#the fact that it is makes me worried it's too much of a fixer-upper....but fingers crossed! good thoughts!

[notasapleasure]

tomorrow we’re going to see the most Perfect house but it’s actually listed (listed!!!!) and needs some ‘‘‘‘remedial’‘‘ work and....depending on what that means it would make it all impossible. But. Keep your fingers crossed for me guys, that in this case it’s not much more than a lick of paint and a new kitchen. Please, I am in love with this house.

[bunnwich]

This is altogether random, but I feel you might appreciate the idea: since Leona is doing his internship with a mining company in Sunset Savanna, I like to think if he were to propose to his partner, any ring would have a stone he found himself (then or years later) that made him think of them, because they’re worth the effort.

No, I love this so much and this actually inspired to think of some HC for Leona and Yuu's engagement!! So pardon me as I use this as an excuse to yap/draw.

🧡Leona x Yuu Proposal

🧡Engagement:

I picture Leona and Yuu would be together a while time before he worrys about marriage. Leona as we know is not traditional by any means. And the two are so used to just…being there for each other, lives intertwined like a braid. 

At this time after NRC I see Leona having his hands in a few things, but mostly just there as support for Yuu and even Ruggie as they navigate graduating. After his internship he currently sits as a member of the Board of Environmental Utilization.

I think they would already live together in a somewhat isolated place near the edge of the Outlands and Sunrise City. Leona originally helped get it for Yuu to have a forever home but now he finds himself there more and more. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, reminding Yuu of the Ramshackle.

I imagine their house has a revolving door policy and often has uninvited guests, Ruggie comes to visit a lot and uses it as a place to crash when he's in town to see his Granny. And then there's Cheka (who is now a teen rebelling against his parents.)

Often the two take late-night drives in Leona’s jeep to get away from the craziness of all. Leona struggles trying to adapt to a more humble living situation and lifestyle. (he still can't work the microwave for a damn), but he tries enjoying the quiet life he has with Yuu. Yuu is still figuring out how they will fit in in their new homeland as a Sunset Savanna citizen.

I feel Leona’s family would be hassling them about marriage for years but neither are too keen on the idea of it liking their private life. However, Leona knows it’s the easiest way to protect Yuu and make sure they always have a home and inherit the house they fixed up together. (Should anything ever happen to him.) Plus, it would give them full citizenship in his homeland. 

So one day, he decides that it's time to make it legal. Of course, he already knew a long time ago that they belonged to one another, this is so cemented in his mind and he’s not even that nervous about it. At this point, they’ve been through so much together they live together, they are one. So, he does it in his Leona way.

On one of their sunset drives together he pulls out a special ring his sister-in-law helped him design with Yuu's three favorite stones that he’d sent them in their time apart. He had two requests when he had it made: it had to have a moon for Yuu and a stone for both of them.

Leona during his internship would often collect stones he would find in the mines, finding some to send to Yuu. He knew that they liked that sorta stuff even if he didn't care for it. And he didn’t mind writing down little geological facts for them. 

“So…ya wanna be married to me?”

Yuu would honestly not expect it. And he said it so casually too! Smug bastard. But as usual, he was…right, their lives were so connected they couldn't imagine not seeing his cocky face every day or hearing his soft words of encouragement then loud ass snores every night.

“Okay.” They say with a shrug, and Yuu would be crying for both them. He was right, it just made sense. Besides, what would the lion do without them?

After putting the ring on their finger he'd wrap his arms around them, intending to never let go after that. He can’t help but get teary too. He never thought that he’d have someone like his brother did, to be by his side always.

“Well, now, yer stuck with me.”

“That’s okay.”

🧡Wedding:

As for a wedding, I KNOW Falena and Sis-in-law would press for a big, fat traditional Sunset Savanna wedding. There is a bit of controversy among some old-fashioned council members that Leona is marrying an outsider and a few murmuring that Yuu is a human too. But Leona’s favorability in the kingdom has always been so divided that some take an apathetic view, expecting this behavior from the second prince anyway.

Being a “spare heir” works in Leona’s favor this time, as there is not as much pressure for an arranged marriage for him as his brother had. Though there’s still some pushback. They were fine viewing Yuuta as a fling but it’s tradition for royal family members to have political marriages.

It’s a bit of strain on their relationship during this time with the stress of the capital’s spotlight on them. Since Leona told no one about it until after he proposed to Yuu. But, because a few on the council are fond of Yuu already, (as well as the queen regent), it all works out eventually! (Leona threatens to take Yuu and run away so many times.)

It is an…adjustment getting this much attention for Yuu. But, because the house they chose is already out of the prying eyes, the two compromise by agreeing to a true royal wedding…

This doesn’t last long. The two get fed up and…elope a few months later in the middle of the night. Cheka/Ruggie sneak out to be witnesses. Falena and the queen are pissed and make them promise to get married again in a few years publicly.

🧡Traditions:

Rings are a bit more of a modern marriage tradition in the Sunset Savanna as other countries' cultures melded with theirs over the years. Leona has never been one for traditions anyway and he liked the idea of matching rings, made out of the same ore and gems.

An old tradition of Sunset Savanna marriages is that of permanent bracelets, braided by hand by the officiating party. They are meant to stay on til death. Often colored beads are added to represent each personality. The braided hemp itself represents an eternity together in this life and the next. Through the circle of life, they are connected from then on out. 

[enviedear]

my dear ⟶ remus lupin

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which reader tries to spark inspiration for her writing at her friends' vacation home, and remus lupin is trying to do the exact same. PAIRING ⌙ remus x fem!reader WORD COUNT ⌙ 5.1k WARNINGS ⌙ nsfw, eighteen and up only. and i will block you if you're an ageless blog or a minor. respect my boundaries. lowercase intended, mentions of food and eating it, very filthy smut i'm so sorry.

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the dewy and thick morning air almost stifles you as you stare out to the expansive lake just beyond your balcony. the water is murky, matching the gloom around it, but you can see one remus lupin down below on the patio, cigarette clad in his fingers and pen in another. he's sat in deep concentration, papers in front of him and cooling coffee directly beside. you know the look on his face all too well. you're sure he's seen it as much on you as himself.

the face of unmoving thought and well-wishing for something— anything, to spark an idea. his face is marked red from the cold, and his hair is still bedridden. but in a way, he handles having no inspiration far better than you. you, who is sulking in a grand room avoiding her friends' call for breakfast.

"i know it's dreary—" lily had said, and you had interrupted, "—it's a drafty old house in the middle of nowhere."

"it could spark inspiration though! think of all that writing you can do there." james had argued, glasses in his hands, eyes squinted.

you smiled, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach, "fine, i'll go. no arguments on my end.”

the couple had grinned, ear to ear, "we promise you'll fall in love with it— just like we did."

you can say with confidence now, that you have not fallen in love with lily and james' fixer-upper vacation home. there was beauty within it, sure, and you saw how much the two enjoy taking on the project but their love for it is unable to hide the fact that the air is stiff, the paint chipping, and the rooms are reeking of mold.

you slip away from the balcony, drawing one last glance at remus, before slowly making your way into the wallpapered bathroom connected to your room.

there are hundreds of articles of clothing strewn about the tiled floor, but you can't force yourself to pick them up just yet. the bathroom seems to reflect your own mess of a mind. you stare at yourself in the mirror and sigh before washing your face.

the water is lukewarm, despite you wishing for it to be boiling, and as you pat your face dry you hear a loud creak come from beside you.

"sorry— didn't mean to startle you." lily's cool voice calls, eyes scanning the messy bathroom.

you smile, grabbing for your toothbrush, "you're fine lils."

you start brushing your teeth, giving her the opportunity to ambush you with questions she knows you can't answer. "have you started writing yet?"

you shake your head no, watching as she purses her lips, "well james and i were thinking that maybe working on the house may help. a little distraction— or maybe it'll bore you into writing."

you spit into the sink, "don't worry about it lils. i promise that this bout of writer's block has nothing to do with you. if anything, it's my fault."

she hands you a sweater from the floor, "whatever you say. just know that i'm always here if you need anyone to bounce ideas off of," she motions to the expanse of clothing on the ground, "—or help you clean up after yourself."

you laugh, "the cleaning i will get to, sorry."

she shrugs, "we're about to gut it anyway. which reminds me—"

you throw your oversized tee shirt off, slipping the ratty sweater on, "you're throwing me out?"

"no, you'll just have to share with remus for a bit. is that okay?" she asks.

you walk out of the bathroom and to the desk, grabbing a stray pair of jeans with paint splattered on them, "just sharing the bathroom? i get to keep my room?"

you try to avoid the stupid thoughts you have when topic drifts to the man, your friend. you try as much as possible to avoid letting anyone know just how much his name can send you into a state of bliss.

she leans against the wardrobe, "just the bathroom, and just for a week."

you smile, "sounds fine to me, miss landlord," you grab your journal, "come on, time to be functioning members of society."

she toys with her hair, in a long braid, "honestly love, i think you're the only one not functioning right now."

"play nice, lils." your voice is joking.

the redhead giggles, bounding down the steps at a pace you're unwilling to follow. instead, you take your time reaching the kitchen, taking in the dim sunlight shining around you.

when you come into the recently redone and very blue kitchen, your eyes find your friends. most of them are done with breakfast and probably on their second rounds of coffee.

lily has found her place in james' lap, dorcus looks to be eyeing the kettle, marlene etches something onto a tiny canvas while sirius plays with one of her unused brushes, and finally, remus is sifting through piles of papers, unalert to the people around him.

you try to avoid staring at him, at the way his buttoned shirt isn't fully done, exposing just a bit of his chest.

"morning." dorcus grumbles, curly hair in a tight low bun.

you salute her, "you seem quite excited for the day."

as you take a seat, beside remus, he finally seems to notice his surroundings and offers you a small smile.

"i hate the morning." dorcus continues simply.

you hum and reach for a few pancakes, drenching them in lily's homemade blueberry syrup, "at least they're fleeting, dori."

you hear sirius laugh and look at him, "what on earth is funny about that?"

he smirks, "just the things you say. you've got writer written all over you— even in the way you talk."

you roll your eyes, almost able to ignore him, "goodness, what does that mean?"

"he's being rude—" james chides, "—he's really just trying to say that you have a poetic way of speaking."

sirius snorts, "poetic, pretentious. same thing."

this time you stay quiet, opting to eat your pancakes. you do often wonder if you sound pretentious and, sirius, without fail often will joke that you do. you try to come to the conclusion that you're toeing the line.

"sirius stop satirizing bright young women, it's unbecoming." remus mumbles, a soft grin on his lips.

the black haired man groans, but has a sharp smirk on his face, "big words, i hate 'em. god, you writers' are vexatious."

you put your fork down, eyes narrowed, "i dare you to spell that, sirius."

he throws his hands up, "got me there. i really should look more carefully at my word-a-day calendar."

you chuckle and shake your head at him.

"he's got a point though," marlene starts, a familiar smirk on her face, "you two have writer written all over you."

remus cards his fingers through his hair, sitting back farther into his chair and grin playing his lips, "i'm not a writer—"

dorcus interrupts him, finally pouring her tea, "—you're an academic. shove off, it's the same thing. only she writes fiction you write scholarly journals. i will die on this hill."

"but it's not the same thing!" both remus and you exhaust.

marlene laughs, "you're proving our point. you're two peas in a pod. passionate in everything that you do."

you look at remus, who gives you a wink, "they just don't get it, do they?"

you can't help but to smile, "no, they don't."

breakfast continues on, less rambunctious. by the time you've put your plate and mug away the kitchen is empty. quiet, you stare out of the window, pausing your sip from your cup of coffee, and watch as james orders both sirius and remus around the garden.

remus has his signature smile on his face as he shovels into the ground, juxtaposed to sirius who seems to hate the idea of planting rose bushes.

you think, how strange it is for you to watch people so intently. be it the writer within you or just your general way of being, you can't help but notice the ways people navigate through their days.

remus is your favorite, a conclusion you mark up while walking down to the small dock just off the property line. as you study the small waves coming from the lake below you, you think of the small things you've noticed about him that make him, well, him.

there's the plainly obvious, such as his scars and sandy brown hair. but your favorite bits are the ones that have taken you years of friendship to see.

in year four, you finally saw how his lips would curve into a genuine smile whenever you said something to pique his interest. now, it feels as familiar as the brown hue of his eyes. or, you think, when you noticed the way his voice raises when he's about to make a joke.

truthfully there are countless unassuming parts of remus that find a way into your mind. and without much thought, you start writing them down, the beginnings of an expansive list.

— has a penchant for anything the color green

— will laugh if you stare just long enough

— watches his posture, but only if sirius is in the room

— gets wide-eyed whenever someone stumbles

— can't help but to deadpan if he gets bored of a conversation

somehow, without your knowing the list turns into somewhat of a retelling. bits of moments shared with him. years of moments becoming words to a story you had no notion of writing.

you're smiling as you try to remember just exactly it was he had said to make you laugh so hard in sixth year when a whistled tune sounds behind you.

you jolt slightly and look to find the subject of your newfound inspiration.

"remus?" it sounds like a question, even though you hadn't meant for it to.

he smiles, "as far as i'm aware."

you close your journal, "sorry, i'm becoming more easily frightened."

remus crouches beside you, wrapping an arm around you, "well, scaredy cat, i need your help."

you furrow your brows, "with what?"

he chuckles, nose pink from the wind, "fiction."

you quirk your head to the side, "are you attempting to steal my fanbase?"

"just maybe," he jokes, "no, i— i'm working on a study about fiction, and if it provides substance for critical thinking even more so than nonfiction or evidence-backed research papers."

you hum, "sure?"

"sorry that probably sounded like nonsense," he rolls his eyes at his own expense, "all i need from you, my dear, is your mind. would it sound horrible for me to pick through it?"

you grin, leaning into his embrace, "horrible? it sounds lovely, be my guest."

and so the two of you sit, for hours, him asking you an abundance of questions, and you happy to oblige him. when the sun begins to set he sighs, "i've talked your ear off, and i say it's high time we head in for dinner."

you want to tell him, no. that you'd love nothing more than to keep talking with him, but a part of you figures that that sort of reaction is somewhat crazed— so you don't.

"i enjoyed it though," is what you settle on saying instead, "and if it's any consolation, you were my muse today too."

you try to say it as if it's not such a big deal, just a regular occurrence. by the look of remus' face however, it does not seem to go over in that manner.

"what do you mean?" his question is soft.

you shrug, "i wrote today, nothing cohesive, just it was about us, i don't know. it just happened."

"i've never been a muse before," his smile is comforting, "i'd love to read it."

you feel your stomach drop, "oh, no not yet, not until it's finished."

like hell you'd ever let him read countless romanticized memories of himself held dear in your own point of view. it would simply be too telling.

he rises, helping you up with him, "fine by me, my dear."

you take his arm in yours, an awkward smile on your face as you walk back to the house. it's that thing, he's been calling you, you realize. my dear.

something about it has ignited a long-forgotten, or unassuming, fire within you, forcing you to draw up any reason to stay right beside him, following along like a lost puppy.

suddenly you've become so delicately attached to remus. possibly this time around rivaling the stupid childhood crush you thought you rid yourself of. because now, in what feels like mere seconds, you're unable to have any thought other than him.

as you sit beside him at dinner you stare at your journal— it suddenly feels more like a teenager's secret diary. you think you'd die if he ever read it.

in your deep thought, you miss when marlene calls your name, causing sirius to shove you with his elbow, "excuse you."

sirius sticks out his tongue, and motions to marlene, "she made me."

rolling your eyes you focus on marlene, "yes?"

"i wanted to know what you've been writing about. dori and i saw you scribbling away down at the dock." she exhausts, as though the news is pertinent.

you stiffen, "just an outline."

dorcus rolls her eyes, "about what?"

remus answers instead of you, "you know better than to ask a writer what they're working on until it's done, dori."

you thank him with a ginger glance.

dinner passes quickly by, your thoughts lingering still on remus. by the time you're cleaning up after dinner with lily, you're sure that these thoughts are absolutely insane.

"remus looked happy tonight." lily says, handing you a plate to dry.

you side-eye her, "remus always looks happy?"

shrugging she says, "happier than usual. james says it's because of you."

you guffaw, "me? oh please."

"yes, you. what's so unbelievable about that?" her voice is cool.

you smile and roll your eyes, "i see where you're trying to take this."

lily goes quiet for a minute before whispering, "i see the way he looks at you."

you glance at her, setting your rag down gently, "he's my friend."

her green eyes dart around the room before she steps closer to you, "yes, he's your friend— who is absolutely in love with you. have you noticed how genuinely he takes whatever you're saying or doing in? merlin, y/n, he's worse than james was with me."

you sigh, "i don't seem to remember a time that remus declared his love for me in the middle of a quidditch match?"

she frowns, face annoyed, "oh, you know what i mean. he may not be as loud about it as, some, but i know he feels it. i have a way of knowing these things, you know? and i can see it on you too, you like him."

dishes now long forgotten, you huff, "lily listen, i adore that man. i would know if he felt the same. believe me. he sees me as his friend."

the redhead is about to argue back when james and remus enter the kitchen, loudly carrying on a conversation.

james looks the both of you over, a curious look on his face, "heavens moony, what have we walked in on?"

remus seems taken aback by your presence, "don't meddle, prongs."

"one out of two are my fianceé, i'll meddle all i want," james says, strutting over to lily and wrapping his arms around her. "what's the gossip, beloved?"

lily laughs awkwardly, eyes scanning the room as she comes up with a lie, "babies, seems as though everyone in our year is pregnant." her eyes land on yours, confused by her own words.

at the confession, and lily's strange look at you, james follows her gaze, making you furrow your brows, "what?"

eyes wide he asks, "you?"

you scoff, mouth agape, "pregnant?"

he nods and you can't help the deep-bellied laugh that comes from you, "fuck no, you dimwit!"

both james and remus seem to breathe a sigh of relief, as lily groans.

"why on earth would you think it was her?" lily asks.

james shrugs, "don't look at me like that— it's the way you said it! right, moony?

"so no one in this room is pregnant?" remus asks, sarcastic.

lily rolls her eyes, "neither of you have any logical thinking skills," she turns her head to you, "and you," she pauses, rethinking her words, "i'm going to bed, and our conversation is far from over."

james turns his head from lily's retreating figure back to you, "what the hell is going on?"

you can't help the smack you give the back of his head, "stop meddling."

"rem? the hell is happening in m'own house?" james questions.

"why would i know, prongs?" he replies, eyes holding a glint of amusement.

james looks deadpan at the both of you before heading out of the kitchen, you assume to find lily.

"babies?" remus asks, causing you to look at him.

you sigh, a stupid grin on your face, "something like that."

he hums, reaching above you and grabbing a box of cookies. he gestures them to you, "want one?"

you smile, nodding.

the two of you down the box together, silently enjoying each other's company. he's wearing his glasses tonight, perhaps from the copious amounts of papers he's been looking over the last several hours.

you think back to what lily had said mere minutes ago, studying remus now for any sign of unsaid affection.

you come up short.

he's towering over you, just a reach away, and you want nothing more than to take his hands in your own.

"do you think you'll finish what you're writing while you're here?" you say, trying to drill the thought of affection out of your head.

remus shrugs, "possibly. i haven't had the easiest time sending things to my publisher recently," he inches closer to you, "i'm sure you understand, the curse of a writer— never thinking what you're working on is quite done yet."

you look up at him, aware of the way his arms are now trapping you under him, "i think we hold ourselves up to an impossible standard."

he hums, a smile on his lips, "yes, because when it happens, we want it to be perfect."

you can't help but stare at him. you want to kiss him, really kiss him. you want to pull him close and leave his lips red.

you can't seem to work up the courage.

there's an inflection in your voice, "that seems to be the trouble of perfectionists."

he nods in agreement, eyes scanning yours, "c'mere."

you furrow your brows, but let his hand find your own. he pulls you close to him, now tightly bound to him.

there's a pause from him, followed by his free hand finding your cheek, "tell me what you wrote about today, my dear."

your body feels like it's on fire, "i already told you."

he smirks, "only the general idea, that it had to do with me, or, us. what exactly about us?"

god, you really want to kiss him now.

"you, my best memories of you." you answer, holding tighter to his hand.

he chuckles, "that's sweet," he closes his eyes, "can i tell you a secret?"

you study his face, the redness of his cheeks, "yes."

his eyes open, and they hold a distinct softness, "i really want to kiss you."

you lean closer, a stupid smile on your face, "please."

and so he does. he places a small peck on your lips, drawing away for just a second before going back with more confidence. his hand leaves your cheek, finding a new home on your hip. he pulls you even closer.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he breathes, pulling away.

you pull him back, "then don't stop."

he chuckles, "i'd kiss you until i couldn't breathe, my dear. but i'm afraid we're about to be walked in on."

with that, he's back away from you, box of cookies in hand and a smug look on his face.

it's sirius that walks through the kitchen door just seconds later, seemingly surprised by you and remus' presence.

"evening, writers." his voice is playful.

you give him a side eye, "sirius."

he purses his lips, "what's got you particularly glum?" he looks to remus, "and what's with your shit-eating grin?"

you steal a look at remus, who, has rosy cheeks to match his lips pulled together with a vibrant smirk, "goodnight."

you don't miss the inquisitive look sirius gives you as you walk out the door, but you'd rather run away and hide before he figured out what you and remus were up to.

you're quick to remember, however, your new bathroom arrangement. so despite your nerves, you slip into remus' room.

it's neat, put together in a way you're sure you could never obtain, and the bathroom looks equally as neat.

sighing, you hop into the shower. his water seems much hotter than your own, despite probably sharing the same water heater. you study his shampoo bottle, reading far too many long muggle words you've never heard of before. you take your time, letting the water relax you until you're reminiscent of a prune.

stepping out of the shower, you wipe the fog away from the mirror and stare at yourself. there's no more trace of remus' kiss— just the thought of it. and as you stand alone in his bathroom, towel draped around you, you question if it ever truly happened.

as you replay it in your mind, a soft knock comes from the door.

"it's me." remus alerts.

you scrunch your face, hating yourself for not thinking that you'd have to see him to leave the bathroom.

"i'm almost done, sorry." you call back.

you hear him chuckle, "you're fine, take your time. could i— come in?"

you nod your head, forgetting he can't see you. so when you open the door, he seems taken aback.

you stare up at him, "hi."

he smiles, "hello, my dear."

you're unsure of what to say, "what did you need?"

remus looks to be taking the scene in front of him in, "you," his hands find a home on your hips, "if that's alright with you?"

you nod, eyes fixated on his. with your permission, he lets his lips find yours for the second time tonight. and this time, he pulls you into an even bigger state of bliss.

his hands work from your hips down to your ass, groping through the thin towel. you make desperate pulls at his hair, liking the way it causes him to groan into your mouth.

when you pull away to leave sloppy kisses on his neck he chuckles, "you're going to be the death of me."

the words leave you achy and you can't help but to stifle a moan, "god, remus."

the way you call out his name is unfamiliar, so far off from how it usually sounds. you can tell it shocks him much more than it does you, however, as he groans, "it's criminal for my name to sound so good coming from your lips, my dear."

without a warning, he lifts you up onto the bathroom counter, finding his way between your legs. you sigh at the feeling of him between your heat. he makes a slow grind against you, and in the moment, you're sure you might let go right there.

his hand pulls your face up, forcing you to look at him, "you're a walking nightmare, you know?"

you don't respond, your own hands much more worried with undoing his trousers. you don't miss the way his head falls back at your touch.

he continues, breathy, "you're far too beautiful and it's caused me a great deal of trouble to hide it for so long."

you stare up at him, unabashedly taking him in, "please."

your voice sounds like a beg, you can't help it. you want him to touch you. you're sure you want all that he has to offer you. you want him.

there's a smirk on his face as he looks at you, before slipping off his button-down shirt and ridding himself of his trousers and boxers, you gasp at the newfound lack of fabric between you, head spinning.

he leans into you, leaving kisses down your neck to your collarbone, "'wanna make you feel good."

his free hand is making a painfully slow way to your core. you're about to beg for something, anything, when you feel him start to circle your clit.

you breathe out an, "oh, remus," and that seems to be the praise he was searching for. his movements stay slow but they do have enough power to make you begin to leave his fingers wet.

"what a pretty little mess i'm making you," he whispers, slipping a digit into you.

you're now fully blind with ecstasy, looking for more and more friction and calling his name repeatedly. your head is thrown back and all you can possibly think about is how much you want him buried inside of you.

you let your hand fall from his chest down to his abdomen, teasingly drooping lower and lower until you hear him let out a deep groan. you take him into your hand, movements slow.

his head falls limp into the crook of your neck, "fuck."

you enjoy your newfound control, taking your time to work him up.

he kisses behind your ear before whispering, "c'mere."

his hands are back on your hips, your towel now a heap on the ground, and pulls you closer to him. you hum at the feeling of his head at your entrance.

his lips are back to yours now, kissing you with an intense passion, inching further and further into you. he's stretching you out slowly, causing copious amounts of moans and shakey breaths to tumble out of your mouth.

"remus, i—" your words crumble at the sensation of him rutting into you fully, followed by a deep groan from him, "good girl, taking me so well." he soothes, slowly rocking into you.

with his words of praise, you take hold of his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as his pace picks up.

he feels of heaven, you surmise. with his rough kisses to your neck, jaw, and lips. he's all consuming and you can't seem to get enough.

at the feeling of him leaving you, you huff, only bearly able to contain your disappointment. you look up at him through your lashes, brain rotted with filthy thoughts, purely wanting him.

he chuckles, "don't whine, my dear. it's unbecoming."

he was playing a game now, testing you and teasing you. you enjoyed it, you enjoyed anything that came out of his mouth.

you pout, "come back."

his arms wrap around you, placing your feet back on the ground. you're thankful for his assistance, as you're not sure your now weak legs could withhold your own weight.

wordlessly he spins you around, arms hugging you from behind and a hand holding your face up so you can see the very sinful act you're partaking in.

"wan'you to watch, dear. can you do that for me?" his voice is barely above a whisper, but it rings loud in your ears.

you nod, biting your lip, anticipating.

he pushes into you, slow, taking time to watch your face contort and lips spew countless obscenities, "mhm that's a good girl. y'look so pretty, don't you?"

you can't respond, far too focused on the way he's pounding into you, quite animalistic now. his arms keep you close to him, never breaking the intimacy of the act.

your vision is hazy now, hard for you to see, but you can hear him. you hear the sound of him against you, the words and groans coming out of his mouth.

he must notice your far-off demeanor as he says, "let go, dove. wanna feel you let go."

he's relentless, fucking into you until you see stars, gritting out praises, and nipping at your neck. you're so close, and by the time you can sew the words together you interrupt them with your own moans of pleasure.

remus groans in your ear, picking up pace, "fucking good little girl, coming for me when i ask."

you feel his thrusts start to get sloppy and his head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut. truly it's a sight to behold. he's close now, fucking you through your own climax.

he takes his bottom lip into his teeth to stifle the sounds threatening to come out of his mouth as he lets go, leaving trails of white liquid down your back.

he's still holding onto you as he comes down, goofy grin on his face. you can't help but smile back.

"i am sorry about getting you dirty again." he breathes, eyes watching your own intently.

"s'ok." you reply, simply, a bit embarrassed at your previous behavior.

he chuckles, "let me clean you up. can you stand?"

you nod, a little unsure if you believe yourself, "i think."

his arms leave you, reaching into the cabinets for a washrag. he wets it, water warm, before removing his trace from you.

you watch him in the mirror, taking in his now messy hair and red lips. you like it when he looks back at you, giving you a wink, "suppose they're right?" he asks, smirk on his lips.

"who?" you ask, voice low.

he hums, wrapping his arms around you again, hugging you close to him, "sirius, marlene— everyone."

you try to understand what he's referring to, "about what?"

"about the way we are, as writers. i think marlene described it as passionate?" he muses, "it's just when she said it it made me think if maybe that's why i could never work up the courage to tell you how much i wanted you."

you smile, "because you wanted it to be perfect?"

he leaves a kiss to your jaw, "my metaphor didn't fall on deaf ears, hm?"

you giggle, "maybe they're right, yes. i assume it's only sensible that we'd be so hardheaded for so long all in the name of passion."

"mhm, well whatever it was, i'm glad we've overcome," he turns you to face him again, "because i am so tired of acting like i'm not in awe of you. every single bit of you."

his words seem to glaze you over, bringing to stupid smile to your face, "me too."

he kisses your temple, "spend the night?"

you hum, in agreement, and let him scoop you up before laying you down softly in his bed. you recognize the smell of gardenia and cedar, the scent of his colgne.

he slips into bed beside you, pulling you close to him again. you can feel his heartbeat against your back and the way his fingers are drawing circles on your hip.

"remus?" you ask.

"yes?"

you smile, although he can't see it, "i love every part of you."

"enlighten me, my dear." his words tickle your ear.

"it was you, every bit of you, that got me writing again. i couldn't seem to think of anything more interesting or beautiful than you and everything about you." you confess.

you feel him smile against you, "can i tell you a secret?"

"yes."

"i'm in love with you." he says it as if it's already known. the confession causing you to turn to him, hands finding his, "god, remus, me too."

[lookforanewangle]

sweet child o’ mine || spn || 2.5k || ao3

tags: canon typical mentions of violence from the slice girls, brief mention of blood

a/n: throwing this out into the void before I inevitably get sucked back into dc stuff tomorrow, so. here you go: a quick bundle of scenes of dean and emma, and a little deancas, and a little dean and jack. takes place around a year?? after the end of s15 (minus the finale because we don't accept that as canon in this household) title is from, you guessed it, sweet child o’ mine by guns n’ roses.

also! brief mention of the leviathan takes inspo from @/demenior’s fic series the love it takes which you all should go read asap 👀

*

Emma shows back up on a Tuesday.

The scuffle from the direction of the War Room draws Dean’s attention away from the long list of house listings he and Cas have been going through. Find a Fixer-Upper, Cas had said. We can make it our own. Dean was all for that, but finding their house, thee house, was taking longer than he’d like.

He thought nothing of the noise at first; Eileen may have come over or Sam may have been moving around artifacts again, or maybe Cas was back from the Farmer’s Market.

At Sam’s sudden shout, however, Dean goes running.

He whirls around the corner, gun whipping up to aim at whatever threat lay ahead. Sam is on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and there’s a girl holding a blade to his throat. There’s something familiar about her, but Dean can’t place it. He doesn’t waver in his stance.

“Who the hell are you,” he demands, “and how did you—”

Dean falters, then, memories flooding back from a one-off hunt years ago. A one night stand, a sudden surprise. He pales as her face finally clicks.

That's his daughter.

“Not another step,” she snarls, fingers fisting tight in Sam’s jacket to hold him in place. Sam shifts his hand towards his pocket, and Dean pulls himself back to the present. He moves his supporting hand away from the gun and up to the side, placating, as he slowly lowers the gun to the ground.

“Woah, no no no, hey, no one’s gonna hurt anyone,” he rushes gently, catching Sam’s gaze with a look. Don’t. He turns his gaze back to hers and sets the gun on the floor. “I’m putting the gun down. Just let him go.”

“He killed me!” she spits, blade pressing deeper against Sam’s neck. “I can still remember the look on his face, and you had a gun on me too.”

“I know,” Dean says, chest twinging at the memory, “and I regret how I acted, Emma. It’s— it’s Emma, right?”

At the mention of her name, her fingers loosen on the knife and she inhales sharp and quiet. Dean takes that as a promising sign. He exhales.

“You...you remember?” she breathes. Dean can only nod.

“If I could go back and change that day I would,” he says. He risks a half step forward. Emma straightens and retightens her fingers.

“Don’t,” she warns.

“Emma,” he says, hands still up and placating. He fights not to lunge forward and tear the knife from her grip. He takes a breath. “Please. Let him go.”

“And why should I?” she demands. “So he can kill me again?”

Sam wisely stays silent.

“He won’t, I promise you. He was pretty messed up the last time you saw him. We both were, really. But I need you to trust me,” Dean pleads. “We...we’ve changed. I know you won’t believe that, but it’s true.”

Emma says nothing, but she gazes at him intently, as if looking for the truth behind his words. Dean slowly lowers a hand out to her, facing up.

“Just give me the knife,” he continues, palm open and waiting, patient. “Please.”

She searches his face a moment more. Dean waits.

“Fine,” she says finally, and Dean can hear the tremor in her voice. She shoves the dagger hilt into Dean’s palm.

“Thank you,” Dean says, soft.

He closes his fingers around it and moves it away, placing it on the map table. Sam stands and steps out of reach, coming to a rest just to the side and behind Dean. Dean and Emma just look at each other, assessing.

"Sam, why don't you go see if Cas is back," Dean says. There's a pause. Dean can feel Sam leveling him with a look.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Dean says and spares him a quick glance and a nod. "Go on."

"All right," Sam says, hesitant. He glances between them, unsure, but he leaves them be.

"Take a seat," Dean says once Sam is out of earshot. He lowers himself into his own chair, hoping she’ll follow suit. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

“Where the hell am I?” Emma bursts, hands fisted at her sides. She doesn't sit. “What even is this place?”

“Home,” Dean says, lips quirking for a moment. He can hear the tell-tale flutter of Cas’s wings in the kitchen, arriving back from the farmer’s market, the low timbre of Sam’s voice as he speaks with him. Dean’s fingers itch for Cas, restless and wanting.

“You’re home.”

*

“You’re locking me up?”

“Listen, kid, I'd rather not do this, either, but you did try and kill us last time you saw us. And again today,” Dean says matter-of-factly, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

“I was ordered to slaughter you, and return with your hands and feet,” she says.

“Well, that’s gruesome,” Dean says.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispers, glaring at the room as if it’s a prison sentence. She doesn’t take a step forward.

“You always have a choice,” Dean counters, insistent. “Maybe not then, but you do now. We made sure of that.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We...might have killed God,” he confesses, shrugging helplessly. “He was a dick.”

She stares at him.

“You killed...God.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “It was a whole thing. Don’t worry about it.”

They stand in silence, glancing looks at one another in turn. Emma doesn’t step into the room. Dean doesn’t push. When he was younger, he may have forced her in against her will, locking the door behind him until morning and walking away from her desperate pleas to let her out. He’s grown, though. Changed. They’ve all changed, him more than most. His dad’s voice still rages in his head from time to time on the worst days, about how he’s grown soft, and wouldn’t last a day in the field.

But he’s made it this far. Their little rag tag group has beaten every adversary they’ve come across, even God, and over time they’ve all grown. They’re family.

Emma, however briefly they’ve known her so far, is family. Or she will be, if she wants to be.

Dean sighs, and strides in alone.

“Change of plans,” he says, tugging on the corner of the mattress. Emma watches him from the doorway, confused. “Help me with this, would you?”

*

“I don’t like this plan,” Cas says with a grumble after dinner, eyes squinted in distrust as he watches Emma from the far side of the doorway. She’s perched at Dean’s desk, flipping through the various papers and books with mild curiosity.

“I'm not locking her up, Cas,” Dean murmurs, chest panging. “We didn’t do right by her the first time around, and I’m not going to treat her like we did before. We’ve learned since then, and I’m— I’m not—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, reaching out to grip his fingers. Dean squeezes back. “I trust you. If you think it best, then we’ll go with it. But I will be listening in case anything goes wrong.”

Dean’s chest warms.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he answers with a smile, leaning over to peck Cas’s cheek. Cas’s free hand drifts upwards, catching Dean’s jaw to tilt him down into a full kiss. Dean hums.

“Love you,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. Cas mimics his response as he presses his nose to Dean’s and vanishes in a flutter of wings. Dean opens his eyes to Emma’s face screwed up in disgust, cringing in the chair.

“What,” he asks, challenging.

“Gross,” she comments. “Why do you kiss if you’re incapable of copulating?”

Big words for a...shit how old is she? Dean muses, brain stalling out. One? Two? How many years is that in Amazon years?

“Because we’re in love, kiddo,” he says finally, shutting the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. Sam will be by to lock it before bed.

“Gross.”

Dean just laughs.

*

“Are...are you awake?” Emma whispers into the dark, hours later. Dean shifts, turning his head towards her voice up on the bed. He refused to let her sleep on the floor, regardless of the fact they’d both be on a mattress. She doesn’t have memory foam. She deserved to experience it at least once.

“Yup,” Dean whispers back.

“Oh,” she breathes. She pauses. “I, um. I’m hungry, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she answers, hesitant. “Sorry. I know it’s bad timing.”

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Dean answers, raising himself onto his elbows to find her. She’s sat up against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. She looks so young.

Dean’s chest pangs.

“Luckily for you,” he continues, standing and heading to his desk, “I happen to be one of the best at picking locks.”

He rifles around in the top drawer for a moment. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and turns around with a smile, lock picks in hand.

“Have you had those the whole time?” she asks, not moving from her spot on the bed. Dean shrugs.

“Didn’t want to give you the chance to do something you may regret,” he answers. “Clearly that wasn’t something we needed to worry about though, unless you’re faking right now?” he asks, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“No.”

“Well, good on that then,” Dean answers. He waves the lockpicks in his hand.

“Ever been on a jailbreak?”

*

“I saw you once,” she says over a bowl of strawberry ice cream, “in Purgatory.”

“Oh,” Dean says, memories flooding back of the horrors from that long, long year. He tries to remember ever spotting a young girl in the vast, grey-colored woods. “I never saw you.”

“Good,” she says, corner of her mouth lifting up in tired amusement. “You weren’t supposed to.

“I got very good at hiding,” she continues, stirring the melted soup of her ice cream around her bowl. “I may have been bred for fighting, but some monsters are... too much for one girl to handle.”

“I, uh. I know what you mean,” Dean answers, setting down his spoon as his stomach churns at the thought of her scared and alone in Purgatory of all places. He’d seen how terrifying some of those monsters could be, the sheer magnitude of the Leviathan in particular. He’d had Benny, at least, and eventually Cas, but her on her own…

“Were you on your own the whole time?” he asks carefully. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her bowl. Dean waits.

“For the most part...yes,” she answers. “Making friends in Purgatory is, um.”

“I know,” Dean rasps. They sit in silence. Dean’s not hungry anymore.

“There were other Amazons,” she says after a while. Dean glances back up. She carefully doesn’t look at him, stirring her ice cream around and around her bowl. “We didn’t necessarily see eye to eye.”

Dean doesn't know what to say to that.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she says in a rush. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes wide with terror in her gaze, as if Dean would react poorly to her statement. Something about her fear strikes a nerve in him, reminds him too much of a little boy trying with all his might to please his father.

Dean wants to go kill a few more Amazons.

“You don’t have to be,” he reassures her. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her wrist. She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Dean holds. “Emma, you can be whoever you want to be. Family shouldn’t dictate who you decide to be.”

“Wasn’t your father a hunter?” she asks, wary.

“He started hunting when I was little,” Dean answers carefully, “and raised me into that. Just like you, I didn’t have a choice, then. But things have changed. They’re complicated, for sure, but I— I am not my father. You don’t have to be like your mother or sisters. Or, uh, like me either,” he says. He rubs his free hand across the back of his neck, self-conscious. He clears his throat.

“The point is,” he continues, “is that whatever you want to do and whoever you want to be is entirely up to you. You’re welcome to stay in the Bunker, if you’d like, or uh, head out on your own, I guess, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to keep you trapped here. We’re gonna get you a phone first, though, if you decide to leave. You may have shot up like a weed, but you’re still a kid, just like Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Long story,” Dean says, waving his hand as if shooing away the conversation, “you can meet him later. I just. I don’t want you to be alone, again. Not when you don’t have to be.”

“I’d like that,” she says, slow and careful, mulling over her words, “to...to stay here, I think. At least for a while.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stress sliding away. “We’re a pretty rag-tag group of fellas. Though Eileen comes by often; you’d like her, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” she answers with a shy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

*

She ends up in the room just down the hall from Dean. He takes her shopping the next day, much to Sam’s hesitation, but Cas only offers a knowing smile and turns back to his crossword of the day. Dean figures Cas been where Dean is now, both with Claire and Jack, to an extent. He’s gone through many similar struggles.

Now it’s Dean’s turn.

*

Jack confesses to being the one to bring her back.

“Almost everyone else from our family got a second chance,” he explains when Dean finally corners him later, bribing with peanut butter cookies, “I figured she should get one too, even if you barely knew her.”

“That was sweet of you, Jack,” Cas says from over Dean’s shoulder, hand slipping beneath Dean’s jacket to rest comfortingly at the small of his back. Dean leans into the gesture.

“It was,” Dean agrees. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack beams.

*

When they find their fixer-upper, Dean triple-checks that there are enough rooms for everyone. One for him and Cas, one for Jack, one for Claire, one for Sam and Eileen whenever they come to visit—

And one for Emma.

She disappears for a while a month into staying with them, heading out with Claire to help figure herself out. It’s not until her first hunt (against Dean’s best wishes) where she kills for the first time that her rapid aging kicks in. She settles somewhere in the mid-twenties range; Dean doesn’t know for sure. It’s a bit too reminiscent of Jack, but they’re all used to weird magic things by now, and no one questions it.

She leaves often, these days, coming into her own over time, but Dean is proud of who she’s grown into the past few years since Jack brought her back.

She always returns home, though, and Dean welcomes her with open arms every time.

***

tagging a lovely emmanatural advocate: @borntodiedean

if you’d like to be tagged, just lmk! <3

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact chapter 14: Fixer Upper

Lance... kinda sucks at stuff. Keith kinda sucks at other stuff.

First  Previous  Next

“Focus, your Majesty. Remember your basics. If this were a living being, where must the quintessence flow?” Tavo stands just behind Lance, trying to get the prince to find some measure of success. They've been working on it for hours now, and though Lance's skills haven't gotten any worse, they haven't improved, either.

Keith’s starting to wonder if his spouse might ever be good at anything other than the people stuff. Which, if he’s not, Keith can handle the weapons and Lance can take the people. It’ll be more than a fair exchange. He'll crack heads and split people open, and Lance can be charming and look pretty. It will play to both of their strengths.

Keith misses combat training almost as much as he misses his family.

It's just so odd how chaotic Lance's skills and weaknesses are. He's either deplorable or beyond reproach. He’s not a good swordsman (though he claims to be an excellent marksman), and it seems he’s not a good alchemist either. He’s an excellent physik, however. Lance can cure a migraine like no one else. Keith thinks he knows why-

“To where the damage is deepest,” Lance murmurs, leaning over the training mannequin.

“Good. Reach deep.” Lance closes his eyes, concentrating. Light blooms between the long brown fingers splayed over the false wound, glowing from underneath the soft scales on his cheeks. And… the quintessence backfires, throwing Lance and Tavo back from the table and onto the ground.

Tavo lays his head back on the floor with a tiny sigh. Keith's surprised at the dark-skinned Altean's seeming unlimited patience and good nature.

“I’m sorry, Tavo. Please, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, your Majesty.” Which is good, in Keith’s opinion, because there’s no way his spouse would have been able to help the man. Lance leaps to his feet, disentangling himself from his cloak and helping his teacher.

“I’m sorry.” Lance’s hands hang limp at his sides, eyes downcast. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“Your Majesty, your problem is this: you overthink. You overthink with your sword and with your alchemy. You overthink your relationships with your family, your spouse, your people, and with Daibazaal. You overthink what clothes you put on, what side of the bed you sleep on, what color flowers to put in your little garden, when to brush your teeth, what to eat for breakfast, and why you have a sudden pain in your head.” The alchemist guides his pupil back to the mannequin. He places Lance’s hands on it’s chest, where the ‘wound’ was marked out in red chalk.

“Quintessence is not just something you push out of yourself. Quintessence is life, in its purest form. When you reach within yourself, push your own life from your center into something else, you are entangling that which makes you reality with the reality that makes another. Whatever you hold, it must become a part of you, an extension of who and what you are. You tether you and that other together permanently. Only then can you seek to reach out and touch it, let alone alter it.

“Once that is done, you become part of that other forever. And they become a part of you.”

“What if I reach too far?” Lance whispers. “What if I get stuck or lost and can’t come back?”

“You must find what anchors you.”

“What anchors me?”

“Yes. Your singular purpose. For me, it is my wife, Luca. As a boy, I confess it was my pet shreika, Rolu.”  

Lance wilts. “I don’t have a singular purpose. I have too many. I must be a good spouse, a good prince, a good ally, a good leader, a good warrior, a good alchemist, and a good friend all at once.”

“You must choose one thing. One thing that you live by above all the others.”  

Lance heaves a sigh and shakes his head. Tavo could never understand. He doesn’t understand what a burden Lance carries. Keith’s only just beginning to understand as he gradually begins to shoulder more of Lance’s duties.

Back at the edge of the room, Keith pretends to read as he eavesdrops on a conversation he’s not meant to hear. Lance knows he speaks Altean, but also knows that a second language can still be tricky, especially when whispered under breath. Thank the stars for Keith’s keen ears.

“Your father, King Alfor does it. King Coran does, in his own little way. And you can too. You simply must find it. The center of all centers. The thing that means all of those other things.” Lance makes no response. “We’ll call it a day. Let’s try again not tomorrow, but the day after. After that explosion, you are more tired than you think.”

Lance nods, walking past Keith on his way to leave.

Keith closes his datapad, follows suit, not hesitating.

The Altean looks so downcast, ears drooping, scales dull, shoulders slumped. Keith feels a twinge in his heart. It doesn’t seem right. The white-haired prince should be smiling, or at least standing strong. It bothers Keith.

He decides, after some hesitation, to try to make it better.

“You’ll get there, Lance. Don't worry.”

“I should have gotten there already. Allura got there when we were children. And do you wanna know the stupid part?” Keith has no idea how to respond to that. “I apparently have a higher alchemical reactivity than she does. I’m a more powerful alchemist! And yet I can’t heal a mannequin.”

“To be fair,” Keith begins, trying for a bit of humor, “The mannequin appeared beyond healing anyway. Doomed from the beginning, if you ask me.”

Lance stops in his tracks.

“Did you just try to make a joke?” the Altean asks.

Keith scowls, ears flicking back against his head. “Well, you just looked so pathetic and- Hey! What do you mean try ?” Lance grins. “Oh shut up! You Alteans goof off a lot and it rubs off, alright?! Galra are a lot more serious. I just meant to- Nevermind."

“Thank you, Keith.” Keith folds his arms, looking away. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. Even if you’re terrible at it.”

Lance leans over and presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek. Unsolicited. With no one around. It makes his ears flutter and his tail curl.

“Whatever.” Like it’s nothing. Like Keith doesn’t care.

But he does care, because his moderate embarrassment of a spouse is now smiling a little, walking with something like a spring in his step. And maybe, just maybe, Keith likes that he’d been able to do that.

[amor-fati-momento-mori]

No Place I’d Rather Be

I’m on my period and emotional. Enjoy.

Summary: Spending your last day of weekend visit with a sick Grayson, but he decides to propose an idea you have been too scared to ask. 

Words: 2,879 

     Birds singing in the trees, bright blue skies, and the loving heat of the warm sun beating down from above were just a few things to describe a perfect morning. It was hard to tell if the birds were actually singing from inside the house and what tune they chose for this morning, but they were there happily flying around going about their bird business. As for the sun and clear skies it was a safe bet to assume that the skies were clear and the sun was beaming in the city of angels. This was also easily confirmed by the sun streaking through the glass doors opposite of the large, modernized kitchen that looked like a still from an episode of Fixer Upper, Property Brothers or whatever new HGTV show that made you crave granite countertops and apron sinks to fix all the problems in your life.

         You slid across the hardwood floors in your white tube socks to grab your previously used knife from the opposite end of the counter. Scattered across the white marble was the carnage of various packages and peels of fruits to make full breakfast. Eggs whites were sizzling in the pan next to another filled with turkey bacon that you were careful to handle with some grease popping out of the sides.  The knife in your hand was now being used to open up a second avocado to finish covering the six pieces of toast that had already been perfectly toasted in an obscenely expensive toaster. An item that you would never be able to wrap your head around but also couldn’t argue its efficacy and great toasted results. Four of six said pieces were already covered and done, set aside on their respected plates as you finished the last two for yourself. After scraping the green insides on the toast and adding all of the other garnishes, you set it on your plate and being adding the eggs whites, bacon and filling up three glasses with a previously made smoothie that had a tropical taste of pineapple and mango mixed with coconut milk.

         With a large huff, blowing some of the fly away hairs that had escaped from your ponytail up into the air to only fall on your nose, you gave yourself a pat on the back for completing the morning task of breakfast. Looking at your phone you saw the time was 8:30am on the dot. This boasted even more pride in you time management skills having had forced yourself up early for a gym session, followed by a relaxing shower and then getting all of this done. Distracted by said accomplishment and preparing to grab all the completed food items to place on the dining room table, you were unaware of the footsteps that were the tell-tale sign of someone else entering the kitchen with you. Placing one hand under each of the plates, you began to turn and head towards the table.

         “Boo!”

         “ETHAN!” You screamed, startled by his presence. You began to wobble back and forth in attempt to save the plates that had gotten shaken up in your fear before they smashed to the floor next to where your heart currently was from the scare.

         “Woah, woah, I gotcha.” Ethan said, leaning forward to help prevent a mess he was about to cause.

     He steadied one plate in your hand while grabbing the other one that was closest to teetering over the edge. He made the first move into the dining room to set the plate in front of one of the chairs and you followed suit. After everything fragile was placed securely, you walked over to him and smacked him on the shoulder.

         “Ow! Rude!” He whined, rubbing his arm as if your punch would do anything. Sure, you had been going to the gym and the boys were helping you get into weight lifting but your height and weight was still no match for 180lb and 6ft beasts that were the Dolans.

         “Dude, you scared the shit out of me. I almost dropped your breakfast by the way. If that had happened your ass would be the one remaking it so I’m not hearing any complaining about how you don’t like it.” You told him, attempting to fix your bun that was already lazily thrown up on your but now you were certain was sitting promptly lopsided atop your head.

         “Don’t worry, you already cook a million times better then Grayson. I would never send your food back. In fact, you being here I think is the only reason I’m alive and getting real food.”

         “I make the exact same avocado toast that Grayson does.” Ethan shrugged.

         “Yeah but yours just has that…” He trailed off and simply made a chef’s kiss with his fingers.

         “I’ll take that as a thank you.” You commented, before going to wash some of the dishes you had made. You also sent a quick text to Grayson letting him know breakfast was done.

         Grayson had been sick and therefore was unable to work out this morning with you like your normally do. You made it a goal to stay on track with workouts though and wanted to surprise him with a good breakfast. Sick or not, unlike some people, Grayson wasn’t the keenest on sleeping in. You also didn’t want to waste a second with him before having to go back to San Diego.

         The back and forth between LA and SD wasn’t crazy, it’s about only an hour plane ride. It was just the amount of having to do it. Thankfully that would be fixed soon as you had saved up and enough and with your job having plenty of spots to place you permanently for work in LA, you were finally making the move further up North. This didn’t come without it’s struggles though because finding an apartment was hard enough, but a decent one that wasn’t forever away from the boys, even harder. You settled for Glendale and had even tour the place with Grayson and Ethan while you were visiting this weekend. They had approved of the place as well and once you were back in San Diego you were going to sign the lease to move in next month. Honestly moving itself was the hardest part of any of it.

         “He has risen! I thought I was the lazy one.” You heard Ethan speaking, shaking you out of your inner musings.

     You looked over to see the most beautiful, pitiful baby boy there ever was. Grayson dragged himself into the kitchen, clearly still just wiping sleep from his eyes. He had changed clothes from the gray sweatpants and white tank he had worn to bed into red Adidas track pants and a black DT hoodie. His hair was still lying flat on his head, a clear indication that he only did enough to run his hands through to get out the mess from tossing and turning. Grayson also continued to sniffle as if was just figuring out that he had a nose and how it worked. His eyes were glazed with both sick and sleep as he looked over to you before padding his way over, sliding his bare feet on the floor.

         “Ehhhh,” He groaned, making grabby hands towards you as you turned off the water of the sink, drying your hands on a towel.

         “Yes, zombie boy?” You teased. Grayson stuck his tongue out at you before wrapping both his arms around your waist and digging his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

         You reached up to play with the hair on the back of his neck as he lightly swayed your body back and forth. He muttered something into your skin.

         “Didn’t quite catch that, babe.” You told him, patting this head to tell him to pick his head up and try again.

         “You do too much.” He sniffled before leaning his head back to do an over dramatic cough You loved the boy but Ethan was right that he was very loud, it was cute though.

         “Oh my god shut up.” Ethan yelled right on cue.

         “Fuck you!” Grayson called back, before lowering his voice to speak directly into your ear. “I’m sorry. I know with being sick I haven’t been able to fully enjoy being with you this weekend. Now you are making breakfast for us and it’s just all amazing. I can’t say thank you or I love you enough, baby girl.”

         You smiled, turning in his arms to face him. You leaned up on your tip toes to place a quick kiss to his nose, not caring if you got his germs.

         “That’s what I’m here for, bub.” You placed your hands on his cheeks, slightly squishing them beneath your hands.

         Grayson smiled back down at you, causing a bolt of heat to strike your stomach. Something you weren’t sure you would ever get over, which was perfectly fine with you.

     “Gross.” Ethan commented, shoving the last bit of toast into his mouth. He walked over, hip checking the two of you out of his way so he could clean his plate before setting it aside. “I’m going to pack a bag get ready to go to the beach, let me know if you want to join in later.” He tossed up a peace sign before heading towards his room.

         Grayson grabbed your hand, heading towards to the table for you two to eat your breakfast. You sat down, facing each other across the table before digging in. 

         “How come he never does that for me? Little shit always just leaves it here expecting me to do it. Or if he does clean it he just leaves it in the sink instead of putting it in the drying rack where he belongs.” Grayson complained, stabbing at his eggs. You smirked at him.

         “Maybe he just likes me better.” You teased, seeing Grayson not being able to help the little glare that slid across his face at the intention of your words. There was genuinely nothing there between you and Ethan, just some fun banter. You were an only child and only had a few close guy friends growing up so getting both a boyfriend and another friend all in one as a package deal actually made you pretty happy.

         The two of you continued eating, talking about maybe joining Ethan at the beach or just going for t a lazy swim in the pool if Grayson was up for it. Eventually the conversation shifted to your upcoming move.

         “How are you thinking about getting all your stuff here?”

         “After having moved with just a car or two like five times now, I’m renting the U-Haul. The time it takes for it to get here on the road and me by plane isn’t too hard to coordinate. What I really need to do is start packing to make that easier. Fortunately, again after so many times I have it down to a science but it’s never not annoying ya know? Just thinking about it- “

         “What about here?” Grayson interrupted. He looked sheepish like that wasn’t his intention but was also staring at you head on.

         “What about here?” You repeated back in confusion.

         “Like, here. For you to stay.”

         “Gray, baby, I am moving to LA.”

         “No, no, like right here. With me and E, here. Mainly me.” He said, you could tell he was nervously rubbing his hands together underneath the table in anticipation for your answer, ready to bolt if you laughed or said no.

     “Oh, I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Lie, your brain said. You totally had but didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. You are Grayson were coming up on your two-year anniversary in a month. It wasn’t crazy to think about living together, I mean your rule was at least two years anyways before moving in with a significant other so what’s a month in the long run?

         “I mean, you don’t have to. Don’t feel pressured or like I’m forcing you or anything it was just, um an idea.” Grayson stuttered out, now needing something to do to ignore feeling foolish so he began furiously stuffing bacon into his mouth and ripping it with his teeth.

         “No, Gray, I’m sorry. No as in I’m not saying no, no as in oh fuck me.” You tripped over your words, nerves now pervading your body as well. “What I’m trying to say is I would love that, truly. I just didn’t want to make anything hard or weird for you guys. Inviting myself to live here isn’t fair. I mean it’s been just you guys living together for almost 8 years. It’s okay to have concerns about bringing someone into that and I didn’t want to just assume it would be okay. Plus, I know you guys don’t upload weekly or anything anymore and we are public but moving in together brings another level to that that I wasn’t sure if you wanted to deal with right now.” It was actually extremely reliving getting this off your chest. With the move you had always thought it made sense just to move in with Grayson, you would be here all the time anyway, why pay rent somewhere else with two other roommates that you really didn’t know and hoped they weren’t secretly stealing your food from the fridge or leaving the bathroom a mess. It was a big step in a relationship though and even more for one like this.

         Becoming public was a feat on its own. You knew who the twins were before you met, so you had no problem leaving it up to Grayson about when to post about you guys. He felt comfortable enough to do it on your one-year anniversary. While there sadly was always going to be a few people who made nasty remarks, they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things and the reception was warm and made you feel grateful. And while sure, the fandom wasn’t involved into everyday life, and there had been security issue in the past about literal living situations, it felt like stepping into another boundary that needed permission from the fandom. The boys cared about every single subscriber so much that you never wanted to cause a rift between that. Although Grayson assured you that was never the case. Fandom and girlfriend were two different loves in their own special ways, that also deserved certain boundaries.

         “Don’t even worry about that.” Grayson reached across the table to grab your hand. “What we do, is what we do. No one makes that choice but us and if anyone wants to get upset that’s on them. It doesn’t mean you have to be in all our videos or whatever else people might think would happen. It just means that I finally get to wake up and go to bed every day with my favorite person in the world. I don’t have to take you to the airport anymore and give you the final hug before going home to count the days when you come back. We can make dinner, and go out on nighttime adventures and I need someone else to help me when Ethan is being an asshole.” You both laughed, he squeezed your hand tighter. “I mean it. The place in Glendale was fine but it’s still a 45-minute drive on a good traffic day. Just stay here, and you’re not paying rent, just groceries and whatever else you want to buy for your or for the house. It’s yours now.”

     Tears began to prick your eyes so you quickly spoke before they could fully form.

         “Is Ethan okay with this though? I mean he actually is my number one concern because I don’t want to like encroach on his safe space or anything. I know we are close but still.”

         “Ethan was the first one to bring it up actually.”

         “What?”

         “Yeah, after we had gotten back from viewing the apartment. You had to take the phone call with your boss so you went outside. Ethan said to me, and I quote, ‘Gray, are you really going to let your fucking girlfriend stay there? Ask her to move in already you, dipshit’, so I think he’s chill.”

         You merely snorted in response, thankful yet not too surprised at Ethan’s boldness with the subject.

         “Well it looks like I’m approved on all angles, so where do I sign? 

         “Right here.” Grayson leaned across the table to pull you into a soft, sweet kiss. The two of you lingered there for a moment just letting the morning settle in around you. Around what was now your home as well.

         You pulled apart and watched as Grayson began scraping the last bit of food into his mouth before asking if you were done, you nodded. Grayson stood up, collecting both of the plates before kissing you on top of your head as he walked by to go wash the dishes. You turned around in your chair, placing your arms over the back and setting your chin on top, gazing at the boy in the kitchen.

         Home, you thought. There was no place you’d rather be.  

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Scattergraph

To @avengedbiologist​

Secret Santa doesn’t own this, full credit to author above!

Prologue

When the boys were little, Christmas had been all about family fun.  Then later, after Lucy’s death, things had begun to lose their way a little.  There was one really awful Christmas none of them liked to remember, much less talk about.  Then there were a couple of mediocre ones where more effort was put in to try and bring things back to normality a little bit, but something just still wasn’t quite right.  Aside from the obvious absence of their mother, of course.

After that, it had all gotten very commercialised – presents that grew with size, quantity and cost every year; shows and events in the calendar that had to be attended; professional engagements that couldn’t be missed.  In fact, Jeff could barely remember even seeing his boys last Christmas.  Maybe for an hour or so as they worked their way through the mountains of presents they neither needed nor really wanted (Jeff and Grandma with their own piles also), but even that was a bit of a hazy blur.  Had they even had dinner that day?  He really couldn’t recall it if they had.  After the present opening, they had all pretty much gone their own separate ways; off to explore their new things, watch TV, visit friends etc.  Thinking back now it was all a bit sad really, though at the time it had seemed like none of them had even noticed.  Maybe that was how they had wound-up where they were today - Christmas Eve - with this year’s absolute and utter debacle.  Later to become known as: ‘The day that saved the Tracy Christmas.’

1

It had all started three weeks before Christmas.  So determined Jeff was to change things for the better this year that he had flat out refused to allow his boys access to anything other than $100 maximum of their allowance savings.  Now that might seem like a lot, but in a family of five brothers, one Dad and a Grandma, that $100 had to be split across multiple presents and that was before you even factored in buying for friends and in Scott and Virgil’s case, girlfriends too.  In a world where expensive jewellery and the latest technology were the norm for present buying and you were also expected to get people more than one thing each, that $100 to cover it all just wasn’t going to cut it.  There had been arguments bordering on rows, whining, stomping, much moaning and sulking, but in the end, the boys had relented to their fates and Jeff was certain that despite the dark mood in the household, he had done the right thing.

The next day was a Saturday and Jeff slipped into his Christmas jumper and made his way down the stairs to breakfast, a smile on his face as he approached the kitchen as he fondly thought of the chaos that would surely meet him on the other side of the door.

“Morning Boys - …” he beamed in his cheeriest voice, determined to make up for the arguments of the previous night and get this year’s ‘family fun’ Christmas off to a good start.

Silence came his answer as he looked around the empty room before him, smile dropping and confusion taking its place.

“If you’re looking for the boys, you’re a half-hour too late, son,” Grandma supplied as she manoeuvred her way around the disappointed patriarch and over to the dishwasher, which appeared to be fully loaded with the remains of what looked like it would have been a pretty good breakfast.

“They left?”

“Sure did.  Said something about needing to beat the crowds.”

Jeff sighed.  Sounds like his boys were still more interested in hitting the shops than spending the day with him after all.  He had hoped that having had a chance to sleep on things they would all come around to his way of thinking.  The older ones at least.  They were mature enough to understand his reasoning, right?  Boy, he hoped so.  Three weeks of arguments and hostility were not on his agenda.  Despite his good intentions, maybe he had just gone and made things worse.

“You can stop that,” Grandma scolded without so much as a look at him as she loaded the last of the dishes into the washer and set it to begin.

“What?” Jeff replied.

“Blaming yourself.  You did the right thing and they know it.  They just haven’t fully realised it yet.”

“Hhm, well, fat lot of good it did me.  Alone in an empty house while the boys are off gallivanting across town.”

“Alone?  What am I, something the cat dragged in?”

“Well… “ Grown man or not, he couldn’t possibly let an opportunity like that go to waste.

“DON’T you answer that, boy!” the old lady snapped at her son’s menacing smile.  “Now park your butt in that chair and get this down you.”

Depositing her forlorn son at the kitchen table, she proceeded to plonk the biggest plate of pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast and everything else but the kitchen sink down in front of him, fresh from the warmer where it had been hiding.

“You made me breakfast?” Jeff asked, grateful but surprised.

“The boys did.  Well, Virgil mostly.  The others can’t cook for toffee, but they meant well.”

Jeff looked up at her, amazed.

“Something of a peace offering, I think.  Alone in deed.” The old woman muttered and rolled her eyes as she left the room, knowing the giant grin she would surely see returned to her son’s face if she were to look back. 

Maybe things were looking up after all.  Though how his mother had the gall to comment on anyone else’s cooking ability was beyond him.  Lord knows Jeff never had the time to teach his boys those skills and with Grandma as their only remaining role model in that department, his poor boys never stood a chance.

***

Over on the other side of town and after dropping a protesting seven-year-old Alan off at a friend’s for the day, Virgil, John & Gordon all piled out of Scott’s battered old fixer-upper sad excuse for a car and stalked up to the front doors of the local mall.  Though they had made sure to get there early, an over-excited gathering of Christmas shoppers had already started to assemble outside ready for opening.  They had a mission, sure, but it was looking more and more hopeless by the minute.

“Gordo, I want you to look me in the eye and promise me - no fingers crossed, toes crossed, opposites day, or anything else for that matter - that you are going to stay with John.”

“Scotty, you worry too much.”

“Gordon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  Stick with John.  Roger.  I hear you.  Now will you go already, time’s a wasting you know.  Also, you might wana’ turn that frown upside down big brother, if the wind changes you’ll be stuck like that forever you know.”

It was wasn’t for John’s swift intervention as he wrenched a grinning Gordon behind him for protection, they may have been down one annoying little brother right there and then.

“Don’t worry Scott, I got him.  You guys go, we’ll see you at home,” John supplied, ever the voice of reason and responsibility.

Scott eyed Gordon suspiciously, not liking how casually his little brother had switched from cocky grin to angelic innocence from his place behind John.

“You’re sure you’re okay to get the bus home?  I don’t know how long this is going to take,” Scott asked warily.

“We’re fine.  We’ve done it plenty of times before.”

Scott still wasn’t convinced he was doing the right thing.  Being the eldest really sucked sometimes.

“Scott, they’re opening up, come on,” Virgil nudged.

“Yeah…ok.  Just window shopping and then straight home, you got it?  Like we agreed last night.”

“We know.  Just go.  And Scott, good luck, yeah?” John added.

“Yeah.  Okay, thanks.”

 With that, the older two made their way inside and off towards the mall’s management suite, leaving John and Gordon watching on patiently until they were finally out of sight.  

“Are we safe yet?”

“Dunno,” John replied, “give it another minute.  You know how Scott gets his Momma-Bear panties in a twist when he’s in charge.  He might double back.”

Another minute ticked by.

“Now?” Gordon asked again.

“Okay, we’re good.  Meet you at the bus stop in a couple hours?”

“You got it.”

“I mean it Gordon; you better be there.  If you get us caught, we’ll be stuck going along with their plan and I for one am not happy with that.”

“What, taking handouts from Scott and Virge while we’re stuck at home like little kids?  No thanks.  I pay my own way.”

“Good, then we have a deal.  Where are you going anyway?  You know there aren’t any shops around here that will give jobs to an eleven-year-old.�� Exactly how do you plan on making any money?”

“You’re only two years older than me.  What’s your plan?”

“Never you mind.”

“Right back at ya.”

John stared at Gordon.  Gordon stared at John.  More seconds ticked by.

“Okay, fine!  Whatever.  Let’s just do this.” John sighed in exasperation as his once again cocky-grinning little brother high-tailed it off into the crowd.

“Laters Johnny!” He called back over his shoulder and the redhead couldn’t help but laugh.  Now all they had to do was stay hidden from the older two and all would be fine.

***

Back in the Management Suite, two dejected brothers waited their turn in what was the mall’s depressingly un-festive employment offices.  If their Dad expected them to just sit back and do nothing after taking their allowances away, he had another thing coming.  They had presents to buy and presents were expensive.  Especially the designer boots Scott had been eyeing up for Lisa Tate and the new console he had been hoping to get for his younger brothers.  Then there was the ridiculously expensive necklace Ellie Haskins had demanded from Virgil as ‘proof that he loved her.’  They had only been going out for a few weeks for flips sake and he sure as heck wasn’t about to go actually throwing the ‘L’ word around anytime soon, so if this bought him some more time then all the better.   Plus, there was the agreement that the boys would share any money they made with the younger three to cover their shopping too.  Of course they had wanted to come along and get jobs of their own but both Scott and Virgil knew the mall would never allow it so when they had made their plans the night previous, this had seemed like the best solution no matter how much the younger ones disliked it.  Only problem was, it was three weeks before Christmas and all the jobs were already taken.  Well, almost all.

“Hhm.  Look, boys.  I know you want to earn yourselves some extra Christmas money but there just isn’t anything left.  All the positions were filled weeks ago.”

“Please, Marcy,” Scott tried again, clocking the woman’s name badge and ensuring he gave her his best sad smile and lost puppy dog stare.  She was an older lady with a motherly vibe about her.  Yes, it was shameless, but he could work with that.  His own mother had gifted him dimples and he sure knew how to use them.  “Virgil and I, well, we just want to be able to give our little brothers and Grandma the best Christmas we can,” an arm around Virgil for emphasis, “please, we’ll do anything.  Whatever you have.” A swift stamp on Virgil’s foot below the counter to spur him into action.

“Yes, anything.  Really.  Please?  Our Grandma, well she just loves Christmas and with Dad away at work so often…”  It technically wasn’t a lie.

The woman surveyed the sad scene in front of her.

“Why don’t I just double check the system.  Maybe something came in overnight.”  

After a couple minutes of typing, frowning, hhhmmm-ing and lip biting, Marcy was suddenly looking a lot more hopeful.

“Well it looks like you boys may be in luck after all.  We happen to have two positions just opened up – one looks like a new demand and I think the other is to replace someone who has just quit.  The jobs though, -“

“Well take them, if you’ll have us that is?  Like we said, we’re desperate, we’ll do anything,” Scott cut her off before she could talk herself out of it.  They really needed the money if they were ever going to stand a chance at getting the presents they needed this close to Christmas.

“Okay then boys.  Let me call the managers down here.  If they like you, I don’t see why we couldn’t get you started tomorrow.  You’ll just need to fill out the paperwork, then you’re all good to go.”

The smiles of relief that followed were genuine and enormous.

“Thank you so much.  We really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome sweetheart.”

A few minutes later and the boys had been separated into two offices after the managers they had been waiting on had arrived.  There had been an awkward moment beforehand where they were both eyed-up like prize poodles on show, rather concerningly as they had not been expecting this kind of scrutiny, before it had been decided that Scott would be best placed with Mr Thompson of Thompson’s Sporting Goods and Virgil would go the other way with Mr Rafferty to work for his business, whatever that may be.

In Scott’s office, all the paperwork had been completed and he was essentially good to go, or so he thought.  It seemed that Mr. Thompson had a few questions for him first.  Fully prepared to launch into a download of all his academic achievements and the experience he had gained during his recent Summer placement at Tracy Industries, he was somewhat taken aback when Mr. Thompson opened with “How’s your dancing?”

“Excuse me, Sir?”

“Dancing?  You’re a sportsman, yes?  School football or the like?”

“Well, yes Sir, but – “

“Then you can follow instructions and follow a play.  You’ll be fine.  If not, well, I’ve no other option.  Rest of my staff are all needed elsewhere - would take too long to train you up on the shop-floor now and we don’t have anyone available to do it anyways.”

“Excuse me for asking Sir, but then exactly what is it you need me to do?”

Scott’s stomach dropped as Mr. Thompson hauled a box up onto the table and proceeded to empty out its contents on to the desk in front of him.

“New initiative from head office, only problem is nobody seems to want it.  Wrong time of year, you see.  Everyone’s out buying Christmas presents and here we are trying to sell this stuff.  Go figure.  Fact is, profits are down this year.  I don’t find a way to sell this, I’m finished.  There’s fifty-seven schools in the catchment zone for this mall, what with all the bus-loads of out-of-state shoppers coming in this year.  More if we can get sales up on the website too.  What I need is a face to market them, and I think you’re my man.”

Scott would violently disagree, that was, if he hadn’t so gallantly promised his little brothers he would provide them with the money they needed to buy their Christmas presents.  

“But Sir, those are Cheerleading uniforms.  Diamante cheerleading uniforms.”

Mr. Thompson sighed.

“I know son, trust me.  They’re not exactly my cup of tea either, but Head Office have taken a real liking to these things so we gotta’ move them.  You’ll be working with Helena – girl’s been Cheering practically since she was born.  She’ll teach you all the moves you need, nothing major, just a few arm signals, lifts, that sort of thing.  There’s a daily showcase at the food-court and rest of the time you’ll be in the shop window.  Living manakins, they call it.”

Scott’s throat had gone dry.  “Showcase…” he choked out, brain not having caught-up as far as the ‘living window’ section yet.  “In that?” he looked down at the male, baby blue, sparkly cheerleaders’ uniform in front of him.

“Afraid so, Son.  All I got at the moment I’m afraid.  So, can I count on ya’?”

Scott wasn’t so sure.  His brothers had always teased that the term ‘Dad dancing’ had been coined just for their father and the apple certainly hadn’t fallen far from the tree there.  Plus if his brothers ever found out about this…  Still, the look in Mr Thompson’s eyes as he had told Scott of this being his last lifeline to save his store – how could he say no to that?  The man clearly needed help and Scott needed a job, no matter how potentially disastrous and embarrassing.

“Yes Sir.”

“Good lad, glad to have you on board.”

***

Over on the other side of the Mall, Virgil sat in an equally daunting and potentially embarrassing situation, only he was surrounded by fake snow and candy canes.

“You want me to be an Elf???”

“Attrition rate for Elves his high around here.  Workers get bored of the noise, the long hours, blah, blah, blah.  Line’s halfway round the Mall every day and Santa needs his helpers.  Turns out the real elves are kinda busy this time of year, up in that workshop and all, so I have to make do with the likes of you high-schoolers.”

“You do realise I’m nearly six-feet tall, Sir?  Not exactly the usual Elf image.”

“Yeah, I know, not exactly ideal, but you’ll do me well for lugging the heavy presents and decorations around and you’re still shorter that that other guy you were with, so looks like it’s your lucky day.  Turn up tomorrow, 6am sharp.  Lockers are there, changing room’s there, wear this,” he handed Virgil a very bright, very small and way-too-jingly package in the most hideous shade of green he had possibly ever seen, “and bring your Christmas cheer.  Uniform might be a bit tight; last guy was a lot smaller than you but we don’t have time to order in a new one so you’ll have to make do.  Don’t worry, we’ll hide you in the back; no-one will ever know.  Oh, and make sure you get this permission slip signed.  All minors have to have them this year.  Mall policy.  No signature, no job.  Any problems?”

“Erm…well…”

But Virgil didn’t get chance to finish that thought.  Somewhere out front a small toddler had begun an epic meltdown, which Mr Rafferty had slunk off to, mumbling incoherently to himself and leaving Virgil staring forlornly at the package in his arms.  Hide in the back he absolutely would, no question.  If he weren’t so desperate and hadn’t promised the others he would help provide for them, not forgetting the Ellie issue on top of that, well…never mind that thought.  It was what it was.  Only one thing was certain in his mind – his brothers could never find out.

***

It was lunch-time when the boys arrived home, all near-enough at the same time and with Scott and Virgil having collected Alan on the way through.  When they had dropped him off the boy had seemed down-right depressed at being left-out, but now it was as if someone had flipped a switch and he was back to being his over excitable self, constantly asking where John was and why he hadn’t come back with the other two.  When questioned on why he was so keen to know, the littlest brother was giving nothing away but there was obviously something on his mind, that was for sure.  The fact that Alan had apparently spent the morning helping his friend Jarod’s Nan with her online shopping gave no explanation whatsoever as to his sudden change in mood but whatever it was that had caused it, the others were grateful.  A sulking Alan was not something any of them particularly wanted to deal with right now.  However, it wasn’t Alan’s sudden mood swing that had them asking the most questions.  It was the stinking blur that shot past them as they made their way through the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Erg, what’s that smell?” Alan asked, never one to sugar-coat things.

“I think it was Gordon.”  Scott answered as he peered up the stairs to where his younger brother had now disappeared.

“Are we completely sure it isn’t Grandma’s Christmas cookies?” Virgil asked as they all suddenly came to a wary halt in front of the kitchen door.

“What was that, Virgil?” Grandma asked gruffly, appearing in front of them as if summoned.

“Erm, nothing Grandma.”

“Thought not.  Now get in here before you catch cold.  John, close that front door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Yes Grandma.” John replied, narrowly avoiding the little flying blonde tornado that suddenly launched itself at him.

“John, you’re back!!” Alan squawked, “I need to talk to you!”

“Can it wait?  There’s something I need to do first.”

“But John, I’ve got this idea and – “

“John, what’s going on with Gordon and that smell?  I thought you guys were supposed to be going shopping and then straight home?”  Scott rounded on his brother, in a casual just-checking-in but also not-so-casual I’m-the-big-brother-in-charge-and-you-need-to-answer-me-or-else kind of way.

“Nothing Scott, that’s exactly what we did.  He probably just stepped in something on the way home.  Come on Alan, what did you want to talk to me about?”

And with that, John hurriedly steered his beaming little brother up the stairs and into his room before any further questions could be asked.

“Scott, forget about it.  Everyone’s home and fine, that’s all that matters.  Bigger fish to fry at the moment, remember?” Virgil reminded him.

“Hhhm.  Yeah, I guess.” Though he certainly wasn’t done with the matter, that was for sure.  Gordon was up to something.  Heck, John was likely up to something too.  Neither of those was ever a good scenario to just let slide, never mind if they were in on whatever it was together.  But Virgil was right.  Bigger fish and all…time to face the music.

***

“How did this happen Ma?” Jeff asked several hours later as he drained what he suddenly realised was his fifth Christmas Brandy of the night. 

They had had a lovely afternoon, all the family together.  Gordon had reappeared just as lunch was served, hair wet and smelling of way too much shower gel.  Alan and John had eventually been pried out of John and Virgil’s room where they had been holed-up having hushed but very animated discussions involving John’s laptop, a flip chart and far too many whispers of ‘quiet, they’ll hear you!’ for Scott’s liking.  Then there had been board games, fun, Christmas decorating and a few hours of exactly what Jeff had been hoping for this holiday season.  So much so that he hadn’t even noticed that his two eldest had been plying him with booze all the way through it until he was good and merry and almost didn’t realise what he was signing when they both presented him with temporary employment slips for the local mall.  The room had cleared pretty quickly after that with everyone slightly nervous at what Jeff’s reaction would be, and truth be told, he had been pretty saddened at first.  Not mad per say, just disheartened that the fun they had had that afternoon would be coming to an abrupt end because of his own rules.  Even so, he couldn’t fault them one bit.  His boys were hard-working, good kids at the heart of it.  And, as his mother had not so subtly pointed out, they were only doing exactly what Jeff himself would have done in that situation.  The boys themselves were just happy the permission slips were all generic and didn’t go into any detail on what they would be doing or more importantly wearing; simply stating: ‘Christmas Retail Assistant’.

“You raised them well, that’s how.”

“But now they’re going to be working all hours of their Christmas break.  I’ll probably see them even less than last year.  Did you know that Gordon asked me if he could spend his time off over at Coach Ashford’s Winter training camp too?  Said he needs to work on his swim technique over the break if he wants to make the team this year.  And John - he’s having to hit the library every day and it’s all for that extra credit course I encouraged him to do.  And now Alan too, little Alan, my Christmas cracker himself wants to follow in his brother’s footsteps and go with him to the library!!  I mean, what the heck is that?!  Of course, I couldn’t say no to any of them.  What kind of parent would I be then?  Is it me, Ma?  Did I scare them away?  Was this afternoon all an act to get me sloshed enough to agree to their plans so they can all just run off and do their own things?”

“Those boys are a lot of things Jefferson, but malicious isn’t one of them.  If I were you, I’d be mighty proud and if Lucy were still here, bless her heart, I’d bet she’d be saying the same thing too.  That is, after smacking you upside the head and telling you to stop being such a miserable old man.  The boys had a fabulous time this afternoon, we all did, and if we have to wait until Christmas day to do it all again, then so be it.  Now come on, help me clean up.”

Jeff smiled warmly at the mention of his late wife, raising his glass a little in her honour as he thought of her watching over him now.  His mother was right, of course.  She always was.  “Yes Ma.”

2

It had been a week of early wake-ups and late home-comings, for Jeff also, who had taken the opportunity to dive back to the office and clear a few more things off his to-do list while the boys were all out.  It was only Grandma who was left in the house during the day and the woman was now officially concerned, to put it mildly.  By the time Monday night rolled around, she had just about had enough.

“Jefferson?!  You need to do something about those boys!” the old lady demanded before her son had even managed to shed his coat or make it to the living room.

“Okay Mom,” the patriarch sighed, “who did what to who this time?”

“No-one did anything!  That’s the problem.  It’s just too damned quiet around here!”

“Excuse me?”  His Mother never cursed.  Whatever this was, it must be serious.  

“It’s those jobs and that training camp and all that studying!  Don’t you notice how peaceful it is around here?  Everyone is pussyfooting around everyone else.  And then there’s Gordon and that SMELL!  Surely you must have noticed that.”

Oh.  Well, yes, there was no denying that one.  His boys were many things but subtle was not one of them and they certainly weren’t as sneaky and good at hiding things as they all seemed to think they were.

“And ANOTHER thing,” ah, of course, she wasn’t done yet, “you do realise John is walking around here with a limp, don’t you?  And Virgil and Scott will barely look each other in the eye let alone hold a conversation.  And I don’t know what exactly is going on with Virgil and my singing Santa ornament but three times this week I’ve found it hidden in the pantry or in the closet under the stairs and I know he’s responsible despite the fact he denies it!  Do you know I found him yesterday just sitting outside in the fields in the snow all alone for no good reason?  He said he was just ‘enjoying the peace and quiet’.”

“Maybe he was?”   

“This is Kansas, Jefferson, it is twenty-four degrees Fahrenheit out there!”

“Look, Ma, I know you’re worried, but everything’s fine.  Trust me.  I’m on top of it.”

“On top of it?”

“Yes Ma.”

“Oh really?”

“One hundred percent.” Jeff took her by the arms, a pleading look in his eyes.  Yes, truth be told, there were some mighty strange behaviours going on in his house right now.  In fact, it was making for a great spectator sport from his perspective, knowing full well what was truly going on and why.  Yes, he did have to admit that he’d forgotten to factor his Mother and her potential reaction into the equation, but he was having far too much fun watching it all unfold to let her in on the secret just yet.  

Just as it looked as though the lady may have begun to relax, both the front and back doors burst open and the boys began to pile in.

At the front door were Scott and Virgil – Scott, whose normally expertly groomed hair was now spiked with silver and blue glitter and Virgil, looking nothing short of frazzled and harassed.  At the back door was Gordon, covered from head to toe in thick, sticky mud and looking like something the cat dragged in.  Then from behind him appeared John, with a black eye, and Alan talking a mile a minute so loud his squeaky, excitable voice echoed around the hallway.  Virgil flinched wildly at the sound as all the boys froze in place on seeing each other arrive.  Scott stared worryingly at John.  Gordon stared in awe at Scott’s hair as if desperate to comment but for some reason unable.  And once again, though it lay thick in the air for all to encounter, not one of them made mention of that absolutely awful smell.  Not even Alan.

Silence filled the room in an awkward standoff as all the boys looked nervously towards Grandma and their Dad.

“Oh, for crying out loud!”  Grandma shrieked as she spun her back on Jeff and stalked off to the kitchen, washing her hands of the entire situation.

As the door slammed shut behind her, the boys looked once again towards Jeff.

“Dad.” Scott ventured.

“Scott.”

“Erm, I think I’m going to go take a shower,” Scott continued when bizarrely, nothing more was said.

“Sounds like a good idea.  Dinner’s at Eight.”

And with that, Jeff retired to his study, a slight smile creeping into his features as he left his children to their mischief, each making their own excuses before quickly darting away to their various hideouts for the night.

***

Later that night and after a truly awkward dinner where no-one seemed to want to talk about their day, despite Grandma’s best efforts to get more information, a still-worried Scott stood lurking outside of John and Virgil’s room with a glass pressed up to the door.

“You know it’s rude to eavesdrop, son.” Jeff spoke softly from behind, causing a startled Scott to jump.  Come with me, I think it’s about time we had a little talk.”

“Yes Sir.”

Scott’s head hung in shame as he took the offered seat in his Father’s study.

“So, do you want to tell me why you thought it was okay to encroach on your brother’s privacy like that?”

“I know it was wrong.”

“Yes, it was, but you did it anyway.  So, tell me what’s going on.”

“I was just concerned about John, that’s all.  I mean, did you see him?  He had a black eye, Dad!  From going to the library.  On top of that limp he had the other day…I just thought that maybe he was in trouble or something.  And apparently, he has bruises on his back, too.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I just heard Virgil say it.  He’s worried too.”

“And what did John say?”

“He told Virge not to worry; that he was fine.”

“No, what did John say to you?”

“Me?”

“Yes.  Did you at least ask him what happened before you started spying on him?”

“Well…no, not exactly.  I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if I ask him about that, he’s going to ask me about…other things.”

“Things like your new job.”

“Yeah.  Wait, no.  Why would you say that?”

“Scott, I’m going to let you in on a secret.”

“Dad, no offence, but I can’t really handle any more secrets right now.”

“This one will help you out with that.  Trust me.”

Scott looked at his father with interest.  It had been a while since he had been summoned to the study and on previous occasions it had been more for lectures and meetings about grades and chores.  He had gone in there tonight fully expecting to be on the receiving end of a long telling-off after what he had been caught doing, but this was…strange.  Different.  His Dad didn’t seem mad at all and whatever the man had to say had his interest piqued.

“Okay.”

A long, fond look passed from Father to Son as Jeff realised just how lucky he was to have such moments with his eldest; the chance to impart some wisdom, as it were.

“Scott, I know what your job is.”

“I’m working for Mr Thompson, selling sports kit.  I help out on the shop floor…and other places.”

"Yes, I hear you’re working very hard.  With Helena McKinley, as I understand it.”

“Yeah, with Hele-“ Scott suddenly stopped.  This was not good.  “How did you know that?” he asked cautiously.

“Did you know that Helena’s mother, Irene McKinley, works for Tracy Industries?  In fact, she’s my regional Head of Marketing.  Fabulous woman.  Excellent at her job.  Normally all she wants to talk about is work, but this past week, do you know what her number one topic of conversation has been?”

“I think I can guess,” Scott mumbled into the floor, cheeks suddenly flushing a wild shade of scarlet.

“Apparently the biggest thing going on this Christmas in the Marketing world is the new ad-campaign over at Thompson’s Sporting Goods.  ‘Stroke of genius’, she called it.  As I understand it, their goods are flying off the shelves now and all because of an idea her daughter put forward to the owner.  Helena has big plans to follow in her Mother’s footsteps, it seems.”

“MmmHuh,” Scott mumbled again, fearing he knew exactly where this was leading, and boy was his Dad ever dragging this out to torture him.

“So anyway, there she is going on and on about this wonderful initiative and how her daughter just looks so beautiful and graceful modelling in the shop window and cheering for the crowds in the daily showcase.  In fact, her only wish was that they could have paired Helena up with someone a bit more coordinated and who maybe knew a thing or two about cheerleading because apparently this mystery model they’d ‘lumbered’ her with has two left feet and all the grace of a drunken giraffe.

“A drunken giraffe?”

“A drunken giraffe.  Now by this point, of course, I’ve heard so much about it that I had to go and check this whole thing out for myself.  So down to the mall I went.”  

Oh no.

“Want to guess what I saw when I got there, Scott?”

“Not really…”

“Well, let’s just say, it explained a few things that was for sure.”  Jeff smiled warmly at his son, waiting to see what the reaction would be.

“And…?”

“And what?”

“That’s it?  No other comments?  Don’t you want to laugh at me like the others will when they find out?”

“Why would I laugh at you?  You’re just doing your job.”

“But Dad, it’s embarrassing.  So embarrassing, my own girlfriend dumped me when she found out.”

“Maybe it’s not what you hoped you’d be doing when you went over there.  Maybe you didn’t intend for, and I quote: ‘#ScottieTheCheerleadingHottie’, to be trending all over social media right now.”  Oh God, no.  “But jobs can be that way sometimes.  We do what we have to do for our families and for others.  Do you know how much of a difference this ad-campaign is making to Mr. Thompson?  His sales are through the roof because of you two and it’s only been a week.  You’ve probably saved his business.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point is, stop being so hard on yourself and worrying about what everyone else is up to or thinking.  It’s Christmas.  Have a little faith in the others around you and just enjoy yourself.”

“But Dad, what about John?  Something isn’t right and if I don’t- “

“John is fine.”

“But you saw the state of him, someone’s clearly hurting him.  I mean, I know John can be pretty clumsy when he’s got his head stuck in a book or something, but there’s a limit Dad.  No way did he accidentally do all that to himself in a week.”

“Or maybe he did and you just don’t know all the circumstances.  Accidents do happen, you know, Scott.”

“Dad, no offense, but you’re being way too calm about all this.  Unless…”

“Unless I know something you don’t?”

“Do you?”

“Scott, I’m your Farther.  It’s my job to know everything and to do all the worrying so that you don’t have to and trust me when I tell you, that John is absolutely fine.  Do you really think I wouldn’t have intervened by now if I thought he was in any danger?”

“Guess not.”

“Right.  You boys mean more to me than anything else in the world and don’t you forget it.”

Scott couldn’t help but smile at how far his Father had come in the last few years.  After their mother’s death, things had looked pretty bleak for them all and it had been a long and hard journey to get back to this point.  To hear his Father now talking so open and lovingly and to know that he really did mean every word of it was something Scott didn’t take lightly.  

“So, you’re really not going to tell me what’s going on or how he’s getting all those bruises?”

“Not my place to tell,” Jeff replied apologetically, “but if it puts your mind at ease, just look at it this way:  You heard what John said to Virgil, yes?”

“That he’s fine and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“And do you really think Virgil is just going to go and let that drop?”

Scott smirked at the sly grin on his Dad’s face.  “Not a chance.”

“Then your brother already has it covered; no need for you to get involved.  Let Virgil take this one.”

“Yeah, okay.  He probably has more time to handle it than I do right now anyway.  Man, I wish I had Virgil’s job.  He has it so easy.”

Jeff studied his son’s face carefully as Scott finally relaxed back into the comfy office chair.

“Scott, what exactly has Virgil told you about his job?”

“Not a whole lot.  It’s my fault really.  I’ve been avoiding him, too busy trying to keep my own little secret.  I really thought I’d been busted this afternoon when I left work with all that glitter still all over me.  Stupid stuff wouldn’t come off – another one of Helena’s ‘great’ ideas.”

“But Virgil didn’t say anything about it?”

“No…that was weird, actually.  He never even mentioned it.  Come to think of it, he never talks about work at all.  Mine or his.  All I know is he’s working stockroom over at that big new department store on the upper level.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Sure.  Why, is that not what he told you?”

“It’s exactly what he told me.”

“In the same way that I told you I was just working the shop floor?”

“All I’m going to say is that you two boys have a lot more in common that you think.  All five of you, for that matter.”

Now Scott was more confused than ever.  Just exactly what was going on around him that his Dad apparently knew so much about while he had managed to miss it all?

“Dad, if the aim of this talk was to stop me worrying, you’ve officially managed to achieve the exact opposite.”

Jeff sighed.  His boy would make a wonderful father someday, he really would.  But right now, he still had a few lessons to learn.

“Scott, listen to me.  The point I’m trying to make is that there will always be things going on that are out of your control and no amount of eavesdropping or snooping around is going to fix that.  Sometimes you just have to sit back and trust in others, like knowing that Virgil will look out for John.  You don’t always have to be in control of or know everything.”

“Because you already do?”

“Sometimes.  Usually, in fact and on this occasion most certainly.  But that’s my job as your Dad.  All I need for you to do, is relax and try to start enjoying yours because no matter how much you might hate it right now, you’re doing really well.  You hear me?”

“I hear you.  But…”

“What is it, son?”

“Dad, I know you said to just let it all go, and I’ll try, I really will.  But I have to know – please – it’s driving us all mad…  Exactly what the heck is going on with Gordon and that seriously disgusting SMELL?!”

“Hah!!”  Jeff roared with laughter.  Well, come to think of it, this one he could actually do with Scott’s help on.  “Son, let me ask you this:  If you were Gordon’s age and your older brothers sat you down and told you they were going to go out, get jobs and then just give you some of their money because you weren’t old enough to make any of your own and all you had to do was sit back and wait for it to appear, what would you have done?”

“I would have said no freaking way and found a way to go out and make my own money.  Wait, are you saying…?  Oh, that little - !!  We had a deal!  Are you telling me he’s completely ignored everything we agreed and gone out and found himself a job??  Is that even legal?  Surely it can’t be safe?  And what about his training camp?!”

“Oh, he still goes to that, for the three hours a morning it lasts.  Then he catches a ride back to Coach Ashford’s family farm, where the Coach lets him work the stables for the afternoon.”

“Coach Ashford lives on a farm?  But that’s great.  Gords has never been into helping out with that side of things here.”

“And he still isn’t.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him this miserable in a long time.  Maybe you could have a word with him - teach him why we do what we do and how important it all is, like your Grandfather did for you back when you were his age and just as uninterested in that side of our family business?”

“Yeah, I can do that.  Might be fun actually.  I used to love hanging out with Gramps while he taught me all that stuff.  Just as soon as I give Gordon a piece of my mind for lying to me, that is!”

“You mean, like you’re lying to him about what you’re out doing all day?”

“Yeah, okay, point taken.  I’ll go easy on the little squirt.  I think being around all that livestock is probably punishment enough anyway, that can’t be easy work.  But Dad, why is he lying?  Farming isn’t embarrassing?  Half the people we know are farmers.”

“Scott, put yourself in Gordon’s shoes again.  If you were eleven and loved nothing more than pranking your brothers and then one day said brothers found out you were spending all your spare time literally shovelling…well, I’m sure you’ve smelled what he’s shovelling.  We all have.  Anyway, in Gordon’s mind, would you want your brother’s knowing that was what you were out doing?”

“But it’s just a job - you do what you have to do, it’s not embarrassing.”

“That sounds like some mighty good advice there, Scooter.”

Scott smirked.  He had flat out walked right into that one.

“Right, yeah, I get it now.  What exactly is the Coach farming, anyway?”

“Reindeer, of all things.  Can you believe it?  Every Christmas the Coach grooms a few of the heard up nice and presentable and loans them out to the mall to use in the Grotto on Christmas Eve – make things extra special for the children.  I believe your brother has been helping him out with that.”

“Oh, yeah.  I remember.  We did that whole grotto thing once, with Mom, back when we were little.  She took me and Virge over there on reindeer day to see Santa, but it didn’t go all that well and we never went back again.  I think Virge has probably blocked it from his memory.”

“What do you mean, it didn’t go well?”

“You know, ‘cause of Virgil and his whole ‘big animal’ thing.”

Jeff blanched.

“Dad, what is it?”

“Oh, err…” he cleared his throat, suddenly a little more nervous than he would have liked to admit.  “It’s nothing, I just…Virgil’s ‘big animal’ thing.  I’d forgotten all about that…” 

He suspected Virgil had, too.

3

It was 11am the next day and Virgil was in a candy-cane and fake-snow covered Hell.  Despite Mr Rafferty’s assurance that he would remain firmly hidden in the back, Virgil was now working front-of-house present handling duty for the fifth time in as many days.  No wander the last Elf to wear his costume had up and quit.  So far today, Virgil had been sneezed on, laughed at, jumped on, sat on, yelled at, cried all-over and as of twenty minutes ago, firmly kicked in the Jingle Bells.  The child’s mother had apologised, swearing over and over that her ‘little angel’ hadn’t meant to do it.  Virgil wasn’t so sure.  

As the next child came up to sit on Santa’s lap and claim their present, Virgil did what he could to rally and plaster a big grin back on his face.  As worn-down as he was, he knew what this meant to the children.  Christmas was supposed to be a magical time and it was his job to bring that magic.  In stripy tights, tiny green shorts, curly-toed jingle-shoes, pointed ears and a silly hat, it seemed.  All of which barely fit him.  Then there was the rosy cheeks they painted on him every morning – the less said about that, the better.  Still, he ploughed on, humming away to himself to try and block out the incessant tones of ‘We Wish you a Merry Christmas’ as it blared out across the speakers for the seventh time that morning.  Once those songs got in your head, you just couldn’t get them out again.

Turning his back on Santa in order to reach into the sleigh and pick out the next present, he didn’t see the small gathering of teenage girls siphon in behind him until it was all too late.  There were three of them all together, all too-much makeup and designer handbags and everything that Virgil usually didn’t care less about except for this time one of the girls who wore it was his very own girlfriend and he didn’t spot her until it was far too late.  Spinning around with present in hand and fully expecting to be confronted with the next small child, his eyes went wide in horror as the grotto camera flashed, forever capturing the moment Ellie Haskins first saw her handsome, football playing boyfriend dressed as a giant green Elf.  Worst of all, she wasn’t even there with a child.  She was there with her friends, for a joke, and now that joke was him.  Ellie hid her head in her hands in shame.  Her friends stared and laughed.  Virgil leapt three foot in the air clear across the sleigh and out the back door of the grotto in an attempt to get away, only to land face to face with…

“GORDON??!  Oh, come on!  Please tell me this is not happening!”

“Heya Virge.  Erm, looking good there, big brother.”

Virgil just stood there, staring and panting - out of breath, angry, embarrassed and all together a broken man.  Surely his day couldn’t get any worse.  

The big beaming smile on Gordon’s face suggested otherwise.  

Then there was the Coach.  Wait, what?!

“Tracy!  Looks like I get two for the price of one today.  Nice legs,” Coach Ashford greeted him as the older man took a scrutinising look at his prize Line-backer before wandering off to talk with Mr Rafferty.  

“Don’t worry Virge, I’m sure he won’t tell anyone,” Gordon offered, realising this was not the time for jokes after all as his big brother sunk down to sit on the floor in defeat.  “And neither will I.”

“It’s not you guys I’m worried about,” Virgil muttered into his arms as he buried his head in his lap in dismay; the sounds of his thoroughly embarrassed girlfriend and her jeering friends trailing off into the distance on the other side of the door.  “Gords, what are you even doing here?  I thought you were supposed to be at training camp?  You know Scott is going to kill you when he finds out, right?” he lifted his head to take a good look over his wayward younger sibling, surprised by the sincerity of his previous statement and amazed that nothing more had been said about his outfit.

Instead, Gordon clambered down to the floor to sit with him, pulling a pair of fake reindeer antlers out of his back pocket and sticking them on to his head as he sat.  

“Training camp is mornings only and I’m still going - it finishes at the end of the week anyway.  Plus, Scott’s a big-old pussycat on the inside, he’ll get over it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question of what you’re doing here?”

“Same as you I guess, earning my keep.”

“How?”

“Coach Ashford’s reindeer farm.”

Virgil looked his brother over.  Yep, he really was here and it wasn’t a joke.

“You know Scott and I were going to share our earnings, right?  Like we said we would.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t really seem fair to us.”

“Us?”

“Err, forget I said that.”

Virgil just laughed.  He didn’t know why they hadn’t seen this coming.

“So where is John working?  I’m guessing it’s not the library.”

“Doubt it, but honestly, really couldn’t tell you.  Guy’s a mystery wrapped in a Rubik’s cube.”

They both smiled at that.  That really was John to a tee.

“So seriously Gords, what the heck are you doing here at the grotto?”

“Oh, yeah, well, Coach Ashford is loaning out one of the reindeer to the big man in the red suit on Christmas Eve.  I’m just here to help out with the practice run, you know, make sure Bessie behaves herself.”

“Bessie?”

“The Reindeer.”

Suddenly the smiles dropped and both boys’ eyes went wide.

“Bessie the REINDEER??  As in, there’s a real, live reindeer??!  In here??!” Virgil almost screeched.

Gordon swallowed hard.  Reindeers were big animals and it was a long and well-known fact in the Tracy family that Virgil just didn’t get on with big animals.  Or more accurately, big animals just didn’t get on with him.  As if on cue, an angry snort and stamping of hooves was heard from above them and as both boys looked up, there was Bessie – nostrils flared and raring for attack.  Climbing slowly to their feet and trying not to startle her further, Virgil began to sidestep carefully to the right in an attempt to create some distance from his brother.  He knew exactly where this was going and there would be no escaping it.  He just hoped those horns weren’t as sharp as they looked.

“Easy girl,” Gordon cooed as Coach Ashford and Mr Rafferty stepped around to join him.  The reindeer never took her eyes off of Virgil.

“Tracy, what the heck have you gone and done to Bessie?” the Coach asked as he took in the sight of the most docile and loving of all his heard gearing up for attack.

“Nothing Sir, I swear,” Virgil squeaked out, “big animals just kinda don’t like me…”

”Say what now?” the Coach asked as he tried and failed to grab hold of Bessie’s reins, stepping back carefully as the deer bucked and snorted hard in anger, throwing her head down and edging ever that bit closer to Virgil who was now firmly pinned to the grotto door by Bessie’s giant antlers.

“It’s true Sir,” Gordon supplied nervously, “always been a thing.  Horses, big dogs, alpacas, Kangaroo…they all just go for Virge.”

“Kangaroo?”

“Yes Sir,” Virgil squeaked out again, face full of reindeer breath.  “Gords, do you maybe wanna get you pal here to back down?”

“I’m trying, she just seems to really, really hate you V.”

“MmmHuh, I see that Gordon.  What do I do about it?!”

“Errrm…”

“Here, try this.”  The Coach pulled a large bag of reindeer feed out from his coat and launched it towards Gordon, who luckily managed to catch hold of the bag and began to lure the reindeer away.

It was a hard choice for Bessie.  She was certainly torn between her pure, unprovoked hatred for the second eldest Tracy child and her want for her favourite snack and it was a tense minute for all those involved as she made her choice.  Finally backing down, Bessie began to move away, retreating a few steps before coming to rest in front of Gordon where she proceeded to bury her snout inside the feed bag.  Everyone relaxed as Virgil breathed a sigh of relief, but it seemed it was all a ploy on the reindeer’s part.  Chugging back the contents of the feed bag in one swift movement, she suddenly spun, rounding back on Virgil and charging with all her might.  Before he had even the time to react, a pair of front hooves slammed into his chest as the bucking reindeer launched him backwards, straight through the grotto door where he landed hard on his back on top of Santa’s sleigh to the chorus of a crowd of tiny screaming children.  Bessie, satisfied she had made her point, wandered casually back towards Gordon and the Coach as if nothing had even happened.

As the Coach began the job of re-securing the deer and Mr Rafferty and Santa did their best to placate the visitors, Gordon climbed cautiously up onto the sleigh and looked down at his big brother who lay flat on his back, groaning in pain and surrounded by presents.

“Virgil, you okay?” he asked awkwardly as the Elf in question began to haul himself up, more presents scattering around him as he did so.

“Mmmmm,” his brother hummed as he clambered to his feet, clutching at his chest as he attempted to dismount the dishevelled Sleigh.

“You sure?” Gordon prodded as Virgil attempted to stretch out his back.

“Yeah…sure, why not.  Nothing we haven’t dealt with before, right?” he mumbled miserably.

“Never a reindeer though, sooo, that’s something.  Another one to add to your list, huh?  You know, after the Kangaroo,” Gordon ventured, warily.  His brother desperately looked like he needed some cheering up and thankfully after taking a second to think it over, Virgil gave in and smiled.  “Hey, maybe they’ll even get you a new costume now that that one has muddy reindeer prints all up the front of it.  You know, maybe one that actually fits…” Gordon made a face as he nodded towards Virgil’s way-too-short shorts.

And that was exactly what Virgil needed, a bit of light-hearted humour in an otherwise awful day.  Besides, maybe his brother was right and he could barter a new outfit off of the back of this.  He sure as heck wouldn’t be able to just give in and quit now.  Given the embarrassment he had put Ellie through this morning, he sensed it was going to take a lot more than one necklace to get back in her good books and that would require a lot more earnings than he had currently managed to make.  “Come here, squid,” he called out, playfully grabbing his little brother by the collar and ruffling his hair as Gordon fought to get away, dislodging the younger’s fake antlers in the process and subsequently causing himself to wince as his reindeer-battered chest protested the movement.

“Tracy Senior, unhand my Chief Deer wrangler and go get yourself checked over.  Junior - harness her up, I think it’s time we got Bessie here back to the heard.”

“Yes Sir,” the boys chorused as Mr Rafferty approached, having temporarily closed the grotto.

“Sorry about all that Virgil.  Look, I know you’re probably three steps away from walking out on me, but I’m already down to just two Elves and I really need you to come back tomorrow so what would you say to double time for this morning and same again all Christmas week?”

“Huh?” Virgil questioned, having not expected this development.  An elbow in the ribs directed his attention downwards.

“He’s desperate, V,” Gordon mumbled, “go for the uniform.”

“Erm, that would be great, but it doesn’t really seem fair on Mel,” he ventured, remembering his equally hard-working and only remaining Elf colleague.  “Maybe if I could just get a new uniform, you know, one that actually fits?  And possibly ditch the face paint?”

“Deal.  Absolutely.  You got it.  I’ll have it here first thing tomorrow.  Now why don’t you head down to first aid, have them take a quick look – no arguments, mall policy and all - then take the rest of the day off.  I’ll cover the remainder of the shift with Mel.”

“Thank you, Mr Rafferty.”

With that, Virgil headed for the changing rooms as his boss stalked off.

“You know you could have had both, right?  The guy was practically begging you,” Gordon groaned at his big brother’s chivalrous nature.

“It’s not always about the money, kid,” Virgil schooled as he smiled at Gordon’s inevitable eye-roll.  “Now don’t you have a reindeer to go catch?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, and Gordon, could we maybe keep this as our little secret?  You know, not tell the others?”

“I dunno V, what’s it worth to me…?”

With that Gordon ducked out the door and was gone, grinning wildly and narrowly missing the flying Elf shoe that was aimed towards his head.  Despite all the jokes, they both knew he wouldn’t tell.

*** 

An hour or so later and Virgil, now back in his own clothes and having been given the all clear to leave by the Mall’s dedicated first aider, was making his way back to the little medical office after realising he had left his jacket behind.  It had been a fight to convince the first aider not to ship him off to the hospital or even call in his Dad, but somehow he had managed it nonetheless and he was not looking forward at having to go back in there and risk the man changing his mind.  Slinking around into the tiny and thankfully empty waiting area, he suddenly faltered as his ears latched on to a voice he had not been expecting to hear.  Grabbing his jacket from the chair he had left it on earlier, he quickly dived back out and around the corner out of sight as the office door opened.

“You know you’ve nearly broken the record for most number of visits within a week?  It’s a three-strike deal here, remember.  I’m doing you a favour by letting this one slide as it isn’t so bad, but one more incident and that’s it I’m afraid.  No more job.  Mall policy.”

“I know.  It won’t happen again.  I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault kid, just get better at it.  Fast.”

“I’ll try.”

And with that, the office door shut and the patient left, head down in defeat and without so much as a look back as he trailed back out into the mall and on his way.  Vigil looked on with worry mounting on more worry as the sad figure of his next youngest brother retreated into the distance.

John.

  4

“He’s not going to like that you followed him,” Alan ventured, causing Virgil to spin suddenly on the spot to where he now saw the youngest of all the brothers sat behind him at one of the canteen tables.

“Alan??  What are you doing here?” Virgil asked, shocked at seeing yet another of his brothers lurking around the mall where they shouldn’t have been.

“Well, duh.  John’s pretending to be at the library and the only way I can get out of the house is to go with John, so I’m here pretending to be at the library too.”

Well that answered absolutely none of Virgil’s question.  

“Okay Alan, let’s try that again.”  Virgil walked over and took a seat next to his brother.  “Why are you and John pretending to be at the library when you’re actually sat here in the ice-rink café?  And what the heck does John think he’s doing out there??  He’s going to get himself killed at this rate.” 

Both Virgil and Alan winced as a loud bang drew their attention to the large, plastic partition that separated the little café from the ice rink itself, watching on as their not-so-graceful middle brother was now smushed face on into the barrier behind a wall of equally unstable kids.  Thankfully he didn’t appear to have seen them.  Picking himself up, John attempted to straighten out his high-visibility vest and assist the others to their feet, only to bring himself crashing back down again next to them.

“Surely they’re not letting him work as a Marshal?!  He can barely stand up in those things.  How do they expect him to be able to help co-ordinate other people?” 

“Well, it was the only place here that would take someone his age and you know, Jarod’s Dad runs the rink so he agreed to do Johnny a favour.  I think he was hoping John would have given in and quit by now but, well, you know John.”

“Yeah, that’s the stubborn Tracy gene right there.”

Another crash and a bang and John was star-fished back on the ice again.  Virgil made a pained face as he watched on in sympathy.

“Don’t worry, there’s only another five minutes to go.  Rink closes in the afternoons.  Plus, you learn to just sorta tune out the crashes after a while,” Alan supplied.

Virgil looked over his little brother with interest.  Five more minutes of John getting his butt kicked when he could easily intervene and put a stop to it was not an easy thing to just sit back and take.  He needed a distraction.

“So, tell me Ally.  What exactly have you been doing here this whole time?  You’re not taking turns out on the rink too, are you?”

“Nope, they don’t let kids my age do it.  What if I were, though?  At least I know how to skate.”

It was true.  Alan could get around the rink as well as any of the rest of them, all except for John, that is.  Poor boy had just always been that little bit too uncoordinated and overly clumsy to get on with skating and had subsequently found himself some other interests.

“So, what is all this then?” Virgil gestured to the laptop that sat on the table in front of them and the pile of paperwork beside it.

“Well, it’s kind of a side job, I guess.  Since the rink is only open mornings and we’re both free in the afternoons, we joined this website where you get given a shopping list of stuff that’s been ordered online by one of the local people who can’t get out to get it themselves – you know, little old ladies mostly, but also people who work and don’t have time to shop, that sort of thing – and then me and John go and pick it up for them.”

“You’re doing other people’s shopping?”

“Yeah.”

“And you get paid to do it?”

“Well, just tips mostly, when we drop it off for them.  But people are pretty generous this time of year so the money’s good and sometimes we stay and help them gift-wrap it too so then they give us extra.”

Virgil stared down at Alan, amazed.

“You guys do all that, every day?  How do you get the presents over to their houses?”

“Well, that’s the hard part, ‘cause we only really have the bus and sometimes it takes us lots of trips if it’s like a big shop or something, or more than one order.  A couple of times we had to take a cab but then that meant we had to pay more to get there so it ended up not being really worth it.  Money-wise, that is.  Is was still nice to help those people out, you know?”

Virgil smiled warmly at his little brother’s sincerity.

“Yeah, I know.  That’s pretty amazing Ally.  You know, if you wanted, Scott and I usually finish at six so we could always help you guys out with the deliveries if you wanted?  That way you could take on more orders during the afternoon and just pile the stuff into Scott’s car and we could all drop it off on the way home?”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not?  I’d rather that than have you guys sneaking around and getting in all sorts of busses and taxis to stranger’s houses.”

“You’re starting to sound way too much like Scott, you know that, Virge?”

“Hey, he just cares.  And so do I.  Although, you know this means I’ll have to tell him what’s going on, right?  He might not be too happy you guys have been keeping secrets.”

“Meh, I think Scott has enough secrets of his own right now to worry about ours.”

“What does that mean?” Virgil asked, confused.

“Oh, nothing.  Just, we spend the afternoons shopping, me and John.  Sometimes we see things…”

Suddenly it wasn’t Scott that Virgil was concerned with.

“See things, like around the mall?”

“Like at Thompson’s Sporting Goods.  Or, you know, that new department store upstairs with the Santa’s grotto on the front of it…” Alan trailed off, face the picture of sweet and innocent but implications anything but.  Oh God.

You know, Ally, if you don’t want my help…”

“No!  Wait, I didn’t say that!”

Virgil grinned.  Problem solved.  

“Don’t worry Sprout, I got your back.  Although maybe let Gordon in on it too, yeah?  His training camp finishes at the end of the week so he’ll have some time free in the mornings to help you out.”

“You mean before he goes off to that stinky old reindeer farm?” Alan asked, making a face as he said it.

“You know about that?”

“We share a room, Virge.  It’s not like he could hide it.  He’s Gordon.  He’s messy.  There are muddy clothes stuffed under, like, everything.”

“Well, I guess there is that.”

“You know he was bringing one of the reindeers here today?”

“Yeah…I know.”

“And I heard on the two-way in the kitchens that there was an animal attack earlier on.”

“Mmmhuhh…” Virgil did not like where this was going.

“So, I guess that’s a new one for your list then, huh?”

Virgil stared down at his younger sibling in awe.

“What makes you so sure it was me?”

“It’s a big animal, Virge.  And, well, you know – it’s you.”

“So?”

“So, everyone knows they just look for you.  It’s like they have some kind of a radar.  You’re like, the personal punching bag of the big animal world.”

Great, what a reputation to have.  Alan was right though.  Thank God Dad had never had any great desires to take them on Safari.

“So, it really wasn’t you, after all?” Alan asked, shocked.

“No…” Virgil sighed, defeated.  “It was.”

Alan laughed.  “Sorry Virge.”

Virgil laughed too.  “Nah, s’ok.  Guess it is pretty funny.”

“So, it didn’t hurt you?”

“Well, I got two giant hoof prints in the front and a sleigh-shaped dent in the back, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hoof prints?”

“Hoof prints.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

A moments silence, and then they were both laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.  Before long the siren was blaring to mark the end of the session out on the ice.

“Hey, do me a favour?” Virgil asked. “Don’t tell John I was here?  I think he’s had a pretty rough morning so last thing he probably wants is me here making it worse.”

“You’re not going to lecture him on the dangers of skating when you don’t know how to skate?”

“Nah, I have a better idea.  But hey, what I said before still stands though.  Meet us at the carpark just after six and we’ll give you a hand with your present drop.”

“Thanks Virgil.  Oh and hey, if you have some time free, you should check out the new window display over where Scott’s working.  It’s pretty…interesting.”

Hhhm.  Okay.  Well that sounded ominous.  Maybe he would go and do just that.

“No worries kid.” He gave his brother an affectionate nudge before looking up to see John attempting to - very slowly - make his way off the ice.  “Gotta’ run.”

And with that Virgil was off.  Quick stop at the jewellery store to make his second down-payment on Ellie’s necklace, then off home for a few hours downtime with Grandma before he needed to be back to meet the others later on.  But first, about that window…

5

Scott was lost for words.  It didn’t happen often, but when it did, you could usually bank on it being down to a brother or two.  This time it was two.

“Scotty. You okay there?” Virgil asked as they missed their next turning.

“I just…can’t believe they’ve been at it for over a week and neither one of us noticed.”

Virgil Scoffed.  “Yeah, think we’ve lost our watchful big brother status.”

As luck had had it, Scott had been given the afternoon off also and had been making his way out of Mr Thompson’s store (thankfully after having changed back into his normal attire) just as Virgil had turned up to check out the window display Alan had been so keen for him to see.  While Virgil didn’t entirely understand Alan’s reasons for sending him there, he did have to admit the teenage girl modelling the new Cheerleading range on the other side of the glass was pretty nice to look at.  It was just a shame she only seemed to have eyes for Scott – a fact which was blatantly obvious for all to see, clearly reciprocal and which Virgil was not about to let Scott forget about any time soon.  In fact, he had ribbed him about it all the way back to the car until they set off on their way home and the conversation inevitably moved on to the more pressing subject of just exactly what Alan and John had been getting themselves into this past week. 

“But hey,” Virgil tried again as he realised his previous comment probably wouldn’t have done much to make Scott any happier, “at least now we don’t have to share any of our earnings with them, so you might not even need to go back to work next week.  You must have made enough by now to cover your present shopping?”  

Scott sighed.  “Yeah…I guess you’re right.  Although, you know, I think I might stick it out until Christmas anyway.”

“Ah, okay.  This wouldn’t have anything to do with your little Cheerleading friend back there, would it?”

“No!  Well, maybe a bit.  I dunno.  More to do with something Dad said, though.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah.  We had a talk.  He said some…things.  About work.  The other guys.  You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.  Hey, Virge.  You’d tell me if there was anything going on with you at work, right?”

“Going on?  Like how?”

“Like if you were keeping any…secrets?”  

Virgil swallowed nervously.  

“You know what, forget I said anything.  I think finding out about John and Alan has just made me paranoid.”

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief, though the guilt that came with it was surmountable.  He hated lying to Scott.  Normally they were a team.  They told each other everything.  But this?  Scott was his role model, someone to look up to.  Virgil couldn’t face the thought of his big brother finding out he was spending his days as a stocking-wearing, pointy-eared Christmas Elf.  He just couldn’t.  It was bad enough the others had found out.  

In the next seat over, Scott was having similar thoughts.  This was it, the perfect opportunity to come clean to Virgil and tell him just what it was he had been doing every day.  Especially after having just asked Virgil outright if he was keeping any secrets.  Scott felt like such a hypocrite.  But even so.  He was supposed to be the role model, the one they looked up to, listened to.  Dad worked a lot and when Scott gave orders, he needed the others to respect him enough to listen and back him up and Virgil always did; his lifelong best friend and Second in Command.  How could he possible let Virgil see him dancing around – and so, so badly – in that little sparkly outfit and still expect his brother to respect him after that?  Even as the thoughts went through his head, he knew he was doing his brother a disservice.  This was pure Scott Tracy paranoia at its best.  Virgil wouldn’t care; of course he wouldn’t.  At least two of his other brothers had been roaming the mall for a week and clearly already knew and they had said nothing, not a word.  Maybe he should…

“So why have you taken the afternoon off?” Virgil asked, attempting to fill the long silence that had settled over the car as Scott thought things through.

“What?  Oh, yeah.  Something else Dad said – I need to go have a little talk with Gordon about something.”

“Err, you know, he might not be home.  He has that training camp.”

“It’s fine, that’s early mornings only, he’ll be long finished by now.”

“Well, yeah, but I think maybe he had other plans this afternoon so he probably won’t be home.”

“It’s okay Virge, I know where he is.”

“You do?”

Scott thought for a moment.  Virgil had told him about Alan and John.  It was only fair he repaid the favour.

“Yes, look Virgil.  It turns out Gordon has been lying to everyone as well.  Gordon’s been working afternoons at Coach Ashford’s Reindeer Farm.”

“You know about that?” Virgil asked, surprised.

“Dad told me, he wants me to go spend some time with Gords, like Gramps did for me.  Hold up.  How did you know about that?”

“I swear Scott, I only found out today.”

“But you’ve been working all day, how could you possibly…wait – you said you left early because of an incident at work.  Gordon was helping take one of the reindeer into the mall this morning.  That animal attack!!  That was you, wasn’t it?!”

“WHAT?” Virgil spun on his brother.  How in the heck –

“They put an alert out to all the other businesses, just in case anything else happened.  I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Oh, come ON!!!” Virgil vented as he buried his face into his arms on the dash, banging his head in an attempt to wipe out the events of the day.  Scott could only laugh.

“Oh God, Virge, I’m sorry but it’s just so…I mean, I should have worked it out earlier.  As soon as I found out Gordon was going to be taking that reindeer in, I should have known.  What is it with you, it’s like they seek you out or something?”

“Scott, if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t have a reindeer shaped impression in my chest right now.”  Scott’s expression immediately switched to concern.  “Don’t worry, I’m fine, I got checked out and everything.  You could have warned me he was coming in though.”

“Sorry Virge, it didn’t really occur to me that it would be an issue.  I mean, you work in the stockroom – how did it even find you?  You venture too close to the grotto or what?”

“Something like that.”

Scott laughed again, he just couldn’t help it, despite his brother’s misery.  Virgil glared.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, and I’m guessing you don’t want to come with me to go Visit Gords so I’ll drop you off at home with Grandma and then come grab you later to pick up the other guys.  We can help them with their present drop on the way home just like you said we would.”

“Really, you don’t mind?  You’re not mad at them for lying.”

“Nah,” Scott really couldn’t blame them for that, not with his own behaviour recently, “it might even be fun.”

***

It was later that night and the boys were helping Grandma clear up after dinner when Jeff eventually made it home, having gotten stuck at work despite it being the supposedly quiet holiday wind-down.

Everything had gone as planned for the others prior to that.  Scott had made it over to Ashford’s farm, having previously arranged it with the Coach.  After Gordon’s initial shock at seeing his big brother turn up and slight anger that Scott had decided to interfere in the first place, they had both actually ended up having a pretty fun afternoon.  Scott had enjoyed teaching Gordon about farming and the reasons behind what he was being asked to do; everything from how it affected the ecosystem and helped the environment right through to the more personal and business benefits.  Meanwhile, Gordon had enjoyed putting Scott to work as he talked, sitting back and listening as his older brother took on his usual cleaning, grooming and shovelling duties.  Scott had smiled away to himself as Gordon had mentioned this ‘friend’ of his that was having trouble getting along with the reindeer and needed some help.  Without wanting to let on that he had a very good idea who this ‘friend’ might be, Scott had suggested that maybe Gordon used his new found passion to help said ‘friend’ find a way around it.  Gordon would do just that.

Before long, they had been having such a good time just hanging out and talking – something Gordon and Scott never really got the chance to do anymore – that Gordon had joined back in with the work too.  It was the first time that he had really begun to understand how important his job actually was to the Coach and the Farm and that he wasn’t just there to make money and clear up someone else’s mess.  He was actually contributing to a much bigger picture.  He liked that.  In fact, he liked it so much that he was actually looking forward to going back again tomorrow and telling his other brothers all about it.

After that, the Coach had let them off slightly early so they had both had time to go home, shower, pick up Virgil and head back to the mall for John and Alan who were waiting by the carpark in anticipation with a pile of goods the size of a small mountain.  It had been a pure feat of engineering to get all five of them and the shopping into the car but they had managed it and had successfully delivered everything, gaining more than enough tips to make it worth-while doing again and again, which they fully planned to do right up until Christmas.  Only, from tomorrow onwards Scott had vowed to bring their Grandpa’s old truck so they would have more space for everything and John would keep the keys so that he and Alan could take on more orders and stack everything in the vehicle during the day, ready and waiting for when the others finished work.  After all, as John put it, he would have much more time on his hands from tomorrow anyway, as the ice rink would surely be letting him go.  There was no way he could make it through another shift without falling over and he was already on his final warning.  Virgil had smiled at that – he had no intention of letting John be fired, not if he had anything to do with it. 

Currently Virgil was off digging in the hallway closet, ploughing through load after load of old junk and boxes until he found…” Yes!  There you are.”

“Find what you needed, son?” Jeff asked as he narrowly avoided a falling box of books, catching it just before it could spill out all over the ground.

“Oh, sorry Dad!  Think I may have messed up your filing system,” Virgil grimaced as he looked about him at the chaos he had created during his search.  “I didn’t realise how much stuff we had in here.”

“Tell me about it.  Worst up, I think most of it hasn’t been touched since last Christmas when we piled the last load of unused presents in there.”

“Yeah, we do just keep throwing more things in here, I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed on one of us before now,” Virgil commented as another box came toppling down from an overcrowded shelving unit overhead, Jeff managing to pull his son clear just in time.  Seeing what was in Virgil’s hands, Jeff smiled.

“So, you found out what your brother’s been up to every day then?” Jeff gestured to the battered old hockey skates looped by the laces around Virgil’s neck and the slightly smaller, almost pristine pair still in the box in his hands.

“You know about that?”

“The mall calls me every time there’s a medical incident.  John had tried to fake number them of course, just like he faked the signature on his permission slip to get that job in the first place, but even with the business still getting on its feet, the Tracy name is getting into circulation.  The first aiders over there looked me up.  I’ve been getting reports ever since he started, keeping an eye on him just in case things got too bad.”

“He faked your signature?  Wow, weren’t you mad?  I mean, does he know that you know?”

“No, he doesn’t.  I thought about ringing him out, believe me.  I even went down there, but after seeing him out there for myself I figured he was punishing himself enough sticking it out on that ice every day without me needing to give him another lecture.  As long as he’s not in any serious trouble and he’s still looking out for Alan while he’s there, which he is, then I’m happy.  Plus, I’ve got Jarod’s dad keeping an extra eye on the both of them.  I don’t think Alan has even realised that’s why he gets brought a plate of free food and all the hot cocoa he wants while he sits in that café waiting for John every morning.”

Virgil had to laugh at that.  Even when he was at work all day, their father still knew everything they were up to.  Bur wait, if he knew about John getting hurt, then…

“Hey Dad?  When you said they called you about John.  Does that mean – “

“That they also called me to report that the second eldest of my apparently very accident-prone brood had just been kicked through a door by an angry Christmas reindeer?”

Virgil winced.

“Yes, they did.  However, as they assured me you were okay, there was nothing to worry about, and that you were insisting I didn’t need to be contacted, I said thank you very much for the call and that was that.”

“And that’s why you’re here now, checking up on me?”

“Exactly.”  Jeff smiled.  “So?”

“So, I really am fine Dad.  No major damage.”

Jeff frowned.  “What about minor damage.”

“Just some weird shaped bruising, nothing more.  It’s all good.  I think it’s happened so often I’ve built up some kind of immunity to it.  Didn’t hurt half as much as that Kangaroo.”

They both cringed at that memory.

“Ok son, well, if you’re sure.  Just don’t go at it too hard,” Jeff nodded again at the skates in Virgil’s hand.

“We won’t.”

***

John was hot.  Beyond hot.  In fact, he was bordering on being an absolute sweaty mess under all the extra layers Virgil had bounded him up in.  Outside all around them the air was near to freezing, their breaths steaming up in front of them through the darkness.  Even so, under all these coats and trousers, pads, cushions and the oversized football helmet stuck on his head, John would never feel it.

They had been out on the ice for half an hour already, down on the frozen pond in the back field.  The other Tracy’s had been skating there every Winter practically their whole lives; the pond deemed perfectly safe due to it being only about half a foot deep at the best of times.  Still, John had never seen much of a need to venture out there before except for that one time his Father had insisted he try it, just to see if he liked it.  He hadn’t.  He still didn’t.  Despite all that, he had taken on his new job – the only one available to him – determined to see it through to Christmas.  That meant not getting fired and that meant taking up Virgil’s offer of nightly skating lessons from this point forward.  Every evening after dinner, his big brother had insisted, out of not wanting to see him hurt again.  He was still sporting a wrist guard from this morning’s disaster and didn’t want to add another one to the mix.  He only wished he had gone to Virgil sooner, but he had been too embarrassed to ask.  It had come almost as a relief when after dinner that night Virgil had rocked into their shared bedroom, plonked John’s once used skates down on the bed in front of him and told him he knew everything that had been going on.  At the time, he had been unbelievably grateful for the offer of help, but now…

“Another lap, faster!  The key is not to be scared of the ice, attack it!  It can’t hurt you if you own it, just remember that.  First step is attitude,” Virgil called as he zipped past John, almost twirling him around in his wake.  

There was not going to be any easing into it, Virgil had made that very clear.  There just wasn’t the time for that.  John needed to get better at this and to do it quickly.  He knew the younger had it in him and that he was not half as clumsy as he believed himself to be, he just needed to find a way to focus.

“It’s like math,” Virgil tried again, a little more relaxed this time as he sensed John was getting frustrated.  

“Virgil, in what universe is ice skating ever like math?”

“Let me re-phrase that.  Ice-skating, is like skiing, you know, technically – the way you stop, move your feet blah blah blah, and I know you can ski.  So just do that.”

“’Just do that’ he says.  You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple, you’re just over thinking it because you’re scared of falling.  But the ice can’t hurt you, not tonight, see,” Virgil poked at all the padding he had swaddled onto his little brother until the younger fell butt-first onto the ice.  Credit to Virgil though, it didn’t hurt.

“But I won’t have all this on me tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t, but it won’t matter, because you’re just going skiing, like I said, which you already know how to do, right?” 

“Virgil, I don’t get – “

“Visualise, John.  Don’t think, just move your feet.”

Virgil pulled his brother up and John did just that, gliding along on the skates just as he would a pair of skis on the flat snow, exactly like they had when their mother had taught them.  At some point, John didn’t know when, Virgil had let go of his arm, but John had kept going.  Round the rink he went, getting faster and faster, strides closer and more graceful with each move.  Forget the stupid padding!  He wanted it gone, out of his way! 

“Whoop!  Yeah Johnny, you got this!” Came the shouts from the side-line, where Virgil was now leaning happily against an old fencepost which held back his three other brothers, all puffy coats and woolly hats, cheering away at his progress and boosting his confidence tenfold.  He could do this.  He really could.  If only Virgil wasn’t now adding cones to his path.  Remembering his snow-plough, he screeched to a sudden stop.

“Lesson two.”  Virgil stated.

“Already?”

“No time to waste, little brother.”  He stared at John, knowing he was moving things along ridiculously fast, but there was also zero doubt in his mind that John could hack it.  And boy, did he need to.

“Lesson two.”  John repeated, determined.

“Okay then,” Virgil grinned, “skating is like Math.”

Great, this again.

“Virgil, we already went past that one.  Skating isn’t like Math, it’s like skiing, and that’s working for me so let’s stick with that.”

“No, technical skating is like skiing.  Plotting your next move and working the crowds – that’s like Math.  It’s all one big equation.  Work out what the people are doing, where they’re going, where you need them to be, and find the way through.  People are predictable, mostly, you just have to spot the patterns.  Just like you do in class, it’s no different.”

“You said ‘mostly’.”

“Well, yeah, the ice can make things a bit difficult.  Every now and then something will go wrong and someone will fall on their face – not you – and you have to watch out for that.  Those are your variables.  As long as you watch the crowd, see them coming and factor them in, you’re winning.  It’s all just one big equation needing solving.”

“So the cones are – ?”

“In real life, people.  In your head, whatever you need them to be.  Numbers, building blocks, data – whatever your brain needs to process them, just work it out.  Right?”  Virgil asked, sincerely, hoping he was not barking up completely the wrong tree with this one.  

“Right.” John replied, determined.  

The others cheered.  The lessons continued.  John, no matter how much hard work it would take, would learn how to skate.

6

It was Christmas Eve.  It should have been easy; one final morning of work, an afternoon of shopping with all of their hard-earned cash and then off home to enjoy Christmas with their Father and Grandmother.  Yes, it should have been easy.

The last week and a half had been fun for them all.  While Virgil and Scott were still going out of their way to hide what they were doing from each other, for no good reason whatsoever, they were both enjoying the fact that they no longer had to hide things from their other brothers.  It had made work more fun and taken the pressure off of everything.  Jeff had even given in and told Grandma what they were all up to, not being able to handle any more of her fretting and scrutinising looks.

Virgil had been alternating his nights between John and Gordon.  Odds were skating lessons, evens were ‘getting to know you’ sessions with Bessie the reindeer ahead of her expected reappearance today at the mall’s annual Christmas Eve ‘Spectacular’, an event held out in the parking lot where families could enjoy a morning of fun with Santa while skating on the ice-rink and seeing what the stores had to showcase.  Both the skating and the Bessie sessions were going exceptionally well.  Virgil was now able to actually stand next to Bessie for a good amount of time with nothing more that the odd angry snort aimed in his direction.  Gordon had done a good job in researching the best techniques to work with the animals and bringing them into his job.  

Meanwhile, John’s skating skills had somehow surpassed all of the others’ combined.  He was now zipping around the rink like he had been born in a pair of skates, ducking and diving with the grace of a seasoned dancer all while corralling and organising the crowds to wherever he needed them to be.  The people he worked with could barely believe the change, let alone John himself, but he loved it.

After his training camp had come to an end, Gordon had joined Alan in spending his mornings at the mall, allowing the youngest Tracy to leave the confines of the Café and up his client list on the personal shopping business.  By the time today had come around and with all the brothers helping out where they could, they had probably delivered the shopping for over half the population of their town, they were so busy.  Word of this website and the good it was doing in helping people who couldn’t get out for themselves had spread fast and the tips were flowing in to match. 

Then there was Scott.  It had taken the whole three weeks - a long and hard process with many, many bruises and practices - but Helena had persevered with her training of him and by God, the boy had finally mastered the dancing.  For the first time, just this morning, Scott Tracy had made it through an entire cheer routing without stepping one single foot out of line.  So happy was he, that he no longer cared about their upcoming showcase performance at the Spectacular, which was due to start any minute now.  He was proud of his achievement and happy to show it off, even in his little sparkly blue uniform and to a crowd which was expected to be a good thirty times bigger than any he had ‘performed’ in front of previously.  Also, the hug Helena had given him as they had finished their practice was a very welcome addition and something he hoped to replicate again at the earliest opportunity.

Right now, as Scott and Helena were waiting on the side-lines of the marked-out performance area for their turn to be called, straight after the local children’s choir, what they weren’t aware of was the two new faces that had just joined the crowd.

“Are you sure the boys won’t mind us being here, Jeff?  I’d hate for Scott to get nervous if he knew we were watching,” Grandma asked.

“He’ll be fine Mom.  He doesn’t know Virgil is out here either so if anything, it will be spotting him that throws Scott off, not us.”

“And I assume Virgil doesn’t know that Scott is going to be out here, either?”

“I’d guess not.  I don’t think Virgil is too happy at being outside amongst all these crowds in that outfit as it is.  You know he hadn’t even realised the Spectacular had been moved outside this year until Gordon dropped the bombshell this morning.”

“Oh dear,” Grandma tutted.

“Hhm.  Speaking of Deer,” Jeff nodded over to where a very large livestock container had just pulled up.  “This doesn’t look good.”

“I thought Coach Ashford was loaning Bessie for this event?  Gordon and Virgil have been working so hard with her all week to make sure we don’t have a repeat of last week’s ‘incident’.”

“That was the plan as I understood it.  Come on, we have a couple of minutes until Scott’s up, let’s go check it out.”

Steering his mother through the hoards of people, Jeff and Grandma soon reached the area where the truck had pulled up, only to find a very angry Coach Ashford and Mr Rafferty arguing with some management type in an ill-fitting suit.  Behind them, a team of mall staff were helping unload a heard of exactly nine, gigantic reindeer, none of whom looked pleased to be there.  As the reindeer were strung together and harnessed on to the front of the Mall’s fake sleigh, Bessie and Gordon were not-so-delicately shoved aside.

“Gordon, everything okay?”  Jeff asked, dropping an arm protectively onto his boy’s shoulder.

“Mall are saying that because of what happened with Virge that we’re not allowed to have Bessie here anymore.  I told them that she’s fine now and that it was all just a misunderstanding before but they don’t believe me.  They’re saying we have to take her away and that they’ve hired in some other reindeer for the Grotto to use, even though the Coach has been doing this gig, like, forever.”

It was true.  Jeff had seen Virgil out here with Bessie not five minutes ago before his boy had disappeared off inside to help ready the presents for the children and everything had been fine.  It was a sight he had never expected to see with his second eldest given his…history.

Behind them, the argument between the Coach, Rafferty and the mall management team was heating up and beginning to draw attention.

“Gordon, why don’t you run and secure Bessie in her trailer for a little while so she’s safe out of the way.  I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

But there wasn’t.  No amount of bartering would persuade the management team to risk using a reindeer that had a track record for violence, especially when they had a team of nine brand new ones all strung up and ready to go.  No matter how rough-looking and untamed they appeared to be, pulling against their reins and reluctant to listen to their handlers.

“They’ll hurt the reindeer if they keep treating them like that,” Gordon commented angrily as he returned to the scene.  

“I know Son,” the Coach said, “but there’s nothing we can do about it this time.  Looks like it’s the end of the line for me and old Bessie.”

Nothing they could do about it?  They obviously didn’t know Gordon Tracy very well.  As another of the handlers slapped an angry hand down on one of the disobedient reindeer, Gordon decided enough was enough.  Jumping up onto the sleigh, he proceeded to stand right on the front of it, blocking Santa’s view entirely and stopping them from going anywhere anytime soon.  Behind Gordon, Santa looked towards Mr Rafferty for direction.

“I’m not moving until they unhook those reindeer.  They’ve not been prepared for this.  They’re dangerous and they shouldn’t be here,” Gordon proclaimed.

“He’s right!” the Coach called up in support.  “You tell ’em, boy.”

Over on the far side of the parking lot, music began blaring out as Scott and Helena were announced into the performance zone and Thompson’s Sporting Goods began their Showcase.

“Jeff, the show’s starting,” Grandma called.

Jeff had no idea what to do by this point.  Should he be proud of his boy for taking a stand or worried at the precariousness of his current situation?  What he had failed to realise was that Gordon wasn’t the son he should have been concerned about at this point in time at all.  No, because off in the distance and making his way back out into the parking lot along with Mel, his co-Elf, was the number one most hated man in the big-animal kingdom:  Virgil Tracy.

“Oh heck.” Jeff declared as he watched his son suddenly freeze, spotting the animals from where he stood.  Next to Jeff, he sensed the feeling was mutual as every single one of those nine raring reindeer began to stiffen and rise up to their full-height, ready for a showdown.

As Virgil slowly crouched to the ground, depositing the gifts he had been carrying into a safe space, he then began to – as delicately as possible without spooking the creatures any further – encourage Mel to begin stepping away from him.  He knew she must have foreseen the danger too, as she didn’t even bother to put up a fight like she normally would have, instead listening carefully to Virgil’s every instruction and getting herself well out of his way.  Coming back up to a stand, there was a brief moment where both sides took stock of their chances, as had happened previously with Bessie and all those that had sadly come before her.  Then it was on.

“Virgil, run!!” Both Jeff and Gordon called out, but by this point it was too late and both reindeer and sleigh were already hurtling across the carpark toward the vulnerable Tracy, Gordon flying back from the force of their ignition and landing sprawled in Santa’s lap as they were both dragged along for the ride.

“Oh Sh - !” Virgil began, but didn’t get a chance to finish the thought as the pack of raging animals came charging towards him.

He tried to look for a safe escape route, he really did, but there was just nowhere to go.  There were people literally everywhere.  He couldn’t even see a way back into the building.  To stand and face the pack would mean absolute and certain death by trampling.  Not good.  He would maybe save a few people in the process, if he was lucky, but given the speed the animals were coming there was no way they would be able to stop at just him and he was currently stood in front of a very, very big crowd.  There was only one thing for it and Virgil did exactly what his Father and Brother had said:  he ran.

Looking for the clearest route, Virgil took off in a sprint or as close to a sprint he could manage in those ridiculous Elf shoes.  He leapt tables, dodged stalls and screamed out to people left and right to get out of the way but it was no good.  Every way that Virgil went, the reindeer followed.  Gordon did his best from the sleigh to grab the reins and help steer but the beasts were just too strong and he and Santa were thrown around on the ride of their lives.  Dragged all the way around the back of the main crowds and behind the performance zone, all involved suddenly realised there was nowhere else to go but across into the marked-out staging area and hope the spectators on the other side had time to clear them a path before anyone got hurt.

Around them, the Spectacular was in utter chaos as Mall staff did their best to evacuate the wider area.  John had heard the call over the radio and was desperately trying to help clear the ice rink.  He didn’t know what the issue was, only that they needed to get everyone inside, and fast.  So that’s just what he did.  Jeff, Grandma, the Coach and Mr Rafferty watched from afar as the mayhem unfolded.  The performers and spectators at the centre carried on, oblivious under the sounds of the music system until Virgil’s cry for them to GET OUT OF THE WAY finally made it through.  The crowd screamed but made a hole.  Scott and Helena spun mid-routine just in time for Virgil the Elf to come flying through the centre of them, both Scott and Virgil’s eyes going wide with the shock at seeing each other.  Virgil didn’t have time to stop though.  On he went, as fast as he possible could.  He didn’t need to look back to know that the animals were gaining on him.  Luckily for Scott, he managed to recover and pull himself together in just enough time to grab Helena and throw them both to the side to safety as nine charging reindeer, Gordon, Santa and their runaway sleigh came barrelling through at top speed and waiting for no-one.  Picking themselves up, Scott grabbed Helena by the hand and ushered her towards him.  “Come on,” he called as they left the bewildered crowd and took off in pursuit of the sleigh.

 John was the last to see it coming.  He and his team – yes, they were all working under his instruction now, despite his young age – had cleared the ice.  There should have been nothing more to do except to clear themselves also, but the second John saw exactly what the problem was, he knew what he had to do.  Surveying the remaining people around the parking lot, he found his pattern and mapped out the moves; the best way through.  Then he called out to Virgil.  As loud and hard as his voice could carry, he screeched down the ice rink’s PA system, calling his brother to him and hopefully to safety.

It was like a beacon from the heavens, his little brother’s voice.  Just as Virgil was running out of steam, losing the fight and the will to keep going, there it was: John’s calming tones.  He knew where he had to go now.  John had by this point coordinated the rest of his team out into the parking lot to clear them a way through.  Virgil saw it.  He also saw John, out waiting for him on the ice.  With one last burst of energy of the sort that could only come from a brother, or four, spurring you on; he ran.  

Leaping the barrier at the last second, Virgil crashed straight into the arms of his waiting brother, who manoeuvred them both as carefully as he could at breakneck speed down onto the ice where they eventually slid to a stop in the centre.  Thankfully taking so many falls in the early days had taught John how to do it right.  On the other side of the barriers, the reindeer came to a screeching halt, unable to jump due to their tight harnesses and with no further place to go as their prize was now out of reach.  As they veered off to the side in the final slow to a full stop, Santa’s sleigh followed suit, whipping around and crashing into the side of the rink where Gordon and Santa also leapt their way to safety.  Behind that, two Cheerleaders joined them, Scott pausing only briefly to expertly propel his female ‘flyer’ companion up onto his hands where she could safely dismount herself on the other side, ice be damned.  She had made Scott put up with a whole lot for her in these last few weeks, so she would absolutely stick by him now.  It was a slipping, sliding mop of blonde that hurtled out of the café and straight across the ice to became the final member of the tiny and exhausted group, little Alan having watched the whole thing unfold from where John had shunted him to safety and determined to make sure he still had all four brothers at the end of it.

As a smiling Virgil starfished himself out on the ice to catch his breath and Scott did his rounds checking on the others, it wasn’t Jeff and Grandma that made it to them first.  No, it was the Manager of the Mall himself.  Oblivious to his duties of checking on the welfare of his staff and with limited knowledge of what had actually transpired other than the gawping crowds and trail of destruction that led right to the little Tracy pile, his one and only thought was to make sure someone took the blame and it sure wasn’t going to be him.  With a roaring “YOU’RE ALL FIRED!!” which was followed just a few minutes later by a lifetime ban for a one ‘Mr Virgil Tracy’, the man was gone, off to work damage control before the press arrived.  The boys just took one look at each other and laughed.  No-one had gotten hurt, everyone was alive and they were all back together as one at last, no more secrets.  Life was good, and that was how Jeff and Grandma found them all:  one big Tracy hug, plus Helena the Cheerleader…and Santa.

7

A couple hours later in the sanctuary of the local diner and sat directly below a big-screen TV which seemed intent on replaying a multitude of mobile-phone-filmed coverage of the morning’s disaster, Grandma, Jeff and the boys all sat.  A giant plate of nachos filled the centre of the table, surrounded by seven large milkshakes. The boys chatted away happily amongst themselves, commenting as the footage on the TV depicted every detail of what had happened from Bessie’s eviction and Gordon’s heroic stand-up for animal (and farmer’s) rights, to Scott’s mainstage performance to John’s expert clearance of a previously overcrowded ice rink.  For Jeff and Grandma, it was a sight to behold.  How his little pack could cause so much destruction in the space of only a couple minutes was mind blowing, but there it was in full-colour for all the world to see.  Lord only knew the heights they could scale if they ever banded together in something planned and productive, if this was the impact they had by pure accident.  He smiled to himself at that thought.  In actual fact, he couldn’t wait to see it.

As the excitement eventually began to die down, the conversation turned to something much more sobering.

“So Coach Ashford lost his contract with the Mall, because of me?” Virgil asked.

“No, not because of you, son.  Because establishments like that just can’t afford to take the risk.  I know we all joke about it just being you that these things happen to, but before Gordon took the time to work with her, Bessie could have easily decided to attack any member of the public or to run wild, just like those others did.”

“Dad, she wouldn’t,” Gordon interjected, but was cut off by his Father. 

“Maybe not Gordon, but you can’t possibly say for sure.  All you can do is work with her, just like you have done, to minimise the risk.”

“Fat lot of good it did, the Coach still lost the work.”

“And we all got fired.”

“And Virge got banned for life.”

“And the Spectacular got ruined, so none of the kids got to enjoy the fun or see Santa.”

“And the Mall is shut for the rest of the day, so after all that saving, we didn’t even get to buy our presents.”

“That’s not quite true,” Virgil spoke up, “I went and picked up Ellie’s necklace on Wednesday to give it to her early.”

“And?”

“And she put it on, made some comment about how she made it look good, then dumped me for not spending any time with her for the last three weeks and for being an Elf.”

“But you were only doing it for her!” Scott cried out in his brother’s defence.

“Well, not quite, I was doing it for you guys too, but I guess that plan went out the window.  Think I’m better off anyway.  All she cared about was how she looked and what other people thought.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last three weeks, it’s that all that stuff doesn’t even matter.” Elf Virgil smiled over at Scott, still in full Cheerleader uniform, matching hair glitter and face gems to boot.  

“I second that.  Let’s never keep secrets like that again Virge.  Man, that took so much effort, and for what?”

“Finally!” Grandma declared.  “All that sneaking around and bravado – foolishness, the lot of it and no good for my health.  I for one am just glad all you boys are back on the same side and talking to each other again.”

“But what about the presents?  It’s Christmas tomorrow and we haven’t got each other anything?” Gordon asked.

“Boys, Christmas is not all about the presents.  This is what I was trying to teach you all along,” Jeff explained, “somewhere along the way, after your mother passed…us Tracy’s lost our way.  We lost sight of what was important.  I want you to look back over the last three week’s and tell me what you’ve enjoyed the most.”

“I liked spending time with you again Dad,” Scott took the lead and began, seeing that the others needed that push to step forwards, “all that time we all thought we were being so clever, hiding things.  But you knew everything.  You were just so calm and in control and you taught me how to be like that too.  I’ll really need that, next year, when I’m off at the academy.  Then there was hanging out with Gords.  It made me remember my time with Gramps, doing the same when I was Gordon’s age.  Plus, it was nice to pass that knowledge on; to know that Gramp’s teachings are still going.”

“That was fun for me too,” Gordon replied.  “I really like all that animal stuff now, it’s interesting.  I don’t normally get to make a difference like that, but Bessie really listened to me.”

“Yeah, thankfully for me!  I finally got to stand next to something bigger than a cat without it wanting to tear me to pieces!  I really enjoyed our sessions too, Gords.” Virgil said.  “Also, I know I was a bit of a misery to begin with about the whole Elf thing, but I really did like working with the kids, you know, making the magic real, seeing the smiles.  That was nice.  Despite the silly outfit.”

“It really isn’t all that bad,” Grandma offered.

“Don’t be so sure Grandma, you didn’t see the first one!”

A flying nacho made its way from Virgil to a grinning Gordon’s head.

“What about you, John?”  Jeff asked before things could get too off-topic.

“Finally learning to skate after all these years.  It will be fun to come out with you guys on the pond now, not just stay inside and watch or miss out completely like I used to.  Thanks Virgil.  The lessons were great.  Plus, Coach Ashford saw the footage of me evacuating the rink and offered me a spot on the hockey team next season.”

“One of the cool kids now, hey Johnny?  No more Math camp for you, huh?” Scott teased.

“There’s always time for Math, Scott.  In fact, I hear that skating and Math go hand in hand.” John smiled at Virgil, who winked.

“And what about you, Alan?” Grandma asked, noting that the youngest Tracy had been unusually quiet so far.

Looking around at the happiness on his family’s faces, all the boy could do was smile.  “I just liked us all hanging out and working together.  Usually you guys are all off doing your own things and I get shunted away.”  The others looked down at the table, dismayed and knowing there was a truth in that, something which from this point onwards would certainly change.  “It was fun having everyone together again.”  

The boys, Dad and Grandma all smiled at each other, knowingly, before sharing a few one-armed hugs and affectionate nudges.

“Plus, there’s this,” Alan declared as he then preceded to slap the biggest roll of cash the boys had ever seen in real-life down on the table in front of him, leaving the others speechless.

“Alan,” Jeff began, filling the stunned silence that surrounded him.  “Where did you get all that money, son?”  

“From the website.  My website.  John helped me build it.”

“YOUR website?!!” The boys all chorused at once.  “You mean, the one we’ve been delivering orders for these last two weeks?  You came up with that?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah, I got the idea that first day when I was stuck at Jarod’s, helping his Nan with her online shopping.  Then John helped me build it and I worked out the orders while he was skating.”

“Hold up,” Gordon was not happy about this, “you mean that whole time we were running around shopping and delivering to people’s houses, we were actually working for YOU?!”

“Yeah, it was real fun, getting to be you guy’s Boss,” Alan beamed.

The boys had no more words.  Grandma, however, did.

“Unbelievable! Jefferson, your boy’s an extortionist!”

“No, mother, he’s a businessman.  And a damned good one from the looks of all that cash.” Jeff smiled at Alan as the boy grinned back in delight.  The others laughed.

“But Ally, how did you get all that?  I thought we were working for tips?”

“We were, mostly.  But I also added a booking fee to the website, plus a couple other optional extras people could choose.”

“Genius.”

“I’ll say.”

“But what do I do with it now?  The Mall is shut so I can’t but anything.”

“Well,” Scott began, “assuming we’re all happy not doing actual physical presents this year - or ever again for that matter - which after the last few minutes conversation I’m pretty sure we all are, then I might have an idea.  It will need everyone willing to contribute though, and it will probably take a whole lot of hard work…”

But that was all it took.  The trust was back and with their new-found Christmas spirit full to the brim, the boys had no issues whatsoever in pooling their earnings and jumping on board to follow their big brother in executing his next plan and the very next day, Christmas Day, the first ever Ashford farm Winter family festival was born.  Bessie the reindeer met all the local children, supported by her favourite helper Gordon.  Santa arrived in his newly-refurbished sleigh and helped by his two best Elves, one of whom was much too tall to be an Elf but loved the job so much he did it anyway, face paint and all.  He was even rather starting to like that garish shade of Elf green.  Ashford’s pond became the coolest new ice-rink around, marshalled by a team recently poached from the local mall and headed up by the best new skater around.  Two rogue cheerleaders took selfies with anyone who wanted them, because apparently there were many, #ScottieTheCheerleadingHottie trending once again.  At a suggested donation of $1 a go, the proceeds were all later donated to the local nursing home, expertly delivered by the youngest (and also most successful and popular amongst the residents) new entrepreneur in town.  It was the most family fun Christmas the Tracy’s had had in years, along with a multitude of other families to boot, many of whom needed it just as much as they did.  It was also the start of many, many more yet to come.  

Epilogue

Ten years later on a little tropical Island far out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, another family-fun Tracy Christmas is coming to a close.  

Alan looks over the portraits of his brothers, one by one.  They are his role models; his best friends.  He is both the luckiest person in the world and the most privileged that he gets to work alongside them, doing what they do, bringing help to those who aren’t always able to help themselves.  Sometimes he jokes that he misses the time, albeit brief, when his brothers all worked for him, but in reality – he wouldn’t have things any other way.

Gordon is over on the far side of the island, lovingly tending to the rockpool ecosystem he has been nurturing ever since their arrival, just as he does every other day, Christmas or not.  He cares for his little habitat in the same loving and caring way he deals with every situation he comes across, because it matters, he matters and helping in any way you can, no matter how small or how hard the work; matters.  

Virgil is back in his room looking over reports.  There had still been a few rescues amongst all the usual Tracy Christmas fun.  There always is.  But it is the smiles of the children Virgil remembers as he thinks back over the events of the day; the ones who were scared for a moment that they might lose everything but then somehow got their Christmas miracle after all.  Sometimes down to him and his big, green bird.  He loves that he is able to give them that.  Above him, on the wall, hangs a tinsel framed letter that he takes out with the decorations every year.  A fond reminder of a time gone by:  his official, written banning from the Kansas City Mall.

Scott smiles fondly as he thinks back on the day and runs a hand over the polished wooden surface of his father’s old desk.  It is mostly his now, but it is also the place he feels most connected to the man who taught him everything he could possibly ever need to know.  He is still in uniform, recently returned from a rescue himself, and into the desk draw he places the special sash he uses only on this one day every year; the one that he uses to remind himself what is truly important at the heart of it all:  his family.  The blue one with the little sparkly rhinestones on it.

John has returned to Thunderbird Five and glides gracefully around the holoprojections and equipment, spotting patterns and working the room like a pro, ensuring the world – his brothers included - is all sleeping peacefully, tucked in and safe.

Grandma is asleep in her bed in a haze of love and eggnog, content to be with her boys and that in ten years, not one of them has changed other than to grow more and more into the beautiful, strong, loving team she has always known them to be.

Jeff watches over them all collectively, the proudest Father in the world, the solar system, the universe, and all the space beyond...

And their mother, well, even though they may have lost their way without her for a short while.  They all found their way back in the end and she will always be there, at the centre of it all, firmly in their hearts.

What matters most is family.

And occasionally, for some, not getting trampled by a heard of runaway reindeer.

Merry Christmas Everyone.   

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Fixer Upper

Written for @jonsa-week​ day 3 based on the prompt Winterfell OR King’s Landing OR Castle Black

Jon really wanted to make the life long dream of his wife come true. But the castle, well ruin, he bought is quite a fixer upper. And his wife Sansa? She's not all too pleased.

Semi-modernish?

Jon’s biggest concern when looking at the pile of stones in the middle of nowhere while rain was pouring down on him and his wife wasn’t the money. It also wasn’t the fact that someone had clearly lied to them. And it also wasn’t the fact that they stood here now with their suitcases and boxes and almost literally no roof over their head. His biggest concern was the mental wellbeing of the girl next to him.

Owning her own castle had always been her dream. For as long as Jon could remember she had wished to be a princess, having a room high in a tower and a giant library with bookshelves from bottom to ceiling. She had told him how they would wander through the halls, discovering new hidden nooks and doors and secrets lurking around each and every corner they’d turn.

Maybe they should have known that an affordable castle was too good to be true. Maybe they should have listened to Sansa’s siblings warning them at least a million times that this project was doomed. Maybe they also should have listened to Sansa’s parents, who had refused to add a penny before they had seen that castle with their own two eyes.

But what could a man do if he got the chance to fulfil that one wish his wife had been harbouring for all her life? Was he really supposed to turn it down? To not give it a try? To not believe in the possibility of it being the best thing that could ever happen to them?

Carefully Jon turned towards the girl next to him. The wind blew her bright red hair in her face and the smile she had worn all the way from their simple apartment until they came here, was now fully and completely gone. Her lips were forming a straight line. She tensed all her muscles and her knuckles paled while she strengthened her grip on her carry on bag. Her chest moved up, slowly. And then she breathed out, just as slowly again.

“What is this?” Sansa eventually looked at him and Jon shrugged.

What could he answer? That this was the castle he had promised her? That this was the home he had promised her? That they would start their own family of princes and princesses here?

“Welcome to Winterfell?” He scratched the back of his neck and he dropped his own suitcase in the wet grass.

“Winterfell…” Sansa repeated the name and once more she breathed slowly in and out. The veins in her neck were visibly beating and Jon braced himself from the outburst that would certainly follow.

A castle he had promised her. A home. Not a pile of stones without a solid roof or sturdy doors or unshattered windows.

“It’s a bit of a fixer upper.” Jon cocked his head and he grinned. But he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, knowing all too well that whatever she would yell at him, he totally deserved it. “But, it’s a castle. An actual castle. An old castle.”

Sansa shook her head. “It’s a ruin, Jon. A ruin!” She raised her voice. “And this is how we spent all our money? All our savings? All the money we’ve gotten on our wedding day?” She combed through her long hair and her hands trembled slightly. “Everyone is gonna laugh at us!”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s the thing you’re worrying about? What others are gonna think about this?” He gestured at the pile of stones and then he reached for her hand and pulled her with him.

The ruin looked a little less ruined when they stood right in front of it. The wooden doors hung loosely in their hinges and in some places the windows were still capable of keeping the wind out. There were possibly a few rooms safe enough to keep them dry and warm until the rest of the castle was restored to its former glory.

“It’s a house with a story.” Jon walked inside and he forced Sansa to come with him.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Sansa looked around.

Spiders had made themselves comfortable in every nook and corner. Jon’s en Sansa’s feet left footprints in the dust on the floor. Sometimes they heard something squeak or rattle. Most likely other animals had made their home here too. But if animals lived here, then it was safe for sure. They had far better instincts than even the best human.

“This castle stands here for who knows how many years already. If it would collapse, it would have done so by now.” Jon lead her to a giant room and when he swiped a little with his foot part of a beautiful mosaic floor appeared. “Imagine what this house has seen! Imagine what has happened here!”

Sansa let her eyes wander over her surroundings, clearly far from convinced yet.

“Do you know what made me buy it?”

Sansa looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Stupidness? Foolishness? Idiocy? Do you want to hear more synonyms for lacking a brain?”

Jon ignored her. “The story of the dragon.” The silence was almost deafening and he knew that if he waited long enough, Sansa would want to know more.

She was probably surrounded by a giant work in progress. And she was most certainly far from happy right now. But she was still Sansa Stark. And Sansa Stark couldn’t ignore a good story.

“Dragon?” She carefully put her bag down and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I doubt it was actually worth it, but tell me.”

Jon smiled. “You probably think that the reason this castle was cheap and no one wanted it anyway, is the fact that it’s completely in ruins, but that’s not true.” Jon shook his head. “People are afraid of the dragon. The dragon asleep underneath this castle. No one knows when it will wake up. No one knows what will happen if it will wake up. But it’s rumoured it’s there, waiting for the right moment and the right time.”

Sansa stared at Jon and then eventually she snorted. “You bought the castle because there is probably a dragon underneath? Do you know what happens to this pile of stones, to this ruin when that amazing dragon of yours wakes up, Jon?”

Jon swallowed. “Well, I haven’t really thought that far. It was an amazing story and every true castle needs a dragon. It sounded like the perfect thing for us.”

Sansa bent her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile spreading across her face. “O Jon…” She walked towards him and her arms slid around his waist. “There are moments I hate you, like right now, but…” She pressed her soft lips on his. “Then you always find a way to remind me how much and why I love you.”

“I’m sorry, San, I truly am. I really wanted to give you a castle.” Jon murmured and he buried the fingers of his left hand in his curls. “I meant well. I just wanted to make you the queen you already are to me.”

“I know.” She nodded and stepped back. “And well, it’s our castle now. Like you said, it’s a bit of a fixer upper, but it’s not entirely hopeless.” She looked around once more but there was now something else in her eyes.

Jon knew that something else was maybe even more dangerous than anything else.

Determination.

“This is clearly going to be the great hall.” She let the tips of her fingers touch the sturdy walls. “There will be a stage, there.” She pointed to the far end. “And there will be two wooden thrones on it and when we host parties the entire hall will be filled with tables and people and laughter and music.”

Jon looked at her and all of a sudden he realised once more that he was the luckiest man alive because he could call this woman, this amazing woman, his wife. “Let’s make that dream come true, San. Maybe not today, but someday, soon.”

She looked over her shoulder and the smile on her face brightened. “Well, let’s get to work then.”

[flowerfan2]

Bound To Be Together: Ch. 19

McDanno, M, A03 A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

Chapter 19: 9.19

“Thanks for helping me with this, Uncle D,” Eric says, handing Danny a beer.  “I owe you one.”

Danny nods and accepts the bottle, which is sweating nearly as much as he is, and takes a long swig. He’s spent the day helping Eric paint his new house, a one-story bungalow in Makiki.  Eric’s been saving his pennies for a while, but lab techs don’t make that much money, and his new place definitely needed some work.  A fresh coat of paint has done wonders, however, and Danny stands back and admires their efforts.

“Looks good, right D?” Eric says, wiping his face with his sleeve.  It’s unseasonably hot, and there’s no shade in sight.

“At least the paint does.” Danny gives Eric a little shove, and Eric pushes him back, smirking.

“At least I’m not living on your couch.”

“Amen to that.”

Eric is humming something, and then he grins and sings to Danny, horribly off key.  “So it’s a bit of a fixer-upper, it’s got a few flaws.” He makes a Vanna White-worthy gesture towards the house.  “We can fix this fixer-upper with a little bit of love!”

“I’m not gonna ask how you know the words to that song.”  Danny brushes a hand over his head, belatedly realizing that it’s still wet with paint, and groans.  It’s damn hard to get paint out of his hair.

Eric gives Danny an innocent look.  “Frozen? It’s a classic.  Just ask Charlie, he loves it.”

As if Danny could forget. Despite the annoyance of having his kid sing the same song off-key over and over – with even less talent than Eric – Danny smiles at the thought of Charlie dancing around in front of the television watching his current favorite movie.  “Do I have you to blame for his insistence on repeated viewings of said classic?”

Eric grins as he gathers the brushes and rollers and puts them in a pile to clean.  “Maybe.  Hey, I can pay you back for today with some babysitting, so you and Rachel can go out together again.”  

Danny squints at Eric, who is directing a hose at the pile of brushes and succeeding mostly in getting yellow paint splattered on the driveway, and frowns.  “Rachel and I didn’t go out together.”

 “A coulple of days ago, after work?  You were complaining about the food, said the pasta was mushy?”

 “That wasn’t… it was with Charlie.”

 “Exactly.  Next time I’ll babysit Charlie, and you won’t have to drag him along.”

 Eric puts an end to further conversation by tripping over the hose and spraying water all over Danny, who then has no choice but to get his nephew in a headlock and drench him. By the time they’ve calmed down, there is water and paint everywhere, and Danny has forgotten Eric’s offer completely.

 Later, still covered in paint and soaking wet, Danny pulls into his driveway, disappointed not to see Steve’s truck there.  He and Steve haven’t had a chance to hang out much over the past few days, busy with two separate cases.  While they often try to take their days off together, this week Danny took an extra day to help Eric, and somehow Steve didn’t take the hint and join in.   Not knowing whether it was an intentional snub or just an oversight, Danny didn’t mention it, although the day would have been a lot more fun with Steve there too.  

 Danny glances down at his phone before he gets out of his car.  He had texted Steve when he and Eric took a break for lunch, asking if he wanted to get together tonight.  Steve still hasn’t responded.  He knows Five-0 is done for the day, since Tani already texted him with some questions about Hirsch and gave him the run down of the day’s events.

 He hopes Steve isn’t annoyed at him.  He thinks back to Eric’s comment about babysitting, and remembers that Steve was there, too, during his rant about the overcooked pasta at the Sheraton.  Does Steve think something’s going on between him and Rachel?  Did Danny somehow forget to mention that it was a dinner for Charlie’s scout troop with about twenty other kids and their parents?  

 He frowns and shoots off another text.

 Everything okay? Offer’s still open.  I’m done at Eric’s, come over if you can.

 Danny goes to his door, briefly contemplating stripping off his paint splattered tank top and shorts before he goes in the house, but settles for taking off his drenched sneakers and leaving them on the mat.

 Once inside, he wanders into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator door, staring inside long enough to laugh at himself.  There’s nothing remotely interesting in there, unless you count half a dozen eggs and some leftover pad thai.  The freezer isn’t much better, but there’s a package of Charlie’s favorite ice cream sandwiches calling his name.  Danny takes one and leans heavily against the counter as he unwraps it and takes a bite. Mmm, dinner of champions, he thinks to himself wryly.  

 His phone pings with a text. Finally.

 I’ll be there.

 Steve’s a man of few words, but at least he’s on his way.  Danny considers ordering a pizza, but that always runs the risk that Steve will be annoyed at his unhealthy food choice, or just that he ordered without consulting him.  But if he texts him to ask about dinner, they might start arguing before Danny has a chance to even see the guy.  He decides he’ll wait until Steve arrives, and then see what he’s in the mood for.

 Danny’s in the shower, scrubbing the sweat and yellow paint splatters off his skin, when he hears the bathroom door open.  Before he manages to peek around the curtain and say hi, Steve reaches in and grabs his arm, leaning in to plant a fierce kiss on his lips that gets him going faster than he would have thought possible.

 “Holy crap,” Danny breathes out, as Steve crowds into the shower with him and proceeds to kiss down Danny’s chest, apparently not at all concerned about the fact that he hasn’t taken any of his own clothes off.  “Steve, are you – not that I’m objecting, but – oh, fuck…”  Danny loses the capacity for rational thought when Steve sucks his half-hard cock into his mouth and begins to work it with his tongue.  

 The sight of Steve taking him down, head bobbing on his cock, wet hair plastered to his head, is one Danny isn’t likely to forget anytime soon.  His legs are getting wobbly and he grabs at Steve’s shoulders, the wet cotton of his shirt bunching under his fingers.  Steve keeps on going, hands firm on Danny’s hips, and doesn’t let up until Danny comes so hard he practically falls down.

 Steve doesn’t give him a chance, though, tugging him out of the shower and into the bedroom, where he strips off his own wet clothes in record time.  Danny tries to reach for Steve, to get his hand around him, but Steve shakes his head.

 “Not this time.”  He manhandles Danny over onto his stomach, and gives his ass a firm squeeze.  “I’ve got something else in mind.”  Steve plasters himself over Danny’s back, his cock pressing hot against Danny’s skin, and whispers roughly into his ear.  “What do you say?  You up for it?”

 They haven’t done anal before, but Steve is clearly on fire right now, and Danny’s been thinking about it for ages.  “Yeah. Yeah.”

 Steve leans in for a hard kiss, tongue darting in and out, while his fingers find their way to Danny’s hole.  He finds the lube somewhere along the way, and preps Danny quickly, stretching him until Danny is writhing back up against him and, much to his embarrassment, pretty much begging for more.

 When Steve finally gets lined up and pushes in, all the air rushes out of his lungs, and Danny thinks for a minute that he might pass out.  But Steve is shushing him and rubbing his hands up and down his sides, and soon he’s pressing back again, eager for Steve to move.  Danny realizes he’s hard again and Steve gets a hand around him, working him over front and back.  It’s almost too much to take, and Danny lets himself go, lost in it, Steve all around him.

 It’s over all too fast as Steve comes with a muffled shout, face pressed against the back of Danny’s neck, and Danny’s own orgasm rushes through him.

 Steve rolls off Danny, one hand still possessively spread over the small of his back.  It takes a little while for things to come back into focus, but Danny is in no rush.  He’s pretty sure he’s just been introduced to the real meaning of “fucked out,” and it’s a beautiful thing.

 Finally Danny has to shift, and he stretches slowly, testing out just how sore he might be tomorrow. It feels way too good for him to care. He ends up on his side facing Steve, who has a blissed out look on his face that fills Danny with pleasure.

 “Guess you weren’t worried about me having dinner with Rachel the other night, huh?”

 The blissed out look on Steve’s face disappears so fast Danny shivers.  

 “I didn’t say that.” Steve blinks and sits up, the sheet pooling at his waist.  He’s staring at Danny, his face gone horribly blank.

 “Look, Steve, there’s nothing going on between me and Rachel.  Promise.”

 “It’s not over, Danny.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Rachel doesn’t want it to be over.  Amanda made that clear.  And until you make it clear…”

 “Steve,” Danny pleads, sitting up.  He doesn’t know how they’ve gone from blisteringly hot sex to this so quickly.  “There’s nothing.  Really.” He reaches for Steve but Steve practically flinches, so his hand winds up fluttering aimlessly near Steve’s arm before he gives up and rests it on the bed next to them.  “I am not getting back together with Rachel.  I’m really not.  What do I have to do to convince you?”

 Steve pulls himself up straighter, squaring his shoulders.  “There’s going to come a time, soon, when you can’t avoid the question anymore.  Rachel will suggest a dinner out, and when you get there, you’ll see it’s just the two of you at a restaurant with candles and low lighting.”  His tone is so bitter, Danny can hardly stand it.  “Or she’ll brush a kiss along your cheek when she says goodbye, her lips getting just to the edge of your mouth…”

 “That’s not gonna happen.”

 “It is,” Steve says firmly. “And when it does,” Steve’s face finally loses the scary blank look, and instead his eyes widen with emotion. “Choose me, Danny.  Choose me.”

[officialleehadan]

Bats at Twilight

(For the amazing Memprime, who has supported me on Patreon for close to a year, and who has helped immensely along the way. Thank you darling. Happy Winter Holidays.)

+++

I don’t like her.”

Elizabeth stood on the newly-rebuilt deck and ran her ghost-silver fingers over the roses that were just starting to bloom. It was nearly dark, and Keven had retired to the deck to drink his beer and watch the bats. Before long, Elizabeth joined him.

She was surprisingly good company, for someone who had been dead for nearly three hundred years.

It helped that he did his best to respect her and the other non-living residents of the house. It was a small price to pay for sole, cheap, possession of the sprawling mansion. No one else had lasted more than a year.

Of course, part of that was Elizabeth herself, who had a striking mean streak when someone crossed her.

“Which ‘her’ are we talking about?” Keven asked, and smiled as a trio of bats all farted overhead, chasing the same fat moth. “There have been, what, four women in the house recently?”

“The decorator.”

“Ah.”

The decorator, a woman by the name of Hannah, was cheery, bright, bouncy, and blonde. She came highly recommended by several of Keven’s contacts in construction circle, and he knew perfectly well that he needed help to get the house up to snuff.

He could do everything from plumbing to wiring to woodwork, but picking paintings and rugs was completely beyond him.

The perils of buying a historical home. The historical society was down his neck every time he turned around.

“What don’t you like about her?” He asked, more and more accustomed to trusting the instincts of his ghostly housemates. “Besides the fact that she wants to paint the living room in neutrals.”

“The grey was ugly,” Elizabeth muttered, having tipped poor Hannah’s coffee all over her ‘style book’ before Keven could stop her. “She... makes me uncomfortable. I am not sure why.”

It took a lot to make a ghost uncomfortable. After three hundred years, there wasn’t much that phased Elizabeth.

“Is that why I haven’t seen Franklin or Henry all day?” Keven sat up to give the ghost his full attention. If something was bothering his ghosts, it would need to be handled. He loved this house, and he was very attached to the non-living residents. “I know they try not to get spotted...”

“It’s more that something spooked them,” Elizabeth admitted quietly, and looked out at the garden. It was still wildly overgrown. Keven had been focusing on the house itself before he worried about the outside. “She sees too much, and knows where to look. I feel... thin around her. Worse than standing in bright sunlight. And nervous.”

That was definitely a sign of something being a Problem.

“What could make a ghost uneasy?” Keven asked in concern, and nodded politely when a second ghost appeared, a shimmer of mist coalescing into a sharp young man who smiled at Elizabeth like she was the sun. “Hello William.”

“Good evening,” William said, and tucked Elizabeth’s hand into the crook of his arm, his silver wedding band a match to hers. “Are you discussing the decorator?”

“We are,” Elizabeth said, and looked up at her husband. William wasn’t as powerful as his wife. Not so much unfinished business, Keven supposed. But then, William had lived a long life, his ghostly wife at his side. “What are your thoughts on her?”

“She can see us,” he said frankly. “That is not so common as you might think, and she can do it.”

“She’s coming back on Friday,” Keven told them both, and looked out at the sky in time to see the first star twinkling through the darkness. “If you still don’t like her after that, I’ll cancel the contract.”

“Thank you,” William said, and tipped his top-hat politely. He stared to fade out, with Elizabeth still on his arm. “And Keven, you are a gentleman. We are glad to share our house with you.”

+++

This Old House:

A haunted house isn’t the usual first choice for a fixer-upper, but Keven likes horror movies, and doesn’t mind when his ghost throw things, as long as they don’t damage the new paint.

Experienced Home-Buying

Living Negotiation (Patreon-Only!)

White Roses and Deck Railings  

+++

More Stories!

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Support me on Patreon

[cecilspeaks]

112 - Citizen Spotlight

If you see something crawling across your floor in the dark, don’t worry. It’s probably just a tarantula. Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, in this fast-paced world of community radio and local news, I think we’ve lost sight of the truly important thing: the individuals who make up our diverse community.

So today, I want to try out a new segment I've put together called Citizen Spotlight, in which we will profile a randomly selected citizen, diving deep into who they are, and maybe discovering some things about ourselves along the way.

Oh, here’s an intro I’m working on for it.

[very deep, menacing voice] Spotlights, roving in the night. Hunting. Closing in. But everything is backwards. The night is hot and bright. The spotlights are deep and black. Everything they touch turns to darkness. They are searching for the light. They consume it.

[chipper voice] That’s a rough draft. I’m open to notes. Anyway, today’s inaugural spotlight was curated by closing my eyes and pointing in the phone book. And so today, we will talk about Sigrid Borg. She’s a brand new citizen who has just arrived in Night Vale. I have hear this classified dossier, we had a team of heist experts – thanks, Janice – steal from the Hall of Public Records. The dossier says that Sigrid was relocated to Night Vale as part of a witness protection program, and that Sigrid is not her real name. Nor is she of the Scandinavian origin her name might suggest. Thus all of the information we managed to obtain on Sigrid for this segment is fictional, created by a government software program to ensure her total anonymity, and in no way represents who she really is as a person. In all probability, it is in most ways the opposite of her true identity, but for safety, it’s important that we all believe this made-up biography is absolute fact. It is extremely, extremely important. She would be in great danger if anyone from the outside world started to doubt who she claimed to be.

We’ll get to our Citizen Spotlight momentarily, but first, as a way to make Sigrid feel more at home, I’ve asked other Night Vale citizens to reveal a dark secret that they’ve never shared. I will be reading those throughout today’s broadcast. The first comes from Susan Escobar, second grade teacher at Night Vale elementary school. She writes: “One night, I was at school late grading homework, and I heard strange sounds coming from the cafeteria. When I looked inside, I saw a giant mandala on the floor made entirely of frozen fish sticks. It seemed to be undulating and alive. When I blinked, it vanished. But every night I dream of flying toward a cloudless sky, and in the center of that sky is that fish stick mandala. And I wake before I reach it, but each dream a little closer. And the night that I reach that mandala in my dream is the night I will die.” Thanks Susan! Sounds fun.

Now let’s talk about Sigrid. Though new to town, Sigrid Borg was born in Night Vale and has lived here her entire life. Her parents were immigrants from the picturesque Swedish port city of Halmstad. She tries to go back at least once a year to visit her grandparents, a retired grade school teacher and a retired timber farmer, who have a lovely cottage overlooking at the mouth of the Nissan river, where it meets the North Sea. Sigrid has always been close with her grandparents, though in recent visits, has become distressed at her grandmother’s increased mental confusion and grandfather’s drinking habits. She doesn’t call them as often she used to and feels guilty about that. She’s torn between the desire to take more responsibility for their health and well being and the desire to block the situation out of her mind completely, as it has become a signifier of the irrevocable loss of her own childhood, and a direct confrontation with morality itself.  

Sigrid’s favorite food is smorgåstårta, a Scandinavian layer cake that is made of sandwiches and fish paste. Ask her to make it for your next big event. She’s been carefully drilled by her witness protection handlers on the foods of her childhood, and has almost got the hang of making them, although she has failed to acquire a taste for fish paste.

Some fun facts that you may not know about Sigrid, despite having lived in the same town with her all your lives. She has a degree in marine hauntology from an online university. She has a disorder that makes it impossible for her to sweat or cry. She has served on the board of the Sand Wastes Conservation Fund for six and a half years. She is deeply embedded into our community and way of life.

And now, another confession from a local resident about a dark secret. This one from my dear friend Earl Harlan. It reads: “On a Boy Scout training maneuver near the old dirt road, I witnessed the apparition of my 10-year-old self wearing the scout uniform of my youth. He trained with us all afternoon, and I tried not to give him any preferential treatment. As the afternoon passed, new memories appeared in my mind of training at 10 years old with a group of strangers, one of whom seemed familiar and stared at me constantly in horror.” That’s adorable! Thanks, Earl!

Back to Citizen Spotlight. Sigrid spent her childhood in the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park near downtown. She didn’t have many friends; she was shy in school. One year, she tried out for a solo in the school holiday pageant. For the audition, she sang a Flakey-O’s jingle that was very popular at the time, but no one took her seriously. They all thought she was making a joke. She apologized and faded back into the bleachers. She truly loved that jingle. It spoke to her soul, it made her feel something. She recorded it off the radio and listened to it often, rewinding and replaying it out at the picnic table on summer nights, when the rest of her family was asleep. But she never listened to it again after the solo tryouts, because it only brought back the sound of the other kids laughing, of her teacher’s scolding voice lecturing the class to take themselves seriously, or no one else would. And it made her feel ashamed. She eventually recorded over the tape with audio from a TV special about orphaned lion cubs. But sometimes, under the hungry sucking sounds of giant kittens drinking from baby bottles, she thought she could still hear the song.

In 7th grade, she finally made some friends during the unknown creature dissection unit in science class. She wasn’t squeamish, and her ability to identify and extract misshapen internal organs without flinching made her an attractive lab partner. Everyone thought she was new in town because they had never noticed her before. She still has that effect on people. In the spring of that year, someone asked her to to the junior high dance. The team was “heat death of the universe”. The boys spent a lot of time licking the crepe paper decorations to dye their tongues bright colors and impress the girls. The girls were not impressed, but laughed anyway. Sigrid’s date tried to lick her hand to see if the dye would come off on her skin. This caused Sigrid to feel a surge of strange tingling panic, and she fled to the bathroom for 30 minutes. Her friends eventually found her and dragged her back into the gym. She danced with them for the rest of the night, hiding from the boys with the blue tongues.

There were bountiful crops that year. Some say this was not a coincidence. Some say the junior high dance is a secret crop fertility ritual outlined in the town charter, but kept secret from the children who participate. When the dance was cancelled in the following years, due to the crepe paper dye related poisoning incident, Night Vale experienced extreme drought and locust plagues. Some say this, too, was not a coincidence.

A quick bulletin board reminder: the reinstated junior high dance is coming up! May all you young citizen make lush and plentiful memories, and have a cornucopia of fun.

More Citizen Spotlight soon, but first, The weather. 

["Try Try Try" by Rachael Sage]

Another secret confession. Ah, what a treat! This one comes from iconic local celebrity and recent donut food truck entrepreneur, Lee Marvin. It says: “There is a void. Within that void a light. Within that light, a hand. Within that hand, a movement. Within that movement, a potential. Within that potential, everything that ever was.” Thank you Lee, and of course, a happy 30th birthday to you today!

Citizen Spotlight time. In high school, Sigrid’s left hand started to itch below the pinky finger. A small lump appeared which grew slowly over time. She became self-conscious about this and wore bulky sweatshirts with long sleeves pulled over her hands, which was luckily a fashionable look then. The nurse at the health clinic assured her that it was nothing to be concerned about, but it kept growing. Eventually, it took the shape of what appeared to be a second, smaller pinky finger. She was even able to wiggle it if she concentrated very hard. As you may know, the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park was built on the dried-up shores of the old pesticide waste river, and Sigrid’s father felt there might be some connection between this and the extra finger. They decided to relocate.

They moved into a two-story house by the train tracks, a fixer-upper that shook on its foundation twice a day when the train came through, and once or twice erratically every night when the secret night trains passed, with their nameless and unspeakable cargos. Sigrid’s parents began to fight often, never having the money to fix up the fixer-upper, and they both spent as much time as possible away from home. Sigrid had a complicated relationship with her extra finger at this point, partially blaming it for the rift in her parents’ relationship. Once, when Sigrid was alone in the house, she heard something creeping up the stairs. She hummed the Flakey-O’s jingle til she couldn’t hear it anymore, and then she started spending a lot more time away from home also.

There was a small group of kids who hung out around the train tracks at night, so she started hanging out with them to avoid going home. They liked to smoke cigarettes and light off fireworks and dare each other to look at the secret night trains, although none of them ever did, as they all knew that to look at one of those trains meant an instant and painful death. They would talk and gossip about kids and teachers she’d never heard of before, and she began to wonder if they even went to her school. When she was hanging out with them, she would often glance up at the dark windows of her own empty house just down the tracks and see movement behind the glass. Or soft white eyes staring out.

During one of these movements, while she looked at the house, all her friends disappeared and she found herself alone on the tracks. No sign of the teenagers that had been there mere seconds before. She never saw those kids again, but she often heard their voices in portable radios on the wind, and she spent her evenings wandering up and down the tracks, looking for them.

At the end of senior year, the high school yearbook featured fun awards for each student, voted on by the class. Smartest girl and tallest boy and most likely to survive a mass extinction event, and best smile. Every single student received a commemorative award, except for Sigrid. It wasn’t intentional or out of spite. Everyone forgot that she existed. She was inexplicably absent during every school picture day throughout the years. Never participated in any extracurricular activities, didn’t speak up in class, got average grades, and ate lunch alone. Which some say contributed to her lack of memorability. But she was there, and is here, and always has been. She belongs here. It’s totally normal to forget someone you know, but you do in fact know her. Some of you know her very well.

One time you went thrift store shopping together, and she picked out a jacket for you that was too big, but she said it looked great on you. It was fuzzy and resembled furniture upholstery. Royal blue with gold stripes. The lining was ripped. She bought it for you. You found that old jacket recently, royal blue with gold stripes, you put it on. It almost fits now. You felt something that you hadn’t felt before, sticking against your ribs, tucked into the ripped lining. You reached inside and you pulled out a piece of notebook paper, folded into a hard little square. It was from Sigrid. It described a thing that she shouldn’t have seen, and couldn’t speak about. It instructed you to burn the note immediately, and you did. It instructed you to never acknowledge to her that you even received it. You can never tell anyone what the note said.

If you do run into Sigrid, remember that she is a real person filled with blood and misshapen internal organs, just like you and me. Everything I have told you about her is completely true. Well, none of it is technically true, but it was crafted by state of the art technology to evoke a range of 1-4 feelings in the listener. And as we all know, feelings are real, and truth is in the mind of the beholder. And the beholder lives out in the scorched orchard under the floorboards of the old cherry-picking stack.

Stay tuned next for a mysterious distress signal that requires urgent action, but is impossible to locate.

On behalf of everyone here at Night Vale Community Radio, welcome to your new town, Sigrid – the town where you have lived your entire life.

And to everyone else: Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Be yourself. As if you had any choice in the matter.

[greywindys]

Ficpost!

Okay…this STARTED as a drabble. I wanted to play around with some ideas I had expressed in some text posts awhile back but since I’m incapable of writing anything short it mutated into this big thing. This takes place during phase four, starting in the weeks leading up to the live interview on April 20th and then goes beyond that. I also went with the assumption that they’re currently living in the Spirit House in Detroit.

Genre: Slice-of-life? Maybe fluff? Definitely kinda cheesy. No ships, though there *is* tentative 2Doc friendship which I’ll warn for to be safe.

Rating: PG for language

Summary/preview: After everything he’d been through, Murdoc had come to expect a certain level of unpredictability in his daily routine. What he didn’t count on, however, was that it would come in the form of 2D casually deciding to use his phone to record videos of him while he was rummaging through the refrigerator.

Word count: around 7700

Having made his way from the most sordid of neighborhoods in Stoke-on-Trent to the haunted halls of Kong Studios, and finally to the even more haunted Detroit “fixer-upper” the band had so wisely purchased for “inspiration” (Or, as Russel had described,“returning to their roots”), Murdoc had come to expect a certain level of unpredictability in his daily routine. What he didn’t count on, however, was that it would come in the form of 2D casually deciding to use his phone to record videos of him while he was rummaging through the refrigerator.

At first, he blamed his hangover. He knew he shouldn’t have accepted that bottle from that overly friendly homeless man he had met behind the bar last night. There was no telling what that potent concoction had been spiked with - no one was that happy. And now he was paying the price. Hallucinations. Great. It wasn’t until he purposefully decided to leave the refrigerator door open to watch 2D, far too focused on his phone screen, walk directly into it that he realized that everything that he witnessed so far was indeed real.

“Oh, uh, hi, Murdoc.” 2D said as he struggled to regain his balance. He looked at the refrigerator door and then back at Murdoc. “Be careful you don’t walk into the door here. Looks like someone left it open.”

“You want to to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

“Well, if you could just kindly, um, go back to what you were doing so I could finish the video I think you would understand…”

For a moment, they stood silently. 2D seemed content completely ignore Murdoc’s initial question and wait patiently for him comply while Murdoc continued to stare at the singer as if he had just grown a second head.

2D was the one to act first. Slowly, he held up his phone again and cleared his throat. “So it seems we’ve caught Murdoc at a bad time. You see, he may put on this big, tough act in public, but actually startles very easily. The next appropriate step to take here is to put on a calming metal record…but not Mudvayne. Murdoc once tried to learn one of bass lines off of their first record and it was too difficult for him. Anything but Mudvayne.”

That did it.

“You idiot! Give me that!” Murdoc lunged. He didn’t know if it was more towards the phone or 2D but in any case, he had had enough of whatever 2D was doing.

Surprisingly, 2D made use of the refrigerator door and kicked it so that it was wide open again. This time, it was Murdoc’s turn to collide with the door.

“He’s very angry right now. Sounds might not work,” 2D said to the phone as he began a clumsy retreat back to his room. He continued to aim the camera in Murdoc’s direction as he walked backwards. Looking up from the screen at Murdoc, he pleaded, “Murdoc, this is all one shot and if you keep making me break character it’s going to be ruined.”

“What’s going to be ruined?!” Murdoc was fuming.

“He’s talking about the Youtube channel.”

Murdoc turned in the direction of the couch and saw Russel lounging on the couch, idly flipping through the latest issue of National Geographic. How long had he been sitting there?

“Oh please. You’ve all gone completely mental if you think I’m going to let 2D upload any of his home video projects onto my playlist.”

“Not your Youtube channel. 2D’s Youtube channel,” Russel said, not even bothering to look up.

Murdoc blinked. “2D’s what?”

“You know that journal I’ve been keeping for my therapist?” 2D explained. “Well, she’s been reading it and saying, ‘2D, you’re really funny,’ and so I started thinking, yeah, you know, I am really funny. And so I start thinking, why not instead of journal journal, I uh, keep a sort of video journal? And she says, ‘that’s a great idea, 2D, a great way to be the captain of your own boat; have a project that emphasizes your strengths and helps you focus on yourself just like we’ve been working on.”

“And you’re going to achieve that by filming me?”Murdoc replied sarcastically.

“It won’t be just you,” Russel added. “We thought it might make a good addition to the app if it included some more personal accounts from the band, like a video blog. And 2d’s a funny guy, y’know? He always keeps it positive and has a…unique perspective on us, so we thought he might be a good choice to narrate. He would be filming segments on Noodle and I as well.”

“We haven’t quite settled on a name yet. Management seems to like ‘2D’s Guide to Gorillaz’ but I like something a little more personal like, ‘2Day with 2D,’” 2D said with the same, obliviously cheerful expression on his face that he always had whenever he thought he had a great idea. “And I’ll finally be able to have my own catch phrase. It could be something like a pun, like, ‘it’s another great day 2D with you.’ Heh. Get it?”

Murdoc shot him a scathing glare in response. “And who’s ‘we’? The last meeting I attended we decided that Noodle would get the Instagram, you, Russ, would get a radio show, 2D would go on Dancing with the Stars to help us broaden out audience and I would get the Youtube channel. ME.” He motioned towards himself. “Are you trying to say you lot had a meeting behind my back?”

Russel sighed. “Of course we were gonna run it by you before anything was made official but we thought you would be more receptive if we had some actual samples for you to watch rather than just ideas. And besides, think about it, Muds. You have a grand total of one video up for what’s going on a month now, and the only reason that one’s up is because Noodle helped you.”

“For the record, I added that video myself,” Murdoc retorted. “And the fans loved it. It ignite an unprecedented level of intellectual discussion and speculation we only could’ve dreamed about one our last two albums. And there’s a lot more where that came from, too. But you can’t rush genius, Russ.”

In reality, he hated the Youtube channel. Initially he had volunteered for it because of a complaint he heard from Russel about how the site had devolved into a cesspool of people who were obsessed with themselves. It sounded perfect for him! But soon he found himself hating it too. He hated how they tracked his searches, he hated confusing the layout was (to him,at least) and he hated how, yes, Noodle had to help him sometimes. But he would be damned if he let 2D usurp him like this.

“And I was also thinking, Murdoc, that I could structure your segments like a sort of mini-documentary.” 2D said.  Clearly, he had remained checked out of whatever Murdoc and Russel were talking about and remained in planning mode. “I was talking to Jim in advertising and he said I knew so much about you that I sounded like some sort of Murdoc whisperer, you know, like Cesar Milan? And then I thought, yeah, we could call it something like that, or like…Murdocumentary. Ha ha. Get it?”

Unluckily for him, all it did was remind Murdoc that he was still in the room.

“This was all your idea wasn’t it?” Murdoc said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. He had always had difficulty telling whether 2D said things because he genuinely thought they were helpful additions or because he deliberately wanted pick at him. Today, he wasn’t going to take any chances. “If I see even one second of any that video uploaded anywhere you can-”

“Hey, Murdoc,” Russel said, his tone warning Murdoc to back off. “Chill. If you’re feeling some type of way about it we can think of something else.”

“Yeah,” 2D said. “If you’re worried my playlist might be more popular or something I can think of something else.”

“You damn well better.” Murdoc crossed his arms and continued to glare in the singer’s direction.

But it wasn’t just that. What was bothering Murdoc more than he wanted to admit to himself was being left out. Murdoc didn’t like being left out of plans that related to the band. He was the leader! And on top of that was the persistent suspicion that 2D was trying to push him into a situation where strangers would be laughing at him. Maybe his band mates didn’t know everything about him but he thought they at least understood that he hated being the butt of a joke. The fact that the project was even being considered and 2D had apparently masterminded it all was too much.

“This week in the life of Gorillaz: Two grown men can’t share a Youtube channel,” Russel said sarcastically.

2D chuckled.

“You know what? If that’s how you’re going to be about it then I’m not even going to bother,” Murdoc grumbled. Understanding that there wasn’t much he could to exact his revenge in the moment he turned to leave, pausing only to send one final death glare in 2D’s direction. “And you! Don’t think for a second that this is over.”

And with that, he stormed off.

Moving on to a new idea turned out to be very easy for 2D. The next day he approached Murdoc to tell him that instead, he was going to put all his focus into developing his own business producing luxury friendship bracelets, and maybe one could be included in every pre-order of the new album. Murdoc had answered with a “whatever” and given him a thumbs up, 2D had grinned and to any outside observer it looked like their conflict from earlier in the week had been resolved.

However, when Murdoc declared something to be “not over,” he tended to make good on that promise. Being part of a famous band helped as the amount of excess income at his disposal provided him with few limits on just how elaborate a particular scheme could become.

By typical Murdoc standards, this scheme in particular was relatively cheap. All he had needed was a spare phone, some spare time and some good, old-fashioned story-telling.

Never before had be been so thankful that witnessing a robot decapitation in real time would be so difficult for 2D to accept as a believable cause of death for a robot. Now, Murdoc could gleefully use that weakness against him. That ought to show him. Maybe next time he would think twice before plotting behind Murdoc’s back. If all went well, Murdoc anticipated that he would get to laugh about this in interviews for years to come.

Not wanting to wait a second longer, Murdoc grabbed the spare phone, and, with a maniacal grin entered 2D’s number and started a message. He could hardly contain his laughter as he typed.  Hello, 2D. It is me. Cyborg Noodle.

Then he hit send and set the phone aside, cackling loudly (being the one with the only bedroom on the top floor had its perks.) No sooner had he reached for the bottle of vodka on his nightstand than the phone pinged again. And again. And again. And again.

Eager to read the singer’s reaction, Murdoc grabbed the phone again and read through the messages. They were all questions. 2D wanted to know how he could be sure it was really Cyborg Noodle, how she had escaped Plastic Beach, where she was now, how she was doing and if they could meet up sometime to catch up.

Bingo.

Now he needed additional “evidence” to back up his claim. Pulling his laptop from under his bed, he opened up Instragram. He had watched Noodle use the band account enough to know how to upload a picture. He named the new account “CyborgNoodle123.” Next, he opened MS Paint and cut and paste a picture of Cyborg Noodle onto a picture of the Lincolnshire Christmas market which he had found through a Google image search.

Turning his attention back to the phone, he entered the URL and typed. This is me spreading Christmas cheer at the Lincoln Christmas market. I live a quiet life…Murdoc paused, thinking about how he would proceed. And then it came to him. I live a quiet life in Lincolnshire with an elderly sheep farmer in the Carrs. I have taken up cycling.  I ride my bicycle to the local bakery every morning. It makes me feel alive.

He reached for a half empty bottle of vodka that sat on his nightstand and took a long drink, a smug grin on his face. 2D was falling for it hook, line and sinker. He was a genius. This would be a good way to end the night.

Murdoc was still in the midst of mentally patting himself on the back and admiring his handiwork when suddenly, 2D burst through his door.

“Murdoc! Murdoc you’ve got to look at this!” 2D was waving his phone frantically as he ran towards him, a wide smile on his face. Seeing Murdoc jump in surprise and nearly fall off the bed didn’t phase him in the slightest. “It’s…it’s her! It’s really her.”

“The fuck are you doing?!? What did I tell you about barging into my room without knocking on the bloody door first?!?” Murdoc yelled as he slammed his laptop shut and promptly concealed it under as many blankets as he could.

“You won’t believe this but your robot, Cyborg Noodle…”

“I know, I know. The robot I built that Noodle decapitated.”

“Yes! I mean…no! No she’s not decapitated, she’s alive! And I’ve been texting with her.” 2D thrust his phone screen Murdoc’s face. “This is her spreading, uh, Christmas cheer at a market in Lincolnshire.”

Murdoc could feel himself shaking from excitement and half-hearted attempts to appear genuinely surprised. How could it be so easy? Even as he did his best to feign surprise his words came out intermittently between sniggers. “Is that….so?…Um…no…way! Didn’t…see..that one…coming.”

“Yeah,” 2D said as turned the screen back towards himself. He stared at it lovingly, oblivious to Murdoc’s near hysterics. “And..isn’t it kinda funny how she chose to contact me before you? Probably did because I was the only one who still believed she was alive.” He laughed lightly and the paused, clearly rethinking his previous jab. “But I wouldn’t think anything of it. She said her microcontroller was damaged by seawater so I’m sure she just forgot - let’s, uh, let’s send her something right now. I’m sure you have so many questions.”

That made Murdoc pull himself together. He had forgotten that the phone was still sitting on his bed. Immediately he laid down on top of it. “Actually, mate, let’s…let’s not. All the promotional tweets I sent today have left me completely knackered. So I’m just going to go to sleep now. Okay?” And without waiting for 2D’s response, he pulled the cover over his head. “Goodnight.”

“But..But, Murdoc,” 2D’s voice pleaded. “It’s Cyborg Noodle. She was your creation? Don’t you want to ask her how she’s been?”

“Of course, of course! Um…how about..tell her I said hi. Yeah. Sound good? Now get out.”

“We should see if she wants to get to-”

“Out!”

“Okay, okay!” 2D sounded slightly dejected. “‘Night, Murdoc.”

Murdoc waited until he heard his door closed before he opened the phone again and changed the setting to silent. Then he settled into bed and continued to plot.

Murdoc did not expect 2D to be such an avid texter. Not being much of a phone person himself, it wasn’t something he engaged the singer in very often. However, as Cyborg Noodle, Murdoc found himself chatting with 2D every few hours. In some ways it was mildly annoying- for example, 2D would send texts in the middle of the night asking about non urgent things like which pair of socks he should wear the next day- but it also enabled Murdoc to develop his story.

In a short time, Murdoc, as Cyborg Noodle, was able to convince 2D to keep their correspondence a secret lest he wanted the real Noodle to hunt her down and destroy her for real this time. He also established what he thought was a riveting backstory- that Cyborg had joined up with a pirate crew before getting capsized by cyclone in the Bermuda Triangle leaving her stranded in Puerto Rico for a few years where she worked briefly at a wildlife sanctuary for cave rats.

But as funny as 2D simply believing that he was talking to the real Cyborg Noodle was, Murdoc was incapable of not taking things at least three times as far and the needed to go. If 2D had been plotting to make a laughing stock of him, then Murdoc was going to get back at him twofold. The singer had been asking to visit with Cyborg, and if that’s what he wanted, that’s what he would get. It was time for them to “meet up.”

“I don’t quite get it,” 2D said, squinting at his phone screen as they sat at the kitchen table one afternoon. “I entered what she said in google maps and it looks like it’s in the middle of an empty parking lot.”

“Hmm.” Murdoc leisurely held the newspaper up so that it would cover his face. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe she wants to, uh, show you some of the sick cycling tricks she’s learned in Lincolnshire.”

“But then why is telling me to show up dressed like I’m going to a pool party? She’s also saying that in order for her to know that it’s safe to come out, I have to do the hokey pokey three times, or until I figure out what it’s really all about, and then howl at the moon until I see her.”

Murdoc snorted, doubling over as he tried to maintain the appearance of calmly reading.

“Are you alright there, Murdoc?”

Murdoc straightened his back and cleared his throat  in an attempt to compose himself. “Who, me? Never been better”

“You sure you don’t want to come with?”

“I thought we already went over this. My schedule’s booked up indefinitely while we get everything in place for that live interview they’ve got scheduled for us later this week. Then I have a busy night a reading my fanmail after that. It’s just not going to work out.”

2D persisted, “But I know she would be happy to see you again, and you wouldn’t believe what she’s been up to.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“She gives really great advice, too.”

That comment made Murdoc grin a self-satisfied grin. He had always considered himself to be the wisest in the band but was always met with scoffs and sarcasm. Now that he was applying his talents as Cyborg Noodle, however, he was finally getting the recognition he deserved. Murdoc had discussed variety of topics with 2D as Cyborg Noodle including philosophy, where they saw the world going in the next twenty years, the purpose of humanity and more. 2D has also confided in Cyborg about his feelings about being in the band and even Murdoc himself, which he would try to sidestep as gracefully as possible.

“And we could pick some Belgian crepes from that ice water place on the way.” 2D still hadn’t given up.

“Look, I’m glad you’ve found yourself a great pen pal and all, but I’ve got better things to do. You better get going though, I’d wager Noodle’s set to be getting home from zumba any minute now.”

2D’s eyes widened and he quickly began to gather his things. “You’re right- I almost lost track of the time.”

“Tell me how it goes,” Murdoc called after him as he headed for the door.

After he was sure 2D was completely off the premises and that he was completely alone, he allowed himself some time for another round fully uninhibited laughter.

Murdoc spent the next few days having the time of his life. In addition to the parking lot, he also sent 2D to meet Cyborg Noodle in a sewer for a “drum circle” and on the roof of their neighbor’s house which nearly got him arrested. Of course, Cyborg Noodle never actually showed up and Murdoc would then text 2D as her later providing a vague explanation of why she could be there. And 2D fell for it every time.

What Murdoc didn’t keep track of, however, was just how much 2D actually believed he was talking to Cyborg Noodle.

“We have to help her, Murdoc. I think there’s something terribly wrong. She must be in some kind of trouble,” 2D said as he got his mic hooked up. “I waited in the parking lot for six hours on the roof last night and all she told me was that she was okay. But I don’t think she is. Something keeps stopping her from coming out of hiding. You didn’t program her to be this unreliable.”

“She’s told you she was coming to the states for vacation, maybe she wants you to leave her alone. She doesn’t have time for whatever inane prattle you were sending her.” It was true. Murdoc had already answered around twenty messages that morning. Some of them were spent reiterating to 2D that Cyborg Noodle had a busy vacation schedule and but the rest were just one word responses to 2D as he talked about a new brand of hummus he had tried the other day. “Besides, we’re on for this interview in ten, so all this rescue mission talk  is going to have to wait.”

“That’s it, Murdoc!” 2D turned to him suddenly, excited. “The interview! I know we already picked out questions but we could slip in a question about her during the interview!”

Murdoc froze. “Ummm, 2D,” he stammered out nervously, “Remember what she told you about sharing this with others…”

Suddenly it dawned on him that he had never established a set timeline to determine when the joke was supposed to end. Was the ultimate goal to tell 2D on live television and laugh at him for being so gullible? Murdoc wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. But why not? He thought to himself. What did he care if 2D learned his new best friend wasn’t actually real in front of hundreds of thousands of fans?

“No, no, it’ll be okay. We can use, the, uh, the bystander effect. You know, the thing where the more people know something’s wrong, the more likely it is that someone will help!”

“Actually, it’s the other way aroun-”

2D was out of his chair and talking to the producer before Murdoc could finish his sentence.

Immediately, Murdoc made a frantic attempt to run over there himself but was quickly intercepted and ushered towards the interview room. From across the room,  2D gave him a thumbs up, mouthing to him that “it was all going to be alright now.” Murdoc responded by motioning frenetically with his hands to him to stop, but by that time, 2D was no longer paying attention to him. Well, Muds, he thought to himself, looks like you really fucked this one up.

Needless to say, the car ride home did not go well.

“I can’t believe you’d still call yourself her friend,” Murdoc snapped. “Now everyone in the whole bloody world knows where she lives including Noodle. A lot of good that will do!”

In reality, he was more angry at himself for not putting an end to the whole joke sooner. Now, he would be stuck not only having to explain himself to the rest of his band, but to fans as well. Murdoc did not like having his pranks known about as they were happening because now, the spin was out of his control. All he had wanted was a good laugh that he could then use as a fun party story where he dictated the narrative. 2D had unknowingly thwarted that.

“It’s going to do a lot of good!” 2D countered. “I’ve already gotten some messages from people who want to actually want help, unlike you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Murdoc grumbled back as he parked the car.

“It means that you’ve known about her since she started talking to me and anytime I invite you to talk to her or come with me to meet her, you always have something better to do as if she didn’t spend years working for you and helping you work on the last album.”

“She’s a robot, 2D.”

“No, Murdoc, she’s your robot. And she’s in trouble. She helped you when you were in trouble. So why are you acting like she never existed? You can’t just forget about her like that.”

Murdoc sighed. Maybe now was the time to tell him.

“You know, D, there’s actually a reason for that…” He trailed off, picking at his keys. This was harder than he thought. When he had started texting him, he remembered looking forward to the day he revealed himself. In the current moment, however, it didn’t feel so good and Murdoc was frustrated in searching for why exactly that was. He usually prioritized his feeling’s over 2D’s, and this reveal was supposed to be funny. So what was holding him back?

“See here,” 2D had moved on to the messages in his inbox. “There these two blokes from MTV who specialize in helping people who have online friendships. The show is called Catfish and they’re saying they can find out where she is with no problem.” He held up his phone and tapped on the screen where the message began “And we were thinking of partnering with MTV anyway, right? I think this could be good. We could use our episode to show Noodle that there can be room for more that one guitarist.”

“NO!”

“No?”

“Yes, no. I mean, 2D, mate, I think, you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here.” Internally Murdoc was berating himself relentlessly for everything he did, or in this case, didn’t do up until the interview, as well what a pathetic job he was doing at masking the uncertainty in his voice. “We don’t need MTV, in fact, we don’t need anybody because this is just some stupid-”

He was interrupted by a tap on the window behind him. It was Russel. He was gesturing enthusiastically towards what looked to be some takeout bags that he was holding up to the window.

“Picked up some Thai from the new place downtown,” he said. “Wanna bite? Consider this my way of saying that everything’s cool and sorry about interrupting your interview.”

“Oh look, Murdoc, Russel bought us dinner.”

This was too out of control.

“Oh, fuck it!” Murdoc explained as he got out of the car and slammed the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try some of the food Russ has got us? Murdoc?”

“What’s gotten into him?” He heard Russel ask 2D as he walked away.

“I dunno. Maybe he’s allergic…”

Without looking back Murdoc flipped both of them off and retreated to his room. He could only hope that 2D wouldn’t do anything more to publicize the story and that he had been distracting enough during the live interview that maybe the fanbase would forget Cyborg Noodle was even mentioned.

He devoted part of the evening to reviewing his options. It was either come tell 2D the truth in private or allow 2D to find out the truth on national television. As he polished off his first bottle of rum Murdoc frowned. Both options involved telling 2D and that was what he wanted to avoid. Why? He asked himself again. The whole point of the prank in the first place was to tell 2D but now all he got was a nauseous feeling in his stomach when he thought about it.

In the meantime his spare phone had been lighting up with messages from 2D asking a long line of questions.

I’m okay. He typed back, not bothering to read them all. I’m okay, he thought in his head, trying to convince himself. I’m okay, I’m okay. It wasn’t working.

Then it came to him. He would have just have to prepare. 2D could get them an episode of Catfish if he wanted to, Murdoc could fake his way through that easily. Then, he would have Cyborg Noodle go on a pilgrimage to some rural village in India and then she would disappear. All he needed were some more pictures for her Instragram.

The rest of the night found him in a frenzied cycle of editing pictures, drinking and texting with 2D as the singer wondered to Cyborg why Murdoc had been acting so strange. Murdoc hardly remembered his replies.

He hadn’t even noticed that he had fallen asleep until he felt the hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.

“Thought I told you not t’come in my room without knocking…” He slurred.

“Well we have a meeting with the team in less than an hour and you were nowhere to be found,” came the exasperated reply. “What were you doing all night with all these old picture of Cyborg Noodle up in MS Paint?”

It was Noodle.

Murdoc shot up and reached for his laptop. He instantly regretted that decision as his headache set in. Still, he would have to try to explain himself. “S’not what it looks like! I was, um, I was making, um, flyers?”

Noodle was looking at the screen with an amused look on her face as she sat down next to him. “So this is why 2D has been glaring at me every night at dinner. Murdoc, what exactly were you trying to accomplish with this?”

“He started it with his stupid video blog idea! But now he’s gone and got us an episode of Catfish and I’m going to be found out on national television!”

Noodle chuckled. “Well, you should probably tell him then.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

Murdoc thought. He thought back to some of their exchanges where 2D had expressed how he happy he was to have someone to talk to and how much he appreciated the advice Cyborg Noodle gave. He thought back to the long conversation they had about him, and how 2D had seemed genuinely interested in learning what he could do to make Murdoc feel better.

“It’s just….” Murdoc didn’t know how to finish. “It’s just…” There was no way he was actually feeling this way. “It’s just that he’s so connected. He really believes it’s her and talks to her every day, she’s…she’s like his best mate!”

Noodle shook her head, smiling. “All he was doing was talking to you, Murdoc. You’re his best mate. Or, you were his best mate, at some point.”

Murdoc felt his heart start to race. “Nuh uh, no. That’s completely mental.”

“I know, right?” Noodle looked at him knowingly. “You’ve certainly done a pretty poor job of that. But this crisis you’re having right now? That’s a good sign.”

“How could any of this be a good sign?”

“Well, what are you feeling right now?”

“Like it’s time for a pint.” Murdoc looked around the room. He knew there had to be another bottle of something around somewhere. “And like there’s a little man with a hammer trying to bulldoze his way out my skull.”

“You know what I mean,” Noodle said as she gently pulled the laptop into her lap and began to scroll. “Last time you went to a therapy appointment with 2D she told you that you need to start expanding your feeling word vocabulary so you can verbalize your emotions more easily. Like ‘happy’ or ‘sad.’” She studied the screen intently before chuckling again. “I don’t even understand how you fooled him. These pictures aren’t even fully transparent.”

“Beats me.”

Closing the laptop, Noodle turned to him. “Well whatever the case, you need to sort out what it is that your feeling and make a decision about what you want to do.”

Murdoc groaned in response.

“I’ll leave you with two things. One, you know that if Russel and I had our way, we wouldn’t be a band anymore, but we’re respecting the fact that you and 2D still have issues you need to work through so we’re giving this another shot.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Murdoc rubbed his temple as he thought. “I feel…I feel…”

“Upset because 2D will be upset when he finds out?”

“No!…I mean…I don’t know. I feel. That’s all. I just feel.” And so far, he didn’t like the sensation one bit.

“And that’s not a bad thing. It’s not bad to feel, Murdoc. I think sharing that with him would actually mean a lot.”

“But…”

Thoughts race through Murdoc’s head. But what if he never wanted to talk to him again? What if he fell into a depressive episode? But none of that felt safe to say. Noodle would probably think he was being stupid or she would go and tell everyone.

“But what if he’s gets so peeved he doesn’t want to be in the band anymore?” Yeah, he would go with that.

“Well, I can’t answer that for him. It’s something you’re just going to have to accept as a possible outcome…if you decide to tell him,” Noodle said as she got up to leave. “But anyways, the second thing was that our meeting is in fifteen minutes so unless you want to be left out of planning again you ought to get yourself up.”

She left Murdoc still buried in blankets to stew over his options. He surveyed his bed, eyes scanning over the phone, the laptop, the empty bottle of liquor. Slowly he sat up and exhaled sharply. It was all a huge mess. All of it. And now he was the one who was going to have to fix it.

A few days later, Murdoc found 2D in the backyard disassembling one of his keyboards. Stopping just short of where the singer sat he sat, not appreciating the how anxious their impending interaction was making him. Usually, Murdoc tried to avoid these types of situations whenever possible because the way they made his thoughts race and his heart pound made it nearly impossible to get a word out. He was in the process of trying to string together a simple greeting but then settled on clearing his throat awkwardly.

2D turned.

“Oh, um, hey, Murdoc,” 2D said. The expression on his face was warm, but the intensity of his gaze was another story.

Murdoc instantly regretted seeking him out while he was working. 2D on a day-to-day basis was always a little bit spaced out, lacked an adequate fight or flight response and was all around pleasant. 2D in work mode was an entirely different animal. When 2D was fully concentrating, his sense of observation was, as far as Murdoc knew, unrivaled and he could pick out any tiny detail or idiosyncrasy in whatever person or object was the target of his focus. It worked well for when Murdoc wanted him to customize an instrument, pick out what a new song they were working on was missing or woo fans, but when Murdoc himself was the subject it did nothing but make him feel…Makes me feel? He searched for the “feeling word.” Vulnerable. Yeah, that sounded right.

“Are you alright?” 2D’s voice ushered him back to the moment. “You look like you’re going to be ill.”He paused tapping the screwdriver he was using idly against the keyboard. “But that would make sense. That chicken Russel made for dinner looked well, you know, a little, uh, under-cooked which…isn’t quite like him to overlook but we can’t all be perfect…”

“It’s not that,”Murdoc blurted out. “We, uh….we need to talk.”

He was too nervous to look 2D right in the eye and instead focused on badly drawn graffiti that decorated the side of the house.

“You want to, um, oh I don’t know…swing downtown for some crepes?”

2D pondered the request briefly before replying, “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The car ride over contained little conversation. It mostly consisted of 2D flipping through the radio to find different songs to sing along to and Murdoc staring straight ahead at the road, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard in an attempt to maintain his composure.

When they arrived, Murdoc was relieved to find the shop relatively empty. 2D capitalized on the short line by ordering not one but three crepes with every topping available. Murdoc opted for one. He wasn’t even sure he could trust himself to eat that.

“So, uh, 2D, mate, um,” he said as he watched the singer shovel scoop after scoop of the pastry into his mouth. “You know how you’ve been talking to Cyborg Noodle lately?”

“Oh yeah, Cyborg. She was telling me she flew back to Lincolnshire and may not be in touch for awhile.”

Murdoc stared down at his plate, moving it around with his fork as he continued, “Yeah. About that. Um, how would you feel if she was, um….not who you thought she was.”

2D looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Why would she be anyone other than herself?”

“Because….” Just spit it out you spineless coward, he internally berated himself. “Because…”

“Because?”

“Becauseitwasallme.Iwasheranditwasallsupposedtobeajoke. There!” Murdoc then scooped as much of his crepe off the plate as his fork would allow and shoved it into his mouth; anything to avoid being completely still.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw 2D’s face slowly go from inquisitive to shocked. This was soon followed  by a loud clang of his fork hitting the table as it fell from his hand.

“You mean…it was all a lie? You were lying to me?” 2D’s tone was heavy with hurt and betrayal. Murdoc could see the crestfallen expression on his face as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

Murdoc gulped, suddenly feeling like everyone in the shop was watching him, accusing him. He was angry at himself, too, for choosing to eat some of his crepe because now he was feeling even more nauseous than before.

“It’s not, no, I didn’t meant, well…” He threw his hands out in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know you were going to believe it THAT much? And it’s not like it would have even happened in the first place if you hadn’t-“ He stopped.

Murdoc hadn’t looked directly over to 2D in a few minutes, and initially he thought the singer was crying. Or maybe he had gone into shock. Or maybe he had his fork and was going to jump across the table to attack him.

As he placed his full attention on him, he was slightly disturbed to realize that it was actually the opposite. 2D was laughing.

“Wait, what?”

2D didn’t answer him at first. Instead, he went through multiple cycles which consisted of laughing and eating his ice cream, regaining his composure and losing it again when he tried to look at Murdoc.

“What the hell has gotten into you? Have you lost your bloody mind?” Murdoc asked again, now slightly annoyed. “You have one minute to answer me before I call in an emergency hospital petition and-”

“Oh, Murdoc.” 2D shook his head as he tried to catch his breath. “I’ve know it was you for some time now.”

“You what?” Murdoc was flabbergasted. “You…you knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

2D snorted. “You really thought I was crying didn’t you?”

“When did you find out? How?”

“Well, I guess, officially the last day or so. The last long conversation I had with Cyborg Noodle, where I was telling her I was worried about you, she replied ‘I’m okay,’ and I thought, ‘that’s weird, I was just talking about Murdoc not her.’ Then whenever I opened family sharing I could see that all Cyborg Noodle was actually at our house…all the time.”

Murdoc looked at him, perplexed. How drunk had he been that night? How did 2D know what family sharing was? What was family sharing?

“I’m on my phone a lot, you see,” 2D answered, as if reading his mind. “But then again I feel like I always knew in some sort of way. That one night we were talking about horror movies and she sent me a thirty text long tirade about The Wicker Man remake kinda tipped me off too.”

“So wait, you…?” Murdoc pointed at him. Once again, his thought were flowing by faster than he could locate the words. “You knew? But then you didn’t…? And then you…?” Finally he arrived at what he had been building up to saying, sort of. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s okay.” There was warmth in 2D’s voice. “And I, uh, I hope you don’t mind how I had some fun with it at the end; thought you could use a taste of your own medicine. Was my acting convincing?”

“Did I mind?” Murdoc was struggling to compute what exactly was happening. As it stood, 2D had skipped ahead at least two steps of their usual fight and make up cycle. “What..what about you? Aren’t you mad at me for being a unrepentant arse who borders on sociopathy or something?”

“I was a little peeved at first. Do you know how long I waited on the roof that one day? But then I went back and re-read the conversation we had the night of the interview, that one exchange where I talked about how Gorillaz was all you had because whenever we’re not together you end up in jail or about to be murdered or something and you agreed instead of trying praise yourself, and it all made sense…”

“You felt bad for me.” That’s what it sounded like. It made Murdoc feel even more pathetic.

“No, not exactly. It was more like…” 2D looked at him closely, as if he was search for the right word to suddenly manifest on Murdoc’s forehead. “It was more like, surprised, pleasantly surprised…pleasantly surprised that you were the one feeling bad. You were regretting something. ”

“Well, I don’t know if I would go that far.”

“It isn’t anything to ashamed of, Murdoc. I don’t know why you’re treating it that way.”

“I guess…I well…I don’t know. Er, regretting things isn’t exactly my modus operandi, if you, heh, know what I mean.”

Second guessing, self-doubt, regret; they were all emotions that he had been trying to evade or repress since childhood because otherwise, he was sure they would have destroyed him.

“I do.”

Murdoc was not used to hearing the level of empathy that was present in 2D’s voice from anyone. The singer still didn’t know everything about his background, no one did really, yet he found himself completely believing him.

“And if it makes you feel any better,” 2D went on, “I enjoyed talking to Cyborg. You do quite well playing as a dead robot modeled after Noodle. And those photos you put on that fake Instragram of hers were bang on. Yet you still can’t figure out how to upload a video to your Youtube channel…” He grinned a crooked grin, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Once again, Murdoc was left wondering whether 2D was joking with him or insulting him. This time, however, he was grateful for how it helped to alleviate the weight he felt like he had been carrying around for days.

“Oh, ouch, and here I thought we were just starting to be friends again.”

Though he continued to smile, 2D shook his head. “I think we’ve still got some ways to go before that…”

It stung, but it was true.

“But,” 2D said, motioning towards the table and Murdoc. “I think all of this went well. I’m being serious now, Murdoc, you didn’t have to talk to me one on one like this but you did. We’re taking it one day at time like we agreed on when we got back together, and if you asked me now, I’d say it’s going, um,  pretty well. I think if we were to think of it in friendship bracelets terms, we’d be at half a bracelet.”

Half a bracelet. Murdoc could work with that.

“Yeah, and if that plot twist you pulled at the end here is any indication it looks like I might even have some competition.”

2D smirked. “Yeah, you might be surprised about that.”

Murdoc took another bite of his crepe. He hadn’t felt hungry in a few days now, and he welcomed the feeling.

“So, uh, not that that’s settled, what are we going to do about Cyborg? In case you forgot, you only announced her existence to our entire fanbase…”

2D shrugged, “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, yeah. Let’s just let her be out there. Y’know…I guess she’ll always be there in some sort of way…even though she’s gone. It wouldn’t be that weird would it? A lot of things do that anyway- staying with us, I mean, even after they’re gone or we’ve moved on. But we can still exist anyways.”

It was dark by the time they walked out to the car. The night sky seemed clearer that it usually was, the artificial light from the city doing little to obscure the stars as they so often did. As he took in the sight, Murdoc mulled over what 2D had said back at the shop. 2D said a lot things that straddled the line between wise and nonsensical, and Murdoc liked to make fun of him for it. This time, however, the singer’s words followed him all the way to the car and lingered in his mind as he sat in the driver’s seat. There was still a lot he was grappling with internally, but he could exist. Sure, there were thoughts, emotions and behaviors involved in existing as a human being that still absolutely terrified him. But the day had proven to him that, even after fifty years of only embracing the parts of himself that he deemed safe, it wasn’t too late. He could still exist,  and exist fully, in spite of it all.

And he was feeling the effects of this new attitude as he started up the engine. For example, he no longer felt like he needed to grip the steering wheel in a death grip, and as 2D flipped the radio on, he felt inclined to sing along.

“And, Murdoc…Um, if you don’t want me to tell the others about this, I understand,” 2D said.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t ever had meaningful conversations like the one they had that night. In the past, Murdoc wouldn’t always want the others to know because, well, he was Murdoc and 2D was 2D, and that wasn’t how they were supposed to settle things, or at least that was how Murdoc had reasoned it out in his mind.

Taking in a deep breath, Murdoc shook his head and answered, “I wouldn’t say it matters much either way.” It felt unusually liberating to say that. “But…what you can do is crank that volume up because that song right there happens to be a classic and it would a certified ethics violation to experience it at the volume you’ve got it on now.”

“You got it, mate.”

Then 2D turned the dial up so loud that Murdoc swore he could feel the car shaking. Perfect.

“That’s more like it!” Murdoc yelled as he pulled onto the main road. 2D nodded in response, a wide grin on his face.

It was unclear whether or not he actually understood a word of what Murdoc had said, but in the moment, his nod of encouragement was more than enough. I’m okay, Murdoc thought to himself but now it no longer felt like something was trying to convince himself to believe. Then he placed his foot on the gas and drove.

End.

[norfolkrp]

PROPERTY OF NORFOLK POLICE DEPARTMENT → RESIDENT FILES.  

JUDAH BYRNE → TWENTY TWO, PSYCHIC.

SEXUALITY: BISEXUAL.

PSYCHIC ABILITY: EMPATHY.

OCCUPATION: WAITER AT HOUSE OF CURRY, STUDENT AT NORFOLK UNIVERSITY.

ADDRESS: APT 17, ADAMAS APARTMENTS, RAVEN’S ROW.

“Fear both the heat and the cold of your heart, and try to have patience, if you can.”

There was never anything wrong with his family. The wrong of side of middle-class, maybe; a teetering ledge the shifted with the rise and fall of the economy, and always managed to screw the Byrne’s over someway. But he didn’t want for anything to desperation; materialistically, that is. But then again, he wasn’t interested in excess. His family wasn’t. Simplicity was in their roots. A hard-working family, that type of Southern breeding that leads to sweet tea in plenty and a full supply of moonshine, courtesy of his father, in the garage. His father’s hands marred by callouses that would never fade, his mother’s feet and knees a constant ache. They didn’t complain, they didn’t ask for help. Byrne’s fended for themselves.

People in town could recognise them for their kindness, their diligence to the community, this picturesque neighborly way of life that had been beaten and boiled into his parents’ blood from the dust of and heat of Tennessee. They were normal, frighteningly so. They went to church every Sunday, a tiny, blisteringly hot building that threatened to collapse every time it rained, which was quite often in Norfolk; his mother and father may have missed a few sporting events or school concerts, but never due to neglect; his mother had a garden, his father worked on the same motorcycle for ten years in the backyard, his little sisters collect beanie babies and tiny glass figurines of animals; normalcy, average.

This didn’t make Judah the black sheep of the family; not in that moody, brooding way the family dramas always depicted. He had done well in school, better than well, graduated salutatorian of his class, received scholarships for basketball, went to the nearby university for half the price than most. Popularity wasn’t what he’d associate himself with; too closed off, introverted, his mother said with a  fond smile. Unhinged, his father said with a laugh, knocking his drink into Judah’s. Judah didn’t see why anyone would want to be his friend, not many did, despite his successes in school, in sports, he never got invited to things, outings, parties, though when he did, he often said no, which may be why the invitations dwindled down to none by his senior year. He wasn’t resentful for this, no bitterness stored up for four years to loom its ugly head into his twenties, in fact, he was relieved.

Trust for him came far and few between, and when people heard of where he lived, how much he worked, how much his parents worked; pity was his enemy, charity was even worse. The look people got in their eyes when they regarded the folk from Raven’s Row, as if they could all be turned into projects, fixer uppers. As if they didn’t have dignity and pride, there is a strength that is born from poverty. Judah had a girlfriend his first year of college, a little thing of twenty, older than him, and she was into film. He wondered what she saw in him; what made her soften and curl her fingers into his hair, her legs tangled with his when they slept, what made her fall into his arms and smile at him as if he set the sun into the sky himself. Judah doesn’t know if he loved her. It didn’t last, and it hurt; but Judah dealt with it in resignation, not surprise or shock. A shrug, and a look to the side, as if to say, “Look at me, it was bound to happen.” She left for France eight months into their relationship and never looked back, he expected that, she was too fond of Marlboro Slates and turtle necks to spend too much time on a boy like Judah.

Wildish in his boyness; cheekbones dusted with freckles, and hair that turned auburn and gold in the right light, broad shoulders and the lingering scent of bitter, black tea, laundry detergent, and sweat. Big hands, grey t-shirts under worn flannels, and Levi’s. All-American, his mother tutted. He couldn’t tell, despite his ways, if it was in disappointment or pride. He had this look, that made old women trust him, and babies smile; it drew away from the shadows under his eyes, his chapped lips, his hair that wasn’t purposefully tousled; too many emotions swelled inside him, and threatened to crush every bone in his body. His head throbbed with it; fingers curled into fists that had long left scars of crescent moons into his palms, jaw a constant ache for he found himself grinding down his teeth, body shaking. He didn’t know what it was; but it left him, as his father said, unhinged. He vomited feelings, thoughts, experiences; blinded by emotions that weren’t his own, and made his gut clench. Sleep evaded him, and he walked, at night, into the woods, the forest, where it was silent, and peaceful, and the screaming had mellowed to whispers, and he could breathe and feel himself, who he was, what he wanted. He struggled to differentiate, and his understanding of it all was in journals and doodles and notes, anything he could get his hands on, pages on pages printed out from the internet, stolen library books. He had a name for it, that made it all feel wrapped up and tied with a bow, but if he spoke it allowed, to his family, that may be a little too much of a stretch. They had been okay with him wanting to suck cock, however sitting them down and saying, “I’m psychic,” may end a bit differently than a shared beer and a wink paired with stories of experimentation in their twenties.

It was something for him. This label that explained why he cried other people’s sadness, and dreamt horrors that didn’t belong to him, and mourned the deaths of those he had never known. He forced himself to move out; exhausted with the constant worries his mother doled out, the idea of seeing a therapist made his skin crawl, and his father tried to talk, to understand something even Judah was struggling to do himself. He shared an apartment, still in Raven’s Row, with another student, also a senior in university. They avoided each other. Though the other boy didn’t complain about Judah’s apparent insomnia, and didn’t seemed bothered by Judah’s general lack of interest in becoming anything more than two people sharing an apartment, Judah could feel the general displeasure, the annoyance, and more often than not, the curiosity. All he wanted was to graduate, get his bachelor’s degree, and control this, whatever this was.

PERSONALITY → MBTI: INTJ | + KIND, HARDWORKING, STUDIOUS | - PRIDEFUL, INSECURE, DISTRUSTING

This character is currently unavailable, and the face claim is Tom Webb.

[kookie-kakes]

Leo Valdez - Heroes of Olympus (1)

"What's got you down, fixer-upper?"

He looked up at the doorway where I was standing and immediately extinguished the ball of flames that was dancing over his palm. He didn't say anything; instead he just looked back down and hung his head.

I frowned and approached him, sitting next to him on his bunk.

I gently nudged his shoulder. "Come on, it wouldn't hurt to talk about it."

He looked at his hand again and brought back the flames, staring at it so hard I wouldn't be surprised if he caused permanent blind spots in his eyes.

"It's me," he started. "Frank hates me and you know... That whole ordeal in my childhood-" He shook his head a little, still gazing into the light in his hand. "All I do is destroy. That's what fire does. That's what I do."

I was silent for a moment, thinking of just the right words to say. I glanced at his hand; despite the fire flickering over his skin, I confidently grabbed his hand. Just as I'd anticipated, the flames disappeared just before our hands met. Immediately he tensed up, gripped my wrist, and ripped my hand out of his. He looked at me in shock.

"A-are you okay?! Y/N, for god's sake, I could've hurt you!" He looked at me with wide, worried eyes. He looked down at my hand. He gently turned it around and examined it for any burns.

I let out a small chuckle and placed my other hand over his, making him stop fidgeting with my hand and look up.

I offered him a small smile. "But you didn't, did you?"

He sighed. "You know that's not the point." He looked down at our hands once more, but then turned his gaze away to the side. "I've already hurt enough people in my life, I don't need to hurt you, too."

"Trust me, I can look out for myself. It was my choice, not yours."

He simply shook his head again. He obviously didn't agree.

I sighed. I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on the lantern hanging on the wall, its levitating flames burning brightly inside of it, casting an orange glow over the cabin room. I turned my attention back to Leo again.

"Come here," I said, gently tugging on his hand. He looked up at me wearily. I stood up and tugged again. He sighed and sluggishly dragged himself off the side of his bed.

"Yes, your majesty?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I looked at the lantern again and pulled him towards the wall where it was hanging. I pointed to it with the hand that wasn't holding Leo's.

"See that?"

"Yeah. I also could've seen it from my bed instead of getting up."

I rolled my eyes and ignored his comment.

"You say fire is so bad," I started. "Then why do you use it in your own ship?" Leo didn't answer. "Fire lights the way. It brings warmth and comfort. Fire Is your gift, Leo. Why don't you see that?" He looked away from the lantern, then at his feet. I noticed his hand give a slight tremble in mine. To my surprise, I noticed something fall from his face - a water droplet.

Immediately my heart broke. Showing negative emotions definitely isn't something you ever see Leo Valdez do, let alone see him crying.

"Leo, I-"

"No it's okay," he sniffled. "You're just lucky... You've never lost anyone - not by your own fault. You just don't see it like I do."

"Leo, nothing was your fault. You didn't know your own limits. You didn't know Gaea like you know her now. You just didn't know. How could you blame yourself for your own innocence?" More tears slid their way down his cheeks and onto the wooden floor.

My heart broke even more. I reached up and placed a hand under his jaw and gently turned his head toward me. His eyes reluctantly met my own. I sighed and wiped away the tear streaks on his face with my thumb.

I stared up into his hazy, watery eyes holding his head in my hands. "Leo, you aren't a bad person. You are one of the gentlest, most compassionate people I know. The fact that your own guilt affects you this bad proves that your heart is in the right place." I reached up and combed my fingers through his chocolate curls. "No one thinks you're a monster, Leo. Far from it." I took a pause to glance over his facial features: warm brown eyes and a slender nose that matched that mischievous grin he always wore. "I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

I was taken by surprise when Leo took his own hand and brushed his thumb against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. His eyes scanned my face before meeting my gaze. The corners of his lips turned up into the faintest and saddest of smiles.

"Thank you," he muttered, almost in a whisper. He then opened his arms and enveloped me in a warm hug, which I returned. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead, bringing a small smile to my own face. He rested his head on top of mine and combed his fingers through my hair. "Thank you so much."