#But there's lots of shorter books that wrap up in just a hundred pages

[these-detestable-hands]

Had to be around people with no hobbies or passions today. I feel sick

[manchesterau]

Your Gay Uncle Harry

Okay so I have been really hung up with all those photos of Harry in Italy recently and one thing came to mind when looking at all the photos: Gay Uncle. I even made a post about it! So now I present to you a small fic about your gay Uncle Harry. It’s written in 2nd person pov because I don’t like the feel of 1st person. I...have no idea why I wrote this, and who would even enjoy this but here it is! This is...diffrent from anything I’ve ever written before but I sorta fell in love with this, so I hope you do too.

My own prompt: harry is giving gay rich uncle who you don’t really know too much about because he’s always traveling around with his boyfriend but always invites you and your cousins to his villa in the south of italy for the summer where he plays host

Your family never really talks about him, and when you were younger you never really understood why. The way they all talked about him seemed like he had passed, always in past tense, never spoken about with happiness, always in hushed whispers. Always when the children were away, out of sight out of mind.

When you were younger you pictured him as a ghost, a white sheet with curly hair, bunny teeth, and dimples. You pictured him living hundreds of years ago, in the city somewhere if you were itching to get out of the country, and sometimes in the country herding sheep when you were in the city missing home. 

It took a while, but then you finally understood why no one really talks about Uncle Harry. You grew up on a vineyard in California. Uncle Harry was born in a small village in the UK. There is one picture of you and him together, and it’s when you were a baby. His mum, his sister (your Aunt Gemma), and Uncle Harry all traveled to the United States for the first time to see you.

Your mother holds up the picture, she doesn’t understand your curiosity about your Uncle, and quite frankly you can tell that it annoys her, but she tries not to show it for your sake.

You hold the picture up with shaky hands. You’re nervous because you’ve never really seen a picture of him before, it’s like he had been erased from history. Or your family tried very hard to make sure that he was. So when you see his big bright smile, wild curls, and steady arms holding you almost nineteen years ago you want to cry. You don’t, because then you would have to explain to your mom why you’re crying but you sniffling some here and there. He’s holding you with so much pride, so much love, like your his baby, and this is a photo taken right after he’s given birth.

“Why...I mean I guess I don’t understand why you all never really talk about him.” You say.

Your mom pauses, she turns away from you for a second. “I...honestly I think there was a falling out years ago and...and we all know Harry can hold a mean grunge like nobodies business. All of us can really. But, I mean he still comes around sometimes when he’s not busy traveling the world, to say hi and he always asks for updates on you kids.”

You nod, the photo in your hand weighs heavy in between your finger tips. Then your mom pulls out her phone, goes to Facebook, and pulls up Uncle Harry’s page. It’s like an explosion of rainbows, of the likes you’ve never really seen before. Only on the internet, communities you guard with all of your heart, a safe space for your eyes only. And then you start to understand why it’s all hushed voices when talking about Uncle Harry. You scroll for hours through his page, later on, watch video after video, smile at every picture he puts up. 

A random dish from a random country he visited last month. Funny old people memes that make you snort. Him all wrapped up in the pride flag, and what you assume is his lover right beside him. A picture from a few weeks ago of them embracing, his name starts with an L and that’s all Uncle Harry says about him regarding his name. Post after post after post about how he had found the one, how in love he was, how his boyfriend was pushing him to reconnect with his family, his love for his smile, the way his eyes crinkle, the barely-there freckles that dot his cheeks. The moments they’ve shared, the heartache they’ve endured, the sweet bliss and utter happiness and love they have for each other.

You cry. Not because you’re upset, but because of how robbed you were of knowing your Uncle. So you friend him on the Facebook you created an hour ago. When you get a message from him two days later asking if your family or a friend of the family you yell and thank whoever is above that no one is home. You reply that he’s your Uncle, go over the semantics on who your dad is, your mom, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandma, papa. By the end he sends you a video, saying how he doesn’t understand all the texting and emojis and you call him an old man and he says he doesn’t take offense to that.

“I like to think of myself as an old soul. Also I’m only thirty-seven, that’s hardly old.”

You laugh at his accent, and he laughs at your lack of one. 

You never talk about what happened that made him estranged from the family, but deep down you understand. And when he says he can see a little of himself in you, you cry.

It’s summer, you're at home miserable because of the sweltering heat. The past few days you’ve been to a lot of family gatherings, and it annoys you that the hushed whispers about Uncle Harry never stop. You want to yell at them, to scream and sing his praises but you don’t. And then your mother walks through the side glass doors, her white cowboy hat sling low on her head. Yours sits on the ground below you, an ant crawls by slowly. She looks over at you, once, then again, and then she smiles and nods to herself, hangs up, and walks over.

“Your Uncle Harry is inviting you and your cousins to his villa in Italy if you want to go.” She says it so nonchalantly that you think she’s joking around and you roll your eyes. She shrugs and crosses her arms, stares you down. That’s how you know she’s not joking.

The next thing you know you're on a long flight to Italy. Five of your cousins are on the same flight, the rest of them declined. And then you’re getting off the plane, taking a car, and now you’re standing in front of a house. The stone feels warm under your fingertips as you slide your hand across the side of the house. You’re welcomed by Uncle Harry’s boyfriend, his smile friendly and inviting. His fringe gets in his eyes a lot, and he complains about it, says your Uncle loves his hair like this. You smile, something deep inside you settling. 

He takes you all on a small tour, shows you your rooms, tells you your Uncle went on a shopping trip, and should be back very soon. He leaves you to unpack, and you leave your suitcase on the twin-sized bed, wandering around amazed at everything. It feels like home, in a way where you know you won’t get homesick from being here for the summer. It feels like love, like taking a bit out of a warm cookie, like a cuddle with your mom while it rains outside, like curling up next to the fire with a good book. You haven’t felt this way in a long time.

And if there’s one thing no one tells told you about Uncle Harry, is that he sure does know how to make an entrance. You’re looking at the view of the sea beside the pool, you can hear the sound of children playing on the beach below, people moving around in the house behind you, the gentle sway of the leaves as a light breeze blows through.

“How’s the view?”

He startles you, bright big smile on his face and his bunny teeth on display. His hair is shorter than the pictures he’s uploaded before, and he’s actually been able to grow a mustache. He laughs when you tell him this before pulling you into a big hug. You don’t cry like you thought you would, but you do tear up a little.

“I can’t believe you’re actually real.” You say. You still think of him sometimes as a ghost, but without the paper sheet and more real, a little translucent at times. 

He pulls back, an arm slung around your shoulder as he hip checks you, his sunburnt nose moves a little as he says, “In the flesh, love.”

You don’t tell him this, but later on as the summer winds down, as the gentle breeze that brought a little moment of peace between the unrelenting day's of heat starts to pick up more, and as classes are due to start again you think about how this was the best summer ever. You hug him extra tight before you and your cousins head off home. And just before you get in the cab he pulls you aside and gives you a rainbow pin.

He tells you, “Your never alone. I know how it feels, but know that you’ve got someone in your corner rooting for you.”

You cry, waving goodbye to Uncle Harry and his boyfriend as they wave back embracing. You take the pin and stick it to your shirt, you get a smile from one of your cousins at the airport and the weight on your shoulder lift a little.

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 23

First  -  Previous  -  Next

Hey..... a member of my household just tested positive for Covid-19, and I am displaying symptoms sooooooo hopefully that won’t affect posting but it has made this chapter a little shorter than I had wanted. Basically if the next chapter isn’t out on time that’s why.

cw: b a d parenting, references to trauma

~

Remus chewed on the end of his pen. Riley, Alberts, Robertson, Robinson, Richards, Allison, Reese, Arlowe . . . something that started with an 'A' or an 'R'. But what? Why couldn't he remember his own last name?

Logan was always saying something about brainwashing and trauma, but Logan knew his own last name! Stupid Logan Sanders and his calm explanations for everything in Remus's life. He didn't want someone telling him how he felt or why, he wanted to move on. He wanted to figure himself out for himself. He wanted out.

The trip to the library a couple weeks ago had been even worse than expected. Logan hadn't even let go of Patton, despite how uncomfy the kid looked. It had to suck to be twenty-something and have your dad drag you around by the shoulders everywhere you go.

Patton had only wanted one book, for some reason. There were so many books in that building, and Logan had pulled like a hundred from the shelves just to show him. He'd signed so quickly about the book that Remus couldn't keep up, but Logan had frowned and talked to the librarian for a few minutes, before eventually presenting Patton with a book—which was probably the one he'd been asking for. His face looked weird after receiving it, happy, but also seriously depressed. It looked pretty old, Remus had no idea why he'd wanted that book.

Rivers, Albright, Abbott, Ramsey, Russell, Reed, Rowell, Austen. . . . Nothing. Not even a smidge of anything. Well, if he couldn't remember his last name, what about the name of where he used to live?

The city came to him almost instantly.

Sharon.

Remus snorted. That was a stupid name for a city. Actually, he could remember joking about it with his brother, about how their mom shared it.

Energy flooded to his limbs with a suddenness, and when the bell rang from the door opening beside him he literally fell out of his seat.

“W-welcome to Chevron,” he said, straightening up. The customer nodded barely at him, making a beeline for the refrigerators in the back. Remus quickly wrote on the scrap of paper he'd been doodling circles onto so far: 'sharon – town and ma'.

Now he just had to figure out which state sounded the most familiar, and if Sharon was a city there. He'd spent days just driving around town with friends, he probably still knew his way around.

The customer paid for a few jugs of Gatorade, then left, dust puffing up behind his truck as he pulled out of the parking lot. Remus sat back down, scratching his mustache with his pen. He could google the city when he got home, then. . . .

Then he'd figure out how to tell Patton and Logan he was leaving.

-

Patton sighed, flipping through the first half of the book again. Summer, it was called. This copy looked almost identical to the other one. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the slightly indented title, like Virgil would. He'd had it for almost two months now, asking Father to renew the book instead of allowing it to be returned. He really wanted to finish it, after all.

Not that he could ever get himself to read past around the middle.

Patton's notebook was almost full now, but he couldn't ask Remus for another. Not after how much Remus was already doing for him. The pages were filled with studying mouth movements, bad jokes, and journal entries that mostly were about Virgil and what they'd do when they were together again. In tiny, cramped handwriting was a detailed recollection of everything Patton could remember that Virgil told him about where he lived—which wasn't much. It was hard to hold on to any memories from there. His therapist said it had to do with trauma memories being stored incorrectly, and said he might have flashbacks about it. So far, none had happened, but sometimes he wished one would—just so he could see Virgil again.

He wasn't good at drawing, but here and there in his notebook were vague sketches of Virgil. Some days, Patton woke up not sure what he looked like. He couldn't forget him. Patton would never forgive himself if he forgot the lovely mistiness of Virgil's eyes, the way his hair fell into his mouth and made him sputter, the stark paleness of his face against his black hoodie. . . .

Patton wrapped the hoodie around himself. He needed to think about something else, or else he'd start crying again. Crying made his head and ears hurt, which his doctor said would probably always be the case. So he mostly did his best to not cry, ever.

Patton cast his mind around for something new to think about, and landed on the trip to the library several weeks ago. The trip wasn't . . . optimal?

No. The trip sucked.

Father wouldn't let go of him, which just made him feel like a toddler having to be guided around. It was bright, and had a lot of people, and was a little startling, but Patton was sure he could have handled it. Why didn't Father trust him?

It wasn't just that. Father made him go to bed at a specific time every night, wouldn't let him have any say in what he ate, wouldn't even let him pick what to watch on the TV. It was . . . it was stupid! It was awful, it was embarrassing, it was demeaning! It made Patton feel worthless, like he wasn't even a proper member of society! He wasn't a boy anymore, he had even had a job back at the Haven, he wasn't helpless!

Maybe soon, with all that he'd been learning, he could prove to Father that he was capable. And if Father wouldn't believe him, well . . . Patton would have to make him.

Again, that anger was right at the surface, ready to spill out into the air. At least he had the book.

-

Somehow, Logan had let Remus convince him that he didn't need to go to every therapy appointment with Patton, so Logan was at home alone. For the first time in months. He was exhausted, but he did not have time to sleep.

Patton was hiding something. Logan was undeniably certain of it. And when Patton hid something, he hid it under his bed.

Logan didn't get up immediately. This was a matter of privacy, after all. He understood that he was likely being a little too restricting with his son, but who could blame him? He'd almost lost him. So if Patton was hiding something, it was likely best to know what it was. Patton didn't seem to realize the amount of danger he was in. It wasn't his fault, he was just a child. Children weren't supposed to worry about this sort of thing, it was their parents' jobs to care for them. So, naturally, he had to make sure that whatever Patton was hiding wasn't going to bring harm in some way. If it was, he could gently confront him about it, and explain why it was not acceptable.

With that plan in mind, Logan stood from his desk and made his way to Patton's room. His door was always open, even when he was inside—it made sense, all things considered.

The room still had almost precisely the same setup as Logan had put together, down to the making of the bed. He'd told Patton that he was allowed to customize his room and ask for personal items, but so far he had done neither of those things. The only difference was that the small closet now had a few more pieces of clothing in it.

Logan bent to his hands and knees beside the bed and peered beneath. Sure enough, there were items underneath the boy's bed: a battered blue notebook, the singular book that he had wanted from the library last month, the jacket that had belonged to the other other prisoner. Logan reached for the notebook, grunting when his back popped.

He pulled himself onto Patton's bed to open it. It was confusing, at first, some jokes in his son's handwriting, rather poor sketches of an unfamiliar face. Then. . . .

Oh.

That—that was bad.

Logan took a few deep breaths, then flipped another page, then another. More of the same. This wasn't good. This was not good at all.

These diagrams and instructions, clearly for lip-reading? These would get Patton taken away from him. These would hurt him. These would make Patton want to leave the safety of home.

These were dangerous.

~

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail

[mimiplaysgames]

Drink Me

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 6,601

Summary: Aqua drinks a truth potion... Now they're going to have to talk about things.

Read on AO3

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!! This is part of an art/fic trade that I'm doing with Moe (@terraswill on Twitter)!! I was so excited to work on this but it was also just... so hard?? We agreed on the trade back in June I think, and it took me this long. xD The timing was perfect though, and when they post their art, I'll edit this to include a link! Moe asked for was something domestic and fluffy (and I'm totally the wrong person to ask but I never back from a challenge dkfjkfjgf), and maybe give Aqua a reason to play a prank. We support a Let Aqua Have Fun 2021 agenda in this house. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. To my angst readers, I hope you find something here you like anyway lmao

~*~*~*~*~

She says she’s annoyed with me because I won’t let her dust the tapestry. Or rather, I won’t let her have her

way

and take on this ugly monstrosity (which I think is supposed to depict an ancient Keyblade Master who died four-hundred years ago; at this point, the threads are too faded to give him a defined face). 

The truth has more layers than that, something I don’t like to talk about. But it’s a clear day, the sun beaming through our windows and igniting the castle in golden hues. I won’t find the time to mope when Aqua is beckoning me to give her the feather duster. 

Aqua is a lot shorter than me. I pretend to give it to her, only to swerve it around her face and hang it up high above her head. I’ve got a smirk to last me hours, and there’s a sly one pulling on her lips. 

“Maybe if you jump,” I say, wiggling it. 

She doesn’t move. “Terra.”

I pull it up higher. “Come get it.”

“Or you could stop trying to overcompensate and let me help you.”

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” That’s exactly what I’m doing. Any chance I get, I’ll do it all to make up for lost years. If she says she’ll tidy the garden tomorrow, I’ll rip the weeds by dawn. If she wants to prepare a feast, I’ll organize the ingredients, the recipes, the appliances. I call it helping out. She calls it ridiculous. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she says. Yep.

“It’s not like you could reach the top anyway,” I say, knowing this is precisely what would set her off.

Aqua likes to present herself as proper: head tall, ankles together. But when I push her buttons, that’s the first mask to melt off. She lunges at me, chest to chest, aiming for the duster that’s balancing on the tips of my fingers, my elbow locked and shoulder riding as high as it can, as if I’m trying to clean the ceiling. We’re giggling, we’re tight, we’re children all over again.

“Give it,” she says, her eyebrows and lips twisted in feverish concentration. She’d never let anyone else see her behave this way. 

“What are you doing?” She steps onto my shoes to gain height and I have to wrap my free arm around her waist to keep our balance (not that I’d complain if she ends up landing on top of me). My heart is pounding stupid rhythms at the smell of her shampoo. I don’t like sweet, but I like it on her. 

“Master’s orders. Give it to me.” 

“Try harder.”

She inhales sharply, giving me that Aqua look. Fine. She turns her head towards the tapestry and puckers her lips together, blowing air as if blowing out a candle. The layer of dust that sits at the very top bursts, sprinkling the console table beneath it. 

In my shock, she snatches the feather duster, the quietest Hmm of satisfaction coming out loud enough to demand my audience. She taps the tapestry with a flat laundry bat, all while waving her hand over the surface of the table, the dust collecting itself as if swirled by a magnetic tornado. 

No use for the duster at all.

“You think you’re clever,” I say, getting close behind her. 

“I think you agree.”

I think she’s pretending. Her smile looks the same but it’s manufactured, tied to a puppeteer’s strings. There’s a flicker in her eyes that tells me she doesn’t agree at all. I’m prepared to tell her that she’s assured and confident, but she already knows. This happens: I’ll catch a sudden recognition dawning on her face, like she’s reminding herself of something, and I’m left to guess what it could be.

We’re interrupted by a loud sneeze that drifts from the other side of the hall, followed by a hack and a cough, finishing with a sniffle. 

She’s panicked. It sounds like a case of the common cold, and nothing to be worried about, but that’s Aqua. I follow her lead, which takes us to no one else but Ven, who is wiping his face. A faint trace of dust rides on the strands of his hair. Actually, there’s dust everywhere except on the tapestry he’s responsible for. 

“Ven!” Aqua gapes. “What happened here?”

He takes a look around the chaos and gives a mere shrug, rubbing the back of his hand on his pants. “I was dusting.”

“You were using magic,” she says like she’s scolding him, despite doing the same minutes ago.

“What did you expect me to do?” He gestures towards the tapestry—the Master’s favorite, of a round cat lounging on a throne and announcing a toast with his goblet—like it’s a mountain to climb. “Get a ladder?”

“What a mess,” Aqua mutters with a flitter of her fingers, shepherding the dust together so it’s easier to collect. 

“I’m not finished.”

“Master’s orders,” I say and Aqua doesn’t spare me a glare. Yes, I find that funny.

Ven ushers her aside. “Come on, let me help.”

“I got it,” she says, fixated on the job. Always the one to do and still can’t learn to accept a helping hand.

“Aqua.”

“Ven?”

I know better than to get in the middle of this.

Ven generates gusts of air with a wave of both of his arms—a terrible idea when Aqua’s conducting from the other side—and the dust grows darker into a thick cloud of smoke. He stares at his handiwork with a dropped jaw. I’m shocked too. Where did all of that come from?

Aqua grunts as she tries to calm the storm, Ven mimicking her movements.

“Let it go,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder.

“It will all fall to the floor.”

“There’s too much pressure building up from the bottom.”

“It’s under control.”

“It’s going to explode.”

She pouts (stars, it’s cute) but of course, only half-listens to me. Moving her palms parallel to the floor, she makes a gesture as if to compress. With Ven slacking, it billows low to the floor and then sweeps up.

The tapestry flaps upward, revealing a door.

Ven’s the first to cough. “What’s that?”

Aqua and I stare at each other. We’ve hidden behind every single one of these tapestries when we played as kids. There shouldn’t be a door.

“Do you think it’s magic leftover from—” I start to ask.

She shakes her head. “It can’t be. I returned everything to its rightful place.”

“Then what is this supposed to mean?” 

Discouraged by our hushed tones, Ven stops himself from turning the knob, waiting for our approval.

“It could have been hidden by a spell,” Aqua suggests.

“Oh.” 

We’re quiet. Spells last for as long as the spellcaster is alive.

“The Master would have called it an inheritance,” I say. “Don’t you think?”

One by one, we peek into the secret room. Ven is eager to open the door but only pushes it a sliver. It creaks with determination to wake everyone inside. Aqua is second, looking over him. I’m last, searching the corners for signs of movement. 

It’s empty except for a rack of white robes, stacks of books on a desk, a chess board, and a forest-colored couch. On the opposite wall sits a huge wardrobe next to a reading stand, displaying an open tome on what may have been the last page the Master read. An old-fashioned wall clock with visible parts and spinning characters counts the time, looking peculiarly like the Land of Departure. The sun shines through a window—though this would be an extra. All the windows on both sides of the castle are accounted for. You wouldn’t be able to see this room from the outside. 

“Terra,” Aqua gasps, “look at these books.”

Most of them are titled in an ancient language. “They’re from Scala.”

“We could probably find Sora with these,” she says, flipping through one.

Some of the robes are sewn with patches of snake skin, others stained with faded off-yellow, each a varying size for a growing teenager. I take the largest—it smells like dust—and slip it on. Almost a perfect fit, though I would’ve preferred it longer.

“It looks good on you,” Aqua says, coming to my side.

I smile at the floor, imagining what the Master would have said, how large his smile would have been under that bushy mustache, like the day he gave me his belt buckle and told me it would be a nice touch. Aqua inspects a fraying seam on the shoulder.

“I can fix that,” she whispers. I let her pull it off me, and she dotingly folds it over the book she decides to take with her. 

“Whoa.”

We drop our thoughts and turn to Ven, who’s helped himself to the wardrobe, stupefied at shelves of potions in glass flasks. Ugly colors, weirdly shaped, totally bizarre. 

“These aren’t any potions I recognize,” Aqua says, placing her stack on the couch and investigating the shelf with her arms crossed. 

None of them are labeled. “Maybe they’re lost knowledge,” I say, still thinking about her compliment. How often does she think I look good? “Can you imagine what kind of magic they’re packed with?”

Ven glances at the open book on the reading stand. “Let’s see.”

I join him, watching him flip through crudely drawn illustrations of odd shapes. We both snigger.

“Look through walls,” he reads before turning to the next page. “Neverending sweat. Turn a face blue. Glue lips together… This one says you can unglue them by washing your mouth with soap.”

“Lost knowledge.” Aqua scoffs.

“But who made them?” I ask. “The Master?”

Aqua rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“This is his secret room.”

“It looks like his handwriting,” Ven says, trying to keep his smile tiny. Trying. “Kind of.”

The O’s and the T’s certainly have their curls, just the way Eraqus would have done them. The Y’s are similar too, if a bit exaggerated and large. As Ven turns more pages, all of which are yellowed and chipped at the edges, I realize the drawings match the shapes of different vials, equipped with descriptions of colors. 

“I think Ven’s right.”

Aqua throws a look (Forget it) and rolls her eyes again. It’s her favorite thing to do. “We’re talking about the Master here. He wouldn’t waste his time on something like this.”

“I got an idea!” Ven beams, nudging me on the elbow. “Why don’t we try some? Guess what they are before we look in the book?”

The only person who stiffens is Aqua. 

“Look at her face.” Ven points. “She thinks we’re savages.”

Aqua doesn’t say anything, but it’s possible. 

I cock my head. “If the Master were here, he would have gotten a kick out of this.”

“Terra—”

“Regardless of who made them.” 

She drums her fingers on her forearm. “If it makes you happy,” she mumbles. It was subtle, but it was there.

“I’ll go first!” Ven leaps over the reading stand. There’s a rainbow of the most unsavory colors. The neon, the dull, the too realistic. “This one looks perfect.” He grabs a thin vial of liquid that I could mistake for vomit: a faded, rotten lime green, and drinks it all in one swish.

Following the last gulp, he withers to the floor, flailing and begging for it to stop.

I’m searching through the book for an answer.

Aqua throws herself to her knees. “What’s wrong?”

Ven giggles, cradling his stomach then scratching his back. “Don’t touch me.” He gasps in between painful howls of laughter. “It makes it worse.”

She carries his head to her lap anyway. She wouldn’t be Aqua if she isn’t indulging in some deep-seated instinct to assume we’re not healthy before assuring herself that we are. 

I tap my finger onto a page. “Tickling potion. ‘Give this to your favorite person,’ it says.”

“I’m going”—Ven inhales—“to bring the Master”—inhales again—“back to life just to… kill him again.” He deteriorates into another round of wheezing, hugging himself tight and turning over into a fetal position.

“It’s too juvenile for the Master,” Aqua reminds me.

This page is written with the same suspicious calligraphy but I hold my tongue. To ease the look of worry on Aqua’s face, I step forward. “My turn.”

“You can’t be serious,” Aqua says.

“Relax. There’s no such thing as death by tickling.”

Aqua jerks to say something but stops herself. I’m guessing, Let me have at it and you’d think otherwise. Nothing that she’d say with Ven in the room.

Ven rubs his eyes and sighs—it’s shaky and long, but it’s an improvement. “Can I try another one?”

The first potion to catch my attention is this wide, stubby one filled with what looks like dark mud. 

“Terra.” 

Her warning makes me think of the slight possibility of developing diarrhea from this. I stare into her eyes as I swallow a gulp of it anyway, much to her horror and much to my enjoyment. Her expressions are a never-ending list of entertainment. 

The potion is too smooth to be mud. It tastes spicy, a kick without any flavor. At first, I don’t feel anything, until a zap of electricity rides up my spine. Gooseflesh covers the backs of my calves up to my neck.

By the time I realize that I’m shivering, Aqua has my face in her hands. Her fingertips are warm when she brushes my hair.

“I’m fine.” A white cloud puffs out of my lips. 

Ven is cackling. Not from the tickling, that may have stopped as soon as he got distracted, but he’s pointing his finger at me.

“As fine as a monkey walking naked into the snow,” she quips, wrapping the robe around my shoulders and rubbing my biceps. 

“You can’t say, I told you so,” I say, my voice reverberating. “You didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“I know you don’t regret it.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

She scoffs, smirking. Her eyes drop to some faraway conversation with herself.

“What are you thinking?” My teeth clatter. 

She raises her eyebrows, playing coy. 

“Whoever made this freezing potion,” Ven interrupts, having dragged himself to the book and is now leaning on it with both hands to stay stable, “wanted to test it. See if it could preserve vital organs.” He slowly nods (as if anything in this book makes sense). 

“I guess we’ll find out if it worked when I die.” The tremors hurt, rupturing in blows down my torso. Aqua mutters a spell and a fiery glow halos her hands, hovering near my skin. My own personal hearth. I can’t help but imagine doing the same for her one day. 

“Anyone else want to take a crack at it or should I drink another one?” Ven says.

Aqua glances over her shoulder and is actually considering it . 

“No way,” I say.

She ignores me, reading each bottle as though they’d spill their secrets.

I lean towards her ear, though she’s already swatting me away. “Do you need help choosing one?”

She grabs a curvy vial that looks like it has hips and is filled to the brim with pure white. Defiantly turning to stick her nose up at me, she proudly drinks (a sip), grimacing through the taste. But she keeps tall. As long as the nose stays up.

“Oh shit,” Ven mutters.

“Language,” I say.

We wait for the effect. Nothing happens. 

“What do you feel?” I ask.

“Nothing. I feel normal.”

“You’re a liar,” Ven says, throwing pages and scanning pictures, then rustling back to see if he skipped any.

“I am not. Maybe it’s expired.” As soon as she says it, her eyes go wide.

“That doesn’t make any sense. We had immediate effects. Maybe you should drink some more?”

“Don’t be silly.” Aqua shuts the bottle with its topper and gently places it back in its spot. “This was a foolish game, anyway.” 

I have to scoff—that’s harsh, even coming from Aqua. “Then why go for it?”

“Because I admire you so much, Terra, when you’re brave enough to go after something I wouldn’t come near. Because I have to match you, maybe outmatch you sometimes, if you get on my nerves. Because sometimes I get scared that I’ve missed out on so much, and I can’t help but wonder if our childhood may be missing something. After everything we’ve lost, I don’t want to be scared of being silly anymore. But… What if I’m a boring slog? I don’t want to be a bore. I want to be daring and fun like you and Ven,” she says in rapid tossed word salad, her hands getting animated the more she talks, pressed to answer questions we didn’t ask.

Ven and I have nothing to say.

“I…” Aqua fusses with her sleeves. “I don’t know why I unloaded all of that.”

“Dramatic, much?” Ven says.

She fists her hips. “Dramatic is when you whine about your dreams so you can avoid chores thinking I wouldn’t call your bluff.”

Ven gapes. “Aqua, you’re mean.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She hides her face behind her hands, taking them to her heart and bowing. “Ven, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Something weird is going on.” I take the helm at searching the book, shuffling pages in chunks until I find one with stark white paint, in the shape of curves and waves. “Ven,” I whisper when I read the description. When he looks at me, his impish smile stretches with lists of ideas. I’m right there with him.

A stuffy silence fills the room when we recite it: Truth potion. The person who drinks it cannot help but to answer questions honestly. 

Aqua steps back. 

She bolts out of the room, knocking some of the books over. 

“Get her!” Ven yells.

My muscles protest when I take off, stiff and sluggish as though I’ve experienced a whole winter outside. Aqua dashes through an open doorway and thrusts her arm out. The doors slam together, refusing to let me through. Ven’s going to have to find another way around. This won’t stop me and she knows it. I slip through a growing portal of darkness—the swirls that lick me would have been cold, but I’m numb—and I come out the other side. There’s certain tricks that come from being the poster boy for Darkness; it’s helpful in fights.

This part of the castle leads to the common areas. I know where she’ll be.

Aqua is splitting her attention between mixing batter in a large wooden bowl and running a soapy dishwash in the kitchen sink. When I approach her, she makes a point to put her finger on her lips.

Stars, it’s so hard not to laugh. “You’re not going to—”

She grunts, shaking her head furiously at me. No questions. 

With my elbows propped on the countertop, I watch her scrub a dish. More than she normally does, actually, a little therapy session to take her mind off the fact that I’m relishing this moment. It’s satisfying how she suddenly remembers that she’s heating the oven, throwing herself across the kitchen to check the temperature.

She points to the spice cupboard next to me, and gets more enthusiastic when I open it. Apparently, she wants the cinnamon. 

“I think vinegar would help better with what you’re doing.” I nod my head to the sink. 

With the flick of her hand, water pouring out of the faucet changes direction and splashes me in the face.

“Am I annoying?” I snigger. I had to.

A tick in her shoulders—her body has no choice but to react. “That’s a stupid question.” Every word is pulled out of her teeth. Normally, she’d say, No, how could you even imagine that!

I dip my finger into the suds and plant one large print on her forehead in between the eyes, where she’s glaring so hard, they are crossed.

“How about now?”

“The worst,” she groans, slamming her hands into the bath. She takes a washcloth to dry them and wipes her forehead. Afterwards, she hands it to me. 

“Think of it as an opportunity to get to know the real you.” I dry my face. 

“You know me already.”

“Do I know everything, though?”

“No.” This potion doesn’t miss a beat.

Ven is panting by the time he enters, climbing a stool behind the counter and peering over the edge like a small child. He’s doing that on purpose, goading her into playing along. He asks me, “Can we?”

She groans.

I’m back on my elbows so I can look up at her and give her the same puppy dog eyes. Between glancing at the two of us, she can’t stand it. She wants to make us happy, she’s always been like that. Then again, she probably also wants to bash our heads together and leave us with headaches. One of the two would amuse her better. 

“How about we ask her three questions only? We shouldn’t drive her crazy.”

She chuckles, that little smile of hers growing and reassuring and there. That’s my girl. Turning off the sink, she folds the washcloth and brings her hands together as though we’re in class. “Three questions each. Is that okay?”

Wow. “More than I asked for.” 

“I already have one,” Ven says, sitting on his knees. “Do you hate Lea?”

“A little. But I’m working on it.”

Ven snorts and drops his face onto the counter. How many times have we asked her that and got the, Don’t be ridiculous. Like I said, he’s formidable. “I knew it.”

“He does his missions with the least amount of effort possible. Takes the easiest route to build his technique. Efficiency, he calls it,” she says, letting out the hot pressure she’s been keeping to herself with relief. “He also calls me, Teach. Who does that?”

Of all the times I’ve expected Aqua to snap at someone, she holds herself back when it comes to Lea, giving him tight smiles to zip it all up. “Ouch,” I say. “He’s been working so hard on a gift to thank you for working with Isa.”

She grimaces. “At least he has good taste in men? Isa does have a respectable work ethic.” 

I pat her hand. Aqua’s usually the one to blow the kettle first, but there’s ways to connect people who may not see eye to eye the first time. Maybe I can be a buffer. “Next time you meet, I could go with you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she whispers. 

“Lea would find it hilarious, honestly.” Ven waves his hand as if it’s no big deal. “I bet he’d give you a note with your gift. It would say, Thanks for everything. I hate you, too, Teach .”

“Okay, my turn,” I say, resting my chin on my palm. She studies me, too, though I’d like to believe I could keep a poker face. “Do you sometimes steal my cologne?”

“Yes.”

Her bluntness throws me back. “To wear ?”

“Yes,” she says as though it’s obvious and crosses her arms. Duh.

“Hey, that’s two questions,” Ven says. 

“Sorry.” I take one more glance to see if I could gleam any more clues from her facial expressions, but she keeps her nose high. As long as the nose stays up.

“I have to think of a really good one.” Ven holds his chin, looking more serious than he’s been since the Keyblade War. “Ever farted then blamed Terra for it?”

“Ugh.” Aqua quivers, her knuckles bleaching. She throws her face over her shoulder and stares scars into the wall. “Yes of course, didn’t we all?” 

“Come on, I could’ve answered that,” I say (though after all these years, it’s validating to know it’s not a blame game anymore). I nudge her with my shoulder. “Justice does feel pretty good.”

“Ask me something better,” she says after smacking my bicep. Her face is as ripe as sunburn. 

Questions that give her more control. I could do that. “Is there anything you’ve been needing to say but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

The tension in her face drops. It leaves something pale and disappointed in its place, a faraway look. I shouldn’t have asked; whatever this fear is, it’s meant for me. “Yes,” she whispers.

I stand pin-straight, the air in the room thinning, as though the Darkness has opened a hole and is sucking all the sun away. Ven does the same. The other Keybearers will stare at their cuticles, or fumble and cut themselves out of the group when they’re upset or hurt or sorry. Eraqus forged a protocol out of us. When we witness or cause harm, we recite what we’ve done and its effects. We bow when we apologize. 

So far, we’ve been home for one hundred and seventy five days. Never expected it to take this long. I open my mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” she says softly. “I know what you’re going to ask.”

I would have pleaded with her to let me apologize, and I would have met her dismissal anyway: No, Terra, it’s not necessary. We’ve been through it all. We should enjoy what we have. She means well; the relaxation and the mundane tasks are good for all of us. Even when we were younger, Aqua was generous at her expense, sparing nuts from her brownie to bake them into a tarte, knowing I hate brownies. She’d look at the brighter side of things (More fudge for me!), and stick her tongue out. She’s been my smile, but she gives too much, and we still need this conversation.

“So what is the answer?”

She lowers her eyes to the counter, then wills them back up at me. “I blame myself.”

Aqua.

Ven sighs. “I should give you guys some space.” He treads away, keeping his footsteps minimal, meticulously turning the handle so it’d make the least noise possible. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I see him press his ear against the door before it shuts. If he’s going to listen in, that’s fine with me. Whatever she and I have to say to each other would affect all three of us.

“You blame—”

“I would be… lying.” She simpers, shaking her head. “If I said I never blamed you. There were moments I did. How and why. But I had enough endless nights where those reasons circled back to me. What I could have done to make it better. To save you,” she croaks, wiping her eyes. “To be a best friend. You needed that. Ven needed one, too. And I wasn’t.”

Aqua scrubs the already-clean counter with that dry washcloth, creating a rhythm that fills the silence. The oven is now heated, and I take the cinnamon and pour two spoonfuls of it into a beaker, our backs to each other. Add cups of sugar for her, some cocoa, a pinch of vanilla while she drills the grouts in between the tiles.

“I wasn’t much of a best friend myself, either.”

“You were hurt and defeated.”

“I was stupid.”

“You are not.”

I scoff, reaching over and pausing her. My smile is meant to be gentle, but it feels so plastic. “Aqua, do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t.”

I’ve expected her to half-smirk, where she tells me, Sometimes. “Really?”

“You overthink,” she simply puts. “But you assume the best. You know, that makes you a better person than me.”

Ha. No. “No. I’m not better than you. Not by a long shot.”

She hums. “I’m just correct more often.”

“But I left you.”

“And I kicked your trust in me in the shins. Are we going to keep count of all the unfriendly things we’ve done? How different would it have been if I didn’t accuse you of things that weren’t true?”

“How different would it be if I had just stayed with you?” I realize I shouldn’t have asked the moment I finish.

In a trance, Aqua inspects the beaker with the spices and sugars I’ve concocted, deciding what I’d done is good enough and dumping them into her unmixed dough, stirring, giving her hands something to do, while I wait for the onslaught. “Probably avoided the last twelve years.” I wince. “Or it could have made no difference. We could have ended up the same, or worse, or better.”

I say, “You don’t believe that,” before stopping myself.

“I was taught to respect Xehanort, too.” 

“We were taught to recognize the Darkness.”

“Which I also failed at.”

“Clearly.”

“I did. I looked for it inside you where I should have placed my faith instead. I regret every moment I did.” She puts the bowl down, a slap of wood against marble. “We don’t help ourselves by obsessing about it a million times.”

“But you’d help me if you let me apologize. To you especially.”

She whips around with nothing to retort, fresh tears short of falling. “To me especially?”

“Ven deserves something of his own. Please.”

She drops her hands together. Swallows. Nods. 

I bow, watching droplets land near my shoes. “I should have been there for you. I should have been stronger. I should have realized what was happening sooner, and I thought I did. I thought I did what I could, and I was there with you in the Graveyard, but it wasn’t enough, and for all the years I didn’t know, I should have found a way to learn and pay you back for what you’ve sacrificed for me. I should have eased your pain, I should have brought you back to the Light. I was focused on myself when I should have lifted you up, and I disappeared when you needed me most. I should have done more, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Silence passes the time and I look up to see what she thinks. She’s wetting the washcloth, dabbing my eyes. “Do you feel better?” she asks.

“Kind of.” I’m beat up after taking all those shots, but I’m lighter, free to breathe without the nagging suspicion that I don’t deserve to. 

“One of the things I wished for when I was in the Realm of Darkness was to smell sugar again. I wanted to hear you give me a list of reasons why it’s bad for my body, and I wanted to tell you why it’s good for the heart.” I let her dab my cheeks, the dampness frigid against my skin. “Now that I’m back home, I don’t need any other wish granted.” She sniffs, about to pour the batter into its mold, but then flicks the oven off exasperatedly. “I forgot. I have to wait for the dough to rise.” For some reason that finally breaks her. It tears me apart as well, and I have to hold her shoulder so we don’t rip down the middle. 

“Please don’t cry,” I say, offering the washcloth. “I care too much about you to sit here and watch you cry.”

She stops. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” I let go and stare at her blended mix, smooth as cream. 

“That’s not fair,” she says, throwing the washcloth onto the counter. “I have no choice with what I say. You could at least answer me honestly.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you cry anymore.” Nor do I want to tell her the truth. Instead I hide it on the back of my neck, where I rub into it so it doesn’t spill over. And yet, that makes me feel more guilty now than I have in weeks. 

“I should make you swallow a truth potion.”

“I wanted us to be equals.” She saves her usual response and waits for me to continue. I close my eyes. “Go through all the same experiences with you. We were supposed to stick together, do everything together. Failing the Mark of Mastery took all of that away from me. Or at least it felt that way at the time. And I wanted more. I wanted…” My hand finds nothing as it waves in the air searching for the words to spell it out. “I don’t know what to say. Everything I’ve done and didn’t do pale in comparison to you.”

“We’re not doing this. We’re not comparing ourselves.”

“No, I mean…” What the stars am I supposed to say? “You’re more important to me than you understand.”

“And you’re just as important to me.”

“No… it’s different with me.” And I’ve said too much, Aqua holding her elbows and expecting me to continue. There’s no other trail to go down than the one I’ve started. “I meant what I said at the preliminary feast.”

“Excuse me?”

The feast where the Master celebrated our achievements, announcing that we’re at last ready for the final test. Where Ven and I squeezed ourselves into suits and he complained the entire night about being itchy. Where I spent it staring at her dress. When I said she looked pretty and then avoided her for the rest of the party.

I don’t say anything about that night and she hears something anyway.

“That’s why…” She glosses over me with wide eyes as the realization makes me look like a stranger. “You should have said something to me.”

“You can’t be serious.” I wave her away.

“But all these years, I didn’t know.”

Good, if we’re talking about the same thing. “I couldn’t have told you anything.”

“Then how was I supposed to figure that out?”

What are we talking about now? “What exactly did you expect me to do?” 

“You should have kissed me.” She covers her mouth, wincing at what slipped out. She keeps her chin high anyway, casually crossing her arms and pretending that her face hasn’t reddened the deep shade staining her cheeks. As long as it stays up.

We pass an unspoken conversation between each other, frozen and unwilling to move.

Did you just—?

I did.

I manage to exhale. “You’re right.”

There’s a moment of shock on her face before I hold her and lean forward. It happens so quick that I don’t register what she tastes like before I realize that I’m clamping my hands on her biceps, two bent rods leaning on each other.

“That was awful,” I say.

“No, it’s—” she laughs.

“Bad.”

“Yeah.”

“I always thought it’d go different.”

“Always?”

Well, I’ve run out of words. “I guess.” When I let her go, she reaches for my chest and lifts onto her toes, kissing me back but with care and intention this time, filling my lips with hers. They taste like Aqua, smell like her shampoo. They’re softer than her hands and face, sweet enough for me to want more. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my hands until I settle them in the sway of her back. I let her take the lead, take another kiss, tug at my neck. She trembles from the frozen touch of my skin and from the hold of my hands on her body. My muscles are getting warm, too warm but I like it and I think she knows. Earlier this morning, I held her this close, but this is closer. It’s easy and difficult at the same time. 

Then I remember and pull away. “Ven is listening to us.”

There’s a bump on the door as it’s pushed when he kicks himself off, heavy footsteps running down the hall. 

Aqua looks like she’s touched feces. “Ven!”

I follow her, wondering if she’s going to summon her Keyblade but that’s because of how fast she’s walking, like she has a mission, no Heartless left standing. We turn a corner, down a hall of antique vases and ancient cupboards carved from our first masters. Wood creaks nearby. 

She holds her palm up like she’s holding a chalice, and flames lick the cupboard closest to us until it rattles and spits Ven out. He scrambles onto his feet and brandishes his finger, testing our distance as if he’d poke us in a duel. 

“I still have my last question and it’s in your best interest not to threaten me.”

“Oh really? Tell me again how you’re going to protect yourself when you sleep,” she says.

He grounds himself before giving his performance of, “Do you want to see Terra naked?”

Aqua trembles from her head to her knees, her cheeks blotting a strong shot of red. She throttles forward and cups both of her hands onto her mouth like she’s going to sneeze. What sounds like a loud goose honk blows out as the answer. 

“That was awesome.” Ven slaps his thigh, turning on his heel and leaving a trail of giggles. 

I’m scared to say anything, in case she honks at me. So I wait. There’s just no way to make myself seem small, or leave without disturbing her. Maybe if I hold my breath, she’d feel like she has privacy. She’s panting, giving me side glances but never looking directly at me, that nose of hers wilting towards the floor. 

I open my mouth to say something—

She growls and I clutch my lips together. Aqua pulls her Gummiphone out of her pocket, jabbing a message.

Mine rings. 

 Aqua

Let’s find a potion that dyes his hair pink

��She clears her throat, before flipping it over and typing again.

 Aqua

Don’t tell him it was my idea

 “Okay,” I say, testing the word. Even though I soften it, it still bangs like a gong. I don’t know what else to do except smile at her. She grimaces back, no doubt the last several words spoken still ringing in her ears, just as they do in mine. I even hesitate when I hold her elbow—would it ever be the same, or will every touch mean something different? I don’t voice those questions. 

She moves by reflex: first to flinch, then to hold me by my elbow, mirroring me, which isn’t the most comfortable position. She follows my forearm to my hand, knitting our fingers together, and we stand there, adjusting how they fit. Mine are long and thick, dwarfing and burying hers, an oversized pouch for a gem. They fit perfectly, I think. 

“We can find something better,” I say, looking for anything to distract her. “There’s also those books to read, and the robe to fix. The brownies you’re making—”

“It’s supposed to be cinnamon bread,” she mumbles.

Yech. “Nothing I’d eat anyway.”

Her chuckle is partial, contorted and pressed. 

“I can make some beef jerky for everyone. Spice it up,” I say. She hides an amused whimper behind her hand and massages her cheek. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

She nods, offering me a relieved but crooked smile. 

I don’t know if we should walk the castle hand in hand, so I splay it between her shoulder blades and lead the way. We walk in silence, and I’m okay with that if it helps her. No questions, her head up high like everything is back to normal. We steal glances and do a terrible job at hiding our giggles behind small talk, which is botched and jittery anyway, but there’s not much to say without asking, So… how old were you when you realized?

One of these nights, I’ll tell her I’d like to see her naked, too, when the time is right and the truth comes easier.

[dontshootmespence]

The Most Natural Thing In The World

Part 15

Summary: An experienced Dom and a virgin meet in a bar. Can he introduce her to a world she’s always imagined but never known before? Is it everything she wanted?

Words: 1,133

Warnings: Lots of silent teasing, human furniture kink, mild degradation because of the act itself, oral fixation, fingering, sex, butt plug stuffs, p in v.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my human furniture square.

Every aspect of what would happen tonight had been previously discussed. It’s obviously a first for you, but Spencer has only done it once before and his sub at the time safe-worded, so he’d stopped immediately. 

“You sure?” He asks.

Like he was at work, he hated not knowing everything all the time, and when his last sub safe-worded he felt guilty for not knowing that it was apparently a hard limit - given she didn’t realize it at the time - but still he felt guilty. 

“I’m positive, Spence. It’s something I think I’ll be into, but I promise I’ll safe word if I’m not feeling it on any level.” Your jeans are tight, the seam running against your clit in a way that’s already got you going. This is going to be fun. “Would you like me to go get changed, Sir?”

Spencer gulps and nods, the bulge in his pants growing as you walk away to put on the instructed outfit. It’s a matching bra and panty set, both see-through, but lined on the edges with delicate red and pink hearts. He picked that out for this because the whole human furniture kink can leave a sub feeling humiliated or degraded and sometimes that’s the point, but he never wants you to feel that way so he went with hearts.

You slip out of your clothes and into the outfit, feeling the arousal pool between your legs already. Aside from the matching set, he didn’t instruct anything, so you ask if you can pair the outfit with your red patent-leather pumps. 

He practically chokes out a yes, and you have to laugh. He’s really looking forward to this. Hopefully you love it. Though you’re not afraid to safe word with him, not anymore. 

Walking outside, you meet his gaze. It takes everything in him not to take you right there. “I’m going to go over the rules one more time. First, there is to be no speaking unless I specifically ask you too. Even if you make a sound, I’ll use the ballgag. Second, you may move, but don’t drop my book. Third, we’ll only do this for a max of 30 minutes because I don’t want you to get annoyingly uncomfortable. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Spencer walks into the kitchen to grab himself a drink as you assume your position on your hands and knees next to his armchair. Given the words he can read per minute, when he sits down to read he can read between 3 and 6 books in the time you’ll be doing this.

You keep your back as straight as possible as he lays four books on your back. Two he’s picked for himself, The Return of the King and Moby Dick, the other two you can tell he’s picked to up the anticipation for you - A Sport and a Pastime by James Salter and Couples by John Updike - both focused on sex in one way or another. 

At your side, Spencer falls into his chair, legs both up and crossed, his body hunched over - his usual reading position. His drink sits in the cup holder on the arm chair and you silently thank the gods that he didn’t ask you to balance that. It would be infinitely harder and more uncomfortable. 

Feeling the books waver on your back, you straighten your arms as much as possible. You’re almost positive you’re dripping down your leg already, but you can’t check, and Spencer’s subtle indifference at your side heightens it all. It’s because he pretends at indifference; you know the truth. 

Spencer stands up and places the book he was reading, Couples, underneath the rest of them. He’s finished it. It’s one of the shorter ones so you imagine it’s only been 5 minutes or so. Without a word, he walks into your bedroom and strides out seconds later with your stainless steel butt plug. He crouches down and uses his thumb to open your mouth, placing the cool steel inside. It’s heavy on your tongue and you feel your pussy quiver. You swear you see a smirk cross his face as he gets up to return to his seat. 

You moan inwardly as you suck the steel in your mouth, shivering when Spencer absentmindedly runs his pointer and middle fingers up and down your slit. They snake in between your overheated skin and the panties you’re wearing and slip into you. It takes everything in you not to moan.

A flip of the page can be heard at your side. It’s been a while you think - you wonder if Spencer is getting distracted by this as much as you are. You hope so. He pulls his fingers from your slickness and goes to remove the plug from your mouth with his pinky and ring fingers before wordlessly replacing them with the fingers coated in your arousal; you’re meant to clean them.

Sucking on his fingers, you channel every aspect of your being into making him hard. You swipe your tongue over and around him, bobbing your head back and forth just like you would on his cock. When he groans, you smile to yourself.

He’s finished another book, and by the weight on your back you assume it’s one of the bigger books he’d chosen. Something says The Return of the King. A few weeks prior he’d mentioned wanting to read it again. Your body begins to shake when his breath hits the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I have two other books to read, but you’re distracting me.”

Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. You open your mouth and let his thumb slip inside

“Do you have any idea what this does to me?” He asks.

You chance a glance at his cock and smile around his thumb. 

Quickly, he places the plug back in your mouth for a second before pushing the books off your back. He stands up and pushes his pants down so he can kneel down behind you. Although you’re no longer holding his books, you still remain motionless as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and lets them pool at your knees.

Wrapping his arm around your midsection, he pulls you up flush against his chest and removes the plug from your mouth. “You’re allowed to speak now,” he says, biting your earlobe. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, Sir. Please. I want the plug in my ass and your cock in my pussy and your fingers in my mouth. Please.”

As he pushes the cold steel against the tight ring of muscle, you push down against him, whimpering as it fills you. “Show me who I belong to,” you breathe.

His fingers graze along your throat and up to your mouth, where his fingers now rest. Pumping himself twice, he pushes himself inside you, the pressure mounting from both ends. He thrusts upward, hands grasping at every inch of your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl. 

Between fingers in your mouth, his hand covering your pussy and the fullness you feel, you know it won’t be long.

“Come for me, Y/N.” He begs. 

You buck into his hand, rubbing your clit against his fingers and reach back, gathering his hair in your hand to pull his lips to yours. “I love you, Spence.”

Those simple words push him over the edge and he buries himself inside you, shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. As he collapses into your back, you place your hand over his and massage his fingers into your clit until you cry out, your eyes hot with tears as you almost fall into the floor. As always, Spencer is there to catch you. 

“God, I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Spence. Was that everything you wanted?”

“Yes. Absolutely. A hundred times over. You?”

You’re bereft as he pulls himself out of you, but he turns you toward him and gathers you close. “Yes, I’m a little surprised at how much I enjoyed that. Like...I could do that frequently.”

“Once a week?” He asks, smiling when you nod. “It’s a date. What do you want to do now?”

“Cuddles. Definitely need cuddles.”

“Shower cuddles?” He asks hopefully.

“You just want be all naked and wet and drippy.”

Snickering, he swipes his fingers along your slit. “I’ve already got you naked and wet and drippy, but also...guilty.”

[princessjungeun]

Caramel Latte: Chungha x Reader

Request: Hi! Can i request a fluffy coffee shop au with chungha. I can't think of the details at the moment (sorry)

You groaned at the sound of your alarm, not wanting to wake up at 6 am. Quickly you got dressed in a pair of jeans, a white t shirt, and your favorite pair of sneakers. You tied your hair up in a messy bun and pulled on your favorite hoodie before rushing out the door.

The cold air hit your skin sending shivers down your spine, the walk was shorter than usual because you practically ran to get out of the cold. The coffee shop was only a few blocks up the street so you didn’t have to run for long.

You walked inside and flipped on the lights before starting to brew the coffees and teas for the day. Thankfully not many people knew this little shop existed. You had just enough customers to make good money but not enough customers to be overwhelmed.

“Hey Y/N!” Your coworker Yerim happily called through the coffee shop. She pulled the pastries from their bags and placed them in the display cases. You both worked quickly so you could open on time. When you both finished you pulled on your aprons on and clipped on your name tags. Yerim turned the sign in the window so it said OPEN then hopped back behind the counter with you.

As the morning went on people came in and out, heading to work or school. Some sat around and talked while others came in and left quickly. The warm atmosphere inside along with the gentle smell of coffee settling in the air, made for a comfortable environment.

The bell that hung from the door snapped you out of your thoughts. One of your most frequent customers shuffled through. She was a Korean girl, she had to be around your age. She was without a doubt one of the most beautiful girls you’d ever seen. She always ordered the same drink, a caramel latte with soy milk and cinnamon on the top. However she never once ordered with the same name. Over the past few weeks you’d heard her say so many names you weren’t sure if she ever slipped her own to you.

“Hot caramel latte with soy milk and cinnamon on the top for here?” You asked her with a soft smile. She returned the smile and said “yes please.” You asked “and what will the name be for this order?” She responded “Chungha”. As usual you read the order back to her “nodded and entered the information into the cash register. “Hot caramel latte with soy milk and cinnamon on the top for Chungha?” She nodded and you said “ok that’ll be $4.50. I’ll bring it to your table.” She paid in cash making sure to give you a $10, putting the change equally in your and Yerim’s tip jar.

When you went back to make her drink Yerim asked “is that the girl who never uses the same name?” You nodded as you focused on pouring the hot coffee in the shallow mug. Carefully you prepared her drink making sure not to mess anything up. You walked slowly bringing it to her table before placing it in front of her, “Hot caramel latte with soy milk and cinnamon on the top for Chungha.”

The girl looked up from her book and smiled at you, pushing her glasses up as they almost slid off her face. Throughout the day you stole quick glances from her direction, she got up occasionally to use the restroom but that was all. She paged through her book for hours until about an hour before closing. You watched as she pulled a small calendar and started writing in it, not showing any signs of stopping.

Another hour passed and it was time for you and Yerim to close up. You both started to clean up behind the counters before telling customers to leave, you knew they found this place as an escape from reality. It was something you shared with many customers, forcing them out before they had to just felt wrong.

Soon both you and Yerim had finished cleaning for the day, and as usual you both made drinks for yourself before getting ready to leave.

“Hey...” You heard a familiar soft voice behind you. Turning around you saw the girl behind you with a soft smile. She asked “do you have anywhere to be after this?” You shook your head and said “no why?” She responded “this might sound strange but I was wondering if you’d wanna hang out?” You nearly choked on your own breath but did your best to cover up your surprise “yeah sure.” Yerim shooed you away telling you she’d lock up for you so you could run off with this mystery girl.

You walked outside with the girl and asked “what’s your name?” She responded “Chungha” You asked “seriously? Or is that a fake name? You’ve told me hundreds i. the past I don’t know which one is yours.” She laughed and said “no no I promise it’s Chungha.” She walked and talked with you, the further you two talked, the more you realized you both shared a lot in common.

You told her I have a question”, she nodded and you continued “why did you want to walk with me?” She responded “well...I kind of realized, well a while ago I realized that I really like you.” You asked “me?” She responded “mhm” You laughed and said “you can do much better than me, look at you. You have like everything all in one.”

She turned to you “but I like you. You’re little smile you have everytime I walk in. And the way you blush when Yerim teases you about me. The way you use a heart stencil for the cinnamon on my latte. The way you laugh so loud it fills the entire coffee shop, especially when Yerim spills something on herself. I like all of those things about you.” You felt your face heat up “what’re you saying...” She asked “will you go on a date with me tomorrow?” You nodded with a smile and she hugged you. She stopped in front of a large shiny apartment complex “this is me, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She slipped you a piece of paper before running off up to her place. You opened the paper and saw her phone number scribbled into it.

When you got back to your apartment you called Yerim and told her what happened. Your best friend/coworker was beyond thrilled for you.

•

•

•

The following day you woke up with a smile on your face. When you got to work you did the usual things that came with your job, Yerim showing you an hour after you. Customers came in and out throughout the day but Chungha didn’t show. You felt sad she wasn’t there but you had faith that she’d show up for your date as planned.

You left from behind the counter to go change about 30 minutes before your shift ended, per Yerim’s request. When you came from the back room your best friend had a wide smile across her face. “You look so good oh my goodness! It’s like you’re a whole brand new person!” You laughed and said “yeah I guess...”

While Yerim washed up everything behind the counter, you cleaned the tables and flipped the chairs to help out. As soon as you and Yerim finished locking up you heard a voice from behind you.

“Y/N.” You turned around to see Chungha, looking even more beautiful at that. She was wearing a black pair of jeans and a black t shirt but a full face of makeup. Yerim ran off so she didn’t interrupt you two, leaving you both alone.

“I’m sorry. My agency booked me for a photoshoot last minute, I was there all day so I couldn’t be here with you.” She sincerely said, puffing heavily in between words. You asked “did you run here?” She nodded and said “uh huh...I- I was two miles away. We- we ended.... 15 minutes ago.” You let her catch her breath before you continued conversation.

Once she regained her breath you linked arms with her and started walking. You asked her “agency?” She nodded and said “yeah i’m signed with FORD Models.” Your eyes widened “FORD Models? Like THE FORD Models?!” She laughed and said “yeah that’s the one.” You asked “why haven’t I seen you around?” She responded “my photoshoots are only seen overseas right now, but i’ll be here soon enough I hope.”

You both hopped into a public bus and rode it to the last stop. When you walked off you saw a beautiful beach with a long dock. You two walked along the dock, sitting on a bench that overlooked the water.

You sat down and asked “why’d you bring me here?” She responded “it’s somewhere I come to a lot actually. When I first signed with FORD I didn’t know anyone, I was the youngest one signed to the adults contracts. I found coming here and listening to the waves was where I felt the most comfort.”

You hesitated but grew the confidence and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She scooted closer to you and rested her head on your shoulder. You both remained silent for a while enjoying the view in front of you.

The sun started to slowly dip beneath the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange. You said softly “it’s so beautiful.” Chungha smiled softly and reached for your hand. Her thumb grazed the back of it and she said “you’re beautiful.” You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach hearing her words, your heart speeding up as well.

You both waited until the sun was completely gone before heading back into the city and your respective homes.

The both of you stood outside of Chungha’s apartment complex. “I had a lot of fun tonight Y/N, thank you for agreeing to come out with me.” She thanked you with a genuine smile. You responded “you don’t have to thank me, and I had an amazing time too.”

She told you “goodnight I’ll see you tomorrow” She turned around and made it halfway to the main doors of her building before she turned back around and ran back to you. “Whats wrong?” You asked her with concern. She responded “I forgot to do something.” You raised an eyebrow and without hesitation she stood on her tip toes and pulled you in for a kiss. When she pulled away she had the same soft smile you loved. She pecked your lips a second time before turning around again and walking inside.

You smiled from ear to ear, your cheeks turning a bright pink upon the realization of what just happened. You couldn’t wait to get home and hush to Yerim over the phone about your incredible date.

[lostinspidey]

when my heart heals, it beats for you | peter parker

summary/request: “hi i have an ffh request! could you write about peter calling stark!reader instead of happy to come rescue him, but due to all the mysterio illusions he doesn't trust the reader at first?”

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was meant to be a shorter blurb but then... this happened. i guess i had a lot of Feelings about this scene and this concept and general, so thanks to whoever requested this for giving me an excuse to write them all out! gif was made by @pterparkcr​ :-)

warning(s): FFH SPOILERS!!!, if you’ve seen the film you know there’s gonna be some angst

“so let me get this straight,” happy says, watching warily from the doorway of your bedroom as you throw some belongings into your backpack: passport, band-aids, a bottle of painkillers. through the quickened breaths and troubled tone, you remember how strained peter’s voice sounded on the phone a mere twenty minutes ago. you’re almost sure he needs them.

you raise your eyebrows. “happy, please don’t give me a hard time about this.”

“peter calls you, asks you for help picking him up from the netherlands, of all places,” he continues, folding his arms over his chest. “so naturally, you call me?”

“uh, yeah.”

you struggle to zip up your backpack - it’s nearly filled to the brim with whatever first aid supplies were lying around the house. 

happy lets out a sharp, exasperated breath. “can i ask why?”

“because,” you sling your backpack over your shoulder. “you’re the only person i know who can fly one of dad’s jets.”

he doesn’t have a response for that.

luckily, the jet - with its stark industries logo recently repainted - is already parked outside, just a couple hundred yards from your house in a clearing that overlooks the lake. as you and happy make the small trek towards the aircraft and climb onboard, you try not to think too hard about how, exactly, peter’s voice sounded during your brief phone call. how you, just as frightened as he was, could do little to calm him down.

“alright, y/n, i just entered the coordinates and it looks like it’ll take us a little less than three hours to get there. you’re not forgetting anything, are you?”

i - i messed up, y/n. i need your help.

“y/n?” 

happy looks at you over the back of his chair. you cross and uncross your legs in the seat behind him, avoiding his worried gaze. with how much movement your body and brain have been through the past thirty minutes or so, sitting still seems impossible.

“i should’ve gone on the trip,” you whisper.

happy sighs, twisting his body to get a better look at you.

“don’t go blaming yourself. peter wouldn’t want that.”

you shake your head insistently, staring down at your shaky hands. “he - he asked if i wanted to go on the trip, you know. i told him i wasn’t ready to leave home after everything that’s happened but i know - i just know - that dad would’ve wanted me to keep an eye on him instead of selfishly staying here -“

“y/n,” happy interrupts. “do you really flying halfway across the world to save somebody is selfish?”

your lips quirk up a bit. 

“technically, you’re the one who’s flying,” you joke.

happy chuckles, giving you a small, supportive nod before beginning the proper steps towards takeoff. you’re glad he’s here; glad that you’re not stuck in a crowded airport surrounded by people who can’t even begin to understand what’s going on. not that you really do, either.

predictably, the plane ride feels much longer than two hours and forty-eight minutes. the minute happy is turned back around, you slump down in your seat, trying to busy yourself with your phone or the book you remembered to stuff in your backpack. it’s your favorite, its pages ripped and torn after having been flipped through so many times. 

it reminds you too much of peter, with his rough edges and the way he never fails to make you happy. you toss it into the seat next to you and hope that staring out the window will be enough of a distraction.

i really need your help, y/n. please.

it’s hard not to think about your father, either. you inherited his protectiveness, among other things, and while being tony stark’s daughter has always been a lot to live up to, none of that has mattered as much as being a kind person. that’s all your dad really cared about, anyway. you can’t shake the feeling that by letting peter venture off to another country alone, you’ve really let him down.

you clench the arms of your seat, and somehow time moves faster now that you’ve managed to dream up enough false hope that maybe, just maybe, peter’s okay. because in a way, he kind of has to be.

and then, finally, you see it: through the fading clouds, a vibrant tulip field that is most definitely too beautiful for the situation you’re in. happy lands the jet in a bright batch of yellows and pinks, and after its wheels hit the ground, you can’t help but notice how quiet it is. 

too quiet.

“um, happy?” you join him in the cockpit, scanning the field for any sign of movement. “are you sure this is right?”

“these are the coordinates for the location you gave me.”

you glance around more fervently. panic rises in your chest as the seconds go by, as the tulip field starts to feel more and more empty.

“happy.” you can feel your breath hitch, eyes starting to water. “i don’t see him.”

“relax, y/n. please. i’m sure he’s on his -”

“oh my god,” you whisper.

happy gets quiet, too, his gaze seeming to settle on the same spot right when yours does. 

from across the field you can see peter - your peter - except he’s clearly not the way he was when he left, so it almost feels wrong calling him that. he limps towards the jet, eyes squinting in the beaming sun. his arm is wrapped right around his middle, and you know it’s because he’s trying to hold himself together in more ways than one.

the closer he gets, you start to notice how much blood is caked on his face.

“door’s open,” happy tells you urgently. you didn’t notice your ears were ringing until his voice slices through the high-pitched noise. “bring him inside. hurry.”

somehow, your legs carry you through the length of the jet and descend down the stairs. peter’s a lot closer now, but you still sprint towards him, leaping over batches of tulips you don’t want to crush with your feet until you finally, finally, end up in front of him.

at first, you can’t help the way your face twists in concern. he’s completely torn up, dried blood and grime flaking and falling from his skin. your eyes trail over the fresh bruises on his arms, the long scrape against his cheekbone.

“peter,” you choke out, throwing your arms around his neck forcefully. he loses his balance a bit but manages to catch you, face buried into your shoulder.

“it’s okay, it’s alright.” you squeeze him tighter, balling up the back of his shirt with your fists. “i - i’m so, so sorry for whatever’s happened to you, but everything’s fine. i’m here now, okay bug? we’re gonna get you home.”

but when you pull away enough to get another look at his face, it’s clear the boy is in a state of complete shock. confusion. he’s looking at you the same way someone would look at a foreign object. 

the unsureness in his eyes is enough for you to drop your arms back down to your sides.

“peter,” you say slowly. “what is it?”

“how do i know it’s really you?” he asks, voice quavering. the terror in his voice is much more prominent than it was on the phone. it makes your heartbeat quicken.

you blink. “i - what? what do you mean?”

“i-i mean,” he gulps, nearly reaching for you before letting his arms fall. “are you real? like, are - are you really standing in front of me right now?”

“what are you talking about? of course i’m real.”

a wince possesses his face, turning soft features into stone. you study them until it gets to be too much for peter, who uncomfortably takes a small step away from you. 

“peter, look at me,” you urge, and you wait until he does to continue. “i’m real, see? the jet’s real. look at these pretty flowers. they’re real, too, baby.”

“prove it,” he whispers, eyes filling up with tears.

“prove it how?”

“tell me something about me. a-about us. something only you would know.”

“alright, okay. let me think.” you let out a deep breath, glancing around the tulip field, the leaf-filled trees that remind you of home. “oh! i’ve got it.” 

peter raises his eyebrows, still more than a little distrusting of you. you run a hand through your hair as you try to descramble the words in your brain.

“remember that one time we went hiking through the woods by my house?” you ask, staring deep into his eyes, searching for any sign of clarity. “you saw a huge spider and accidentally killed it and you swore me to secrecy in case it violated some kind of spider-slash-spider-man code that would cause all the spiders in the world to suddenly turn against you, and -”

he takes a step forward, nearly sweeping you off your feet as he wraps you in a much more willing embrace than before. he lets out a mixture between a sob and a laugh into your shoulder, hands frantically tangling in your hair.

it’s like he’s urging you to hold onto him - to anchor him to the ground, to the reality you’re both experiencing, no matter how messy and unstable it is right now.

“it’s you,” he breathes. “it’s really you.”

the sheer relief in his voice makes you cry a bit, too. “yes, love, it’s really me.”

you allow yourself to melt into him, into his familiar arms that are too soft for being so strong, and adjust to the fact that peter’s actually here. he’s here. he’s safe. clearly broken and scarred, but as long as he’s within reach, that should be enough for you to put him back together again.

“i missed you so much,” he says, pulling the words right out of your brain.

you nod, hands starting to rub his back comfortingly. “i should’ve come.”

“believe me, babygirl, i’m so glad you decided not to.”

you’re about to ask him what that could mean - what in god’s name is going on in the first place - when a gust of wind blows, a chill running down your spine. he pulls you in tighter, fingers running down your arms until the goosebumps subside.

“you made fun of me for weeks after that hike.” he chuckles, then sniffles, and you don’t mind the way he probably just wiped his nose against your shirt. “r-remember that, too?”

“mhm. remember how you tripped over that huge log on the way back?”

“gosh. what an embarrassing day for me.”

you draw back a bit, pushing a stray curl behind his ear, smiling at the way he leans into your touch. “i guess i could’ve been a bit nicer about it.”

he shakes his head. “don’t worry about it. it was pretty funny.”

he gives you a watery smile, hands settling against your shoulders, and this is the peter you know and love - the one that stares at you this earnestly, touches you this gently. he’s only been gone for a few days, and so much as probably changed, but never peter. he’ll always be the wide-eyed boy you would travel halfway across the world for.

then something shifts in his gaze a bit, and you frown, placing a tender hand on his cheek.

“peter, it really is me. i promise. i - i don’t know who has you convinced i’m not me but i am.”

“i know,” he says, then mutters it again to himself quietly. “i know.”

for a moment it’s quiet again. another breeze blows, chilling your spine all over again, but you don’t let it distract you from peter’s stare. you can tell that something huge is still gnawing at him, that he still has a lot to fear for. and now, so do you.

you use your hands to guide his face closer to yours, his skin warm beneath your careful touch, and you’re not sure who leans in first. all you know is that you end up kissing him, the knots in your stomach unwinding with every movement of his mouth against yours. 

“o-okay, yeah, this definitely feels real,” he breathes, causing the two of you to laugh against each other’s lips.

you lean back in and kiss him until all the uncertainty seems to fade, until his arms are no longer stiff as they remain draped around your waist. until he pulls away and looks at you with a renewed sense of hope, a slightly bigger smile on his face.

“now,” you raise your eyebrows, affectionately brushing your fingertips over the bruises and cuts on his right cheek. the last thing you want to do is get down to business; you’d rather sit peter on the plane and take him someplace he feels safe, or at the very least keep standing in this very spot, arms snug and secure around each other. 

but you’re almost certain happy is watching you from the cockpit, wondering what on earth is taking so long.

“you’ve got some serious explaining to do,” you tell him.

he nods, looking back down at his feet. 

“if only i knew where to begin.”

[theflashdriver]

Rapunzel’s Tower (Silvaze)

The clatter and jangle of heavy bangles boomed above the sound of fast footsteps on cobblestone streets as a young knight rushed towards the tower. Blaze the cat, age seven, was not her usual self today; the young feline had taken on a guise, a façade to fit a role she was currently playing. While she was wearing her usual tattered robe and tights, a cape from a centuries abandoned costume store was flitting and fluttering behind her while the visor of and old plastic helmet obscured her vision of the cracked and burning streets around her. Those old trinkets, coupled with the rusted pipe that was her sword, might have given the illusion that she was a more pitiful and crude knight, but this was not the case.

Blaze was playing the role of a young knight who had set off to save a fair maiden from a distant castle in which she'd been sealed, battling her way over all manner of obstacles and destroying all kinds of beasts in search of her true love. Of course, despite the make-believe nature of this game, those obstacles and monsters were oh so very real. The flaming beasts that prowled this city had got in her way more than once, only to be seen off by either a thwack from her supposed sword or a burst of flame from her free hand. Every time she had to dispose of a monster or hurl herself across a lava filled gorge, she would question whether this game of theirs was the best idea but soon she'd fall back into her knightly persona.

This had all come about as a result of two ancient but very different sources. The first was the books they'd been reading or, well, more specifically; the books that the tower's maiden had rather fallen in love with. Since the destruction of their prior home, they'd taken up residence in a library on the edge of the city and rather fallen in love with the various books housed within it. They'd started by reading informative pieces, introducing themselves to the wonders of the past, before gradually stumbling upon the more fanciful tales of both regular and not so regular lives. Her partner, Silver, had rather fallen in love with tales of pirates and knights and kings and queens, often reading them to her and bordering on enacting them to her. His excitement had come to a head recently though, after they'd discovered a most peculiar shop. It seemed to have gone mostly untouched by time, no one had breached its windows or broken down its door, but both inside were countless treasures. Rings, bangles, tiaras, necklaces and other trinkets had just been left in glass display cases for no clear reason. Why someone would choose to buy those shiny objects rather than food or water, neither of them really knew but they did know that the objects belonged in treasure chests and adorning princesses.

Now, taking from long abandoned shops was nothing new for them (it was the only way to survive in their long-destroyed world) but, usually, they stole for either comfort or survival. All of these objects, despite how pretty they were, looked to be entirely pointless; they could gain no sustenance from them and they offered no comfort or protection. However, the naïve pleading of her partner, and a certain red gem that fit so well on her forehead, had convinced Blaze to fill a bag with those sparkling trinkets. On the way home he had proposed using them in a re-enactment; more specifically, that they re-enacted a scene from one of the shorter stories that he'd read to her. It'd taken some convincing, but she had agreed to play his little game under only one condition: that she got to be the knight while he played the part of the princess.

He'd immediately agreed, simply excited to play and not seeming to particularly care what role he took. While that had embarrassed her at first, she'd stood helpless as he scrambled to find some shining armour and when he had brought her a cape from his bedroom, Blaze had felt an excitement brewing in her stomach. A childish, foolish, excitement but excitement none the less. Her armour was adorned from most of their plundered goods, broaches and pins had been stuck through her robe to create small shining patches. Rings and bangles had covered her hands to take the form of makeshift gauntlets, but many had been shed as she ran. Admittedly, even with all they'd taken and dressed her in, she didn't look much like the knights they'd read about in history books or plays, but she did feel… different.

She dashed and leapt across another jagged chasm, using her sword as leverage to vault over an especially wide gap and land safely on the other side. Her eyes locked on a pair of prowling magma hounds, their maws snapped open as they caught sight of the small girl's form. She threw her left hand in one's direction, unleashing a blast of flame that threw it backwards. The second rushed towards her, arriving just in time for its face to meet with her rusted pipe. Without so much as looking back, she kept running; the castle now in sight.

The tower, in actuality, was a skyscraper that had broken and collapsed long before either of them were born. Though the majority of it now lay shattered over the shops and houses that were behind it, its stump still stood tall and proud over the majority of the surrounding buildings. Though Blaze could see it, she knew that the site was especially difficult to reach; that was why they'd chosen it as the stranded princess' keep, after all.

Focusing again on her role, becoming the knight, Blaze charged around the final corner and locked her eyes upon the tower's decrepit plaza. There was a lot on her way; several lava rivers had carved channels through this part of the city and earthquakes had displaced much of the land, segmenting the streets and pavement alike. She threw a glance to the top of the tower; she swore that she could see the flickering of cyan light but, from this distance and at this angle, she couldn't make out Silver.

She resumed her sprint, tracing along the angular central crack that ran along the street, but soon she had shifted to jumping and bouncing. Every third or fourth step was followed by more cracking, the ground had been made brittle by years of constant heat and pressure. She found herself more and more using her pipe to vault and ground herself, very almost losing it to the flames time and time again only to catch and swing it at the very last second. Fleet of foot and elegant, but perhaps not steadfast like the knight in the tale, Blaze soon found herself in the plaza beneath the broken structure.

It took her a moment to find a spot that would fully support her, it seemed as though her every step disturbed the ground somehow, but, eventually, she settled near the spire's base. In its working life, the building had provided homes to hundreds of people. Now it was but a jagged piece of the skyline, too rickety and impractical for anyone to really live in. Positioned closer and frowning upward, the kitten could see a psychic glow plainly emanating above her. After a bit more squinting, Blaze determined that Silver wasn't in view yet; he was hiding until she called out to him, just as the princess had in the story. The moment she spoke up, he'd make his appearance and recite his lines.

Blaze thought for a moment, trying to remember what the knight had said. She must have taken a while because, before she could hazard a guess, the very book that she was supposed to be enacting tumbled down from the skyscraper on a beam of cyan light. The young feline managed to snatch it from the air, finding it already open at the perfect page.

Upon reading no more than the first few words, the knight automatically recalled her lines. Holding the book behind her back, she pointed her sword to the heavens, "Rapunzel, my dearest Rapunzel, I've come for you!"

Now, finally, the princess showed herself. Silver, currently known as Rapunzel, had borrowed one of Blaze's hair ties and pulled back his usually over the top quills. In an attempt to further transform his appearance, the hedgehog had wrapped himself in a thick beige shawl and various silk scarves to give the outfit more colour. From down there it was difficult to see, but she knew that his fingers were covered in rings too.

"Who is it? Who has come to see me?" He called down, leaning precariously over what remained of a wall.

"It is I, your handsome knight!" She shouted back, unable to keep herself from thinking that the so-called knight in the story thought just a little too highly of himself. After all, his only name in this entire book was the handsome knight, "I've come to save you!"

"But how will you join me up here? My father broke the stairs when he locked me away in this tower, I'm trapped!" He exposited, "I've been alone up here for so many years, I'm oh so lonely!"

"But it is being alone for so many years that will bring me to you!" She replied, pointing her sword even harder, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

There was a beat of silence, a mutual realisation surely dawned upon both of them. In the story, the princess Rapunzel was supposed to let down her hair for the knight to climb up. While it was unclear how the happy pair had got down afterwards and left to live happily ever after, the story could not continue without the scaling of the princess' tower and the actual first meeting of the knight and their love. Silver's quills were long, but they weren't multiple stories long, there was no way-

"Dear knight! Do you trust me?" That wasn't in the book, "My hair may not yet be long enough, but I can bring us together another way!"

Blaze saw cyan light begin to pulse and flicker around her frame and creep into her vision, not imprisoning her or grasping her so much as it was making clear his intent. She bit her lip, both her fists tightened around the respectively grasped book and pipe. She was frightened, terrified of heights, but she knew the answer to what he'd asked. They were alone in this destroyed world, they worked and fought and lived and played together.

"Of course, I trust you, d-dear princess! More than I trust anyone else!" She called out, shutting her eyes tight, "J-Just promise that you'll get me up there safely!"

Aura began to tickle at her sides, "I promise, my knight! I'll get you up here as quickly as I can!"

"M-Maybe not quickly!" She felt his psychic touch hesitate, "But not too slowly either…" She grumbled, probably too quietly for him to hear, "Just safely! J-Just get me up there safely!"

The kitten felt a gentle touch, like some kind of hug, wrap around her shoulders before gradually spreading to encase her entire torso. Mere moments after she'd managed to get comfortable with that, her feet seemed to slip from the ground and a light wind began to whistle through her ears. Her toes curled and her teeth grit, she didn't dare to open her eyes even if she knew what was happening. She trusted him not to drop her, that much was true, but she didn't trust her fear not to stoke her powers and tear her from his grasp; sending her plummeting to the concrete below. Eventually though, she felt the air brush her muzzle directly rather than from above; she'd reached the correct elevation, she was being pulled towards him. The moment of truth arrived not with a sound, but something brushing past her shoulder and a hand taking hold of her book wielding wrist.

Her eyes opened, blue energy still tinted her vision, but Silver was the centre of all she saw. The small hedgehog was close, almost nose to nose with her, as he leaned out over the edge of the tower to manually pull her onto its top. She let her sword drop before she landed, it clattered onto the roof as she grabbed at his shoulder with her newly freed hand. Her fear of heights had gotten better since she'd met him, he'd offered to help her with it much too often, but there was still a way to go until she'd be comfortable jumping from building to building or even standing atop this one. They'd been up here before, she knew the floor was stable, but this rooftop was never meant to be a rooftop; it wasn't designed to endure rain, let alone the landing and spittle of lava monsters, and she swore it'd gained more holes since their last visit.

As if noticing her worry, as she made contact with the ground, Silver brought both his arms to tightly wrap around her. It was a comfort and contact that she immediately returned, dropping the book too as she took hold of him. It only took a minute or so for her to relax, feeling her heart slow to match his, but the moment that her features softened and she caught his eye, a smile broke onto his face.

"My knight, you have saved me from my isolation!" He continued the story, continuing to beam, "How can I repay you?"

"Just stay by my side forever, that will be more than enough," She recited from memory, attempting to regain the knight's cool air, "I've searched for you for so long, I don't want to lose you again."

"Then it will be done, I'll stay by your side forevermore!" He insisted, completing the scene by pulling her into an even tighter hug.

His fluffy quills brushed and ticked at her. Though she turned her head in an attempt to hide it, Blaze couldn't help but grin. It'd been very silly, they probably should've spent this time searching for food or reinforcing their home, but Blaze couldn't deny that she'd thoroughly enjoyed this pseudo performance. There was something almost regular about it all, almost as if it suited them better than doing what they had to. She supposed that made sense, they were kids after all and, according to the books at least, kids were supposed to imagine and play games. There was a whole section in the library meant for children and very little of its literature was particularly practical, even if those stories were far more fun to read.

She would never admit that, of course. She always insisted that silly games like this were the result of his sole machinations. But then, he displayed more than enough joy for the both of them.

"You did great Blaze, you really fit the part!" He was practically bouncing, beaming brighter and brighter with each passing second, "But… can I be the knight next time? That all looked really fun and I'll be able to fly up to you; you won't have to worry about getting scared if I do that, right?"

"We can take turns," She conceded but, as she through a small glance towards the ground, her grip on him redoubled in tightness, "But… I don't want to be up this high without you."

"Alright! We can find somewhere lower," He offered, grinning so widely that she thought his cheeks might break, "We could even just do it in the library if you prefer, there are plenty of fairy tales about princesses in dungeons too!"

--- --- ---

The memories of that time were a lifetime away and yet they were still so fresh in her mind. Blaze the cat, age eighteen, was stood on her bedroom balcony. The structure overlooked the royal gardens. Though the grounds were currently devoid of workers, the rose bushes, sunflowers and plants from far afield had been tended for generations and bloomed today with the same vigour they had a century prior. The sun had set almost an hour ago, the last trickles of pink and orange were slowly fading from the sky, and yet she was still wide awake. In a rather uncouth fashion, she'd brought her dinner to her bedroom with the promise to eat while she worked.

But she had done neither. Instead, she'd spent what little time she'd had pacing back and forth across the royal bedchamber; her mind had latched onto those old memories she'd so recently discovered. Memories of a life in which she played the part of a princess rather than lived as one.

They'd thought jewellery no more than interesting rocks stuck to shiny metals, their concept of value had been so jaded that the plate of cold paella on her desk would be worth all the rings and diamonds in the world. They'd been famished, they were delusional children clinging to each other against the odds. Any rational person wouldn't dare think back to those memories or, if they did, would consider them no better than tragic, the most difficult and dangerous time of their lives. So why did she feel like this, what were these bizarre thoughts that cluttered her mind and pushed out every other thought?

Why was she so nostalgic for that terrible place, what possible reason was there?

She'd left that world wishing it better, she'd given her life without so much as hesitating. She could remember looking down at him as her ethereal form drifted up and split the clouds as she passed from one life into the next. Blaze had essentially reincarnated, not only had she forgotten that life, but its pain and strain had been entirely removed from her mind and body. She'd been reborn, this new dimension had granted her an entire refresh of both mind and body, but yesterday had seen her regain half of that. Her mind was spinning, filled to burst with tumultuous memories that so heavily contradicted the life she'd just lived. The current mismatched form of her memory was already having impacts on her mind and body.

The sunset she'd just spent the past hour watching had occurred outside her bedroom window every night for the past eighteen years. Every night, she'd had the option to watch or even simply glance as the sun descended before slipping beneath the horizon. She never had though, or, at least, she hadn't since she was young. The glory and wonder of that sight had been entirely lost on her, she'd become desensitised to it. It'd been made mundane by its perpetuity, made a commodity by their daily occurrence, but now it wasn't so daily. Now she could remember fourteen years spent in a city where the clouds never parted, and it was as if this was the first sunset she'd ever actually seen.

Until her departure, the skies of that future had been overwhelmed by black sulphurous clouds that light refused to penetrate. She'd gone without seeing a sunrise or sunset for fourteen whole years, she'd seen nothing but the most dower of grey skies. This life hadn't been so different though, the sky had been there, but she'd never seen its value. It was all thanks to him; his returning of her memories had saved her from more than a dull castle view, he had unlocked the version of her that'd been hidden away in the shambling tower that was her newly unharmed body.

Unlike that once forgotten day, the first of many times they'd embodied those childish roles and played that silly game, she'd actually saved him. She'd given herself up for him and the world; she'd revealed the sky by leaving rather than arriving. It was painful to think how pointless it had all been though, that their loss of one another had only pealed back one of many layers of disaster that stood between them and the good future they desired. The peaceful world that he fought for was still sealed behind a two-hundred-year barrier of crisis that would surely take decades of work to unlock.

It was with that thought that a speck of cyan light fluttered up and found its way into Blaze's vision, soon being followed by a handful of larger glowing globules before, finally, a grey-white figure masked by that that same energy floated up to enter her vision. Despite his arrival and their reuniting just yesterday, she hadn't been able to see him all day. Her work as both guardian and princess had taken up far too much of her time and refused to halt regardless of her headspace. Silver the hedgehog, age eighteen, was floating just outside her grasp. His body was bound in bandages she'd set just yesterday,

He hung before her in the air, smiling as he reached out to her, just as he had in days long past when he had played the role of knight and she had been princess. Without so much as blinking, she took his hand and lead him to stand on the balcony beside her. The contact seemed to stun him just a little, it took a moment for him to round from his position to land beside her.

He'd quickly gone from grinning to looking sheepish, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, I know you said to get here before sundown but I got a little lost and distracted," Before he could even fully apologise, his eyes were flickering back to the outside world, "This place is just so pretty, even the garden down there, it's…"

"It's beautiful," She finished his sentence before continuing, "The sun sets every evening only to rise the next morning without fail and, in the time between the two, the stars come out to dance so wonderfully."

"It's a very different sight from the one I've been seeing," He admitted, plainly scanning the sky for the twinkling of the first star, "Well… not very different, but different enough to notice."

"Oh?" She hummed, briefly managing to tear her gaze from his softer smile.

"Yeah, I don't recognise any constellations, your moon's just a little different too. In the past of my world a lot of it got destroyed. This one looks perfect," She couldn't see it now, but she had last night so she understood him perfectly. Alike the sunset, the moon had stolen a place in her heart, it was undeniably beautiful.

Still, her eyes returned to his frame and the feeling of his hand in hers sapped all of her thoughts. For as overwhelmed as she felt, struggling to rise after that rush of old memories, he was struggling more, even if it wasn't showing so plainly. He'd arrived in a world that perhaps embodied his perfect future only to receive a clear reminder of how long he'd been working at his task, all that it'd already cost him and the future trials ahead of him. Even if he hadn't considered such things yet, those thoughts would surely materialise and bring him to worry; he could be so insecure when he was on his own, so she didn't plan to leave his side.

Blaze tugged his hand, turning him to look away from the sky and to her. He stumbled a little, almost colliding with her as he was made to align with her and the entryway to the royal bedchambers. The hedgehog was framed by the descending sun, even without looking, she could see the stars flickering into visibility behind him. He'd never quite looked real to her, always just a little otherworldly; a figure of bright colours that stood in stark contrast to the burning city that had surrounded them. Here though, flanked by the cosmos beyond this world, he looked more at home than he ever had before. It was almost as if he belonged in this tower rather than her, she couldn't imagine that she looked so stunning with that vista behind her.

Despite how he'd arrived, despite him hovering up to meet her, Blaze knew the role she wanted to play. Fortunately, it was the one she most often took She knew that she wanted to look after him before even considering letting him look after her.

"You know…" She couldn't help but primitively roll her eyes at what she was about to say, a small grin had surely snuck its way onto her lips, but she spoke in her usual dry tone, "I think I liked things better when you were the princess."

Tensions were still so high, these feelings and memories were just so raw, but she couldn't hold a straight face for long and, naturally, neither could he. Their frames reunited, her hands found his shoulders while he came to hug her and their heads heavily pressed against one another. Laughing, even if neither of them were quite sure why they were, they found themselves slowly shifting deeper into her room.

Once they were beyond the threshold, Blaze managed to shift her head from his and take the hedgehog in again. Silver was still laughing, eyes shut as he so casually leant against her. He was quite the mess, his quills still thoroughly overgrown and his fur made mismatched lengths by the injuries he had sustained across this second life, but the warmth behind his smile still shined through. Though his form was slightly different to the Silver she'd known, that smile told her that the naïve hedgehog she'd once known lived on in this new shell. As his eyes finally reopened, she recognised the flash of excitement in them.

"W-Well then, my knight," He was struggling to keep a straight face as he continued her joke, "I made a promise to you once, I don't intend to let it break again," He was playing his role from way back then, perfectly falling back into it, "Now that I've arrived in your tower, I would ask no more than the same from you."

"If that is truly all you wish, my dear princess, then of course, I agree to your terms," At this distance, though she'd been distracted, the scent of salt, smoke and sweat was deeply rooted in his person. Where her soft fur met with his coarser fluff, she could feel the bizarre friction; she'd given him some care yesterday, but it hadn't been enough. No matter how nice he looked with that skyline behind him, there was no denying the truth, "Come on, I'll draw you a bath. You're filthy."

"I jumped in the sea this morning though," He earnestly responded, looking down at himself, "I thought that would be good enough… it took ages to dry off."

"You're still so naïve," He still had so much to learn about living normally, let alone this world, "Just as it's a knight's job to protect the princess, it's my job to look after you. You're dirty, hurt, overgrown…" She noticed that his gaze had drifted past her, his nose was wrinkling. A glance over her shoulder revealed her cold dish of rice and fish, "And clearly famished. Let's get you more comfortable. I won't let you struggle alone for another moment."

All it took was another tug at his wrist to pull his stupefied frame after her. Though this wasn't the role she'd been reborn into, she knew it was the one she suited far better. That and, as the innocently perplexed look on his face proved, he did make for a rather adorable damsel, even if he didn't much need the guardian's more literal protecting.

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Okay, so the first two chapters turned out to be a little dry, but I have big hopes for the third one, so... hang on there! Yes, I know the first few paragraphs are flat, I tried to make them better, and I failed miserably.

IMPORTANT: This is an AU, so things are a teeny bit different. The Francoise-Dupont is an eight-year grammar school (those are a thing in Europe, or at least in a few countries. The kids start middle school and go to the same school until high school graduation, so its both a middle school and a high school in one. Foreign languages are usually thaught there on a higher level, so that explains Marinette's and her class' language skills.)

That's it so far, most changes will be written down in the story, but keep an eye on the summaries! ;) (Even though no one reads these.)

This is also posted on my AO3 account, under the same name.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187025/chapters/50674913

Follow #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons if you don’t want to miss any of the new chapters. ;)

Ch. 1      Next    Masterpost    AO3

________________

Ch. 2: This Was a Bad Idea

Their plane didn't crash.

That was about the only good thing Marinette could think of.

It all started when she and Adrien were forced to sit next to each other during the flight. It wasn't that bad, but things have been a little... tense between them lately. Even though Marinette forgave him a long time ago, she still felt a sense of betrayal every time she had to fight an akuma alone. She knew it was wrong. She had no right to prevent others from being happy. Especially not her friends, but she couldn't help it.

So they sat next to each other, and the first half-hour was spent with Marinette awkwardly staring out of the window and playing with her braid nervously, while Adrien was pretending to read a book, - very poorly, given that he only turned the page five times in thirty minutes. Marinette was counting it.

What a pleasing situation.

Then, of course, Lila got bored of talking about her experience with planes and started throwing around phrases like 'helping defeat the Joker', 'out-riddling the Riddler' and 'knowing who Red Robin is'.

During the past two years, her lies have gotten smaller. Smarter. More innocent. They were no longer fourteen, they didn't believe anything she said, and she realized that. After Lila swore to ruin Marinette's life, Hawkmoth's attacks got stronger and Marinette got... well, older, probably. Wiser. ( Sadder. ) Sometimes she still called her out on her lies, and on a few blissful occasions, her classmates believed her. She wasn't the only one who got wiser, as it turned out. Adrien started to see the wrong in his ways not long after he told Marinette that Lila was harmless and stood up for her almost every time the Italian girl's lies got too toxic to ignore.

There was some kind of quiet compromise between her classmates. They liked Lila, even if she wasn't always "completely honest" - that was the understatement of the year -, and they all had this "proceed with care but do no harm" attitude towards the girl.

So Marinette was pretty surprised when sitting only two seats behind her, Lila once again started feeding them lies so blatant and stupid that they almost managed to make her laugh. It would've been a long and sarcastic laugh, but a laugh nevertheless.

She turned to Adrien who was looking back at her with an expression somewhere between angry and surprised. They stared at each other for a few seconds before they both started grinning uncontrollably.

Then Nino interrupted Lila by showing the group his newest playlist, and the moment was gone.

The awkward silence was threatening to drown them, but Marinette was familiar with drowning and decided she didn't like it.

"What are you pretending to read?" Adrien's ears turned red at the question but being himself, he tried to play it off cool.

" Armada  by Ernest Cline."

She raised a brow, clearly amused by that. "Since when are you into sci-fi?"

"Since it was the first thing I could grab from the bookshelf this morning," he told her with a shrug and closed the book moodily.

Marinette grimaced at him and took a small copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's  Sherlock Holmes out of her bag. Adrien told her to check it out a long time ago, but given her lack of free time, she's only read two stories so far.

She gave it to him without a word.

"Thanks," he said brightly, and actually started reading this time.

Marinette gave him the ghost of a smile, then pulled out her sketchbook hesitantly. She hasn't designed a decent piece of clothing in ages. One would've called it a year-long artist's block, but she preferred "idiocy". It was shorter.

She fell asleep like that, with an empty sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in her hand.

***

Their hotel was near the Gotham Academy, which was near Arkham Asylum, which sucked. Seriously, Gotham? Yeah, let's put the kids next to the murderous psychopaths.

Once they arrived, it was already well past nine PM, so they were sent to their rooms to sleep. They had three rooms for the girls, two with four beds and one with two. Luckily, Marinette managed to occupy the double-room all to herself - Mylene, Chloe, Juleka, and Alix got a room together, and Alya, Rose, Lila, and Sabrina got the other-, so it was pretty easy to sneak out after she realized there was no way for her to stay still after sleeping on the plane.

Being inside past ten o'clock felt weird. She missed the patrols and the light breeze on her face while she swang around Paris, the sensation of falling freely from hundreds of meters, the calm of the environment as she made impossible leaps and jumps in a graceful rhythm.

With no better things to do, she pulled a blanket out of the closet and climbed to the roof.

That night, the sky was more blue than black, and the stars were dull from the city's polluted air. She sat there for who-knows-how-long, wrapped in a blanket, looking upwards, listening to the unfamiliar city beneath. Then she heard quiet footsteps behind her back.

Over the years, she learned the difference between the sounds of someone walking casually and someone trying to muffle their steps, just like she usually knew what kind of shoes they wore, their gender, and approximate height too. These were the steps of a thin man, probably young in leatherette boots, trying to sneak up on her and failing miserably. She let him come close and didn't bother to let him know she was aware of his presence.

"What does a young lady like you do here at this time of the day?" he asked in a charming but threatening voice, and Marinette had to suppress a smile at how badly he did it. She knew she should send him away, or go back to her room before he tries something that gets him ended up on the asphalt beneath them, but she was bored, and he seemed like a very entertaining person.

Instead, she answered just tonelessly enough for it to be challenging, but innocently enough to make him question it.

"Stargazing."

The man - more like a boy - stopped just a step behind her back, unsure how to proceed. Then he let out a resigned sigh and sat down next to her, far enough to not be in stabbing range -  smart decision.

"No, seriously, it's past midnight and you're sitting on a roof, eighteen stories from the ground, in  Gotham," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the building and looking at her with genuine concern.

Marinette finally looked at him and recognized him almost immediately. He was wearing a black hoodie and a ski mask, with jeans and dark boots.

"Oh, you're the Dark Nomad, right?" She's read about him on the plane, just like she checked out and memorized every hero and villain in Gotham. There were a few.

The Dark Nomad was one of the small, relatively harmless ones. His mother worked in the Asylum - they didn't know who she was exactly, just that she worked there -, he didn't actually do much except for exiguous vandalism, but it was enough to get him on the " List of Gotham's Villains (updated every week) " published by the city's very own newspaper, the  Gotham Gazette .

"The one and only," he saluted awkwardly.

"Then you're pretty good with psychology, right?"

He seemed a little taken back by the question.

"Yes, I mean... I guess."

Marinette turned to him with her whole body, sitting cross-legged, looking like someone who is looking forward to a great conversation. This was so much better than she thought.

"What do you think about the phenomenon where the people with higher-than-average IQ have lower-than-average EQ, but if someone has lower-than-average IQ, they most likely have average or lower-than-average EQ?"

Dark Nomad just stared at her for a moment but then decided to roll with it. It really was a good topic.

"Well, it's interesting because... it's not like you have a maximum of quotient points, and you've to live with what you have. It depends on a lot of things, and we still don't even  know  what half of those things are."

"Exactly! It could mean you need a high IQ to be able to understand and feel emotions healthily, but it's not always necessary, plus the trope of the genius robot-person is way too overused in media. That's not how smart people think!"

"Yeah, and in some cases, the low EQ could be the consequence of loneliness and isolation from a young age because of the differences in one's and the environment's thinking," Dark Nomad said, gesticulating widely.

"And by the way, EQ is pretty hard to express with numbers. If you give a test to someone, they might know what the appropriate responses to a situation are, but they might never actually... do them in practice."

Dark Nomad nodded.

"Have you read Daniel Goleman's books about emotional intelligence? It's pretty dope."

"Not yet, but I'm planning on it."

"By the way... I'm Jeremy," said the boy, sitting closer to her and reaching out for a handshake.

"Marinette," she told him with a genuine smile, accepting his hand.

________________

Comments and coffee are my life-juice, so please, share your thoughts. I'm sorry for any possible mistakes and feel free to point them out. 

Ch. 1      Next     Masterpost    AO3

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 2 ~Homeward Bound~

“For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.”

2015

He cocked his head to listen if anyone was in the corridor. Satisfied nobody was about, he cautiously snuck into Claire's old bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him. After carefully placing a vase of forget-me-not flowers on the desk, Jamie noticed not much had changed in her room since she left Lallybroch. On one wall was a massive poster of the world map, on the wooden beam above, hung an assortment of dreamcatchers, and on her bed was a collection of stuff toys he had given her over the years. After a brief glance at the bookshelves filled with classic literature and travel books, his eyes wandered to her dressing table. Slotted in the frames of the mirror were a collection of photos, and they were mostly of him, William and Jenny. He smiled as he peeked at each snapshot, conjuring memories from their childhood. He wished he had a more recent photo of her, but that was one thing Claire never granted him as she was never keen to have her picture taken. Although she was active on social media, most of her posts were images of places she had visited, wildlife, food and the odd time her feet, to show off her new trekking shoes.

Over the years, he thought of her often even in times when he was in relationships. How could he stop thinking of her when Claire would faithfully send postcards, cards during special occasions and made-up occasions, and also ridiculous souvenirs that served no purpose except to clutter his apartment. But he kept every damn thing she had ever sent him. In return, he would send her favourite hardback books with forget-me-not flowers pressed into the pages and occasionally a bottle of single malt whisky so she wouldn't miss home too much. 

Every Christmas and a couple of weeks in summer, Claire would come to visit Lallybroch, but Jamie was never there to see her, for the most part, because those times were his busiest at work in France. And whenever he came home, either she was studying in Switzerland, or she was on some adventure with her backpack in some faraway places. Once, only once they had an opportunity to meet in London airport for their connecting flights when she was bound for Scotland, and he was returning to France. Even that chance meeting went awry when Jamie's flight was delayed departing Edinburgh. But today she was coming home, and it would be the first time they will see each other in six years. This time she was staying for good and so was he. 

..........

"God ah hate regional trains! Are we nearly there yet?" Geillis muttered as she slumped on her seat and stretched her legs in front of her. They have been travelling on the train from London for four hours already. "Remind me again why we took the train instead of flying."

Claire closed her book and sighed at her friend. "If we had booked a flight, we would have had to wait for two more days, and I can't wait that long. All the cheap flights were fully booked, and I wasn't prepared to pay a few extra hundred pounds to fly from city to city. I know how you're feeling, Geillis... I can hardly wait to get there myself. I'm even finding it hard to concentrate on reading, thinking of seeing my family again. God, I've missed them." Looking at her watch, she smiled. "Not long to go now... an hour and a half... more or less." 

In actual fact, she had been thinking of Frank for the most part of the journey, and the thought of him made her stomach do somersaults. Claire had seen him the summer before when she came to visit Lallybroch, and she couldn't forget the appreciative look he had given her way when they met at the local pub. He seemed surprised as if he was seeing her for the very first time. And if her instinct is anything to go by, Claire believed Frank loved what he saw.

"What's with the secret smile, Claire? Is it Frank?" Geillis cheeks dimpled as her lips curled into a puckish smile.

Claire grinned. "You know me too well. Yes, alright yes I've been thinking about him, but I'm also thrilled to be seeing my family again, especially Jamie...I haven't seen him for years. God, I've missed him." She paused as she summoned memories from the past before continuing. "Just between the two of us, Jamie is my favourite out of the three siblings. I love them all, but Jamie is the best. Maybe because we're closest in age and we get along so well. As for Jenny, she used to fuss over me a lot, and when I got older, it became annoying. Well, Willie is great too, but he was always so grown up. He rarely played with me when I was little, but in my teens, he spent more time with me when ma and da were busy in the hotel. On weekends he used to take Jamie and me to movies and such, while Jenny was more interested in staying at home and pottering about. "

Thinking back to her childhood memories, the Fraser family was the greatest gift her uncle Lamb had ever given her. Although Claire felt like an outsider in her school and was often taunted for being English, the love her foster family had for her outweighed the heartaches. Her happiest memories were within Lallybroch and days spent with the Frasers. Even though she lost her parents at such a young age and then later, her uncle Lamb, in her heart and in her mind, despite what her schoolmates made her feel, she was never an orphan.

"Here, hand me yer IPad. Ah want tae see pictures of your folk again, sae ah ken who is who."

Claire shifted seats next to Geillis, and opening her IPad, she tapped into the gallery icon. After a few swipes on the screen, she found what she was looking for. "This one here is the last photo of all of us together under one roof. This was taken before Jamie went to a culinary college in France. I was sixteen here. Willie here was on holiday from his training as a chef in Italy. And Jenny, she's the only one who stayed at home. She never had any interest in the hotel, restaurant or further studies. Though she did go to University in Edinburgh to study Business Management. Da said she was born to be a housewife because she loved running the household and cooking." 

"So you're the youngest? You look sae different in this photo...maybe it's the glasses ye were wearing and your hair was shorter."

"Yes, I'm the youngest. Jamie is now 25, Jenny 28 and Willie is 30. I was the baby then and was spoiled rotten when I first came to Lallybroch. Yea, I got rid of the specs after ma convinced me to wear contact lenses because I kept losing them or breaking them. As for my hair, I realised the curls aren't as wild if I kept my hair longer. I hated my hair back then and wished I had Jenny's straight hair. " Claire swiped past more pictures to a more recent one. "This one is from last year, just the Fraser kids."

"Holy mammy of God, are these Jamie an' Willie? They're sae tall an' Jenny is sae wee. Mmm such good looking lads if ah may say sae."

Claire laughed. "I don't know why Jenny is so small. Everyone else in the family is tall, even ma. Jenny and Willie take more after da with their dark hair and blue eyes. As you can see here, Jamie looks more like ma... he's ginger just like you, but he does have his father's eyes."

"Mmm...Jamie looks scrumptious, and he's more buff than Willie. Is he single? You wouldna mind if ah tried tae angle for a date? Unless of course, ye want him for yersel'"

"Don't be daft! He's my brother...and if he falls for you and ends up marrying you, it's like we're going to be sisters. Now wouldn't that be fab? And yes, he's definitely single. He broke up with his French girlfriend a few months back. He never really liked to discuss his relationships with me, and all I know is that he reckons Frenchie wasn't the right girl for him."

Claire loved Jamie with all her heart, and she had time and again reminded him that he will always be her best friend. He had consistently made her feel special, especially on the night when Frank cancelled their dance date when she was fifteen. He had planned to go with his friends after the dance, but instead, he went with her and Willie, stopping by a gas station to buy a tub of her favourite vanilla ice cream. When they arrived home, they both tucked into their treat sitting on the outside balcony, wrapped in a blanket and looking at the stars. Claire always loved looking at the stars, and she thought it was the most beautiful thing. Then she remembered him saying to her softly as he fed her a spoon of ice cream, "Next time you think of beautiful things, don't forget to count yourself in." 

"So does Jamie have a type?" Geillis asked as she enlarged a photo of Jamie on Claire's IPad.

"Funny you ask that. He always told me he prefers brunettes, but his past two girlfriends were blondes. Blokes are funny that way, aren't they? They say one thing and do another, and yet Jamie always told me women are the most complicated creatures. Tsk, men!"

Geillis closed the IPad and handed it back to Claire. "Weel 'tis braw tae be back in Scotland an' I'm sae glad ah will be workin' wi' ye and yer family. How is yer da tae work for?" Geillis asked, straightening up from her seat to rummage for some snacks in her satchel.

"Oh, da is great, you will love him. I spent summer as a kid doing odd jobs at the hotel...helping in the kitchen, in housekeeping and such. I enjoyed it so much that I proceeded to study Hotel Management instead of nursing."

Claire and Geillis met while fulfilling their apprenticeship in a five-star hotel in Munich, Germany. Once their training came to an end, Geillis had planned to apply for a job in New York hoping Claire would follow suit. But Claire declined as she had promised Brian, her foster father, she would come back to work for Fraser Manor Inn once her studies and training were over. As Geillis was intrigued by the Frasers' hotel and wanted to be closer to her friend, instead of going to New York, she applied for the Front Office position with the help and recommendation from Claire, which Brian Fraser accepted.

Jamie and Willie have returned home to Lallybroch a few months back to help with the preparations for the Grand Opening after the hotel went through a major restoration. It was a pact they all made that they would one day return home to work for the family business. Claire had, at first, wanted to travel to Mexico after her apprenticeship had ended. But since the Grand Opening of the hotel is imminent, she decided to come home earlier than planned.

Fraser Manor Inn, having only thirty rooms, is not by any standard grand but more traditional of the Highlands. The pièce de résistance  of the hotel was the restaurant, and the food was very sought after for its exceptionally high standard in taste, presentation and creativity, promoting Scottish fresh and local produce. The head chef Murtagh Fraser, god-father to all Fraser children had earned the restaurant a Michelin three stars; hence, his cantankerous manner was put up by Brian and Ellen. Working alongside Murtagh in the kitchen would be the Fraser boys; William as the Sous-Chef and Jamie as Chef de Pâtissier.

"Weel, I'll give it a go for a year, and I hope yer da will give me a fantastic certificate tae add tae my resume. When does the hotel re-open?"

"Hopefully before Christmas. So you'll have plenty of time to familiarise yourself with the locals and local delights. Da says you can stay in Lallybroch until you find your own place. Otherwise, he has a couple of apartments for rent...normally he rents them out to staff. It's supposed to be for one of us in case we tire of living in Lallybroch."

"Oh good, plenty of time to get to know the local boys before we start work. Or let's say, plenty of time to get to know yer brothers, " Geillis said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

..........

Jamie and Willie were standing on the platform, waiting for the train to come to a halt and for Jamie, it seemed to take eternally before the screeching and clunking on the beaten old track ceased. The air felt nippy, and although it was only mid-afternoon, it was quickly turning dark. It was a perfect homecoming for Claire, Jamie thought, as autumn was her favourite season. He smiled to himself as he thought of Jenny and his mother preparing Claire's favourite meal of Beef Wellington, thick gravy, roast potatoes and vegetables. Willie had offered to cook, suggesting a more elegant dish, but the Fraser women had shooed him away. Earlier in the day, while nobody was in, Jamie snuck in the kitchen and made Claire's favourite dessert of Raspberry Mille Feuille and Sherry Trifle much to Jenny's annoyance. He had to make it as it was the only request Claire had of him when he asked what she wanted when she came home.

The whoosh of the sliding doors of the train carriages brought Jamie back to the present. As his older brother started to move forward, he followed, looking up and down the platform for a ginger-haired lassie and a curly-haired brunette. There were plenty of people disembarking eager to get off, and others, keen to get on board and out of the cold. The brothers strained their necks watching out for the girls, and it was Willie who saw them first.

"Claire! Over here!" Willie shouted as he started to jog forward.

"Oh my God, Willie...I'm finally home! So good to see you!" Claire squealed as she flung herself to his older brother's arms, while the ginger-haired lass stood back and observed the scene with amusement.

Jamie waited patiently, not wanting to disturb their moment as he leaned on a pillar watching the scene before him. He watched her squeal some more and giggle as Claire introduced Willie to her friend Geillis, babbling and swinging her rucksack onto her back as she went along.   Ah Dhia, she's more beautiful than ever.  Gone was the awkward and shy teenage girl he remembered but instead there stood a bubbly gorgeous young woman full of self-confidence and most importantly, happy to be home.

"Where's Jamie? I thought ma said he was coming with you." Claire asked, looking slightly disappointed.

"Right here, Sassenach," he replied, stepping away from the shadows and opening his arms for an imminent embrace.

She spun around to the direction of his voice, her eyes widening in surprise before her face broke into a most stunning smile he'd ever seen. Gone were her braces and in place were perfectly even teeth. "Jamie!!!" Claire wasted no time and ran up to him.

Jamie lifted her and hugged her tightly as they both laughed and spoke at the same time, of how they missed each other. Jamie didn't let go, and Claire wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her balance, as she rained loud kisses on his cheek. "Fancy a piggyback for ol' times sake?" Jamie suggested, grinning.

Claire nodded her head animatedly, her smile never leaving her face.

Without much effort, Jamie grabbed her hips and shifted her to his back without her feet touching the ground. Once she was safely behind him, her arms around his neck and legs around his middle, Jamie grabbed Claire's duffel back and turned around to his brother. "I'll race ye to the car!" Jamie shouted as he ran off.

Willie laughed at their carry on as he watched Jamie zig-zagged on the platform, Claire's laughter echoing in the air while Geillis face was one of astonishment. "Don't mind them, they've always been like that..." Willie confessed, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself.

"Brother my arse...he's got the hots for her," Geillis muttered to herself, as she watched Jamie and Claire disappeared into the crowd.

"Pardon me...you were saying?" Willie turned to pick up the rest of the bags as he smiled at Geillis.

"Nothing."

"I don't want to race Jamie to the car, but you can tell me how your trip was from London..."

[sidelinesbysam]

I’m a Senior Again...I think

Back in the day I remember what it was like to become a senior. It was June of 1977 and it was a glorious day! We were just wrapping up our Junior year at Proviso West High School and as the final days of junior year ticked away, we all became filled with the anticipation of what was about to take place. Well almost all of us. There were a few dudes hanging out behind the auto shop that may not have had quite the excitement and focus as the rest of the Class of 78. But nonetheless, it was here...the day my friends and I were waiting for. As the last final exam was completed and that final bell rang, just like that, I was a senior! When you go to a huge high school like Proviso West, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. Now I certainly wasn’t one of the cool kids but I do have to admit, I had some really cool friends heading into that senior year. And they were all awesome and cool in their own way  

Even though during those years I never eclipsed the 5’6” mark on the wall, I had some good friendships with some really big dudes at PWHS. I mean they were big...tall...vertically unchallenged as it were. Brett seemed to be 7’ and so did Ron. Pat O was a monster too. Looking back I’m going to guess they were in the mid 6 foot range but to me they were giants. We were friends all four years but this year, senior year was different. We were on top of the mountain of high school life and those guys were the coolest of cool. Being a high school athlete had to be the pinnacle. Especially becoming a senior.

 Somehow I had also forged a close friendship with one of the prettiest girls in a school of thousands. Carolyn was the captain of the dance and pom pom squad and her and I used to meet in the halls between classes and we chatted almost everyday. And she hung out with the greatest collection of friends that made an adolescent guy like me crazy. 

I may not have been a cool kid but when I became a senior I did some things that I thought were pretty cool at the time, and maybe still.  I was there editor of the Mural in 1978 which was the high school yearbook. Everyday for months the staff and I met to build that 300+ page yearbook that holds the memories of turning into a senior for so many of my classmates. Along with Mike, my still best friend ever, we took nearly every one of the candid photos for that book and when the first copy was delivered, maybe for the first time in my life, I felt really accomplished and pretty cool. I was also the sports editor of the Profile, the school newspaper. I had my own column and I wrote stories about all the different sporting events that entire senior year too. I wrote some stories that were really good and insightful and a few others that got me threatened with a meeting in the parking lot after school. Such is the life of a journalist! At the time I was sure that those experiences were going to launch me into a career of journalism. Looking at the media today, maybe it’s a blessing my life took another direction. After all these years, turning a senior at PWHS is mostly a clouded memory. I recall bits and pieces. I was the dude at basketball games that got hoisted up on someone's shoulders and shouted out, “Give me a P…” I remember being the first person to put on the new Panther mascot costume Coach Lucas and Mr. Skul had bought and I remember being a faithful part time team manager for the basketball team that senior year. I remember after the last loss of the season I sat in the locker room with those cool giants and I cried. “Coach Luke” came over and consoled me and told me thanks for everything. That moment really meant the world to me and it was probably the first time I considered being a senior was coming to a close. 

I even met my first wife my senior year. She wasn't a Panther but she did live close by in Elmhurst. We met at Dominick's and that eventually led directly to two great kids and three grandkids. Wow! All in all, being a senior was pretty cool.

And here I am today. Once again, I’ve become a senior. But let me tell you, it came without the same anticipation or excitement. Now to be completely clear, there is some debate as to when a person officially becomes a senior. Some say it’s 65. The Social Security Administration, in some cases, says it’s 62. For some reason, me personally always had the number 60 attached to it. Maybe now that I’m 60, I should rethink the connection. But you know what, it’s just a number and just a word. Some people say that in the context of growing old, the word senior has a negative connotation. The PC word to be used should be “elderly.” Really, elderly? I don’t like that at all. I may not be old but I am definitely not elderly. Am I? But for the sake of argument, let’s just say 60 is seniorly. What sort of cool things come with becoming a senior this go around? It appears that the gallbladder is a right of senior passage. That thing must not like being housed in a senior because half of everyone I know had to have it removed. And remember, as a senior, people like to tell you it’s not surgery...it’s just a procedure. Another thrill of being a senior is the eyesight. It appears as you progress through the years you go from readers to prescription glasses to bi-focals to trifocals and then “progressives.” The pinnacle (I hope) of a never ending battle with blurry vision. Another treasure of seniordum is that first 30 minutes or more of every single morning for the rest of ever I guess. Back in the day my alarm would go off, I would spin out of bed, get ready for school or work and take off. Now there is a strategic series of snoozes, slow turns over the edge of the bed, an occasional reach for the wall and a very deliberate walk to the first destination in the morning. Sorry dogs, your business has to wait for my business. And what do seniors do while doing their business? I, for one, look at The Facebook. And what do I see when I look at The Facebook? It appears people my age look a lot older than I think I look. Must be part of that whole “blurry vision” issue. If I am in fact a senior again, it sure looks a lot different than it did 42 years ago. But ironically, there are the benefits.

Back in 1978, as a senior, we thought we could do anything. We had a closed campus at PWHS but at lunchtime I still left to go to McDonald’s for a burger or Ne’Joes for an Italian sub. Once the truant officer stopped me at the gate before I got out of the south lot and asked me where I thought I was going. I chose what I thought was the best route and told him to get some lunch. He handed me a 5 and asked if I would grab him something. Being a senior had it’s privilege. And being a senior still does today. I find that as a senior, if that’s what I am, I can get away with saying things I couldn’t when I was younger. Now for the record, subtlety helps, but having the same filter as a younger man is not required. I notice that beating around the bush is a much shorter process. 

Me: “Can I have just a large iced tea? That's it.” 

The other person: “Anything else with that?” 

Me again: “Did you NOT hear the words JUST and THAT'S IT tucked into that sentence?”

The disgruntled other person: “(grumble...mumble...old fart)”

But in reality, landing at 60 and looking at life in perspective ain’t such a bad thing. There are some real blessings to this senior stuff and I’m not talking about AARP discounts. This is more about life in general. I have four great kids that are moving through life at breakneck speed sometimes, and I love them very much and I’m so proud of them all. I wish we connected more often but modern day electronics makes it easier to fill the gaps. A quick text or a social media “like” or thumbs up will never be a substitute for a call or a visit, but it lets us know that we’re all still out there. And I have the blessing of three grandkids that fill my life with joy and happiness. The 12 year old lives in south central IL so we need to use our devices to connect and talking to grandpa isn’t much of a priority to a video game playing, pre-teen but we do our best. The 8 and 6 year old live close by and I get to see them frequently. My granddaughter who is the youngest, observes my senior status by asking, “grandpa, why do you sit in your chair and watch those cooking shows all the time?” I want to load up one of those unfiltered replies but she’s so darn cute I just tell her, “Because I can’t find the remote to change the channel.” The fun part about my middle grandson is that at 8 years old he’s starting to let his hair grow out. And in senior fashion I asked him if he was trying to look like one of the Beatles. That got me the most puzzled look and after a pause, “who’s that?” 

And as a senior today, I look back to when I was a senior back then. I fondly remember those giants that I was friends with. Sadly Brett lost his life several years ago but I still think of him from those days and I can’t help but smile. Even though he was a massive dude in my eyes, I’ll always remember that he had a giant heart too. He always treated me like I was part of his circle even though I existed on the edge of that circle at best. And that pretty dance team captain that befriended me way back when, well she is still a BFF and not only one of the most beautiful women I know inside and out, she’s a successful business woman, an author, a proud momma and a loving, devoted wife. And I can gladly say, even though we’re a couple of hundred miles apart, we stay connected and chat often. My best friend forever Mike and I connect almost daily. Sometimes it’s a call or a text. Maybe a dad joke or a backhanded jab. We even have laughs about being seniors. Sometimes remembering 1978 and other times trying to remember stuff from 2020. 

Through the miracle of social media, even though I live over 200 miles from where I lived the first time I was a senior, I am still connected to dozens and dozens of friends from those great days at Proviso West and even earlier at MacArthur and Jefferson. For example, at our last class reunion, Tom and his band played for a couple of hours and it’s hard to believe he and I met in 1971. That guy is a rocking, surfing, boating senior and a really cool dude (does that sound seniorish?) now living in Florida. Steve and Mark and others live in Cali, Donna lives in Texas, Bill lives in Michigan, Diane has traveled all over Europe and also lived in Germany. Rich has lived in Colorado for years. My cousin Pat and his wife Patty who are also 78ers have been in Oregon for as long as I can remember. And hundreds of others are scattered all across the land and sadly, several others have gone before us. But for those that remain, there is a line of commonality that we all share and have shared before. At one time we were all seniors before life really got going. And here we all are, seniors (maybe) again. It really doesn’t matter about our life perspectives or where we stand in today’s climate of world views, we cannot separate ourselves from the fact that we were seniors together back in 1978 and we may or may not be seniors together again now. In a few years, many of us will meet again or for the first time at a class reunion. We will have happy memories about those first senior days and share a lot of laughs and a few tears. And surely the conversation will turn to current senior days and all of our own transition to being a modern day senior.

[meteor-writes]

#FFF41 - Blooming Blossom

Man I thought I’d do a shorter one this week and then ended up having to edit it down to get 1000! How does this happen ??

Thanks @flashfictionfridayofficial! This prompt is my dream during lockdown ♥️

Queen of the Night - 1000 words

The crickets were chirping when Ava unzipped her tent. The sky was a dull pink and the thin trees of the park dim in the reclining light. She hoped she still had time.

Grabbing the laces of her abandoned shoes, Ava tiptoed out. In her pockets, lay her phone, wooden pencil and the worn botany book she’d owned since she was nine. Around her neck hung her small pair of binoculars and they swung as she hopped between the sharp stones.

Behind, Ava could hear the buzz of laughter from tents followed by the metallic crunch of empty cans being crushed in enthusiastic fingers. She wasn’t interested in partying though. That’s why she picked her way across the campsite barefoot, silently wincing as she grazed a Lego brick engulfed flames.

Luckily, Ava had pitched close to the edge, and soon flopped down on a boulder, jamming her dust-covered feet into dust-covered shoes. No one would believe they were red at the start of her trip.

Now fully shoed, Ava strode up the dirt path. Her skirt whipped around her legs but with the bird song waning, she didn’t have time to go back for an extra blanket. Instead, she shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and hastened her ascent.

It had been mere hours since Ava had wandered the botanical gardens. She had been considering returning that night but, ever the eaves dropper, she overheard some interesting words.

‘Ferris Villa are having one of their blooming parties again.’

This was barely of interest until the response came: a gutted sigh.

Instead of standing up after photographing an interesting succulent, Ava pretended to adjust the focus, ignoring the fact her camera was permanently set on auto.

‘One day.’ Another woman replied dreamily, ‘one day I’ll walk in that paradise garden.’

‘Hey, maybe you can!’ Her friend cried, ‘go up on Amaranth Ridge tonight and look over like we did when we were kids.’

‘Hah. Yeah. And bring my kids too, they love it when I ruin their naptime with flowers that bloom once a year.’

Ava’s ears pricked.

‘Alright, maybe give it a few years.’

With a bolt of laughter, their footsteps retreated and Ava dug out her phone. Amaranth Ridge. It wasn’t too far from the campsite. And zooming in on the map, revealed an enormous white house knitted into the landscape. Not only that, the mansion was set inside a sprawling sculpted garden with bold lines and undulating curves, stairs leading to new levels and bridges linking each sector and, though the image was blurry, Ava could just about make out huge cactuses lining every corner. She grinned at the phone. This was where she would witness the night-blooming cereus.

Ava hurried up to the ridge as the sun dipped under the horizon. There was light glowing from the city below and as Ava approached the ridge her breath caught in her throat.

The garden was closer than she’d even imagined. The various decks  worked their way up the opposing hillside, reaching just a story below her. And each stone staircase was decorated with potted flowers and hanging plants that spilled like waterfalls into the lower levels.

On the ground, creamy gravel paths weaved between plots of lettuce-like succulents and tiny bejewelled cactus’s. And, to Ava's delight, the entire place was lined with three foot tall cactuses, bowing into climbers. Then she noticed, right below her seat, a gathering.

Instinctively, Ava jumped back. She may be spying innocently, but these people seemed to have a lot of money. Best to stay hidden. So Ava laid down on the cliffside and shimmied up to the edge. She rummaged in her pockets, placing the book at her side and twirling the pencil like a baton. Then she lowered the binoculars onto her eyes.

The party below wasn’t much like the tents. The guests were dressed up in glittering skirts and open neck ties. They each held glasses and with a pop, were suddenly being poured something spouting and fizzing.

‘How long til this thing starts then?’ A man asked, quickly downing the the bubbles before they boiled over.

‘Soon.’ A woman replied. She was extra regal, with silver hair tied up in a fancy-looking swirl, chest left open to frame a gigantic ruby hanging off her neck. The owner, Ava assumed, feeling not in the least bitter as she stabbed her pencil into the ground.

She checked her phone. 10:55. She flicked through her dog-eared book, peeling apart pages that seemed stuck together with glue.

“Queen of the night - Peniocereus greggii - one can find this rare pearl in-”

‘Oh look!’

Ava scrambled for the binoculars.  

Right in the centre of the sprawling cactuses, a single flower had bloomed, bright white like a chunk of the moon had fallen off and landed there. Ava cursed herself for missing it. But then, her mouth fell slack.

A second later, the entire garden was blooming, bursting with a hundred white stars. Buds flicked open all along the stems, wrapping around stones and trunks alike. It was like watching fireworks exploding all at once, dazzling the darkness in a sudden display.

Ava shuffled closer, watching as another corner went from dark to light, a bulb igniting in the middle of a black ocean. She could barely contain her excitement, scribbling down the time and day before switching to her camera.

Bless her sister for gifting her a zooming lens!

Now, Ava could see the flowers every petal. They were like sunbursts. Outer petals thin and inner forming a cup, dotted stamens glittering like champagne bubbles - a glass of nectar for the birds and moths.

Ava took several pictures before the insects began descended and the light flickered too much. Then, she rest her elbows against the stone and breathed deeply the smell of vanilla, watching the gardens and guests below. The flowers would wilt before dawn. But it was hours until then. So she stayed sitting, and soaked it all in.

This story was inspired by the night blooming flowers found in Arizona, USA, I read about here :)

[otterbeesfanficblog]

Calling Of The Heart (Part 1)

Geralt x Reader x Jaskier (neutral pronouns) 

A/n: In this story, the reader was born female (in turn having female body parts) and often gets misgendered as such, but the reader is gender-neutral and prefers they/them pronouns and not to be associated with gendered things unless they want to and ask.

Warnings: Misgendering, swearing, forced physical contact 

Slowly crouching around the corner, you looked back and forth before making your way across the road to the open field across. The grass was tall, at least at the height you were crouched, and made for good cover to hide. 

You made sure your breathing was quiet, your bare feet making it easier to make less noise than with shoes. You were surely being watched, and despite all the running you had been doing, you knew you were outmatched, knowing all you could do was run. 

If not for the situation, you see yourself staying in the field for hours. It was quiet and quite a ways away from the deeper part of the city, far from the home that called to you for duties you wished to ignore. Oh, if only.

If only you were able to ignore your world in search of a new one, in search of one that would accept you for who you are. You heard and read stories of sailors longing for the sea when they were on shore, hearing the ocean waves call to them like the sirens that were held deep within. For you, it was the forest.

The forest, woods, just nature, it called to you. You hear the wind rapping on your windows at night, begging you to go out to play. You sang to the birds and they sang back, you took naps close to the edge of the woods and awoke surrounded by the wildlife that didn’t act at all as wild as they were said to be.

Deers, rabbits, birds, wolves, bears, and so much more.

They called to you, and crouched on the ground of the field just meters away from the woods entrance, you feel your heart being pulled. And you swore to the Gods if you listened close enough, nature sang to you, beckoning you.

You were so deep in thought and so focused on the woods, so close yet so far from you, you forgot what you were in the field doing before it was too late. Roughly, you were tackled to the ground by several heavy bodies, most of them giggling.

You could hardly see past all the bright red, curly hair flying about, but you smiled with a chuckle as they all giggled and laughed. The smallest of the bunch, Nini was her name, was the one to speak up first, sitting right on top of your chest.

“Got ya, Y/n/n!” Nini spoke with a lisp, smiling and showing off her two missing front teeth. The next to speak was the second youngest, Maylin, he stood right next to his twin brother Johna. 

“Ya weren’t even tryin’ this time!”

You sit up, causing Nini to fall into your lap with a giggle as you wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug. You blew a sloppy raspberry on her open shoulder before looking at her older twin brothers with a raised brow.

“Perish the thought, Maymay! I try at everything I do.” You say in a sassy tone, playfully glaring at the little red-headed boy and his brother.

“Well, no wonda ya stink at everythin’ then.” This came from the oldest of the bunch, Krem, who was to be reaching the ripe age of 16 in the next coming months. He was just as redheaded and freckle-faced as his brothers and sisters, looking almost exactly like his father.

You gasp and put a hand to your chest, right over your heart, and whine in fake pain.

“Oh, now I’m wounded. Look at me, bleeding all over the place.” You chuckle, setting Nini off to the side as you stand to your full height, brushing off any foliage that may have stuck to your clothes after the attack.

You shake your finger at Krem then cross your arms over your chest, leaning on to one leg as you spoke.

“You’re all just not very nice, are you?”

“They get that from their father.” 

A gentle voice cut in, making all in attendance turn. There stood their mother, Dolia, round and pregnant with another child on the way while holding the newest baby, Sky, to her chest. 

In total, this beautiful woman with dark, curly brown hair and doe brown eyes had 6 children, including the one she still had in that oven of hers. You certainly applaud the woman every time you saw her, 5 kids out and one on the way and yet she still manages to look like a goddess. She would tell you it was well worth all the pain, and that honestly made you a little jealous, not only of her but of her children as well.

You were never lucky enough to have siblings, your parents had a struggle getting you in the first place. But you would have loved a little sibling, or older, any sibling would do. 

Not only did she have amazing and beautiful children, her husband was no one to sneeze at. Tall, muscular, handsome with a large beard and long red hair that, if let down, went down to his lower back. He often had women drooling over him as he cut or carried wood, being a ‘man’ made them weak at the knees. 

But the man only had sights on Dolia, always had since they met when they were young. He was so in love with her, he often forgot that Dolia wasn’t the only woman alive. 

To say you were jealous of that love, that would be a vast understatement.

You met Dolia halfway when you saw her slowly making her way over, smiling and taking the little baby Sky from her arms so she was able to relax.

“Ah, if it isn’t the goddess of beauty herself.” You say, smiling down at Sky first before smiling at her. She chuckled at your words, shaking her hand and slightly swatting at your arm.

“Oh, enough with that, I’m no goddess of anything.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure if I asked that lovesick husband of yours, he would say otherwise.” You winked and she laughed again, which made you smile wider. Her happiness was truly contagious.

“He’ll say anything to compliment me,” She smiles, then it falls a bit as she looks you in the eyes. “I’m sorry to cut your fun short Y/n, but… Captain Taliza is here for you.”

Your smile also vanished and you let out a sigh, gently handing Sky by to his mother before running a hand down your face. The kids behind you groan and whined, and honestly, you were with them.

Were you allowed no peace?

“Duty calls, I suppose.” You smile bitterly, shrugging to Dolia before walking past her to her home where the rest of your stuff was left. You mumble lastly to yourself as you made your way across the field alone.

“As it always seems to…”

It didn’t take much longer to get to the house, inside you found the Knight Captain Taliza himself sitting at the table that held your travel bag and cloak. He was looking through the book you had left out, frost blue eyes glancing over the pages.

He didn’t even have to look up from the book to speak to you.

“You know your parents don’t like it when you run away without a word.” He said, voice smooth like silk. But you only rolled your eyes in response, stealing your book away from his hands before stuffing it back in your bag.

"Ah, yes. The King and Queen were so worried about their only child running away, that instead of looking for me themselves, they sent their errand boy instead."

It was Tali's turn to roll his eyes, sitting up straighter in his full set of steel-blue armor.

"You know today is a busy day for them–"

"Then why do they need me? They run out of people yell at?" You cut in, crossing your arms and glaring at him like a pouty child. At this point, you didn't care. If they were to continue treating you like a child, then you may as well act like one.

Tali sighed and stood from his seat at the table, slightly towering over you. He was tall and slim but had a lot of muscle despite his look. 

And you, well, you were slightly shorter than most, though that didn't stop you from standing up to people twice your size and weight.

"They only ask that you take today seriously." He spoke in an irritated tone.

"Seriously?" You scoff. "Seriously? Lords and ladies peacocking their way through the court looking for my hand in marriage? Ha! More of a laugh if you ask me."

"Your highness–"

You glared hard at Tali when he spoke those words, tightening your hand into a fist to keep from smacking him. 

"So, that's it? It's 'your highness' when my mother and father have you at their beck and call? You simply forget about all the years we were friends and instead hold tight to your leash?"

"We have duties, Y/n!" 

Tali finally snapped, looking at you, not like a Knight Captain, but as the dark-haired, blue eyes boy you've called friend all your life. Sometimes, it was easy to forget he and you used to be best of friends. Almost kin, and even despite his knight training you were thick as thieves. Then he became Knight Captin, and though you two were still close, a lot had changed between him being your friend, and him being your knight.

"Look, I hate today as much as you, if not more. But I can do nothing about…" He sighs, rubbing his eyes with one gloved hand. "The King and Queen are angry with you–"

"When are they not?" You scoff. 

"I'm serious, Y/n."

"So am I," you throw your hands out before throwing your bag over your shoulder. "There hasn't been a day these past few months that I have not been nagged. It’s always been, ‘you are royalty, act like it’. Sorry if I don’t immediately shove a stick up my –”

“You will be leaving then, I take it?” 

You and Tali turn to see Dolia with all her children in toe, watching you with large curious eyes. You knew she would have cut you off anyway, but you were glad for it, it was a good excuse to end the conversation you’ve had a hundred times before. 

You sigh and nod, smiling at her sadly as you bow your head a little.

“I am, and thank you for having me.”

“Please, you know you are always welcome here.” She smiled, then looked to Tali who stood silently with his arms crossed. “... your highness.”

You wince at the title, sigh and take your boots in your hands and just walk out of the cottage without another word. Walking barefoot to your steed, you attach your bag to the side and slide your shoes inside. 

Your horse, named Durin, was a large and muscular horse. He was an all-black shire horse with an attitude to match your own. You picked him out specially when you saw him buck someone off his back into a pile of horse shit, you knew immediately he was the one.

 He nudges you with his head and you walk in front of him, taking his large head in your hands and putting your forehead to his with a sigh.

“You and me? We just aren’t made for this ‘royal’ business are we?” 

He answered in a short snort and a harder nudge, and looking to his glorious mane, you see why. They had it all done up in braids and jewels, dressed head to toe in glittering armor, and his poor tail that tried it’s best to sway back and forth was braided with jewels as well. You shake your head and tisk, walking behind him to his tail.

“They’re gonna dress me up just the same, you know. They think it’s gonna make me behave, like they tried with you, but it won’t.”

You took all the jewels out and placed them in your pack, brushing out his tail as much as you could with your hand before walking back over to his front. He stomped his foot and bowed his head a few times, and you take that as thanks and also an agreement to your stance.

“You and I were meant for more things than being put through this… royal torture.”

“I’ve seen torture, Y/n.” 

Tali comes walking over to you with his own horse in toe, shaking his head at you speaking to your horse.

“This is far from it.”

“They’ll put me in a corset, in a dress!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up wildly. “Have you ever been put into a dress and a corset?”

Tali raises a brow at you and you roll your eyes, turning to Durin and climbing your way on top. It was different barefoot, but you got on the saddle with no more than a tiny scrape of the armor.

Tali doesn't say anything else, getting up on his horse, then begins to lead the way back into the city and to the castle. 

Dolia's home was just outside the city, closer to the woods that in case the main road which you were on now. Getting closer to the city, the woods branched off from being on both sides to being on the left side of the road. 

You had Durin follow close behind Tali, but something in the woods was tipping him off, his head tossing every so often away from the woods. You thought of telling Tali, but then you make out a cry, more of a song actually, calling out. It made Durin's ears twitch with discomfort, then he stopped walking, stomping his hooves. You hushed him with gentle pets, listening to the voice once again as Tali continued on without you, as if he couldn’t hear Durin or the voice.

Something deep inside you told you to keep going, to move Durin, to call out to Tali. But the voice that called out to you was hypnotizing, so you slowly stepped down from the saddle, completely ignoring Durin’s whines of protest. 

Walking barefoot into the woods, you followed the voice as it got louder and louder till it was as if the voice was next to you. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. You blinked, then again, twisting your head left and right and even turning around to see if you could find the owner of the voice. 

You pick up a hissing, one that resembled a snake. A cold chill ran through your body and you quickly turn, and a gasp leaves your mouth as you blinked in horror.

 A woman, a head higher than you, stared on with vacant dead eyes, mouth agape like an echo chamber. Dried blood trailed down from her sunken eyes and mouth. And before you do anything else, she straightened her body and her eyes glowed with a bright, white beam of light.

You blinked and tried to look away but then… you couldn’t.

It was so… 

beautiful… 

calming… 

bright. 

Like something in a storybook. 

It was as if you were standing in front of a star. 

You were lighter than air and there was no sound at all. 

Just you… and the light.

Then you felt a pain travel up your side, shocking you out of the light. 

Blinking rapidly and gasping for air, you tried desperately to see what was going on, but all the sudden the world was moving again. Your feet off the ground and your hands lazy at your sides before grabbing onto the one holding you.

It was Tali, breathing roughly while carrying you tightly to his chest and running out of the forest. You took time to look back at what he was running from, and in moments you regretted it.

A large beast, the size of a large home, screeched a horrible sound. It was shaped like a snake, a large toothy maw in the middle of its fan-like head. Attached to its snake-like body were four large, long, and deadly looking legs of a spider. You see one of its long legs was shorter than the others, bleeding from the end. 

You hold tighter to Tali as you look at his sheathed sword, a slimy black substance fell off it as he ran, and you could only assume the creatures missing limb was because of his sword. 

Despite the creatures obvious pain, it quickly recovered and started slithering its large snake-like body after the two of you. It was going far too fast for Tali to outrun, let alone holding you. 

“Tali, look out!”

Lifting your hand, it was a vain attempt to stop the oncoming spider-like leg, and you expected to feel pain. Either the impact of the ground or simply being pierced by the creature, but you felt nothing. The moment you lifted your hand, you closed your eyes, and in opening them they grew wide.

The creature was stopped, stuck by large, thick roots of trees. It struggled against the roots wrapping around its large form, screeching out in pain, anger, and frustration. You slightly marveled before your vision slightly blurring, a painful pulsating came from right behind your eyes and in your head next to your temples.

Tali looked behind quickly at the tied up creature, but upon hearing your groan in pain speed off again out of the forest. With effort, he put your on top of your horse and jumped up behind you.

All you could do was hold our head and side in pain, groaning and leaning back into Tali. You heard him saying something as he made Druin run towards the castle, but his voice sounded so distant and muffled, and your eyelids were so heavy all of a sudden.

So, without a second thought, you let your eyes close and you fell into silent darkness.

……………

“She’s very beautiful.”

“They. They are beautiful.”

“Beg pardon?”

“They prefer they and them instead of she and her, they never like being labeled… at least not by others.”

“Oh… I see.”

“Problem, bard?”

“None! I’ve simply never met anyone like… them. Especially not royalty.”

“They are one of a kind.”

“Ha, that can be seen just from their quarters.”

“I have other duties to attend to, your witcher friend is speaking to the King and Queen now. You will stay here and watch them, if they are to awake, you are to immediately leave and find the guards just outside. I want to hear none of your bard-like tendencies, do I make myself clear? You are a guest, but that title can be quickly revoked.”

“... message received.”

……………

The first thing you came to hear was music, soft strums of a lute's strings that lulled you out of your deep sleep. Next you felt a dull, throbbing pain in your head, one that made your face scrunch in discomfort while also pulling a groan out of your throat. 

The lull of music stopped after you groaned and began to shuffle around in numb pain, your head turning to the side. With a lot of effort, you began to open your tired eyes. 

It was blurry at first, but as your vision cleared, you saw a man sitting in a chair sitting against the wall across from you. 

He wore interesting clothes, ones of a fanciful noble. He had neat brown hair and the most beautiful ocean blue eyes, matching well with his clothes. 

However, it was the lute that gave away what he was. A bard. You'd seen many in the court, but never have they been allowed so close to you before. 

Your parents didn't want you to be 'seduced' by a bard, or by anyone for that matter. 

You groaned again, then looked at him with furrowed brows. 

"Who are you?"

He quickly stood to his feet, setting his lute down on the chair then bowed, leaning back up with a bright and slightly flirtatious smile. 

"My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, most just refer to me as Jaskier, my lady — I mean!"

He quickly shook his head and gave a nervous laugh. 

"Uh… Your… Highness?"

You realized what he meant and smiled gently. At least he was trying, that's more than you could say for many of the nobles you met or even your parents. 

"Just Y/n is fine, Jaskier."

"Of course… Y/n.” He seemed a little flushed by the way you said his name.

You begin to lean up, trying to sit up in your bed, which turned out to be a chore and painful. Jaskier, seeing your struggles, softly told you he was going to help before putting his hands on you. 

Pulling some of the pillows up higher for you to relax back on them, you sigh as you lean back with content, or at least as much as you could get from the pain you were in.

You looked him up and down again, then motioned to the side of the bed for him to sit. He did so as you began speaking to him.

“Why are you here?”

“Well my—  Y/n,” He corrected himself. “I was tasked to watch you as you slept…… that sounded worse than I thought it would.”

A smile spread on your face and you let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay, but I meant why are you in the castle?”

“Oh,” He seemed a little shocked by this, but quickly smiled. 

“Well, I’m here to perform at the King and Queens request. Well… I was simply just here for that, but then Geralt said he ‘sensed a monster nearby’ and he went off. Then, out of nowhere, he comes back with this… leg thing? It was disgusting and smelled horrible, and he said he found a dead royal horse. So we ventured into the city, and upon being recognized by the guards, they took us straight to the castle. You were asleep or knocked out I wasn’t sure, being carried by some very worried knight. He was telling them that you were attacked by a creature and Geralt was like ‘I know what it is’. Then, the King and Queen requested Geralt to speak with them privately, and the knight that was holding you, very bossy by the way, told me to come with him. Then we traveled here, he threatened me, I played a few songs, then you woke up.”

For a moment, you both simply stared at each other. Your face held amusement and a smile grew wider and wider on your face, especially when you noticed the red traveling it’s way to his face.

Then you outright laugh, though in pain you pushed through, smiling at the now bashful bard. When you finally stopped laughing, you gave him a sweet smile and tilled your head to the side.

“You are very funny and very cute, Jaskier.”

“I-I… uh… Thank you..?” His face still flushed red, he avoided your eyes. “I’m often told by Geralt I talk too much, well... it’s not just him, and I think that was a good example.”

“Awe,” You cooed, still unable to stop smiling. “But I loved it. It was cute and very informative.”

Jaskier looked away and rubbed his hands together in his lap. There was silence for a moment, then he looked up and spoke to you.

“You’re not like many other… royal… um… royalty, I suppose?”

You chuckle, shaking your head and shrugging at him, raising an eyebrow while doing so. He laughed as well and adjusted his seating on the edge of the bed so he was facing you.

“What I mean is that you’re different, a good different. Like, a single red rose amidst a garden of white roses.”

You raised a brow at his statement, and though he shook his head to agree with you he went on.

“I know that sounds quite dramatic, coming from a bard, but it’s true. Despite everything this world told you to be, you chose to be you. I like it, admire it actually.”

His ocean blue eyes sparkled like you’d never seen eyes do before, but somewhere in you, you believed his words. A tiny bit of heat travels up your neck and to your cheeks, and all you could do was thank him.

A silence fell over the two of you again, but you were quick to end it with another question.

“The person you were talking about before?”

“Who? Geralt?” Jaskier questioned. “What about him?”

“You said he could sense the monster, knew what it was. Why is that?”

“Oh,��� He dragged out. “Well, Geralt is somewhat of an expert on that subject.”

“He’s a monster hunter?” You asked, curiosity starting to fill your body like a rapidly moving river.

Your city didn’t get much trouble, let alone monster trouble. So to think that there was a monster hunter here.

“A Witcher.”

Both you and Jaskiers head snapped to the stairs that lead down and out of your quarters to the new voice, a low, gravel-like voice. Standing not a few steps away from both of you was a towering man with silver-white shoulder-length hair and piercing amber-gold eyes that reminded you of a cat, wearing all black leather armor with a silver chain pendant around his neck. 

You looked on in slight awe, but the bard looked at him with a slight scowl and in a scolding tone, he spoke to him.

“Geralt, what did I tell you about sneaking up on people? Must start putting bells on you at this rate.”

TAGS: 

@casiaregina​

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 1846-1859 - London & Rome

You know that satisfied sigh that ‘Aziraphale’ gives while he cricks his neck from side to side in the Hellfire? That’s me right now :) I needed this chapter.

1846 – Whitechapel

Crowley hated prophets.

Always had, always would.

They were like the idiot who thinks it’s a good idea to kick a beehive, then acted surprised and offended when people complained about being stung. Most of them were frauds – which he could excuse – but some of them made work a lot harder than it needed to be. And what was worse was when they were right.

Most of them weren’t, but some of them got close enough that it was starting to make Crowley’s skin creep and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

They were talking about Armageddon.

Not just one or two anymore. Every week, someone new popped up and their deadline was suddenly a lot shorter.

The volcano that turned the world icy three decades ago was the start of it all. His favourite comet hadn’t helped. The year after it appeared in the sky, Albrecht and Wesley started putting the fear of God into people. And now, a bunch of loonies were quoting Revelation and shouting from the rooftops about the End of Days and the coming of the Antichrist.

All fine and dandy for the humans who laughed at them and called them charlatans, but not so good when you go into Head Office and they’re just as excited as some of the nutters upstairs. Not long now, they were saying. It’s coming soon.

He’d grinned along with them, then fled back to his house and dug out the ancient battered copy of the Bible he kept locked up in his safe. It was like carrying a grenade around, that thing, but sometimes, it helped to know what everyone was thinking. Also, for coming up with better arguments to throw at the angel. He always got so offended by them.

Crowley put on his heavy alchemist’s gloves and lifted the book down onto his desk, turning the thick vellum pages all the way to the back. The book of Revelations might have been the ramblings of a sun-stroke addled madman on a mushroom high, but he’d got enough right that it was worth keeping an eye on.

Crowley adjusted his glasses to keep his eyes from burning as he read through it, his heart sinking with every word. The four horsemen were legends down below. Everyone had heard of them. If they were involved, then it wasn’t good. Combined with some of the Jewish theories about the timeline – bloody sacred numbers were always annoying – and all the other evidence, it didn’t sound promising.

He sank back in his seat, his hands trembling.

Shit, shit, shit.

They were right. It was coming. It was coming soon. A world that would last six thousand years. They were in the home stretch now. Hundred years left. Maybe two at a push. And then…

And then war.

The Fallen against the Heavens.

Demons against Angels.

The world didn’t matter to them. They didn’t care. It was just a convenient battlefield. It would be left in ash and ruin and no one upstairs or downstairs would even notice. They never had and they never would and everything would be gone and he would be expected to take up arms and stand with them and–

“Shit,” he whispered again.

He remembered the last battle. He remembered the fire in his wings and the pain and worse than anything else, feeling Her Grace being stripped away. It had been like the air in his lungs, as natural as breathing, and then it was gone and all he had done was ask. Was it so wrong to ask? Was it so wrong to wonder? Was he so wrong?

When She had let him Fall, when the only world he had known was ripped from him, he had screamed and raged and wept, everything raw and painful and broken. He had been so sure he was ready to hate Her – hate them – hate everything about the world that had led to their undoing until he was allowed to seek daylight again and felt grass and stone beneath his feet…

And then an angel smiled at him.

Oh God.

Aziraphale.

Lucifer, Beelzebub, the others – they wouldn’t show mercy. The only good angel, they often said, was a dead angel. And Aziraphale – the bloody stupid idiot – had given away his divine weapon. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself against them, not even if he wanted to.

Crowley felt sick, brutal, bloody images slithering unwanted across his vision.

And it wasn’t like he could stand against them, not all of them, if they came after the angel. They would as well. Everyone knew Aziraphale was the Heavenly beacon on earth. He would be a prime target for them, a symbolic kill, head on a pike to show that earth was their domain and battleground now.

“No, no, no…” Crowley keened, his whole body coiling in on itself in horror at the thought.

What the Heaven was he meant to do against the full might of the armies of Hell?

The only advantage he had was that they had no idea that he was sitting on the fence. It wasn’t much of a trump card, but it was better than nothing. They wouldn’t expect trouble from him, especially not for the sake of a Heavenly Principality.

Right.

Okay.

Element of surprise. That was something to use. Something they wouldn’t see coming. Enough to get him and Aziraphale safely out of the way if it came down to it. Anything beyond that, they could worry about when the time came, but now…

He pushed back from his desk. The low-level hum of the Bible’s power was making his skin itch and his head ache. He needed to be away, to think. Holiness was always so…

He froze, halfway out of the seat.

Holiness.

Well… no demon would ever see a holy attack coming from behind them.

He stared down at the Bible, until his face was aching from the prickling of the power. Couldn’t just use a bible. Running around whacking people on the head with a book was a solid mode of attack – Aziraphale had proved that one evening when Crowley had surprised him – but the Bible was more of a slow-burn on contact, not exactly the kind of thing to keep a powerful demon down for long.

Crucifixes?

Nah. Needed to get too close for them to be useful.

He swung out of the chair, pacing back and forward across the room. Relics fired out of a cannon, maybe? Saints could be pretty holy, but then there was the problem of sifting the real bones from the false ones. If he remembered right, the Habsburgs had three left thighs of John the Baptist last time he passed through. He was pretty sure one of those was a cow bone as well.

Also, a cannon wasn’t exactly the most subtle stab-someone-in-the-back weapon.

He went over to the window, looking out on the gloom of the city. Rain was rattling against the windows and he stared at the glass, putting out a finger to track a single from the middle of the pane to the bottom, where it merged with its brethren and flowed down into the gutters below.

“Oh…” he breathed.

Yes.

That–

It wouldn’t just hurt anyone who came after Aziraphale. It would stop them dead. Okay, yes, technically, if he managed to splash himself with it, he would be out of the equation as well, but that was the advantage of not being a complete moron. Precautions could be taken.

But killing…

He sank to sit against the edge of the window, pressing his shaking hands to the frame. It wasn’t as if he wanted to harm anyone, but given a choice of someone like Hastur or the angel. Hell, given the choice of Hastur or himself, it was an easy answer. He was a demon. What were they expecting? Self-interest came with the territory.

“Shit,” he whispered again, knocking his head back against the glass. He pulled off his glasses and tugged off one glove with his teeth, so he could rub at his eyes.

It–

They had time. They had decades. That was plenty, wasn’t it? There had to be options. Some other way that didn’t mean killing one of his own. But if worst came to worst…

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember how to breathe and trying desperately not to think of what the worst could be, of the fire and brimstone and blood and bodies and Aziraphale gone, burned away by the wrath of Hell because Crowley wasn’t there, wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t – wouldn’t – didn’t stop them.

“Shut up,” he whispered. “Shut, up, shut up, shut up.”

 1859 – Rome

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.

It was after that volcano incident, but not much. That when things started going a bit squiffy. And definitely before some fancy wanker had decided to stick his name on the comet that the demon had considered his since time immemorial. Saw it first, Crowley had grumbled. Should be my name on it.  

Hell was still buzzing with excitement. Portents and doom were in the air. Prophets were still popping out of the woodwork. The proverbial clock was definitely ticking now. Everyone knew it, even if they didn’t know exactly when it was meant to chime.

The demon was crouched on his toes on the edge of the rooftop, staring out across Rome.

The Vatican pulsed with the power of faith, throbbing against his aching eyes. Everything about it made him want to scratch at his skin. If there was anywhere to steal a weapon, this was the place. Trouble was getting inside. Grabbing one of the Pope’s staffs or something blessed by him… not exactly a divine sword, but almost close enough?

The wind made Crowley’s coat flap around him. He shuddered and straightened up, stepping into the air and emerging on the street below.

Every step he took closer to the Basilica and the centre of the church’s power felt like tar was wrapping around his legs, slowing him down and forcing him back. Every step was harder and the closer he got, the tighter his skin felt, until he had to stop, staggering, gasping against a wall. Not even within a mile of the place and he could barely move.

No chance of getting there.

He swore furiously, miserably under his breath. What kind of demon was he if he couldn’t even find a way to steal a weapon of God?

Once he finally managed to gather the energy to retreat to a safe distance, he huddled in the shade of a building overlooking the Trevi fountain, drowning his frustrations in a pricy bottle of wine. Over the bustle of the city, he could hear the constant rush of the water on stone.

Crowley looked out of the window at the fountain, gleaming in the afternoon light.

Back to that, then.

Holy Water. The only substance that could truly kill a demon. Even crosses were only an inconvenience by comparison, but Holy Water…

“Shit,” he breathed against the rim of the glass.

Only place to get the stuff was in a church. Only way to get to it was to step on consecrated ground. If he couldn’t even walk up to the exterior wall of a bloody basilica, how was he even meant to get anywhere near their… well? Plumbing? Spring? Hell only knew where they kept it.

Could kidnap a Priest, he supposed. But a blessing over water under duress probably wouldn’t work anyway. And if he let a priest make some water holy for him, he’d probably find it being thrown in his face a second and a half later.

But he had to get it. No choice anymore. If things went tits up – and all the signs said that they would some time in the not-too-distant-future – it was better to be ready for every eventuality.

Not from a priest. Impossible from a church. Maybe the angel could give him some advice…

Crowley lowered his glass, staring into space.

The angel.

Bloody hellfire.

All this time worrying about how to get the most fatal liquid known to his kind and all the while, he was friends with one of the only creatures in the world who could make it with nothing more than a gesture.

But he wouldn’t. He’d never. Not one of the most powerful weapons in Heaven’s arsenal. It had taken enough to persuade him to do temptations in the beginning. Several centuries of convincing him was all when and good when they had time, but they didn’t. Not anymore.

Crowley prodded at his glass, distracted. Other options first, he decided, and if there was no other way, that was the only time the angel needed to know. Better not to get him worried about what might be coming. He had enough pressure from above. He didn’t need any more.

“Right,” Crowley murmured. “How do I break into a church?”

[lovinnscarletknight]

Billionaire - Part Four

OK, I’m literally two weeks late posting this and Part Five will be going up as soon as I’ve put this part up. Sorry, I’ve just had no motivation but all is good I brought myself to do it and I’m excited for you all to read it! Also I’ll leave my master list here to find all my work and the previous parts of this story. 

As always tag list is open, just drop me a line :) 

Without further ado, Part Four! 

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

For the first time in weeks Katherine wore her blue jeans with a whole in one knee, a cropped long sleeve shirt and a denim jacket. She was comfy and ready to back to school, walking was a lot easier as the teenager has been doing physio since she came home last Thursday. Her Dad was very against her going back to school, but Lauren was picking her up since Liz and Holly are neighbours and their parents car share. Katherine got the message she was here and grabbed the shoulder bag, but a shock passed through her slim arm making her flinch. She tried again but her hand passed an electric shock slightly burning the strap. Quickly shaking her hands and blinking, she grabbed he bag and slung it over her shoulder and adjusting her braced wrist. The phone pinged saying Lauren was waiting outside and she got mad de ja vu from the last time she left the tower. Katherine shook it off and left the room slipping a trainer on her good foot, she saw her father scribbling something down on a notepad as he sipped his coffee. It seemed very quiet for a place full of people.

“Hey Dad, I’m heading to school” Katherine spoke with a smile standing in the doorway and his eyes met the young girls forming a smile on his face. Tony was glad that she was happy to be home and, even better, that she was going ahead with her physiotherapy. It reminded him of the times his wife had to have physio, chemotherapy for her cancer, it made his smile falter but not enough for his daughter to notice.

“Ok sweetheart, do you need dropping off? Who’s taking you? Do you need picking up?” He questioned suddenly becoming more involved.

“No, it’s ok, Lauren is taking me and it’s Clint’s turn to pick me up anyway” She told him, but he didn’t say a word, “Dad? Where is everyone?” She asked grabbing the money from her lunch pot and stuffed it in the bag.

“They were called out on a mission, they’ll be back this afternoon, Clint went home to his family. I can have Happy pick you up?” He suggests putting his mug in the sink. Katherine frowned slightly at the idea of Happy picking her up instead of her father however she quickly recovered.

“It’s ok, I’ll walk” She told him walking away and pressed the elevator button.

“You can’t walk home in your condition” Her dad started but she shook her head.

“I’ll be fine Dad, I’ll see you later” She stepped in before he could say anything else the door closed, and Katherine was heading for Lauren’s car.

School was crowded as always and yet the girl still managed to get knocked all over the place no matter how careful she was. Her first lesson of the day was Chemistry and she honestly hated it, everyone was surprised she even got into Midtown because she did not have Tony’s brains.

The bell went as she grabbed the books from the locker and waited for the halls to clear slightly before heading for the lab; she was sure the teacher would understand due to her condition. She got to the corridor and was a couple of minutes after the second bell making her late. Sighing to herself as she looked through the small glass window to see Mrs. Scott already teaching. Pushing the door handle down the whole class went quiet and all eyes were on her along with her boot, brace and abnormal posture.

“Welcome back Ms. Stark take your seat, we’re on page one-hundred and fifteen” The lady smiled warmly at Katherine and saw that she was no longer sat next to Holly but next to Peter Parker, one of the smartest boys in her class. The class carried on as she made her way to the bench and placed her books down on the bench before I sat down. Seeing the struggle Katherine was having, the boy pulled out my stool for her helping her sit down.

“Thanks” She whispered, “I’m Kath” She told him as she opened the book.

“I-I-I’m, I’m Peter” He said smiling, his gorgeous eyes sparkling as he mentally slapped himself his embarrassing introduction. Peter Parker was a quiet boy who mostly kept to himself and his only friend was Ned Leeds, they were both known as the nerds of the school. It was clear to Peter that Katherine did not remember him at all even though they used to always play together as children and had been in the same classes every year at school. He had a crush on Katherine Stark since he could remember but as soon as they hit high school, she hit puberty and became breathtakingly beautiful and her comic books and sweatpants were quickly forgotten and replaced by new friends, popularity and fashion. Chemistry dragged on for a while before the bell rang and they could pack up their bags. She saw Peter packing up his bags when Harry approached her.

“Nice to see back Katherine” He said, and the girl rolled her eyes. Since the beginning of school, he wouldn’t leave her alone and it does her head in; it had been so peaceful not seeing him.

“My name is Kath” She grumbled standing from the stool but wavering on the spot. She tried to balance herself, but someone grabbed her arm helping her balance, she turned seeing the Parker boy and smiled.

“Thanks, see you around” Katherine said slinging the bag over her shoulder and walking out the classroom. Heading for the cafeteria she saw Liz and her friends waiting with a cake and a banner saying welcome back. She smiled widely and laughed because when they spotted her, they cheered; honestly it wasn’t the most attractive walk of fame with the constant thump of the boot and the hobble, everyone clapped, and Katherine shyly bowed. That’s what happened when you were on of the four most popular girls in school and it was ridiculous. They all stood wrapping their arms around Katherine, laughing because she was shorter than all of them.

“How’s it going? I thought you were supposed to be using crutches Katherine!” She rose her eyebrows at Liz, and she laughed knowing that the girl hated being called Katherine.

“I’m perfectly fine without them thank you very much. I don’t remember much about my mom, but my dad says she hates when cake is left, so let’s eat this delicious looking cake!” Katherine only said this to get the attention off her. They all went quiet at the mention of her mother, but Katherine quickly shrugged it off by grabbing the knife off Holly’s plate and cutting herself a slice, “To us!” she cheered, and they were soon laughing along with her.

The rest of the day dragged until Katherine’s teacher let her leave early to get all her stuff to go home. She was honestly exhausted and regretted telling her dad she could walk home because her leg ached, her torso ached, everything ached. Sighing heavily, she started her long walk home when before she could leave, was knocked to the ground. Katherine’s butt hitting the floor caused the most excruciating pain through her body and she yelped when she processed the pain, she watched the jocks in the year above laughing, something they did often to the four girls because they thought it would get them attention. Olivia looked down at her burning hands to see tiny electricity lines forming on the bottoms of her palms going towards her wrists. The girl went to poke the new scars but jumped when she heard someone behind her.

“Need a hand?” Katherine immediately recognised the voice as Peter’s and thanked the lord it wasn’t any of her friends or anyone in the group; then again, she was very embarrassed and felt her face turning red, she stuck her hand out and he lifted her up. Peter saw her green eyes full of pain and her hair messily piled on her head and yet she still managed to look beautiful.

“Thank you, people are so inconsiderate. You’d think if they saw a cripple, they’d be more careful” She replied dusting off her backside and peering around the corner to see Happy waiting in a suit next to a one of her father’s cars, cursing under her breath “I told him not to do this. My dad sent a driver to pick me up, but I’d much rather walk” She explained to the boy. She puffed out her cheeks and took a step forward, but he grabbed her arm, he tends to do that.

“I could get you out of school, I mean I know another way out where he won’t see you” He suggested, and Katherine smiled.

“Lead the way” He laughed before shoving his hands in his pockets and taking her down another corridor.

***

“Katherine, I specifically sent Happy to get you because you were in no fit state to walk all that way!” Tony exclaimed as she sat her foot elevated on her bed and she was eating some ice cream, “Look how swollen it is! You are supposed to be recovering not getting worse!” Katherine rolled her sparkling eyes and placed the barely dented tub on her bedside table. An image of Katherine’s mother popped into his head when she fell down the stairs and twisted her ankle, he was glad she got her mother’s eyes.

“I’m sorry ok? I just wanted to clear my head and besides, it’s not like I walked alone, Peter helped me out” She shrugged continuing to watch Vampire Diaries. Out the corner of her eye she saw Tony do a double take and turn back around.

“Peter? A boy helped you out? What about Liz? I thought you were attached at the hip?” She was about to fight back when JARVIS started speaking.

“Captain Rogers, Ms. Maximoff, Ms. Romanoff and Mr Wilson are on about to pull into the bay” My father pointed at me, “We’ll finish this later” The teenager sent him a thumb up before she continued watching the drama unfold on the screen. The bed next to her sunk slightly as Wanda sat next to her.

“Hey, I missed you” Katherine told her friend. Ever since Wanda moved in, Katherine’s life had got a lot better. Wanda became one of her closest friends and they both enjoyed watching films and training together, however training would have to be put off for a while. The girls sat in silence for a while before Katherine turned to Wanda and saw dark bags under her eyes and them full of sadness and pain, “What’s wrong?” Wanda shook her head and wrapped her arms around the teenage girl and quietly cried into her shoulder.

Katherine quickly sat up straighter and wrapped her arms around her friend. From her place, Katherine could see Steve stood in the doorway, a sad expression on his face and he slowly walked away as she soothed her friend. And suddenly the moment was ruined when a shock swarmed through Katherine’s fingertips straight into Wanda making her pull away, brows furrowed. Katherine watched the bolts grow on her wrist and the first thing Wanda did was grab her hands and watch the lines grow. Katherine’s eyes held tears as they met Wanda’s confused ones, “I don’t know what is happening to me” She whispered tears escaping her glassy eyes. Wanda flicked her wrist closing the bedroom door and then grabbed Katherine’s shoulders.

“When did this start?” She asked standing from her place, “Was it after the accident?”

“It was injected into me, I don’t know what it is. I burnt my school bag this morning and I’m freaking out Wanda,” Pulling her sleeves up she showed the small indents, “They grow, and it hurts and what if they don’t stop” Katherine rambled on, locks of her dark hair falling from the bun on her head. Wanda didn’t know what to do to help her friend. Maybe she could teach her to control it like she has control of her powers and it was clear that Katherine was panicking about the situation. One thing Wanda knew is she had to get more people in on this because Katherine could be a potential danger to herself and possibly everyone she loved.

TAGS - 

@supernaturallover2002 @racewife2004 @editsbyjenny @savedbystark

@seriouslyobsessed @queendarktigress

[peerless-soshi]

May I ask for your nice drabble with hualian and 6 + 46?

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.

Bookshop AU + Blind Date

The mission looked simply.

Step one: go to the bookstore. Step two: grab the book. Step three: leave the bookstore without causing any additional problems.

Nothing out of ordinary - if you’re an ordinary person, of course, and not Xie Lian. A loser he was, he never had any hopes things could just go as planned.

It could have been worse, Xie Lian thought, gritting his teeth and reaching up. It was good enough that nobody saw him in this embarrassing pose. He stood on his tiptoe, grabbed the shelf, raised his head… Just a little more! His arm started to ache, as if an army of annoying yet bloodthirsty ants was biting it off… And he wasn’t even that short. But here and now, Xie Lian felt like a hamster climbing a bed. Or a bookcase.

It was routine after lectures for him to go to the small bookstore with used books and do homework. Usually, he could count on a nice seller that always took afternoon shifts and wandered through the aisles decked in the smell of books, quietly like a speck of dust, somehow ending up near Xie Lian. But today the boy was nowhere to be found. Maybe Xie Lian shouldn’t be surprised; after all, the book he needed was placed at the very top of the bookcase, and his bad luck made sure there was no ladder nor help to save him.

Xie Lian looked around, then glanced up. It was there; a small paper butterfly eyed him back from the spine of the book, silvering in the light so dimmed by the high shelves. It was just his imagination, a stupid rustle of sheets, but Xie Lian thought he heard a distant wings flutter…

Embarrassing.

Any claims that the paper butterfly was left there for him were nonsense and haughty dreams. He bowed his head. Xie Lian knew he was insisting upon a reason in a coincidence, but last thing he wanted to do — the very last thing — was stopping right before the ending. And so Xie Lian set his foot on the bottom shelf and cautiously checked the weight. Nothing, The bookcase seemed to be stable, hundreds of heavy stories resting on its shelves and holding them under the cover of dust. He added another leg, straightened up. Waited. The sound of crash never came. Well, it was already more than Xie Lian was hoping for. The bookcase falling on him, burying him under a ton of paper like under rubbish and leaving like that until the next morning… Xie Lian pictured it that way. Or similar. But he could easily reach up and touch the book with the silver butterfly. Almost. Just few more centimeters…

The crack came to his ears later than expected. Xie Lian didn’t have time to glean much of an impression from what was going on, he only felt the book slipping away from his fingers and falling, pulling along a cascade of volumes. Allowing himself to act on the spur of the moment, Xie Lian tried to catch them.

Expect that he was the one being caught.

“What?” he exclaimed, meeting the blink of crimson eyes.

It was him. The nice seller, Hua Cheng.

His one hand closed on Xie Lian’s waist, helping him, while the other kept in place the escaping books, like a thread of light passing from a dark corner, too fast to notice. Xie Lian’s breathing swallowed. Strange. He didn’t expect to be that surprised by books… As if remembering about his offence, Xie Lian looked up to see that Hua Cheng stopped the swaying bookcase and pulled something from the cursed top shelf.

“Is this what you were looking for?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes. Thank you a lot,” Xie Lian answered, taking the book and trying to return the smile despite the blush flooding his ears.

“You should call me, I would came,” Hua Cheng said, and then added, a bit like explaining something that stayed only in his mind, “It’s really quiet here. I’d just hear you no matter what.”

Xie Lian simply nodded. His nervousness was palpable; seen in tense gestures, heard in shaking words. “There’s no need, no need! I didn’t want to bother you… though in the end, I did it anyway, right? You’re looking at the master of making unwanted problems.“

“You’re never a problem,” Hua Cheng stated faintly.

“You only said that because you didn’t spend enough time with me,” Xie Lian commented with a rueful smile, his words spilling out.

Has he really just said it?

The bookseller didn’t answer immediately, faltering into a painful silence. Xie Lian risked a quick look at Hua Cheng’s face. Though so skilled in browsing books, he still couldn’t read it. There was a glint of surprise in his eyes, and a shadow of annoyance on his lips. He didn’t speak, but something passed between them.

It was when Hua Cheng broke the silence. “I’ll never refuse my biggest help in your slightest worry. Just ask.”

Upon hearing it Xie Lian noticed, finally, how small was the distance between them. If he stepped forward, he could scuffed his palm on Hua Cheng’s chest and maybe feel the smell of flowers, now shallow under the ever-present old paper scent. So he did what any adult would do in the face of an awkward situation — turned on his heels and fled.

“Thank you for your help and goodbye!”

“Gege, wait!” Hua Cheng called, flashing a glance Xie Lian’s way. But he was cut by the closing door.

True, it was rude to run away so suddenly, but he’s gotten used to offending people despite his intention. What new could detract him? So Xie Lian just run, until his knees felt weak, until his throat trapped his breath, hoping Hua Cheng didn’t chase after him.

Now, what was pushing him out from the bookstore? Shame? Probably. Whatever it was, he had to get away, or his heart would reach a speed threatening to end him in an ambulance. Not that he expected a real heart attack. Dying like that would be too simple.

When the familiar street scenery was gone, Xie Lian also slowed down, his heartbeat deafening. Small clouds of his rapid breathing wrapped around his head, cooling drops of sweat. Yes, a breath in and out… A light frisson of shivers went down Xie Lian’s arms— the days were getting shorter and he couldn’t believe it was already so cold and late: dark sky above him, starlight outlining his shadow on the sidewalk. The chilly autumn air bit through his jacket.

Xie Lian was standing there, shaking a little, when a lightning hit: from a technical standpoint, he had just stolen this book, right? Taking an item from a place where said items were being sold and not paying for it could be called differently, but it boiled down to one: he was a thief.

Something new in his life.

The weird thing was, Xie Lian didn’t feel that bad. Now, when the heart was silent, his thoughts spoke much louder. There was nothing he could do but come back to the bookstore and apologize to Hua Cheng. If he turned back immediately, there was a chance the seller would give it up. Xie Lian didn’t have enough money to buy a hamburger at a promotional price, not to mention a prison bail. Take care of it immediately or die in a cell later. But then the book became heavier in his pocket. Xie Lian stopped and reached for it carefully. Checking now wouldn’t hurt… He stepped aside, leaned against the wall and let a little light of a street lamp hide him.

His curious eyes drifted through the text, lost in the new world. The small paper butterfly was still there, still on the spine, its wings like sails of a ship taking him on another journey. Xie Lian’s pulse stammered. The shush of pages turning showed him the familiar calligraphy, so crooked and messy and written in honey.

To Xie Lian,My heart is so full of you; I can hardly call it my own.- San Lang

Though it was the ugliest, the most cursed writing Xie Lian has ever seen, the quote decorated the whole front page like an example of how something can be beautiful without being beautiful. He found himself flattened against the wall, behind his closed eyelids imagining a hand scribbling those words, then painting them red and flowery… And oh, the hot flush of shame flooded him. It was burning. But like the previous ones, this book was filled with messages: some parts of the text were underlined, other fragments were added, and handwritten though barely legible notes snaked in the margins elsewhere. Pay attention to this… Isn’t it funny?… Actually in 1876… Don’t you think it can be interpreted as…

The mysterious San Lang kept leaving books for Xie Lian. And Xie Lian kept finding them in the next-door bookstore.

He hid the book under his arm. Sticking here wouldn’t help, especially when his homework was piling up somewhere in his room. But when Xie Lian turned the book upside down, something fell down. A petal of white, not so different than a paper butterfly: a rustling pair of glorious wings. The impulse to reach for it was so strong, and Xie Lian caught the piece of paper before it could touch the ground. From there, his own name glanced at him.

To Xie Lian, from San Lang.

An envelope.

He opened it with trembling hands.

I can think of so many things to tell you when you make me forget my words. This can’t be. If you come to the bookstore tonight at 7 pm, I’ll happily let you in. - San Lang

There was such an elegance in these lines, encyclopedias of meanings and feelings between them, that Xie Lian ignored how badly written it was. He only stared at the letter and read it again, under the street lantern. He read it while walking. He read it on the main sidewalk. He read it on a park bench. He stumbled over a can while reading it again.

Meet me. Someone was asking Xie Lian out.

He sort of wanted to go.

He sort of couldn’t get it out of his head that San Lang was a dream, daring and magnificent. And it was fictitious, of course. Xie Lian liked it; talking with him through books and anonymous messages was almost… Was what? Romantic? This sounded way too proud and could seriously mean a thousand things. But something Xie Lian has never considered was accepting that San Lang was just a person of skin and blood, even though he knew it. He did. And he knew that looking into his eyes with so many confessions stored behind the back door in his memory… Xie Lian blushed. It have made him feel awkward.

Running on a blind date with a stranger, late in the evening, when nobody knew where Xie Lian went was the perfect recipe to get somebody killed. Xie Lian was not somebody. He wandered about it a little when he stopped right before the bookstore, but much more he wandered why he called it a date

He had to admit to himself that rejecting the invitation after everything San Lang has done for him was unfair. At the very least Xie Lian could make sure it wasn’t a joke. And the almost-stolen book was a good excuse to come.

The first part of his problem appeared as soon as Xie Lian arrived; Hua Cheng was standing behind the glass door, peering at a crust of early autumn frost rousing in the corners. The street lights were caught on the glass like in a spider’s web, softening his features in golden touches of amber. He looked thoughtful; there was a light in his eyes of wistfulness and absolute wonder. For a moment Xie Lian suffered a slight prick of envy for whoever was behind this enthralled look. Until he realized that Hua Cheng was looking at him.

All of this happened in a flutter of seconds —Xie Lian took a step forward, seized the handle, and Hua Cheng approached, only to lock the door. He turned his head. Xie Lian was so accustomed to the emotions accompanying being ignored that it shouldn’t startle him, but it was Hua Cheng, and it hurt to be a phantom that couldn’t be seen. he fell back a step and the seller’s eyes followed him. Something on his face changed.

What was going on?

“Sorry….” Xie Lian started, hoping that Hua Cheng could hear him behind the door, “I didn’t want to bother…”

“No, I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng rushed to say, “It was me who made you feel bad. I didn’t want things… to turn out like this. Or to end like this. May you forget?”

“Forget?” Xie Lian repeated. He couldn’t stop himself and breathed out a small, incredulous laugh. “I came back to apologize for stealing this book and return it.” He pointed to the book hidden under his arm. “Why are you apologizing to me? I don’t understand.”

Hua Cheng blinked. They stood for a moment, facing each other on two sides of the door, until Xie Lian realized the air around him became warmer. It wasn’t the weather — his breath was still painting on the cold glass like a brush —but something inside his chest sparkled, and ignited. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hua Cheng. The boy had red on his cheeks.

He tapped the door with his finger. “There’s nothing to worry about, I didn’t even consider it stealing. Take the book, it’s yours.”

But Xie Lian grabbed the handle. The soft guilt in his eyes now hardened. “Why did you apologize?” he asked, “What were you trying to say?”

Everything clicked into place. The books being always what he needed made sense, and he understood why they were waiting for him away from other customer’s sight. Why San Lang was never wrong about what to write, as if he knew him.

“It’s you?” Xie Lian whispered, not asked.

Hua Cheng bounced a little, his hand close to the lock. This time it was his turn to look as if he was about to run away from the bookstore and get on a plane to another country.

This has never crossed his mind — Hua Cheng and San Lang and his quiet bookstore — but the moment Xie Lian put his hand on the glass, the biggest smile lit his face, and the feeling of comfort filled him. Maybe he was crazy. After all, he was planning to go… on a date… with a secret admirer. But that’s the point: his blind date wasn’t blind at all.

“Didn’t you write that you would gladly let me in?”

The click of the lock was as beautiful as a silver butterfly.