#I imagine he refuses sugar in either tea or coffee

[bobbys-not-that-small]

Quill Kipps as a hot chocolate drinker is actually something that can be so personal to me

[shadow4-1]

(Based on a true story) I'm imagining being a military contracted funeral director (from this post) that is surprised when the giant Lieutenant of the man you just cremated is waiting in your office.

"Oh! Um...h-hello Lieutenant Riley." You huff, completely caught off guard. "How long have you been waiting here?"

He doesn't respond. Just looks up at you with tired, distraught eyes. You've seen men bigger than him sobbing in the funeral home's lobby. He's no different despite the soft ski mask he wears to hide his face.

"I take it you're here for Mr. MacTavish?" You asked him, setting down your purse and keys on your desk. He doesn't nod or anything but he doesn't have to. You offer him a soft smile and place a hand on his shoulder. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea..." His voice is rougher than before from disuse.

You nod and gesture for him to follow you. You lead him down the hall and into a small family room. On the side of the room there's a table with a few beverage heaters and pastries. You pour him a cup of steaming water, then thumb over the organized packets of tea.

"Black? Green?"

"Black."

You rip open the packet and place it in the cup. You offer him sugar and milk but he refuses with a shake of his head. He doesn't touch the pastries either so instead you usher him to follow you once more.

You bring him into the selection room. Caskets and urns line the walls. You can feel Mr. Riley's eyes wander from squarely between your shoulders. You take the opportunity to use your key and unlock the mahogany cabinet at the back of the room.

Inside the cabinet are a handful of different sized velvet bags. You reach for the largest one in the middle of the main shelf. With careful, gentle fingers, you pull down the velvet drawstring bag to reveal a simple urn. It's round, smooth and silver in color. Before you can pick it up, you hear something with significant weight hit the carpeted floor behind you.

You whirl around to find the Lieutenant on his knees. You stop what you're doing and immediately tend to him. You grab at his shoulder and try to keep him upright. If he passes out you'll at least be able to keep him from falling directly on his face.

"Mr. Riley?"

At first it's just sniffles. He covers his entire face with one of his large, broad hands. After a few moments though, he starts to sob. His breath hitches and his voice quavers.

"Mr. Riley?" You ask again, this time softer.

He continues to cry. His body starts to shake and he almost begins to wail. You press a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. All you can really do is comfort him until he's done.

Riley pulls his hand away from his face. He tries to rub the tears off of his lower lashes but it doesn't work. His sobbing slows down but doesn't stop. He seems tired, defeated. His entire body sags with an invisible weight.

"Mr. Riley?" You whisper, patting his back.

He finally breaks from his stupor. He looks up at you with a sort of fear you've only seen a few times in men's eyes. He's being vulnerable and so he believes he's being weak. You're not supposed to see this of him. No one should. You don't agree with that sentiment and never will, so you offer him another soft smile.

Riley shifts on his knees. You think he's going to move to stand. He leans over to you, pressing the side of his face against the meat of your hip. One of his arms wraps around your thighs. He squeezes you tight, like a son would his mother. He doesn't pull away either. He just holds you.

Once again, you're caught off guard. Now this, this is something you've never experienced before. You're unsure. You don't know if you should pry out of his grip or let him continue. He's a large man. You wouldn't want to offend him. He's grieving. He lost his best friend.

You lean over again, patting at his shoulders but moving up towards his head. You cup at his jaw to get his attention.

"I never met Mr. MacTavish, but something tells me he would hate to see you like this." You swallow hard. Sometimes, to support, you realized you need to have a little bite.

"Please, get up Mr. Riley."

Something about your command seems to stir something within him. His eyes grow pointed, his brow lines deepen. He immediately lets go of you like your body heat burns. And with that, hd staggers up off his knees. He refuses to look you in the eye.

Now free, you walk over to the cabinet. You replace the velvet bag around Mr. MacTavish's urn. You glance back at Riley and sigh.

"I know this is hard. Are you sure you want to pick up Mr. MacTavish today?" You hum. "I can call Captain Price to come instead. I'm sure he'd understand."

Riley stands there on shaky ankles still sniffling. He won't meet your eyes. He seems to be thinking hard about your words. He nods once.

You close and lock up the cabinet before escorting Mr. Riley to the lobby. The midday sun casts beautiful shadows across the white walls. The receptionist must've taken her lunch break as it was just the two of you.

"Here's my card. I'm sure you don't need it but um...if you need anything. Need someone to talk to? You can call me anytime." You smiled earnestly, placing the small card in his palm.

"Don't be ashamed, Mr. Riley. It's nor-"

"Simon."

You raised a brow but realized what he meant. You nodded. "Mr. Simon."

"No. Just Simon."

You give him a sheepish smile. "Simon."

He nods back at you, his regular demeanor having seemed to return. He tucks your card away.

"I'll be back for you."

You open your mouth to question him. You can't tell if his words are a threat or simply an odd promise. He's already turned to leave. You watch him walk out of the facilities' glass double doors. He dissappears into the sunlight a moment later.

You feel nervous but you feel...fulfilled? Mr. Rile-er Simon...is a peculiar man. You didn't want for him to break down and cling to you, but the fact he did make your heart swell. You'd always heard comments that you were just that type of person, the kind that even the most closed off people could open up to. For a moment you sat there lost in that thought. You enjoyed the feeling.

Then you had to get back to work.

You picked up the receptionist's phone, pulled a card out of your pocket, and then dialed the number of the Captain scrawled on the back.

[senditcolton]

As It Was

a/n: still a little angsty. but this one has a much more hopeful ending than the last, i feel.  word count: 1.1k warnings: none! gender neutral reader!

Whatever here that’s left of me is yours just as it was.

The first succession of knocks woke you up.

The second got you out of bed.

The third had you silent cursing whoever was on the other side of the door for being so goddamn persistent. Who had this much energy at two in the morning? What was so important that if couldn’t wait until the sun was in the sky?

You don’t get any answers when you look through the peephole and see the frame of the person standing on the doorstep, baseball cap pulled low over his pale blonde hair, the brim hiding his blue eyes. You quickly unlock the door, swinging it open, half expecting to be greeted with an empty hallway, like you imagined him.

But he’s still standing there.

“Elias.”

Your voice comes out as a whisper, filled with… disbelief? Hope? Melancholy? You weren’t quite sure. And from the look on his face as his eyes darted to meet yours, it was clear he wasn’t sure of the feelings twinging on the edge of your voice either.

You didn’t blame him for his uncertainty. After all, you had done many things that even you couldn’t understand. Such as making the decision to remove yourself from his life. For reasons that seemed so inconsequential now. Reasons that were so important to you back then.

“Can I come in?” he asks and it’s that gently accented voice that calls you back to reality, where you are still in your pajamas, blocking the doorway as Elias stands there, hands buried in his hoodie, the cool Vancouver night air blowing through the threshold.

You step aside, silently beckoning him into the apartment he had entered many times before. The door is closed shortly after, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoing around the room before you turn back to him.

The silence that fills the space between you is heavy. You aren’t sure why he’s here. You aren’t sure if you are in the position to ask. So, instead, you ask a different question.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Brock told me that you were crashing with him and Annie after… well, you know. And I know that they’re on their honeymoon right now so…” His voice trails off, head ducking back down to stare at his shoes. You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips at his shyness, something that pulled you to him in the first place.

“Do you want some tea? Or coffee?” you ask, calling him back to you. A task that you were familiar with doing; bringing him out of his head.

One that you hadn’t been successful in for what felt like a long time. The failures of which were part of the reason the two of you found yourselves in the current situation.

“Tea would be nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle on, grabbing mugs from the cabinet. You let yourself get lost in the motions, although you are still cognizant of Elias entering the kitchen behind you, settling down into one of the high-top chairs that line the island.

The steam coming off the top of the mugs is still strong as you set one down in front of Elias before grabbing the milk, honey, and sugar from their homes and returning to him. You watch as his elegant hands grab the ingredients he wants, taking a hold of the spoon and creating the drink to whose recipe you still had imprinted in the back of your mind.

You didn’t make it for him tonight though. Perhaps because you didn’t want him to know how much of you were made up of parts of him.

“Where are Coolie and Milo?” Elias asks after taking a sip of his tea.

“In their crates. We were all sleeping, y’know,” you gently tease him.

“Right,” he laughs lightly. “Sorry about that.”

There is another silence, one that is once again only filled with the sound ceramic against marble as you both sip your drinks.

“Are Brock and Annie treating you well?”

“What are you doing here, Elias?” you ask, refusing to further participate in this stumbling dance of small talk. Elias ducks his head again, taking another drink.

It was as if he didn’t think this through. There he was, waiting for the apartment to be empty of everyone except you before showing up to where you were currently living late at night. And now here he is, unsure and uncertain. Like he didn’t think you would let him in. Like he didn’t believe he would get this far.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he finally says, eyes darting to look at you and you can see the sincerity shining in his pupils. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, when you left.”

“I said a lot things,” you murmur, your head now ducking down. “Not all of them fair.”

“Maybe,” his whisper gentle and assuring. “But you were right. These past few months, I neglected you. Put too much focus on my career, on winning, on leading even if no one was looking at me to lead. I was so worried about not being good enough for all of them, that I forgot to be good enough for you. I became a different person. And I can understand why you left. I wasn’t the man you fell in love with anymore.”

Every word he speaks lands heavily on you. Every word he speaks ignites that fire in you that always burned so brightly when it came to him.

“I guess,” Elias continues, “I just came back here to ask if it was possible for us to go back to how we used to be. Before all this. Before I drifted away. Before you left. I just wanted to see if you still wanted me. Despite everything I’ve done.”

“I will always want you, Elias. It was wrong of me to leave like that. You will always be the man I fell in love with. And I vowed to love you for better or for worse. I didn’t.”

“I vowed to love and cherish you always. And I didn’t.”

“I guess we both have some work to do,” you breathlessly laugh, causing that small smile to appear on Elias’ face. “But one thing’s for certain; I love you. Nothing is going to change that.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. I’m yours, just like I always have been.”

There aren’t any more words to say. And so, neither of you speak. Elias simply reaches his hand across the cool marble, sliding underneath your left hand and taking it in his own. You can’t surpress the shiver that runs through you as his calloused fingertips brush against your knuckles. And you don’t even attempt to stop the smile that appears on your lips when his thumb caresses the smooth metal band on your ring finger.

The one that he placed there a year ago.

A promise. Unmoved and everlasting.

[zorilleerrant]

Sorry to keep flooding your ask box but the coffee headcanon refuses to leave me. I haven't tried very hard either but that's neither here nor there.

I'm also now imagining Alfred and Luke getting together for coffee/tea meetings as a way of enjoying a drink with a fellow connoisseur. Please share with me your headcanon about Kate or Barbara and coffee?

(Luke has similar opinions on coffee to his dad but, notably, Not the exact same ones. in ways that sometimes distress Lucius. but that is also a long post.)

okay but see now you said it and now I'm thinking of Kate and Babs getting together for coffee and it's super cute and sweet. I think they hang out all the time anyway, especially with the Batfam being kind of a boys' club even when they try not to be pushy about it. so getting coffee together? yes absolutely.

Babs I think doesn't really care about coffee. like she needs the caffeine don't get me wrong, but it all just tastes like coffee to her? the first time she heard someone talk about flavors in the coffee she assumed they meant vanilla and hazelnut, not... just coffee. it all tastes exactly the same! so she trusts the opinions of her friends, which is to say, since she doesn't care, she's happy to let them care for her. it feels nice to get presents, and they like it when she says she likes the coffee. which she does! just not more than any other coffee she's ever tasted. (as long as it's not gritty)

so she gets a lot of coffee explanations and samplers from Alysia, who genuinely adores coffee, but mostly in the sense of what can she mix it into. she's made her own coffee ice cream, candies, cakes and cookies, and even tie-dyed shirts. she likes a lot of mixed drinks, but not complicated ones, like mochas, which she does by dropping a shot of espresso into extremely rich hot chocolate. so Babs ends up with most of her coffee knowledge applied through that lens, altho she picks up words from Luke and Dick sometimes.

Babs really enjoys it when someone brings her coffee. not only does she forget about it and let it get cold a lot, but also the number of buttons to press and things to move around feels a lot like programming, so it keeps nagging at her what she should be doing as Oracle. and she really loves having a chat over coffee, when she can get past that part. sipping a nice drink - any drink, coffee's just the most socially probably - with friends is relaxing and comforting. and she really needs the caffeine.

Kate is the opposite. she really really hates the taste of coffee. oh, she'll drink it, she's had to drink worse and she's over it, she can choke it down when she needs to. she prefers cheaply roasted stuff because it seems like a waste to be careful about it when she hates the flavor anyway, so she'll often drink the burned batches. they all taste burned to her anyway. but she hates the taste of energy drinks even more, and more than one bottle of soda starts to make her feel sick from the pure sugar and carbonation.

which is not to say she hates sugar. actually, she really loves the super sugary froufrou drinks she has to constantly post on social media to maintain her airheaded socialite persona. often sipping at them and winking. it's just that the leftover military bravado makes her feel really self-conscious when she thinks about that. she knows it's ridiculous! she has no problems being openly queer, and she even talks openly with her family about liking jewelry and dresses. she takes the girls out bonding with mani-pedis! she's not embarrassed to like girly things! except she is, this time.

so she tells the Bats she just does it for the ruse, like Bruce, but she doesn't hate them as much as he does, so she's happier going out on coffee dates and things like that. sometimes, on dates, she'll play up the butch angle, because the ladies like it, or at least a lot of the ones who stroke her arms and pet her short hair, and she'll just drink a plain espresso shot and pretend she loves it. but if they blush and admit they want a fancy drink, she'll get one too, not just to make them feel better, but admitting she likes them best. at home, she always has sweet drinks. her partners and sisters see her drink them, but she tries to hide them from her dad.

but the beauty of Babs letting other people pick her drinks and Kate have A Look she's going for (Babs helpfully photographs her while blowing at her hair to make it sway) means they can always get the special, which is a fun bonding element they don't realize is Their Thing until they've been doing it for most of a year. their favorite coffee shop notices, tho, and gives them free specials to celebrate on their anniversary. (they have to explain they're not dating.) so they start doing it sometimes when they go out for dinner together, too, even with the rest of the family, even without coffee.

[hello-everyfandom]

"James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Sirius becomes frustrated after a serious conversation about how much of a daft sod James is. 

Part One “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her, not me.”

Part Three “I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you.”

(Hello, my loves! I’m so excited to share this next part with you. Please read part one to this imagine linked above. This imagine has a little bit more comedy than angst, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy!)

Remus Lupin, as always, was right. James Potter woke up with a pounding headache, sore limbs, and face down in his bed. He groaned loudly, covering his head with his pillow to hide from the sunlight that peered through the dormitory curtains. He heard Sirius shuffle in his bed and sit up. His voice was croaky but louder than James would’ve wanted to hear first thing in the morning.

“Bloody hell, I feel like utter shite.” Sirius stretched. James groaned in response, “But hell of a party, eh mate?” James groaned again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever drink again, in my life. Or at least until the next party.” Peter, who didn’t make it to his bed last night, chimed in from the floor.

“I’d lecture you lot, but I think you feel the punishment enough,” Remus said, pulling on a sweater, standing near the chest by the end of his bed. “Any of you even remember what happened last night?”

“Last night?” Sirius whistled, “Last night I got with the fittest bird, mate, you should’ve seen her. I-”

“Yeah, Pads. We get it,” Remus grumbled, “you look like you’ve been massacred by the giant squid..” Sirius looked down at his bare chest and saw dozens of hickies litter his chest. He grinned proudly and attempted to fix his awful bed head.

“Wormtail, man, you’ve got to cool it on the brandy next time. I looked over once and saw you drinking like a horse.” Sirius said, making Peter moan and nod. “And you, Mr. Prongs, saw you getting in quite a row with Y/L/N. Looked like you two were in a romance novel.”

Underneath his pillow, James blinked rapidly. Images of last night spread through his mind like wildfire. He felt his back go warm. He remembered seeing your face, your perfect face. He remembered your jokes and his slurred speech. He remembered declaring his love for you. He remembered your shattered face when Remus dragged him away. James Potter wanted to hit himself, no, he wanted to bury himself or sink into the Black Lake with rocks in his pocket. He wanted to be swallowed whole by his bedsheets and never see the face of the Earth again.

“What’s that?” he mumbled guiltily. What the hell was he doing? 

“Are you cross with Y/N? What happened?” Sirius asked again. Remus leaned on his bedpost, watching intently. James could feel himself become anxious, scared even. He was entirely confused and extremely hungover. He knew two things: one, he loved you. And two? He had utterly and completely screwed up. He had hit your past boyfriends for being dodgy and now here he was, telling you he loved you in the common room whilst pissed drunk. He thought quickly in his mind. He could admit to the boys he loved you and risk destroying his relationship with you, or he could pretend he forgot and preserve what little was left of your friendship. The idea of being without you, in love or just friends, could alone kill James. Besides the hangover, James felt weak. He wanted nothing more than to run into the common room, sweep you off your feet, and kiss you. But, he couldn’t, could he? If he remembered correctly, it didn’t seem like you reciprocated his feelings. James felt the wallowing hurt that submerged in his ribcage. He swallowed thickly, his mouth becoming dry.

“Uh, what? I don’t think so.” James made his decision. He’d do anything to make you comfortable, he’d swallow his feelings if it meant keeping you in his life. “I mean, I don’t remember much, mate. I think I was smashed by midnight.” Remus narrowed his eyes and pushed off his bedpost.

“You don’t remember anything?” Remus questioned.

James sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes before putting on his glasses, “I don’t think so,” he paused, pretending to look confused, “Why, did I try and flirt with the Fat Lady again?” 

“Nothing at all?” Remus asked again.

“No, Moons, nothing. Why are you questioning me? Bloody hell, I’ve just woken up.”

Remus felt disappointed in his friend and sympathy for his other. Part of him knew James was lying, James even admitted to him last night how much he cared for you before he passed out in bed. But, what he couldn’t understand was why he was lying. Surely James would’ve known about your feelings for him, correct? It was all confusing and Remus found himself wanting to force you together in a room just to talk things out. However, all he did was take a whiff and say, “I love you all, you’re my best mates, but you three smell like goblin dung. Take a shower, all of you.” And with that, he left the room.

Remus found you sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. You had a book in front of you as well as a cup of steaming tea. You had enchanted your teaspoon to stir every so often, making a small clinking noise. He sat across from you cautiously, unsure of how you would act.

“Morning,” you said without looking up from your book, “I’ve made you some coffee, I know you don’t like my cuppas.” 

“Morning,” Remus said slowly, reaching for the cup of coffee you had next to you. He sipped and then said, “How are you feeling?”

“Not as hungover as I thought,” you replied.

“And... last night.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Remus,” you said calmly. But you felt less than calm. You felt panicked and hurt and every emotion between. You dreaded seeing James, worried about what he may say. Worried he would blame it all on the booze or say that his confession was nothing but a silly prank. Either way, you knew that today would hurt.

“But-”

“Remus, please.” Remus complied for a short while as he nippled on his piece of toast.

“What do you think-”

“Remus, I love you. But, all I want  is forget about it. In my mind, it’s forgotten.”

Remus clenched his jaw and thought it practically is in James’ mind. But quickly debated on telling you. He’s seen you at your lowest, not truly accepting your feelings for James hurt you in the most horrible way. 

“Y/N, I think I should tell you-” Remus was rudely interrupted by the sound of footsteps hurrying towards you two.

“I am starving, with a capital ‘S,’” Sirius said, sitting next to you. “Oh wow, Moony, nice of you to make me coffee.” Before Remus could interject, Sirius had already taken a sip of his coffee. “Bloody hell, you need some sugar in there. Some milk wouldn’t hurt either.” Sirius turned to you, sending you quite a dazzling for someone who just woke up, “Good morning, lovely!” He said, placing a wet kiss on your cheek.

You groaned and quickly wiped it off, “You’re an arsehole.”

“No, I’m not,” you silently begged him not to say it, “I’m Sirius!” You rolled your eyes and began to say a snarky comment when you saw James walk over. His head down, refusing to make eye contact with you. He placed himself next to Remus and Peter before grabbing himself a slice of toast. Remus studied you closely, watching your emotions turned from annoyance to sadness. That sorrow quickly was replaced by a fake smile.

“I didn’t think I’d even see you alive today, nevertheless in the morning!” your joke hurt to say, but you smiled through it. James looked up from his plate, scratched his neck, and laughed nervously.

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” you replied, taking a sip of your tea to soothe your nerves, “You were quite the life of the party last night.”

“Yes, well,” James’ next words would cause you the worst suffering you’d ever endure, “I was quite drunk. Don’t even remember hitting the bed. Think Moony got me up there, but not quite sure.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. You knew it was too good to be true. He didn’t remember. He didn’t want you. He didn’t love you. Last night was a figment of your imagination, your careless mind playing dirty tricks on you, and sprouting false hope of a relationship between you two. You nearly scoffed at the idea. James was drunk and said somethings he didn’t mean.

“Y/N, you should’ve seen the-”

“Sirius, I can see the hickies from miles away, cover it up you slag.” Sirius shrugged and grinned, continuing to tell you the details of the party anyways despite you attending and being there. As you pretended to listen to Sirius and Peter rattle about, James looked at you from the corner of his eye. You were even more beautiful in the morning. Your hair was pulled back, and your sweater covered your hands. You held your tea with both hands, one hand holding the cup and the other steadying it with your palm. He noticed when you laughed, you would bite the inside of your cheek. James Potter was in love with you and even pretending for a second that he wasn’t was destroying him inside and out.

“I’m so hungover, I think I may be sick,” Peter said from the common room couch. He had taken one entirely for himself and didn’t plan to move till dinner. You draped a blanket over him,

“That’s what you get for doing shots. I told you last time you best not compete against Sirius, you know he’ll win.”

“Yes, but, if I keep practicing-”

“Peter, you fool.” You tutted and sat in the armchair, legs crossed under you. You soon heard small snored coming from his mouth and you were glad you had given him a blanket so he did not get cold. Remus sat adjacent from you, looking at you.

“You know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You said, quoting something you heard off of a muggle television show.

“‘m not sure you’d want to see the photograph if I did.”

“Remus Lupin!” you laughed, “you’re a being a prat today, aren’t you?”

“Just being honest.”

“Do I really look that bad?” you joked, pretending to smooth out your hair.

“No, not at all, actually. You look quite nice. It’s just that, you seem.”

“Seem what? Seem confident? Bold? Perhaps even enchanting?”

“You seem hurt.” Your jokes stopped, your smile disappearing from your face as Remus said honestly. You wished you could correct him and tell him you had never felt better in your life, but he knew you better than that. “Don’t you think you should talk to him?”

“About what?” You humorlessly laughed, “About how he forgot he told me he loved me?”

“Yes.” Remus said sharply, “I think it’d do you two some good to really talk about it.”

“It’s really sweet you care so much, Rem, but...” you paused, inhaling and exhaling, “he doesn’t remember. Maybe it’s for the better.”

“Or maybe he does and he just doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Remus, James Potter publicly declared his intense infatuation with Lily Evans every year we’ve been here. When has he ever been one to shy away from feelings?”

Remus thought, biting his lip and scratching at one of his scars, “Yes, well. I do suppose that’s true, but this is different.”

“How is it different?”

“James is in love with you,” Remus said finally. You shrugged and stood up, Remus watching your every move. You headed towards the girl’s dormitory stairs before turning around and pointing at Peter.

“Make sure he doesn’t become sickly, and if he does. Well. That’s your problem.” and left for the dorms, leaving your heart and stomach in the common room.

“Something’s happened.” Sirius said to James. Peter and Remus had left to go prepare for Peter’s potions exam in the library leaving Sirius alone with James. It had been a few weeks since the party and Sirius, call it his doggy sense, could feel that something was off with his best mate.

“What’s happened is that you truly are bollocks at wizards chess,” James said before taking down another one of Sirius’ knights.

“No, I mean, somethings happened with you,” Sirius looked at James who peered up confusingly. 

“What you talking about, mate? Nothing’s happened.”

“Yes, it has, Prongs. Ever since the party you’ve... deflated almost. Something’s definitely happened.” Sirius was worried. He had never seen his friend so lowly, so upset with himself.

“Is this about Y/N?” Sirius asked, knowing full well it was. James was not the only person not themselves nowadays. The Marauders barely saw you, you slipped in and out of the cracks at Hogwarts and seemed to only talk to Remus who swore up and down he knew nothing about it. In class, when Sirius would make jokes to you, you’d laugh but it wouldn’t quite reach your eyes. And, it was alerting how much time you and James had spent apart. The most time you’ve been away from each other was in first year when James accidentally set all your homework on fire, including your astronomy essay you had been working for weeks on. That fight was finally settled when James allowed you to dye his hair pink for a week, even then James was still extremely apologetic. 

James continued to be silent as Sirius prodded on, “C’mon mate, talk to me.”

“About what?” James asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes exhausted. 

“I think something happened between you and Y/N, have you kissed? Or did something even dirtier and never spoke about it? I’ve been there, but Y/N is your best friend.”

“Oh Merlin, no. Y/N and I did not sleep together,” 

“Then what? What happened? You two are acting like strangers and quite frankly, it’s scaring the living shit out of all of us.”

James flopped down on his bed, putting the pillow over his head once again. He mumbled something incoherent that made Sirius’ ears perk up.

“What’s that?”

“I told...” James sighed, “I told Y/N that I’m in love with her.”

Sirius was stunned. Speechless. His mouth agape and shocked. He pounced on James’ bed and slapped his shoulder, “Mate! You did it! Bloody hell, I thought you’d never do it.”

“Shut up, Padfoot, or I swear I’ll shove my foot up your tight little ass.” 

“But, you love her!”

“I do. I love her more than anything.”

“I mean, wow. Blimey, I’m proud of you. I always knew you two would... wait.” Sirius paused, “What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is...” James said, his voice becoming incoherent again. Sirius grabbed his pillow and chucked it across the room. James covered his eyes with his arm, “The problem is, I told her I forgot about it.”

“You what?” Sirius asked, stunned yet again.

“I told her I was so plastered that I didn’t remember any of that night.” 

Before James could register anything, Sirius had walloped him on the shoulder quite hard. “You fucking idiot.”

“Ow! Mate, bloody hell that hurt.”

“You told her you forgot about it? What are you? Daft?”

“No!” James cried, “I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Well look where that’s gotten you now, you idiot!”

“I understand the problem here, Sirius.” James moaned. Why did he do this? Why couldn’t he just gather his courage and tell you his feelings sober? “I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable... I’d rather be her friend than nothing, man. I couldn’t lose her.”

Sirius sighed and pushed back the hair that had gotten in his face after punching James with his fist, “If you weren’t my best mate, I’d kick you into the dungeons and leave you there for the Slytherins.”

James moaned again, “Oh my god. What do I do? I must be the stupidest bloke in the bloody world right now. She must hate me.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, “She probably does.” James sat up immediately.

“What? Do you think she hates me?” He said urgently, panic rising in his throat.

“No! Jesus, James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”

James Potter sighed glumly and shook his head, “No, she doesn’t.”

“I’m not going to talk to you when you’re pitying yourself, honestly Prongs, it’s somewhat pathetic.”

“She doesn’t love me, I could see it in her eyes when I told her.” Sirius delivered Prongs another good punch to the arm, “Ow! Stop hitting me, damn it!”

“You actually are the stupidest bloke, she’s obviously head over heels for you. You’re just too thick-headed to see.”  

“Padfoot, I just want to forget about it-”

“Well shove that thought up your arse, it’s too late. And now,” Sirius sighed, “You’re to tend to the mess you’ve created as it is seriously causing me great stress.”

“It’s causing you great stress?” James said incredulously. 

“Pick up your balls that have so magically fallen on the floor, and go tell her you love her. Or, well, I’m not sure she’ll be here much longer.” 

James could feel his nervous rise up in the form of bile. He knew he needed to tell you, hell he wanted to tell you. But, the thought scared him. He loved you. That’s all that mattered. And he loved you enough to tell you how he truly feels. James stood up, Sirius’ eyes on him.

“You’re right. Bloody hell, you’re right. I need to tell her I love her!” James stopped, “Wait before I tell her, can you do something for me?” 

“Anything,” Sirius said. James raised his fist faster than any broomstick and landed a hard punch on Sirius’ arm. Sirius howled and rubbed where he would soon be bruised.

“You know what that’s for,” James pointed at him before leaving the dorm. Sirius grinned to himself, proud of his persuasion skills. The room was quiet for a beat until the door swung open.

“Actually, I do have something I need you to do. for me.”

“Don’t hit me again, or I’ll punch you in the crotch.”

“What? No. I need you to pretend to be Y/N so I can practice what I want to say.”

Sirius loved James. He did. He was like a brother to him. But, he’d never admit this to anyone. Sirius reluctantly agreed and pretended to be you and helped nervous James Potter practice his speech. 

“Y/N wouldn’t say that,” James argued.

“Are you Y/N right now? Or am I Y/N right now?” Sirius said snottily. It had been an hour, maybe two or James and Sirius working out the kinks of James’ love speech to you.

“Y/N wouldn’t say ‘I want to butter your beer and take you in the broom closet,’”

“How do you know! You’ve never heard her say that!” Sirius cried out, completely in character.

“I’ve never heard her say that because she would never say that!”

“You told me to be Y/N, so I’m being Y/N!”

“At least be a good Y/N then!”

“You know who is a good Y/N?” Sirius asked sarcastically, “Maybe Y/N!” 

“Shut up and let’s run it again,” James grumbled. The door flicked open as Peter and Remus walked in, confused as to why Sirius had put on a long shirt with no pants and James had thrown his pillows everywhere along with half of the contents of his chest.

“Do I want to know?” Remus asked.

“Not at all.” The boys said together.

“Padfoot, forgive me if this is rude,” Peter started, “You have quite feminine legs.” 

[goldtracing]

APH Austria Headcanons – Part I

… that nobody asked for, yet I am still delivering because I feel inspired.

As mentioned in The Coffee ClubTM post, Roderich is a downright snob when it comes to coffee. It was to be of high quality and with little sugar or else he will refuse it. This mentality extends to food in general. Aesthetic strangely enough, isn’t his foremost criteria. A dish can be as artistic as can be, if the meat isn’t tender and the vegetables are raw, then he will lay down the cutlery and refuse to continue. Additionally, he is a picky eater with a list of stuff which he will not tolerate in on his plate. As such, he also has an intense dislike for instant meals.

However, he is a bad cook. He is also acutely aware of this. Yes, he can manage to boil some potatoes, grill sausages and make a salad, yet beyond that he is helpless. Out of that reason he has a housekeeper. And if push comes to shoves, he’ll just have bread with spreads or cheese and meat as dinner or lunch. It is something he does fairly often either way, so he doesn’t mind.

In contrast to his cooking skills – he is a phenomenal baker and can whip up cakes and pastries that are nigh addictive; they are just that good. There are two hallmarks to his style of baking: moderation with sugar, and a tendency to mix alcohol in the batter. His favourites in this regard are rum and cognac. Besides baked goods, he also makes excellent marmalades and syrups.

Speaking of alcohol – he has a remarkably high alcohol tolerance. Can and has drunk people under the table before and then proceeded to make fun of them. And has also proceeded into goading drunk people to do very stupid things.

Is a sort of an expert when it comes to plants and fungi. Roderich knows which ones cure and which ones kill and everything in between. Will often go out into the forests in early autumn to gather mushroom. In terms of plants – he has a small cabinet filled with jars of dried herbs. When somebody around him is ill or feeling unwell in anyway, he’ll be quick to make an herbal tea and press it in their hand. No, he doesn’t care if it is disgusting. Pills you say? Ever occurred to you that modern doctors might be too quick to prescribe them? Yes, you have to drink everything of it. It is for your own good.

Is surprisingly fit, something his silhouette doesn’t really betray. He goes on his morning walks, mountaineers, swims. Something he is especially good at is skiing; when it comes to that sport, there are few that can hold a candle to his flame.

While he still tends to be old-fashioned, he doesn’t run around with a cravat and tailcoats anymore. However, he usually sees to it that he remains fashionable. He likes his Italian suites and shoes, his trench coats and scarves, and fashionable black pants. Nevertheless, he does dress situation-appropriate – you won’t catch him hiking up the mountain in business attire.

In terms of personality – he is bitter, pessimistic and fast to see the flaws of other people. Yet he also has a strict policy of non-confrontation so a lot of this is hidden behind polite smiles and carefully weighed words … which conceal insults and barbs and offensive jokes. Many people only realise that he has insulted them hours after it happened and even then they are plagued by doubts. As in “did he really mean that, or was I just imagining it” or “I’m surely misconstruing what he said back there.” Austria has a huge preference for high context communication since he sees being direct and blunt as being extremely rude.

This also goes hand in hand with his tendency to gossip. He seldom insults people in their faces (Prussia is the exception) and they usually only find out if he doesn’t like them by reading between the lines or by other people passing on the news. Usually, he also keeps and ear to the ground to catch on what sort of rumours and stories are going about. A fundamental member of the European rumour mill.

These two things feed into his proclivity of being a diplomate. He prefers the pen over the sword any day and has a viciously sharp tongue when it is called for. More so, he is very astute on catching on to facial cues, body language and the meanings behind gestures and tonal shifts.

Yet when he does have to abandon such roles and more actively join the war effort, he usually ends up with a job tied to logistics. He has a good memory when it comes to the movement of troops and equipment and supplies. Also, he is quick to figure out supply routes and calculate where obstacles are and how to overcome them.

When he must take up a weapon, his weapon of choice is a rifle. He is a decent marksman and since his glass are largely for aesthetic purposes, he actually has a keen eye. Roderich is also familiar with guerrilla tactics and tends to excel at such forms of conflict far more than he does on an ordered front.

Although, in recent years he has gotten comfortable in his Everlasting NeutralityTM. Roderich kicks up his feet and enjoys the soap-op that occurs whenever the rest of the EU scrambles to send troops somewhere or has to have some sort of concrete reaction to a global event.

[ronsenburg]

have some random klavier HCs that i have asserted through various means over the years:

klavier is a stage name, real name is konrad. may or may not have legally changed it.

is actually german on his mother’s side (affected bavarian accent). dad is…. american.

lives in a highrise in downtown LA (that looks like this in my head). it has a doorman and an elevator

loves and romanticizes the 80s even though he was not alive then, has genuinely sighed and stared out the window, longing to have been a teenager in 1986

prince is a GENIUS, purple rain CHANGED MY LIFE, “oh prince, we’re really in it now.”

is not a “car guy” like edgeworth is a car guy—just likes to go fast and look cool—but they bond over it anyway.

f1 fandom, stans lewis hamilton unironically. they go clubbing. klavier definitely told him those diamond earrings look cool.

in addition to the motorcycle (which I refused to call a hog, I’m sorry) he bought an early 70s corvette C3 with a hardtop when he was 19, painted it bright purple, and nearly got murdered by daryan for consistently making “little purple corvette” jokes when literally no one asked.

had it repainted to black when he was 23/24 (listen sometimes you need to go places without FORCIBLY ANNOUNCING YOUR IDENTITY TO THE WORLD) but it absolutely still has purple details

klavier’s hair is much thicker and more unruly than kristoph’s, also darker in color and naturally wavy. klavier spends HOURS making it do what he wants. and also bleaching it. when he was younger he wished his hair looked more like kris.

kristoph looks more like their mother than klavier does. they have the same eye color and broader face, although klavier has her smile.

mommy issues abound. they both loved her a lot, she used to give music lessons from their parlor. kristoph has her tea set, klavier pretends he doesn’t care.

klavier grew up learning the piano while kristoph played the violin. classical training. chopin my beloved ❤️ stopped playing after their mother died, took up the guitar after meeting daryan at age 13/14

does not go anywhere without at least three guitars, by the way. you know how when you were a kid, you used to make sure that all your stuffed animals got to take turns sleeping in the best bed positions so they knew they were equally loved? that’s klavier and his guitars.

daryan taught him to play (and is actually better than klavier, you can’t be the best at everything). daryan plays lead in concert while klavier plays rhythm because it’s HARD to sing and play lead at the same time.

Klavier and Daryan knew each other before becoming a prosecutor/detective

in addition to the house they grew up in, kristoph also inherited their family wine cellar. klavier CANNOT drink red wine because of it.

klavier: either orders a whiskey that costs $150 a pour or literally the most insane cocktail you can possibly imagine.

if he MUST drink wine, rose all day 💗 maybe a dry riesling sometimes idk.

(i still maintain that he deals with the trauma and fame as a high functioning alcoholic but. unpopular opinion????)

canNOT live without coffee: strong, cream, no sugar. oat milk is actually good too.

bi icon 💗💜💙

serial monogamist. hopelessly romantic. falls in love with everyone who is actually nice to him (not klavier, lead vocalist of the gavinners OR klavier gavin, scourge of the courtroom). unrealistic expectations of love. bad habit of sleeping with his hair and makeup artists. lots of short, explosive relationships. not a lot of experience with long term, committed things.

klavier gavin love language time. to show love? all of them. must be touching. always. but giving gifts, too. receiving love? acts of service just hit different. you did that for him without expecting anything in return? 😳

absolutely cannot wash his hair more than once every 3 days, is most certainly a diva about the products he uses. a cotton towel, you must be joking, ja?

nine step skincare routine, will actually die if he forgets to wear sunscreen, he WILL freckle.

literally cannot leave the house without mascara on, definitely tints his eyebrows, wears foundation on a regular basis because, again, freckles.

not a morning person, but wakes up early anyway to have enough time to get ready.

not good at sleeping. just as likely to pass out on his desk or in an uncomfortable yet stylish armchair as in bed.

converted one of the spare bedrooms of his place into a studio and another into an extra closet.

dodgers hat on when trying to pass incognito, but has never watched a baseball game in his life.

some of his jewelry is sentimental and some of it is just a constantly rotating selection of whatever he’s feeling that day.

pays people to do things like decorate his apartment, clean it regularly, stock it with groceries, drive him to famous people related places.

cannot cook and will never learn how to ❤️

[roboticonography]

Fic Preview: Except Perhaps in Spring

Dear @formerlyir,

I’m your Secret Santa! I’ve so enjoyed getting to know you in 2020, and I look forward to many more chats and Snippets Mondays. I guess now you know why I was so cagey with you about what I was working on for the exchange! ;)

It’s been a lot of fun working on a story just for you, but December has been an eventful month for me, and in the end it got away from me a little. So here’s a taste of your story, “Except Perhaps in Spring.” I hope you have as much fun reading it as I’ve had writing it.

Happy New Year!

=======

As she would maintain for many years afterwards, Peggy hadn’t wanted to go to the pub in the first place.

It wasn’t that she disapproved of such amusements. She liked a stiff drink as much as the next field agent (though not, perhaps, as much as Colonel Phillips, who kept a bottle of bourbon at the back of his middle desk drawer for “medicinal purposes”).

And she appreciated that the boys from the 107th invited her along on their madcap outings—not out of a misguided sense of chivalry, or some crack-brained scheme to charm her out of her knickers, but because they genuinely enjoyed her company.

Along with their fearless leader, the three biggest troublemakers of the group were in London for one night to accept an award on behalf of the 107th. Dugan, Barnes, and Morita had been invited to accompany Steve to the award ceremony, but not to any of the PR opportunities that followed. While Steve spent his afternoon posing for pictures with various elected officials, his boys would spend theirs loitering around the SSR’s London headquarters, trying to convince Peggy to come out on the town with them that night.

Peggy was in no mood.

It had been raining in sheets all day, and her umbrella had already given out on the walk in. The cavernous underground war room was freezing: everyone was wearing scarves and gloves at their stations. 

Peggy’s office—little more than an alcove with a door, really—had sprung a leak during the night, which meant she’d arrived that morning to find a stack of finished paperwork completely drenched. Aside from shoving her desk against the wall and putting a rubbish bin under the steady drip, there wasn’t much to be done.

Thanks to some especially severe belt-tightening, there was no comfort to be had even in a hot drink: the coffee was dismal sludge, the tea in the communal bucket had been stewed to within an inch of its life, and there was, naturally, no milk or sugar to be found anywhere on the premises.

Peggy had spent most of her day hunched over her typewriter, re-typing a twelve-page report that Colonel Phillips would undoubtedly skim for two seconds before it would disappear into the SSR’s vast storehouse of files, never to be seen again.

So when the invitations started, Peggy’s polite-but-firm no, thank you was already locked and loaded, and her aim was true.

She hadn’t counted on the boys being either bored or bold enough to try their luck again as a trio, wedging themselves into her office three abreast, with Dugan as the filling in the sandwich.

“I said no, gentlemen.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this song before,” said Dugan, grinning. 

“Me too,” chimed in Barnes. “‘Her lips said no, but her eyes said—’”

“On your bike,” said Peggy curtly.

“She’ll change her tune when we tell her who’s coming,” said Dugan. “Won’t she, boys?”

His companions gave solemn nods.

“Yep,” said Morita, drawing the word out. “She’ll come around pretty quick when she hears that we convinced him.”

Peggy glared at each of them in turn. 

“All right,” she said at last. “Who is it?”

“Me, of course,” said Howard, shoving his way in between Morita and Dugan. “See? I told you she’d be excited.”

“Thrilled,” Peggy deadpanned.

“I think she thought we meant someone else,” said Barnes.

“Someone taller,” Dugan agreed.

Howard feigned indignance. “Taller, maybe, but I can guarantee I’m a better dancer. Did you know there’s a leak in your ceiling?” he added helpfully.

“Right. All of you, out.”

The unholy barbershop quartet reluctantly took its leave.

It wasn’t the first time they’d implied that there was something between her and Steve. She didn’t appreciate them doing it in earshot of her office colleagues, though she was certain there must be talk already: Steve’s last visit to HQ had ended in a legendary bust-up between them, after she’d interrupted him with Private Lorraine, mid-embrace.

She wasn’t only angry that he’d kissed someone else. She was angry that he’d kissed a woman he barely knew, after he’d made himself out to be a different sort of man. She’d felt foolish for believing him, for liking him, when he’d told her he was waiting for the right partner.

She was angry that he’d had the nerve, afterwards, to try and brush it aside, pretending it hadn’t meant anything. If a kiss like that didn’t mean anything, how many others had there been? And how many more would there be while they were apart?

(And, though she’d never admit it, she was angry that Steve appeared to be a decent kisser.)

Then, to add insult to injury, he’d brought up Howard’s one-sided flirting—as though she had any control over the invitations and innuendo men chose to pitch at her day after day, as casually and aimlessly as they dropped their litter in the street.

If that was all it took to drive Steve into the arms of another woman, then perhaps it was best that they remained separated by the English Channel for the time being.

*

Peggy applied herself to her work, ignoring any further overtures. As much as she appreciated the inclusion, she didn’t want to spend her evening sitting in a smoky pub, drinking cheap beer and bellowing herself hoarse. She wanted a warm bath and a warm bed. There was only one person she was interested in inviting to join her in either, and even if she hadn’t still been a bit cross with him, the chance of her seeing him at all on this brief visit grew more remote with every hour that passed. His itinerary included supper with Senator Brandt at his hotel, and was liable to be a late night—the senator’s aide had also arranged for a room for Steve at the hotel, presumably to avoid cutting their evening short.

She was grateful Steve would have a chance to get a decent meal and a good night’s sleep while he was in London, even if it meant she wouldn’t get to see his preposterously good-looking face in person. She knew from the dispatches that he was doing gruelling work, and that he often passed up opportunities for respite so that other men could take leave.

By six, it seemed as though the boys from the 107th had all cleared off at last, along with the rest of the office. Peggy slipped into the women’s locker room to change clothes. Transit to and from home in uniform for women was allowed, but not precisely encouraged—and the uniform had a way of making a person more approachable, which was the very last thing Peggy wanted just now. 

She quickly tidied her hair, and reapplied her lipstick and a small dab of eau de toilette, before donning her trusty navy shirtwaist dress. It was slightly threadbare at the cuffs and collar, but still serviceable, and a decent fit, even if it wasn’t as stylish as one might wish for. Peggy knew that plain outfits were a small sacrifice for such a worthy cause—but she still longed for the day when she could have a new dress every season, with features and embellishments, in colours so rich her mouth watered at the thought.

Daydreams of pleated skirts and pockets carried her all the way back to her desk, where she collected her hat and gloves, and tried to revive her sad umbrella. If her office ceiling was any indication, it was still pouring outside, but she knew better than to risk bad luck opening the thing indoors.

Just as she’d started to don her Mackintosh, she heard Barnes’s customary “shave-and-a-haircut” knock on the open door behind her.

She didn’t bother turning around. “For the last time, sod off!” She didn’t often use that kind of language in a professional setting, but if they weren’t going to accept a polite refusal, then—

“Yes, ma’am,” said a familiar voice.

She spun on her heel.

Steve was leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. His dress uniform jacket was tucked under his arm, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His tie had come loose, his collar unbuttoned, and his hair was mussed, tumbling boyishly over his brow. 

He looked, in short, half-undone and entirely ravishing.

All of the sensible reasons she had for keeping her distance suddenly seemed small and remote in comparison.

“Steve,” she said, unnecessarily. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The warm smile he gave her suggested that he hadn’t taken her dismissal personally, at least.

Peggy had imagined this exact scenario an embarrassing number of times: the two of them, in the office after hours, all alone. The fantasies ranged from fairly chaste (teasing, light flirting, an innocent kiss or two) to positively filthy (Steve’s hands roaming her body, his mouth open and demanding against hers).

Looking at him now, her preference was decidedly for the latter option.

Oblivious to the turn her thoughts had taken, Steve asked, “Rough day?”

“Not really, not—” Not anymore, she wanted to say, but clamped her mouth shut just in time. “I didn’t know you were coming in.”

“I’m not here—not officially. I was just gonna leave this on your desk.” 

He jiggled a small brown paper packet at her. It took her a moment to recognize it as the portion of sugar from a ration box.

“How on earth did you manage to hang onto that?”

“We’re still getting it in the K-rats. And I like to save mine for a rainy day.”

“It certainly is that,” she conceded, glancing up at the ceiling. “Are you sure you won’t miss it?”

A different sort of man, a smooth operator, would have taken the opportunity to feed her a line: not as much as I’ll miss you, or, how about you just owe me something sweet? But Steve just shrugged, and tucked the packet gently under the corner of her desk blotter.

Peggy was both touched and exasperated.

She knew that in combat, even with no experience, he could be confident, creative, and quick-thinking. He was almost certainly capable of applying that approach in other situations too. But he hadn’t—at least, not with her.

She wanted one romantic overture from him. Just one. A single, unmistakable gesture, something that couldn’t possibly be attributed to kindness or friendship or sheer accident. 

She felt she deserved at least that.

Still, he’d come halfway across town, to bring her less than an ounce of sugar that he’d probably gone hungry to save. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it counted for something.

And so she smiled, and thanked him, adding, “I’m glad I was here to accept it in person.”

“Me too.”

“I thought you had supper with the senator and his cronies.”

“I told him I had an early start tomorrow. I think he got enough of my time.” His tone made it plain that he would rather have spent his day getting shot at by HYDRA. “I told the guys they ought to ask you to come out with us tonight. I’m sorry they bothered you.”

“No, it’s fine—I mean, yes, they did, but—” Being half-in and half-out of her coat meant that instead of breezily waving his apology aside, she wound up flapping her sleeve at him, ineffectually.

Obligingly, Steve stepped closer, and held her coat up by the collar.

“Oh,” said Peggy, letting him slip the coat over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

It was a simple gesture, one any kind person would make, and Steve was nothing if not kind. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to be racing, she told herself sternly.

His hand still held her collar; she turned, drawing the circle of his arm around her shoulders, as though they were about to dance.

Up close, she could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, the speck of a mole on his cheek. Details that the artists who depicted Captain America always seemed to miss, slight imperfections that belonged only to Steve Rogers. She was strangely tempted to brush her fingertips over them, to prove that they were real, that he was real. 

His eyes were wide, his gaze clear blue and bottomless, and she suddenly felt in danger of drowning.

A hard pellet of water hit her cheek, making her jump.

“Don’t tell me it’s raining in here, too,” said Steve, glancing up at the ceiling with his hand outstretched.

“It’s London in March,” she observed, stepping out of the line of fire. “It’s raining everywhere.” She emphasized the point by buttoning her coat and hooking her umbrella over her arm.

“Can I walk you to the train?” His look was hopeful. 

“Actually,” she said, against her better judgement, “I think I will come for a drink, after all.”

Steve beamed. “Swell.”

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

[riversofmars]

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your lovely comments, very happy you all approve of my choice of cast lol! I'm still in the early stages of setting up the story so I'm still mulling over some of the details but I think it's coming together. This chapter actually took a lot of restructuring and rewriting but slowly I'm getting there I hope. I really hope it works for all of you, I've re-read it so many times now that I can't see the wood for trees so I'm just gonna post it now and hope for the best lol :D Enjoy!

Chapter 3: There’s Stories About Us

London, late 19th Century

“Why don’t you have a seat?“ To Vastra, the Doctor’s pacing around the drawing room was becoming increasingly irritating. She was engrossed in the file River had left behind and refused to sit down.

“I think better on my feet.“ The Doctor retorted without looking up. It was the first full sentence she had spoken since picking up the file. Her expression was unreadable.

“Is it still five sugars?“ Jenny questioned, pouring tea for everyone, hoping to lighten the Doctor’s mood.

“You do know her well.“ Yaz commented while the Doctor just took the cup without comment and carried on.

“I take it she doesn’t talk much about her past?“ Vastra easily picked up on the hint of jealousy in the young woman’s voice. The Silurian had seen it many times. The Doctor was very private and by neglecting to speak about their past, they tended to make the person they were travelling with feel all the more special. To them it was like they were the first person to experience all the wonders of the universe with them. Finding out about all those that came before them wasn’t always easy.

“She never… I never expected her to have a family.“ Yaz looked over to the Doctor who was still walking up and down the drawing room, mumbling under her breath as she kept reading. She briefly put her cup down on the mantle of the fireplace so she could turn a page. Her brow was knitted in a deep frown, she was restless though more level-headed than before.

“I don’t think she expected it, either.“ Vastra conceded, taking a sip of her own tea. As she watched Yaz’s reactions to the change of circumstances, she felt reminded of the time the Doctor had regenerated and Clara had struggled to adjust to them changing. This situation wasn’t so different, Yaz was struggling as well. They were all going through a big change, and the Doctor even more so than the rest of them. Vastra could tell the Doctor was different from her last regeneration, even without the added pressure of finding out about having a child. This Doctor reminded her so much more of the one they had accompanied to Demon’s Run, than the one they had last seen. It seemed fitting as again, a child’s life was on the line; just one generation on.

“Why does her wife not travel with her?“ Yaz turned to Vastra with the question that had been bothering her.

“Professor Song travels in time as well. Their timelines are not always synchronised.“ Vastra explained, hoping not to reveal too much. It wasn’t her place.

“So like The Time Traveller’s Wife?“ Yaz asked, but found herself looking into confused faces. “It’s a book, do you not… right 19th Century…“ She waved it away but it gave her cause to think. Being out of sync with the person you loved had to be incredibly hard indeed. She remembered crying over that book and she couldn’t imagine this would turn out to be a more cheerful tale.

Suddenly, the Doctor halted in her tracks, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright, Doctor?“ Yaz asked as their friend’s face went very white as she stared at the page in front of her.

——

Darillium, 52nd Century

River stirred slowly, a light breeze tickled her nose though she couldn’t remember leaving a window open. The bed was soft and familiar, she stretched her limbs into the silky sheets and hummed contently after a good night’s sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up slowly when she realised something was off. It should not be as quiet as it was; and she should not have slept through the night. The explanation to her questions perched on the side of the bed. The Doctor was feeding a bottle to his son who quite happily curled into his father’s arm, allowing his mother some well deserved rest.

“You can lie back down if you like, we’ve got this, haven’t we.“ The Doctor gave her a soft smile when he noticed her sitting up.

“How long have you been up?“ She asked, her voice sleepy still. She hadn’t heard either of them waking.

“You know I’m always awake before you.“ The Doctor reminded her. River smiled, her hearts swelled at the sight in front of her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her husband look so utterly content and happy. She wanted to enjoy the moment but a strange, unsettling feeling was seeping into her subconscious

“Yeah but I didn’t even notice…“ She looked around, wondering what was intruding on this perfect moment.

“Everything okay?“ The Doctor asked with a frown. He lay the empty bottle down on the bed and pulled his son against his chest.

“I just…“ River couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like things weren’t adding up. “When did we come back?“

“What do you mean?“ The Doctor started sounding more concerned. He gently tapped and rubbed the baby’s back.

“Vastra, Jenny, Strax… the Library…“ Slowly River’s memories were returning but they weren’t compatible with where she was.

“What are you talking about? Did you have a particularly vivid dream?“ The Doctor chuckled. “Or nightmare, rather, if Strax featured.“

“The sunrise.“ River looked out of the window to see orange and purple stretching across the sky.

“It’s almost time.“ The Doctor nodded with a soft smile. “First light.“

“But we’ve already seen it.“ River looked back to him, confused.

“I think I’d remember if we’d already watched the sunrise after twenty-four years of waiting for it.“ The Doctor retorted amused. “Are you feeling okay?“

“This isn’t right…“ River shook her head slowly. Her hearts sank at the painful realisation. “I’m not meant to be here…“ She wanted to lean forward, reach for her husband, touch her son, but she didn’t dare.

“River…“ The Doctor said but she shook her head more firmly.

“No, I left before I even… and you didn’t…“ She looked at him with sorrow and the genuine concern in his eyes only made it harder. This was where she wanted to be.

“River.“ He reached out for her but she pulled away.

“This isn’t real, it can’t be, I…“ River turned away and closed her eyes, shaking her head to herself. Her hearts ached. She wanted this to be real so badly but she knew better. Her mind was playing tricks on her.  

“River!“ This time, the voice changed pitch and River woke with a start.

“Anita.“ River looked up to her colleague, blinking against the morning light. She found herself surrounded by piles of books and notes, back in the artificial reality of the Library.  She must have fallen asleep on the sofa while reading last night.

“Considering we probably don’t actually need sleep in here, you were very difficult to wake up.“ Anita pointed out and held out a coffee to her. “Went anywhere nice?“

“You could say that…“ River gave a mournful smile but quickly put her walls back up, projecting confidence and assurance. “Thanks.“ She took the coffee offered to her and sat up properly. “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it. I didn’t realise we’d dream…“ She gave a wary smile. Though it felt like real life, she couldn’t quite let herself fall for the comforting illusion; not yet anyway. Not while she was still so deeply concerned with what was going on in the universe beyond.

“It feels like real life.“ Anita shrugged and took a sip of her own mug as she perched on the coffee table. “Certainly beats the alternative.“

“Certainly does.“ River admitted.

“So what have you been up to? Everyone was meeting up for breakfast and when you didn’t show up, I thought I’d check on you.“ Anita revealed her reason for being here and River glanced to the clock on the wall.

“Are the kids up, too?“ She found herself asking, almost instinctively.

“Been up ages. CAL said they thought it best to let you sleep, you were in a happy place.“ Anita explained with a smile. She hadn’t taken River Song for the mothering type but she had taken on that role without a second thought. She seemed to be taking comfort in it.

“I suppose I was…“ River thought back to Darillium and the Doctor, the perfect family life they could have had, had she just stayed. She took a deep breath to maintain her composure.

“So what’s all this?“ Anita asked, gesturing at the mess around them.

“Ah, just a bit of light reading…“ River smiled weakly, sipping her coffee. It tasted just like the real deal.  

“You call this light?“ Anita laughed. “What are you researching?“ She picked up a sheet of paper that River had been making notes on.

“I may have… lied to you about why I agreed to lead this expedition… It wasn’t just for the money.“ River answered slowly, realising there was little point in keeping secrets now. They would be spending eternity together and River knew she needed a friend. She’d gotten on well with Anita from the start and she wanted someone to confide in. “The Library is the sum knowledge of the universe, as it were, and I needed access. Looks like I got more than I bargained for, eh?“ River joked but the sorrow behind her eyes was easily spotted.

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but… what’s the point now?“ Anita asked, contemplating her words. “Technically, to the universe, we’re dead…“ She could tell River wasn’t adjusting all too well.

“Doesn't mean that the universe out there stops, does it?“ River pointed out.

“Are you trying to get out of here?“ Anita raised her eyebrows.

“And go where? None of us have a body to go to.“ River gave a bitter laugh. “No… but eventually, he’ll come…“

“Your Doctor? The one from your time?“ Anita asked and River nodded:

“One day, I’m sure of it.“

“And you need all this for when he does?“ Anita concluded, feeling like she was beginning to make sense of the professor’s actions. “So tell me what this is? Maybe I can help.“ She picked up more notes, skimming them.

“They’re stories, myths, every record, every…“ River started but Anita was quick to pick up on one unifying factor as she picked up more of the articles:

“It’s all about you.“ Anita looked up with amusement. River Song had a reputation of course. She was an accomplished archeologist who had published a lot of research. Who would have thought that there were also plenty of books and articles about her, not just by her.

“Some of it. I always told him there were stories about us… he was modified.“ River smiled as she recalled bringing it up with the Doctor.

“The Doctor?“ Anita asked to confirm. “Is he your husband?“ She exclaimed as she continued reading.

“Afraid so.“ River chuckled.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re doing this? Or will I have to drag it out of you?“ Anita prompted, looking back to her.

“This is just the start… it might look like a lot already but really, I’m just a tiny speck of dust in his life. There is so much more I don’t know, so much more that’s in his future and in his distant past…“ River mused. This was just a tiny fraction of the records she’d found so far.

“You’re not just being nostalgic, are you?“ Anita asked, putting the books down to give her her full attention.

“Before I joined the expedition, I received a message from a friend, someone who deals in information. They came to me with concerns about a prophecy and rumours.“ River said, tightening her grip around her mug. “Now, there are a lot of prophecies out there and I don’t pay much heed to any of them, but there was something about it… stories of a Timeless Child that somehow relates to the Doctor, to me… and as it happened, I just found out I was pregnant at the time.“ She explained and Anita’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“Were you still pregnant when…“ Anita was stunned. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“No, thankfully.“ River smiled, touched by her concern. “My son is fine, he’s with some dear friends. He was three weeks old when I set off to the Library…“ She revealed with a sad smile, wondering how the Paternoster Gang was getting on. Surely they were doing an excellent job at looking after her little one… but she regretted her choice nonetheless. She should never have come here.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.“ Anita reached out and gave River’s hand a squeeze. Immediately, she saw River’s interest in looking after the children in a completely different light. “Does the Doctor know?“

“I don’t know. They may have told him by now…“ River shrugged taking a deep breath to maintain her composure. “God, he will be furious… Hopefully furious enough to come and shout at me in here…“

“So you think your son is the Timeless Child?“ Anita asked, trying to make sense of what River was telling her.

“Maybe…“ River couldn’t be sure of anything. She had found no clues either way, despite her many inquirers; but it seemed like a funny old coincidence that whispers of a child surfaced just as she’d found out she was pregnant. “I haven’t been able to find out much at all, so I’m hoping I can now.“

——

London, Late 19th Century

The Doctor’s mind started racing, as did her hearts. Where, when and how had River heard about the Timeless Child? And why was it referenced in her file? The Doctor hadn’t told anyone about what the Master had revealed to her and she couldn’t imagine the Master would have shouted it off the rooftops either, seeing as he’d murdered everyone that could have known. Even when the Doctor had briefly spoken to Ryan about learning about the gaps in her past, she had never used this term or gone into detail. She hadn’t even filled Yaz in either. Someone out there knowing that exact term couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Doctor?“ Vastra’s voice was sharp, drawing the Doctor’s attention at last.

“Sorry…“ The Doctor snapped out of her thoughts when she realised everyone was looking at her.

“Does something stand out to you?“ Vastra prompted, gesturing towards the file.

“It’s nothing, never mind, just… it’s not related to this.“ The Doctor shook her head, closing the file disappointed, yet unsettled. This was in no way helpful for finding out where their child was or who could be behind the kidnapping. It did, however, raise some very unsettling questions. How did the secret about the Timeless Child get out? Though River might have drawn some wrong conclusions about who it might be, she couldn’t discount the possibility that there might be a connection between the myth and the kidnapping. Maybe there were Time Lords involved in this after all.

“So what do you think?“ Vastra pressed on. “Time Lords or…?“

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t…“ The Doctor shook her head. “First thing’s first. I need to find out where River got her information from.“ The Doctor decided after brief consideration. She rolled up the file and stuffed it into her coat pocket to study more intensely later on. Someone out there - Time Lord or not - knew about the Timeless Child. Maybe, whoever was behind this, already knew it was the Doctor and were trying to get to her by kidnapping her child… There were a lot of possibilities but all seemed as unlikely as each other at this point.

“So can’t we just, like, talk to her?“ Yaz interrupted. “Why don’t we go and find her, your wife, I mean. You must be itching to go. She’ll be able to fill us in far better than…“

“Can’t.“ The Doctor cut in sharply.

“It’s not as easy as all that.“ Jenny gave Yaz an apologetic smile.

“Why not?“ Yaz frowned. “You know where she’s gone, you said earlier: The Library. Let’s go there.“

“River died at the Library.“ The Doctor shot back, anger returning to her voice. Rationally, she knew Yaz couldn’t know all these things, but that didn’t change how she was feeling about it being brought up or having to explain.  

“What?“ Yaz was dumbfounded. She looked around into knowing faces and realised she was far out of her depth. There was a lot she had yet to catch up on.

“Well, Doctor, technically, we could try and…“ Vastra started but the Doctor wouldn’t let her finish:

“For all intents and purposes she died at the Library, she can’t help us now. I was there, remember? I know that she didn’t make any great discoveries about the Time Lords while we were running from the shadows. There was hardly time.“ She stated bitterly.

“There must have been a reason for her visit there and she said she would need your help.“ Vastra was getting frustrated with the Doctor’s refusal to give weight to her wife’s concerns and attempts at research. Just because she hadn’t found anything yet didn’t mean she was wrong to be looking.

“She didn’t get the Doctor she was hoping for.“ The Doctor huffed.

“Obviously not, which is why you visiting her now could prove enlightening.“ Vastra countered.

“Sorry, I’m not following.“ Yaz looked to Jenny for an explanation as she didn’t want to interrupt the increasingly tense conversation the other two women were having.

“Professor Song died but she’s not really gone.“ Jenny explained kindly. “The Doctor saved her.“

“I didn’t save her, I trapped her.“ The Doctor interrupted angrily.

“Her consciousness remains in the Library’s computer.“ Vastra clarified which only seemed to infuriate the Doctor more.

“Yes and she has to exist in the knowledge that she will never hold her child again! If I didn’t think she hated me for putting her there before, I’m damned sure of it now.“ The Doctor snapped.

“She will want to help.“ Jenny interjected.

“I will not be the one to tell her her child is gone!“ The Doctor yelled, her emotions boiling over. She had caused River so much pain. She had thought she’d done a good thing when she had saved River’s consciousness only to learn during their next meeting that she hated the idea of being trapped like that. The Doctor already carried so much guilt, she would not add this to the pile. She refused. How was she to break this news to her? “I won’t do that to her. Put that on her while she can’t do anything to help, having to rely on others, no! I can’t do that to her!“

“Doctor…“ Vastra tried to intervene but to no avail.

“No! Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. She thinks he’s safe with you and I will not tell her otherwise until we’ve found him.“ The Doctor snapped.

“If you’re sure.“ Vastra knew there was no talking to her when she was like this. She would come to her senses eventually but she appreciated the sentiment. If at all possible, they should go about things another way before breaking the news to the Professor who would have to watch from the sidelines, unable to help.

“Someone else might have got their hands on Timelord technology…“ Yaz said changing the subject and breaking the heavy silence. Perhaps her not knowing too much about the Doctor’s wife would be a good thing. Perhaps she could look at things more objectively. Tensions were running high indeed.

“It might be more likely than someone surviving the Master’s destruction.“ The Doctor conceded. “But it’s very little to go on.“

“We have to start somewhere.“ Yaz got to her feet feeling a sense of determination. They had to stop wondering about the ifs and buts and start doing something. A child’s life was on the line.

“River started investigating a myth based on some rumours that someone might be after us, after our family.“ The Doctor explained of Yaz’s benefit. “I have a pretty good idea who would have brought it to River’s attention. Perhaps we can trace these rumours back. It’s as good a place as any to start.“ She decided at last.

“Excellent. We shall carried out our own investigation and torture those we find for information!“ Strax stated in excitement as she returned to the drawing room at just the right time. He was carrying several bags.

“Really, Strax, that is not…“ The Doctor started but Vastra interrupted:

“I hope you don’t think you’re going without us.“

“I have packed three types of grenades and the caustic blaster I have been dying to try.“ Strax announced with great enthusiasm.

“And I will get the swords.“ Jenny nodded, exchanging a quick glance with her wife.

“Please, Doctor, we owe you this.“ Vastra didn’t give the Doctor the opportunity to protest. “Let us help bring your child home. We failed you. We won’t fail you again.“

“Let’s go.“ The Doctor wasn’t so proud that she would refuse help offered. She would do whatever it took to get her child back.

[agustdef]

Bubble

Pairing: Jin x Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: None.

Rating: PG

The moment light entered the room YN let out a groan of annoyance. Her eyes were closed, but it managed to pierce the protection of her eyelids with its bright rays. It was so bright that she felt like her eyes were open and she’d stared into the sun for seconds longer than she needed to, but no that wasn’t the case at all.

When YN finally opened her eyes, she was met with the curtains that should have protected her from the sun being held open by Jin. For a moment she thought it was him doing it maliciously, but once her eyes adjusted she realized that he was facing towards the window and he couldn’t possibly have seen how it affected her. 

Didn’t mean that it was okay though.

“If you do not close those curtains I will roll out of this bed and stick my foot up your behind,” she muttered, all while using the blanket to shield her eyes some.

That startled Jin who turned to look at her with wide eyes for several seconds before pulling it together and closing the curtains. Once he’d done that her eyes finally felt like they could relax, though it didn’t stop the glare she fixed him with. Not even the sheepish smile and him coming over to kiss her good morning could stop that.

“I’m sorry. You were facing the other way when I walked over and with it being so early I thought you’d be in a deeper sleep,” he said as he sat beside her on the bed.

At the mention of time YN reached over and tapped the screen of her phone to see that it was around seven in the morning. It caused a groan to tear from her lips and then whines about how she didn’t need to be up for another half an hour followed.

“You don’t even need to be up until nine, why are you awake so early?” she asked.

Jin shrugged, his eyes focused on playing with his fingers.

“We both passed out the moment we got in, which was at eight, so I was bound to wake up earlier. I tried to sleep again, but then Jungkook called about something and we talked for a bit. Now I’m just awake.”

That made YN sigh as she carefully moved to a sitting position. He wasn’t wrong by any means. They’d gotten food on the way from the airport to the hotel, which was demolished before the vans even stopped. Then they’d barely changed and prepped for bed before they’d passed out for the night. And even as she longed to go back to sleep she had to admit that she was the most refreshed she’d been in months, so she couldn’t imagine how Jin felt.

“I guess we could at least have breakfast in bed for once. We haven’t done that at all in the last few weeks of hotel hopping,” she offered.

For a moment Jin pursed his lips, but then a smile stretched onto them and he turned to place several kisses to YN's face despite her attempts at pushing him away. 

“Room service!” he shouted as he moved to a desk in the room where the hotel phone sat.

There was zero need for him to ask her what she wanted because it was almost always the same and since the boys were on a tour stop in the US there was no need to make changes. 

“Hi. I’d like to order room service.” There was a brief pause to listen before he continued. “Two seasonal fresh fruits, bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs, french toast, bacon and a poached egg, and extra bacon. Oh, also two orange juice, two waters, and a cup of green tea sugar on the side.”

Again, there was silence and then Jin was saying thank you and hanging up the phone. When he returned to the bed he had a wide smile on his face, one that told her that he was up to no good, but she wasn’t quick enough to do anything to stop him or avoid what was to come. Jin jumped onto the bed and then pulled her into a tight hold, he even threw his leg over to keep her in place.

YN squirmed but let him keep her in his death grip for the most part. She was fine with being held by him, it made her unbelievably happy to be able to wake up with him since she’d spent months not doing it. It was definitely what made the first three weeks she’d been on tour with them worth it. That and getting to do more action shots and have more freedom with her photography.

They stayed like that for a while, just cuddled up together until Jin finally tilted her head so that he was looking at her. The smile on his lips was gone, but it was still very clear in his eyes.

“Good morning, baby,” he said before leaning down to kiss her.

She returned the kiss and then the greeting. “Good morning, love.”

After that they stared at each other like weirdos, which was accurate because they both knew how much their overflowing love for each other made them a little dorky.

But then the sound of YN’s stomach rumbling broke the silence. They both laughed and pulled apart some, though they didn’t stop touching each other.

Jin’s hand moved down to her protruded stomach and gently rubbed it. The bump had grown very little in the time that Jin had been home during the break of tour, but the moment they got back out there it seemed to make up for all the time. She was becoming more self-conscious about it because some of her clothes became useless faster than she’d thought they would, but she rolled with the punches. Pregnancy wasn’t something that had a consistent way of happening.

“Ah, my bad. Good morning to you too, little one. I promise your mama will feed you real soon. She’s even going to give you extra bacon,” Jin said to her stomach.

Bacon, something YN loved, had become a craving of their unborn child over the latter months of her pregnancy. While she could devour a lot, the kid increased that craving and she needed so much to be sated. However, since it wasn’t good for either of them and could give her heartburn from hell they scaled it back as much as possible. Giving her other things she enjoyed to fight off the craving. 

“Yup. And daddy is going to give me his bacon too,” YN added on.

There was intense head shaking and Jin pouting at that, but they knew that it was true. Or mostly true, because hopefully the fruit would be enough to have her complacent with her regular serving and the extra he’d gotten for her.

“Why do you always have to try to eat mine? I don’t get bacon that often and you’re stealing what little I do have? What kind of shake down is this?” Jin asked, theatrics very much in play.

He would have kept going if a knock on their door hadn’t interrupted him. He went to answer it, but fake glared at her as he did.

Upon his reentry into the hotel room with a cart of food the displeasure was gone though and he had a piece of bacon hanging from his mouth. YN sat up and was going to go the fake offended and eating without her route, but then the smell hit her and all she could do was grabby hands. 

Of course, Jin denied her though, his head inclining which indicated he wanted her out of the bedroom and into the small living room that they had. She groaned and made a fuss but got out of bed nonetheless. 

“I thought we were doing this in bed,” she whined.

Jin rolled his eyes. “We both know how you feel about eating in bed. And this definitely doesn’t fit in the things you deem an exception.”

He wasn’t wrong, but she refused to say that and just pouted as he ushered her to a seat on the couch that had the coffee table in front of it. He placed all the food down on it, putting his stuff in front of where he’d sit next to her. And though YN took that as a queue to dive in her hand was smacked immediately and then Jin disappeared back into their room. 

She could have gone for it again when he was out of sight, but her hunger waned for a moment for her to realize why he’d stopped her.

“I could have just taken them after you know,” she called out.

“And risk throwing up your breakfast because of them? No,” he shouted back.

Again, he was right. Though she’s cycled through many prenatal vitamins all of them had something that didn’t work with her stomach. She’d had to try taking them various ways to not throw up or feel like trash after. And it turned out taking her current one before eating was the perfect set up. It didn’t matter how much time before, it just had to be before. They still agreed waiting five minutes was best though. 

So, when Jin returned she already had her glass of water in hand when he gave up the pills. She downed them and drank the full glass, even opening her mouth to show him that they were gone because she felt away about having to wait to eat when it all smelled so good. 

There was an attempt to make up for it by Jin waiting to eat with her and simply fiddling with the TV to get something on for them to watch. He turned to Hulu when regular stations failed them and before YN could even say anything Bob’s Burgers and English subtitles were engaged. Though his English had gotten exceptionally good it was often easier for him to follow and the same was for YN. She was deemed fluent in Korean, but sometimes things didn’t process.

The choice of one her favorite shows earned him a kiss to the cheek and less pouting. Though the true highlight of it all was watching the way his cheeks burned from the random affection. YN couldn’t help cooing about how cute he was, which was met with a stuttered response of five minutes passing. And though making him blush some more was tempting food took precedence. 

They ate in silence for the most part with squabbles over food theft and laughter over something happening on screen occurring every so often. It was a nice continuation of their morning, but once all the food was finished they knew that it was time they got their lives together.

“Can I just stay in bed all day? Is that an option?” Jin asked as he rubbed his own stomach, complaints of being too full had come minutes before.

“You have a concert tonight, love.”

That both perked him up and made him groan in disapproval. Of course, he wanted to go out and perform for his fans, but clearly the idea of moving wasn’t high on his list. 

But they couldn’t waste any more time if they didn’t want to feel rushed. 

YN carefully stood from the couch, her hand rubbing along her own full feeling stomach.

“Well, I need to shower because you decided we needed to be close all night and I smell not great. And since I know you’re going to make sure I don’t slip you have to get up,” she said.

There was more groaning and some flailing limbs as he threw a small tantrum before he was up and following her to the bathroom. Once there he didn’t just watch her from outside the shower like a stalker, as he sometimes did, but joined her and held her steady when she wobbled. 

And since shower sex was no longer something they did because there was fear on both sides of something going wrong they got clean rather quickly. After that they moved to get dressed and even that took on a fast pace seeing as neither of them needed to particularly dress up. Jin would be doing prep for the concert and resting until then so he tossed on sweatpants and a slightly oversized shirt. YN went a similar route, tossing on some joggers that almost looked like normal pants and a large shirt that she had. She also made sure to snatch one of Jin’s hoodies to bring with her when the temperature dropped.

Both of them ended up next to each other in the bathroom going through skin care and brushing their teeth. But since her skin dryness hadn’t stopped, just started terrorizing solely her face, YN spent longer layering products for moisture. 

As she did each one she reminded herself that at least the weird light patches hadn’t started there, though they still plagued the rest of her skin, particularly her stomach. She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of stomach being one base shade of brown, with dark and light stretch marks and freckle like light patches everywhere. It was as annoying as when summer came and she was forced to deal with being three different shades of brown on her arms alone.

With everything done they both ended up in the living room ensuring they had everything they needed. YN triple checked her camera bag and then did the same with the things that held her essentials. There were chargers, two fully charged power banks, some snacks, two water bottles, and some medicine just in case she or anyone else felt ill for whatever reason. There were also some compression socks in there just in case her feet started to swell, something that was both an occupational hazard and a pregnancy side effect.

By the time she finished there were knocks at the door from Yoongi and one of her fellow photographers. She slid on her bags and went to the door and slipped her shoes on. Once standing Jin was there with her frowning. It tugged at her heart, but she knew that they couldn’t stay there.

Reaching out she grasped his hands. “I don’t want to leave our bubble either, but we have to. Just remember you have a great show to put on and I’ll be there to capture all of your handsomeness.”

She knew that compliments didn’t really work on him despite his worldwide handsome talk all the time, but she thought it would be comforting. When it didn’t garner much of a reaction she sighed but maintained a soft smile.

“Tomorrow you get a break and the only work I’ll be doing is editing photos. We can stay in all day or go out to do something. But we’ll get to be back in our bubble for a little while, I promise,” she said.

Again, she didn’t get much of a change from him, but a few seconds ticked by and a smile formed. He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips and then kneeled to press one to her stomach.

“Be good for mama while she’s working or you’re grounded,” he said to her stomach.

That caused a cackle like laugh to rip from her lips and she barely collected herself before he got up and opened the door. 

After an elevator ride to the lobby, they said their byes one more time and then went where they were needed. When they saw each other again it was while YN pointed a camera his way mid body roll. 

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary:  Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you’re only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 3: Carrots and Cuddles

Chapter Summary:   Virgil and Dee are compromised by carrots; it turns out better than either of them thought it could.

Warnings: crying, mild panic, food mention

WC: 1 846

Taglist (ask to be added): @a-different-s1de @reptilian-with-scallions

General Taglist (ask to be added): @im-an-anxious-wreck

“Eat your carrots and then we can go play alright?”

Virgil leaned forward a bit and held out the fork, having taken it from Dee a few minutes ago when it became clear all he was going to do with it was push the horrible orange vegetables around his plate. Nobody in the mind scape liked vegetables except Janus- for whatever reason. Usually it was the only thing Virgil could get him to eat on the days he was feeling picky but now- Virgil sighed as Dee simply turned his head to the other side and pouted, little arms folded across his chest in a resolute pout.

“Come on buddy, everyone’s gone for now but we don’t know when they’ll be back. If you don’t eat these now you’re gonna be hungry later and I’m not letting you survive on cookies and juice boxes the entire afternoon.”

“Nuh.”

“Dee.”

“Nuh!”

Sighing again, Virgil lowered the fork. Not only was it apparently a picky day but it was also going to be a day where Dee was mostly nonverbal- which was perfectly fine besides the fact that Virgil now had no way of knowing what Dee might actually want at any given point in time, which when you have a time limit to leave the kitchen spotless by with a fussy toddler who suddenly decides to reject his tried and true favorite food it becomes the least ideal situation the living embodiment of anxiety could be in.

He regarded the carrots with distaste before holding up the fork again hopefully.

“Nuh.”

“Work with me a little Dee. No, you don’t want to play?”

“Nuh.”

No, you don’t want carrots? But these were always your favorite-” Virgil watched helplessly as the plate was firmly pushed away and arms crossed again. Did he just suck at this after not having taken care of him in so long? Were carrots not his favorite anymore? Did he just hate Virgil now because he’d taken so long to reach out again? He’d been the one to suggest that Janus take the day to be little to destress since everyone else would be with Thomas for a couple hours and they’d be free to do whatever until then, which Janus had agreed to and what they had been doing all morning until now- lunch- that Dee was stubbornly refusing. 

“Just eat one alright? Just one and then I’ll make you another sandwich for later in case you get hungry.”

“Nuh.”

“Eat the carrot.”

“Nuh.”

“Dee-” Virgil was interrupted suddenly by a whooshing sound. One that sounded distinctly like someone sinking back into the mindscape. Early. While him and Dee were still sat at the table. Panicking Virgil could only stay frozen as the side began to speak, footsteps getting louder as they came towards the kitchen.

“...thought I left it in here but- oh! I didn’t realize you’d be-” Patton stopped in the doorway, a look of shock on his face as he took in the scene of Virgil sat stock still at the table with a forkful of carrot still held aloft and Dee stiff as a board  as well in his own seat with his plate of uneaten carrots in front of him, both of them hardly daring to breathe as the air tensed.

“H-heya Pat! How’s it uh...how’s it going out there?”

Patton blinked. “It- um, It’s going...it’s going. Who might this be?”

They both looked at Dee who, with the air still tense and suddenly being stared at, suddenly became very overwhelmed, lower lip trembling as his eyes flicked from Virgil to Patton and back.

“Dee, you’re okay, it’s fine!” Virgil rushed out, dropping the fork in his urgency to reach for the smaller side.

“Dee?” Patton questioned and that seemed to do it. Tears spilled onto Dee’s cheeks as he began to cry, the panic of being caught finally settling in his mind as he realized Patton was not, in fact, ever meant to see him while he was small. Panicking even more, Virgil fought to keep his voice level as he quickly scooped the now bawling side into his arms and began to try and gently shush him, echoing voice betraying him as it only served to scare Dee further into his head and make him cry harder. Close to tears himself he looked desperately at Patton who seemed to finally snap out of it and sank out quickly, leaving Virgil to stare incredulously at the spot he had vacated. Was he going to tell the others? He knew he couldn't, right? Of course he didn’t he didn’t even know what was going on  how would he not-

“Okay, had to step out and tell them I had a headache coming on and was going to make some tea and lie down. That’ll keep them out there and not looking for any of us! Now-” Virgil watched as Patton came a little closer, fully in Dee’s sights as he continued to cry. “I’m sorry I scared you so badly there kiddo, I just wasn’t expecting to see you is all. I can leave if you want me to but I’d like to stay and help if you’ll let me?”

Patton’s soft tones seemed to calm the toddler down significantly as he leaned more into Virgil but thankfully stopped crying, only jerking a little with lingering hiccups while he eyed the fatherlyside cautiously. Patton seemed to take it as a win however as he looked over to the carrots left abandoned on the table, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “The heck are you being fed kiddo?”

“They’re usually his favorite,” Virgil was quick to defend them both, twisting his mouth to one side as he looked at the now far too cold for comfort cooked carrots congealing at the plate. “At least they were…”

Patton didn’t comment, instead scooping up the plate and turning to Dee. “Well they can’t be any good cold. Why don’t I heat these up and maybe add something special, make them taste different hm?”

Virgil watched as  Dee peaked through his slightly longer bangs at the other side, who only grinned happily and waited. Hesitantly he reached his small fist up and wiped at his eyes, nodding but still making sure to lean back into Virgil. Nodding, Patton turned and made his way to the stove, dumping the carrots into a pan and flicking the burner on. Smiling crookedly Virgil leaned down to nuzzle the top of Dee’s head softly, earning a giggle in return as he squirmed in his arms. Virgil set him back down in his chair gently and pushed his juicebox over to him while watching Patton out of the corner of his eye, who was currently trying his absolute best not to stare at them while he cooked. The carrots sizzled lightly as he added salt and what looked like brown sugar, caramelizing with the pat of butter he had also added. Virgil had to admit it smelled delicious and even Dee was leaning forward in anticipation.

“And here we go! Carrots for people who don’t like carrots!” He set the plate down gently in front of the small side, putting a clean fork next to the plate and carefully taking a seat next to Virgil. They both watched as Dee poked lightly at the carrots, Virgil ready to sigh in defeat, when he actually put a couple in his mouth, eyes lighting up and all but shoving the entire plate in his face.

“Slow down kiddo, they’’ll still be there if you use a fork!” Patton laughed lightly and turned to Virgil, who simply shook his head and mouthed “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fair enough.” Patton mouthed back. “Coffee?”

“God yes.” Accidentally breathing the yes out loud Virgil huffed out a laugh and offered Patton a smile before turning back to Dee. This...definitely wasn’t how he thought the morning would go but- he’d take it.

-----

“Age regression huh? I guess that makes sense.”

“It’s normal Pat.” Virgil’s reply came out sharper than he intended, making the moral side flinch a bit before shaking his head. “Sorry I- defensive. Protective. Whatever, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s cute.” Patton’s eyes softened as he watched Virgil run his fingers through Dee’s hair, the latter fast asleep in anxiety’s lap. “You’re good with him; it’s clear he trusts and loves you a lot.”

Hiding his eyes behind his bangs so Patton wouldn’t see just how much that meant to him he nearly choked trying to answer. “Y- yeah?”

“Yeah.” Patton sat back against the couch and smiled. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Poor baby looked scared enough seeing me walk in, I could only imagine if it had been-”

Virgil lifted his head as Patton’s sentence caught, both of them knowing what was hanging in the air but not wanting to voice it. It was a thought better shelved for another day- one that didn’t have a four year old asleep in Virgil’s lap as he tried not to cry in relief that Patton was simply taking this in stride. Virgil could still take care of Janus when he needed it and maybe this would help his and Patton’s relationship like how it helped him and Virgil. Good. Those two needed to sit down and talk at some point and if this was the push they needed well...it was better than nothing Virgil supposed.

“Do you think he’ll be mad? That I saw him like this?” Virgil looked over at Patton twisting his fingers together painfully. “I can guess it was supposed to be secret- I really didn’t mean to walk in!”

Reaching over with his free hand Virgil batted his fingers apart to take a hand in his own. “I know, Pop-star. He’ll understand; he doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t?”

Virgil looked up to see Patton’s wide eyes watering a bit as he pressed his lips together anxiously. He looked almost the exact same way Dee had when he had asked Virgil if he hated him, the memory stabbing through his chest as he squeezed Patton’s hand tightly. 

“He loves you Patton, so much. He loves all of us he just-” has dumb ways of showing it. Virgil smoothed Dee’s hair down gently while rubbing Patton’s knuckles with his other hand. “He loves all of us Patton, you included. He just gets so wrapped up in playing the villain he forgets how to make sure you actually know it.” 

Biting back the urge to hit himself over the head with his own hypocrisy he started a bit as Patton laid his head on his shoulder, intertwining their fingers as he relaxed. “It’s good to know that’s all it is.”

Pointedly ignoring the slight teasing tone, Virgil laid his cheek on top of Patton’s head and simply nodded. They’d have to move soon if they didn’t want to get caught but for now, being curled up on the couch as a small family felt incredibly nice. He supposed they could stay just a little longer.

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[ptolomeia]

Rhymes With I Love You

Summary: Thomas realizes he is deeply in love with his friend Janus. Luckily for him, it turns out Janus loves him back.

Pairing: Thomas/Janus

Rating: T

Tags: Human Au, Fluff, Mutual Pining

Words: 1802

Read it on AO3

It was the laugh that undid him. Loud, unrestrained, belly laughter. Tears in the corners of his eyes and little sounds that Janus would never admit were snorts escaping. Janus unabashedly, dorkily, loudly happy, for all the world, but most importantly, for Thomas to see.

Thomas knew then and there that, not only did he love Janus, he’d loved him for a while. He didn’t think the words “I love you so much” would have come so close to falling out of his mouth like an armed, friendship destroying bomb if he hadn’t been in love for a while.

And could anyone really blame him? This was Janus he was talking about. Brilliant, beautiful, eloquent, funny, sharp—Thomas could go on all day. And had. The less said about the contents of the margins of his notes (kept carefully tucked away whenever there was a change of seeing Janus) these days, the better.

But more than any of those things (and they were great things!) Janus was kind. You’d never guess, when you first met him, but under all that snark and swagger, Janus was one of the most considerate people Thomas had ever met. He was always willing to go a little out of his way to help, and he never forgot to make Thomas a cup of tea when he made himself one.

Yes, Thomas was deeply and irrevocably in love with Janus, and had been for who knew how long. There were only two problems with this.

The first one wasn’t so bad; Janus didn’t love him back. Which was fair, honestly. Thomas was an anxious mess of a human being, barely able to keep on top of his master’s work. Thomas might be able to listen to Janus talk for hours about the philosophers he loved and studied and analyzed, but it’s not like Thomas had ever been able to really get any of it. Why wouldn’t Janus want someone who was his intellectual equal? Someone who could at least appear to be as put together as Janus was?

So yeah, Janus didn’t love him back, but that really wasn’t the real problem. Thomas was happy just being Janus’s friend, spending time with him just as he always had. No, it was the second problem that was the real problem.

You think a man who’d spend over two decades in the closet would be better at hiding things, but nope. Apparently he’d used up all his secret keeping abilities in those years because now, every time he saw Janus, every time Janus made a quip, or smirked, or breathed, Thomas was overcome with the desire to tell Janus about his unreciprocated feelings.

In retrospect, letting Janus serve him wine when Janus had come over for dinner had been a bad idea.

He hadn’t actually said “Janus, I love you, please pass the salt”, but it was a close run thing.

No, it wasn’t until after supper and another glass of wine was finished and cleaned up from, after Janus had made them both a cup of tea and was sitting with Thomas on his small, busted up couch in his small, student apartment, talking in depth about the idiocy of some famous philosopher, as Thomas watched Janus’s elegant hands so eloquently illustrate what Janus was saying, that the words he’d barely managed to keep behind clenched teeth for the past few weeks fell out into the world.

“I’m in love with you.”

Janus froze. Thomas froze. Oh shit. He wanted to believe he hadn’t actually said that, but Janus’s entirely unreadable expression said otherwise.

“What?” Janus hissed, his eyes searching Thomas’s face.

“Oh God,” Thomas said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Too late to pretend he hadn’t said anything and they could ignore it. Now he just had to try for damage control and hope he hadn’t managed to destroy his friendship with Janus completely. “I’m sorry, Janus—I don’t know why I said that. No, I mean, I do, but I know you don’t return my feelings—which is totally fine! I just hope we can—”

“I hate tea,” Janus interrupted Thomas’s frantic and pathetic attempt to explain.

“What?” It was Thomas’s turn to say.

“I hate tea,” Janus said, putting down the mug of tea he made himself, and leaning towards Thomas. “I always have. I’ve spent years trying to find a blend I could stand—you have no idea how many samplers I’ve gone through—before realizing no such blend existed and stopped bothering. Black, Green, White, Pu’er, Herbal, Rooibos, Oolong, Chai—I’ve tried them all to no avail. It doesn’t matter how long I steep them, or if I use the right temperature of water. It doesn’t matter how I try to doctor it with milk or sugar or lemon or honey. Wine, Coffee, plain water, even milk are more to my taste than tea. Hell, I’d rather drink beer.”

“But—But that’s ridiculous!” Thomas managed, unable to reconcile the words coming out of Janus’s mouth with the hundreds of mugs of tea he’d seen his friend drink. “You’re literally drinking tea right now! You made it yourself 20 minutes ago! I was right there watching you! Besides, I’ve seen you drink hundreds of cups of tea over the years and never seen you even touch a beer. I swear, every other time we’re at one of our places you say you were thinking of making yourself some tea and would I… like… some…” Thomas felt his eyes widen. No, that couldn’t be it… could it?

“Yes,” Janus said, leaning further forward, eyes bright and intense and overwhelming. “Very early on after meeting you, Thomas—After falling so deeply in love with you I knew I’d never be able to find my way out if I ever wanted to, not that I ever have—I realized you are the most stubborn person on the face of the planet when it comes to letting other people take care of you. You once mentioned that you find a cup of tea soothing, but later, when I wanted to make just you one, you absolutely refused to let me. So, even if I couldn’t stand the stuff, the simplest way for me to offer you the comfort I so desperately wanted to give you was to learn to choke down the stuff myself. I may hate tea, Thomas. But you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because as someone once said ‘how can I help rhymes with I love you’ and I didn’t think you’d let me say either. Thomas, I would drink a thousand mugs of tea to see that soft, relieved smile of yours when I make you one when you’re stressed. I love you, Thomas. I have loved you for years.”

“But… but why?” Thomas asked, knowing he was repeating himself, but way too overwhelmed to do anything else. Janus loved him?

“Why?” Janus said, head jerking back. “Thomas, I knew you had issues knowing your own worth but—” Janus bit back his words and narrowed his eyes before starting again. “While the fact that you are physically stunning is what first attracted me to you, it’s not the reason I love you.” Breathing. Thomas had to remember that breathing was a thing. “No, I fell in love with you for other things. First of all, that brilliant mind of yours. Not only can you retain and easily access the truly astounding number of facts and how they relate to each other than you need for your engineering work, you have an astonishing way of coming sideways at a problem and developing an elegant solution no one else would imagine. There’s also the fact that you’re hilarious. I don’t think anyone has ever made me laugh as hard or as often as you have. But most importantly, Thomas, the real reason I fell so inescapably in love with you is that you are kind. You look at a world filled with casual cruelty and callousness, where injustice runs rampant and stupid rules let people day for no reason at all—and you say ‘Yes. All this is true. And I will do what I can to change that. I will be kind’. And you are. And you make the world a better place for it. Thomas, I’d have to be an idiot not to fall in love with you.”

And Janus was no idiot.

“You really love me?” Thomas asked, not quite able to believe it.

“I lie about many things, Thomas. You already know that about me. But I would not, will not, lie about this.” There was more honest vulnerability and emotion in Janus’s eyes than Thomas had ever seen there, and if possible, Thomas fell even deeper. Not that it mattered, because apparently Janus had been waiting to catch him all along. “I love you, Thomas Sanders. And I cannot possibly express how happy I am to hear you love me too.”

Janus loved him. Janus loved him.

Janus had also lied to him, but Thomas had known Janus’s flaws when he’d fallen in love, and had fallen anyway. And now that he knew what Janus was willing to do to make him happy?

“At some point,” Thomas said breathlessly (he seemed to have lost his breath somewhere deep in Janus’s eyes), “At some point we’re going to have to talk about the fact that apparently you’ve been lying to me.”

“Agreed,” Janus said, quick and so certain that Thomas didn’t doubt for a second that they would.

“But until then,” Thomas managed. “Until then, can I kiss yo—”

He didn’t manage to finish the sentence before Janus’s lips were pressed against his own.

“My love,” Janus said with a faint, almost disbelieving reverence, pulling back just far enough to look into Thomas’s eyes. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever we want,” Thomas corrected gently, reaching up to lovingly cup Janus’s cheek. “From here on out, we both tell each other what we actually want, instead of dancing around it, okay?”

“In that case,” Janus more purred than said, turning his face slightly to press a kiss against the pad of Thomas’s thumb, while never taking his eyes of Thomas’s face, “I would very much like to kiss you again.”

Thomas swallowed. Thomas swallowed again. “Agreed,” he just managed to say.

With a soft laugh—a laugh Thomas thought he loved just as much as the belly laugh that made him realize the truth—Janus leaved back in and kissed him again.

Later, they would talk with each other about all the things they still needed to. Later, they would be honest and communicate and build something that let both of them feel heard and loved. But that could wait til morning. For now, there were better things to do.

[3pirouette]

Fic: Iterate (1/1)

Title: Iterate By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: Up through Endgame. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 2953 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Steve lived through the 21st century twice, the second time hurt much more than the first.

A/N: I literally made myself cry today on the way to work while I was working this out in my head. It was SUPPOSED to be FLUFFY. I’m not exactly why I decided on this format, all I know is that it felt right. I hope you enjoy. Steggy is just mentioned, more Steve-centric. 

It was supposed to be a stupid, fluffy story about Old Steve living with his granddaughter and being a LITTLE SHIT to her all the time because he’s 100% comfortable with modern things and it drives her nuts. I’m sorry.

Also, please pay attention to vague time stamps. Certain details are changed for impact. Hence, AU (Even though I FULLY BELIEVE that once the stones are placed back there is only ONE main timeline where Steve lived, was Peggy’s husband, and that’s how he showed up at the end of Endgame. Fight me.)

AND I’M SORRY.

~*~ October 2023

He supposed he’d always been waiting for this day. Steve knew he’d be around for it, one way or another. At least, he’d always assumed that, though he’d thought he’d experience it in a very, very different way.

He didn’t know the exact time, just a vague recollection that it was early afternoon, that there had been sunlight they’d blocked out with the blast shields, that they’d tried to eat lunch but they were all too nervous.

Funny. Same thing happened to him today. He couldn’t manage to get anything to slide down past the lump in his throat, couldn’t fill his stomach to calm the butterflies. He tried coffee first. It was warm and robust but had no effect.

He pulled out the tin from the back of the cabinet and made a cup of tea from one of the few remaining bags there. He sipped it and imagined Peggy sitting across from him, telling him off for using old tea that would be bitter and teasing him for how much sugar he put in it.

He drank a beer and wished to god that he had just one flask of whatever it was Thor used to carry around. He needed something to calm his nerves.

He caught his reflection in the window over the sink. For just the briefest second he saw his young self, so broken by so much, not knowing that today would be the day he’d be put to his greatest test. But the sun shifted and he could see every wrinkle in the refection, every grey hair, the haziness to his eyes that the doctor said was the beginning of cataracts.

A lifetime ago this day had changed everything for him without him knowing. Today, he was just as eager for the moment when Banner would put on that glove, this time for very different reasons.

~*~

In the end, Steve Rogers managed to live a fairly normal life.

Once back with Peggy, he kept away from the spotlight. Unsure if he’d created a parallel timeline or if he was living in his own, he did his best to avoid changing things.

Because even when he wanted to change things, he realized very quickly, he couldn’t.

He became enamored with sci-fi and fantasy that included time travel, with physicists who wrote books on the subject. He wanted to understand it, to know the unknowable.

He eventually decided that he was prescribing to the Doctor Who Theory of time travel: that it was all very, very complicated but that some things, no matter what, had to just happen in their own time and some things were simply fixed and would always happen the way they were supposed to. He’d seen this first with Zola- as he’d tried to get the man and his influence away from SHIELD they only dug their heels in deeper and kept him. It was later reaffirmed when, despite every effort, The Winter Soldier escaped him and Howard and Maria were left for dead in their car, young Tony devistated.

After that day, he stopped trying so hard to avoid squishing butterflies and focused instead on enjoying what he had.

What he had was, after all, quite a lot: A wife, two young boys, and a second chance at the life he’d missed while fighting other men’s wars.

~*~

Despite knowing all that laid ahead for him and his friends in the future that was now his past and yet somehow once again his future, Steve eventually started longing for the new millennium as decades past him by. He missed the technology, the ability to have whatever kind of entertainment he waited at the tips of his fingers. Though he’d known a good portion of what would happen from history books, once he’d gone back, he’d lived an entire lifetime full of surprises, experiencing things like the moon landing and the Vietnam war first hand. But now, as he grew older and he knew his days with Peggy were numbered, he longed for the small comforts of familiarity, for e-mails and smartphones and heated steering wheels on cars that parked themselves.

As the 2000’s arrived, he felt himself get more and more comfortable with the things around him: the news, the events he’d already experienced once and would again in a different way. It felt good to feel at least on solid ground with the world around him, knowing what was to come for him.

His home was lonely after Peggy was gone, and he made his only granddaughter an offer she couldn’t refuse: free room and board if she helped him keep up the house. An elementary school art teacher, Maggie was happy to step in for a little financial relief as she tried to navigate the churlish economy.

If he never told her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of the house by himself, it didn’t quite matter. The company was more than enough. And if when she smiled she looked just a little like her namesake and it warmed his heart… well, that wasn’t a bad thing, either.

The best part, he’d found though, was that it was hilariously funny to drive his granddaughter crazy. He’d lived through the early decades of the 21st century as a young man. He’d learned how to navigate the internet, interface with the most complicated technology there was to offer, and listened to music that wouldn’t be written for years to come. He loved watching her face as he sang along to Billie Eilish on the radio or realize that she didn’t have to explain to him how to use an iPad or Facetime.

~*~

She yelled at him the first snowfall. Skidded her car (all-wheel drive, thank goodness he’d convinced her to get the newest model) into the freshly shoveled driveway and tore out of the driver’s seat, yelling at him a mile a minute.

They’ll think I’m some kind of self-centered princess letting a centenarian shovel this and try to kill himself!  She’d yelled, trying to take the shovel from his hands.

He was still stronger than he should be, and held his ground. I don’t want you hurting yourself on this stuff.

Me? She’s screeched, and he’d laughed. He couldn’t help but smile and find her concern at least a little comical. Deep down he understood, knew that he should be trying to sell his age a little more, be trying to hide that he was still strong and fast and in better shape than some of his middle-aged neighbors.

As much as he’d like to push her off, tell her to go inside, he couldn’t. She wasn’t a self-centered princess, but she was his princess, and he bent to her whim like a branch in the wind. He’d kissed her on the head and finally handed her the shovel, leaving her the last bit of the path to her to clean up, and promised to take better care of himself.

She didn’t know that when she left for work, he still went down the basement and bench pressed 225 on an easy day.

~*~

She teased him about his record collection. Even though records had come back in style, she still thought it was silly to have a whole wall dedicated to them when she could access nearly all of musical history on her cell phone. He showed her his own digital playlists and popped in his airpods when he was reading sometimes, but he loved the sound the needle made when it hit the wax.

One night, when he couldn’t listen to her teasing anymore, no matter how good natured it was, he played dirty.

You know, there’s a new song coming out by one of those artists you like. WAP? Heard it’s a cover of a song your Nana and I used to dance to all the time.

Two weeks later, he heard the familiar opening bass to the song Barton had played incessantly in the gym while he was working out and had quoted for months, the song that he hadn’t been able to get away from even in the past with random phrases like macaroni in a pot popping into his head at the most inconvenient times.

Barely half a verse in she’d either shut it off or turned the music way lower. At dinner she couldn’t look at him.

That was not at cover, Pop Pop. And I don’t want to think about you and Nana like that… ever.

~*~

She cried when she came home, a year after Peggy’s death, to see Peggy’s beautiful vanity had been moved into her room, Peggy’s jewelry box on it front and center.

What did you do? She’d kept asking him, tears in her eyes.

She’d want you to have it. He knew it was the truth. He hugged her tight as she sniffed and knew he’d made the right decision. He remembered Peggy sitting with Maggie on her knee on the small stool, letting the girl paw through her necklaces and play with her big fluffy make-up brushes. Maggie reaching for her eyeshadow and Peggy deftly pulling it away. Peggy being just a little too slow with the lipstick and the toddler bouncing around the house, proudly showing off the circle on the bottom half of her face to anyone who would look at her.

They’d loved their boys, but Maggie had both of their hearts in a way they hadn’t been prepared for.

Steve had to make up and excuse to leave the house the next morning when Maggie came down to breakfast, wearing the single pearl drop necklace he’d gotten for Peggy on their 25th wedding anniversary and her signature red lipstick. It was a good pain, but the first time he saw her in her grandmother’s necklaces, it was pain none the less.

~*~ Spring 2018

He knew the date it was supposed to happen. He’d kept up enough to know that it would, too. His other self was out there, somewhere, fighting what would become the biggest battle of his life.

Steve decided to focus on the small things. He kept the house stocked up with food and drinks, nonperishables that would last months and even years, toilet paper and paper towels. He ordered big metal shelves for the basement and made sure there was enough for multiple people for the long haul.

He didn’t know what would happen to his family in the snap- who would make it and who wouldn’t, but he was going to be sure whoever survived would be set for the following months where there was chaos, food and water shortages, and fear.

It would be a long five years for anyone that was left.

Even though she was home most nights, he asked Maggie for a standing Thursday night date. Some nights he showed her how to keep the house up: where the water main was, how to shut it on and off, where the gas line was, what to do if the roof started leaking. He made notebooks full of lists of things to do, how-to’s for the house and for life, and even, when he was awake in the middle of the night, wrote her letters so she wouldn’t be lonely.

Somehow, he just knew it would be him this time. He had survived the first snap, but if there were two of him and one survived, the other, statistically, did not. Thanos was very clear on how half worked.

Maggie, at first, had been scared. His family knew he had a knack for predicting the future, but didn’t know quite why.

Are you dying? Maggie had asked, fearing the worst when she started to realize that their Thursday night take-out and movie date was about more than just spending time together.

No, he’d said so very often, I just want you to be ready for anything.

Despite all of her questions, she went along with it.

When the day came, he couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of his eyes. Couldn’t quite smile at her. They ate pizza in front of the TV, watching a comedy Maggie had picked. He kept his eyes on his watch. It was coming.

His fingers itched. Like he could already feel his cells pulling apart.

He reached out, taking her hand in his and covering it with is other hand. “Maggie, you know I love you, right?”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d sensed his anxiety all day. “Of course, I do. And I love you, Pop Pop.”

He looked away and then back at her. “I promise you, whatever happens, I’m alright, and I’ll be back.”

“Pop Pop,” her eyes filled with tears, “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, “I’ve left you everything you’ll need, and I promise I’ll be back.”

A tear fell from her eye as she squeezed his hand tighter. “But where…”

It was as if the world went silent as it started to happen. Though the television droned on in the background, he could swear the air was stiller. He started to see the dust fill the air and tried not to breathe.

But it was wrong.

It wasn’t him.

Her hand was falling to nothing in his, the fear in her eyes haunting as the skin of her cheeks flecked into the air, swirling before falling along with the rest of her into a pile on the couch.

It was so fast. So fast.

And it wasn’t him.

“No…” The word fell from his lips as a whisper, sobs starting to form in his throat.

~*~

He wondered, nearly every night for five years, if Thanos knew. If it had somehow been a conscious choice to keep him alive, to make him suffer just a little more. To make him watch his other self on television trying to promote healing.

Sometimes, he realized that this was a blessing. His sons and granddaughter were safe while they were snapped, protected by the fabric of the universe. Bucky had told him that he didn’t remember anything from being snapped, didn’t feel any different when he woke up than if he’d taken a long, heavy nap.

Somewhere, his family was taking the universe’s longest nap without him.

But they’d be spared these memories. They’d be spared lonely nights of missing loved ones and too little to eat while the world sorted out the jobs that were suddenly empty to keep things running for those that were left behind.

They’d be spared the fear of the gangs that started roaming the streets of half abandoned cities, looting for food and clothes in stores that had never officially closed but also couldn’t open with their owners simply gone.

They’d be spared the rolling blackouts and the contaminated water scares.

They’d be spared the fear of the country as the government suddenly found itself missing elected officials and the infighting and the rhetoric that came with martial law and hasty elections.  

They’d be spared so, so much pain and loss.

Every day, he relived it all, twice over.

He counted every day for five years, making his way through each week and month motivated by only one thought: they were coming back. He needed to be ready for them, for her.

He helped his daughter in law keep their house, managed his other son’s apartment in DC and kept his things ready and waiting, made sure Maggie’s things were safe and in working order, made sure her bank account stayed open and her phone bill was paid. He’d never, not once, considered he’d be the one left behind, and the logistics of all there was to do left him busy for the first few weeks.

Everyone told him his hope that the dusted would return was infectious, but after the first year, people stopped listening. He knew, for a fact, they’d come back, but everyone else didn’t. Even the past him was operating on the idea that they’d never be back.

Some days he didn’t make it out of bed. He laid there, talking to the ceiling, whispering to Peggy, wishing she could talk back, wishing she could be one of the ones brought back. He missed her with a ferocity that hadn’t changed since the first time he’d been in this time, but had only been tempered and strengthened by a lifetime together.

As the days drew closer to the five-year mark, he began to make arrangements.

~*~ October 2023

He cleaned the living room and set it to the way it had been that night. He pulled out every note and letter he’d written Maggie and his children and put them in the kitchen, ready and waiting.

He sat on the couch, facing the blank television, a new, piping hot, pepperoni pizza sitting in front of him, untouched.

He still couldn’t eat.

He still didn’t know if this was the right timeline. As he’d gotten closer to this day his faith had wavered. What if all he’d come to believe wasn’t true? What if this wasn’t the one fourteen million? He wanted to believe, but he didn’t know for sure.

He looked at his watch, watching as the seconds ticked by. What were a few seconds to him? He’d lived more than one lifetime, and that had been enough. He had barely made it through these five years the first time. The second time had almost truly broken him. He was ready for this to be over. He was ready to stop having to deal with loss and to be able to live whatever time he had left with the family he loved.

He held out his hand, and waited.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirteen: black and silver

“Wow, what a story, honey.”

Sam had arrived into the harbor outside of Avalon right as the rains completely arrived, and she traded in a dollar for four quarters so she could call her mother and give a follow up as to what was going on with her. Once she had arrived at the harbor and took her back to her brand new house, Esmé thus treated her to a nice warm cup of a fusion of chai and black tea: it was tea time at the point anyway.

The house was a cute little cottage nestled in the low hillside that overlooked Avalon and most of the harbor right under a rouse of ponderosa pines and a palm tree: the small yard was decorated in small lush chaparral shrubs and bushes of bright pink pearly Catalina manzanita. Warm heavy wood lined the living room floor and the floor of the small but cozy kitchen; the wall behind them and the small comfy couch was a rich royal blue and carried a couple of framed photographs, one of which was Sam herself as a five year old girl. To the right stood the hallway which extended to her bedroom as well as the guest room and the spacious bathroom. Everything in that house was a warm amber or a royal blue, such that it reminded Sam of the shows in Boston and Providence.

“If I didn't know better, I'd swear we were in New England,” she confessed to her.

“Always wanted to live on Catalina,” Esmé told her as she lifted the tea bag out of the dark blue silver lined tea cup to ensure that it had completed steeping. “And I had a feeling you would like it, too. But the whole thing with Bill, though—that's—” She swallowed and Sam could see the agony in her face. “—I feel like I could've done something had you said something about it to me.”

“Well, see, that's the thing, though, Mom, is—I had no clue what he would do,” she confessed with a shake of her head. “He threw a glass at Belinda's head when they were getting me out of there. Missed her but he threw a glass at her, though! He actually locked me into the house at one point. The boys actually had to bust through a window just to get me out of there. They were about to go over to Germany, too—I'm glad they did because I know that man would've been furious about it. Surprised he never addressed it to me.”

“What's Germany like, by the way?”

“Beautiful. Just gorgeous—like Catalina or upstate New York but cleaner and a bit homelier, though. We were there for a week, and so Alex and I hung out for a full day together at one point. Went through the Black Forest and had authentic European beer on the train, too.” She dared not tell her mother that she left him there at the train station nearby the border to East Germany.

“I'll have to introduce you to him, though,” Sam told her as she held the cup of tea close to her chest. “He's really sweet, Mom.”

“As sweet as Joey was?”

“Sweeter. As kind as Joey is to me, I feel like there was something missing between us, like there needed to be something more there with us.”

“Did you feel any chemistry between the two of you?” Esmé asked her.

“Yeah, I did,” Sam replied. “But—I'm not sure how to explain it, though. All the touches and the little grins he'd show me—you've seen his crooked little smile.”

“Oh, yeah. Just like the man I used to know when your father and I were together at first.”

“Speaking of which... did you ever find him again?”

Esmé shook her head.

“I haven't seen him since your father and I got married,” she confessed. “And he was about to head back up to the northern half of the state, but that's—that's where it starts and ends, though. I couldn't exactly say where he had gone off to or what he planned on doing afterwards.”

The tag on the tea bag dangled off the silvery edge of the cup as she took a sip.

“Mmm—have you tried this tea, Sam? Locally grown. Practically everything here is locally grown and supported. We get things from the mainland, but it's rather endemic, though. It's especially the case over in Two Harbors.”

“This past summer, Louie and I took a road trip from the Bay Area back to Elsinore, and we went all along the coast, along the Pacific Coast Highway and the 1—and he showed me that one part of the Salinas River, right before it gets to the ocean.”

“Oh, I love that part of the state,” she told her, “all along the coastline. I considered moving to outside of Ukiah, right up close to the coastline up there but this place here on Catalina came up and it was an offer I simply could not refuse.”

“Nice little boat ride, too,” Sam added.

“Oh, yes. It's not often, though. Things are pretty self sustainable around here. I figured if it's really something that you wish for, like it's imperative that you return to the mainland, that's probably the one time you go across the Channel with the boat or with the sea plane. Some forty years ago, eight inches of snow fell on the mountain right over here.”

“Wow,” Sam raised her eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, you don't really think of an island off the coast of California as having snow,” Esmé chuckled. “But it happened. Hawai'i gets snow every so often, too, so does Seattle. And coincidentally, so does the Bay Area. It's nothing like Elsinore or the San Gabriels or northern Nevada, but it does happen every so often, though.” She took another sip of her tea and then shook her head and closed her eyes at the flavor. Sam took a sip herself: rich and subdued at the same time, and almost minty as well, and with a kiss of sugar to augment it a bit.

“Ooh, that's nice,” she remarked.

“See?” Esmé smiled at her and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “So what are they like? The other band you're friendly with now?”

“Testament? They're dark but they're not like... satanic, though. They've got skulls and things surrounding them and their image, but I promise you, they're not satanic, Mom.”

“What are they called again?”

“Testament. I mean, it's even in the name. It should be indicative that they're not satanic.”

“Sounds more like they're about to preach a sermon of sorts,” Esmé confessed. “Like I think of the Old Testament.”

“Preach and give us what for—but not in the way in which Bill did with me, though. Their church is one of—guitars and hard fast music and having fun, too. Having fun with all of us ladies, too.”

Esmé laughed at that.

“Oh, god,” Sam declared and she picked out a delicate pink petit four from the plate on the narrow coffee table next to them, “one time—this was last summer, actually—we were all touring over in Boston and a few ladies were walking past us on the sidewalk and they called the four of us—Marla, Belinda, Zelda, and me—all satanic for hanging out with a bunch of metal boys. And Zelda was like 'yeah, a band called Testament is satanic!' and Marla and I both laughed out loud at that.”

Esmé herself chuckled in response to that as she held her tea cup up to her lips once more. Sam took a bite of the little cake in all of its light fluffiness, and then one more bite of it.

“What are they called again?” she asked her.

“Who, Zelda's band? The Cherry Suicides. It conjures the image of a human sacrifice—like a virgin giving herself up—or simply a woman stabbing herself in the chest.”

“So violent,” she remarked with a shake of her head.

“But that's what makes them so awesome, though. That same night, we were in Boston, and they were allotted right before Anthrax and Testament's sets. They did this song called 'Dead Witches', it was like a seven minute long jam. One minute of hardcore punk and then their guitarist Minerva just launched into this big long solo. Given they're a punk band, their songs are usually only a couple of minutes. But right there, they just showed that they're as a big of a power house as the boys themselves, too.” Sam sipped on the tea again so as to wash down the petit four.

“They're all real nice, too. These four tough looking chicks all the way from Providence, but they're so kind, though. They love their fans and they're easily some of the most polite people I've met.”

“They've been through a lot, too, you said.”

“Yeah, they have! All the break ups and the drama with the record labels and—” Sam shook her head as she thought about Aurora. “Long time coming for them, though. I hope I get to see them again.”

“You're gonna have to go back to the mainland anyways,” Esmé pointed out.

“Yeah, I promised Alex I would.”

“You said he's sweet.”

“Yeah, he is. He's funny—he's the kind of guy you don't really like at first until he finds a way inside of you. He's got this little bit of gray hair over his brow, too. He turned twenty back in September.”

“Twenty years old and he's already going gray?” Esmé gaped at that.

“He's been going gray, though,” Sam pointed out. “I remember him telling me about it but I don't remember the full details, though, except he's had it since he was like fourteen. When we first met him, it was like this little sliver over his brow and now it's this little tuft. It's weird, too, like it's just this little tiny bundle of gray hair on that part of his head, and just that part of his head, too. The rest of his hair is completely solid black.”

“Huh.”

“Aurora told me her—grandmother, I think it was—had something similar to that. No idea what causes it, either.”

“Maybe it's a birthmark. It's a long shot, but it is possible, though.”

“Could be, but—who knows, really.” Sam shrugged her shoulders. “He's been dyeing it, too.”

“Can't blame him,” Esmé admitted. “A boy his age going gray so early—you might as well keep your hair uniform.”

“He says it ages him.”

“And it does, too. I remember the very day your father initially went gray—and yes, it aged him several years. I remember the day I started going gray, too. Can't imagine how it makes him feel.”

They sipped on their tea in unison and the rain outside fell even harder on the rooftop and porch outside.

“I'm gonna assume the other reason why you moved here,” Sam started again, “and not the coastline is because this feels like the quintessential place to write a novel.”

“Exactly!” Esmé declared with a laugh. “There's only a couple thousand people here and no one to bother me, either.”

“Except me of course,” Sam pointed out.

“You're not bothering me, sweetie. You never bother me—if there's anything I can genuinely take away from you living so far away for a few years, it's that I miss having you around.”

“Well, even though I consider New York as my home, I can always ensure a trip out here. I might as well ensure that, anyways: I've got friends out this way.”

“So nice of them to bail you out of there, too.”

“Yeah, I mean—Greg got me out through the back window the first time around and we got down to Alhambra without sparing any expense. And then Eric literally busted through a window to get me out of that house. And then they took me to Germany for a week.”

“And you like the Bay Area, too.”

“The Bay Area is stunning. They took me to the place where Cliff's ashes are spread out—and it just felt like a—a—a pilgrimage of sorts. Eric showed me where he was from. Louie and I took a road trip together down the coastline.”

“And Alex took you home.”

“And Alex took me home, right,” she echoed, that time in a soft voice. “And he was in Aurora's wedding, too...”

Maybe she had in fact been far too hard on him as she sipped on the tea some more. She thought of him over there on the mainland, with the guys all around him. She hoped that, since she was on Catalina with her mother and not over there with them, that Bill would keep his distance from Reseda. She knew that he was far and away from there, and yet that fear still lingered over her.

At the same time, she began to think about Joey again and moreover, how in the world he managed to find a new woman to substitute her back home back East. The only way he would have found out is if someone back there told him, and as far as she knew, Louie never approached him once. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less sense it made to her. The only way she could even so much as find out about it is if she sought answers from the man himself, and it would be a little bit before she got to see him again in Long Beach.

That is if she could.

Afterwards, Esmé treated her to a bite of dinner at one of the cafes there in Avalon. Given it was raining, they retreated inside of there and shared a pina colada, even in the middle of December and a week before Christmas.

If nothing, Sam was glad to be around her mother again, even if Ruben was up in the Bay Area from that point onward. If nothing, it would be a rather interesting Christmas there on Catalina with all of the manzanita and all of the endemic plants about there, much like on her road trip with Louie: her mother joked about having a small palm tree in the front room of the house for the tree, although it made legitimate sense to Sam.

She knew that she would have to get used to the idea of having a split household from then on: divided over the entire state of California and she considered on returning to New York when all was said and done. However, she had her doubts about that, especially with Joey having his hands on another woman.

She took a warm shower to rid of the feeling traveling had given her and then she curled under the covers in her old bed tucked away there in the guest room. All the while she thought about Joey himself. She pictured him with his hands all over that other woman and she wondered if Frank genuinely saw them hold hands with one another or if he caught a fleeting glimpse of them and put two and two together. But she couldn't help it: she pictured him with a long and lanky supermodel, not a stubby little dark haired woman such as herself.

She rolled over onto her back and she wondered if he would return to her if she was a supermodel herself. Long narrow legs with big stiletto heels. The perfect hourglass shape to her body and her breasts so perky that no one could resist them. She could have the boys all to herself if that was the case with her.

If anything, as she thought about it more, she wondered as to why all of the guys even liked her in the first place because with every glimpse in the mirror, especially when she stood there after her shower and examined her nude body, she just saw a plain young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She looked just like every other woman on the street as far as she could tell.

Nothing discernible as far as she could tell, either: nothing like doll-like features with Belinda or ever changing hair like Marla, or even something interesting like premature grays or having parents who hailed from both sides of the Korean peninsula.

And she bounced around with her weight as if it was the easiest thing in the world: but at least this time around, she was on the downswing. She glanced down at her body as it lay underneath the covers: the tips of her feet pointed up down at the base of that narrow mattress. She let her hand slide over the sheet, towards the right side.

She could still feel Cliff there next to her. She could still feel his presence, even with his smell gone away from her olfactory memory and even with the feel of his body vanished from the caress of her hand.

She could also feel Joey next to her. They were so close a few times. She actually got to put her lips around him not once, but twice.

And then, just like that, he went off with another woman all because she didn't resemble to a supermodel.

So many questions and all she could do was fall right into a dreamless sleep.

It wasn't until she awoke the next morning to the dense marine layer and the feeling Christmas was upon her when she realized she hadn't seen the mysterious man for months, as if he had vanished from her dreams forever.

After breakfast, Esmé drove her back down to the harbor for the next boat ride back over to San Pedro.

“I'll be waiting for you, sweetie,” she vowed to her as she held her in her arms away from the rain.

“No idea how long the show will be, though,” Sam confessed as she ran her fingers through her dark hair.

“I'll be waiting for you regardless of it, though.” She flashed her a wink and blew her a kiss before Sam boarded that little blue and white boat with her purse on her shoulder and her questions ready for Joey; she also had her explanation ready for Marla and Belinda, even though she had faith Alex had told them about it. She took her seat on the starboard side and peered over the edge to the gray ocean waters down below.

Twenty two miles across those waters and with the marine layer overhead, and soon the edge of California emerged in view: the coast seemed to extend on either side of them for as far as the eye could see. Sam thought about the Highway 1 on her road trip and how it all felt so endless and eternal at the same time, even if it was obvious the end of it came soon enough.

As the coast became clearer and clearer, she spotted that car in the parking lot before the dock. Even from a whole mile away, she recognized his tall body and those jet black curls. She didn't even have to see that little tuft of gray on his head to know that it was him there.

They reached the dock and Sam bolted off of the boat first and she hurried up to him.

“It's the damnedest thing, I can literally see you a mile away,” she told him as part of her greeting to him.

“You wanna know something?” he asked her as he set a hand on her shoulder.

“What's that?”

“I can, too. A mile out and I saw you peeking over the edge.”

“You could literally see me?” she chuckled.

“Yeah! Anyways, come on—the doors don't open until way later but—you know the drill.”

Alex drove her up to Reseda with nothing more than the side streets. He was silent the whole way and she could only assume that he had told Marla and Belinda what had happened. But she could only assume regardless of it all.

They reached the club in question and he parked around the back in the alleyway, much to where Sam thought she was about to bow headfirst into the dashboard in front of her.

“Sorry—I'm still trying to get used to it,” he confessed with a shrug. She let out a low whistle.

“Well, at least you weren't speeding,” she pointed out. He climbed out first; she followed him up to the back door there. All the memories of the Stormtroopers of Death tour returned as he held the door for her. She walked into the back hallway there, where two women congregated around Greg and his bass guitar. He nodded at her and Alex, and they both turned for a look back at them.

So he didn't tell them because they just got there themselves.

“THERE SHE IS!” Marla declared at the top of her lungs.

Belinda's snake pendant glittered under the pale lights with each and every step of the way. She threw her arms around her first and then she gaped at Sam. Marla shook her head and gaped at her.

“What the hell, Sam? Why'd you bail on us?”

She was taken aback at that. “I did?”

“Yeah,” Belinda followed up as Greg joined them there at the back door, “after you got the news that Joey had left you for another woman, you just sorta—went rigid and then you disappeared out of the cafe and just started walking up the road. We tried to get you back with us, but you were like 'no! I'll get there on my own!' Didn't even tell us where you were going, either.”

“Wow.” She slowly rubbed her hands together at the sound of that. “I—I don't even remember doing that. I can't believe I did that to you.”

“You must've just blacked out,” Greg explained. “Like it hit you so hard that your mind went completely blank.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that yesterday after I dropped her off at San Pedro,” Alex followed up, “like—it sounds like she just completely blacked out.”

“Yeah, you were completely checked out at that point,” Belinda added. “I couldn't even get you to pay any attention.”

“Well, yeah, I mean—Joey is my guy. At least, I thought he was.” Sam stopped herself because the tears were coming back to her. “Did—Frankie give any more explanation as to why he went with another woman?”

Marla and Belinda glanced at one another, and then the former shook her head: her neon green hair shimmered about under the bright light of the backstage area.

“No, he just said, 'tell Sam that—I spotted Joey with another woman, and they look in love, too. Probably more so than the two of them.'”

Sam closed her eyes and bowed her head a bit.

“If we see him, we're gonna have a long talk with him,” Belinda vowed.

“The three of us or just me?”

“We'll help you,” Marla promised her. “Aurora's not here right now—obviously—so she's way out of the loop.”

“Push comes to shove, since he took your heart from you—we'll take something from him,” Belinda added.

“We won't go that far,” Marla told her off. “Especially since there's more than likely a good explanation behind it.” She fetched up a sigh and shook her head again. “San Pedro, you said, Alex?”

“My mom lives on Catalina now,” Sam pointed out. “Remember?”

“Oh, yeah, that's right! Okay, so you went to your mom's house.”

“And Alex drove you there, too,” Greg added with a nod.

“I was driving down yesterday and there was traffic on the freeway when I got to Bakersfield, and I was like 'ah, jeez.' So I took a detour all through some farmland and I saw her walking on the side of the road. I was like, 'is that Samantha? Oh my god it is!' So I pulled over and got her in the car with me and I drove her there before the snow hit the Grapevine.”

“Drove me all the way down to the docks,” Sam added in a soft voice; something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she spotted a man with his back turned to them. But she remembered his head of thinning black hair, still long and down past his shoulders. He was talking to Louie as she approached him from behind and tapped on his shoulder.

“Hey, Scott!”

“Hey!” He put his arms around her. “How've you been?”

“Been over at my mom's house—she lives on Catalina, now. Twenty miles off the coast.”

“Wow.” He raised his thick eyebrows at that. “So how's life in Elsinore? I heard some things about that.”

“I don't live there anymore. Marla and Bel got me out of there. I might find my way back to New York officially soon enough.”

“Cool!” He gave her a high five at that.

“By the way, how'd you find out about my living in Elsinore?”

“Marla. I saw her running down the street a while back and I asked her what was going on, and she told me to take her over to your old school—I was driving. She did some things in there and then she came back out and she told me what happened to you. She asked me to keep it between us and so I did.”

Louie raised his head and nodded at her.

“Hey—poison garden,” she greeted him. Louie hesitated and then he laughed at that.

“Poison garden!” He bumped fists with her and Scott looked at them both, confused.

“It's—a long story,” Sam told him.

“It really is,” Louie added, and then he laughed at something behind her. She turned for a look back at Greg and Alex with Marla and Belinda: Greg slung his bass over his shoulder and then he let it rest right onto his back.

“You're gonna do what Joey did, aren't you?” Louie joked as the three of them walked on over to that side of the backstage area.

“Nah—just wanna see what the crowd's gonna be like out there.” He poked his head out from behind the curtain for a better look out to the front row of the crowd: Louie and Alex joined in, as did Sam and Marla right behind them. They were met with a sea of heads, a few of whom near the front had little elephants on their sleeves. It took Sam a second to realize that those were the Republican elephants with their red make up and the little white stars on their feet. Alex had his eye on all three of them and he frowned at the sight of them.

“What's up?” she asked him.

“Yeah, this new album is definitely gonna be titled that,” he assured her. “Practice What You Preach.”

“This is bringing back all those memories of when we were first starting out,” Greg added, “we were playing in clubs up in the Bay Area. And there were a bunch of people who were talking about Reagan and we weren't having any of it.”

“Oh, yeah, it's definitely gonna have that title.”

The bunch of them backed away from there and Alex snapped his fingers.

“What?” Sam asked him, and he gestured for her to follow him. But he only led her to the little table tucked in the corner right behind him where he had set down a black backpack for safe keeping.

“I forgot to show you this, by the way,” he told her as he unzipped the front pocket, “—when I took you down to San Pedro yesterday.”

He flashed her a Polaroid photograph of a silver menorah on a table somewhere. All around the base stood a series of little yellow marigolds: each of the eight candles were lit with those pure yellow flames.

“Candles—lit for me?”

He opened his mouth to say something but he was cut off by Greg singing off key to something. Alex turned his head in his direction as Greg slapped and plucked at the thick bass strings.

“What's all this?” Alex demanded.

“Nana na na na! Nana na na na!”

“Greg!”

“Huh?”

“What're you doing?”

“Sorry, I was just singing. We are getting paid to do this, you know, Alex.”

“True.”

The back door swung open again and Alex set a hand on Sam's shoulder so as to get her out of the way. Chuck and Tiffany stepped inside, away from the fine drizzle that began to fall over Los Angeles.

“I saw our pals from Slayer in the crowd here,” Chuck pointed out.

“Where's Slayer?” Sam wondered aloud. “Where's Slayer? Where's Slayer?”

“I didn't see them, either,” Marla added.

“They're there, though,” Tiffany assured them, and Chuck's face lit up at the sight of Sam.

“Hey, Sammich! C'mon over here. I got something to give you.”

“Well, it's from me and him both,” Tiffany corrected him.

“What is it?”

He kept his hand behind his back and he showed her a thoughtful look on his face.

“Close your eyes and hold out your wrist,” he told her. She did just that and she felt something smooth brush against her skin. He tied something right atop his wrist.

“Okay,” he told her, and she opened her eyes. He had given her a bracelet of black onyx beads and fire opal sugar skulls.

“Oh my god, Chuck, it's beautiful!” she gasped.

“It's a friendship bracelet. I got one, too!” He showed her the twin bracelet on his wrist as well and she threw her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispered right into his ear.

“And thank you,” he whispered back to her.

“Hey, if nothing, we can name our new album Poison Garden,” Louie joked to Greg and Alex.

“No!” Sam whirled around and she pointed over at Louie himself, and he lunged back a bit as a result.

“No?”

“That's 'not' to you!” Scott called out from across the floor and Marla and Belinda both cackled at that.

[ohscorbus]

Scorbus Anastasia au where Albus got amnesia after escaping death eaters and one day while working at the bookshop he was raised in he meets a boy called Scorpius who says he’s a Potter and can bring him back to where there’s still one Potter left in the family meanwhile Delphi’s looking to end the Potter bloodline for good starting with Albus

I know literally nothing about Anastasia but based on just that AU you’ve outlined? I’m so here for it. Does he get amnesia as a child so he grows up not knowing who he is or does it happen to him as an adult? Either way, it’s super interesting to think about who Albus would be without the Potter legacy and Scorpius. On one hand, a weight has been unknowingly lifted off his shoulders. He’s free to be just Albus without everything that comes with being a Potter. He’s safe to walk the streets without whispers and befriend strangers without fearing ulterior motives. But on the other, is he aware that he’s missing whole pieces of himself? Not just his identity, but the love of his family and the power of the friendship he’s left behind? I guess that’s why I love the idea of him finding a life in a bookshop so much. It’s a place full of stories which would suit someone who doesn’t know their own. I can just imagine him reading book after book and wondering if his old life was like the life in these pages. Did he have friends and adventures and his own library of books? Or maybe there were dragons and banquets and castles! That one always makes him laugh, but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming. Which is exactly what he was doing when the beautiful blond walked into his shop and dislodged more than just the books on the counter. Suddenly he’s got his story and it’s overwhelming and full of complications and implications no amount of fiction could have ever prepared him for. I bet there are days in the following weeks where he longs for the quiet safety of his bookshop again. But at least here he has Scorpius now. He doesn’t know quite what that means but he knows what he’d like it to mean, and so he decides to write his own story from now on. Like I said, I have no idea what actually happens in Anastasia but I’m guessing they live happily ever after? Because Albus and Scorpius certainly do.

So! Funny story. I wrote that previous paragraph the day I got this message but I decided it wasn’t good enough so I bought a copy of Anastasia so I could watch it and properly engage with this AU. But honestly? I didn’t really enjoy the film. Sorry! I think as lost heirs go, I’m definitely more of a Tangled fan. So I’ll give you a mash-up of Anastasia and Tangled, swapping out the royalty aspect for magic and I’ll turn it into a ‘choose your own adventure’ because I couldn’t decide which route to take. Enjoy : )

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I don’t like the idea of Scorpius as a con man. Instead he’d be a dreamer with a connection who’s still looking for Albus after everyone else has given up. He loves stories and myths but to him, Albus is a real boy. He remembers him. Grew up and lived with him inside those castle walls. He’s not a legend, he’s a friend. So when he accidentally stumbles upon him in the muggle bookshop he just knows it’s him. Except Albus takes a lot of convincing but as he learns about the Potters and the existence of the wizarding world, he finally starts to remember odd things. The book he used to read to his sister. The jumper that used to belong to his brother. His mother’s perfume. His father’s eyes. An actual castle. The boy who would sneak him sweets during class...

Scorpius never hides who he is from Albus. The best friend. The suspect. The shunned. But as they keep meeting to discuss his past (which of course neither of them secretly think of as dates), Albus doesn’t just remember his kindness. His sugar supplies. His knowledge of the secret passageways in their school. He also learns how he takes too much sugar in his coffee now. How he still sings some of his words and doesn’t care who hears. How his book recommendations make him question if he has a bookshop too. (He doesn’t. He’s just an uber nerd.) 

But Albus is still a cursed child. Delphi is still out there with her augury sidekick, following them across the country as they finally make their way back to…. 

[If the Potters are still alive then read ONE. If the Potters are all dead and the only family left is Molly Weasley, read TWO.] 

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ONE

...Godric’s Hollow. Harry and Ginny never moved out of the cottage, even once James and Lily grew up and moved out, just in case Albus ever returned home. They never stopped looking for him. The stolen spare, the Daily Prophet calls him. But to them, he’s still their fourteen year old boy who went missing in the night. Although their clock says he’s lost, not dead, years of false leads have left them exhausted in every sense.

Albus still isn’t sure about magic and even more so when Scorpius explains it can be tracked, so the two of them travel like muggles across the UK. They survive runaway trains and dementor attacks but eventually make it. Yet Harry refuses Scorpius entry on sight. They can’t bear any more false hope and especially not from a Malfoy. The last person to see him alive before Albus disappeared from his dorm. He’d heard rumours about him trying to clear his name but showing up here with someone full of false memories? He’ll see him in Azkaban for this. It’s crueler than anything his father had ever done. But then suddenly Albus is right there. And as Harry steps back, his son steps forward. Over the property line and through the wards like only a blood relative could do. They take their reunion to the kitchen and process with tears and tea, but it’s the clock with his name on saying he’s home that finally makes it all sink in. He’s Albus Potter. He has a family. (He even finds out dragons are real and that one really blows his mind.)

The wizarding world is overjoyed with his return, but the fact it was Scorpius who found him only darkens his name with suspicion further. So Scorpius leaves so Albus can enjoy his family. Except everything doesn’t just fall into place for Albus. This life is as overwhelming as he feared it would be. He already loves his family but it doesn’t stop him from missing his bookshop and his cat, but most of all, Scorpius. Ginny finds him watching the crowd at his welcome home party and knows exactly what he needs. She tells him to go. That they are always going to be here but Scorpius won’t be. He hugs her in thanks and promises, then runs after the man who changed everything. He catches up with him just as Delphi finds them both. There’s a final showdown in which Albus helplessly watches as Scorpius sacrifices himself to save him. That’s when it happens. The anger over what had been done to him and what his family and friends had been through collides with the prospect of a future without Scorpius, and Albus explodes. He doesn’t understand it but he feels the power all the way down to his fingertips as it finds its purpose. She never stood a chance against the raw energy and emotion of a Potter fighting with his heart for justice.

Once she’s been stopped once and for all, Albus and Scorpius return to his bookshop and make a life for themselves. Albus never really uses magic again. What he’d felt with Delphi had scared him. He’d lived his life without magic and was happy to carry on doing so. Although he did immediately have a fireplace installed at his parent’s insistence. He grows used to his brother dropping in unannounced and disturbing the peace. He learns to expect his mother will always check in to see if he’s okay even though he’s an adult. He looks forward to visits from his nephews and nieces and even turns a corner of the shop into a child friendly reading area for them which is equally as loved by his customers. His dad kept his location out of the press but made sure everyone knew Delphi was to blame. Scorpius is free. But he never leaves Albus and the old cat and their bookshop. They live out their days surrounded by stories but loving their own the most.

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TWO

...The Burrow. Molly Weasley never gave up hope on her grandson. Her clock never lies. His hand still says he’s missing, not gone. The rumours say she’s driven herself mad staring at it. But they don’t know Molly. They mistake her insistence as delusions which only appear to increase in desperation with each new false lead. Another green eyed boy who’s read a few books about Harry and wants the glory. But they never know what song her daughter sang to her children at night. They never know what her son in law cooked for them every Sunday morning. They never know his favourite place to read or how he hates pumpkin juice or when he got that scar on his elbow. The last encounter broke her heart for the final time. She decides to pack the clock away and refuses to see any more young men claiming to be her grandson. She’ll live out her days knowing he's alive and that’ll have to be enough for her. But then suddenly Scorpius Malfoy finds her while she’s out shopping. He says he’s found him but she stops him before he can explain. She can’t go through this again. Unlike the rest of the wizarding world, she doesn’t believe Scorpius had anything to do with the attack, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t unfairly blame him for surviving. He was sleeping over at the Potter house the night it happened. He had managed to escape in the chaos but somehow Albus had slipped through his fingers as they ran and was never seen again. She can’t look at him now without painfully reliving the what ifs. So she turns and walks away. That’s when she sees him. Albus is stood outside the creature emporium, gently stroking a small tawny owl. Just like the one he got when he was eleven. He’s twenty seven now but he’s still got his dad’s hair and small stature. He’s even got his own pair of glasses over those green eyes she hasn’t seen in over a decade, and when they turn to look straight at her she knows for sure. She takes them both back to the Burrow and watches as Albus walks around the kitchen. He looks at the pans which are cleaning themselves and the overflowing shelves of trinkets and moving photos and stops in front of his own portrait surrounded by what he presumes is his family. Scorpius quietly explains he’s lived as a muggle all these years. He didn’t come back because he couldn’t remember. Any of it. Molly’s heart breaks all over again as she walks over to Albus and tells him about them. How Ginny was fierce and Harry a hero, how James was brash and Lily bold. But the one thing they all had in common was how much they loved him. 

The wizarding world is shocked by his return but the fact it was Scorpius who brought him back only seemed to give the rumours of his involvement some credibility. So Scorpius leaves so Albus can enjoy life with his grandmother. Except everything doesn’t just fall into place for Albus. This life is as overwhelming as he feared it would be. He loves his grandmother dearly but he misses his bookshop and his cat, but most of all, he misses Scorpius. Molly finds him on the sidelines watching the crowd at his welcome home party and knows exactly what he needs. She tells him to go. That she’s always going to be here but Scorpius won’t be. She’s lived her life and she won’t stop him from living his. Not after he’s already lost so much. That’s all he needs to hear and after a hug, he’s running after Scorpius. He manages to catch up with him just as Delphi does. There’s one final showdown. Albus helplessly watches as Scorpius sacrifices himself to save him and that’s when it happens. The anger over what had been done to him and the loss of his family collides with the prospect of a future without Scorpius, and Albus explodes. He doesn’t understand it but he feels the power all the way down to his fingertips as it finally finds its purpose. She never stood a chance against the raw energy and emotion of a Potter.

Once she’s been destroyed once and for all, Albus and Scorpius return to his bookshop and make a life for themselves. Albus never uses magic again. What he’d felt finishing Delphi had scared him. He’d lived his life without magic before and was happy to carry on doing so. Although he did immediately have a fireplace installed at his grandmother’s insistence. She checks in with him every day and their chats over tea quickly become one of his favourite parts of the day. Some of the others? Waking up beside Scorpius every morning in their little apartment above their bookshop. Listening to Scorpius read to the younger customers in their newly painted kids corner. Watching his usually shy cat snuggle up beside Scorpius like he’s known him all his life. It wasn’t what he expected, but he’s definitely found his family and his home.

[and-it-freezes-me]

AUgust Day 1 - Coffee Shop

Content: brief alcohol mention, bullying mention, divorce mention, fluff

Words: 3,456

Nobody is quite sure when the café became their haunt.

It couldn’t have been when Logan suggested making the front left table, the one beside the large potted fern and next to the window, their designated study space. He was determined to drag Patton through Geometry if it was the last thing he did (although, he would remind them, he would really prefer it not be the last thing he did), and Patton was paying him back by bribing Roman with chocolate cookies to tutor Logan in literature. Back then, the café had been a convenient place to spread books over a table, to spend an hour complaining that Shakespeare knew far too many words for his own good, to spend another complaining that Euclid was far more interested in circles and straight lines than was entirely healthy. It hadn’t exactly been somewhere they wanted to go: nobody, Logan included, wanted to leave at the end of a seven hour school day and immediately study more, no matter how good the hot chocolate was.

It wasn’t really their haunt when one of Patton’s moms had left out of the blue - it had just been somewhere they could sit and comfort their friend, Virgil with his arm around the tall boy’s shoulders as he shook, Roman bribing his then-boyfriend with kisses to get Patton extra cream on his hot chocolate, Logan torn between scolding Roman for making out with Remy over the counter and trying to find the right words to say to Patton. There hadn’t been any ‘right words’, of course - but his efforts had been met with a huge, tearful hug. They had all slipped into the same side of the booth that afternoon, Virgil with his scalding coffee and six sugars, Patton with his unbearably creamy hot chocolate, Logan with his mint tea, Roman with his raspberry frappé (Logan insisted that it was unethical that Remy give him free drinks just because they occasionally kissed, but Roman argued that they kissed slightly more than occasionally, and anyway, Logan’s dad gave him free drinks whenever they kissed, and Logan countered with the firm statement that this wasn’t the time for ‘your parent’ jokes, then threw a packet of salt at Roman when he cocked an eyebrow and replied, “that’s what he said last night”).

By the day in their junior year when Roman dragged himself there half an hour after than the rest, lip split, eye blackened, and limping and they hauled him into their booth and fussed over him, they had been going almost every day after school. It was where they blew off steam, complained about teachers and their peers and their homework and their extra curriculars and Logan’s college admissions essay and Patton’s mom’s new girlfriend and his other mom’s new boyfriend; that evening, it was where they took a dishcloth full of ice from Roman’s ex to press against the swelling on his face, and where they borrowed the first aid box from the other part timer and stuck plasters all over the grazes on his knees and elbows. Virgil had sworn vengeance against the seniors that had taken issue with Roman’s rainbow-dyed hair, Logan had moved a finger slowly back and forward in front of Roman’s nose before finally announcing that he (probably) didn’t have a concussion, Patton had made bad puns about the coffee (“it tastes like mud! Well, I suppose it was only ground this morning…”) until Roman had smiled again. Then he had sworn when his lip cracked open again and more blood trickled down his chin, and Patton had pulled their portable swear jar out of his bag and tapped it menacingly against the table until Roman had dropped a coin into it.

When Virgil’s acceptance letter arrived, he didn’t bother messaging anybody: he knew they’d be at their booth in the café, waiting eagerly for his news. He had thrown himself down on one of the cracked vinyl seats and tossed the opened envelope on the table. Only Logan had bothered opening it to read the words. Patton and Roman had taken one look at his beaming face and thrown themselves across the table to hug him. His letter had been the last to arrive, and they had all known how anxious he had been about it. When they had eventually emerged from the hug pile, Virgil had raised an eyebrow at the empty table, wondering why drinks hadn’t gone flying, and Logan had smirked broadly before pointing first at the lack of baristas behind the counter, and then at the café bathroom. When a scarlet Remy and an Emile who was making no attempt to hide his cheshire-cat grin finally emerged, they had each ordered a coffee, and Patton had pulled a flask from his bag and discreetly topped up each mug with vodka. “We’re celebrating,” he had explained earnestly, but nobody had been about to argue. All Virgil had wanted to know was how long he had been carrying the flask around and waiting for the opportunity, and he had sheepishly admitted that he had swiped it from his mom’s cabinet over a month ago and had been carrying it around with him ever since.

In between those big moments, the café had seen all the little ones, too. It had watched Virgil finally shrug off his black hoodie and replace it with the purple one his dad had bought him when he started therapy; it had watched Logan pour over countless charts and biographies before finally giving up and flipping a coin to choose between medicine and engineering, knowing that he would be thrilled to be doing either. It had watched Roman bury himself in scripts as he auditioned for school play after school play; it had watched Patton grow his hair long, cut it short, and then grow it out again. It had watched Logan shyly voice the idea that he might be gay, to be greeted with Virgil slinging an arm around his shoulder and telling him to join the club, Roman shooting him with finger guns, and Patton nod enthusiastically. It had watched Virgil flit from music production to programming to archeology, his passion never wavering as it changed forms. It had watched Roman moon over Remy, watched them flirt and date and break up as amicably as ever two people have, watched them flirt even when they were no longer interested in one another. It had watched Patton teach everyone to play poker, and to proceed to absolutely annihilate them every time after, and then count the buttons they used as chips back into a jar as though they were made of gold.

This evening, it watches the four of them sprawl in the booth, a milkshake the same mint green as Patton’s tie on the table in front of him, Roman’s crimson jacket a twisted mess on the seat beside him and his white shirt rumpled and untucked, Logan’s clothing as neat as ever but his hair no longer slicked back as it had been at the start of the evening, instead falling over his face and into his eyes, Virgil cradling a cup of black coffee (six sugars) in his hands, socked feet curled up beneath him, his dress shoes empty under the table.

It’s almost midnight - by all rights, the café shouldn’t be open. It isn’t, not really: the sign on the door is flipped around to closed, and everybody who was supposed to be working that afternoon has gone home. Remy, however, has a key - there are benefits to having his parents own a small coffee shop, after all - and let the six of them in; he’s leaning against the back wall, chatting quietly to Emile, occasionally blushing crimson at something his datefriend says. They dressed to match: a handkerchief the same hot pink as Emile’s ballgown is folded over the breast pocket of Remy’s leather jacket (he flatly refused to wear a proper suit jacket). The top few buttons of Remy’s shirt are undone, the edges of several hickies visible around his collar; Emile leans forward and rests a hand on Remy’s shoulder, running a thumb slowly over one, and Remy goes red again. For all his bravado, Remy is very easy to tease.

Smirking, Roman turns his attention back to his friends. Patton is watching him - he winks at him, and the tips of the taller man’s ears go slightly pink. Logan is doing an impression of their head teacher. If he hadn’t been so set on becoming a doctor, Roman thinks, Logan could have made a killing on the stage: he never misses a single tick in his impersonations. Virgil is resting his chin in his hands now, empty cup on the table in front of him as he watches ‘Mr. Hammond’ deliver his end-of-year speech with wide, coffee-dark eyes.

“... done well, very well, superbly well, in fact,” Logan continues. His tongue darts briefly over his lower lip. “These past four years will be ones you, all of you, I am sure, remember for the rest of your lives. Tonight -” he slips his glasses from his face, polishes them briefly on his tie, and then balances them precariously on the end of his nose once more. “Tonight is the time to celebrate your accomplishments, your friendships, the lasting bonds you have made here at Kilahaede High. To the class of -” he licks his lower lip once more, and Roman imagines leaning in and kissing him. “- the class of 2019!”

Patton applauds enthusiastically, and Roman joins in, nudging Logan gently with his shoulder as the bespectacled man allows his posture to straighten once more, Mr. Hammond’s mannerisms dropping away. Virgil is grinning lazily, the caffeine clearly doing very little to counteract the weeks of late nights and early mornings as their final exams had loomed, broken over them, and then passed by.

They are quiet for several long seconds, during which Virgil shuffles a little closer to Patton and rests his head on his shoulder. He’s so relaxed that he doesn’t even flinch when a clatter echoes through the quiet room; only Roman glances around, rolling his eyes when he sees that Remy, clearly distracted by Emile’s tongue in his mouth, has managed to knock a tin of tea bags from the countertop.

Then Patton speaks up. “Feels like the end of an era, doesn’t it?”

“Our time in highschool is not really long enough to be called an ‘era’, Pat.” Logan removes his glasses, cleans them properly with a small cloth he keeps in his pocket, and settles them firmly on the bridge of his nose. Roman rolls his eyes and nudges him.

“I just meant… Everything’s gonna change now. We’re not kids anymore.” He’s staring at his milkshake, half finished now, as though it holds every answer he has ever wanted.

Virgil shifts a little, and Patton wraps an arm around him almost without thinking. “Yeah. Things are gonna be different. But that’s not a bad thing, you know, Pat?” Patton nods automatically.

Leaning across the table, Roman takes one of Patton’s hands and squeezes it between his own. “And we’re not going anywhere, padre. We’ve got all summer together before anybody moves away, and every holiday after that…”

“Virgil and yourself are even going to the same college,” Logan adds. “Roman and I will be in cities adjacent to the two of you. This summer won’t be the last we see of one another…”

“I know… I’m gonna miss this place, though.” Roman isn’t surprised to see Patton’s eyes begin to water, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He slides out of his and Logan’s side of their booth and slips in beside Patton, so that he’s sandwiched between him and Virgil, and wraps an arm around his waist. The café has truly become their place now, and none of them can really imagine not coming here to relax after a long day. “I’m gonna miss you guys.” Patton finishes in a whisper, wiping the sleeve of his pale blue jacket over his face.

“Why, Patton,” Roman jokes automatically, “It almost sounds as though you like us.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

Patton butts his head gently against Roman’s shoulder. “I do like you, dummy. All of you. So much. You’re my best friends.”

They’re all silent again, a comfortable silence, one that drapes around them like a blanket at one of their many movie nights.

This time, it’s Roman that speaks up - he doesn’t think about it before opening his mouth, but that’s pretty normal for him. “I like you too. All of you. Like, as more than friends.” The silence that follows is slightly more charged than before, but still not uncomfortable. Not quite.

“Like… You want to date us?” Virgil. Roman had half thought he had fallen asleep, but apparently not.

“That’s the gist of it, Hot Topic.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot.”

“Given that Roman just expressed a desire to date you, Virgil, I don’t see why that fact causes you surprise.” Logan is looking at the three of them. An outsider might say that his expression is unreadable, but Roman knows him well enough to catch the way his eyes flicker between the three of them, the way his fingers are pressing lightly against the plastic table between them.

Roman is about to say something back when he feels fingers against the back of his neck, and then Patton’s hand is in his hair and tugging his head toward him. The kiss is sweet, gentle - Patton taste like mint and ice cream and -

“Whiskey? Have you been drinking?”

Patton looks vaguely guilty, then shrugs. “Just a mouthful after the dance.”

“And you didn’t sh-”

“Wait, time out.” Virgil sits up properly now, staring incredulously at him; a look of mild amusement has crossed Logan’s face, twitching the corners of his mouth skyward. “Patton kisses you, and all you can do is ask if he’s been drinking?”

“I tasted alcohol,” Roman protests, but the rest of his words splutter into silence when Virgil practically climbs into Patton’s lap to kiss him.

Their kiss is significantly longer than Roman’s, and he’s almost beginning to get jealous when they finally break apart. Patton is still grinning, glasses slightly crooked, but Virgil just nods as though kissing Patton is something he does every day. “Yep. Definitely whiskey. Shut your mouth, Princey, you’ll catch flies.”

Roman collects his jaw from the floor and attaches it back to his face, but almost loses it again when Virgil leans in and presses a small kiss to his cheek. “That’s better. You’re much more handsome when you’re not clueless.”

“I’m never clueless!” Roman protests, and Virgil merely rolls his eyes.

Logan clears his throat, and all of them look up, Patton with the slightly dazed expression of somebody who had forgotten that there was a third person at the table. A pink blush is creeping up Logan’s throat. When he realises that he has everybody’s attention, it spreads to his cheeks. “You are… Um, you are all aware of the strain that long distance relationships put on their participants, correct?”

Roman can’t help the grin that’s spreading across his face. “Are you aware that I don’t give a damn as long as I get to kiss you?”

“Besides, kiddo, we have all summer before we move. You were just saying how close we were gonna be…” Patton is shifting, and after a second Roman realises that he’s trying to move up to make space on their side of the booth for Logan to join them. He follows, and the three of them squish against the window.

Logan hesitates.

Then Virgil reaches out, managing to grab Logan’s tie from across the table and tugging him forward slightly. “Just get over here, nerd.”

Logan does, tugging his navy blue tie out of the grip of Virgil’s painted nails so that he can move around the table without strangling himself or abandoning his straight-backed, perfect posture.

That posture evaporates a moment later when Roman reaches for him, resting one hand gently on Logan’s cheek. He can feel Virgil’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder, can feel one of Patton’s arms around his waist, can feel sunlight melting slowly over his insides. He guides Logan closer as the dark haired man slides onto the seat, pausing when their faces are only millimeters apart. Logan’s breath dusts his lips when he parts them to speak. “May I kiss you, Pocket Protector?”

Logan’s eyes flicker over his face. Then he nods, and Roman leans forward to press their mouths together. Like his kiss with Patton, it is gentle, warm, affectionate: there is no slide of tongues or clacking of teeth, and Roman wouldn’t have it any other way. Patton sighs behind him and he feels Virgil’s hand tighten slightly, further rumpling his dress shirt - when he and Logan draw apart for breath, they turn to find that Virgil is kissing Patton again.

Roman laces his fingers between Logan’s as he waits for them to surface, and Patton is the first to speak when they finally do. Virgil looks as though he’s seeing stars - Roman has the feeling that Patton is a far better kisser than he would have expected. “Are we dating now?”

“I believe that is the case, Pat.” Logan looks as though he’s about to lean across Roman to kiss Patton as well, but pauses when Virgil tilts his head.

“The four of us?”

“Duh, Wuthering Frights.” Roman nudges his shoulder gently. “You know I don’t like half-measures, right? I can’t imagine only picking one of you…”

“Polyamory, whilst not common, is not unheard of, Virgil. In fact, there are multiple studies-”

“Ey, Sanders!” Remy cuts across the start of Logan’s speech with all the tact of a herd of rhinoceroses, slamming his elbows down on the table. His shirt is all but completely unbuttoned now, eyes bright, face flushed, and there are several new hickies on throat. “Past closing time. Get out.”

Emile is leaning against the door behind the counter, the one that leads to the staircase to the part of the building where Remy lives. Thair hair is ruffled, glasses askew, and quite obviously staring at Remy’s ass as their boyfriend leans over the table to grab the empty coffee cup and the milkshake glass.

Logan and Virgil raise single, cool eyebrows at Remy, who has never had the grace to look ashamed in his life and certainly doesn’t now. Patton smirks at Emile over Remy’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened to mates before dates, dude?” Roman argues, though he’s getting up as he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re kicking us out just so you can get laid.”

“Like y’all weren’t about to get busy right here by the window,” Remy quips back, and Virgil responds with a time saving gesture that relies heavily on his middle finger as he slips his feet back into his shoes. “See you tomorrow, gurl. Call me with all the deets, yeah? Ciao!”

Roman barely has time to grab his jacket as Remy herds them toward the door.

The door slams behind them. A second later the lights flick off.

The four of them exchange a long look, Patton clearly struggling to keep a straight face, Logan faring only slightly better until Roman snorts. Then they’re all laughing, and Patton is clinging to him for balance, and Virgil is practically doubled over and leaning on the wall. It wasn’t really that funny, but they’re floating on the sugar high that is happiness, and every time they start to calm down, one of them snorts and sets them all off again.

Eventually, their laughter stops, and Roman finds himself with Virgil’s hand tucked in his left, Patton squeezing his right. Logan is on Virgil’s other side, one arm draped over his shoulders as they turn their feet in the direction of Roman’s home - they were planning on sleeping over together already.

As they round the corner, the café disappearing into the night, Patton sighs a soft, happy sound. “It feels right, you know?”

“What does, Patton-cake?” Roman stands on tiptoe to press a small kiss to Patton’s temple.

“That that happened there.” Patton tugs his hand from Roman’s and wraps his arm around his waist instead. “It’s our place. It’s only right we start a new era in our café.”

“Again, Patton, I’m not sure that you can count this as an ‘era’ by the official definition,” Logan starts, and the four of them are absorbed into the caffeine city to the sound of his voice, the simple pleasure of being in each other's presence, and the sweetness of something new on their lips and in their hearts.