annoyed huff, she threw the scarf, skein, and needles to the ground. Marinette buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

“I can’t do this, Tikki!” she cried.

Within seconds, she felt the gentle pressure of her Kwami landing on her shoulder. “Oh, Marinette. You’ve made plenty of scarves before. It’s okay to make a mistake every once in a while. See! You went back and fixed it. Now you can make it even better than it was before.”

“I wasn’t talking about the scarf.”

“I know. I was just trying to take your mind off of everything.”

Marinette lifted her head and offered the tiny red being the biggest smile she could muster. “Thanks, Tikki. I appreciate it, but it’s just been so hard since...and the Miracle Box...and now the scarf...I can’t. I thought I did the right thing by giving up Adrien.”

“You did what you thought was best.”

“Did I? Because it doesn’t feel that way right now?”

“Only you can answer that question.”

“Did you see the way he was looking at me today? I wanted it to be love. That’s wrong! I shouldn’t have these feelings anymore.”

“It’s okay, Marinette. You’ve had a lot of changes in your life over the past few months.”

“Why do I still feel like this? Why do I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and thrown into a blender? Sure, I had a few days where I felt okay with my decision, but it’s getting harder now. Luka has been so kind and patient. I know he loves me, but I can’t even give him a chance because I can’t let go of my feelings for another boy. And now I’m making him this scarf for Christmas...I’m even using the same pattern I used for Adrien’s. I’m a failure, and this is a disaster!”

“You’re not a failure.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Tikki landed on the desk and looked up. “Well, do you think you followed your heart?”

Marinette wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand. “I just want Adrien to be happy. He was happy with Kagami.”

“And you don’t think that Adrien could be happy with you?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that he’s always called me his friend. He’s never seen me as anything more than that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Tikki, I’m sure.”

“You know, today’s not the first time I’ve seen Adrien look at you that way. I think he’s always had feelings for you, but I also think he doesn’t realize what those feelings mean.”

“What?”

Tikki smiled. “You mean you didn’t notice?”

Marinette looked away. “No...I mean...why would I? I’ve tried to push away my feelings for him. Honestly, until recently, I was simply trying to not make a fool out of myself when I talked to him. We can see how well that worked out.”

“Even when you got nervous or stuttered, he still looked at you with love in his eyes. I saw it all the time. He never made a declaration like Luka did, but you don’t always need words to express your love for another person. Actions speak just as loudly.”

“It doesn’t matter. Adrien is dating someone.”

“Did he say that he was dating someone?”

“No.”

“And you’re friends with Kagami, right? Did she say that she was dating Adrien?”

“No.”

“So…”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Tikki! I just can’t! I can’t go back to having that stupid, mind-numbing crush on him.

The Kwami smiled. “You know, I think it might be different this time. Maybe you should try being honest with Adrien. Nothing extravagant...just talk to him. You two seem to have become much closer over the past few months.”

“We have, but I can’t just go up to him!”

“Why not?”

“Because that never worked before!”

“That’s because you were overthinking it. Just look for an opening in the conversation the next time you talk to him.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Like any conversation I have with Adrien is ever going to go in that direction.”

“You never know.”

“It’d take a miracle for that to happen.”

Marinette put her head on the desk as a heavy silence fell between the two of them. Moments later, she heard a crash on the balcony, causing her to jump and scream.

“Tikki!” she whispered loudly, “HIDE!”

The red Kwami zipped out of view as Marinette grabbed a textbook off of her desk and carefully climbed the ladder to her bed. Using the book as a shield, she tentatively opened the hatch that led to her balcony.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got here, but I have...a...uh...A BOOK! And I’m not afraid to use it!” she yelled into the night.

Still covering her face with the textbook, Marinette heard a pained groan. “Ugh...I’m sorry, Marinette. I just...I wasn’t watching. I don’t even know why I’m here. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go. I’m so sorry.”

She lowered the book and dropped it onto her bed when her eyes fell on her partner sprawled across the ground with a lawn chair lying on top of him. “Chat?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you need help?”

“Yes, please.”

Marinette walked over to the fallen hero, uprighted the lawn chair, and extended her hand. Chat took it and lifted himself off of the ground.

“Thanks,” he mumbled under his breath.

She gave him a small smile. “Anytime, but I have to ask...is there a reason why you’re here?”

Chat looked away. “Umm...it’s not important. Once again, I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll just get going now.”

“Wait!” Marinette shouted, surprising herself.

He turned around to face her. “Yes?”

“I...uh...um...did you want to come in?”

“You want me to come inside your room?”

“Uh...yes? I could use the company right now.”

“Why do you need…” He paused before continuing to speak. “Marinette, have you been crying?”

She lowered her head. “No.”

Chat slowly approached her. When he was close enough, he extended his hand and lifted her head by gently pushing up her chin with his finger.

“Oh, Marinette,” he whispered, “Why are you sad? Who did this to you? Someone with a soul as beautiful as yours shouldn’t be crying.”

She stifled a small sob. “No one did anything. It’s all my fault...or maybe it’s no one’s fault...I don’t even know anymore.”

“Would you really feel better if I came inside? I’d do anything to see you smile right now.”

Marinette felt her cheeks grow warm. “I...uh...maybe? It’s worth a try. We’re friends...right?”

He smiled. “Yes, we’re friends, and I think I could use the company right now, too.”

Marinette reopened the hatch and beckoned for Chat to follow. In a matter of seconds, she and the leather-clad hero were standing in the middle of her room. They both seemed to be waiting for the other person to speak first.

After a minute that felt like a lifetime, she finally broke the silence. “You can sit anywhere you’d like. Just let me put away the scarf I was working on. It’s not like I’m actually going to get it done tonight anyway.”

Marinette walked over to her desk and picked up the discarded project while Chat padded over to her chaise and took a seat.

She tossed the scarf into a drawer, sat down in her desk chair, and looked up. “Would you like something to eat or drink? I can grab some pastries from the kitchen if you’d like.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually, can I ask what the scarf is for? Is that why you’re upset? You seem kind of frustrated with it.”

“Well, it’s for someone who I care for very much, but let’s just say that it’s shaping up to be the most thoughtless gift I’ve ever made.”

“You’re taking time out of your day to make this person something. How can that be thoughtless?”

“This scarf isn’t exactly an original idea.”

“So? I for one can tell you from personal experience that getting a homemade scarf is a really wonderful gift.”

Marinette slumped in the chair and sighed. “Not this one.”

Chat got up, sat on the floor in front of Marinette, and took her hands in his. “Would you like to talk about it? It might make you feel better.”

“No?”

“You didn’t sound too sure about that.”

Tears began to fall from her eyes as she pulled her hands away from Chat and covered her face. “I’m not sure about anything anymore! I thought I was, but I’m not! I feel even more lost than I was before!”

“Oh, no, Princess. Please don’t cry again. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. Trust me, I was feeling pretty unsure about some things today, too. It helped when I talked about it, but if you just want to sit, that’s fine. What can I do to make you feel better?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Marinette chuckled at the sound of his nickname for her. “I could use a hug.”

“Consider it done.”

“But we barely know each other.”

“That’s not true. You just said we were friends. We’ve talked before, and you even told me that you loved me once.”

She sniffled and did her best to smile. “Yeah...I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

“Because I was actually in love with someone else. I panicked...for...uh...reasons...and I messed everything up! I always mess everything up! Why couldn’t I be braver, Chat? If I was, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Chat held open his arms. “I think it’s time for that hug. Come here.”

Marinette bit her lip. “Really?”

He nodded, and she slid onto the floor next to him. The second Chat wrapped his arms around her, she felt all the tension in her muscles disappear. Marinette could have sworn that she heard the slight rumble of a purr as she melted into his embrace.

“Chat?” she asked, snuggling against his chest.

He tightened his hold on her. “Yes?”

“Did you mean it when you said you’d listen if I talked about what was on my mind?”

“Yes, Princess. I’m all ears, and this cat’s got excellent hearing.”

She pulled away from him. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I told you a really stupid yet incredibly painful story?”

Chat reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “If it’s bothering you, then it’s not stupid.”

“No, it’s stupid, or at least it makes me feel that way sometimes. I’ve never told the whole story to anyone...not even Alya. She knows most of it, but she doesn’t know everything.”

“It’s okay. Only tell me what you want to tell me.”

She sighed. “It’s about a boy.”

“Oh, of course, it is. Of course, you’re in love with someone. Just my luck.” Chat closed his eyes and threw his head back. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have listened to Plagg.”

“What?”

“Sorry...never mind. Don’t worry about me. I was just thinking about something my Kwami said to me earlier. Oh, a Kwami is…”

“It’s okay! No need to explain. I know what a Kwami is. Remember, I was Multimouse.”

“That’s right! How could I forget? Please...continue.”

“I...um...okay. Well, there’s this boy who goes to my school, and I was in love with him. And it didn’t feel like the ‘butterflies in your stomach’ kind of love. No, it felt like the kind of love that I imagine the moon probably has for the sun. You know? Like...when he was around, everything was brighter, and now that he’s gone, the world feels dark and cold.”

“I see.” Marinette briefly saw Chat’s face fall before watching his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait...was? You mean you’re not in love with him anymore?”

“Maybe I am...or not...I don’t know. Actually, you know what? Yes, I am. I’m still in love with him. Ohmygod.” She felt her eyes grow wide.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never said those words out loud before. I’m still in love with him. It feels kind of good to finally admit that, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen between the two of us anyway. It’s hopeless.”

“Is this the same boy who broke your heart before? Because if it is, then…”

“No! It’s not like that! I kept telling him that I only liked him as a friend. It’s kind of my fault that he got the wrong idea. However, I also blame the universe for all the failed attempts at trying to profess my love to him.”

“What kind of attempts did you make?”

“I tried to tell him hundreds of times. Let’s see...there was the Valentine I forgot to sign and the phone call that I messed up. I tried recruiting my friends to help me confess my love to him by using some convoluted plan involving codenames and flowers. Oh, and there was this one time when I wrote him a love letter and wound up giving him a different paper with something really embarrassing on it instead. I even made him a scarf for his birthday...just like the one I’m making now. I didn’t sign the card on that gift either.”

“I see. Is the scarf you’re making now for the same boy?”

She sighed. “No, there’s this other boy who kind of confessed his love for me. I would be lying if I said the thought of his words didn’t make my heart flutter; however, the more I try to see him as more than just a friend, the more something doesn’t feel right. Luka is wonderful, but I don’t think I’m in love with him.”

Chat’s whole face brightened. “So, it’s not Luka?”

“No, it’s…”

“Yes?”

“I just...um...when I first met him, I didn’t like him. You know Chloe? Of course, you know Chloe...she was Queen Bee. Well, I thought he was like her. They came from the same world, and they were childhood friends. Then, he gave me his umbrella when I forgot mine at home. I know it seems silly, but it was such a selfless gesture. He did it without hesitation. It’s as if doing stuff like that is just a part of who he is. Once I discovered his kindness, that was it for me. I was head over heels for him.”

Chat held up his hand. “Hold on. Did you just say that he gave you his umbrella?”

Marinette nodded. “Yes, it closed on my head after he handed it to me. We both laughed...oh, his laugh. His laugh is like listening to birds singing on a warm summer day.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

“Yeah, let’s just say that I’m really, really in love with him. Anyway, I bumbled around him for months. I could barely function, and I’m guessing that’s why all my attempts to confess fell flat. Still, no matter what I did, what I said, or how I messed up, he was always kind to me.”

Chat raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe it.”

She threw her hands into the air. “Right? It’s crazy how amazing he is. Even though he’s rich and famous, his life is really hard. The more I got to know him, the more I began to understand that he’s this bright soul stuck in a dark cloud. He’s been through so much, yet he’s managed to stay a genuinely good person.”

“This is insane.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part of the story yet! Get this...a few months ago I saw him having fun with my friend Kagami, and I’m pretty sure he’s in love with her. So, I walked away and gave them the space they needed. I gave him up, Chat! I just want him to be happy. He deserves that.”

Chat looked up and met her gaze. “I...he does?”

Marinette let her expression fall. “He looks so sad sometimes, and it’s never when he’s with all of his friends. It’s when he thinks no one is looking. I’m glad he found Kagami, but I guess I just wish I could have been the person to make him happy.”

“What makes you think that you aren’t?”

“I’m not the girl he’s in love with.”

“How do you know that?”

“One time, I almost kissed him when he pretended to be a wax figure, and on the car ride home, he told me he was in love with a girl...and it obviously wasn’t me.”

Chat groaned and lowered his head. “I’m an idiot.”

Marinette paused. “What?”

“I’m sorry. My brain is going through a lot right now. What did I just say?”

“You said that you were an idiot.”

“Yeah, I mean, no...I MEAN...never mind.”

She reached up and felt his forehead. “Chat, are you okay? You feel a kind of warm, and you’re looking a little flushed.”

He put his hands on his cheeks. “I am? Huh? Can’t tell with the suit and all...uh...hey, so I have a question. You said that you made this boy a scarf? D-did the scarf ever get to him?”

“Yeah, it did, but he thinks that it’s from his dad.”

“Oh my...why...and...um...why didn’t you tell him it was from you?”

“You should have seen the smile on his face when he wore it to school. I’d never seen him look that way before. Like I said, I just want him to be happy.”

Marinette heard Chat’s breath hitch. “Princess, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. I...he...no one deserves you. My God...I can’t even believe this.”

“You are acting so weird right now.” She was starting to become very concerned about her partner’s wellbeing. “The way you’re looking at me right now kind of reminds me of how Adrien was looking at me earlier today. That’s what got me upset.”

“I...um...are you m-mad at...ohmygod you said ‘Adrien’.”

“Yeah, I did. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Chat’s voice sounded strained. “Yes, I’m listening. Please don’t stop. I...umm...you...are mad at him?”

Marinette shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m not mad at him. Quite the opposite. I’m actually mad at myself for letting all my feelings for him come back. Letting him go was so painful the first time, and I know I’m setting myself up for more heartbreak.”

“Holy...jeez...YOUR FEELINGS CAME BACK? Oh, God...I feel lightheaded. Do you feel lightheaded? It’s hot in here right?” he asked, fanning himself with his hands.

“Well, I don’t think they ever left. Chat, I don’t think you’re okay.”

“NO! I’m going to be FINE. There’s just a lot on my mind...ohmygod...how is this happening right now?”

Worry flooded Marinette’s brain as she watched Chat get off of the floor and pace around the room. He spent the next minute muttering to himself and gesticulating wildly. Marinette got up and tentatively walked over to him.

“Hey, Chat?” she asked gently, “How about you come and sit down on the chaise. I’ll go down to the kitchen and get you a glass of water.”

“No,” he said forcefully, “Jeez...sorry...I mean, no. I think I need to go home. I have to go home and...yeah. That.”

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to run across rooftops right now.”

“Actually, that may help me sort out all of this in my head.”

“What? Chat, no! Sit down, and let me take care of you!”

“Take care of me? How are you this wonderful?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt!”

He took her hands. “Princess, I hate to do this to you right now, but I have to go. You’ve given me a lot to think about. May you have dreams as wonderful as you are, and may your tomorrow hold nothing but happiness.”

Marinette could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “I...what?”

Chat lifted her hands and placed a light kiss on each one. He then ran up her ladder, opened the hatch and disappeared into the night.

“Tikki!” Marinette called, “Do you know what just happened?”

“Umm...you know what? How about we all get ready for bed?” the red Kwami suggested with a smile.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes.”

“Can you at least tell me if he’s going to be okay? I am the Guardian, after all.”

“Chat Noir will be fine, but he’s going to have a long night.”

Marinette collapsed on her chaise. “It’s days like this where I wish I knew who he was. Then, I’d be able to check up on him.”

Tikki zipped over and sat on her lap. “You know that the Guardian usually knows all the Miraculous holders’ identities, right? It’s for that exact reason.”

“I don’t know. With Hawkmoth still around…”

“The choice is up to you now. However, after tonight, I have a strange feeling that this won’t be a problem for much longer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marinette asked, crossing her arms.

“Uhhh...goodnight!” Tikki zipped away.

“The other Kwamis would never treat me this way!”

“Sorry can’t hear you! I’m asleep.”

Marinette chuckled and shook her head. “Maybe Ladybug will be able to get some answers from him tomorrow.”

[faunahudson]

a walk to remember - faury

WHO: Rory Flanagan and Fauna Hudson - @switch-it-up-rory

WHEN: 26th December 2020

WHERE: Belfast, Northern Ireland

WHAT: Rory and Fauna go for a little walk and chat about their lives.

WARNINGS: Vague addiction mentions

Fauna tapped her brother on the shoulder as her mother cornered Sawyer to look at more pictures of her as a kid. “You wanna hit the road for a second Cub.” She asked, gesturing towards the door and hoping that Percy wouldn’t notice them getting them up. Truthfully she just wanted to spend a little bit of time with her twin on their own.

Rory had been zoned out for most of the evening but he smiled widely at Fauna when she tapped him for attention. "Yeah, let's fuck this ice pop stand or whatever those shitty Yanks say," He answered, slowly standing from where he had sat crossed legged on the floor. Walking to the door, he grabbed his coat from where he hung it on the bannister, its home due to how annoyed Percy got, but never moved it himself to 'teach the shite a lesson' which Rory hadn't learned his entire life. "Think we need scarves?" He asked, thinking to the lumpy knitted item Grandma had knitted him.

Fauna laughed when Rory messed up the expression, grabbing Sawyers coat from the bannister because it was a much better protection against the cold than her own little pink think. “Probably... but we’ll look more fashionable without them!” She chattered and then looped his arm through her own. “Let’s go and see what we can find Dora.” The brunette declared and then opened the door and slipped out into the cold. “You happy to be home Cub?” She asked as the cold night air hit them.

Rory just stared her down. "Fairy, you look like you lose the other two tiny children to stack on top of each other to sneak into the cinema in a coat," He said, shaking the oversized material of Yankeedoodle's coat on her. He shivered a bit when Fauna swung open the door, and he let her drag him down the drive and onto the street. "I am," He said, "I mean, like,  I wasn't expecting to be working for scraps -- literal scraps, Fairy, that's all Glen got me from the Chippy and he said that with the chocolate Santa is more than enough, kids in Derry crying over getting shite all for Chrimbo -- but it's been nice, chill. Percy can suck a dick but what else is new?" He laughed, before a twinge of guilt hit him, the reminder of him always being honest to Fauna hitting him as hard as the bitter wind. "I did, uh, I did get tempted a couple of times, but I didn't...I almost sipped someone's lager, but I stopped myself and locked myself in the basement and cried." He admitted, softly, "But I just wanted you to know, because I told you I'd tell you everything."

The little brunette giggled, and shrugged. “I like wearing it, it’s warm and it feels like I’m getting a giant hug.” She explained with a little shrug, using her sleeves to give herself a little hug. “Look it’s not like Glen ever paid you properly for the hard work that you do. Honestly you probably should have started like straight robbing him years ago.” The submissive responded with a shrug. “It was really nice to see you behind the bar again though, very homey.” Fauna responded and then her face dropped a little bit when he spoke next. She was very grateful he was being honest with her but she hated to hear about him suffering. “I’m really proud of you for not.. you know slipping up. Though I wish you hadn’t been crying. Thank you, for telling me. Would it make it easier for you if we didn’t go to anymore bars? Me and you could just chill at home and drink milkshakes?” She suggested wanting to do something to help her brother if she possibly could.

Rory wrinkled his nose. "Aye, you've gone soft," He declared, flicking her forehead, "But you're right, a giant hug is nice and tha'," He shook his head at the suggestion of robbing Glen, because as many times as he considered it, he couldn't do it to the weirdo. "Nah, he means no harm. Let's save the robbing to the Monopoly Man and Daddy Warbucks, eh?" He suggested. There was an air of awkwardness when discussing his shortcomings, but he was glad to not be told off. "Sometimes the tap to the waterworks doesn't turn off properly." He teased, "Nah, I like bars. But I'll never say no to some milkshakes and chill. I just need...time, patience. A new outlook on life. It's why I like Charlie so much." He mentioned, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at bringing up the blonde.

Fauna giggled. “I haven’t gone soft, I was always soft I was just playing at being a heartless temptress.” She teased, flicking him back almost as quickly. Fauna admired Rorys loyalty to Glen no matter how badly the other man had treated him. Not because wanted Rory to be treated badly but because she saw it as something soft inside her brother. “You’re right there, we’ll leave the robbin to the capitalist pigs and then vive la revolution another day.” The brunette agreed easily, squeezing Rorys arm just a little. “You just tell me what you want or need and I’ll make it happen.” She promised him. “You wanna go home. We go home.” Fauna wanted Rory to know that there was nothing wrong with having limits and that she beyond respected his. “Ah yes Charlie and the Chocolate factory is very perky isn’t she?”

"Well you've had demon dad as great inspiration over the years." Rory commented, trying not to grumble too much in response, too petty about Percy to let him win at anything, including his emotions. He patted her shoulder, "Yes, you know the plan. When we're ready to ride at dawn, the rooster will call." He said, mysteriously, as if he knew something others didn't. A part of him felt bad that Fauna felt like she had to change aspects of her social life to fit him, but he didn't want to feel like a burden, not at Christmastime. "Very perky," He agreed, "But it's still my mission to make her a pessimist before she fully turns me optimistic." Rory teased, glad that Fauna hadn't immediately flew off the handle at him mentioning a girl, but she wouldn't would she? She paired them two together, she knew Charlie was a good egg.

“Yes, all of our suffering leads to great art don’t you know.” The brunette said knowingly. “All the candle lit diaries of my torment were just inspiration for the stage of life.” There were few things that felt more comfortable than chattering nonsense with her twin. “Of course Captain, i shall be waiting in the wings for when Dawn finally breaks.” Fauna agreed as they strolled around their hometown. “I don’t know if that’s possible Ror.. maybe you’ll just have to meet in the middle and just become realists.” She suggested with an affectionate squeeze of his arm. Hoping to quietly show her support for him and Charlie, so he felt comfortable talking about it.

"I did know that, it's all we talked about in Philosophy." Rory joked, laughing at how much Fauna sounded like that ghost from the Deverex campus, but decided against making comparisons because Yankeedoodle was friends with her, and he didn't want Fauna telling him off for his apparent bullying. "Meeting in the middle, becoming realists, sounds like a very angsty song-lyric, Fairy." He commented, a skip in his step. "I'm glad you like Charlie, you know. I was worried about bringing her up, because you're protective of me, which I like, but I also really like Charlie."

Fauna laughed easily. “Well I’m glad that all that money went on something that’s still applicable in your real life.” She teased, it was always easy to be around Rory. “Maybe so, but I think it’s a better goal than trying to make poor old Charlie a pessimist.” Fauna replied with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about bringing her up Cub.. I know that you really like her and I want you to be happy. I’m only protective fo keep you safe and make sure that nobody is mistreating you.. and Charlie.. I think she’s good for you.” The Irishwoman admitted with a little shrug, as she dug one hand deep into Sawyers coat pocket.

Rory laughed. "And who said medicine was more important than philosophy?" He teased, elbowing his twin playfully. He felt a strange warmth surge through him when Fauna expressed her approval of Charlie, he hadn't really met anyone since Aoife he had clicked with that well, and he would have been torn if, for some reason, his sister didn't like her. "You do? She's a good egg, though admittedly another part of me is waiting for like the other, psychotic shoe to drop." He expressed his fears lightly, as if he were simply talking about the weather. Rory glanced down to where the coat had consumed Fauna's hand. "Anything interesting in Yankeedoodle's pocket?"

Fauna laughed along with him. “Some idiot who thought saving lives was more important than like.. contemplating why we were put here in the first place.” She countered easily, and nodded in agreement with his assessment. “I like to think that some of that fades over time.. though I’ll admit every once in a while I expect Sawyer to stand up and be like.. haha gotcha Slutty you didn’t really think I was into you did you?” She admitted with a huffed laugh. “Not that I think that’s actually going to happen or that Charlie would do anything even remotely like that. She is.. as you say a very good egg.” She confirmed, though her cheeks flushed slightly at the mention of Sawyers pocket. “No... there’s likely spare change that will be useless here or a mini paperback.”

Rory's grin faded a little at Fauna admitting her fear, but at the same time he felt touched, as he knew she didn't like to share things sometimes, always more focused on looking after him. "Oh Fairy...not even Yankeedoole is that unimaginative to call you just Slutty," He assured, jokingly. "But seriously, if he ever changed his mind it probably mean the suddenly had a stronk," He laughed, thinking of the old tweet he was referencing, "And really at that point you can take his yankeedoodle life insurance and fuck off to like...the Virgin Islands or some shite." He shrugged, "Aye, perfect items to chuck at pigeons?" He suggested.

The little brunette nodded, blowing out a breath that lingered in the air as though she were smoking. Fauna rarely verbalised her fears in front of Rory, it simply wasn’t the way they worked. But for some reason in their home town she felt comfortable enough to say. “It’s irrational and yet.. you’ve met him he’s a morally upstanding, handsome, book nerd. He’s got to be an MTV host in disguise.” Her nose crinkled in a true laugh when he mentioned a stronk. “I know it’s not what you want to hear because he’s an American. But I actually want to hold onto him.. and definitely not live on an Island of Virgins.” She teased. “Ah no, we don’t chuck Sawyers things at pigeons.. Do you wanna get some chips?”

Rory nodded, reaching over to squeeze Fauna's arm in a comforting way. "There's a law that MTV hosts can't be that tall so you're good," He assured her. He felt like serious words could never acually help, and he knew Fauna would appreciate him trying to find humour wherever he could. "Silly Fauna, it's not an island of Virgins, it's where all the Virgin Media signals come from. What's his face owns it, Richard Branson. Looks like a burnt version of the Deal or No Deal bloke." He mocked pouted when she told him they didn't chuck the belongings of the Yank but the mention of chips lifted his spirits. "Chips would be fab, Fairy. Onwards, to our next great, greasy adventure."

[stolethekey]

i close my eyes, let it surround me

COMIN’ IN HOT THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DEADLINE HERE WE GO

this is for @397bartonstreet, who asked for something about amy knitting jake a scarf pre-relationship and it being his favorite thing in the world bc he's already lowkey smitten with her. what a concept honestly it took me so long to just wrap my head around how incredible that idea was.

and shoutout to the team at @b99fandomevents for hosting yet another successful event! these things are not easy to do well and y’all do it consistently. thanks for providing a platform for us writers to share our work and make some new friends. 

anyway. you can read this on ao3 here. enjoy!

-

Amy loves the fall.

It’s the perfect season, really – the crisp air is a welcome reprieve from the swampy New York summer, but it’s not the unbearable cold of December, either. It’s a season of scarves and sweaters but not snow boots, of morning walks with a warm coffee in hand but no need for mittens.

It’s also flu season.

And while Amy hasn’t gotten the flu in ten years (flu shots and home remedies, baby!), she takes a sort of strange satisfaction in watching her coworkers succumb to the illness. It’s not that she enjoys their pain – she doesn’t, no matter what Rosa mutters under her breath every year – but this perfectly benign illness is a way for her to finally take care of her colleagues without them complaining.

She likes to take care of people. And flu season is her time to shine.

The only annoying thing about flu season is that Jake somehow also never gets sick. This is a phenomenon, she thinks, that is inexplicable by the known laws of nature, much like platypus eggs or the horizon problem. It is patently unfair that he remains healthy (to use the term loosely) on a diet of sour candy and orange soda, whereas she has had to concoct a careful schedule of Vitamin C and ginger broth to stave off the flu.

In any case, Jake never gets sick. And no matter how unjust Amy believes that to be, every November sees the two of them become the only constants in the bullpen.

So, when she walks into the precinct the second week of November to see his desk empty, the uncomfortable surprise that jolts through her body is completely reasonable. It is completely reasonable for her to badger Captain Holt for her partner’s whereabouts, and upon learning that he is sick, it is completely reasonable for her to hole herself away in the evidence lockup and call said partner.

Jake picks up on the third ring, his voice sounding muted through the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Amy says, feet shuffling restlessly against the floor. “Holt said you called in sick.”

He gives a weak murmur of assent. “I think I have the flu, or something? I’m so congested and my whole body is cold and I think I have a fever? I can’t really tell.”

Amy feels her eyes narrow. “You’re never sick.”

“I know,” Jake says sourly. “Guess my good luck ran out.”

A faint, triumphant smile starts to make its way across Amy’s face. “So, what you’re saying is – I beat you.”

Jake groans. “Don’t let it go to your head. I personally think the fact that I lasted as long as I did is impressive, considering you spent hours of your time trying to prevent the flu and I just coasted and did nothing.”

Amy’s grin grows wider as he keeps going. “If anything, I think I am the true winner, because I invested less time and still got just as far. It’s about the return on investment. I got an equal return on zero investment.”

“You did not get equal return. I’m not sick. Which means I got more return.”

Jake snorts. “Details.”

“Make fun of my methods all you want,” Amy says loftily. “I get results, boy. Which is why you are currently sitting at home, miserable and cold, while I am working a double homicide.”

A high-pitched whine comes through the receiver, and Amy laughs. “Bye, Jake. I have a murderer to catch.”

She doesn’t talk to him again until later that day, when her phone lights up with a text.

From: Jake Peralta amy help i think it’s getting worse 2:34 pm

She feels a twinge of pity as she types her response.

To: Jake Peralta yes, it does that sometimes 2:35 pm

From: Jake Peralta can u give me some of ur weird home remedies pls i promise i’ll stop making fun of them 2:37 pm

To: Jake Peralta you just called them “weird” 2:38 pm

From: Jake Peralta :( 2:38 pm

From: Jake Peralta ok starting now 2:39 pm

From: Jake Peralta please I think I’m dying 2:45 pm

Amy sighs as she glances at his empty desk, mentally calculating the time it’ll take for her to drive home after her shift and gather her things.

To: Jake Peralta Fine. If you can stay alive for three more hours, I’ll be there at 5:40. 2:47 pm

From: Jake Peralta always so specific (ur the best thank u) 2:48 pm She shows up at his door at 5:40 sharp, two plastic bags in her arms. Her instinctual sarcastic comment dies on the tip of her tongue as the door opens to reveal a disheveled, very-clearly-just-asleep Jake.

“Oh,” she says, taking in his knotted hair and deathly pale skin. “I mean, hi.”

“Yeah, it’s bad,” he grumbles, his voice muted. “Come in.”

He shuffles aside, socked feet sliding against the floorboards, and Amy steps into his apartment.

She notes with some surprise that the floor is mostly bare, uncovered by dirty clothes, and a quick glance reveals no empty take-out containers on the coffee table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your place is…surprisingly clean.”

Jake coughs weakly behind her. “I tried to shove some stuff into the cupboards before you got here,” he says, shutting the door. “I know you hate mess.”

Something very unwelcome swells in Amy’s chest as she sets her bags on the counter. “Oh my God, Jake, you really didn’t have to, you’re clearly so sick –“

“Mmm, ’sfine,” he mumbles, turning toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna sleep now. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh,” Amy says again. “I mean, yeah, of course, you need it – I’ll set up here and wait for you.”

“You’re the best.”

She laughs, he gives her a weak, soft smile, and with that, he disappears into his room, leaving her to rifle through her bags in an attempt to bury the flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

-

When Jake wakes, it takes him a minute to remember that he’s not alone.

It’s a good thing that he remembers when he does, because walking mostly naked into the hallway while his colleague whom he respects very much and may or may not have a tiny crush on is rustling around in his kitchen is absolutely not something he wants to do, no matter how sick he is.

He doesn’t completely remember taking his clothes off, but he guesses somewhere in between him sliding into bed and now, his fever made him go from freezing cold to unbearably hot and that’s why his sweatpants are currently lying abandoned on the floor. He pauses to pull them back on, and as he grabs his T-shirt off the foot of his bed he notes with some relief that he feels somewhat more like himself.

Amy is perched on his couch when he enters the living room, and the gentle kindness in her eyes as she looks up makes his heart clench.

He clears his throat, determinedly trying to focus on something else. “Are you knitting?”

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she looks him up and down, the needles stilling in her hands. “Are you really in a position to be making fun of me right now?”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says hastily, holding his hands up. “Just – observing. Is that a scarf?”

“It’s going to be, yeah. Good eye.”

He smiles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s really good. Honestly. I love that shade of blue.”

She returns his smile, and for a moment he thinks that maybe he could get used to this, that maybe he likes the sight of her snuggled comfortably into the side of his couch.

Amy coughs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, making his way into the kitchen to hide the blush that’s spread onto his cheeks. “Did you bring those magic cures you promised?”

“Yeah!” She jumps almost excitedly off the couch, laying her half-finished scarf on his coffee table. “Here, let me set it up.”

She hurries past him and starts untying the top of a plastic bag he hadn’t noticed initially. “I actually ordered you some soup and bread – I brought you some meds, too, but you should have something in your stomach before you take them.”

A large plastic tub emerges from the bag, and she grins. “Lucky you – it’s still hot.”

He takes it with a murmur of thanks, and she shoves him toward the table. “Go eat that. I’m gonna prep.”

The soup is heavenly, although Jake isn’t sure it’s possible to mess up chicken noodle soup, and as he tears into the bread he sneaks a glance at Amy.

A pot of liquid is boiling on the stove as she chops something on his cutting board, and as he watches her maneuver easily around his kitchen he feels a curious sense of longing start to rise in his chest.

“Okay,” she says, and his head snaps up. “Push that soup to the side. The goal here is to minimize steam loss, so I’m gonna brief you now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes, but the authoritative tone remains in her voice when she continues. “When I slide this bowl in front of you, you’re going to lower your face so that it’s immediately above the liquid. And then you’re just gonna breathe it in.”

“Like the way pop stars steam their vocal cords.”

“Sure. Yes. Ready?”

He nods, she pours the liquid from the pot into the bowl, and before he can react, his face is directly above a translucent, brownish-orange broth and a towel is being draped over his head.

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“It’s to keep the steam in. Shut up and close your eyes.”

He does, breathing deeply, and immediately starts coughing. “Wha – what is in this?”

“Don’t move!” Amy says indignantly, her voice muffled through the towel. “It’s apple cider vinegar, ginger, garlic, echinacea, and some peppermint. It should help with the congestion and clear some stuff up.”

“It’s spicy!”

Amy laughs. “You’ll get used to it. Keep breathing.”

He falls silent obediently, and as they lapse into a comfortable quiet he starts to feel it again.

The flu is definitely messing with his brain, but a part of him never wants to be sick without her again. Maybe she could take care of him every time he’s sick or hurt or sad. Maybe he could take care of her, too. Maybe he wants the comfort she brings when she’s here. Maybe her coat could find a permanent place draped over his armchair. Maybe it could stay – and maybe she could stay –

“Okay,” she says suddenly, making him jump almost guiltily. “It’s been like ten minutes – how’s the temperature?”

“Um, good,” he says, forcing his voice to remain casual. “It’s pretty lukewarm, actually. Not much steam left.”

Her voice says, “I think you’re done, then,” and then the towel is yanked off his head and he’s blinking in the bright lights of his living room.

She whisks away the bowl before he even has a chance to react, sliding it onto his countertop with a little flourish. “You can reuse that up to three times – it’ll probably still be good tomorrow. Just re-boil it. I’ll text you the full recipe for when you need to make more – you should probably do this twice a day until you feel better.”

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

She gives him a small smile, then passes him a handful of pills and a glass of water. “Take ‘em.”

He swallows them obediently as she holds up a pill organizer. “I’ve put a week’s supply in here, so you don’t have to figure out how much to take. You should be almost back to normal by the time it runs out, but if not, I’ll give you more.”

He gives her a petulant frown. “I’m not an old man.”

She snorts. “Don’t get sick and beg me like a baby, then.”

He laughs, and she smiles, wringing her hands almost nervously. “I think that’s mostly it – so, um, I’ll head out, let you get some rest – I’ll leave my peppermint and echinacea for you to use, I have plenty at home – ”

“Wait,” he says, much too quickly. “Do you – would you want to stay? I mean, if you’re busy, I totally get it, I just – I’m actually kind of sick of lying in bed all day, and, um, I’d love some company – I read an article about this documentary on cubism we could watch – “

“You’d watch a documentary about cubism with me?”

He gives her an embarrassed smile. “You brought me soup. It’s the least I can do.”

She blushes slightly and rolls her eyes. “Technically, Paul from Postmates brought you soup.”

“Then give me his number and get out of my house.”

Amy laughs, lively and bright, and Jake’s heart soars.

“Fine,” she says, pouring herself a glass of water. “But I’m finishing my scarf as we watch it.”

“Deal.”

And maybe it’s just a coincidence, maybe it’s fate, but when the precinct’s annual Secret Santa rolls around and Jake tears open the wrapping paper to find a familiar, hand-knit blue scarf, he can’t help but feel like the world is trying to tell him something.  

Or, maybe, one person is trying to tell him something.

And as he walks into the bullpen the next morning with his new scarf warm and secure around his neck, he finds it really, really hard to tell the difference.

[ltleflrt]

prompt please: dean/cas panties

Okay so fun fact about this story:  This is actually the first seed of an idea that developed into Satin and Sawdust, but I ended up not being able to use the premise for Reasons.  I always wanted to do this little meet cute ficlet though, so thanks for giving me an excuse.  Also thanks to @pallasperilous for helping me get over the tiny hurdle that I ran into with the plot :D

Working from home means pajamas as a uniform. There’s a lot of advice against it; stuff about “getting into aprofessional mindset” by “dressing like you’re going to the office” and otherbullshit that probably works for others, but Castiel doesn’t subscribe to thosenotions.  Especially not before he’s on his third cup of coffee, and eventhen, why dirty another set of clothing? He hates doing laundry.

Of course, he does haveto leave his apartment sometimes.  For meetings, or to deliver thefinished product to the office.  But for the short trips to the office topick up his mail and deliveries, pajamas are just fine.  It’snot like a t-shirt and some Ninja Turtle patterned sleep pants are indecent, oranything.

Not that he cares whatpeople think about how he’s dressed.  He’s only on coffee number two, andsocial functioning doesn’t start until halfway through cup three.

He’s more alert thanusual this morning though, even if he isn’t awake enough to justify changinginto normal daytime clothing.  A new neighbor has moved in across thehall, and Castiel catches him leaving for work sometimes.  The eye candy is almost equal to a third andfourth dose of caffenation.  Brown hair, scruff, freckles, and eithergreen or hazel eyes--maybe light brown?--plus a body built to kneel before inworship and supplication… The guy’s practically built to Castiel’s taste.

And oh how he’d like ataste.

Maybe he should startthe caffeine infusion earlier.  So he’ll feel fortified enough to start aconversation one of these days instead of just exchanging a smile, a wave, anda quiet hello before they go their separate ways.  And he can finally getclose enough to figure out the guy’s true eye color.  It would be worth getting up earlier.  He’s not a fan of mornings, but he’s a fan ofhot potentially single guys.  He can make an exception.

Unfortunately he seemsto have missed the object of his desire this morning.  The door across thehall stays firmly closed for the few minutes Castiel lingers, hoping to get hisother morning fix.  But he decides it’s just a little too chilly out toloiter any longer, and he heads down to the office to pick up his mail.

There’s three packagesfor him today, and he’s pleasantly surprised because he wasn’t expecting one ofthem for another day or two.  That means he can get started on the nextproject earlier than he’d promised.  Hecan use the extra time that saves him to stock up a few pre-made things for hisEtsy shop.

He goes over a mentalplan for what kind of crazy sweaters he can design for the shop as he opens theboxes.  He smiles as he unpacks the Alpaca yarn, pausing to pet the softgreen.  This one is for himself, and hepromises he won’t use it for any commissions this time.  He’s got a lovelyscarf in mind, and since the weather is getting cooler, he needs to get startedsoon if he wants to use it this winter.  

The second box is fullof regular wool, and he checks to make sure all the colors he requested wereincluded.  Last time his order had been short a few hanks, and it had beena huge pain in the ass to get everything straightened out with his supplier. Everything is fine this time though, and he’ll still be on track for hiscurrent projects.

The third box shouldcontain the vegan yarns.  Not his favorite to work with, but he respectsthat people choose a lifestyle that requires it, and they still want mittens,scarves, and sweaters.  Plus they’re usually okay with paying extra forthe cotton yarn instead of the acrylic. So as long as they’re willing to shell out the cash, he’s willing to knitout the goods.

When he opens the box, hesmiles when he’s greeted with a rainbow of colors and reaches in to pull outthe plastic wrapped skeins.  He rips at the plastic, and then hissub-optimally caffeinated brain catches up with reality and he realizes thathe’s not holding yarn at all, but something satiny.  Whole cloth, not thematerials to make it.

It’s a pair of panties.

Castiel blinks at thered satin in his hand.  “This is not what I ordered.”

He pulls out a few moreplastic wrapped bundles.  All panties. What the hell?  

Finally he reaches theorder sheet.  And when he reads the information printed at the top, horrorcreeps through him.  This package wasn’t meant for him.  He doesn’t recognize the name, but hedefinitely recognizes the apartment number.  It’s for… his new neighbor.  

“Oh, no.”

 ***

 Dean is more than readyto get home and relax after the day he’s had.  Too many fires to put outat the job site, and feathers to unruffle when he had to advise the client thatthe new timeline they were requesting wouldn’t be tenable.  Seriously whatis up with folks agreeing to an estimated finish date, and then wanting it donein half the time?  Entitled bastards.

At least it’s Friday,and he shouldn’t be needed for anything for the weekend.  He’s going tocozy up to a few beers and the episodes of Doctor Sexy building up in his DVRand relax.  

Plus, he’s got a packagewaiting for him that he’s been looking forward to for days.  Just thethought of it puts an extra bounce in his step as he locks up his car and headsfor the office.

Ten minutes later, hisgood mood goes up in a puff of metaphorical smoke.  The package isn’tactually there.

“Are you sure the emailsaid it was delivered today?” the receptionist asks for the third time.

He waves his smartphoneat her.  “Got the delivery notification email right here.”

Her vaguely hopefulexpression crumbles and she shakes her head.  “I’m so sorry, it’s reallynot here.  I even checked to see if itgot left on someone’s desk instead of in the mail room.  There isn’tanything addressed to you.”

Dean sighs and tucks hisphone away.  Well there goes part of his weekend plans.  And on topof it he has to deal with reporting a lost shipment to the vendor.  Funstuff.  “Thanks for checking anyway.”

She smilessympathetically.  “Have a good evening.”

Despite hisdisappointment about the missing package, his plans aren’t totally ruined. So his smile is mostly genuine. “Thanks, you too.”

A few minutes later helets himself into his apartment, and he leans back against the door and justbreathes for a few seconds.  It’s quiet and dark and it’s nice not havinganyone needing his attention.  It reallyhad been a rough week, and he feels like he hasn’t had a minute to stand stillfor days.  The only bright spots in his week have been the notificationthat his present to himself had been delivered, and the few times he’d caught aglimpse of his hot neighbor across the way.

Those are always gooddays.  It’s become something of an obsession for him to see what kind ofwacky pajama bottoms the guy’ll be wearing each time they meet.  Dude’sgot quite the collection, ranging from bumble bees, to kittens, to hammers andsaws, to superheroes.  Plus he’s fuckingsexy with his sleepy eyes and mumbled greetings.  He never quite lookslike he’s all the way awake, but he always greets Dean with a warm smile and adorky little wave that leaves Dean feeling light and bouncy all the way to hiscar.

Maybe when thisconstruction project is done he’ll take a few less intensive jobs. He can seeif his hot neighbor wants to hang out a bit.  Even if he’s not into dudes,it would be nice to make a friend in the new place.  Dean’s used to having a roommate, but nowthat he’s living on his own, it’s a little lonely in his down time.

“Oh well,” he says intothe empty apartment.  “At least I’ve still got Doctor Sexy.”

A light knock betweenhis shoulder blades startles him away from the door.  He looks at itsuspiciously for a moment before putting his eye to the peephole to see who’sknocking.  When he gets a glimpse of wild dark hair and blue eyes, hejerks back in surprise.

Why is Hot Neighborknocking on his door?

Only one way to find out.

When he opens the door,Hot Neighbor seems startled.  He stares up at Dean with wide, very blueeyes, that immediately make Dean’s world fall away for a few seconds.

“Oh,” Hot Neighborbreathes.  “Green.”

The non-sequitur bringeverything back. “What?”

“What?” his neighborparrots, squinting in confusion.

Oh no, he’s cute. Dean’s internal monologue sometimes has a knack for stating theobvious.  He shakes his head, dislodging the thought and dismissing the previousexchange.  “Uh, hi.”

Hot Neighbor shakes hishead too, apparently also needing the mental reset.  “Hello,” he says, anddamn his voice is just as sexy when he’s fully awake as it is when he’s sleepy. “You’re Dean, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. How did you--?” The question cuts off when he realizes that Hot Neighboris holding a box.  That’s been opened. “Oh.”

Heat rushes into hischeeks when he realizes that this guy has probably seen what exactly is in thatbox.  It’s only slightly reassuring when he also blushes, all the way tohis hairline.  At least Dean’s not alonein his mortification.

“Sorry, I picked this upwith my other packages,” his neighbor says, holding the box out to Dean. He clears his throat and smiles. It looks forced.  “Your girlfriendhas excellent taste.”

Maybe it’s because he’stired, or maybe it’s shock from the situation, or maybe he’s just a dumbass,but Dean’s mouth opens and the truth comes out.  “No, these are for me.”

If the increased heat inhis cheeks is any indication, he’s about to spontaneously combust.

“Oh, um…”His neighbor lifts the box in Dean’s direction again.  His smile turns tosomething far more genuine.  There’shumor there, but also… maybe interest?  “Well, you haveexcellent taste.”

Okay yeah that’sprobably interest.

Dean finally takes thebox, unsure how else to respond to the compliment other than “thanks, man.”

The guy nods and grinsbrightly.  “Anyway, uh… have a good evening, Dean.”  He does hisdorky little wave and turns back to his own apartment.

Before he can open thedoor, Dean’s brain finally shifts into the correct gear.  “Wait, what’syour name?”

Hot Neighbor turns withhis hand on the knob.  “Oh, I’m Castiel. Or Cas.  People call me Cas.”

“Castiel,” Dean says,relishing the way it feels to say.  “I was going to veg out with a beerand some trashy TV.  I got a few extrabeers if you’d like a drink.”

HotNeighbor--Castiel--Cas, beams so brightly that Dean’s a little dazzled by it. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Thrilled, Dean stepsaside and gestures for Castiel to come inside.  When he shuts the doorbehind them, his eyes fall on Castiel’s ass. Through his admiration of the shapely body he notices that Cas is stillwearing pajamas.  They’re covered in Ninja Turtles.  “Dude, your pants are awesome.”

Castiel turns and flickshis eyes down at the box in Dean’s hands then meets his eyes.  “Yours too.”

“Maybe we can do afashion show for each other some time,” Dean suggests, feeling brave.  IfCas was going to be weird about the panties, he wouldn’t be here now, right?

“I think I’d like that very much.”

Oh yeah, they’re goingto get along great.  

Unless…

“I’ve got a bunch ofDoctor Sexy on the DVR.  That sound okay?”

Castiel practicallyglows with excitement.  “It’s my favorite show.”

Dean grins. “Awesome.  Have a seat, I’ll getyou that beer after I put these away.”  

Yup.  Definitelygoing to get along like a house on fire.

[machihunnicutt]

whoops i kind of failed fic-vember (so have an Anne fic)

Hey ya’ll. Finals happened and then the holidays happened and I gave up on the last week or two of fic-vemeber. Here’s an Anne fic to say sorry.

Like My Heart is Hitting the Ground

(Or read on ao3.)

Anne had been firm in her demand not to work the same shifts as one Gilbert Blythe. She’d managed to get away with it, most of the time, eyieng the schedule every time her manager made it and adjusting her availability as needed. Her intense dislike of Gilbert (Diana called it a grudge but Diana wasn’t there at the inciting moment) began his first day on the job, when, while she was dusting a new batch of scones with powdered sugar, he pulled her braid and called her “carrots.” He got a face full of powdered sugar in retaliation.

But it was Christmas (and therefore winter break at the university) and Anne and Gilbert were the only two in town to run the shop.

“This will work out just fine if you stay over there and I stay over here,” Anne said, gesturing to the imaginary line that divided the back of Avonlea Coffee and Bakery.

Gilbert’s dark eyebrow rose into the mess of curls that fell over his forehead. “So I take all the orders and you’ll make everything.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What if you need help with something?”

“I won’t,” she said, tightly. “I can handle myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, Anne,” Gilbert said, meeting her eyes. She hated it when he did that. It reminded her that Gilbert Blythe wasn’t bad to look at. He had a crooked, self-satisfied sort of smile and his gaze was effortlessly warm and guarded by long lashes. And if she was being completely honest with herself (which she wasn’t, she usually counted on Diana for honesty) he was entirely her type: big knitted hand-me-down sweaters, dark cuffed jeans, Converse, messy hair, and a plastic watch with a million pre-set alarms. Anne was attracted to exclusively nerdy wannabe hipsters.

Gilbert Blythe had apologized for the carrots incident, profusely in fact, but Anne wasn’t in the habit of trusting too easily.

“Good, then count the cash in the register and I’ll wipe down the counters,” she said.

“The spray bottles are on my side.”

“Fine, will you please hand me a spray bottle Gilbert Blythe?”

“Why do you do that?”

“What? Say please?” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly on the tile. Her apron had a few leftover stains and one of her braids was starting to come undone, but she maintained her show of authority.

“Call me by my full name, like it’s some sort of comic book name,” he frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she replied.

“You know, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Charles Xavier...Gilbert Blythe,” his mouth quirked up into half a smile and Anne rolled her eyes.

“Give me the bottle, Wonder-boy,” she said, and he obliged. “And to answer your question, I’m just trying to maintain a professional work environment.” She began wiping down the countertops, briskly, with the intention of ending this conversation.

“Could’ve fooled me, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne had started working at Avonlea Coffee her second semester as an education major at the university. Her scholarships covered housing and a good portion of her tuition, and Marilla and Matthew had sent her off with enough money for textbooks, but she realized her summer job savings weren’t going to cut it the hard way. The second week of spring semester her card got declined when she was buying groceries. Luckily she was there with Diana (angel among men), who covered for her. The next day she sent out a slew of applications. Now she’d been at the shop for two and a half years.

“Welcome to Avonlea Coffee and Bakery. What can we get started for you?” Gilbert’s smile when greeting customers managed to hide the bags beneath his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re open on Christmas,” the woman at the counter said. She was the twelfth to say so in the last two hours. Nevertheless, Anne had a steady stream of orders to make.

“If you want to switch, let me know,” Gilbert said, halfway through the shift. It was the third instance of Wham’s “Last Christmas” on the shop’s holiday playlist and Anne was tired.

Gilbert was counting the remaining scones in the case. They were down to five and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t have reason to put in another batch.

Outside it had begun to snow, big white clumps that reminded her of walking in Green Gables, at dawn when the snow was heavy and untouched, blanketing the grass.

She hadn’t been back to Green Gables since school started, though she called Marilla and Matthew at least once a week. She’d tried to get them set up on FaceTime, but neither was technologically savvy enough to complete a successful video call. The longer she was away the more her gable room showed up in her dreams: fluffy white comforter that smelled of lavender and detergent, tiny wood desk where she’d studied for her slew of AP exams, Marilla’s lacy curtains that just managed to keep the sunshine out in the morning, and of course the cherry blossoms outside.

“Do you have a ride home? Or are you walking in all that?” Gilbert asked. He looked out at the icy sidewalks and she watched his jaw tighten.

“I’m walking, but I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she replied.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to...”

“What brings you to the Christmas day shift, Gilbert Blythe?” She interrupted.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Well, I could use the extra money.”

“You’re not going home for break?”

He shook his head and looked back down at the scones. “My dad died earlier this year and I...I sold the house, so I don’t really have a home to go back to. I have a friend back in my hometown, Bash, who invited me to stay with him and his wife for the holidays, but I thought it would be easier and cheaper to just stay here and pick up some extra shifts.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I didn’t know.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s fine. It’s good to be here when campus is empty, I can catch up on studying. Pre-med and all that. What are you doing here, Anne?”

“My...Matthew, my guardian, is sick and we don’t really have the money to spare for me to fly home. He’s fine, getting better I know, but having a whole big Christmas at home would be a lot right now and I didn’t want to cause my adoptive parents any trouble. Of course they protested.”

“Of course,” Gilbert smiled. “Who wouldn’t want to spend Christmas with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

Anne rolled her eyes and turned away to restock the paper cups and hide the blush spreading over her face. The shop was just warm. “Are you all alone then?” She asked, after a moment.

“My roommates have all left for home, so yes,” he said.

Anne thought about Gilbert Blythe all alone in his apartment, pouring bowls of cold cereal or opening cans of Red Bull, or whatever sad, lonely, study food he ate.

“Well, if you like you can join my roommates and I. We’re all still in town and decided to do our own Christmas. They’re both working today too, so we saved the gift giving for tonight.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she shot back, suddenly hell-bent on keeping Gilbert Blythe from a Christmas alone. It was sad enough not to have a home to go back to. “Join us, please.”

The front door bell dinged and another wave of customers came in out of the cold, putting the conversation on hold for a moment.

“What do you think?” Anne asked. It was nearly closing and she was halfway through cleaning the espresso machine.

“Okay,” Gilbert said. “If I can drive you.”

“Deal,” Anne said, extending her hand to shake his.

“You’re on my side,” he said.

***

Gilbert Blythe started work at Avonlea Coffee and Bakery at the beginning of his junior year. It was his second job. He worked assorted evenings at the automotive garage down the street from his apartment, and divided his remaining time between a full schedule of classes, homework, and the occasional handful of hours of sleep.

The day he met Anne Shirley-Cuthbert she had flour on her freckled nose and was expertly crafting a latte. She didn’t pay him any attention as their boss trained him, and continued to effectively ignore him the first shift they worked together.

“Do you know Anne very well?” He asked his co-workers during their break. Billy and Charlie were vaping in the alley beside the shop. He sidestepped clouds of vapor and tapped his foot.

“She’s bossy. She’s worked here forever,” Billy said. “I hear she’s got a whole orphan sob story. I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

“Not much to look at anyway,” Charlie put in.

Gilbert considered this for a moment. “Well, I should be getting back.”

“We have five more minutes,” Billy said.

“I know, I’d just rather spend my break inside, and not with you two.”

He tugged on her braid to get her attention. Childish? Absolutely. But he couldn’t think of another way, and he’d never purported to have the best judgment.  

He hadn’t worked with Anne much since, but he’d seen her at the end of her shifts, when he took over for her. She was great with customers; she knew all the regulars by their orders and their names. She added special touches to all the cakes she decorated: buttercream roses, dainty chocolate work, tufts of spun sugar. And Anne always looked pretty in a way that he had to try really hard not to stare at all the time. When it was warmer she wore long, flowy, floral dresses that fell to her knees and clashed with her heavy work boots. In the winter she wore the same dresses with tights and cardigans and long scarves wrapped around her neck. Her hair was almost always braided. He’d seen it down once, curled on her birthday when their boss had brought her a box of her favorite lemon cupcakes.

“You can turn here,” Anne said. She was in the passenger seat. Her dress was red with tiny black flowers. The navy cardigan and coat she had over it nearly swallowed her small frame. “My house is on the right."

This was a pity invite, he knew, but there was still something exciting about Christmas with Anne. Maybe they were turning over a new leaf.

Anne scooped up the box of discount pastries she’d salvaged and led him up the steps to her house.

“Anne’s home!” He heard a call from the kitchen and a woman with dark hair and unevenly cut bangs looked back at them. She was stirring a pot of something that smelled like apples and cinnamon and she seemed to be Anne’s stylistic opposite: heavy eyeliner, dark turtleneck and pencil skirt, nose piercing, and ruby red lipstick. “Oh, hello. Who’s this?” She said.

“Diana Barry, this is my co-worker Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, meet my roommate Diana.”

“Gilbert,” Diana repeated, giving Anne a look Gilbert couldn’t read. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replied.

“He’s joining our band of stranded misfits for the evening,” Anne said. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s alright with me. Just be warned that Jerry’s on his third glass of rosé already, and quite torn up about his most recent breakup.”

“Jerry’s an international student. His family's in Paris. He doesn’t fly home for breaks usually,” Anne explained.

“And my family’s abroad in London,” Diana said. “A trip they planned before they knew I’d paid for January term classes already. Either way, it’s much nicer to be with my lovely Anne.”

“It’s much nicer to be alone together,” Anne concluded.

“Alone?” Came a strangled howl from the living room.

“Anne, will you tell Monsieur Heartbreak that this apple cider will be done in five minutes and he better have his present for me wrapped by then?”

Gilbert followed Anne into the living room to see her other roommate sprawled face down on the couch. He turned his head toward them when they came in and moaned.

“Anne of Green Gables how could you bring a new beau to this sacred gathering of singles?”

“He isn’t,” Anne said, at the same time as Gilbert said “I’m not.”

Jerry rolled onto his back and put his head in his hands. “I am destined for suffering.”

“Wrap your present for Diana. Cider’s ready in 5 minutes. This is Gilbert, my co-worker. Please refrain from regaling him with stories of the many sorority girls who have broken your heart until I get back. I need to get my presents from my room.”

Diana brought the cider and offered Gilbert a glass of rosé, which he accepted along with the ten minute recounting of Jerry’s failed relationship. Anne came back and sat next to him on the couch. They all had wine and cider and cookies that Anne made with a recipe from home. Diana ordered pizza and over the exchange of gifts Gilbert learned a number of things:

1) Diana was a music student who studied classical piano for class but made her own songs on synth and guitar in her spare time. She came out as a lesbian last year and went to her first Pride with Anne that summer. Thus her gifts from Anne and Jerry were (respectively) a framed photo of Anne and Diana covered in glitter with bright grins and pride flags, and a pair of musical note earrings.

2) Jerry was an English major, despite the fact that he was dyslexic and it was his second language. He met Anne freshman year in their professor’s office hours and had had a spirited debate about Jane Eyre, which they continued over lunch every week while she edited his (otherwise excellent) essays for typos. He had the unfortunate habit of falling for sorority sisters and writing them embarrassing poetry that often found unsympathetic audiences on ex-girlfriend’s Instagrams post-breakup. Anne got him a mug covered in Brontë quotes and Diana got him a journal and a mood ring she insisted was stuck on “love struck.”

3) Anne’s friends really cared about her. They got her a joint gift, a silver heart locket that made her face light up when she opened it. “For all your love, kindred spirit,” Diana said. Gilbert couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Could you do the clasp for me?” She asked him.

“Of course.”

Anne swept her curtain of red hair from her neck and Gilbert undid the clasp and put the necklace on her. He had some trouble doing the clasp up again because his hands were suddenly very sweaty and Jerry, seated next to Diana and thoroughly drunk by now, started laughing as Gilbert could feel his face heating up.

“I’m cutting you off, Jerry,” Anne said as Gilbert finished with the clasp. “I’m going to put on some music,” Anne said. She rose to her feet and turned around to look at the three of them. Her form was glowing in the light from the kitchen and her hair became a halo of orangey light around her head. “Any requests?”

Gilbert shook his head dumbly and Anne disappeared into the kitchen.

“Mon amie, you are gone on her. I can tell,” Jerry said. He got up with Diana and the two of them began swaying to the song Anne had chosen.

“I’m not...I don’t...”

“Oh leave him alone,” Diana put in. She winked at Gilbert.

Anne had returned. “What do you think? It’s my usual playlist.”

She outstretched her hands and pulled him up off the couch. “Do you dance, Gilbert Blythe?” She asked. Her face was flushed too, no doubt from the wine, and she held him by his waist.

“Sometimes...” he muttered.

“I’ll have you know that tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“The scheme of things meaning you’re always going to be angry with me?”

“If you keep giving me reasons to be,” she said, but she was smiling.

“What song is this?” Gilbert said. His head was buzzing.

“It’s called Townie,” Anne said. “I put Mitski on all my playlists.”

“We rotate,” Diana said. “Whenever we’re all together and need to play music.”

“Like at work,” Gilbert said.

“Like at work,” Anne repeated.

There's a party and we're all going And we're all growing up.

Anne swayed close to him. “I’m sorry, again, by the way. For pulling your hair like a grade schooler. I really didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you.”

Somebody's driving and he will be drinking And no one's going back.

“You didn’t?” She asked. “I was sure Billy and his goons had turned you against me.

'Cause we've tried hungry and we've tried full and nothing seems enough.

“Billy’s a dumbass."

So tonight, tonight The boys are gonna go for   More more more.

“Well I guess we can agree on one thing.”

And I want a love that falls as fast As a body from the balcony, and I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground.

I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat, though I don't know what I'm waiting for. I am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be.

The rest of the night blurred out in a haze of laughter, dizzy dancing around the living room, and Jerry pulling him aside to lecture him in slurred, half-French about the perils of love.

“Merry Christmas Gilbert Blythe,” Anne said, as she saw him off.

“Merry Christmas.”

***

The next week Anne and Gilbert had more shifts together. When it was his turn to pick the music Anne heard Mitski on his playlists, in between his old music.

“Why is it that all of your music sounds like it belongs in a 50s diner?”

“Hey, I don’t complain about your music.”

“Yeah, because my music’s good,” Anne said. She was assembling a batch of macaroons as quickly as she could. Since Christmas they’d been engaging in a number  of competitive games. Right now it was timed macaroon preparation. Yesterday it was who could make the most complicated latte art.

“I’ve got to beat you now since you beat me yesterday.”

Gilbert leaned against the counter beside her. “What did you expect, Anne? A doctor has to have steady hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, time! How fast was that, Gil?”

“Gil?” Gilbert repeated, smile growing wide on his stupid face. “Since when do I have a nickname?”

“You don’t! I...didn’t. Did I beat you?”

Gilbert glanced down at the time. “You got me, Anne. Well done.”

As it had turned out, Gilbert Blythe wasn’t the absolute worst. The past couple of times they’d worked together she’d let him drive her home. He had one of those tree shaped air fresheners hanging from his mirror; it smelled like apples and cinnamon. He always cranked the heat up to make sure she wasn’t cold, though she never was. That’s what Gilbert Blythe was becoming to her: apple cinnamon and warmth, wrapping her up as he turned into her driveway.

“Do you have plans for New Years?” He asked.

“Diana’s spending the night with her girlfriend and Jerry’s with his French friends. They both said I could tag along but I don’t want to feel like the odd one out,” Anne said. She’d been the odd one out against her will for years; she wasn’t about to do it voluntarily.

“Well, if you want...I mean I was going to ask you if...uh, if you wanted to come to my place for New Years, in exchange for Christmas.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that. I’m just...” he flushed. “Asking, Anne. I didn’t really have a plan. Pizza, probably, and champagne, watching the festivities on TV.”

“And at midnight?” She met his eyes.

“At midnight I can drive you home,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” Anne said, before her brain fully processed what she was agreeing to. She didn’t want to ring in the new year by herself, not when every day of the past year had been nothing but work (good, rewarding, exhausting work) and the coming year promised more of the same.

“Okay?” Gilbert replied. “That easy? I thought I was going to have to bribe you.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Diana insisted that Gilbert Blythe’s invitation was more than it seemed.

“He obviously likes you,” she said, sprawled on Anne’s bed playing Nintendogs on her beat up DS.

“He’s my friend,” Anne said, flipping through the hangers in her closet.

“Then why are you so concerned about your outfit?”

Anne sighed.

“It’s okay if you like him too, you know?” Diana sat up and looked at her. “I know you think you don’t have time for romance, with school and work and Green Gables, but you deserve something all consuming and tender and warm and...” Diana trailed off. They’d known each other for years. Maybe Diana knew her better than Anne knew herself. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Thank you. Happy new year.”

Diana hugged her goodbye. Anne stared at herself in her bathroom mirror and debated whether or not to put on red lipstick. When she was younger she’d look in the mirror and hate her face: mud splatter of freckles, tired eyes, fiery hair framing her features. Now she and her face were on better terms. Would lipstick tonight be overkill? She looked at herself intently. An all consuming love, that’s what Diana had said. Anne smiled, and put on the lipstick.

***

Anne sat cross legged on Gilbert’s couch with a breadstick in one hand and wine glass in the other. He tried not to grin.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She said, but she was smiling. There was a crescent of lipstick on her glass’s rim. “I thought you were making dessert.”

“About that...” he said, taking a seat beside her. He held up a package of Oreos. “I’m not much of a baker on my own time.”

She laughed and selected a cookie from the package. “I’ve got you beat in the desert arena then. I make pies back at Green Gables.”

It was 11:30. She’d spent part of the night teasing him for the poorly hidden heap of laundry in his bedroom and overly animated voice on the phone when ordering pizza, part of it playing cards and watching TV with him at his living room coffee table, and part telling him stories of Green Gables.

“I’m sorry my New Years is so boring,” he said. On TV crowds were huddled in the snow, waving noisemakers and throwing confetti.

“It’s not,” she said. She moved so her shoulder was pressed to his on the couch. “Thanks for having me. It’s nice not to be alone. I wanted to have the holidays at home this year. I feel like all I do is work and go to class now, like I'm racing to an invisible finish line. It’s hard to be away. And with Matthew sick I...anyway, thanks.”

"And what if you get to the finish line and it isn't everything you thought it would be?" Gilbert added. "I know the feeling." He sucked in a breath. “It’s the first holiday without my dad,” he said. “I’m glad I’m not alone either.”

Anne put her hand over his. It was small and warm and he didn’t move a muscle for fear she would take it back.

“What’s that song?” He muttered. “That Mitski song, from Christmas?”

“It’s called Townie,” she replied.

“Do you want to listen to it? Would you dance with me, Anne? Like at Christmas?"

She looked over at him and smiled. “It’s nearly midnight, Gil.”

He’d become Gil, so quickly, without either of them knowing. He’d become someone she looked at softly. She’d become someone who made his heart feel like it was jumping around in his chest.

“But okay,” she said.

He didn’t know when the clock struck midnight. He was swaying with Anne in his living room. Her head was on his shoulder. His heart was hitting the ground. When the song was over she tilted her head up to blink at him.

“I have to work tomorrow,” she said. “At 7, But I don’t even care.”

“Can I kiss you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

“Yes, Gil, you can.”

He did, and she kissed him back. He took her face in his hands and kissed her for a long time. It still felt too short.

“You have lipstick on your face,” she told him. Her own face was flushed and her lipstick was smudged. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year, Anne,” he said. He could hear fireworks, but it could just be in his head. It was a firework kind of night, new year or no new year.

“It’s going to be a good one,” she said. “I have a feeling.”

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter 20: I can’t come up with a clever summary for this one that doesn’t ruin the surprise of the nonsense I’ve set loose, I’m sorry, I’m tired

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Trucy has Christmas off from school – or maybe just takes it off, Apollo doesn’t ask these questions – but it is a weekday and the office is open, so Apollo spends it with her and Vera and Phoenix nowhere to be seen. “We would make a great investigation trio,” Trucy says, adjusting the Santa hat that she has moved from her head to Charley now to her wisp so that it, invisible beneath the hat, bobs about the office as some kind of strange holiday decor. “But I also hope no one comes in today, because – spending Christmas in jail because you’re accused of murder. Can you imagine?”

“Or being murdered on Christmas,” Apollo agrees.

Having said that, he still does like to get paid.

It’s cold, fae cold, like every Christmas Apollo has experienced in Los Angeles. (Like every Christmas Apollo has experienced; they didn’t celebrate it in Khura’in. They had their own holidays, things all dimmed down in his memories.) The dusting of snow across the sidewalk melts by afternoon between the bright sun and the foot traffic through the city, but the chill remains, making Apollo infinitely grateful for his Christmas presents from Trucy, a knitted beanie and scarf, even if the colors she chose for him are pink and limey green.

“I know you won’t really get cold,” Trucy had said to Vera, “but everyone should have cute scarves and hats, so you get one, too!” The knitwear she presented to Vera was pink and bright blue, colors that much better match her typical fashion – and her fae form, when she lets her glamour drop to hold the yarn against her skin. Trucy insists on a selfie with the three of them; right before she clicks the button, Vera washes away her watercolor skin, and grinning back from the photo are three apparent humans.

“Maybe shouldn’t have photo evidence that I’m not human,” Vera says quietly, but she is already reaching for her sketchpad and scribbling a tiny self-portrait, fae ears and all, in the corner of a page. She still takes a sketchbook everywhere with her but doesn’t keep it in hand at every moment, seeming a little more able and willing to express herself with words and either of her own faces.

Trucy tells them that she has also made Ema a scarf so that she can contribute to the scientific assessment that Trucy expects of Iris’ yarn. “Daddy says that humans who spend a long time in the fae world end up with kinds of glamours, too,” she explains to Vera, after catching her up on Iris. Apollo wonders who Phoenix learned this from; if he knew that, shouldn’t he have figured out what Klavier was sooner? Or is this another fact he’s only put together after that one realization? “So we’re all wondering what properties these might have. I expect you to take notes on anything strange while you’re wearing these. Like if people start telling you you’re more attractive.”

Apollo snorts. Trucy smacks him on the arm. “This is for science, Apollo!”

“How much do you talk to Ema, again?” He can’t say that he isn’t curious – could something like this be the origin of the infamous Magic Panties? – and he can’t say that he isn’t more curious than afraid nowadays, but he also can’t say that he’s not afraid of where this curiosity will take them. Everything Clay impressed upon him for thirteen years has collapsed in eight months.

(And Dhurke – well, maybe there was a nugget or two of advice Dhurke left him, half-forgotten, but he let Apollo and Nahyuta make their mistakes, and as far as that goes, Apollo is definitely making mistakes.)

Trucy is powerful, he’ll give her that. And if anyone can turn stage magic into entertainment in a city so full and wary of real magic, it would be her. (That seems to be her latest career aspiration, the latest turn of her Youtube channel after her stint as a cover artist, but she laments that it’s hard to really perform when she knows her audience could easily believe she’s just cleverly editing her videos.)

(If he really thinks about it, he wonders if she, like Klavier, has some innate glamour, if at least some part of her force of personality and charisma and likeability is magic.)

“I have two more very important things to tell you,” she says over a late lunch of Chinese, because Eldoon’s isn’t an option with Vera and he apparently takes some holidays off anyway.

“Uh-oh,” Apollo says.

The lights blink between two stages of brightness; Apollo still can’t really say he’s used to Mia’s rare laughter. “Excuse you!” Trucy says. “I object! I am having a New Years Eve party here and was going to tell you to come and invite your friends but now you are uninvited! Polly is, anyway. Vera you’re still good.”

“You can’t blame me!” Apollo says. “The amount of strange things that happen with Mr Wright, I never know if you’re just gonna tell me that he’s – I don’t know, got summoned back to the Twilight Realm for a stint and you need to crash on my couch – or whatever.”

“Oh, Daddy’s just over at Uncle Miles’ office today,” Trucy says. “Probably not actually doing work.”

“Uncle Miles?” Vera asks the question that Apollo was about to.

“Oh – Mr Prosecutor Edgeworth. Polly, you met him, right?”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth? I – yeah.” So he and Phoenix are close, close enough that Trucy calls him family. That’s probably important to know, another piece to Phoenix’s wide and varied social circle. “Well uh, I guess it’s good that he hasn’t been disappeared by the fae or something.”

“Oh, we’d be warned if something happened,” Trucy says. The cryptic vagueness of that statement seems fitting somehow. “There’s no need to worry!”

Apollo wouldn’t say he was worried; rather more of a neutral expectation he has that Phoenix is someday going to flake in some grander way than he did setting up the Jurist System.

“Anyway, New Years,” she continues. “I’m inviting a friend from school, and Ema, and a couple other people she and I know, and you can invite Clay if you want, and I need your phone for Prosecutor Gavin’s number to invite him.” She extends her hand, palm facing upward, to him.

“Erm,” Apollo says.

“Or you can invite him yourself,” Trucy says. She draws her hand back. “Do you think he’ll be more likely to say yeah to you or me? I mean, I’m cute but you already talk to him on the regular, so it could go either way.” She claps her hands together. “Okay, we’re decided: you invite him on my behalf!”

Apollo wouldn’t say that they actually decided it so much as Trucy decreed it, but sure, he’ll go with it. “I thought you and Ema didn’t know each other at all when we first met her,” he says. The tragicomedy of the white powder ordeal is still, and always will be, fresh in his mind when he thinks about Ema. “How do you have mutual friends?”

“Oh, y’know.” Trucy shrugs. Apollo does not know. “She knew Daddy and Uncle Miles back when, Uncle Miles knows other people who I know, then she meets them, then we meet – the usual. Everyone ends up working in the legal system.” She pauses. “Except me.”

“I think you count,” Vera says.

“You’re co-counsel,” Apollo says. “You definitely count.”

“I guess you’re right,” Trucy says. “Magic just keeps ending up hand-in-hand with the law.” She sits forward conspiratorial, steepling her fingers in front of her face. “Now,” she adds, unable to stop herself from grinning, “the second thing. This is top secret, invite-from-me-only stuff. It’s a secret family tradition that I’m only inviting the two of you and Ema and Kay’s tagging along because she’s like a superspy and found out about my conversation with Ema – anyway.” Leaving Apollo with little time to parse that sentence – does he know who Kay is? Has he heard that name before? He doesn’t think so – Trucy holds up a pointer finger. “You are both cordially invited to The Gourdyversary.”

“The what?” Apollo asks.

“The Gourdyversary,” Trucy repeats, sounding very serious but still grinning all the while. “The Gourdy Anniversary. It’s a very very secret Wright-Butz friendship tradition that is also very very important for the upkeep of Gourd Lake Park.”

“You’re losing me,” Apollo says. “Also, if it’s this secret, and you’re busting it open to everyone--”

“Not everyone! I thought Ema would be super interested, and Kay was being stalky, like I said, and then the two of you are super important parts other parts of the Wright-Butz social circle, so I was allowed to invite you!” Her eyes narrow in concentration. “Also,” she says, with an air of recollecting something, “Daddy mentioned you specifically, Polly, said that he’d like to see the look on your face because you always react a lot to finding out new magic stuff.”

“Great,” Apollo mutters. “I cordially decline your invitation.” He looks at Vera, who is just as confused as him, blinking her huge eyes owlishly at Trucy. “Wait,” he says. “‘Butz’? Who’s that?”

“You know – oh!” Trucy laughs and falls further back into the couch. “You don’t! That’s Uncle Larry’s other last name, the one he had first.”

On one hand, Apollo can’t really blame someone for wanting to be rid of that surname, especially in a profession where names are as important as they are to authors. On the other hand, there’s a certain expectation that Apollo has come to have. “Is this a fae thing in some way?”

Vera is the first to nod. “Deauxnim was one of the names his mentor used.” It appears thoughtless now, both the way she starts to raise her hand to her lips and the way she puts it back down. Is another incentive for her to break her habit of chewing her nails how strange the thought must be that she also has claws in a different form? Could it be possible for her to chew her claws off? “The last name she used before… before she died. She gave it to him.” She picks at the eraser on her pencil, clearly for something to do with her hands. “He – Mr Laurice offered it to me, too. If I want – if I want to sell my art someday and use it for my career, I could be…” She frowns at her sketchbook. “Vera Deauxnim.”

“I’d do it!” Trucy says. “It’s a good name, Uncle Larry says, and Uncle Valant always told me that it’s good to have spare names in case you really need to give one away.” She frowns, too. “But he only had one name. He was only ever ‘Gramarye’.”

“I know it’s a good name,” Vera says. “Mr Laurice says it’s lucky. But I have my name already, and it’s my dad’s. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t give that up. Should I?”

“You’re not giving up anything!” Trucy says. “You’re Vera Misham and you can be Vera Deauxnim, like I’m Trucy Wright and then Trucy Gramarye on Youtube because that’s both my family and I can be both. Like Prosecutor Gavin said about different faces.” She spreads her hands wide in the air in front of her like she’s spreading something out for them to look at. “We contain multitudes!”

That pulls a grin onto Vera’s face.

“I must’ve missed when you started going by Gramarye again,” Apollo says. She’s called herself Trucy the Enigma, which he knows is a reference to her father’s name, and that was as far as he knew.

“Yeah,” she says, stretching herself out further on the half of the couch she has claimed. “It was sometime after we talked about just – me, and magic, in general, all that. And I thought, it’s my mom’s name too, I want to keep it for her. So I’ll make it mean something good, like I think it should be. Like I used to think it was.”

He wonders if when she holds the mitamah she hears something like he heard music; he wonders if he’d hear it again if he picked it back up. Sometimes he feels drawn to that drawer of Phoenix’s desk, a compulsion to understand who she was – is? A dead body with a bullet in it but a soul that is still here glowing? – that he stifles again and again. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, knowing how hard it all hit Trucy, knowing that she still can’t always find the light behind her eyes, but she forestalls him with a red-tinted grin. (A lie. Her smile is a lie, and it’s magic, a fae blessing, that tells him this.)

“Man, names are so complicated,” she says. And Apollo sees red and oh, this is the limit of it, isn’t it? Her smile is a lie but while he’s seeing that, any words she says might be true, might be a lie, and he’s already going to be stuck on her expression.

(Who was it that gave him Truth? Which one of them thought that was the most important gift? Dhurke? Datz? Nahyuta?)

“And they’d be this complicated even without all the magic,” Trucy continues. She cranes her neck to look at Vera’s sketchbook. “Ooh, nice!”

(Complicated, nonmagic, Apollo knows that too. On his birth certificate, a forgery, his father’s name is Jay Justice because his stage name was Jangly and they didn’t know his real name and even Datz who had the papers drawn up seemed to realize that they couldn’t put that down and just the initial J was a little sparse. His mother’s name they made up entirely. Dhurke named her Hera, because he always thought he was funny. Apollo had looked it up sometime in middle school. Hera wasn’t even the mythological Apollo’s mother.)

Vera has Trucy’s phone balanced up on the piano, showing off the selfie, and she is sketching from it but for herself, pointed ears and big eyes. “So what is the, um, Gourd… Gourdversary?”

“Gourdyversary,” Trucy repeats, as though she is teaching them an actual word that they might need to know. “You know Gourd Lake Park, maybe?” Vera shakes her head. Apollo nods. It was in the vague area of Apollo and Clay’s high school and a corner of the park was the popular hangout for stoners, which meant Apollo wasn’t surprised when a lake monster was sighted there. (He was surprised that tourists and not stoned kids who first made the claim.) In their senior year, he and Clay camped out in the abandoned, allegedly-haunted, boat shack, or tried to, made it to about midnight when Clay swore he heard a voice, and then later lied about it to their friends and Clay’s siblings to claim that they totally spent the whole night there and nothing happened. Every few years there were attempts to revitalize the park and make it a real community location. Those never worked.

“Well,” Trucy continues, “always sometime after Christmas, this year, it’ll be the 27th that, we go, before dawn, to the lake, to make the annual sacrifice.”

“I don’t like the sound of this in the slightest,” Apollo says.

“We don’t sacrifice people,” Trucy says. “C’mon, Polly. Really.”

“I hate that you know exactly what I was about to ask because it is actually a reasonable question in these circumstances.” Apollo smacks his head into the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Sacrifice what, then? To what? The lake?”

“You have to come along to know,” Trucy says smugly. “Exact time and meeting location will be disseminated only to true believers.”

“Believers of what?” Apollo demands.

Vera has folded her knees up onto the couch and has her sketchbook propped against them, her dark human eyes peering out from behind the top of it, darting between Trucy and Apollo.

“You’ll see,” Trucy says.

-

The next morning, Phoenix enters the office and asks for Apollo’s help getting the doors so that he can carry inside a heavy grocery bag filled with twelve-packs of hot dogs. “What is this for?” Apollo asks, when he’s followed Phoenix into the kitchen (not even asking why Mia wouldn’t get the doors because he knows the answer is going to be that she rightfully thinks whatever is going on is stupid) to watch him maneuver the contents into the refrigerator.

“The Gourdyversary,” Phoenix replies. He pushes the fridge door closed only for it to pop back open and six packs spill back to the floor.

“Is this a hazing ritual?” Apollo asks. “Like, am I getting hazed?”

“Apollo, I’m pretty sure the entire Kitaki case was the universe conducting a hazing ritual on you,” Phoenix says. “Why would I bother with anything else?” He winks. “See you bright and early tomorrow, huh?”

“I haven’t agreed to this ridiculous venture,” Apollo says.

Phoenix slams the refrigerator shut with more force this time. “But are you really going to disappoint Trucy?” He manages to take one step before, in defiance, the fridge spits some of its contents back out. “Come on, seriously?” he asks, turning about in a circle and gesturing helplessly to the room at large. “Just let us do our dumb shit, Mia, c’mon.”

Apollo leaves him to fight with the ghost of his mentor, only to find that Vera has definitively declined to join in on the Gourdyversary, and consequently, Trucy is pouting at him with the most pathetic puppy eyes he has ever seen from a person.

It isn’t that – he tells her, several times, it isn’t that – which gets him, and she, seeing Truth, should know that is the truth, but she keeps proclaiming victory for her powers of persuasion – “Powers of getting people to pity you, if anything” – when he acquiesces. It’s curiosity, purely and painfully, and if it’s only painful in the moment for everything required to make it to the main gates of Gourd Lake Park at 6 am, the chances are high that it’s going to be worse next time. And there’s going to be a next time, he’s sure of it: he’s come to feel at home in an office filled with the lingering wraith of a fae queen, followed Trucy and Klavier in pursuit of grimoires and faery rings, and he’s becoming desensitized, he’s sure of it. He’s on the road to becoming a missing persons report or a cautionary folktale for future generations.

But damn if he isn’t curious as to why Phoenix “cheapskate” Wright bought more than a dozen dozens of hot dogs.

Trucy’s gifts, the scarf and hat, seem to block out the wind better than any other he can recall owning, which Apollo tells her to note down for her experimental records when he reaches the park entrance. Twilight Realm yarn, helping him resist the fae’s cold snaps. The dead brown grass is dusted with snow and a few more errant flakes drift down from the dark sky. Whenever the sun finally rises, they probably won’t see it. Trucy is waiting when he arrives, bundled up in a heavy coat and matching blue knitted hat, scarf, and gloves, and talking with two women. One is Ema, recognizable by the crinkling snack bag in her hands – “Are you aware of the time?” “Yeah, it’s snack time.” – and the dead-eyed glare from over the pink scarf Trucy apparently saddled her with.

The other, Apollo has never seen, but when she spots him, she abandons her conversation and bounds over to him, grabbing his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Hi!” she chirps. “I’m Kay! Kay Faraday! Super glad to finally meet you, Apollo!”

Finally?

“Uh,” he says, allowing her to wrench his arm about, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are.”

“That’s okay!” She lets go of his hand and strikes a pose, one hand in the air and the other on her hip. None of her clothing seems quite to match, a puffy pink coat with a huge dark scarf, gold hair accessories, and leather gloves that look more expensive than his life. “Kay Faraday, homicide detective, Great Thief and Mr Edgeworth’s first and best assistant, at your service.”

“You lost me at ‘thief’ right after ‘detective’,” Apollo says. He can already see why Trucy likes her, though.

“Get used to confusion,” Ema says dryly. “That’s all she does for you.”

“Rude,” Kay says. She skips back past Trucy and Ema and down the park path. “Let’s go get gourded out of our gourds already!”

“I don’t know what that means but I refuse to do that,” Ema says. She doesn’t move, watches Trucy race after Kay, and then holds out the Snackoos bag to Apollo. “Kay wasn’t even invited. She was just creeping around and was unrelenting in demanding to accompany me in finding out whatever Trucy’s on about.” Apollo declines the Snackoos and she shrugs and shoves a few more into her mouth. “That’s also how she makes friends so watch it or you’re next.”

“I see,” Apollo says, even though he isn’t sure that he does. “It sounds, uh, interesting down at the precinct.”

Ema snorts. “We’re like two steps away from being a coven at this point.”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth said something like that.”

She nods sagely. “He thinks he can stop it but I know it’s futile.” She stuffs the Snackoos into her jacket pocket and pulls her scarf up against the sudden onslaught of wind. “How’s Trucy doing?” she asks quietly, eyeing the distant backs of her and Kay. “Haven’t heard from her much since October and” – a pause, a search for a tactful phrasing that she doesn’t find – “all that shit.”

And it was, nothing but a bunch of shit, no more honest way Apollo can think to say it, Ema cutting back to the heart of the matter. “Better, I think,” he says. “We had a couple conversations about her family and er grandfather that seemed like – like she’s figuring it out.” Or just coping, but even that is harder than it sounds. “And Mr Wright is spending a lot of time looking into the mitamah thing trying to deal with that.”

“That’s good.” She sounds like she means it. “If anyone can find a way to fix it, it’ll be Mr Wright. I’m sure of it.” And on that she sounds so confident that Apollo almost believes her. Isn’t that how Trucy said magic works? And what must Phoenix have done for Ema that she still has such faith in him?

Trucy stands planted in the path ahead, fists on her hips, facing them. “Hurry up!” she calls.

“Bunch of snails!” Kay yells. Ema flips her off but above her scarf, her eyes squint up like she’s grinning.

“So clarify for me how you all know each other,” Apollo says when the four of them have reconvened. Along the edges of the path the trees thin out and he can see the dark glassy surface of the water. “Through Prosecutor Edgeworth?”

“Basically!” Kay says. “I first helped him investigate cases years ago – I saved him when he got kidnapped – then there were some international incidents – I got accused of arson once and murder twice – it was a ridiculous month. And we ran into Emmy” – Emmy? Apollo raises an eyebrow and Ema stares back with unchanging expression – “and she already knew Mr Edgeworth from stuff and she helped us out. And then later working with Mr Edgeworth, I met Mr Wright, and my little apprentice thief.” She throws her arm around Trucy’s shoulders and grins.

“I thought you were my assistant,” Trucy says.

“Anyway!” Kay barrels past that statement. Trucy sticks her tongue out at her. “Then Emmy came back to work at the precinct and hang with me again, and then she met you, and here we are!”

Apollo almost keeps pace with that. He has about half a dozen follow-up questions about the arson and murder, but they’ve come up to the biggest gathering area of the part, a few vendor’s stands unattended for the weather and time of day, and Phoenix and Larry waiting by the one bare tree in the area, the bag of hot dogs at their feet. “Hi, Mr Wright!” Kay shouts. “Hi, Mr Steel Samurai!”

“You’re never gonna let me live it down, are you?” Larry asks.

Kay swings a friendly punch at his shoulder. “Nah, but I don’t let Mr Edgeworth forget about it, either, if that helps.”

“It absolutely does,” Larry says.

“So are you gonna tell us what’s going on or drag out the mystery for a little longer?” Ema asks.

Phoenix and Larry look at each other. “I’m thinking we drag it out,” Larry says.

“I already have my reputation for being cryptic,” Phoenix says, turning his head to stare directly at Apollo, “so yeah, let’s torment the kids a little longer. And besides,” he adds, stooping and wincing as he hauls the bag back up into his arms, “we’ve still got a little further to walk. We’re heading back through the woods there – there’s a little outlet to the shore that’s a little more hidden.”

“The hot dogs are the sacrifice, right?” Apollo asks. Larry gives a thumbs-up. “So then you could just answer what we’re sacrificing to—”

“Wait.” Ema stops walking. “Trucy, you didn’t tell me there was ritual sacrifice involved. You just said ‘hey, there’s something you will want to see, scientifically speaking’ and I asked to make sure it wasn’t a hoax like the last time people said there was something cool at Gourd Lake—”

Phoenix and Larry glance at each other. Trucy looks up at them both. “No,” Ema says. “No, do not tell me that the lake monster is real.”

“You proved in court that it was a hoax,” Apollo says. “You proved that it wasn’t a real—”

“I thought I proved that,” Phoenix says, thankfully not taking any time to dwell on the fact that Apollo knows his cases well enough to know exactly when this happened. “I did prove that loud banging noises aren’t the hallmark of the monster, and that Larry was out on the lake looking for a bigass balloon he’d launched into orbit—”

“The balloon was also very real,” Larry supplies helpfully. “It was the Steel Samurai. It was pretty cool until I slipped up inflating it with the air canister. Launched that, too.”

“—but we were accidentally enlightened as to a little more, when was it – a couple days after the trial?”

“The day after,” Larry says. “And already you were moping about being lonely with Maya going back to Fairyland—”

“—so I went all the way to the bottom of my contacts list and came to hang out with you at your hot dog stand—”

“You had like, three people in your phone then. Don’t pretend like I was your last-ditch social reject friend! You’re my last-ditch reject friend!”

Ema coughs. Phoenix and Larry both clearly take the cue to continue the narrative. “We were about the only people in the park, hanging out back there.” Phoenix points back over his shoulder with his thumb. They are passing by the old boat shack now, its shattered windows and unstable rotting dock, and Apollo shudders. One step on that and it’s straight into the water. “And then, just, out of lake—” He waves vaguely and purses his lips together. “There she was.”

“And that’s why hot dogs?” Apollo asks. “Because he had a hot dog stand then?”

“Yeah.” Larry shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like hey, we didn’t know if it was gonna eat us, figured we’d throw some food that wasn’t us and hope that was enough.”

“And now we come back yearly with offerings to hopefully appease her and never find out why she was sealed away in the first place. Because as it turns out,” Phoenix continues, grinning broadly, far too amused for the fact that they are discussing the potential of some lake monster to eat people, “someone’s flyaway balloon got caught on a warding sigil and tore it off. Make a hoax monster while releasing the real monster.” His grin shrinks just a little. “We found the place where the seal originally was and went looking all over the park hoping to find it and put it back, but no such luck. Not like you can dig magic rocks out with a metal detector.”

“I cannot believe that Mr Edgeworth and I solved an entire murder conspiracy here at this lake and he never told me there’s a real monster in it!” Kay pouts. She does a good impression of a moody teenager, kicking a stray rock out of the way on the path, but she can only hold it for a few seconds.

Phoenix and Larry again exchange a look.

“He uh,” Kay says, her eyes narrowing, “does know about the lake monster, right?”

Phoenix sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. Larry elbows him in the ribs. “This one's all on you, buddy,” he says with a wicked grin. “You justify yourself.”

“Edgeworth does not know,” Phoenix says, sounding pained. Kay gasps exaggeratedly loudly. “Listen, we weren’t on as good of terms back then! He knew the part that came out in court about the hoax, and then I was not exactly sure that he would appreciate me reaching out to tell him no, there’s an entire fae monster actually there now.”

“And the ten years since then where you’ve been on very good terms?” Larry asks, still grinning.

“Fuck you,” Phoenix says to him. “I’d call it eight, also.”

“I think you should tell him,” Kay says. “He could stand to have his preconceptions shaken up every so often, that there’s more magic just chilling around than he thinks there is.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says dryly, “until he asks me how long I’ve known and I have to figure out whether he’d believe it if I lied to him. Like logically I know the best thing to do, but at this point half of the fear of telling is the ‘why did you not mention that you knew this sooner?’ so I just drag it out even longer in the hopes that we’ll all live and die before Gourdy ever makes a situation where I’d have to mention it to him.”

“That is a very bad way of handling secrets, Daddy,” Trucy says.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, I know.” Phoenix frowns and sighs and shakes his head. “Though this isn’t just me covering my ass right now, but I think our new Chief Prosecutor has a lot more important things to deal with.”

The path they follow through the woods is almost overgrown with the tangled underbrush and buried beneath icy dead leaves. Phoenix and Larry, when they aren’t bickering, seem to confidently know the way, leading their small troupe out onto the saddest beach Apollo has ever seen. Sand and mud mix with snow for a slick surface that slopes straight down into the water, and an old weathered sign prohibiting camping is the only apparent clue that people come out here – though why anyone would want to camp here, Apollo has no idea.

Phoenix drops the bag into the wet ground. “Oi, Gourdy!” Larry calls. His voice doesn’t echo on the open lake but seems to be swallowed up by the white fog that has begun to swirl across the surface of the water. “We’ve got your yearly sacrifices!”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Apollo says. “That makes me think you’re going to throw us into the lake.”

“If I’m throwing anyone, it’d be Larry,” Phoenix says.

Larry, standing right at the edge of the water, flips him off over his shoulder. Through the fog, Apollo can see the water rippling, before it moves, pointedly, a long white wake pushing toward the shore. Larry scrambles backwards up the slope to Phoenix and the bag of hot dogs, grabbing an entire pack but not attempting to tear it open.

At first Apollo thinks that it’s a catfish, coming up strangely above the water. Then it keeps rising out of the water, far higher than a fish could, and he sees – he doesn’t know what he sees. It has a face like a catfish with the wide, gaping mouth, the barbels, and the beady eyes at the sides of its head; but past its eyes, it has small pointed ears and an otherwise horse-like body, its skin a slimy-looking brownish-green and its mane a long tangled curtain of seaweed. “Oh,” Kay says, very softly. “Oh, geez.”

Larry tosses the pack of hot dogs, plastic wrapping and all, in an underhand arc toward the creature. It stretches its neck out and catches the hot dogs in its wide mouth, throwing its head back and appearing to swallow the package whole. “You feed it plastic?” Ema asks. “It – her?”

“I call her ‘her’,” Phoenix says, “but that’s mostly because all the most powerful and terrifying fae I’ve known have been women, and not for any actual reason. But yeah, most of the fae and fae creatures I’ve known also have not been concerned with what humans do or don’t consider edible.”

“That sounds like some people I know,” Ema says. Kay pouts, but Ema isn’t looking in her direction. Her eyes are fixed, understandably, on the horse-catfish creature.

“S’good as far as keeping litter out of the lake,” Larry says. He grabs another package to throw. Phoenix hasn’t reached for the bag but is instead grinning at the stunned expressions on their three faces. “But yeah, we just show up, feed it a couple dozen hot dogs, and then do it again next year. Simple stuff.”

“So you really did just invite us to see the looks on our faces,” Apollo says. Phoenix’s grin does not waver. Trucy grabs two packs out of the bag and tosses them each at different sides of the creature – Gourdy, they call it Gourdy, a cute name for something that is frankly terrifying – and it swings its head about, inhaling one after the other.

“Worth,” Kay says, still wide-eyed.

“You weren’t even invited,” Ema says. She frowns, staring up at Gourdy from narrowed eyes. Is this how tall horses usually are? Did it get the size right when it took this nebulously horse-like shape? “I wonder,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone. “Do you think it always looked like this, or it tried to look like things that do exist in our world as a – disguise, I guess. An attempt at one?” She glances over to Phoenix. “Because you’ve said the fae in their true forms look sort-of but not quite like humans, but that they can’t really – alter their glamoured appearances very much?”

Phoenix nods. “It’s more innate,” he says. “What, say, Mia looked like is what Mia looked like. She didn’t just decide, oh, when I pretend to be human I want brown hair. But that’s just the fae, and fae animals are an entirely other barrel of catfish.” He reaches up to adjust his beanie. “Horses. Catfish-horses.”

“Someone who can’t really draw’s idea of a horse,” Apollo offers.

“Don’t be rude!” Trucy scolds. “She’s beautiful!”

Gourdy turns one tiny beady eye on Apollo. Maybe it’s just coincidence, but he decides that he’s not going to say anything that can be perceived as insult again – he doesn’t know how smart this thing is and if it’s fae it probably has very dangerous responses to insults.

“But it’s like…” Ema pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts frantically typing something. “Was it trying to look like natural wildlife? Is it coincidence? Convergent development? How long has it been sealed here and was that before horses were introduced to North America? I have questions!”

Phoenix chuckles and Ema lowers her phone, turning her furious glare on him. “Don’t laugh!” she snaps. “This is interesting! These are real questions!”

“I knew you’d think so,” Trucy says brightly, instantly diffusing the first bits of tension. “And since I dragged you and Polly out on... “ She sighs. “You know. So I thought I’d at least drag you out to some fun magic stuff!”

She thinks she owes them, to make up for the debacle of finding her mother’s soul. Or she was hoping for something like an adventure and wanted to bring them on that. Apollo isn’t sure whether he’d count this as fun, either, learning that there’s a catfish-horse that could probably kill all of them somehow in the lake, but Trucy seems happy.

“I promise I’m not laughing at you, Ema,” Phoenix says, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate her. Apollo doesn’t see that he’s lying. “It’s just nice to see you get a bit of your spark back.”

The angry huff of her cheeks deflates instantly. “I was probably real annoying as a kid, babbling like that the whole time while you were just trying to investigate, huh?”

“Not at all,” Phoenix says, and again, he isn’t lying. “I mean, I’ll admit to having been a little terrified that if I let you out of my sight you were gonna summon something or make a bad deal trying to get more tools for investigating, but I wasn’t annoyed.”

Ema pulls her scarf back up over her nose, but Apollo catches a glimpse of the sad smile on her face as she does. Then she steps forward and grabs a pack of hot dogs, extending it in her hand to Gourdy on approach. With about a foot between its mouth and her hand, she apparently decides not to risk having her arm be swallowed, and she gives the pack a little toss to get it to its destination. “Oh,” she says, “sort of related, Lana asked about you the other day, Mr Wright. Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Ah.” Phoenix rubs the back of his neck. “At least with the Jurist System you’ve got something to tell her more than ‘still sucks at playing the piano’.” His sheepish expression looks a little less when he reaches the part about the piano, and Trucy laughs. Apollo again wonders why he ever bothered to get a piano for the office. “Where is she now, anyway? She got out a year or two ago, right?”

“About two years now, yeah,” Ema says. There is a rhythm to them feeding Gourdy, now, Larry, Trucy, and Ema. Phoenix seems content to hang back, and while Kay bounds forward, Apollo has no inclination to join in on this part of it. “She’s out near Reno, just wanted to get away, and she’s talking moving out to London where we’ve got some family. She’s hesitating now that I’m back, or something, but I told her just get outta here, flee the continent, go somewhere that no one knows your name, y’know?”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix says. “I’d – had that option, honestly, but—”

“But you didn’t do anything,” Ema interrupts. “And she kinda did… most of it.”

“Do you think Gourdy would let me pet her?” Kay asks.

“I would not try it,” Phoenix says. Kay’s shoulders slump.

“She was gushing about the Jurist System when we talked about it, though,” Ema continues, with only a brief roll of her eyes at Kay’s question.

“I can’t imagine her gushing,” Phoenix says.

Ema shrugs. “It’s – a big thing, y’know, to her. To all of us, but, she’d said – she’d said that maybe it could’ve helped stop Darke, put him away before even more people died and…” She looks from her phone down to the hot dog bag. Its contents are mostly depleted but she grabs one and hurls it with a surprising amount of force. “Good for cases like that. Common sense, no evidence, maybe now justice gets served.”

Apollo can’t say why the name Lana, Lana Skye, seems familiar, but he knows with the expression on Ema and Phoenix’s faces, he’s not about to ask.

Kay whispers something to Trucy and, both giggling, Kay hefts the bag and whatever remains in it onto her shoulder and flings the entire thing at Gourdy. Its mouth doesn’t look wide enough to take in the entire bag, but it does – the bag is there and then gone with a wet sucking sound in the time it takes Apollo to blink. He suddenly wonders if when Klavier complains about Vongole eating everything he has, he means everything, takeout containers and all.

“That’s, um…” Ema taps a finger against her chin. “That’s something. Kind of impressive. Kind of horrible!”

“And scientifically fascinating?” Kay prompts.

“Absolutely!”

“That’s all we’ve got,” Larry says to the beast, showing it his empty hands, like he’s sending off a dog that has gotten its share of treats but continues begging. “Good talk as always, Gourdy. See ya next year.”

Gourdy tilts its head, seeming to carefully survey Larry. It trots forward and for a horrible moment Apollo thinks someone is going to be eaten but Gourdy bumps its square fishy head into Larry’s face and makes an arc back into the water. Its tail is the same as its mane, stringy green and brown weeds with sand and grit tangled up in them. The water around it barely ripples as it enters, doesn’t splash when the creature goes from being half-visible to gone, and the wake moving away from them is weaker than the one that arrived. The arc of its hoofprints left in the snowy sand are backwards, like it left the water where it really just entered.

“Very slimy,” Larry says, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. “Sticky, slimy, would not headbutt again.”

“But you’re friends now!” Trucy says. “Officially!”

“You never knew what its skin was like before?” Ema asks. She has her phone out again for notes. Kay peers over her shoulder. “Or beyond what you could see that yeah it’s probably fishy. How long have you been doing this again?”

“It’s… Shit.” Phoenix shakes his head, laughing again. “Ten years, now.”

“Plenty of time to have observed and thought about some of the questions on my list.” Ema lowers her phone and stares at Phoenix. “I have questions.”

“My answer is gonna be ‘I don’t know’ to most, but go for it,” Phoenix says.

“There’s gotta be somewhere open for breakfast, right?” Larry says. “Right? Who’s up for that?”

“Eldoon’s!” Trucy says brightly.

“Oh no, no no.” Larry holds up his hands and takes a step back from her. “Eldoon’s for breakfast reminds me of being broke as hell and I’m not about that.”

“That mean you’re paying wherever we go?” Phoenix asks dryly. “Since I got the hot dogs and you’re worth your weight in faery gold now.”

Apollo looks at Ema. Ema glances out of the corner of her eyes first at Larry, then Apollo, then Kay. Kay looks back and forth between Phoenix and Larry.

“Metaphorical gold,” Larry says, jabbing a finger at Phoenix. “You can not phrase it like that, so they” – he points a thumb toward Ema and Kay – “can not be terrified.”

“I’m super down for breakfast, if nobody else is gonna say anything,” Kay chirps.

“You not gonna eat garbage for once?” Trucy asks. She says it with a grin so big that Apollo would find it impossible to take offense if she directed those words or similar at him.

“Hey!” Kay protests. “It’s cheap! It’s cost-efficient!”

“Like you have to worry about that,” Ema says, elbowing her. “Like hell won’t be frozen before Mr Edgeworth lets anyone threaten your salary.” Kay elbows her back, apparently harder, because she staggers. “Anyway,” she adds, looking more at Larry and Phoenix again, “Interrogating you both over breakfast sounds great.”

“Do you ever worry that bringing more and more people in on these secrets makes them untenable?” Apollo asks Trucy. It’s probably a better question for Phoenix, but Ema has already begun the process of cornering him. “Just – showing off magic to us all?”

Trucy shrugs. “Maybe?” she offers. She hooks one arm through Apollo’s elbow and the other through Kay’s. “You and Ema already know so much other stuff.” For a moment her eyes are sad, downcast, and then she turns a sharp look on Kay. “You, though—”

“Guilty of whatever you say,” she laughs.

Trucy shrugs again, jostling Apollo’s shoulder too. “But also we’re like family, and family should get to know some of the weird fun secrets that we have.”

Again Apollo wonders at her definition of fun. But family. Or like family. Like-family is nice to have.

Phoenix, over Ema’s head, raises an eyebrow at her. “Hey Truce,” he says. “Does that mean you’re gonna run off and tell Edgeworth without warning me?”

“I might,” Kay says, snickering and nudging Trucy, who bumps Apollo with the force of it.

Phoenix snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you would, but I’m not sure he’d believe you.”

[littlerose13writes]

Handmade by LittleRose13

Day 8, The 12 Days of Shipmas - Christmas jumpers🌈

In which Ginny finds a new calling in life (sort of). 

Words: 1,539

Pairings: Harry/Ginny 

December 2008

This year, Ginny had her Christmas presents nailed.

It just felt right, now she had three children of her own, that this was the Christmas she learned to knit.

Everybody loved Grandma Molly’s Christmas jumpers, and she was still rolling them out every year, somehow managing to accommodate for all of the extra family members. So Ginny decided her contribution to the Weasley women’s legacy could be scarves. Everybody liked scarves didn’t they?

She pictured it in her head, everyone opening a fluffy, warm scarf hand knitted by their Auntie Ginny, in a colour and pattern personalised to the receiver. It could become just as much of a tradition as her mother’s jumpers. Weasley Christmas Jumpers and Weasley Christmas Scarves.

And knitting didn’t look like it was too difficult.

Ginny had a brilliant afternoon shopping for wool with Luna, baby Lily attached to her front and a promise from Harry, who was looking after the boys, to take as long as she needed and to bring Luna home for dinner. They visited the strangest little shop in Diagon Alley which seemed to be simultaneously a haberdashery and a book shop, but also sold plants and served different types of tea. It was sort of as if Luna had been personified into a shop.

“How many balls of wool do you need for one scarf?” Ginny asked her friend curiously, picking up one in a particular gaudy shade of yellow.

Luna looked blank. “As many as it takes.”

“I thought you could knit, Lu?” Ginny looked down to see that Lily had fallen asleep.

Luna shook her head. “Oh no, but I’d love to learn with you!”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her friend, who had definitely given the impression she knew how to knit. She reached for four balls of the bright yellow. “I think that looks about right for one scarf.”

“How many scarves are you making?” Luna asked, running her fingertips over a fluffy, blue wool.

She held her hand out to count on her fingers. “Let’s see: five brothers, plus Harry, Hermione, Angelina, Audrey and Fleur, Mum and Dad, seven nieces and nephews, three children, one Teddy.” Ginny was left with three fingers held up and a pensive expression on her face. “So that's… twenty-three? Blimey, that’s quite a lot really.”

Luna didn’t look as worried as Ginny suddenly felt at the prospect of knitting twenty-three scarves when she didn’t even know how to knit yet.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The shop owner looked amused at Ginny’s purchase of forty-six balls of wool (she had advised Ginny that four per scarf would be far too much). But Ginny was pleased with her bag stuffed full of wool, with a few pairs of knitting needles thrown into the top.

After dinner that night, when she and Harry had put the children to bed and she’d read Al a total of four different stories before he was ready to sleep, she sat cross legged on the living room floor and excitedly tipped the balls of wool out onto the floor.

“Wow,” said Harry. “That is a lot of wool.”

“Isn’t it great?” Ginny gushed, pulling a ball of orange wool towards her and unwrapping it. “I’m making Ron’s first, in Cannons colours.”

With the instruction sheet the shop owner had given her and the knitting needles in one hand, Ginny unravelled a length of wool.

“Isn’t there a spell for this?” Harry watched her uncertainly.

Ginny waved a hand at him nonchalantly. “I don’t need that, I’m sure it’ll be much quicker this way.”

Forty-five minutes later, Ginny was lying face down on the living room floor, a twisted knot of orange wool tangled around one of the needles.

“How’s it going, love?” Harry cautiously re-entered the room (he’d left to check the children were still asleep through all the swearing).

Ginny raised her head and looked at him forlornly. “Shit.”

“Is this Ron’s scarf?” Harry asked uncertainly, picking up the little twist of orange wool which was barely the length of his hand. He forced back a laugh which Ginny noticed and she sat up and back on her heels, taking it from him. She balanced it across her collarbones as if she were wearing it as a scarf.

“Yes, do you think he’ll like it?” Harry snorted and she was laughing before she could think about it, Harry joining in with her.

“Is that spell looking tempting yet?” Harry asked.

“No, I want to do it by hand like Mum does! I think maybe I just need someone to show me how to do it, instead of just following these instructions.” She picked up the sheet of parchment and dropped it again, letting it flutter to the ground lamely.

“You should ask Hermione, she can knit,” Harry mused.

“Good idea, I’ll Floo her in the morning,” Ginny stood up, cramming all her knitting supplies back into the bag and tucking them into the corner away from Al’s toddler toys. She yawned widely and took hold of Harry’s hand as she left the room, pulling him upstairs with her.

“You know, everyone will still love your scarves if you use a spell,” he said gently, in a whisper as they got nearer to the children’s rooms. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled.

It was the next morning and Hermione had responded to Ginny’s Floo by popping round with baby Hugo. She stared at Ginny in a mix of horror and amusement. “Let me get this straight, you want me to show you how to knit so you can make twenty-three scarves in time for Christmas Day next week?”

Ginny nodded eagerly. “Don’t tell anyone else though, it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Ginny, do you know how long it’ll take you to make one scarf?”

“An hour?” Ginny estimated.

“It took me over an hour to make each tiny elf hat back in school,” Hermione explained gently.

Ginny cast around for a solution, her vision of her family all opening a handmade scarf on Christmas Day at the forefront of her mind. Her eyes fell on Lily and Hugo who were respectively sitting and lying on a blanket on the floor.

“Okay, let’s see. Lily and Hugo are babies, babies don’t need scarves.” She nodded reasonably, trying to encourage Hermione to join in. “I suppose I can make ones for James and Al in the new year. We’ve got them enough presents.  And Harry come to think of it. So that brings it down to only eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” Hermione caught herself and held her hands up. “Okay, fine, I’ll show you how to do it.”

Twenty minutes later, Ginny was slowly but surely weaving the orange wool together after Hermione had cast on for her. “Oh shit, I dropped another stitch.”

Hermione sighed and fixed the knitting, handing the needles back to Ginny. “Keep going.”

She got the hang of the rows, occasionally handing them carefully over to Hermione so she could pick Lily up and jiggle her around for a second or feed her when she started to fuss.

“Is it long enough yet?” she asked every few minutes, holding up her creation.

After working on Ron’s scarf for three hours and being left with a lumpy patch no longer than four inches, Ginny started to suspect she’d been a bit ambitious.

“Is there a spell I can use?” she asked with the air of someone who hasn’t quite given up but might very soon.

Hermione shook her head sadly. “You can enchant needles to copy your patterns and knit by themselves, so you could recreate this as many times as you wanted.” Hermione held up the scarf attempt that might have possibly been useful as a blanket for a fairy. “But there’s no spell to knit for you. Believe me, I looked for one in my fourth year.”

“Someone should really get on inventing one of those,” Ginny muttered, holding the ‘scarf’ in defeat.

Christmas Day rolled around a week later, and Ginny had wrapped her presents neatly, parcelling them up with the generous batches of his famous shortbread biscuits Harry had baked for everybody’s Christmas gift. They sat waiting under the Christmas tree at The Burrow and Ginny was excited for her family to open them.

“You should all open them at the same time,” Ginny explained, distributing the gifts to her family members. She watched excitedly as they all began to tear into the paper, expressing excitement at Harry’s famous baking.

“Merlin, Rosie, give that back please, sweetheart.” Ron was the first to reach his present from Ginny and it was unceremoniously snatched away by his three-year-old daughter.

As Ron reclaimed the present from Rose, everyone else reached the inside of their own parcel.

George was the first to open his, holding up a pair of knitting needles and two balls of purple wool, tied together with a handwritten label. All around the room, her siblings were holding up identical gifts with grins on their faces.

Charlie read the label out loud. “A Make Your Own Scarf Kit, handmade by Ginny Weasley,”

[tkpro-scenarios]

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING WITH KOKI, EICHI, AND TSUBASA PLEAAAAASE

@kirakirafairyprincess So sorry for the wait but we hope you like it!!Merry Belated Christmas~!

- Mod nana

Eto Koki

“[Name], slow down.” The blondcalled, slowly following behind your restless figure.

You jogged to a halt, gasping inawe at all the items on display alongside the cute decorations set up for theholiday. “Kou, Kou! Look at this‼” you bounced in place, excitedly pointing toa miniature set of Santa leaving presents in stockings. You marveled at thelevel of detail that went into making it—as expected of a toy store!

“I get that you’re excited forholiday shopping but calm down.” Koki laughed, joining you to look at thedisplay. He gave another short chuckle at the million-watt smile plastered overyour face.

You shook your head, standingstraight to observe the miniature with a shy smile. “That’s not all. I’m alsoexcited that I get to spend the whole day with you! It feels like forever sincewe got some time for ourselves.” you admitted with a giggle.

“Then all the more reason to takethis slowly.” His expression softened, sapphire hues smiling warmly at you ashe took your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Let’s take our time looking atpresents, okay?”

You blinked, nodding with asheepish laugh as you scratched your cheek.

“I guess you’re right.”

—

[E/c] hues stared in wonder, asmall gasp as you circled around a music box with a ballerina on it. Meanwhile, the golden-hairedyouth picked up a giant teddy bear, holding it in his hands.

“[Name], how about this?” Heturned around to show you a brown stuffed bear wearing a white shirt underneath aplaid vest and shorts, a matching red ribbon tied around its neck while itoffered a friendly smile—just begging for a hug.

You hummed in agreement, walkingcloser to the idol. “That’s great! But Kou…could you hug it for me?” you askedto which he raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t mind but…” Cerulean orbslooked down at the stuffed animal, tilting his head at your strange request. Hewrapped his arms around its torso, bringing it closer and giving it a lightsqueeze. “Like this?”

You nodded. “Is it soft andfluffy?” you inquired, searching for your phone.

He blinked at your question,rubbing his cheek against the bear’s lush fur. “Yeah, it’s really fluffy butwhy—” Koki looked back up when he heard your phone’s camera go off.

“Ahh Kou-kun with a teddy bear!What should I do~?” you squealed, lifting your phone up into the air. “I wannamake it my wallpaper but at the same time I kinda don’t want anyone else to see thispicture!” you brought it down, placing a hand to your cheek with a dreamy sighat the photo of the blond singer hugging the teddy bear with the most adorablyconfused expression on his handsome features.

You finally glanced up at him, holdingback a smile at how utterly lost he looked.

“Sorry, I was just having a bit offun.” You explained, making your way to Koki to show him the photo you took.“Given your looks, it’s a little surreal to see you holding a teddy bear of allthings so I decided to capture the moment~!”

You looked over your shoulder atthe stoic male staring at his photo before he shifted his gaze back to you.

“So you tricked me?” he askedwith a rare pout.

“Sorry! But you were just socute! You even went along with what I asked.” You laughed, feeling your heart flutterat his cute reaction. “Do you want me to delete it?”

“…Just don’t make it yourwallpaper.” Koki replied, handing you the stuffed toy before heading to anothersection of the store.

—

After that the two of you went around to all sorts ofstores, looking through toys, cookware, jewelry and the like for presents foryour friends and family. You placed a bangle back onto the stand when youfound Koki looking rather mesmerized at some sweaters and scarves currently onsale for the holidays.

“Matching sweaters? You wanna buy a pair?” your voicesnapped him out of his trance.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted with a wry smile, blue eyeslooking back to the knit clothes. “I heard it’s something couples do but…thedesign.” He trailed off at the rather hideous patterns on display while youlaughed in understanding. “Rikka-san said it was cute but Ryo called ittacky…so I don’t know what to do. What do you think, [Name]?”

[E/c] hues watched the taciturn male mull it over, makingyour way to the rack to search through the selections.

“I’ll have to agree with Ryo-kun and say I’d rather not seeyou wear something that tacky but how about these?” you pulled out a scarf,tossing one end over his shoulder and bringing it around to muffle it aroundhis neck. “Matching scarves instead?”

Cerulean orbs glanced down at the scarf, placing his handson the soft cloth before looking back to you, nodding inapproval.

—

Your footsteps tapped against the sidewalk, in tune with theblond’s strides while a giggle escaped your lips at the way his sapphire eyessparkled like a kid in a candy store as he stared at the scarf, a shy smileon his handsome face while his fingers kept tracing over the fabric.

You squeezed his hand, moving closer to him. “You really aretoo cute, Kou.”

He looked up at your comment, raising an eyebrow. “Am I? Ikeep getting called that lately but I don’t really know what I’m doing to earnthat sort of response.”

You covered your mouth with the back of your free hand toprevent yourself from laughing. “It’s exactly what you’re doing right now…” yousnickered, shaking your head in reply to his curious expression.

You stopped in front of him, taking Koki’s free hand as younuzzled your nose against his. “Thanks for spending the whole day with me.”

The golden-haired youth chuckled, shaking his head. “I shouldbe thanking you, [Name].” Koki smiled, expression softening at the matching scarfaround your neck. He pressed his lips against your forehead, giving you a chastekiss. “Thank you for the present.”

Horimiya Eichi

“Haha…sorry for making you tag along with me on such shortnotice!” He gave an apologetic smile, green eyes staring up at the giantChristmas tree standing proudly in the center of the mall. “I didn’t get anyfree time to buy presents until now and I’m still troubled about whatto buy!” He gave a short laugh, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it!” you shook your head, taking Eichi’shand as you led the brunet down the mall. “A date is still a date, even if it’sChristmas shopping~!”

—

The two of you walked in and out of multiple stores, desperately steeringthe messy-haired brunet away from ugly sweaters and scratching your heads onwhat to buy a certain Quell Leader before finally deciding to buy something forIssei and Ichiru first.

Eichi blinked curiously at a snow globe, shaking it to makethe snow inside flutter along the tiny dome when you called out to him.

“What about this?” you presented a blanket with starsscattered all over it, small lines connecting a few of them to formconstellations. “They still sleep together so a big warm blanket will beperfect thing for winter, don’t you think? Issei-kun also likes stargazingafter all!”

Emerald hues sparkled at the blanket, nodding energetically.“Yeah! It’d be so cute to see them huddling together under this‼” He ran thecloth between his fingers, checking the quality.

“There’s a whole set with pillow cases and bedsheets if youwant.” You nodded to the back of the store, Eichi eagerly pulling you along tosee what else it had to offer.

—

The two of you stopped by a jewelry store, looking aroundfor a suitable present for Shu.

“As expected, he’s really hard to buy something for…” youfrowned as you gazed at a beautiful crystal and gold cufflink and tie pin set.

“The fact that he considers 500 thousand yen the bare minimum for when he has to buy a present makes itall that much harder…” Eichi gave a dry laugh, looking away. You gave anawkward smile in response when he spoke again. “Ah, come to think of it…whatdid you buy for Christmas, [Name]?”

“I bought a novel series for Issei-kun. He said he reallyliked the first book I lent him so I figured might as well give him the rest.” Youmused, [e/c] hues tracing the trail of a gold necklace. “As for Ichiru-kun…Ijust decided I’ll make him a meat dish for Christmas!” You explained with alaugh, deciding to buy the cufflink set from before for Shu.

“And as for you…” you looked back at the green-eyed brunetwho tensed up in anticipation. “Well, you’ll just have to find out onChristmas~!” you gave a sly smirk, thanking the cashier before exiting the store.

“Ahh, [Name] no fair‼ It just makes me wanna know even more‼”Eichi cried, jogging after you.

—

You walked a few steps behind Eichi’s energetic ones, thecrinkling of plastic and rustling of boxes playing in tune with your footsteps.You searched through the bags, double-checking that all the presents wereaccounted for when you suddenly stopped walking once [e/c] orbs noticed anextra box in the bunch.

“What’s this…?”

The fluffy-haired singer paused mid-step, looking over hisshoulder to find you holding up a box, your name printed across the tag.

“Your Christmas present, of course!” Eichi statedmatter-of-factly, walking back to take it out of your hands before mumbling tohimself about how he should have been more careful about what went into whichbag.

“When did you buy it?” you raised an eyebrow, wondering whenhe got the time to considering you had been with him the entire day.

“Hehe, that’s a secret~!” the brunet gave his usual smile,tucking your present away inside his own shopping bag.

“…What is it?” you asked cautiously, searching his face fora hint only to have him laugh. He took your hand, leading you down the street.

“That’s also a secret!” Eichi sang, green eyes looking backat you with a cheeky grin. “You’ll just have to find out on Christmas~!” herecited your words from earlier, laughing once again at your pout.

“Now who’s being unfair?”

Okui Tsubasa

“U-Umm…Tsubasa?” you called in a quiet voice.

“Hm~? What is it, [Name]?” Golden eyes looked back at you,the usual smile plastered on his face.

“I thought you said we were going Christmas shopping…not dress shopping.” You looked down atyourself, a beautiful off-shoulder red cocktail dress hugging your figure,stopping just above your knees. You looked back up at the blond sitting in front of you.“Apart from being red, how else does thisrelate to Christmas?”

“Ehh~? [Name], you should’ve told me earlier that you’re into thatkinda stuff!” Tsubasa exclaimed, yellow orbs sparkling as he whipped his headback. “I saw a really sexy Santa outfit in one of the other stores! Wanna—Hey!”he chuckled as you flung some clothes at him, tossing them aside. “It was justa joke. You’re too serious, [Name]-chan!” Tsubasa replied, his grincontradicting his words.

“And we areChristmas shopping. I’m buying you a dress.” The SolidS idol stood up, makinghis way towards you to get a better look.

“It ruins the surprise a little, don’t you think?” youmused, looking over your shoulder to straighten out the back of the dress.

“I don’t know your size so there’s no helping it.” Tsubasashrugged, eyes lit with mischief as he moved closer. “Or are you saying I cantake the measurements myself~?” his lips widened as he whispered in your ear,hand sliding down to your waist.

“We’re done here.” You tossed another dress over his head toget some distance, scampering back into the changing room.

“[Name]-chan, you’re so cold~!” he whined, pulling the dressoff his face with a pout which soon turned into a chuckle when he saw you peekback at him, cheeks as red as the dress you were wearing.

—

You toured the mall, the number of shopping bags graduallybecoming more than the two of you could carry as you went from store to store,Tsubasa buying up anything and everything he found interesting—some werepresents for others, some were things for himself.

You finally got a chance to catch a breath, taking a seat atthe food court as you watched over the bags while Tsubasa went to get somedrinks. You sifted through the bags, making sure neither of you forgot anythingwhen a sigh escaped through your nose—a frown pulling the corner of your lips downwhile you took out a box.

Carefully opening the lid, [e/c] hues stared down at apair of mugs, a cute little honeybee floating around in the air with dottedlines tracing its path printed on the ceramic while the other was a silhouette of smallkitten drinking milk out of a saucer.

“He always buys such extravagant things…” Closing the lid yousighed again, losing what little confidence you had in your present. “WillTsubasa really like something like this?”

“Will Tsubasa really like something like what?”

You jumped at the sudden voice, nearly dropping the box. “Tsu-Tsubasa!W-What are you doing here?!” you yelped, voice rising higher than normal as you scrambledto hide the mugs behind your back.

“I forgot your order…” Tsubasa scratched his cheek with an embarrassed grin. “So what will I really like?” he returned to the topic, staring inquisitivelyat you.

“N-Nothing…I was just talking to myself.” You replied,shoulders stiffening under his gaze as you looked away.

“Hm~?” The idol hummed, squinting at you before finally closinghis eyes with a sigh. “If you say so…”

You finally relaxed, honey-colored hues opening with a glint.

“Psych!” he quickly moved to pull the box out of your hands.

“Tsubasa!”

“What’s this? What’s this~?” he sang, gently shaking itbefore placing his hand on the lid.

“Tsubasa, don’t open it! It’s your Christmas present!” youpleaded, jogging to his side.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? You saw mine, after all.” Tsubasacountered, opening the box to blink at the mugs.

“I-I know it’s a very simple present…i-it’s nowhere nearas extravagant as the stuff you usually buy! …Or as lovely as the dress you justbought me but…Tsubasa, I hope you still like it!” you bowed your head,desperately praying he wouldn’t see your embarrassed face.

“[Name]…” hewhispered, golden orbs still fixed on the mugs. “I love them.”

“Huh?” you lifted your head in time to get caught in a tightembrace.

“I love them!” Tsubasa laughed, rubbing his cheek againstyours. “It’s a present from [Name], so there’s no way I wouldn’t love it‼ Thankyou so much!”

“R-Really?”

He pulled away, placing the box down on the table to get abetter look at your present. “This one is a bee…and this one is…a cat? Hahathey’re so cute~!” he grinned from ear to ear, marveling at the designs. “Ahhwhich one should I use first~?”

“You really like them?” you asked, his energy infecting youas you too began to smile.

“Of course!” he nodded eagerly. “The only thing that’d makethis better would be if you were to serve me a cup of coffee in them whilewearing that Santa outfit!”

He continued laughing, getting a better look at the mug when you took it out of hishands and placed it back into the box, silently closing the lidand picking it up to walk away.

“…Huh?”

“I’m returning these.”

“Ehh?! [N]-[Name] c-c’mon, it was just a joke!” Tsubasawhined, chasing after you. “I-I’m sorry, okay? You’re being way too serious! C’mon‼”

“[Name]-chaaan~‼”

[genogenocrazycatman]

Stillwater - Chapter 13

Stillwater [Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net, Mibba]

Characters: Original Female Character, Monkey D. Luffy, Rorona Zoro, Vinsmoke Sanji, Nami, Usopp, Tony Tony Chopper, Nefeltari Vivi

***

"We build as only children know to build

We made a way where there's a will

No slowing down or standing still

Innocent and reckless

"How did we get so old and never notice

How did we gain the world and lose the moment

Rise and fall, the tide surrounds us

And drowns us all"

-Hands Like Houses

***

“You’re an idiot,” I said, staring at Zoro incredulously. “Ice swimming. It’s below freezing. Below. And what about Carue? You thought you should just leave the duck to guard the ship?”

“Everything was fine. I wasn’t going far.”

“Not going far? You ended up in Big Horn.”

“It was that stupid avalanche’s fault.”

“No. The avalanche must’ve pushed you to Big Horn, which means were on your way to Gyasta. You got lost.”

“I did not!” Zoro yelled.

“It took an avalanche to get you remotely back on course. You were lost.” I shook my head, getting back to my original point. “Your sense of direction isn’t the problem at the moment. It’s below zero out, and not only didn’t put on a coat, you actively took clothes off.”

“Will you let it go?”

“It was kind of stupid,” Luffy said.

“Says the boy, who’s running around in shorts, sandals a coat with only one arm,” I shot.

“Hey at least I put on a coat.” It was a strangely sound argument from the rubber boy.

“I will give you credit for that, but what about socks, shoes and long pants, huh? Gloves? A scarf?”

“What about them?”

I groaned in frustration. Next time Nami and I went shopping I was going to find a fabric store and buy everything I needed to make these boys snow suits. Then I was going to go to the hardware store and buy everything I needed to make sure that once I stuffed them in there, they couldn’t take them off. I was gonna need some yarn too, and knitting needles. They were gonna need hats and socks and scarves, and holy hell I was turning into Cal.

“All you have is that cloak,” Usopp pointed out.

“And at least two of almost every item of clothing I have on my body. Don’t turn this on me. I don’t have proper snow gear onboard. I was snatched up from Logue Town with no real warning, remember?”

We were outside. The medical ward was crowded with the people of Drum and Vivi, who was checking up on Nami and Sanji. The sun had dipped below the horizon, but the moon reflected off of the snow, lighting up the whole area. Usopp was making a snowman, Luffy was still trying to get the reindeer to join us, and I was nagging Zoro.

“Reindeer! Wherever you are, Reindeer come out!”

I would’ve taken a much quieter approach to getting the little guy to come out, seeing how timid he was, but this was Luffy. He did things his own way, which meant screaming for hours in order to find the reindeer. Because it was Luffy, it worked.

The reindeer appeared at the edge of the forest.

“Reindeer Guy!” Luffy greeted, when at last the small creature showed himself.

‘He’s so damn cute,’ I mentally cooed.

“Hey, you’re gonna come on our ship and be a pirate with us, kay?”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, Reindeer. It’s a whole lotta fun.”

“That’s not a very good argument.”

I shushed Usopp. “And you’re not helping. Mr. Shoot-Him.”

“I can’t. I’m not a human. I’m a reindeer. I have antlers and hooves, you see. I even have a blue nose. Okay. Maybe I do want to be a pirate, but I can’t ever be one of you. I’m not human. I’m a monster. I can’t be your friend, and I can’t become a pirate on your ship.”

How many times had he been told that? How many times had he been shunned? I saw my brothers and sisters under go the same thing. Hell, many of them treated me that way, when they first met me. My heart broke for the little guy.

“You see? I’m just here to say thank you. I appreciate you asking me to join your ship. That was really nice, so thank you. I’m going to stay here for now, but if you wanted to, you could stop by here again.”

I chuckled. Not a chance.

“SHUT UP! LET’S GO!”

“Most people don’t make friends by telling them to shut up,” Zoro grumbled.

“Most people aren’t Luffy,” I reminded him.

The little reindeer started crying, before running over to join us.

Nami and Vivi had made their way out, dragging Sanji behind them. “That cannot be good for his back,” I said, approaching them, while Luffy celebrated our newest crewmate.

“He’s fine,” Nami said. “He’s Sanji.”

“He’s human,” I reminder her, kneeling down to check on him.

“Sanji. Sanji.” I waved my hand in front of his face, but didn’t get any reaction. He was really out of it. “Wow.” I sighed, placing one arm under his legs the other carefully under his back and picked him up, walking over to, where Zoro was sitting.

“Wow, can’t even walk on your own. How pathetic.”

Still no reaction.

“He’s not even in it to pick a fight with you.” I looked towards the girls. “What did you do to him?”

“It wasn’t us. It was that crazy doctor lady.”

‘That’ll do it,’ I thought.

“Doctorine!” the reindeer exclaimed. “I have to say goodbye, and I’ll need my bag.”

“Well then what are you waiting for?” Luffy asked. “Go get it.

“We’ll be waiting for you right here,” I assured him.

The reindeer ran into the castle, while the rest of us waited outside.

Usopp continued to work on his snowman. I sat with Zoro, Sanji in my arms. The girls and Luffy stepped back, staring up at the castle. That lasted about all of two seconds, before Luffy got bored and started making a massive snow ball.

“Nami, how are you feeling? Are you completely recovered from your illness already?” Usopp asked.

I peered at the navigator curiously, wondering that myself. Not that she couldn’t feel better so quickly, but Nami had lied about feeling sick to begin with in order to get Vivi to Alabasta. She didn’t look sick. Her skin had regained much of its healthy color back. She wasn’t sweating. I knew her fever was gone, and she didn’t really show any signs of fatigue.

“Sure am. I feel great.” Nami shot Usopp a thumbs up.

“Hey. How about we say goodbye to that old doctor lady and that guy, Dalton, from the village?”

“Don’t be so insensitive. We need to leave Chopper alone with Doctorine for a while. He lived with her for six years. We should let them say good bye in peace.”

I tuned out of that conversation, instead focusing my attention on Usopp and Zoro, who were bickering with each other like idiots. “Still, you two?”

“He started it!”

“No, I did not!”

“I’m ending it,” I said with finality.

Zoro muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t catch what it was though.

I carefully set Sanji down. Vivi, seeming to realize I was up to something, kneeled by him.

“Speak up, Zoro. I can’t hear you,” I said, using my left hand to hold my cloak in place, while sneaking my right one down to the snowbank we were sitting on.

“What makes you think I was talking about you?” he asked. “Kind of self-centered don’t you think?”

“Look at you go. That makes two ribs from the human popsicle. You’re on a bit of a roll.”

“I was training.”

“Well then here. Let me help you!” I said, giving him a snowy face wash.

“Damn it, Mira!”

I cackled with glee, only to get shoved backwards off of the bank into the snow.

Zoro looked down at me, smug.

“Oh it’s on.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist and cranked to the side, knocking Zoro off of the snowbank onto the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t answer, continuing my momentum, so that Zoro was on his stomach in the snow and I was on his back. I pulled his arm into a chicken wing hold. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough that he couldn’t use that arm.

“Mira! Damn you!”

“Say, ‘Mira sorry for running my mouth,’ and I’ll let go.”

“No,” Zoro said.

I cranked back a bit more. This time it probably hurt, no severely. I didn’t pull enough to cause any damage. “Say it!”

“What was that about ending it?” Usopp asked.

“You can be next,” I reminded him.

Usopp paled. “Oh now. I’m fine. Give it to him, Mira!”

“Mira, don’t break Zoro,” Luffy whined.

“She’s not gonna break me!” Zoro yelled defiantly.

“You wanna bet?” I asked, pulling back more.

“And here I thought that you were the only sane one,” Nami sighed.

“Oh honey, you thought wrong.”

You couldn’t have as many male brothers, cousins, and nephews as I did and not engage in some rough housing from time to time. It was all in good fun. I wasn’t going to actually hurt Zoro, just as Zoro hadn’t been out to hurt me, when he pushed me off the bank. It was fun, and considering the day that we had been through, the worry, the agitation, I needed fun.

“SAY IT!”

“FINE! I’M SORRY FOR RUNNING MY MOUTH!”

I let go of Zoro’s arm and sat up, still straddling his back. “See you’re not nearly as stupid as Sanji says,” I said, patting his back. I stood up, allowing Zoro roll over onto his back.

“You’re strong,” he said. “A lot stronger than I thought, considering how tiny you are.”

I extended a hand to help him up, which he took. I hoisted him to his feet, purposely pulling to hard, so that he stumbled. “Big things come in small packages.”

“I gotta train even harder.”

I grinned, hearing those mumbled words just fine.

Zoro took his seat on the snowbank once again. I took my spot next to him. Luffy and Usopp had gone to get the rope way ready for us to depart.

Nami explained her general plan for getting Vivi back to Alabasta to us, stopping only, when loud noises coming from the castle distracted her.

“What’s going on? There’s a lot of noise coming from the castle.”

“How inconsiderate, making all that noise, while those two are trying to say goodbye. That’s just down right rude.”

“It would be if it wasn’t them making all the noise,” I said, seeing Chopper with a sleigh attached, running away from Kureha, who was spinning a flail above her head.

“Hey! We got the rope way ready to go,” Usopp called.

“Everybody, hurry and get on the sleigh. We’re going to head down the mountain!” Chopper said.

I just picked up Sanji, cause regardless of how we were leaving, we were leaving. The spiked ball of the flail got everyone else moving. We hopped in the sleigh, holding on for dear life as Chopper booked it down the rope of the rope way. We were moving so fast that it was hard to stay in the sleigh. I had to give the little guy credit. He could run.

“WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!” Luffy screamed, flying behind the sleigh. Usopp had a hold of Luffy, using the seat to keep himself from falling out.

“LUFFY YOU IDIOT KNOCK IT OFF!” Nami yelled.

I held onto the railing with one arm and Sanji with the other.

“You know, you could hold on better, if you let the shitty cook go.”

“Mr. Bushido,” Vivi scolded, even though she was straining to hold on.

“Quit worrying about Sanji and hang to Vivi.”

“You damn marimo, don’t you even think about laying a hand on our precious princess!” Sanji yelled.

“Look who’s finally up. Sleeping beauty back to the land of the living.”

It took Sanji a moment the position we were in, but once we did, he completely and totally freaked. “Oh to be held in the arms of an angel! Mira, my sweet!”

With a hard thud that jolted all of us we landed back on the ground, still moving forward.

“That was fun. Reindeer can we do that again?”

“You idiot, we don’t have time for that.”

“Phew. I thought I was a goner.”

“What’s going on?” Sanji asked, confusion breaking through his love sickness.

“Oh Sanji, you’re awake,” Vivi sighed with relief. “How are you feeling?”

“Luffy, duck!” I yelled, my eyes, barely registering that the yellow and orange thing we sped past.

“What?”

“Carue!” I said, more clearly pointing in the appropriate direction.

“Carue! We forgot Carue!” Vivi looked back, alarmed.

“Grab him!” I yelled.

Luffy shot an arm out behind us, grabbing onto the bird, bringing him to the sled, when his arm snapped back.

“Oh Carue!” Vivi cried, hugging the duck. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I got so caught up in everything-”

“I’m sure you would’ve realized, when we made it to the Merry,” Sanji said, comforting her. “After all, you wouldn’t get onboard until we found him back in Whisky Peak.”

“What were you doing wandering through the woods,” she asked.

Carue, squawked, shivering and huddling close to Vivi.

The sound of cannons firing, caused us to all look back towards the castle.

“Is she really firing cannon balls?” Zoro growled out.

“No,” I breathed out, amazed by the sight in front of me. “No. Chopper stop! Look!”

The reindeer peered back over his shoulder, coming to a halt.

A massive pink cloud surrounded the top of the mountain, we’d just come down, obscuring the castle. It resembled a tree, the cloud making up the crown and the mountain itself the trunk. The color wasn’t limited to the cloud. The snow that fell was the same shade. It looked like the petals of cherry blossoms. At least the ones in pictures. I had never seen a real-life cherry blossom before.

Kureha hadn’t been firing at us. She’d been giving Chopper one hell of a sendoff. I didn’t know the significance of this specific gesture, the story behind the pink snow, but considering the way that the little reindeer broke down, there was something there, something more than the pain of goodbye.

Our journey back to the ship was much slower now. There was no need to rush. Kureha wasn’t out to kill us. It gave us time to appreciate the beauty of everything.

When we finally made it to the ship, Chopper stopped, taking it in.

“Shishishishi! Welcome to your new home, Chopper.”

“The finest ship on all the seas, the Going Merry! Gifted to us by the kindest most gentle girl in the world, the amazing Kaya!”

“It’s okay Vivi! I’ll help you carry your beloved-“

“No!” I nixed that right in the bud. “Zoro, carry Carue. Sanji, you’re not carrying anything until Chopper gives you the okay.”

“But Mira-“

“And you’re not cooking.”

“Then how am I supposed to keep my lovely beauties-“

“Luffy, can I ban Sanji from the kitchen until he’s better?” I asked. Luffy was already back on the ship, having just hoisted himself up over the railing using his devil fruit. “I’ll cook.”

Luffy nodded.

“What?!”

“Sanji, you have to get better, so then you can make me more meat,” Luffy said seriously.

“Unbelievable,” Sanji muttered, heading for the ladder.

We all loaded up and set sail for Alabasta. The boys started goofing around on deck, having busted out the brew, while I headed into the kitchen to make everyone something to eat. It was a long day, I was hungry, so I knew the others had to be too, especially Luffy.

“Hey Mira,” Nami said from the door way.

“Yeah.”

“Can you make something special for Chopper? I think he’s a little overwhelmed with those idiots out there.”

“Already working on it,” I said. “Can you leave the door open, so that I can still hear everyone else?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

She headed back out.

“Carue, I’m so sorry you had to wander around like that. After you had finally thawed out too. How’d you even end up in the river in the first place?”

Carue squawked out a response.

“That bird. Ten berries says he slipped and fell into the river. He’s a clumsy one,” Zoro jibed.

“He said he was on his way to the ship, because he didn’t know, where you guys were. He knew Zoro wasn’t in trouble any more he just wanted to find you,” Chopper said.

“How’d he get in the river in the first place?” I asked.

“He said Zoro jumped into the river and disappeared. He thought Zoro was in trouble, so he jumped into the river to help and ended up getting frozen in it,” Chopper translated.

“So this is all your fault!” Nami’s words were marked with the familiar sound of fist hitting skull.

“Cause you got lost,” I added, poking my head out to give him a very pointed look.

“Are you really able to understand everything that Carue’s saying?” Nami asked.

“Yes. I’m technically half animal by nature, so I can understand what they say.”

“You can talk to animals?”

“Oh wow Chopper! Between your medical skills and talking to animals, you have some amazing talents,” Nami praised him.

“Don’t be silly like that, you jerk! Flattering me like that isn’t going to make me happy or anything!”

“He sure looks happy.”

“What did you mean about Chopper’s medical skills?” Zoro asked.

“Well Chopper here is a doctor and a first rate one at that. Dr. Kureha taught him everything there is to know about medicine.”

The boys were all shocked. I walked over to the door way and laughed at their reactions.

“What? Impossible. Chopper are you seriously a doctor?”

“How cool!”

“No way!”

“Really Luffy if you didn’t know he was a doctor, what did you think he was, when you asked him to join us?” Nami asked.

“Magical talking transforming reindeer monster.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Back up food,” Sanji answered, scaring Chopper.

I glanced at the spoon in my hand. I thought about throwing it at Sanji, but ultimately decided that my glare was enough for now.

“Wait! Oh no! I was in such a big hurry, I left my medical bag behind that had all my tools in it!”

“But isn’t this it?” Nami held up a small blue backpack with a white x on it.

“It is my bag. How is that?”

“What do you mean?”

I headed back in, finishing up our meal, heading back out on the deck with the platter full of sandwiches.

Sanji’s smelled it, before he even saw it. “Ham, cheese, bread, egg, powdered sugar, preserves. The egg serves as a dip, instead of being fried. It’s not a croque-monsieur, but close. Monte Cristo?” he asked.

“You’re good. Comfort food,” I said, my hand catching Luffy’s face, before he could attack the platter. Stretched out his mouth, wrapping my hand around it, so that I could get a good grip on it, so that he couldn’t open it. That way even if he grabbed at the food, he couldn’t immediately go and start jamming it down his gullet.

“Chopper, Straw Hat survival tip number one. Always defend your food. If you take your eyes off of it for a second, Luffy will eat it.”

Chopper’s eyes widened.

“But if he does, I’m always willing to sneak you something else later.”

“What?” Zoro and Usopp yelled. I rolled my eyes.

“My darling, Mira, such a sweetheart.”

“Why does he get more food and we don’t?” Zoro asked.

“Yeah!”

“He’s adorable. He gets special privileges.”

“Ridiculous.”

Alright everyone dig in!”

Immediately, everything went to hell in a hand basket, but that was typical for us. It was the usual. Everyone was fending Luffy off. Zoro and Sanji started fighting about something stupid, which Luffy encouraged, mouth full of sandwiches. Carue scarfed his down so quickly that he started choking, causing Vivi to become even more frazzled. There was going to be a massive mess for me to clean up, but it was worth it.

Chopper sat off to the side with Nami eating his sandwiches. I snuck into the kitchen, grabbing my special dessert for Chopper and plopping down on the other side of him.

“Here,” I said, handing him the small dish. “It’s cookie dough dip that I made with homemade graham crackers that Sanji made. Just for you.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “Yep. All for you.”

He dug in. “This is so good! Thank you…”

“I never introduced myself. I’m so sorry. “I’m Zale Mira Kai, but just call me Mira.”

“She’s the ship stewardess,” Nami explained.

“Luffy’s our captain, as you already know, and Zoro’s first mate.”

“Not that he acts like one.”

I snorted, nodding. “Usopp is our sniper.”

“Sanji’s our cook.”

“He blows my food out of the water by the way.”

“I’m the navigator.”

“And Vivi and Carue are from Alabasta, which is where we’re heading.”

Chopper looked at everyone. Luffy was still cheering, switching from Zoro to Sanji and back again. Usopp was screaming, trying to be heard.

“Hey. You know they’re crazy, but I’ve never had this much fun ever!”

“Good,” Nami and I echoed each other, smiling at the young reindeer.

“I propose a toast to our new friend Chopper!” Usopp finally managed to yell out over the chaos. The boys stopped fighting long enough to grab their mugs and raise them in the air.

***

Notes:

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Previous | Next

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Master List | Mobile Version

[danvssomethingorother]

An Afternoon on The Ice

Summary: Fiddleford invites the Stan twins to go ice skating with him 

Pairing: very mild fiddauthor, only a small crush. Also mild implied fiddlestan.

Characters: Fiddleford Mcgucket, The Stan twins, Grauntie Mabel

Warnings: None 

For my dear @memyselfandyoutube , I’m late for your bday and Christmas but I’m always happy to write Relativity Falls fluff.   

The lake had frozen over a few weeks before halting any business Tate Mcgucket would usually get in his little tackle shop. Without the extra income coming in from his shop, things became tighter around the Mcgucket house, the old furnace didn’t warm the house up like it should and there was no money to get anything extra to warm their home up for the winter.

Fiddleford ended up spending a large chunk of his time down at the Mystery Shack with his only friends to escape the cold that had settled around his home.

Madame Mystery or as she constantly reminded Fiddleford to call her, Grauntie Mabel, had taken notice to Fiddleford’s seemingly permeant residency in her establishment. That morning as she was turning over the open sign for the gift shop she found the half frozen little boy waiting patiently outside, just as she was about to ask why he didn’t knock she took notice of her first customer of the morning standing beside her newest grandnephew (as far as she was concerned anyway).  

Tyler Cutebiker was standing next to Fiddleford, talking his ear off. Both bundled up tight in the warm sweaters, mittens, hats and scarves Mabel had knit for them herself making her heart ache.  

She ushered them into the gift shop with a wave of her arm, chastising the boys for not knocking and staying outside in this weather waiting for the shop to open as if they were the normal suckers. She had insisted Dan take the week off so he didn’t end up breaking any of her Christmas ornaments she had the boys painting the last few nights (Fidds being the only one to enjoy the activity while her blood nibblings only groaned in annoyance), so it was quite the shock to see one of his friends here at all but a pleasant one.  

“I thought ya did all yer Christmas shopping during the summer,” Mabel said directed her smug grin at Tyler who was beginning to fidget under her direct gaze,” Did I wait up till midnight for ya to decide on a gift for nothing?”

His face began to full on flush at her playful ribbing as she began setting up the shop for the day, Fidds rushing to her side to assist the woman in her morning routines and flushing a deep crimson as she gently sat him down behind the counter and lovingly took off his snow-covered scarf and hat and wrapped him in a blanket she always kept under the cash register, just in case.

“I was thinkin’ of taking the kids skating down at the lake with Dan today,” Tyler began flushing as Mabel began unwinding his snow-covered scarf and offering him a warm handmade blanket as well, “I ran into Fidds down there this morning and he was quite the skater, but he was dead set on gettin’ the twins this morning before helping me teach Dan how to use his blades…”  

“You boys settle in then and warm up, I’ll get you some hot chocolate while I get the bums I call nephews out of bed already. Can you believe they were watching those phony ghost shows long after you left last night Fidds? I thought I would never get any sleep once they started squabbling about how legit they were and who should have the remote…”

Fidds smiled brightly at her exaggerated tale of the twins fighting as she prepared him and Tyler some warm hot chocolate with a bit too much whip cream and sprinkles on top that Tyler kept trying to deny her offer of, not wanting that much sugar in his system after the last three cavities he got from visiting the woman.  

She spun quite the tall tale as she tucked them both up with blankets in the warmer living room, pushing a protesting Tyler down in the recliner and a very willing Fidds into her comfortable rocking chair.  

It was very easy to capture the twins in his mind even with her off, mocking imitations of them both and over exaggerated details. She fussed with his hair for a minute longer and he sank into her touch, her warm hands gently caressing his cheeks as she gave him a warm kiss on the forehead. Her hand-crafted perfume smelling just like he expected every loving grandmother to smell like, fresh baked cookies and her smile and caring hands helping him create the lie he belonged her with her, in this family. Finally belonged somewhere, love and wanted, and maybe this wouldn’t end when the twins once more departed.  

Once she left the room, he just stared solemnly down at his coco, just letting it warm his fingers and tinkle his nose with its sweet smell.

He was snapped out of his rumination by the loud creek on the floor, he slowly lifted his head up to see Tyler on the other side of the room shooting his head up towards the stairway with a deer in the head lights look but let out a sigh of relief hearing Mabel loudly calling for the twins to get out of bed followed by their echoed grunts.

Tyler looked over at him and smiled, gesturing with his head for him to follow him. He maneuvered himself off the chair, clinging to his hot chocolate and tensing his shoulders up to keep the blanket in place. Keeping a close eye on the yarn basket next to the rocker trying not to accidentally disturb the half finished sweater hanging from the arm. He too glanced nervously up the stairs towards the Pines family cheerful banter as his foot hit the creaking board and almost considered just staying where the kind old woman had left him. His teeth scraped against his lip and his knee began to shiver as he kept his eyes upstairs but Tyler wasn't gonna take no for an answer. If he got caught in his mischief, might as well have someone cute by his side to make the punishment practically non existent. 

They tip toed back into the gift shop, a smug little grin half forming on Tyler's face as he walked past the register he usually perched against distracting an already antsy Dan and he went straight towards a locked cabinet with a large glittery sign reading "Madame Mabel's potions".

Fidds stopped where he was, heart pounding faster as he saw what his friend was doing. 

"Tyler..." he rasped out, once more looking behind him expecting the woman's disappointment in their behavior when she trusted them.  

Tyler paid his worry no mind as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket with the mystery shack’s symbol dangling from the key ring making Fidds eyes bulge a little. He winked at Fidds as he began shifting through the key set trying each of the numerous keys into the lock.

“Dan left them in my car the other night when I gave him a ride home, I don’t intend to steal nothing, I just want a sample of her love perfume.”

“Janice bought a small bottle from Mabel last summer and right before her first date with Greg, she sprayed a little bit on her and you’ve seen them, Fidds, they are the most in love people I have ever seen.”

Some of the anxiety began to melt looking at the starry-eyed gleam shimmering in his eyes cast down at him. His lips curved after a few seconds of silence and he added with a shrug, “Though I think she defiantly added too much. I don’t want Dan to be that clingy towards me…”

Fidds watched him curiously as he dug through the cabinet, taking slow sips of his coco.

Tyler's smug smile returned to his face as he pulled a beautiful heart shaped perfume vial from the cabinet. He pulled back his sleeve and sprayed a tiny amount onto his arm instantly filling the room with a sweet scent.  

"Just one kiss from your true love and you're bound forever but you know the spiel better than anyone right Fidds? I saw you eying her demonstration of the stuff last week as well."  

Fidds face flushed and he averted his eyes away from his friend. His knees began to quake faster feeling that smile boring into him.

“No need to feel shame little buddy, I see the way you look at Ford it don’t take a genius to figure out yer just as in love with him as I am with Dan. We’re both too fools in love.”

Fidds looked away turning redder by the second, fingers tightening around his cup hoping the quakes running course through his system wouldn’t leave a mess on Mabel’s floor.  He had been trying for the last few months the Stan twins had taken up residency with their aunt to hide his crush on his best friend but to his utter dismay his blushing and longing stares had not gone unnoticed by anyone. Still, though, he tried to deny it with a sheepish grin and a shake of his head, his fingers tightening further around the mug making him wince a little as the hot ceramic made his bare fingers tingle under the heat.

The action was in vain though, Tyler playfully snatched Fidd’s hand and the second the concoction was sprayed on his wrist, he ended up dropping his glass.  

This was the suspicious scene Stanly Pines entered this story on.

“What are you knuckleheads doin down here?” he scowled at them shaking his head, “You are in for it big time when Grauntie…”

He paused, a smirk creeping past his scowl looking at the bottle Tyler was now desperately trying to keep out of his line of sight.

“What’s ya got there, pal?” Fidds began squirming as that slimy, unnerving grin went from Tyler before landing on Fidds hand being tucked behind his back and the quivers rolling through his body.  

Stan shot forward before Fidds had time to react grabbing him by his and yanking it forward for him to inspect further. His smile kept growing and a few chuckles slipped out as he took a whiff of the aroma there. He pulled away, a grimace settling over his smile and his fingers pinching his nose.

“EUGH!” he exclaimed swiping at the air, “That’s Mabel’s disgusting love potion made with all her girliest perfumes!”  

“I know that smell anywhere! I can’t believe you willingly put it on yourself!”

Tyler slapped his hand over Stan’s mouth, eyes shooting back and forth looking for signs of Mabel coming down stairs. Upstairs she was having a loud argument with Ford on the benefits of bathing but he was arguing he didn’t need to do that since he bathed a few days ago and wasn’t that dirty.

“Stanly, you can not tell yer aunt we stole some of her potions. I heard rumor the last person she stole from…went missing.”

Fidds became stiff, he may not believe Mabel would harm anyone but he couldn’t bear to live in a world where she never wanted to talk to him again and the Pines weren’t part of his life.

“And what’s ta stop me from telling her?” he said that smug grin coming back as he snatched the bottle from Tyler while he was staring at him in his panic.

“Please Stanly!” Fidds began looking uptowards Mabel and Ford arguing upstairs in his panic, “I’ll do whatever ya want, don’t tell yer aunt we was playing with her merchandise!”

Stan rested his thumb under his chin and made a loud humming noise, “I suppose, I could let this one slide, if I get a favor out of both of ya at any time I need something.”

They both took hard side glances at each other, knowing this wasn’t a good thing but ultimately nodded their heads solemnly. Being indebted to Stan was a million times better then breaking Mabel’s heart.

Stan shut up the perfume and locked it up safe and sound by the time Mabel appeared down stairs, her annoyance turning to concern seeing the broken glass Fidds was trying to clean up himself while Tyler stood nervously fidgeting by him and Stan sat whistling on the register absently smacking a bobble head.

She gently took the glass shards from out of Fidds little hands and smiled at him.

“It’s ok babe, don’t worry about this mess it was an accident.”

A tear slowly slipped out at that point. Mabel was so nice to him and he had just broke her belongings and stolen something that cost quite the pretty penny from her gift shop. She paused in cleaning up the mess he had made and pulled him into a hug kissing his head.

“It’s ok, sugar bean,” she whispered rubbing his back, “I ain’t mad about a little mess like this.”

She placed another kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Go get cleaned up now and we’ll leave when you get back.”

Disappearing down the hall to the Employee wash room he heard her hissing at Stan for upsetting him like that and a small argument ensuing. He felt a thick layer of guilt wash over him at that point shutting the bathroom door shut.

Mabel grabbed his hand as they left the shack and the action grounded Fidds, making a small smile grace his lips as she pushed him in the back seat next to Ford. Ford had been pouting since Mabel had made him bathe but Fidds didn’t mind he leaned closer to his friend as Stan pressed himself in the car. He smelled much better then he usually did.

---

Fiddleford’s waning luck ran out very quickly.

The car ride had gone smoothly but arriving on the lake had not gone as smoothly.  

For one, Ford wanted to go explore around the edges around the lake and wouldn’t listen to their begs for him to hang out with them skating on the ice, his nose stuck in a book as he left them too soon.

Fidds would have gladly gone with him and even began to but Stan grabbed him firmly by the scuff of his jacket making a not so subtle reminder that he knew he had stolen from Mabel. He glanced over towards Mabel talking away to his dad who didn’t seem to be paying her any attention and nodded solemly. He never wanted to lose this family, so being away from Ford for a day shouldn’t be that bad. He wouldn’t be that far from view he reasoned seeing Ford plop down in the snow and begin sketching something in his home-made journal and popping the mysterious author’s journal open next to him.

Fidds had been skating every winter since he had moved out to live with his father when he was six and had it to an art. Stan, however, took to the ice like a babe taking their first steps. Clumsy, no poise or grace and maybe a tab bit violently taking hold of Fidds and having him go down with him each time.

He took him down for the third time this afternoon, making him land on his butt and grunt loudly at the bruises he was sure to have in the morning because of Stan’s rough mannerisms.

Thistle Down, was quite the impressive skater though. Jumping through the air with grace and poise even someone who had been doing it for over five years like Fidds would envy. He did a figure eight around where they sat on the ground. Fidds watching in awe, a flush on his face not caused by the cold and Stan staring with a sneer.

“Come on, Stan my man! It isn’t so hard if ya just try a little!” Thistle said with a smug smile skating back over to a cheering group of girls, Carla among them to Stan’s anger.

Fidds glanced over to meet Carla’s glare of disapproval of her friend showing off like that to set off Stan but Stan didn’t notice it as he grabbed Fidds roughly and pulled him down to his level.

“Come on, yer gonna pay me back for keepin’ yer secret by teaching me how to skate away from these losers.”

Fidds had no real way to object so he let Stan lead him away from their friends, Ford disappearing from his line of sight the farther they went making him sigh sadly.

---

Fidds was nervous as he helped Stan skate to the far side of the lake, far away from their friends cheering on Thistle, far away from Ford doing his own expedition making his debt to Stan moot and more importantly far enough away where his dad wouldn’t hear them yell if they ran into trouble. His knees were shaking so bad Stan had to help keep them both from toppling over putting most of the weight on his wobbly legs.

“This should be far enough,” Stan declared grabbing tightly onto Fidds who nearly fell down once more this afternoon and glared at Stan.

“Why did we have to go out so far? We could have practiced where we were at,” he groused with an eye roll, he was already tired having to drag his much larger friend all the way across the lake as he had done.

“I don’t want Carla seeing me fall on me ass, that’s why,” he spat once more dragging Fidds down with him so they could both sit on the icy surface for rest.

“I think she saw that enough while ya dragged us both out here,” Fidds grumbled ignoring the murderous look in his friend’s eyes to look back from where they came, their friends mere outlines now. Ford was all the way back there too, it felt like it was a waste of time for Tyler to have given him a sample of the love potion now, not like he would get a chance to really use it.

“I want to come back over there more skilled then that jerk and yer gonna help me!”

Fidds shook his head, he couldn’t believe he thought he could learn a skill like this in a single afternoon.

He tried to point this simple fact out but Stan refused to listen, thinking he would learn enough, sweep Carla off her feet with his new moves and leave Thistle crying when he was done with him (his description, not Fiddleford’s).

Fidds shook his head and accepted Stan wasn’t going to listen, the sooner he grew bored, the sooner they could return to the others and maybe enjoy the afternoon.

To Fidds surprise, it actually wasn’t terrible being out alone with Stan like this.  

It was rather, dare he say it, fun. Stan was his rough abrasive self as usual, but Fidds rather liked his determination to see through his ridiculous goal. Under all the snark, he was willing to learn, taking Fidds’s hand and even being gentle with him as he began to calm down.

Fidds was smiling brightly when Stan finally learned to balance on his own (giving his own abused back a break) and it only grew as Stan began to skate around him (albeit on shaky legs but without his assistance none the less).  

“Hey, hey Fidds,” Stan called that bolt of enthusiasm passing right from him and shocking Fidds as well as he shakily balanced on one leg, arms awkwardly spread keeping his balance, “I’m finally gettin’ it!”

Stan, unsurprisingly tripped over his own feet soon after but Fidds very happily went to help him get up.

“Hey, Fidds, what’s that over there?”

Fidds tilted his head to see what Stan was referring to but saw nothing, when he said he didn’t see it, Stan rolled his eyes and grabbed him pulling him down completely beside him. Fidds’s butt smacked hard against the ice yet again making the boy scowl towards his friend but Stan didn’t give him time to say a snide remark as he grabbed his head and turned it roughly, pointing his finger out towards whatever he had seen.

Fidds squinted, near sighted as he was he almost missed it completely but as he slid his glasses up from the bridge of his nose where they had fallen back into place, he let out a gasp. Stan let out loud, gruff laugh at his reaction, slapping him on the back and calling him blind before hauling him up with him ‘to go get a betta look’.

Fidds would have been just fine staying where he was but his arguments were caught in his throat and nothing came out but stuttering half made protests.

So along with Stan he went to brave the unknown, the unknown in this case being what appeared to be a large tooth sunk into the lake. As if some creature lost it when trying to eat its last prey on this very lake…

Fidds for once in this afternoon didn’t mind holding onto to his friend as they made their way closer to the protruding tooth.

Fidds held his ground, skidding to a halt before they could arrive in front of the foreign object causing Stan to trip over himself once more bringing Fidds down with him. Luckily for Fidds (and not so lucky for Stan) the fall down wasn’t bruising this time as he landed on top of soft Stan, who growled loudly in annoyance.

He shoved Fidds off him in a huff as he clamored up on to his feet and yanked Fidds up with him who was scowling and content on staying where he was on the ground then going another step farther towards that thing in the ice.

Stan loosened his hold when they rose and shrugged giving a sympathetic side glance to the panic in Fidds eyes, silently telling him to stay behind if he wanted but he was going to take a closer look.

Fidds watched him slide his way across the ice, catching himself from falling on the protruding tooth before throwing a sly smile behind him towards Fidds and letting loose a loud amused whistle that made Fidds’s knee begin to shake and him to lose his balance a little on the ice.

“Grow a pair, Fidds,” Stan grunted touching the tooth, “It’s a tooth.”

“But where did it come from?” Fidds whispered laying his own shaking palm on the tooth, “I don’t like this Stan, we should go back.”

“A dinosaur,” Stan said with a shrug, Fidds highly doubted that running his fingers across the large bicuspid, it appeared to be human. That thought made a shudder run down his spine, something not only dangerous but smart. They would be doomed it returned for its tooth.  

Before Fidds could remark to that, the tooth shifted making them both fall backwards, Fidds landing hard and with a loud yelp.

Another clash hit the ice sending the two flying in the opposite direction. Stan holding tight onto Fidds. Fidds was in full panic, not quite thinking as he tried to scramble away from Stan’s firm grip on him as the monster hit against the ice again.  

The tooth bobbing down making icy cold water splash hard against the two making them cuddle closer together.

Something happened that Fidds wouldn’t be forgetting soon that would be on his mind for the next couple of nights once his panic over this event eased up.

His lips hit against Stan’s, brushing against them and Stan didn’t pull away. He let them kiss, it was odd and rough and not the kiss Fidds had wanted today so he pulled away the second he could.

He turned his head away from Stan who almost looked disappointed but the moment was gone for now.

Their focus instead was on the tooth that suck under the ice and was pulled away by whatever was under there leaving a large hole where the tooth once was.

Without wasting anymore time, they were both up and hurrying back to where they came from.

If Fidds was less panicked about the monster that had just nearly made them his lunch, maybe Fidds would have been more nervous about how tight Stan clasped his hand.

As of now, it was more comforting and felt like the only thing keeping his mind focused and not a blur of panicked, wild thoughts of what may have happened.

---

Fidds was yelling as he made his way back to the other side of the lake Stan at his heels slipping across the lake since he had tossed his skates somewhere to make it across faster.

His pa was the first to grab him, pulling him off the ice.

“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket,” he said sternly, “What in the world has gotten into you boy? And why are ya soaking wet!”

“There…there…” he gasped out teeth clattering too hard for him to really get the words out right, “Was something under there!”

“Under where?” Tate said setting him down and looking him over sternly.

“The Lake!!” Stan screeched flailing his arms around, “We found its tooth….!!!”

“It’s tooth?!” Ford cried out pushing his way into the front of the crowd forming of their friends.

“It was giant!” Fidds squeaked out making his dad give him a stern glare shutting him up instantly.  

Tate McGucket wasn’t a patient man by any stretch and he certainly wasn’t the type to hear out anything he considered ‘nonsense’ or ‘abnormal’ anything that couldn’t easily be explained.

He had enough the second his son came screaming, both he and his friend soaked to the bone in this weather after getting into something they shouldn’t have been into. He was ready to hand out punishment when his son began spinning wild tales a mile a minute about something that wasn’t real to get out of the wrong doing he and his friend had gotten into.

He took his son firmly by the shoulders and shook him instantly silencing his stammered out, incomprehensible wild story.

His look alone told his son he was in trouble but instead of letting it lie, his son continued to dig his own grave.

“Pa…please…pa…ya gotta believe me! There is somethin’ underneath the lake and it almost got me and Stan! We gotta do somethin’….!”

“We aren’t doin’ anything Fiddleford!” Tate hissed shaking him a little harder, “I don’t know what I have to tell you to get you to see, these things aren’t real. They are in yer head boy. You are doing nothing but making yourself sound like a mad man and I will not hear another word of this. March to the house and get yerself into something dry, we’ll discuss this later.”

“But Pa---“

“MARCH!”

Fidds was running towards the house at that, his friends looking towards him with sympathy but none wanting to cross Tate McGucket in this mood.

None but Mabel Pines who never backed down from a challenge.

She firmly told her boys to go check on Fiddleford and chased the rest of the crowd away with a glare as she lead Tate into his office for a talk.

Stan tried to stay and listen but Mabel wouldn’t let him hear a word shooing him off to check on his friend. The only thing he heard was Mabel firmly telling Tate she was taking his son for the evening.

---

Fidds shut the bathroom door tightly behind him, letting out a shaky sob, his teeth still clattering hard as tears just began to fall ungracefully from his eyes.  

He heard the Stan twins hushed whispers about how to handle this situation outside the door way but didn’t respond to them. He didn’t know what to say, their arguing outside in the hallway was just making him feel worse. He brought this out in them. Everything was going ok but he made this situation the way it was by panicking like he always did. By being a coward. They could have had a fun afternoon together, surrounded by their friends that ended well, if he wasn’t always so scared to speak up.

“Stanly, you are an idiot!” he heard Ford hiss to his brother, “Why did you pick a fight with his dad like that!! You know how he is!!”

“At least I am a good enough friend to say something, at all!”

Fidds sank on the floor, holding his hands tight over his ears, grasping at some of the loose hair around his ears. His breathing began to quicken as he heard Ford throw the first punch at his brother and Stan’s cut off swear word.

He felt lost in his own sea of bad thoughts, each harsher with criticism of him then the last. His dad was right, he was crazy. There was something very wrong with him and he just drug everyone around him down with him. Stan could have died because he didn’t protest. Ford was hurt now because he was too cowardly to open the door and tell them to stop fighting.  

His mind started to slow down as he heard Mabel enter the room and command her great nephews go wait for her in the car which there were no objections to.

She wasted no time in wrapping her arms around the young boy and kissing him on the head, assuring him it was gonna be ok. She was here.

The very idea he wasn’t alone was all the comfort he needed he found melting into her strong arms.

---

That night he went home with the Pines and felt warmer then he had in years. After a large dinner with seconds and a heated game of Don’t Wake Stalin (that Stan kept cheating at),

Mabel tucked another blanket around the sleeping boys and then bent down to give Fidds a gentle kiss, running her fingers through his hair coaxing him to go to sleep.

She then whispered, “And remember, sweat pea, if you want free samples in the future just ask.”

Before kissing his now red ears and pulling another blanket around him as well, giving him another kiss on the forehead that she knew he lacked in his life before rising up and turning up the heater before disappearing from the room.

Fidds clung to the edges of the blanket, a smile growing across his face as he fell fast asleep feeling like he belonged somewhere for the first time in his life.

---

[kat2609]

Need a Little Christmas (1/most likely 3) - A GFSS fic

SANDRA!!!!! You must have guessed it was me who was so super late at posting your GFSS present. I tried so hard to be timely but life and muses and holidays conspired to make that impossible. But finally the first part of your gift, my lovely @laschatzi - a bit of banter, a bit of humour (I hope), some silly outfits and hopefully a tiny bit in the gutter direction eventually :-) 

(PS - I had a go at the world’s simplest heading banner thingy. The visuals helped in writing, hopefully they will help in reading too!)

Need a Little Christmas

There were a number of things that Emma Swan did not enjoy about Christmas.

Untangling herself from the myriad of fairy lights her sister-in-law insisted on stringing across her apartment; finding new and unusual places to hide slices of Granny’s rock-hard fruitcake; avoiding handsy Uncle Leroy any time she found herself under the mistletoe.

There was, however, one notable exception...not that she would ever, ever admit it.

As far as her friends were concerned, Emma’s choice of Christmas wear was 100% a political statement on the ridiculousness of holiday consumerism, or the wasteful nature of Christmas decorations or whatever other tenuous link to a cause she was able to create on the spur of the moment.

In reality, however - Emma Swan loved the kitschy glory of a truly awful Christmas sweater. Adored the scratchy feel of acrylic, the garish reds and greens accented with the tackiest of tinsels. It was everything that she wanted to think of Christmas as being - fun and whimsical and joyful - and everything her actual memories were not.

But somehow, regaling the gathered Christmas crowd with sad tales of your childhood in the foster care system did nothing for the ambience around the dinner table - so half assed political statements it was.

Tonight’s offering was particularly spectacular, if she said so herself; an especially potent shade of green, offset with clashing red patterns and finished with a dainty Peter Pan collar, embroidered with holly. Only a tiny sliver of garish green had alerted her to its presence - but that was all it took for Emma to know she had found a prize. The internet was awash with ugly sweaters these days, she knew, but there was something about the hunt, the methodical search and recover operation of finding the perfect item in a thrift store that appealed to Emma’s determined soul. Emma Swan always got her mark - in work and in holiday festivities and that wasn’t about to change because #uglyxmassweater was now a thing.

Throwing aside a collection of hand knitted scarves, she reached for the trophy, only to find herself engaged in a tug of war with a man on the other side of the bin. Tugging the sleeve towards her sharply, he lost his footing, tumbling slightly before letting go of the sweater and steadying himself against the metal cage. Long fingers grasped the metal, a silver ring on his thumb catching her eye as he righted himself.

“Steady on,” he huffed, eyes following the green acrylic as Emma slid it subtly towards herself. “No need to injure a man over a pullover, love. I’m sure you can find one equally as hideous elsewhere.”

Ignoring the unexpected jolt of attraction she felt at the soft cadence of his accent, Emma tangled her fingers in the sleeve of the sweater, staking her claim unequivocally, and raised her eyes defiantly to his. Dark hair framed a pair of stupidly blue eyes, one eyebrow quirked up in question as he stared back. There was the briefest moment when Emma was sure he had heard the tiny catch in her breath as she took in the soft curl of his lip and the dark scruff that covered his jaw - a tiny second of regret that she had come across him here in broad daylight and not in a dive bar late one night where the options for proceeding were far more varied.

But Emma Swan was Emma Swan - and meet-cutes were decidedly NOT a thing she did.

“Yeah, well, possession is nine-tenths, buddy,” she snapped, reeling in the sweater and stuffing it under her arm. “So looks like you’ll be the one looking elsewhere.” She paused, all but daring him to respond. “And I’m not your love.”

Before he could utter another word, she turned on her heels and made for the register, all but throwing five dollars at the unsuspecting cashier in her haste to escape.

~~~**~~~

The near radioactive gleam of Christmas lights left no doubt as to where the evening’s festivities would be taking place. Emma hesitated as she reached to press the doorbell, unsure she wanted to hear which Christmas standard was set to be butchered by the chimes this year. Sighing, she pressed the button.

Good King Wenceslas, it seemed.

She supposed she should be grateful that David answered the door promptly, despite his loud snort of amusement as he greeted her.

“Classy, Em, even for you,” he said as he ushered her inside, taking her coat and hanging it behind the door. “I especially like the way not one of those patterns match.”

She smiled knowingly at David, picking an imaginary fleck of the checkerboard section of her top. “As you should know by now, David,” she replied, “It’s not about matching. It’s about the…” Emma faltered, distracted momentarily by a sudden memory of just how she had come to own this particular item.

“The all-encompassing consumer machine that is holiday festivities?” her brother finished with a grin.

Saved by her own cover story, she thought. “Exactly.”

Following David into the living room, Emma looked around at the assembled crowd. After several years, the actual ugly sweater part of this annual gathering had lost some momentum - in no small part, she suspected to her own loud rants on the futility of the subject - but there were still one or two guests in various degrees of festive finery. Before she could make a frank assessment of just how superior her own sweater was to all the others in attendance, she was enveloped in her sister-in-law’s arms.

“Emma!” Snow cried as she hugged her as tightly as her heavily pregnant belly would allow. She leaned back, taking in Emma’s outfit and giggling, straightening the white collar. “You’ve done it again,” she chuckled, “I think this is the best one yet. And not a natural fibre to be seen I imagine?”

Emma shook her head, unable to keep the hint of pride out of her eyes.

Snow narrowed her eyes at Emma. “For all your anti statements, I sometimes think you secretly love these hideous things,” she said suspiciously. Emma stood her ground, her face neutral as her sister-in-law studied her closely for several minutes. It was a close won battle of wills, but eventually Snow turned away, though with no less suspicion in her eyes.

Somehow her innate hostess sense always won the day - a fact on which Emma relied quite regularly.

“You need a drink,” she said, looking back at Emma over her shoulder as she weaved through the guests, acknowledging this one and that with a look or a soft touch on the arm or shoulder. Emma followed silently, smiling at the odd familiar face, but with none of the social grace of her sister-in-law. As they reached the kitchen, Snow called to her husband. “David! Have you got a drink for Emma?

“Sure thing, honey,” he replied, his smile soft as he met his wife’s eyes. “Let me just get this beer for Killian.” It would be nauseating, Emma thought, if they weren’t so damned perfect about it, but it was times like these her adopted status came sharply into focus. David’s capacity to love and be loved was in stark contrast to her own “love ‘em and leave ‘em” approach to life.

But she was not allowed to ponder her inadequacies for long.

“Oh yes,  Emma,” Snow gushed, her violet eyes twinkling ominously. “We have to introduce you to Killian.”

“You really don’t…” Emma started, but to no avail. Snow had already grasped her by the elbow and maneuvered her towards the end of the counter, with barely a chance to take the beer David thrust at her. Whoever Killian was, he was slouched at the end of the island bench, his back to Emma and Snow as they approached, his form-fitting black jeans enough of a distraction to keep Emma from disappearing into the crowd when Snow wasn’t looking.

He was clearly another of the Christmas sweater set, the bright green of his top unmistakeable for clothing of any other kind despite the way it pulled tight across the breadth of his shoulders - not that Emma noticed - a fact that was confirmed as Snow called his name and the buck-toothed reindeer head that adorned the front came into view.

Emma’s immediate thought was that she finally had some competition...until her eyes scanned up to meet his and her thinking went suddenly somewhere very different.

“Emma Swan, meet Storybrooke Elementary’s newest staff member, Killian Jones,” Snow chirped, clearly so certain some kind of rainbow magic true love flash was about to wash over them she failed to notice the colour drain from Emma’s face.

Or the smirk on Killian’s.

“Ah, but Emma and I have already had the pleasure,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Emma’s face. “And I must say, love, your tactics may have been underhanded, but the whole effect -” he waved a hand at her sweater - “it’s nothing short of spectacular.”

No amount of sheer will could force down the red flush that Emma could feel creeping up her neck as she tried to look anywhere but at her two current companions. She wasn’t sure which was worse - Killian’s amused smile or the curious yet decidedly smug grin on Snow’s face.  

“Well I’m not sure what we’re talking about,” Snow chuckled, “but it sounds like you two have some catching up to do, so I’ll leave you to it. Bye.” She was gone with a twinkle of her fingers and an air of smug self-satisfaction, leaving Emma to stand gaping at the newcomer.

If he had been attractive in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the thrift store, he was quite something else among the twinkly lights and Christmas decorations of Snow and David’s apartment, despite the huge cartoonish reindeer taking up residence on his chest. Flecks of ginger in his beard caught the soft light and his blue eyes sparkled mischievously, giving Emma little doubt he was completely aware of the effect he was having on her.

“Still not your love,” she managed to respond, the harsh edge to her voice a futile attempt to deny the very real urge to launch herself at him; an urge lessened not at all by the way his tongue swept his top lip as he watched her.

And then, unexpectedly, he changed the subject; the heat in his gaze melting into something very different. Something relaxed and open and somehow far more frightening than blown pupils and quickened breaths.

“Well, Swan,” he said, with an easy smile that Emma couldn’t help but return, despite her unease at this sudden change in the temperature of their encounter. “It’s fortuitous you won our battle, it appears. I’d failed to notice that fetching collar and I have some doubt as to whether I could have carried that look off.”

This was new; this casual charm that made Emma feel comfortable and confused all at once. Heat and raw animal attraction she understood, she knew how to scratch that itch and move on. But this? This felt like more than a prelude to a quick fuck against a wall somewhere and that was terrifying in so many ways.

Sarcasm and snark had always proved effective in the past - why should now be any different?

“And you decided a big ugly reindeer would be what? Super masculine?” she said sharply.

Killian chuckled, clearly nonplussed by her abrasive responses. It was a rich, warm sound that made Emma want little more than to hear it again. “I don’t know, Swan. I thought he was rather dashing myself.“

She arched an eyebrow at the word choice and he laughed again. “Sorry?” he said in a tone that suggested he was anything but.

Taking a long swig of her beer, Emma looked across at a Snow and David, both in an animated conversation with a small group of friends. She envied them their natural ability to do that - to melt seamlessly into a group of people and feel at home. Unlike her, always looking for the other person’s angle and making sure she was gone before they inevitably screwed her over.

The fact she was still standing next to a ridiculously attractive man, having a normal conversation with no sign of impending hook up, was some kind of Christmas miracle in itself.

“Swan?” Jolted back to reality by his hand on her arm, Emma realised Killian had been speaking to her.

“Sorry, what?” she said, kicking herself for the stab of disappointment as he withdrew his fingers.

“Just pondering what type of person adds that collar to a pullover that is already such a visual delight.”

She breathed a sigh of relief - they were still in comfortable territory; frivolous, possibly flirty banter about knitwear was doable, especially if she managed to avoid the way his smile lit up his eyes as he looked at her. As long as they were nothing more than two ships passing in the night, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of a ridiculously handsome man at least for a little while.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me who added it,” she said, fingering the white fabric at her neck. “But when is a Peter Pan collar ever wrong?”

Emma wasn’t sure what reaction she expected to her challenge - but it was definitely not the flash of pain that she saw in his eyes. It passed in mere seconds, almost too fast to be sure it was real.

“Ah, well, if that is its name, all the more reason it was meant for you rather than myself,” Killian said softly.

Emma scrunched her nose in confusion and he raised the arm that had been hidden from her view, leaning on the countertop. Instead of the long, slender fingers with their heavy silver rings that had rested on her arm only minutes before, this arm ended instead in a silver hook prosthetic.

“Funnily enough, Swan, I have something of an aversion to references to that particular tale these days. A little close to home, you might say.” He chuckled darkly, none of the light and warmth that had drawn her in before evident in the sound. He took a long drag from the neck of his beer, and with nothing she could think of to say, Emma followed suit.

The noises of the party were suddenly very loud in Emma's head, her mind swimming as they stood side by side in silence. Wishing desperately once again for the social skills of her sister-in-law, or even her slightly less tactful brother, the words flew from her mouth before she had considered their potential result.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughed drily once again. “Not even a little bit, Swan. And I suspect you have no desire to do so either.”

The squawk of protest died on her lips, the expression on Killian’s face making it clear he had all but seen inside her very thoughts. “Don’t think I didn’t see that moment of panic in your eyes, love. You’re something of an open book.”

“Am I?” Emma asked, unable to keep the genuine curiosity from her voice. Or to curb the tingling sense that he wasn’t being quite truthful when he said he didn’t want to talk.  

“Quite,” Killian replied. “Forced introductions to random strangers, for instance, are not your chosen way to spend an evening.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh. “Are they anyone’s?”

“Typically I’d agree with you, Swan, but I must say tonight I am seeing the appeal.” The catch in her breath was involuntary. If his words weren’t enough to bring her to a halt, the sincerity of his tone certainly was. This was dangerous territory now - too perceptive, too honest, too many feelings she was one hundred percent not going to act on.

There was only one thing for it.

“I think I need another drink. You?” she asked. Denial - denial and alcohol - both viable solutions and potential exit strategies.

She hadn’t counted on Killian Jones.

“I have that covered, love,” he said, reaching under his sweater and extracting a small, silver flask. A practised flick of the thumb had the stopper out and he offered it to her. “After you.”

She sniffed at the neck of the flask before taking a delicate swig. “Is that rum?” she asked, the liquid warming her throat as she passed the flask back to him.

“Aye.”

Emma snorted as Killian took a significantly longer draught. With one eyebrow quirked in question, he looked curiously at her as she held back the urge to chuckle. “Yeah, great job on avoiding the Peter Pan references. Next you’ll tell me you have a ship stashed away somewhere.”

He looked sheepish, passing back the flask and scratching nervously at a spot behind his ear as Emma took another quick sip.

“You do, don’t you?” she said incredulously.

He said nothing, only nodded and drank again from the flask before looping the stopper back into the neck and securing it with the curve of his hook.

“You are not even trying. You may as well get the perm and a twirly moustache and be done with it. In fact, I think I’ll call you Captain from now on…” She trailed off, wondering just how potent that rum had been to loosen her tongue so significantly. Struck suddenly by the insensitivity of her patter, she looked at him cautiously, her teeth worrying her lip between them.

He was grinning.

“Sorry, Killian, I…” she began, but he cut her off.

“No apologies necessary, Swan,” he said quickly. “And I believe you intended to call me Captain?”

Emma laughed, throwing him a mock salute as she leaned back against the counter. They stood in silence for a few minutes - a comfortable silence that was somehow becoming less frightening and more reassuring the longer she spent in his presence.

And that should have been scary enough to send her out the door and into the night.

But instead she stood alongside him, so close their acrylic-clad arms were almost touching, the spark of something that might have been static electricity, and yet might not have been, between them and just let the first thing she thought of break the silence.

As did he.

“I’ve always wanted to go on…”

“Perhaps you’d like to…”

They both stopped, laughed, and gestured for the other to go first...until Emma heard her name called across the room.

David appeared out of nowhere, his phone at his ear as he stepped up to them. Concern on his face, he finished hit the end call button and spoke to Emma. “Fight broke out at the Rabbit Hole,” he said. “Sorry to ask this, but I hope that sweater of yours is up to some police work? Wrangling Will Scarlett might be more than a one man job.”

There was a tinge of regret in her expression as she turned to Killian. “Duty calls, I’m afraid,” she said. “Scarlett had better not damage this sweater, or there will be no Merry Christmas for him.”

Killian grinned. “Feel free to leave it with me, love. I’ll take good care of it.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Emma smoothed her hands across her sweater protectively. “Nice attempt at plundering, pirate, but I’ll take my chances. See you round, Captain.”

There was laughter in his voice as he answered. “I’d imagine so Swan. You’ll be hard to miss if you dress like that on a regular basis.”

She was smiling as she turned and walked away.