#so I guess technically I just scooped out Set's brain huh

[queeriboh]

me, before I got back into ygo, cleaning my (weed) bowl by scooping out resin through the carb hole with a bobby pin: wow this must have been what it felt like to scoop out a mummy's brain through their nose huh cool af

me, doing the exact same thing but after ygo: so they did this to Atem huh

[kotosnoozy]

「witness me, old man」

chp 1 - recollections of dinners in eden

1st in a series of yuraven oneshots for my favourite aus, both canon to the tales series and of my own creation. ao3 link in the replies.

1. tales of asteria | recollections of eden 2. modern/coffee shop au 3. tales of the rays | 'it's new years! brave vesperia' event 4. schwann brigade yuri au 5. zestiria setting au 6. modern/band au. ao3 link in the replies.

Claw truly is a fantastic cook.

It’s rare, in honesty, that he gets a chance to taste his food. It’s an offer rarely made - only on those seldom occasions where he comes to seek Raven’s information-gathering expertise, and even then only when he deems his work to have gone above and beyond his expectations. He’s a harsh critic, for a man who clearly knows he wouldn’t personally be able to do the job, though the quality of his food is certainly worth the extra effort Raven has to put in to pass the grade.

He has to chase Norma away from the office on nights like these. At times, that feels harder than the information gathering he has to do to get to this point - she’s stubborn as a mule, and has a good nose for his lies. She doesn’t know about his… side-job, so to speak, and he has no intention of telling her any time soon if he can help it. She’d only nag for a free meal herself anyway, and there’s something special about these evenings he gets to spend with Claw, just the two of them. The addition of a spunky teenager would kill the vibe - even if the teenager in question is technically mature enough to be his business partner.

The only consistent method he’s found is to send her off to the next town over on some errand he swears that only she can handle, that he couldn’t possibly join her and get in the way of her work. Of course, it’s tricky to convince her that there’s anything she could do that he couldn’t - the bulk of their work is, after all, odd jobs and chores for the elderly, but if he bitches and whines enough (“Oh Norma , you know how my back gets, ancient as I am!”) then she’ll finally give in and head off with little fuss.

He gets to put the ol’ bad back excuse to good work when Claw arrives too - he couldn’t possibly help out in the kitchen, he’s so old and slow that he’ll only get in the way, or else mess up the recipe.

Claw, unsurprisingly, is far more skeptical of his tall tales than Norma. But for whatever reason, he’s never once complained at Raven sitting on his lazy ass and watching instead of helping. If anything, he almost seems a little happy about it.

After he does his little dance around the kitchen - finely dicing onions with nary a tear, pulverising potatoes efficiently, mixing it all together with a meat Raven’s tastebuds can never quite place, and frying the little balls of the concoction after coating them in breadcrumbs - there’s a plate of perfectly crisp croquettes placed in the middle of the table. It feels almost criminal to allow them to sit in the same spot that they usually just throw cheap takeout and sloppily-made sandwiches, mouth-wateringly good as they look.

“I really don’t know how ya do it, Cap’n.” he says, polishing off his first and skewering a second with his fork. “Makin’ something as tasty as this with just a couple of ingredients… Y’ ever think ya might be in the wrong line of work?”

Claw snorts in amusement, simply resting his head in his hand with a roll of his eyes.

It’s always like this. He’ll cook enough for both of them (or maybe three, or even four people - Raven can’t deny that he’s a real glutton when it comes to Claw’s cooking), but never eats himself. He simply watches Raven from over his collar, expression indecipherable from just his eyes alone. If it wasn’t something of a routine by now, then he’s sure he’d find the constant dark-eyed gaze unnerving, to say the least.

Instead he just feels guilty - it feels unfair to be the only one eating.

“...why is it that ya never eat yerself while yer here?” he asks tentatively. He really can’t imagine such a high ranking member of Her Highness’s guard suffering from eating-related stage fright, but it certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s ever heard of.

Claw quirks an eyebrow.

“You know as well as I do that Her Excellency forbids my face to be seen.”

Ah.

How did he let that slip his mind?

“That must be a hell of a pain when you’re on the road with your platoon, huh.” he quips instead to cover his lapse in memory.

There’s a slight change to Claw’s breathing that he doubts he’d notice if he wasn’t so good at his job - the tiniest of sighs. He remains otherwise silent.

G r o o o o w l

...Although the same cannot be said for his stomach, it seems, as it heartily voices its protests. Raven simply cannot stop the wide grin that rises to his face.

Claw’s eyes narrow, no doubt already anticipating what will come next.

“C’mon, Cap’n, you should try some yerself!”

He scoffs.

“It’s fine. I’ll just eat whatever’s leftover when I get back to the barracks later.”

“You know as well as I do that’s a hell of a waste - why let it go cold when you could just eat it right here and now?”

Claw’s gaze narrows further.

“Raven…” he drawls, warningly.

“C’monnnn, it’ll be our little secret! I promise, I won’t tell a soul!” he says, leaning over the table to wave a skewered croquette in his face. Claw’s eyes tick back and forth like a metronome as he watches the morsel, and he thinks he’s almost got him- and then he furrows his brows, eyes clenched shut like a baby rejecting a snack it doesn’t like the look of.

Raven sighs.

“Spoilsport. No one would’ve ever needed to know,” he whines. “‘m just thinkin’ about yer health, Cap’n. Nothin’ more, I swear.”

It happens as he goes to sit up straight - quick as lightning.

He snatches the hand Raven’s waving in front of his face, like a cat pouncing its prey, and hooks a finger over his high, wide collar. Scoops the bite Raven had thought was now destined for him into his own mouth. Replaces the collar as quickly as it left.

It’s maybe 3 seconds at the most. An absolutely miniscule amount of time. But more than enough for a man in Raven’s line of work to get a good look at his permanently-obscured face.

To take in his delicate features - nose long and beak-like, but cheeks far more rounded than he’d expected, pink lips thin yet surprisingly plump, a proud chin despite his round jaw - to be absolutely enraptured by how beautiful he is.

‘Do they hafta keep their faces covered,’ he wonders idly, ‘because they’re all this distractingly beautiful? Or is Claw just a special case?’

He can’t break his eyes away, even after Claw finishes his mouthful, looks up at him expectantly, once more quirks an eyebrow in confusion. His heart is pounding , stirring in a way that feels almost like nostalgia for some reason. He’s hot and cold all at once, cheeks burning but blood like ice, and he longs to reach out and touch him, pull the collar down for a better look, truly commit his face to memory. But then there’s a pain in his heart like a knife, pure grief , and it twists, makes him feel sick to the stomach, and his brain is fuzzy, he doesn’t understand-

“What’re you staring at, old man?”

It feels like being clocked around the head. He scrambles up straight, trying to put as much space between them as he can even as he yearns to be closer.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

Claw’s eyebrow climbs ever higher. Raven scrambles for something to say - whatever that was is definitely something to unpack later , if ever at all.

“Anyway, my darlin’ Claw,”

(‘Wait, darlin’??? Where the hell did that come from???’)

“How does it feel to get a taste of yer own food pipin’ hot for once?”

He swears he can see a gentle flush of red to his cheekbones where they peek above the collar.

“...I guess it’s better than when it’s cold.” he mumbles, gaze never meeting Raven’s.

He smiles, satisfied, and does his best to squash down the rest of that strange sensation as he tucks back into his meal.

Later, when Claw is gone and he’s alone with his thoughts, he’ll make a decision. That next time Claw cooks for him, he’ll persuade him to remove the collar again. And maybe he’ll figure out exactly what the lurching of his heart means. Who knows? He might even cook for Claw for a change.

(Something tells him he’s got a sweet tooth. Maybe he likes crepes?)

Little does he know that though certainly, he will receive the offer of Claw’s cooking in exchange for hard work at least once more, never again will he have the opportunity to actually sample it.

((it’s that night that the dreams start))

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks​ requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it) 

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:) 

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!” 

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk. 

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time. 

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss. 

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.” 

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack. 

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee. 

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.” 

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.” 

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle. 

But Tony DiNozzo was better. 

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.” 

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.  

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!” 

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity. 

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction. 

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command. 

9:10. The day was shot. 

. . . 

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . . 

“What did you do?” 

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?” 

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.” 

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter. 

Great. Just great. 

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed. 

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.” 

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?” 

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.” 

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...” 

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst. 

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!” 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you. 

. . . 

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork. 

Rough was an understatement.  

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.” 

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.” 

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone. 

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?” 

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence. 

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”  

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years. 

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.” 

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story. 

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed. 

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency. 

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare. 

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.  

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him. 

This would be fun. 

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso. 

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait. 

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it. 

. . . 

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that? 

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation. 

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up. 

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose. 

. . . 

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge. 

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question. 

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too. 

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch. 

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.” 

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering. 

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”   

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?” 

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option. 

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily. 

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.” 

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases. 

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards. 

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot. 

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.” 

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive. 

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.” 

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again. 

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference. 

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too. 

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not. 

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore. 

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it. 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own. 

fin

[toziers]

#12

it’s laid down in the grass / with our old and worn-out shoes / looking at the stars / on a blanket made for two - #12: in the stars - my brothers and i


technically, you could see the stars from anywhere in derry. a small town not yet overtaken by the towering sky-rises or cloudy pollutions of the neighboring industrial plants, just about any spot was good enough to crane your neck back and see constellations from horizon to horizon in any direction. not that richie was gonna stand in front of the aladdin looking like a flipping idiot trying to see cassiopeia or hercules; he might as well slap a sign on his chest that said “henry bowers please kick the shit out of me.”

you could see the stars from anywhere in derry, but the quarry, still and calm and free of sociopaths horny for violence, was richie’s favorite.

“just be home by midnight, boys,” maggie says, smacking richie’s hand away when he scoops a finger-full of brownie batter from the side of the mixing bowl. “richie! wash your hands first!”


“yeah, yeah, back by midnight, whatever, thanks mom!” he’s so tall he has to bend down to kiss her cheek now – like he has since he was 15, shooting up past her already impressive five-foot-eight and then surpassing even his father less than a year and a half later. the tallest of the losers by an inch (with stan tailing just behind) and the gangliest by a mile (though bill’s clumsy doe movements could give richie’s elbows a run for their money), richie was always bending, slouching, cramming himself into rooms and chairs and twin-sized beds. maybe that’s why he liked the quarry so much: at least out there he didn’t have to worry about smacking and whacking and thwacking into low door-frames or shin-height coffee tables. 


(eddie had laughed so hard the day richie ran forehead-first into a support beam of the bunker that he’d fallen out of the hammock. they’d spent the rest of the evening on richie’s couch watching cartoons: richie, holding an ice pack to his head, and eddie, holding one to his wrist. karma had never felt so fucking satisfying.)

“and take the quilt from the hall closet this time instead of one of my nice ones from the living room,” she adds sternly, and richie looks away, sheepish, as he wipes the saliva from his finger across his jeans. clearly he hadn’t done as good of a job getting the dirt stains out of the expensive fleece as he’d thought.

“i got it, mrs. t,” eddie says, holding up a roll of patchwork fabric half the size of his body. richie was the tallest, and eddie was the smallest, and it’d always been that way. (except for the summer that eddie hit his growth spurt before bill and spent two months holding that half-inch of height like a goddamn trophy until bill eventually overtook him again.) richie kinda liked it though; even now, eighteen years old and set on the path to university in the fall, they both still fit in the old worn-down hammock. they didn’t fit well, but they fit, and even if they didn’t, they would’ve found a way to squeeze in. eddie and richie were always finding ways to be close, making silent excuses for the way their thighs pressed together as they played video games or pretending their hands didn’t linger with every playful smack or tickle fight. they didn’t talk about it: the other losers didn’t either.

“rich, c’mon, we’re wasting daylight.”

“that’s the point, eds, it’s star-gazing.” but rich crosses the kitchen in two easy steps, and they take the bickering that follows out the front door as maggie calls out have fun! with a knowing smile on her face.

mothers always know.

* * *

“and that one’s gumbus minoris, named after the bravest man that ever lived; slayer of blockheads and — eddie, stop laughing, this is important — slayer of blockheads and slayer of pussy—”

“oh, beep beep richie,” eddie says, but his cheeks are red from giggling and his brown eyes sparkle with mirth under the light of the moon. “gumby doesn’t have his own fucking constellation.”

“he does too! trust me,” richie sniffs, rolling over to prop himself up on his elbow and using his free hand to push his glasses up his nose. “i’m an expert.”

“on what, bullshitting?”

richie scoffs. “why, i never!” he throws his palm over his chest, twisting his voice into something whiny and high pitched and about as close to a southern belle as eddie was to out-growing richie’s horrible Voices.

(which was to say not close, not even in the slightest.)

“ah swear it eddie, on all the fiyaflies in the field and all the twists in your britches.” richie gets another burst of sweet giggles for that and a light smack to his stomach. eddie’s hand lingers for a moment, fingers skimming over the faded print of richie’s prized liger t-shirt before dropping away. eddie’s gaze is still pointed at the sky, so richie lets himself indulge in the soft curves of the boy’s profile, in the way his long eyelashes brush against the hairs of delicate eyebrows.

when they were younger, richie used to pull eddie close and give him a gentle noogie or pinch his cheeks and call him cutecutecute. shit, richie still did that, did it a lot more regularly than ‘best friends’ probably should, but lately, richie was having to bite his tongue to keep from calling eddie something else —  pretty, maybe. or beautiful. a downright knock-out, from head to toe. richie’s eyes flick to the stars. heavenly would work, too.

“i’m telling you, it’s up there! see, right…” richie leans over onto eddie’s side of the blankets — to get the sight lines right, of course — and points, tracing the outline of the green character over a configuration of stars. “right there.”

eddie tilts his head away from the sky, beaming, and when richie turns his head too their faces are close enough that richie almost goes cross-eyed. “uh-huh. is pokey up there, too, mr. expert?”

the weight of eddie’s stare sits on richie’s heart like a hot hand on his bare chest, like always, but richie’s greens are aimed down. soft brown freckles are spattered across eddie’s nose and spread ear to ear: fuzzy stars against warm skin. richie’s spent hours finding his own constellations there, and across eddie’s arms, and his back, too, when they were all laid out on the rocks drying off after a swim.

“nah,” richie says, and brings his hand down to ghost his index finger over the slant of eddie’s cheekbone. he traces… something, some shape, drawing invisible lines from one freckle to the next; suddenly he can’t remember who pokey was, let alone what he looked like. “he’s right here.”

the puffs of eddie’s breath come out uneven — richie can feel it against where his palm hovers over eddie’s mouth — and when richie finally scrounges up the courage to meet the other’s gaze, eddie’s eyes have become little more than chocolate rings around blown-out pupils.

the desire to close the gap and kiss his best friend is stupidly, ferociously, unbearably overwhelming. there is a possibility (or maybe just the heart’s whisper of hope in richie’s chest) that, with the way eddie’s eyes flit to catch the movement of richie’s tongue wetting his lower lip, eddie might want to kiss him right back.

but beneath every loud, obnoxious, look-at-me-or-i-swear-i-might-die funny kid’s facade, there is a coward. taking chances on a dirty joke, on crossing lines with Voices and bits, that was easy. taking chances on this? eddie and richie stood on a tightrope, a precipice of love and love. 

don’t ruin this, the coward screams. you can’t lose him now.

so richie grins, pokes eddie’s nose, and flops back onto the blanket with his hands behind his head. “don’t bother asking about the blockheads, though, fuck if i know where they—”

if the force of eddie’s body dropping onto his wasn’t enough to knock the wind out of richie, the feeling of lips — his best friend’s lips, eddie’s lips, eddie’s pink, pouty, perfect lips — against his own did the trick. frozen, richie stares, wide-eyed behind the frames of his glasses that’d gone lop-sided when eddie flew across the blanket at him.

kiss him back, fuckass!

he does. richie’s head thumps softly to the ground as his hands fly to curl around eddie’s jaw, tender and desperate all at once. there’s no finesse, no grace to any of it; it’s all the fierce, wild energy that always ricocheted between them focused into a single, bruising kiss. richie’s heart is hammering against his ribs so hard he’s sure it’s shaking his entire being.

eventually, eddie pulls back, though his body stays half-flung over richie’s like a tiny blanket of energy. he’s breathing hard, and even in the faint glow of moonbeams, richie knows eddie’s face is flushed. actually, his probably is too; his cheeks feel hot (and his hands, and his stomach, and everywhere else eddie’s pressed up against).

“you’re a blockhead, richie,” eddie says, but his face lights up with the biggest smile richie’s ever seen.

i love you, richie’s heart sings.

“no, you’re a blockhead,” richie’s mouth says. his brain’s a little scrambled still, swimming with thoughts of eddie eddie eddie, and his smack talk suffers as a consequence. eddie still laughs; eddie always laughed. eddie would never tell, but he thought richie was the funniest person in the world, easy. it didn’t matter the joke, and it never would. if richie was speaking, eddie was right there with him, hanging on every word that came out of his trash mouth like richie was spinning gold with his tongue.

“guess that makes us a pair.” richie smiles then too, a rush of joy, unbridled and pure, washing over him so strongly he thought he might drown in it. the moment felt infinite and ephemeral, impossible and  palpable, all at once.

“guess so.”

they don’t get home before midnight. in three weeks, richie (and the rest of the losers, too) would leave for school, while eddie would stay in derry to take classes locally. the coward inside richie screamed worries of drifting apart, permanently or not, but for tonight, it was silenced by the bravest man that ever lived.

eddie, not fucking gumby.

you could see the stars from anywhere in derry, but laying at the top of the quarry side-by-side with eddie, hands clasped between them and ankles hooked so that their dirty converse knocked together — yeah, that took the fucking crown.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK]

WARNING: Miraculous and all related characters © Zagtoon. This story ©2019 to me! All rights reserved.

NOTE: This fanfic was commissioned by crazyfanatic97! Happy Hanukkah, everyone!

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

"WAAAUUAAAAAAAHHH!"

Adrien Agreste counted himself lucky that he had been on the way back to the wedding of his friend from their batter-smeared battle against Crepe Of Wrath when the cry sounded. When he watched Ladybug flying through the air, cartwheeling awkwardly. Normally he would expect her to be much more coordinated; she had been over the past year since they first began fighting crime together throughout Paris. But they were both human beings under their Miraculous masks, after all.

"Whoops! Milady needs me!" With a would-be casual shrug, he vaulted in her direction, angling the trajectory so he would catch her and land in a sturdy-looking shrub. Chat Noir wasn't about to let a damsel in distress go splat — especially when it was the damsel.

The one that mattered most to him.

But as he caught up to her, arm stretching around her body, she began to shimmer and shift. Oh no. Clearly she had lost her grip because her Miraculous was running out of juice, and her trusty yo-yo had dematerialized first. Poor Ladybug! But whoever lived behind those black polka dots and red spandex would just have to be dropped off in the bush and he would move along as fast as possible. They weren't allowed to know each other's identities.

"HRRK!" she grunted when his body connected with hers, blasting them both sideways. "Chat Noir, what are-"

That was as far as she got. Crash, snap, squish! It was all over in a flurry of limbs, both deciduous and homosapien, and… a strangely voluminous amount of fabric?

But Chat wasn't going to look. God, how badly he wanted to - this was something he had been dying to know every waking moment since he first laid eyes on the heroine! But it wasn't right if she didn't show him intentionally. So he slapped his hand over his eyes as soon as they were done falling and being smacked around by leaves.

"AuuuuuUUUGH, will you look at this?! I'm a trainwreck! Whyhyhyhyyyyy do these things always happen to me? How am I supposed to get married now?!"

Married?

No, it had to be a coincidence. Her voice did sound familiar, but there was no way…

Technically, she did tell him to look at her. And there was no way he could resist finding out of his hunch was correct. So he parted his middle finger from his index, for the tiniest peek…

The sweet, hapless Marinette Dupain-Cheng was struggling out of the bush, her wedding dress snagging on branches at every movement. Marinette. No way. This was impossible, it couldn't be her, of all people! Adrien refused to believe it!

But he didn't have a chance to confront her. Her bluebell-hued eyes glanced over and saw his hand covering his before she let out a little squeak and took off at top speed.

"Well…" Adrien wasn't sure who he was saying that aloud to. But as his ring began to signal his own transformation was imminent, he ducked into the nearest alley.

All this time, she had been right under his nose. For some reason, he had convinced himself that it couldn't possibly be someone who went to Françoise Dupont High School with him. And it turned out to be a good friend, but someone he had never really thought romantically about.

Marinette didn't even like him that way! Wasn't he doubly doomed? Or wait… she did once imply that she had feelings for him. But when he confronted her, she laughed it off and brushed it all aside, and he felt like an idiot for reading too much into the situation. Maybe it really was hopeless.

Besides… she liked Luka. He had seen him strumming his guitar for her often, fixating her with that seemingly sedated smile. That's why they were on their way to the altar now, barely eighteen and not wanting to waste a moment of their lives together.

"I'm so stupid," he hissed, slapping himself in the forehead.

"Got no argument from me," the magical floating ink spot that was his constant companion groaned from his shoulder.

"Plagg, not now."

"Yes, now, dude! Slip me some Camembert and we'll go after her. Or are you really going to let the love of your life get away because you're mopey and I didn't get my cheese fix?"

Rolling his eyes, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a small wheel of fromage. The cat-shaped creature pounced on it and devoured it in a single bite.

"You really think there's any point?"

"You gonna know that for sure if you don't try, dumdum?" Plagg admonished him. Which he couldn't argue with. "Do the transformy thing already, I'm bored hanging around some smelly old alley."

"But you eat cheese that smells even- oh, nevermind. PLAGG, CLAWS OUT!"

                                      ~ o ~

'This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.'

That kept repeating over and over in Marinette's head as she struggled her way up the subway steps. Apparently, she had neglected to slip her bus pass into her gazebo-sized wedding gown, so she had no other recourse but to hoof it all the way back to the cathedral.

"Darn it, Luka," she grumbled as she trudged along. "I told you I didn't want a big ceremony like this! I wanted a much more tasteful gown I designed myself, something more… compact! This thing's so pretty but I can't do anything but- YEEP!"

Down she went. Luckily the huge billows of fabric helped to cushion her face so she didn't end up with a bloody nose.

"But that," she finished, muffled. Reaching back, she pulled off one of her lovely white shoes only to find the heel had snapped off. "Oh, perfect! I was just thinking I needed something else to go wrong!"

A high, musical little voice chimed from her veil, "Marinette, it's only a dress! Think about how much Luka loves you! And you love him, don't you?"

She did. But Tikki's reassurances actually made her feel worse instead of better. Sure she loved him, but she knew her heart would always belong to Adrien. It just wasn't in the cards for them to be together.

"Need a lift, Mademoiselle?"

Her teary eyes glanced up to see who else but Chat Noir smiling down at her. The smirk he always wore for Ladybug was gone, replaced with something a little more polite, and his hand was reaching down to help her up.

"N-no, go away," she groaned. Then she remembered she wasn't supposed to be Ladybug right now; Bystander Marinette had no reason to be rude to him. "I m-mean… I'm fine, thank you."

"Your shoe is broken. And unless you see a cobbler nearby, you're going to cut up your poor foot trying to get where you're going. Let me help."

Fair point. Scowling, she raised her arms in defeat and let him scoop her up into a princess carry. She settled the broken shoe on her lap as he began to bound over the rooftops.

"You seem pretty at ease with this," he commented. Which made her realize she had failed to squeal at being hurtled through the air as any normal girl would have.

"Oh. Well… with all these crazy attacks lately, Paris isn't the sleepy little town it used to be," she joked with an awkward grin.

"Guess not." But he was looking at her so intently. As if he couldn't take his eyes off her… like she was…

It came to her in a flash. Maybe it was Ladybug's intuition, or maybe it was just remembering that she had transformed in front of him catching up to her brain finally.

"You… know it's me… don't you?"

Chat shrugged easily as he continued to leap her toward their shared destination. "You, who?"

"Over here," she quipped quietly. But her expression was bitter and resigned. "You can drop the act. You saw me spots-off."

Landing only a couple of blocks from the cathedral, the black-clad boy heaved a great sigh before setting her down. "So I did. But… I didn't think you would want me knowing, so I tried…"

"I didn't. Well, more like you're not supposed to know. Sometimes I thought it would be better if you did, but… rules and stuff."

Chat ran his fingers through his shaggy blond hair and stared out over the city they had sworn to protect together. "You treated me differently when you thought I didn't know who you were. Is it just… well, I don't know. Why?"

"Because…" Trying to put her finger on the reason, she finally gave up and just said, "You always lay it on so thick! How's a Ladybug supposed to fight crime with you blowing smoke up my skirt all the time?!"

Then she slapped her hands over her mouth, feeling terrible for being so rude. Especially when he wasn't freaking out over learning her secret, wasn't being accusatory or snide. But instead of being offended, he just laughed.

"Guess I should tone it down, huh? But don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Maybe someday, I'll share mine with you, if that's okay. I know I'm not supposed to, but-"

"No, no! It's alright. It's the code we are bound by." Then she smiled and nodded down toward the ground. "Mind dropping me off? I have a wedding to reschedule on account of ruined dress."

Chat winced when he took in the tattered state. Big swaths of fabric were hanging off, a hole gaped just enough that he could see her knee… plus the broken shoe. Marinette still looked beautiful but she certainly wasn't presentable to all her friends and family.

"Sure. I can do that no problem, Milady."

"That's another thing," she commented as he scooped her up to gently ferry her to the ground. "Do you have to keep calling me that? What century is this, anyway?"

"You're going to keep telling me all the things I'm doing wrong just because I asked one time, aren't you?"

"Youuuuuu betcha."

                                      ~ o ~

But Adrien Agreste's heart was a little lighter as he let Marinette's doting parents fuss over the state of her gown, he himself departing the chapel. Not because he knew his lady was already taken.

Because if they weren't getting married today, he still had time. Maybe there was hope for the Cat and the Ladybug yet.

                                      THE END…?

[deliverydefresas]

we know the start, we know the end, masters of the scene

here you have it my friends, part 3. shout out to my baked goods for helping me in this long and boring process xD 

1 | 2 

AU: Matteo Balsano is a famous singer who has been crushing on this one girl he saw every day behind a window many years ago, back when he first started recording his debut album and inspired his first big hit, “Princesa”. Luna Valente, professional Olympic skater turned actress is at a local (and very popular) talk show to promote her breakout movie. This is where it all starts.

BENSON VS SMITH: LOVE RIVALS?

After a couple of weeks of the stars of SHATTERED WINGS being photographed together with Matteo Balsano in what appeared to be a heated discussion, sources to the off and on couple conformed by Smith and Balsano, confirm it was all caused by Smith’s jealousy.

The actress was apparently ‘incredibly upset’ when she learnt what had really happened in JA JAZMIN’s dressing room minutes prior to their cast interview in the show, more so after in said interview Mexico’s ‘Little Sun’ hinted the incident to its international audience.

However, as their promotional tour around the globe for their very acclaimed movie continues, the duo has done nothing but deny all rumors regarding their rivalry; with Smith going as far as calling Balsano ‘an idiot I wouldn’t fight over for’. Benson affirms it’s a matter taken out of context by the fans and media.

The SHATTERED WINGS stars are set to return to the city after two months on the road two days from now, bringing home numerous ticket records from all around the world, as well as the critic’s overruling acceptance.

For more scoop on these three, click here!

Had it really been two months?

They hadn’t even able to finish their conversation, much less his apology from coming off as a creep. Now it’d been two months, and probably wouldn’t have the chance to see her again. Ámbar had warned him she’d kick his balls if he even dared to ask about her when she came back, and his relationship with Simón was anything but close to ask such manner.

Basically, he’d be stuck in her mind as a creepy memory. He didn’t like it, but he might as well accept it until he found a way to clear the water; not only for her sake, but for his too.

“You keep track of the media, now? We have a PR team for that, y’know?” his manager asked from over his shoulder, not missing the open article on his phone.

“I’m not. It was just a suggested article, that’s all.”

“Suggested means you’ve read articles like that one more than once.” Delfi arched her brow, questioning him while she sat on the chair next to his. Maybe citing her in his apartment wasn’t a good idea, he had no way to evade her questions in his own home.

“Maybe Gastón has.”

“From your phone?” He didn’t have an answer for that. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not judging you. There’s nothing wrong with keeping personal tabs about what the world has to say about you. Just don’t get too fixated on with it, it’s not healthy.”  

“It’s not even an article about myself.” He admitted. There were no secrets between them, and he’d learnt that the cleanest they were between each other, the less problematic it’d get when it came to talk about and planning his career moves. Plus, Delfina knew how to keep everything confidential, which was the reason he’d chosen to take Ámbar’s advice so many years ago when she suggested Delfi to work with.

“Let me guess, this is about the Sol girl?”

“Luna.” He corrected quickly, not even realizing he’d done it until Delfi gave him ‘the look’. She didn’t comment on it, though.

“Luna, right. What worries you in that matter? You were the one who told me not to release any statement.”

“I guess I just – I don’t know, she’s new to this world.”

“Are you worried she can’t handle it? I wouldn’t, I know her team, she’s in good hands. And from what Pedro has told me, Simón warned her about everything that’d come her way, so she wouldn’t walk in blind.”

He’d forgotten she was seeing Simón’s best friend. “Still, I haven’t apologized yet.”

“Is this the reason of your writing block?” she asked suspiciously, folding her arms. Her tone wasn’t accusative, nor was her face annoyed, but he still felt bad it was that noticeable.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, buddy, but don’t worry because no one else has noticed.” Yet. “You got time, the deadline isn’t for another year, there’s no pressure from the label.”

“But?” he knew better than to think there wasn’t one.

“But you know post-production is long AF, and your perfectionist ass will drag it as much as your brain can… if you don’t hurry with the base songs it’ll only make it longer.”    

He groaned lowly, “I know.”

“I’m going now. I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule another time, okay?” She told him as she stood from her seat to grab her purse. Their meeting had gone nowhere, but then again, he had no progress in his songwriting and he was on a break until his next album released, so there wasn’t much to discuss to begin with. “I’d advise you to go and try to find yourself a muse, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll-” Wait. A muse. He needed to find his muse. Matteo called for her before she could get out of the apartment, startling the even more confused girl.

“I need you to help me find her.”

“Are you excited to be back?”

“Aren’t you excited to be back? This is huge for you Nina!” she told her friend excitedly, holding onto her arm while they walked through the airport to wait for Simón, who was picking them up. “A new book! That’s not an everyday thing!”

“It’s just a photography book, Luna. Not a big deal.”

“Just? What have I told you of selling yourself short? The book and the quotes are beautiful and it’s definitely a big deal!”

Nina beamed at her, “thank you. I’m nervous, what if people don’t like it as much as the others? I would die if it flops, or if they question why I’m even still coming out with these.”

“Nonsense! Felicity’s fans are loyal, and they’ll love your work no matter what, have more faith in them!” she bumped her shoulder against her lightly.

“You never answered me.”

“About what?”

It was Nina’s turn to bump her shoulder. “I asked you if you were excited.”

“I’m so happy I’ll finally be in my bed again. I hate sleeping in unfamiliar places.”  

“You got to sleep on your house in México, though.”

“I almost didn’t leave.” She admitted with a giggle.

Both fell into a comfortable silence afterwards, in no hurry to keep the conversation flowing. Travelling together, living together, and knowing each other after so many years made it easy to stay in silence without it being awkward. Simón joked all the time that they were a married couple, and the only thing they needed now was a dog (mostly because he wanted one, too), and Luna could swear they’d have one already if it weren’t for Nina being strongly allergic to pets.

That, and that their time was mostly spent travelling between competitions and cool places for Nina to take photographs for her blog or her books.

She sighed silently when she remembered the competitions. Now that her ties with the movie were almost over, she needed to get her thoughts straight and decide what she was going to do next. Will she be able to compete again after the break? Did she even want to? Everyone had warned her already that everything in the skating community would change for her after this. More exposure usually meant double the pressure; and she wasn’t sure it’d sit well with her. She skated because she loved to, not because she wanted to be the best, or have everyone thinking she was. Juliana had told her that was why she fought so hard for her to play her in her movie, why she reminded her of herself.

But, did she want to change her career? She loved the experience of acting, loved how fun it was to pretend to be someone else for a while every day, but she didn’t love it the way she’d seen Ámbar do it. For the blonde, you could see, hear, feel how much she loved what she did. The girl poured everything into what she did, and she succeed marvelously. The thing all critics agreed on from all over the continents was exactly that: Luna glowed the most when she was skating, and when she spoke about how much the sport meant for her; yet, Ámbar shone in all of hers because she made you believe them, which made up for her lack of experience in the sport.

So, now she had to pick what exactly to do. If she wanted to go to the next Olympics she’d have to start her training as soon as possible, even if she was on a technical ‘break’.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Huh?”

Nina smiled, “you seemed to be lost – even more than usual- in your thoughts. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just… the future, I guess.” She sighed again. Luckily, her friend knew her better than anyone and gave her a short, but strong, hug.

“You still have some time to think about it, don’t go crazy.”

“Time flies, though.”

“Aren’t you the first to say time isn’t real?” Nina joked, mocking her accent a little.

“I don’t speak like that!”

Both laughed, ignoring the annoyed looks some – probably jetlagged- people threw their way.

“But, for real, Luna, you don’t even have to choose between the two. You can always pick something else; some people will be disappointed, yes, but it’s your choice. Do what makes you happy.”

“What would I do without you, Watson?” she half joked, half seriously questioned. Nina beamed at her once more.

“The same thing I’d be without you – be my less great self.”  

“True that.” Luna pretended to cheer with her imaginary cup, her friend being quick to follow her suit. “Now, call Simon. He’s late and Felicity can’t be late for her own book release.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!”

He wasn’t going to lie, he was nervous. (He also could almost hear Gastón’s voice in his head correcting him to nervous-wreck – he kinda agreed).

Delfi, bless her, hadn’t even bait an eye when he asked her to ask Pedro about Luna’s possible whereabouts in the city. He felt like a total stalker, so he ruled out her house and the rink she skated at, as well as the gym and Simón’s apartment. Thankfully, Delfi was able to get him last-minute invitations to an event she was going to be at.

Originally, he’d thought about going solo, so the possible – or most likely, probable- embarrassments would be for him only to know. However, as soon as Gastón heard the event was Felicity For Now’s newest book launch he’d made him ask Delfi for a plus one pass (God forbid his friend asked his ex for a favor). And, since Pedro was apparently a close friend to Felicity herself, she tagged along too. She was a lot more considerate than Gastón, though, because she promised not to cross him while his ‘apology’ took place.

“I can’t believe we’re going to see Felicity’s real identity.” Gastón gushed beside him, now at the party, careful to keep his tone low. Not because he didn’t want to embarrass him, but himself.

“Calm down, fanboy. We still have the whole party to look forward to.”

Matteo, on his own, was more worried about making himself look like a fool. He knew he’d already stood out – his black suit was a lot more formal than everyone else’s semi-formal attire- but if that wasn’t enough, the way he kept glancing around like a lost puppy made more than person stare at him for a moment.

He was too concentrated on finding her on the crowd.

Not that the crowd was too big – it was rather small, actually- but still, he didn’t want to miss her; if she was there at all.

“Do you know how long I’ve wondered who she was or how she looked like? Years! I’ll finally put a face to the character!”

“Character? I thought her book was consisted only of pictures.”

“Well, yeah. They’re pictures but they’re ordered in a sequence that tells you about her life and short quotes to help you understand the concept. It’s like a photographic journal of herself.”

“Yet she never shows her face?”  

“Nope, it’s always shadowed or blurred out.” Gastón sounded bummed out by this. He must’ve really been wondering about this mystery girl longer that he knew about. Matteo felt almost bad he wasn’t aware of this, even if his best friend never really told him about his fanboy life.

He palmed his back lightly, “cheer up, bud. Tonight’s your night.”

“Matteo, Gastón!” he knew that voice. When he turned to the direction of the call, he wasn’t surprised to see Simón. Matteo should’ve figured out that if not only Luna, but Pedro were here, then he would too.

“Hi, man.”

The guitarist threw him a smile. “What a surprise! I’ve never seen you two in events like these before.”

“Yeah, well, Gastón here is a big fan of hers.” He pointed to his friend, “and I was free from songwriting, so I came too.”

“How’s that coming along? Wrote another hit yet?”

Matteo grimaced slightly, “I’m blocked, so no. How’s your album?”

“Ouch, man, that sucks.” Simón patted his shoulder sympathetically, “we’re still editing ours out, gotta choose the right songs before we pass the final demo.”

That brought back memories. Hadn’t they been in the same exact situation six years ago, the same day he saw her for the first time? He, staring on a blank music sheet, desperately trying to find inspiration for his debut album, while Simón – and her- were on the room across listening and trying to choose which tracks to pass?

He mentally sighed. Everyone was right, he was a creep.

Simón must’ve not noticed his momentary train to his memories, because he continued talking, “- she’s not here yet, if she’s the one you’ve been looking for the past hour. Felicity is arriving with her.”

“Who?”

The guitarist was amused. “Luna. She’s arriving with Felicity in ten minutes.” His heart almost busted with this information. However, when he realized what Simón was probably thinking, he went into denying mode.

“Oh- no, no, no. I wasn’t- I didn’t- she’s not why-” Simón laughed.

“Don’t worry, man, Delfi explained to us you came to apologize to her for the headlines. It’s chill.”

He was so firing her for this (no, he wasn’t). “She did?”

“Getting last-minute invitations for this is hard, if not impossible. Especially since Ni- Felicity handpicks her guests for privacy reasons.”

“I didn’t know Delfi was that close with her.”

“She’s not, Pedro is. I gave my five cents in your favor, too.”

“Thank you.” He meant it. Simón just patted his shoulder once more and reminded him of the time, pointing to the entrance before leaving to mingle with other guests. A question popped in his head, “are they always late?”

Gastón, who’d remained quiet during his exchange with Simón, chuckled, “you really went to la la lunaland, didn’t you?” Matteo flipped him off, “Simón said he was late to pick them up at the airport, so they went behind schedule because of this.”

His friend went quiet after this, anxiously waiting for the main door to open. Matteo sipped on his forgotten drink, trying to calm his own nerves. Five minutes later, it happened.

The door opened, and in came Luna and her friend – Felicity, as his friend had mumbled beside him, smiling and hugging everyone that came to greet them. He noticed how Luna would fall a couple steps back from the photographer, letting her take all the attention.

He wanted to go there and say hi, he really did, but it was as if he was glued to his spot. Watching her laugh, smile, and talk to others from afar was the sight he was used to, and to get closer, on his own (Gastón had fled to Felicity as soon as she’d entered) was something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Just jail him already, really. His creepiness was scaring him too.

In the end, he waited until the whole book introduction was made, the food was eaten, drinks were drunk, to go ask her for a minute (or twenty). When she saw him, he could see she was taken aback; no one had told her he’d be there, however, she still smiled at him.

“Hi.” Gosh, was he lame.

“Hi!” she managed to sound somewhat excited to see him. Surprising, really.

“Do you think I could steal you for a couple minutes? I still haven’t apologized.” He got closer, being careful not to step into her personal bubble, and offered her his hand.

She didn’t even hesitate to take it, leading him to a quiet place to talk. They ended up in the terrace, sitting down on a bench near a lit – and warm- candle arrangement.

He wasn’t sure how to begin his apology. Should he just say sorry? Should he explain why he knew her? Why he knew she liked to be called Luna instead of Sol? Should he pretend he was star-struck that day?

“I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t his voice speaking for him.

“What?”

Luna sighed quietly, posing her bright green eyes on his own, “I know it’s my fault our names – and Ámbar’s- have been on the headlines lately. I’m sorry I put you in this situation, it must be very annoying, since you’re on your break from it.”

He shook his head, “no, no, no, no. It’s my fault. I was the one who dragged Ámbar with me and the only one who should be apologizing for my actions the night we met.” He didn’t add that his creepiness was an on-going thing, “you have nothing to apologize for. It’s all on me.”

Her face scrunched up. It was cute. “I was the one who answered wrongly with Jazmín. Had I not, the media would have no idea, or perhaps would write a different story.”

“That’s on Jazmín, not on you, Luna. She lives for making other people gossip about their lives.”

“Still, I feel bad and I apologize for it.”

Matteo sighed, “I told you, you have no reason to do so. I, on the other hand, am sorry I came off like I did. I just, well, you remind me of someone I met many years ago.”

She smiled, “do I?”

“Yeah. She was just as tiny and pocket-sized.”

“Okay, now you’re pulling my leg.” Luna laughed, her bright eyes shinning even more as the laughter reached them.

“Jokes aside, I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable.” Her smile remained.

“Apology accepted; but only if you accept mine.”

“Oh, but I can’t do that. Such a beautiful miss like yourself shouldn’t be apologizing for nothing.” He could see her compliment affected her in the light pink shade that now covered her cheeks, “besides, you seem to be forgetting I’ve been on the headlines longer than you. This is nothing, really.”

“But you’re on a break.”

He sighed, “yes, but like it or not it’s still publicity. It helps me stick around for a little longer.”

“So, you don’t mind being in the headlines even if they’re lies?”

“They have an image of me already; it’s not a lie, and it’s not a truth, but it’s still a part of who I am.” He had confused her now, he knew it. The small frown was proof of it. “If you choose to stick in this job you’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure I will.”

He guessed so. “Going for another gold, then?”

“Not sure of that, either.” That surprised him. Partly because he was sure she’d stick to skating, and partly because he couldn’t believe she was being this open. There was a reason he spoke in riddles sometimes, just like Ámbar, Simón, or literally any ‘famous’ person he knew. Privacy, and sometimes inner thoughts had to remain for close and trusty people only.

She’d just admitted something he knew she’d been avoiding in every interview he’d watched of her, and she’d done it freely. Was she this open always? Or did he give her the vibe that he could be trusted? Maybe she didn’t think it was as big of a deal as he did?

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I still have time, though. Not a lot, but there’s some.”

“There’s no bad in what makes you happy. I’d go for that.”

“Is that why you chose music? Because it makes you happy?” she questioned him, sincerely curious. He nodded.

“It’s the only constant thing that has made me happy since I was a kid. I fought hard for it, and I’m lucky it’s worked out this well.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m glad I bore you.” He joked, when she seemed to be lost in her contemplating after a moment in silence. She laughed, shaking her head and making a couple ringlets fall around her neck.

“You don’t. You’re actually a quite good companion, I’d like to keep you as a friend.” She shot him a quick smile, “creepiness aside, you’re pretty cool.”

His heart did a flip. “Friends, huh?”

Luna offered her hand, beaming. “Friends.”  

[utanoprincendymion]

Sailor Rare Pair Day 4: AU

Pairing: Setsuna x Usagi

AU: Single Parents

"I love you, sweetie, have a great day," Setsuna said, kissing Hotaru on both cheeks before the little girl ran off to find Chibiusa.

"Love you, Mama!" Hotaru called over her shoulder.

"I'll see you tonight!" Setsuna called from the doorway, her voice trailing off into a sigh.

Usagi giggled, stepping out onto the porch with Setsuna. "They grow up so fast, huh?"

The older woman sighed again, straightening her pencil skirt as she stood. "Don't remind me. It still feels like yesterday that Chibiusa was born."

"Well, technically it's next week," Usagi teased. When Setsuna leveled her with a flat look, she continued. "But yeah, I can't believe it's been three years." Usagi's voice grew quieter, and her gaze became distant.

Setsuna put a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "He would be proud, Usagi. She's a wonderful, precious little girl. And you... you're the best mother I know."

Usagi smiled weakly. "Thanks, Setsuna." After a moment, her smile grew genuine as she nudged her friend's shoulder. "But give yourself more credit. I may stay home with the kids, but you go out there every day and work hard in that lab, and you still raise Hotaru. I'm sure Dr. Tomoe would be happy you adopted Hotaru."

Setsuna smiled fondly at the thought of her mentor. "He was a good man. And Hotaru is an angel."

"Chibiusa is a little devil, I'll tell you," Usagi complained, knowing she and Setsuna might otherwise spend all day stuck in their memories. "Just last night, she got past the babylock on the pantry and ate a whole sleeve of cookies." Usagi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Poor thing made herself sick."

Setsuna laughed. "I'll see about picking up more cookies on the way back from work." Setsuna brushed a strand of hair back over her shoulder, smiling fondly at Usagi. "Do you need any art supplies?"

"Well..." Usagi began with a light blush, "I am running low on black ink and screentone. And if you could pick up a kneaded eraser..."

Setsuna smiled. "Of course." She bent down and scooped up her briefcase. "I'll see you for dinner?"

"Yep!" Usagi beamed. "Mako-chan taught me how to make a new dish."

"What dish?"

Usagi's smile grew into a playful smirk. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

Setsuna chuckled, her eyes soft. "Very well. I'll see you tonight."

"See you then," Usagi called, waving as she watched Setsuna return to the car. She continued to wave as her gaze followed the silver car as far as her eyes could see. When the car was out of sight, Usagi sighed peacefully, her smile as soft as the pink haze of the morning sky.

When she turned back to the house, she groaned, running her hands down her face. "Get it together, Usa," she told herself. "You've got kids to feed and a deadline to meet. No time for wishful thinking."

She took off for the kitchen and pulled the pancake batter out of the fridge. A few minutes and a full plate of pancakes later, she called, "Who wants pancakes?"

Almost instantly, she heard Chibiusa and Hotaru shouting, "Me!" as little feet came running. Usagi set the plates and sippy-cups on the table, giggling.

....

Setsuna stared into the microscope and sighed for what felt like the 30th time that morning. Now was not the time for her feelings to be resurfacing. Her team was in the middle of what could be the most promising breakthrough of their careers.

"But Usagi looked so cute in that apron," her brain interjected. Setsuna pushed back from the microscope and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was never going to get her work done at this rate. She was too gay for this.

Reika frowned at her co-worker. "Setsuna-san, is something bothering you?"

Setsuna blinked, plastering a calm smile on her face as she leaned her chair forward again. "No, I'm perfectly well, thank you."

....

Usagi was in the process of marking the pages for her assistants to ink when she heard a loud crash that made her drop the pencil instantly.

The crash was followed by a loud wail that belonged to Chibiusa.

She jumped from her desk before the pencil even hit the paper, her feet already headed toward the playroom across the hall.

"Chibiusa? Hotaru?" She burst into the room, her gaze frantic. She spotted the pair of them sitting in a field of shattered glass.

"Mama!" Chibiusa's eyes watered as she held up her cut palms.

Usagi's eyes widened, and she turned to Hotaru, who had a cut on her cheek and was staring at her palms blankly.

Usagi swore under her breath. It figures they would find the one dangerous thing in the entire room. "Don't move!" she ordered. She carefully made her way to the girls, picking her way around the glass, and thankful for her house slippers.

When she was crouched in front of them, she quickly brushed the glass off of Chibiusa, knowing her daughter was more likely to injure herself again. As soon as she finished, she scooped Chibiusa up and settled her on her hip before turning to Hotaru.

Wide purple eyes blinked up at her, possibly in shock. Moments after Usagi turned her attention on Hotaru, the little girl began crying, the shock having worn off. "It hurts!"

"I know, I'm sorry, Baby. Let me just get this glass off of you and then I can fix it. Okay? You'll be just fine, Hotaru. I'm here. You're okay."

Hotaru sniffled, reaching up eagerly once Usagi had gotten the glass off of her.

Usagi lifted her and settled her on her right hip. Gently bouncing the crying girls as she made her way to Chibiusa's bathroom.

Once she had cleaned and bandaged Chibiusa's hands, she did the same for Hotaru. She finished up by placing a Hello Kitty bandage on Hotaru's cheek.

"See? All better," Usagi said, patting Hotaru's head.

Hotaru looked down at the floor from where she sat on the counter, her little feet kicking against the cabinet. "Thank you, Mama."

"You're welco-" Usagi froze, her brain registering the word. She almost corrected Hotaru, but at the last second, she changed her mind. "You're welcome, Hotaru."

She lifted Hotaru and set her back on the floor. "Come on, let's get you guys down for a nap." She took Hotaru and Chibiusa by the hands and led them over to the toddler bed.

Chibiusa climbed into her usual spot and pulled the bunny blanket around herself. Hotaru took up the remaining space, and Usagi pulled her star patterned blanket off of the dresser as she wrapped it around Hotaru.

She gave each girl a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you guys soon, okay?"

"No!" Chibiusa whined despite her yawns.

"Why not?" Usagi asked, humoring Chibiusa.

"Helios!" Chibiusa demanded, pointing a chubby finger at the plushie on her dresser.

Usagi laughed. "Right, right. Sorry, Sweetie," she said as she brought the pegasus plush to her daughter. She then straightened out their blankets and gave them each another kiss. "All good now?"

"Mhmm," Chibiusa hummed, rolling over and wrapping Helios in her arms.

Hotaru nuzzled close to Chibiusa. "Yeah. Night-night, Mama."

Usagi smiled as she turned on the white noise machine. She then made her way to the door, flicked the lights off, and closed the door behind herself.

She quietly padded back to the playroom, staring at her slippers where she had left them at the edge of the playroom. She pulled her phone out, sent Setsuna a quick text, and the grabbed the vacuum cleaner. She was going to be behind on her deadline for sure now.

....

Setsuna was on her lunch break when the text came.

-Usagi: Everyone's safe, but Chibiusa and Hotaru broke the playroom light. A few cuts, all cleaned and bandaged.

Setsuna swore under her breath. She was relieved they were all okay, but she felt bad for Usagi having to deal with that alone. Not for the first time, she felt guilty about leaving Usagi to watch Hotaru during the week. When Setsuna had first started working, she had let her other friends babysit, but once Haruka and Michiru's careers began taking off, Usagi was the only one Hotaru would allow to watch her.

Usagi always said it was no trouble, but Setsuna knew that wasn't true. Usagi often had to pull all-nighters before her deadlines. And she was often alone in cleaning up after the girls. Setsuna tried to pay her back by running errands after work. Fetching more ink or screen tone, or whatever Usagi needed. But it never felt like an even exchange, regardless of whether Setsuna put food on the table half the time.

"Trouble at home?" Michiru asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Setsuna was far less amused. "The kids broke a light and got cut. They are fine. But now Usagi has to clean up and she's got a deadline tomorrow."

Michiru's smile faded and she sighed. "Poor Usagi. If I didn't have to be at the concert hall in an hour, I'd go help." She glanced down at her phone.

"Do you think I have time to run over there and help her?" Setsuna asked, rubbing her palms against her closed eyes.

"By the time you get there, she'll have everything under control and your help wouldn't be necessary. Besides the fact that you would miss work." Michiru casually stabbed a tomato in her salad and brought it to her lips. "The best thing you can do for her is to help out when you get there for dinner. Stay late. Watch Chibiusa. But don't worry about right now. I've already sent Haruka on her way to help Usagi for today."

Setsuna sighed, finally picking up her chopticks. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" Michiru asked with a small smile. "Oh, and Setsuna, a word of advice..."

"Yes?"

"Just ask her out already."

....

Usagi was inking her pages when she got the text from Setsuna saying that she was just leaving the art supply store.

"Shit," Usagi groaned, standing and stretching her neck, back, and wrist. "Dinner won't be ready when she gets home." Usagi paused in her stretching. "Here. Gets here," she corrected. She sighed. "Just a friend. Just a really, really good, really pretty friend."

On her way to the kitchen, she poked her head into the play room to find Haruka asleep with the kids sleeping on top of her. She giggled and tiptoed down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later, as Usagi stood at the stove, she felt a weight atop her head.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased as Haruka rested her chin between Usagi's buns. "The kids wore you out?"

Haruka yawned. "I don't know how you do it everyday, Koneko-chan. Those kids have boundless energy. Did you feed them nothing but sugar for lunch?" she teased.

"No way. That would be a nightmare," Usagi said with a shudder. "That's just what happens when toddlers get up from a nap."

Haruka chuckled, wrapping her arms loosely around Usagi's shoulders. "Dinner smells good. I wish I could stay."

Usagi turned around with a pout. "You're not staying? I made extra."

"Unfortunately not. Michi and I have dinner reservations tonight. It's our anniversary."

"Oh wow! I totally forgot! Happy anniversary!" Usagi said hurriedly. "Oh geez, and you spent your day here?"

Haruka patted one odango gently. "Don't worry about it. That's what godmothers are for. You and Setsuna aren't alone. You've got me, Michiru, Rei, Minako, Makoto, and Ami." Haruka pulled her into a hug. "I know it's hard with the anniversary coming up soon, but we're here for you. We are all here for you; whatever you need."

Usagi looked away, her eyes watery. "Thanks. I'll uh, try to keep that in mind." She quickly wiped at her eyes and slid out of Haruka's arms. "Well, I'd better get back to this before the food burns."

Haruka kissed the top of her head before walking to the doorway. "I'd better head out. Remember what I said, Koneko-chan. We're here for you."

"I know. I couldn't do it without you guys," Usagi admitted, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes both warm and sad. "I definitely couldn't do it without her."

Haruka sighed, running a hand through her bangs. "Usagi, you should tell her how you feel. You know she feels the same way. You two have been raising Chibiusa-chan and Hotaru-chan together for two years now."

Usagi turned off the stove, removed the pot from the burner, and turned around with a long sigh. "Haruka, you know I can't do that."

"Why not?" Haruka narrowed her gaze. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of losing her." The sentence was blunt. "I love you guys, but Setsuna is something else. I could live a thousand years just as we are now if that meant she would stay with me. I can't lose her, Haruka. She means too much to me." Usagi retrieved some dishes from the cabinet. " I'd rather stay friends forever than confess my love and risk losing her," she explained urgently.

Haruka opened her mouth, but the words died as soon as she and Usagi heard the bags hit the table.

They both whirled. Usagi paled when they found Setsuna standing at the dining room table in shock.

Setsuna and Usagi stared at each other in dead silence.

Haruka backed out of the room quietly. "Well, I'll leave you to this."

Setsuna cleared her throat, her cheeks dark with blush. "I apologize. I did not intend to eavesdrop."

Usagi looked away and groaned. "I don't suppose there was any way you didn't hear all of that?"

"I heard enough."

Usagi buried her face in her hands as she crumpled against the counter. "Oh god. Shit."

Setsuna closed the distance between them, gently pulling Usagi's hands into her own. "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean-? I- uh-" Usagi sighed, looking away. "Yes. I meant it. I never thought I could fall in love again, but you proved me wrong. You proved me very, very wrong, and very quickly, at that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Setsuna used one finger to carefully tilt Usagi's head up to meet her gaze, a warm smile tugging at her lips. "I happen to love you too."

A fervent blush spread across Usagi's cheeks. "Y-you do?"

Setsuna's smile grew wider as she leaned down and placed a quick kiss on Usagi's cheek. "I really, really do."

"Oh. Oh wow. Hahah." Usagi's hand came up to cradle the kissed cheek. "Am I dreaming?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Setsuna replied, letting out a little chuckle in disbelief.

Usagi looked up at Setsuna. "So what do we do now?"

Setsuna laughed. "How about dinner for now, and then next week I take you out on a date."

Usagi smiled, draping her arms over Setsuna's shoulders and edging up on her tiptoes. "Oh, such a romantic. What about the kids?"

Setsuna's arms wrapped around Usagi's waist as she began to dip her head down toward Usagi's ear. "I just so happened to hear from Michiru that they are off next week with nothing to do. Sounds like the perfect time to go see that movie you were talking about and maybe go out to Mako-chan's new restaurant."

Usagi shivered as Setsuna's lips brushed her ear. "My, my. Sounds like you really know how to show a girl a good time." She tilted her head, easing her lips toward Setsuna's.

Their lips came close enough for Setsuna to feel Usagi's gentle sigh as her eyes drifted closed.

Just as they were about to kiss, Chibiusa's crying caused them to startle apart.

"Mama!" The cries grew louder from the nursery, and Hotaru's cries followed.

"Coming!" Usagi and Setsuna called at the same time.

They looked at each other and giggled.

"I'll go get them," Setsuna offered.

"I'll put dinner out."

Setsuna turned to go, but just before she could, Usagi grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

Setsuna raised one eyebrow, her garnet gaze curious.

Wordlessly, Usagi reached a hand up to pull Setsuna down for a quick kiss. When she pulled back leaving a dazed Setsuna frozen in place, she giggled and licked her lips. "How was it?"

Finally shaking off her surprise, Setsuna smiled. "Amazing."