#and she’s been making herself look so nice lately… to the point where at 14 she looks more like an adult than I do.

[bestial4ngel]

Hate being the burden that everyone just wants to move on and grow up ‼️

my family lives in a 2 bedroom house so my younger sister and mom share a room but like… she’s going into high school soon. And with my friend that was the youngest sibling with the exact same bedroom arrangement as us, she COULDN’T WAIT for her brother to move out, she was counting the days and wishing he’d just get a job and go already.

And now that’s me !! Like fuck I hate being a huge unwanted inconvenience like this, and being too pathetic to get a job or to truly want to move somewhere else. I hate being the thing that is in everyone’s way and making their lives more miserable

[gemini-sensei]

Selfish | Eli Moskowitz x Chubby!Reader ft. Kyler Park

Kinktober Day 14: husband/wife swap cucking, I think. More so cheating oops.

CW: cheating on spouse, Kyler is a crap husband tho, Reader is a boss ass bitch that doesn't take shit from her shitty husband, unprotected sex. (unedited).

A/N: I had this idea and idk what happened to it. I feel like the execution sucks.

"You are so selfish!"

Kyler scoffed and rolled his eyes as if Reader were being unreasonable. He got up from their bed and started walking to the bathroom. "I'm not listening to this again."

She glared at the back of his head. "You wouldn't have to if you'd just give me what I want. I ask for one thing, good sex, and you even give me that. You're such a loser!"

"Don't call me that!" He yelled, but didn't say anything else. He just slammed and locked the door like the immature adult he was. It made Reader roll her eyes, feeling as though it was her turn now. Then he shouted an after thought, "And if it's so damn important to you, you deal with it!"

Reader sat with her head in her hands, wondering how she'd gotten to this point in her life. Telling herself Kyler wasn't such a bad guy after being in Cobra Kai with him was a good place to start. Thinking he'd get better at sex over time was delusional. And finally, picking him over anyone else was probably where she'd gone the most wrong. She couldn't help feeling like an idiot as she sat there, unfilled but too upset at her husband to do anything about it.

There was a box of toys hidden in the guest room, where she'd probably drag herself to sleep for the night, but they weren't calling out to her. Sure, her vibratory could fix the hollow, gnawing feeling she had in her gut, but it wasn't going to make her husband see that he was a selfish prick that only used her to get off. She needed something more. Something better.

As she grabbed her robe and slipped it on, her phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification telling her someone had tagged her in one of their pictures. She opened it as she walked down to the guest room, smiling to herself as she saw a picture of herself from her high school graduation. She was standing in a group between Moon and Sam, arms wrapped around each other with big smiles on their faces. Also in the photo, Miguel, Demetri, Yasmine and Hawk. It was captioned, Can't believe it's been five years since we graduated! #memories.

Typical Moon, Reader thought to herself with a small smile.

She walked into the guest room and locked the door, knowing Kyler would come annoying her at some point. She just ignored his entire existence in their home and looked through the pictures Moon had posted. So she crawled into bed and let her worries drift away.

As she came to the end of the photos, she saw herself with Hawk, laughing. Their caps were crooked and they were holding each other's diplomas, a funny little scene they thought would make a good picture. It was really nice and made her chuckle, but more importantly it made her think of him.

They'd had a spark at one point but never pursued it. At a New Year's party, They'd shared a kiss but left it at that. For a while, their friendship was marred by karate and warring dojos, all of which had been resolved before graduation, thankfully. However, she couldn't sit there in good conscience and say she didn't regret not taking that leap of faith. She couldn't help thinking she'd be a lot happier if she were with Hawk instead of Kyler.

Turning over and putting her head on the pillow her final thoughts were along the lines of how getting married young had been a terrible idea. And perhaps it wasn't too late to take a longshot.

It took Reader a week to work up the courage to talk to Hawk about what they possibly had going on after high school. It wasn't as if they hadn't talked to each other since then, but most of their conversations weren't long or deep. They we're more like check in, little congratulations when they celebrated something on social media, asking how they were after a tough week. They weren't all that special, but Reader found them to be nice looking back now. It was more than Kyler gave her after all.

Hawk met her at a little café downtown during their lunch breaks. She was sipping a latte when he sat down and smiled at her. She was happy to see he still had his mohawk.

"Long time, no see," he joked.

She smiled. "Certainly feels that way."

They hadn't met up in a while, which was why it was a little awkward at first. At least for her.

She didn't know how to go about asking him out while her husband was a grade A asshole. Would he even still like her as a friend if she made a move on him? Was she going about this all wrong?

She wanted to say this was all about pleasure and that she could go back to Kyler when she got what she needed, but in the back of her mind she knew that wasn't true. As she got into deep conversation with Hawk, she knew whatever feelings she'd had for Kyler were no longer a raging fire as they seemingly were before. Hawk made her laugh and asked her about her day so far, which was far more than her husband ever gave to her. She was smiling more with Hawk in thirty minutes than she ever had with Kyler in the last three years.

It gave her some hope.

So Reader reached over and put her hand on Hawk's. He looked at her, staying quiet as she stared back at him with soft eyes and a pretty smile. "Thanks for meeting me. I know it was kind of short notice, but it means a lot to me."

He smiled at her. "Of course. I'd drop everything for you, Reader. You know that."

She giggled, wondering how true that was.

"What's on your mind?"

"I just... I've been having second thoughts..."

"About what?"

"Kyler." His name came out in a heavy sigh, almost as if it was a weight she carried with her everywhere and she was exhausted.

"Oh." He didn't pull his hand away. "You know, I always kinda hoped you'd say something like that."

She tried to hide her smile now. "Really?"

He leaned forward as of about to tell her a secret. "Yeah, really. He doesn't deserve you."

"Is this where you say, I told you so?" she asked, remembering their friends having warned her about Kyler. How he hadn't changed, how he wasn't kind, how he didn't care. She tried not to think about those things as Hawk's lips drew closer.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not gonna say that. I'm just gonna..."

He finished leaning in and kissee her, capturing her lips with his and she melted into it immediately. She was a moth to his flame and she didn't feel and ounce of guilt for it.

It lasted all of five, maybe six, seconds before they pulled away from each other. Then she moved closer to him and they resumed their kiss, making it deeper and wrapping each other up in their arms. Their coffees were mostly forgotten about as they indulged in each other with a long overdue second chance.

"You sure this is how this how it's supposed to go?" Kyler asked as he watched Reader turn the little key in the little lock. He stared down at the new toy shed gotten, the one she swore was going to feel amazing, but he was beginning to question her judgment.

The cockcage wasn't as nice as she said it was going to be. It was cold and strange. As she took the key, which was hanging from a small chain link, and put it around her neck, he wasn't so sure about this. If he wanted to do anything about it, it was too late now. She'd also cuffed his hands behind his back and the position he sat in wasn't the most comfortable. He was beginning to sense things weren't going the way he thought they would.

Reader scoffed. "I already told you, babe, this is gonna be awesome." She turned around and made her way over to their bed, quietly muttering, "for me at least."

"What was that?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," she giggled and crawled onto the bed. She had her box of toys out and picked up her pretty vibrator, showing it off to him. The tone in the air quickly changed. "This is who I went to when you couldn't finish me off."

He glared at her, trying to remain serious as he ogled lingerie clad body. He'd never admit it out loud, but she knew he loved her curves and rolls. He acted like he hated them because that was the "manly" thing to do, that people didn't actually like big women, it was all a show. He didn't want to present himself that way, so he hid it from everyone else. But he couldn't hide it from her. Too bad he already fucked up their marriage.

"That's not fair," he argued.

She pouted at him, not feeling too bad. "You're right, babe. It isn't fair. To me. I shouldn't need this fella."

Reader turned on her toy and it buzzed to life. She continued to show it off to him, making sure he saw it.

"It also isn't fair how you use me like a glorified fleshlight. I mean, come on, I've got all the natural advantages a man could ever dream of and you can't indulge me one bit," she said, letting out a dramatic sigh. She then laid back and spread her legs, pulling her panties aside and making sure her pussy was on full display for him to see from the chair she'd sat him on. "It's not fair that only you get pleasure when we have sex."

She brought the vibrator to her pussy and rubbed it along her already wet fold, spreading that wetness. She moaned into the stiff air, breathing new life into the room as she continued to torture him with the image of her. His whining brought a smirk to her lips as she used her other hand to spread her folds and teased her slit with the toy.

"A fucking toy is better than you!" she moaned, feeling the vibrations over her sensitive lips.

Then the bedroom door opened.

"Man, that must be embarrassing," a new voice said.

Kyler looked up, confused. "The fuck are you doing here?"

Reader sat up but kept playing with herself. She smiled at Hawk as he stood in the doorway in nothing but his boxers. "Well, Kyler, honey, you told me if sex and satisfaction was so important to me, I should deal with it myself. So Hawk is here to help me with that."

"That wasn't what I meant!" Kyler shouted.

"Well, why do you care? You didn't before," she said, giving an exaggerated pout.

Hawk walked over and took the vibe from her, taking over. He pushed it into her but barely, teasing her with it. She moaned, laying back on the mattress. However he didn't do that for long before taking the toy and turning it off, then tossed it aside. As he started crawling onto the bed, Kyler made a fuss.

"Hey! Hey, what d'you think you're doing?" he huffed from the corner. He struggled against his restraints but it was useless. She'd made sure to lock them tight, knowing he was going to whine and complain about it later. "That's my wife!"

Hawk scoffed, turning to look at Kyler with an unamused look. "I don't think she really wants to be your wife anymore, since you don't treat her right."

"I give her everything she wants, man. I've got all the money she could want. I mean, what the fuck do you have that I don't?"

"Well, first of all, you're not even listening to her now," Hawk said, gesturing to Reader as she laid out so pretty on the bed. He got an eyeful of her, licking his lips before turning back to Kyler. "She doesn't care about your money. Money can't buy her pleasure. Not like this."

He then went on to push his boxers off, revealing his thick, long cock. It sprung free and smacked his stomach, making his groan. He then grabbed himself and started fishing his cock. "This is what a woman deserves. A nice orgasm from a real cock."

Kyler shut up and looked away from Hawk, feeling a little emasculated. Before him was not only a guy he'd bullied the shit out of in high school, but he was also someone that had beat him up too. Now he was here, in his house with his wife, and he had a bigger cock than him too. If only he saw the way it wasn't about who had the bigger dick but about which one of them actually cared for Reader, but his skull was too thick for him to understand something as simple as that. Instead, all he saw was himself losing again with his aching cock locked in a stupid cage.

Hawk turned to Reader with a brash, unapologetic smile. She gave it back to him before slipping her panties off and tossing them aside. He licked his lips and crawled onto the bed foregoing eating her out because he wanted to make sure she came on his cock. She didn't mind.

They kissed each other hungrily, Reader wrapping her arms around him and pulling him against her. Soft tits met his hardened, lean chest and rubbed against her nipples. It made her shudder and gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. One of his hands traveled down her front in the meantime, feeling her up and giving her belly a nice squeeze. Then hisnfingers brushed her folds and she sighed into his mouth, needy and ready for him.

He barely pulled away from her to speak. His voice came out raspy and husky. "Gonna make you feel so good, you won't even know what to do with yourself."

He sent shivers down her spine and her cunt throbbed with need. She was so deprived of good sex, she could hardly wait for him anymore. Just his words made her wet and by the time he led the tip of his cock to her pussy, she was soaked.

Her head fell back as he pushed into her, but she whined when he stopped halfway only to let out a gasp as he pushed her knees into the mattress. Now she was all splayed out and open for him, and for Kyler to see just what Hawkndid to make her feel so good. He continued to push into her after that, bottoming out a moment later and stilling again to let her adjust.

"Oh my god," she moaned, looking up at him. "So big."

"I know, you're not used to all this, huh?" He said, a little teasing. His thumb came down on her clit and rubbed little circles onto it to help loosen her up. "Let me take care of you."

After a moment of him playing with her clit, he started thrusting in and out of her tight cunt. Her moans overpowered the pouty whines and struggles from the corner of the room, making her forget all about her spineless husband in the corner. She was instead thrust into a world of pleasure given to her by none other than Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz, aka the guy she should have married.

He put one of her legs over his shoulder and used his free hand to play with her tits, pulling on them and pinching her nipples. He even smacks one, watching the way it bounced with the impact and force of his thrusts. Under him, she was divine and godly. She looked so pretty, eyes screwed shut as she moaned his name. Her nails dug into his waist as she tried to stay grounded in reality, but he planned on taking her to a whole other plain of pleasure.

Behind him, Kyler cursed up a storm. He called them all sorts of names and told them they were fucked for this. He mostly spat at Hawk for "stealing his girl" but failed to realize it was his own doing. Reader wasn't satisfied, in more ways than one, in their marriage and it was his own fault. But being Kyler, he'd blame anyone but himself for this happening. Furthermore, he saw Reader as an object more than a person. Their marriage wasn't sentiment, it was a status to him. He looked like a great husband on paper, with a job he got from his dad and a house that had too much space for two people, so he saw nothing wrong with it.

Except for the fact that now his wife was getting fucked by his rival. Hawk had never posed much of a threat, but in Kylers mind he was someone who needed to be constantly put down at one point. Now it was his turn to get knocked off of his high horse.

"Oh my god! Hawk!" Reader all but squealed. Her legs began to shake but his hold on them kept them in place. The earth-shattering orgasm building up was focused there and in her gut, which grew tighter and tighter with each thrust. "Hawk!"

Each time she moaned his name, it encouraged him. He hit that special spot just a little harder too, making her wither under him. He seethed as her nails scratched his back but he took it proudly. It was an honor to get fucked up by her.

"Kiss me," she whimpered, trying to pull him close.

He leaned down, giving her what she wanted. Their lips met in a messy, sloppy kiss as he held her leg to her shoulder, moaning into each other's mouths. His hips began to hit harder against hers, making her ass jiggle under him. Her thighs shook with the pressure of pleasure and she soon tipped over the cliff and dove into the ocean of orgasm.

As soon as he velvet walls stsrted constricting around him, his thrusts stuttered. He fell in after her and his movement became choppy. He came in hot spurts, fucking it into her until he couldn't possibly keep going. Stilling over her, cock buried deep in her cunt, he groaned into her mouth.

He had to pull away for air, panting heavily. However, before he could catch all of his breath, he followed it up by pressing little kisses to her lips. Only after he started to taper off did he remember he was supposed to pull out.

"Holy fuck... fuck... shit, 'm sorry I came in you..." he panted.

She shook her, smiling through the ragged breathing. "Don't be... I fucking loved it."

She kissed him and it quickly deepened. He lowered her leg and laid on top of her, still buried inside her. She moaned as he seemed to sink deeper into her and wrapped her legs around him. He groaned and nipped at her lip, tugging on it teasingly.

They forgot all about Kyler in the corner as they giggled and made out with each other. He sat slouched in his chair, almost sliding out of it if not for planting his feet on the floor, angrily glaring at them. He was red all over, aching in his cage, wishing for the torment to be over. However, he knew it may be a while as the key was sandwiched between Reader's fat tits and Hawk's chest.

[kasieli]

somewhere in the shadows | chapter one

Some initial A/N: Hello my near and dear friends! Welp, here it is — my new spark of creativity. I’ve been playing Hogwarts Legacy and there was just a sudden urge to write a fanfic, ya know, so here I am. I have more detailed and important author’s notes at the end, but I just wanted to paste a little blurb here. Anyways, please enjoy this short and sweet introductory chapter! (And once again please make sure you read my other notes at the end!)

***

Eleanor Laverne learned first hand that pleasant morning that there were, indeed, 142 stairwells in Hogwarts castle. Even though she woke up at the crack of dawn to brew some tea and prepare herself in her overwhelmingly blue common room, she felt like a first year frantically dashing through all the hallways and corridors and stairwells in the maze that was her new school.

Wonderful — her first day, and she’d show up to class after it already finished with her legs feeling like pudding.

To be fair, it was technically her first year here — she was just starting on the fifth year curriculum. Still, she was sure that someone of her 16-year-old stature looked quite appalling racing through the halls in comparison to that of a puny first year. Well…on the bright side, at least she could out run them and their short, stubby legs.

She glanced around, positively sure she passed the same portrait of a lady in an impossibly puffy pink dress who was, at this point, snickering at her valiant efforts of getting spectacularly lost. The watch on her wrist read 8:13, her first class began at 8:15, and at this point, she might as well have admitted her defeat on getting to class on time. After all, she had absolutely no clue where in the castle she was. She could have been on the opposite side of the school for all she knew.

She must’ve been rushing forward with her head on a swivel for a moment too long because she abruptly met something before her with a thunk. In doing so, all of the books that were, moments ago, held safely in her grip, splattered gracefully over the stone floor.

Splendid. 

She was already late — she didn’t need obstacles, either.

But the obstacle turned out to be another person as she heard a surprised, “oof!” and the sound of footsteps plummeting forward.

She shook the dizziness from her head and steadied herself, only to find a brunette boy peering over at her with a wince. “What was that for?” he asked, and she wanted to laugh as if her sprinting spree was intentional.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, bending over to reach for the book closest to her. 

8:14. Bloody hell. On her first day.

“Wait,” the boy began slowly as she heard the click of his shoes against the floor nearing her. “You’re the new fifth year, aren’t you?”

His statement beckoned her gaze, and she soon found herself gaping at this obstacle-turned-boy who happened to be a Slytherin student with quite possibly the sweetest face she’d ever seen. She didn’t believe in stereotypes but…for a Slytherin…he looked too…nice.

He reached out to hand her a few books he managed to pick up before someone called, “Seb! Come here! Defence Against the Dark Arts is about to start!”

She didn’t think her eyes could get any wider.

Defence Against the Dark Arts! That was the class she was looking for! Meaning…this lovely-looking Slytherin student that so happily picked up books for her after she nearly knocked him flat on his nose…was her classmate. What a truly memorable first impression — on her hands and knees picking up books and papers because she couldn’t simply watch where she was going.

“I suppose this is your class, too,” he said, offering her a hand to get up. She took it without any thought and stilled at the difference between his warm touch and the cold marble floor.

“It is.” She quickly released his hand and brushed off her robes.

He chuckled, and she noticed a sprinkle of freckles over his cheeks as he smiled. “Got a tad lost, did you?” 

“Perhaps,” she huffed, “let’s go.”

His bright smile was disarming. “After you.”

Never, in her whole life, would she ever expect to feel glad for nearly running someone over. But here she was, her heart racing at a surprising speed perhaps by her brisk morning jog or by downright embarrassing herself in front of her new charmingly freckled classmate, letting out a satisfied sigh as she found her very first victory this morning.

She checked her watch. 

8:15. Brilliant.

She was on time.

***

A/N: Alright folks, strap in because you’re in for a ride. I’m just kidding, but there are quite a few creative liberties that I have chosen to take, one of which is age. I have chosen to have Sebastian and Anne get held back a year before starting Hogwarts due to their parent’s death, while also raising the default age by 1 — so first years would enter around 12, and 7th years would be 18-19 by the time they graduate. (To be honest, having a 15 year old take something as life altering as the O.W.L.S seems crazy to me). Also, the way Hogwarts Legacy modeled their characters makes it seem like they’re at least 17-18, so, you know, with my unbridled creative liberty, I did just that. 

This makes Seb 17 at the beginning of the year, while most of the other students are 16. I don’t know their actual birthdays, but I imagine Sebastian to be 18 before the term ends, and the MC 17. Listen, I know it’s completely wrong, but just bear with me for the sake of this story.

Other things to note: this goes pretty much in line with the main plot of the game, and, because of that, I’ll probably skip writing scenes like the beginning dragon attack, etc. etc. but it will be referenced. Also, I know that this technically takes place in the late 1800s but this is a fan fiction and I know nothing of the wizarding world (or anything, really) in the late 1800s, so most likely it’ll read like the current writing it is and there may be contraptions or what not in this fanfic that might not have even existed in the 1800s. I dunno.

Lastly, Sebastian and the MC have so much witty banter between one another, and if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I love witty banter. Plus, I think that there are some options that could have been taken towards the end that could have…(positively?) affected the ending of his relationship questline. At the end of the day, I am truly just imagining an alternative ending and what could have happened, had they given Sebastian a different path. Plus, you know, some innocent romance, too, because why the hell not. Don’t tell me you didn’t ship your MC with him. He’s so flirty! Also, if you would like me to post this anywhere else like fanfic or wattpad, let me know! Anyways, I’ll stop rambling now. Thank you for reading and see you next time! Xoxo ~Cass

[sheliesshattered]

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, 32,000 words. Rated Mature for heavier themes in later chapters, alluded to and discussed but not shown; please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics.

Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Originally posted in 2020.

This Isn't A Ghost Story

Chapter 1 - The House

14 November 2014, London

There was a certain amount of irony, Clara reflected, that her first reaction was I’m going to kill him.

Her ‘special friend’ had just cost her the sale of her late grandmother’s house. Again. This had to be roughly the twelfth adorable family or nice couple that had stepped into her ancestral family home only to turn tail and run before they’d even had a chance to hear about the antique hardwood floors or the fully restored kitchen. At this point, he wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore.

The longer the house sat on the market, the fewer calls she was getting to schedule walk-throughs of the property. She was beginning to worry that word of the house’s strangeness was getting around the local real estate community. If things kept up at this rate, she was going to end up permanently saddled with an inheritance whose tax burden she could barely afford, in the form of a one hundred and thirty year old, gorgeous, sprawling, haunted house.

Clara used her key to let herself in through the ornate front door, grumbling under her breath. As soon as she closed the door behind her, the cabinets in the kitchen began to rattle ominously.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, dropping her purse and keys on the small table in the foyer. “It’s just me.”

The door to one of the bedrooms upstairs slammed shut.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands and counted to ten before looking up again. “Listen, I get that you’re cross with me for bringing people by, but I am beyond livid with you, so let’s skip the part where I yell and you throw things and just agree to be angry with each other in silence, okay?”

The house went quiet in a manner entirely too creepy for her liking. If not for the undercurrent of petulant passive-aggressiveness, she might have actually been scared.

Not that Clara had ever really been scared of the ghost that lived in her Gran’s house. He had never once made her feel unsafe, not since she’d first spoken to him as a small child. But the sudden silence was still unnerving.

“Well, good,” she said into the preternatural stillness, more to prove to herself that she wasn’t scared than anything else. “It’s nice to actually be able to hear myself think, for a change.”

The top step of the staircase creaked once, as if to make a point.

“Still shut up,” she grumbled.

She went about the short list of tasks she’d come to see to, putting away the food she’d set out for the potential home buyers, watering the plants, closing the curtains, and flicking on a few lamps to make the house look lived-in. Of course, she didn’t envy anyone who tried to break into the house while it sat apparently empty. At some level, a poltergeist was better home protection than a dog could ever be.

Her chores complete, Clara returned to the foyer to find her purse where she’d left it, but her keys conspicuously missing. She sighed, hands on her hips, and turned towards the cold spot she could feel forming near the foot of the stairs. He was nothing but a faint wispy outline in the direct light of the setting sun filtering through the stained glass window over the front door, but even that outline was familiar enough that Clara was able to find his eyes and fix him with a displeased glare.

“Where are my keys?” she demanded. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his behaviour earlier, and she was in no mood to play find-the-lost-trinket tonight.

“I didn’t want you to leave before I could apologise,” the ghost said, not quite meeting her gaze. His voice raised gooseflesh along her arms, as usual, but she much preferred the low rumble of his Scottish brogue to the slamming of doors and rattling of cupboards. Not that she would ever openly admit that to him.

“So apologise and tell me where you’ve hidden my keys!”

“Clara,” he said, and she clenched her teeth against the shivery reaction she always had to the way he said her name, like it had been invented just so he could say it. There were days when she lived for that rush — and many, many lonely nights, in her love-struck teenaged years — but today was absolutely not one of them.

“...Was there more to that sentence?” she asked when he didn’t go on. “Saying my name does not constitute an apology.”

He glanced up at her, looking increasingly solid as the sunlight waned. “I’m sorry I upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No, your intention was to make certain I can’t sell this house, and don’t bother to deny it.”

He chewed his incorporeal lip for a moment, then shrugged. “I won’t deny it. I don’t want you to sell the house. But I’m still sorry I upset you.”

Clara sighed. “I have to sell it. You know this. And someday, someone too brave or too stupid to fall for all your clattering will decide to buy this place, and that’ll be that.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his eyes glinting blue in the gathering dusk.

“It’s the reality of the situation, so you’d best start making peace with it,” she said evenly. Another irony not lost on her: arguing the state of reality with a man dead nearly a century. “Now, where are my keys?”

Her ghost hesitated. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “You could stay?”

“I never stay the night in this house. That was your advice to me, more than twenty years ago. No sense in breaking with tradition.”

“I think maybe I was being overly paranoid at the time.”

“And I think maybe you’re acting like a lonely old man now,” Clara snarked back.

“Alone in a house that you of all people are dead-set on evicting me from? I can’t imagine why I’d be lonely!”

“It’s not like you’re stuck here! You’re not tied to the house, you can go anywhere you want!”

“But it’s my house!”

“Keys, now!” she snapped. “Traffic is already going to be horrendous—”

“All the more reason to stay,” he said petulantly.

“But,” she went on forcefully, speaking over him, “tomorrow’s Saturday, so I have the day off work. If you tell me where my keys are, I’ll come back first thing in the morning. I still need to finish going through all those old boxes in the attic. We can spend the day working on that together, okay?”

“You’re going to drive all the way home only to turn around and come back in the morning? Why not just—”

“Or I could spend the day doing something fun with people my own age, very far away from here,” she bluffed. “Your choice.”

“Oh, fine,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Your keys are hidden in the parlour, I’ll show you where.”

“Thank you,” she said mildly, and followed him into the next room.

--

As promised, Clara arrived back at her grandmother’s house early the next morning, take-away coffee cup in hand. There had been a moment, whilst she stood in the queue to order, when she’d found herself thinking she ought to get two coffees, bring her ghost a peace offering to smooth over their row from the night before. Thankfully she’d realised how ridiculous that sounded before it was her turn to order, but she still felt strangely off balance as she unlocked the front door and let herself in, like she had forgotten something important.

“Hey,” she called to the empty house, as soon as she closed the door behind her. “It’s just me, no need to go rattling the hinges on my account.”

Her ghost appeared in a shadowy corner of the foyer, smiling at her shyly. “Good morning, my Clara,” he said. “You look lovely today. Have you had a wash?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to ignore the somersaulting of her heart at the way he said her name. My Clara. “Why are you being nice?”

“Because it works on you,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “And because I really am sorry about yesterday,” he added.

“Well, apology accepted,” Clara said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. The process of selling this place has been entirely too stressful, and I’m really starting to worry it won’t happen before the property taxes are due,” she sighed.

He ran a semi-transparent hand through the short curls at the back of his head, the ring he wore on his left hand briefly catching the light. “Yeah, about that...”

She winced. “What did you do?”

“The post came early today,” he said, voice even more apologetic than before. “I didn’t open it, but one of the envelopes has a rather official looking return address. I put it on the dining room table for you.”

She left her keys and purse on the table by the door and trudged off to the dining room, unable to contain her groan when she saw the envelope in question. Opening it, she found that he was right: property taxes were due in six weeks, the total even higher than she had anticipated. It was more than she made in a month at her teaching job. Even with the small amount she had stashed away in savings, she would hardly be able to pay it and the rent on her flat, and still expect to feed herself.

“What about the rest of your inheritance?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“I put it all into fixing up this place to sell,” she said.

“Which I’ve made impossible,” he murmured.

Clara covered her face with her hands, trying not to cry and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Yes, he was the reason she hadn’t been able to sell the house to any of the dozen or so buyers who had shown initial interest. But he was also the only one in her life who even knew or cared what she was going through.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told him honestly, still hiding behind her hands. “If I don’t pay it, they’ll just add late fees on top of that already ridiculously large sum. If I can’t sell the house soon...”

She felt a cold touch drift across the back of her hands, felt her hair stir in a nonexistent breeze, and wished, not for the first time in her life, that her ‘special friend’ was the sort of friend who could offer a hug when she so desperately needed one.

“I don’t suppose there’s a secret stash of diamonds in the attic?” she asked him, only half joking. “Or a map to buried treasure?”

“You are descended from a line of exceptionally adventuresome women,” he replied, voice sounding distant and thoughtful. “I haven’t been up to the attic in years. I don’t know what all is in there, but anything is possible.”

Clara dropped her hands from her face and squared her shoulders, not looking at her ghost until she was certain she wouldn’t spontaneously burst into tears. “Well, let’s hope there’s something up there that will help.”

--

The attic had never been Clara’s favourite place in her Gran’s house, cramped and dusty and full of ancient boxes that gave off a far creepier vibe than the literal ghost had ever managed to do. But on the plus side, it was also windowless, dim enough that he was able to appear to her in a fairly solid state and even move lightweight objects as though he were a real person existing in the real world.

She had removed the larger pieces from the attic weeks ago, furniture and blanket chests and trunks of old clothing, all sorted through and donated to charity or brought back to her flat, or else restored to the best of Clara’s ability and set out to decorate the house in a manner befitting its age. All that remained were boxes of keepsakes, photographs and journals and old letters, small family things that required far more of her attention to sort through.

Despite the lingering threat of the taxes due, it was a pleasant morning, sitting together amidst the papers and dust, slowly uncovering the history of her family, layer on layer, like an archaeologist digging through levels of sediment. Her Gran had spent her entire life in this house, from the time she was a baby, used it as a homebase during her adventurous youth, married and raised her own daughter in it, and continued to live in it after her husband died. The boxes that littered the attic bore witness to all those many decades.

“Oh my god, these photos of Mum,” Clara said, turning the yellowed album towards her ghost so he could see them, in all their early 1970s glory. “She must have been, what, about fifteen in these?”

“Ellie’s first formal school dance,” he confirmed, leaning in to examine the photos. “With that older boy, I forget his name. Your grandfather did not approve.”

Clara snorted. “Can’t say I blame him. Look at those sideburns. I’m not sure I would have let her go out with him at all.”

“They had a huge row about it, if I remember correctly. In the end, your grandmother took your mother’s side, and she was allowed to go.”

“Why didn’t you ever appear to any of them?” she asked, flipping through the pages and pausing to linger on what looked to be polaroids of a rugby game. “You were here all that time, but you never talked to anyone until I came along?”

He shrugged. “You were the only one that was you.”

“Thanks. That clears it right up.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got,” he objected.

“I scared the daylights out of Mum and Gran when I told them about you, I was probably all of six years old at the time.”

“Five, I think,” he said quietly.

“God, five. I might have a heart attack if my five year old started talking very confidently about her special friend the ghost that lives at Gran’s house.”

“I seem to remember advising you against telling them.”

“And in all the time you’ve known me, when have I ever taken your advice?” she asked archly.

“Hmm. There was that one time you actually listened to me, about that chap you were dating, what’s-his-name.”

Clara winced, remembering it all too well. “I thought we agreed never to speak of him again.”

“Gladly,” her ghost replied emphatically.

She shook her head, more than happy to dismiss the subject. “As a child it didn’t make sense to me not to tell Mum and Gran about you. You live in Gran’s house, the house where Mum grew up, I just assumed they already knew about you. I mean, why wouldn’t they?”

“I’m not sure I could have talked to them, even if I’d wanted to. And I never did want to.”

Clara turned her gaze to him, studying his face in the dimness. Without direct sunlight, he looked almost human, almost alive, the blue of his eyes and the salt and pepper of his hair appearing so very real, so very close at hand. He still seemed as ageless to her now as he had when she was a child. Ageless and ancient, wise and funny, solemn and sardonic. She thought perhaps she knew his face better than any other, living or dead.

“But why didn’t you ever want to talk to them?” she pressed.

“Why do you need a key to enter the house?” he asked in response.

She felt her eyebrows come together in consternation. “Because the door is locked.”

“But why that key?”

“Because... that’s the key that fits. That’s the key that goes with that lock.”

He shrugged, most of his attention on the page of the journal he’d been perusing. “You are the key that fits. I can’t give you a better answer than that.”

Chapter 2 - The Box

When Clara’s stomach informed her that it had to be well past lunchtime, she glanced up from a shoebox full of black and white photos of her Gran’s travels and spotted the ghost standing in the far corner of the attic, staring at a dusty and crumbling box she didn’t recognise, a calculating expression wrinkling his brow.

“I forgot this was here,” he murmured so quietly she almost didn’t catch it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh, just letters and photos and journals and such,” he said louder, not shifting his gaze. “The same as the rest.”

“I’m not sure I like the way you’re looking at it,” she told him playfully, shuffling through the photos in her hands. “What are you thinking?”

He hesitated. “I’m wondering if I can get it downstairs now,” he said slowly, “or if I’ll have to wait until after sunset to be able to move it.”

“Why do you want to take it downstairs?” she asked absently.

“That’s where the fireplace is. Probably ought to keep it contained. Don’t want to burn down the whole house.”

That caught her attention, and Clara put down the photos she’d been concentrating on, giving him her entire focus. “What? Why would you want to burn it?”

“It’s for the best,” he said obliquely.

“What is in that box?” she demanded, standing and crossing the cramped space towards him to get a better look at it.

“Clara,” he admonished, trying ineffectually to block her view of the box.

“That’s my family history you’re contemplating burning there, mister,” she told him. “I think I should at least get to see it first.”

“I would really rather you didn’t—”

She felt his cold touch brush against the back of her hand as she reached into the box, but it wasn’t nearly enough to deter her.

“These photos are ancient,” she said, noting the sepia colours of the few she’d managed to snag. “Who is the woman in these pictures? It’s not Gran.”

“Clara, would you please just—”

“You don’t want me to see these,” she said, putting together the pieces. “Why?”

“There are parts of the history of this house that you’re better off not knowing,” he said, more ominous than the rattling of cupboards that had scared away so many potential buyers.

“No, hang on a second,” she said, looking closer at the photos in the dim light. “Who is this? She looks exactly like—”

He winced. “Please don’t.”

“Exactly like me.”

“Clara, please.”

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, turning her gaze to him. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never behaved like this.”

His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he finally said, “That’s your great-grandmother. The one you’re named for.”

She peered at the photos, pacing closer to the bare lightbulb hanging from the slanting ceiling to try to see them better. “Okay, but that is actually creepy. I look just like her. Why has no one ever mentioned that?”

“No one alive now remembers what she looked like. She died when your grandmother was a baby, you know that.”

“Why would you not want me to see these?” she asked, a chill working its way down her spine.

“Clara—”

“You’re scaring me,” she told him. “Really, properly scaring me, for the first time in my life. Why would you want to burn this box, rather than let me see these photos?”

“Sometimes the past is better left buried.”

“But this is ancient history! Nearly a century ago! What harm could it possibly—” she cut off as he abruptly disappeared, leaving her with the dust and her lingering questions and the echoes of familial pain.

--

After their confrontation in the attic, Clara didn’t want to leave the strange old box alone with her ghost, so she carefully carried it downstairs with her, setting it on the kitchen table as she scrounged up a make-shift lunch out of what little food there was on hand. The house had gone eerily silent after he’d disappeared, and she found herself humming under her breath as she ate and cleared up, trying to calm her jagged nerves.

“Could you not?” his voice came from behind her, and she jumped, spinning to face him. He was hazy and translucent in the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows near the table, but she could tell his eyes were fixed on the box and not on her.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Would ghostly footsteps really have been any better?” he asked sourly, cutting his gaze to her briefly.

“When I know they’re from you, yes! And since when has my humming bothered you?”

“It’s not the humming so much as your choice of song.”

Clara blinked at him, trying to remember the tune. “I don’t even know what it was.”

“That’s exactly my point.” She watched him try to grasp one corner of the box, his hand passing through it, as insubstantial as cobwebs. He made a face and dropped his arm, but didn’t move away from the box.

“You still want to burn it,” she said, not quite a question.

“I’m reconsidering my stance on burning down the entire house, if that’s what it takes. Would you still have to pay the tax bill if the house were no longer here? What’s the insurance situation like?”

“I cannot believe I have to say this, but please don’t burn down the house. I will figure out how to pay the taxes, one way or another. And whatever is in that box can’t possibly be that bad.”

He looked up at her and held her gaze across the width of the kitchen. “Can’t it?”

“What is it that you’re so afraid of me knowing?” Clara asked, and he turned away, staring down into the box again. “So I look like my great-grandmother, what of it? I’m named for her, too. It’s just family resemblance, it’s hardly surprising.”

She honestly wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. She’d hoped that in the bright daylight and modern setting of the kitchen, a reexamination of the photos would prove that she only somewhat resembled the long-dead woman, but her ghost’s odd behaviour was throwing that fragile hope into serious doubt.

“It’s more than that, and you know it,” he murmured, still faced away from her. “Deep down, you know it. And now it’s only a matter of time until you realise...”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her heart thudded against her ribs. “Please tell me what’s going on,” she breathed.

He reached into the box, the shadow cast by its raised edge allowing him enough substance to shuffle through the contents within. “I never spoke to Margot — your grandmother,” he said, voice distant and detached. “Or anyone else after she was born, not until you were old enough to talk to me. But I’ve always been here. I moved things, when no one would notice. Hid things. I hid this box so long ago, I’d forgotten it was there. But I’m certain Margot never found it.”

“Why did you hide it from her? If it’s just old photos, then why—”

“I made a promise, Clara. I had a duty of care. Almost eighty-seven years keeping that promise, only for this box to resurface now.”

Clara frowned, confused. “But Gran wouldn’t have turned eighty-seven until next summer.”

“I didn’t make the promise to Margot. I made it to the only person I’ve spoken to since my death. The only one who could ever see me.”

“Besides me, you mean.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression like an open wound. “Clara.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked again, trying to shake the unnerving feeling that look elicited. “There’s some deep, dark, family secret, I’m getting that much. But why does it have to remain a secret? Whatever it is, everyone connected with it is gone now. There’s only you and me left.”

He turned back to the box, gaze fixed on something inside that she couldn’t see. “I would like to think that I could tell you the basics of it and you’d leave it be. The trouble is, I know you too well for that. I know you won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details. If I can spare you any part of that pain...”

“I think I’d rather have the truth,” she told him bluntly.

“I know,” he said, sounding resigned. Carefully, as though it took all of his focus to accomplish, he lifted a single photograph from the box. When his hand cleared the edge of the box, the sunlight rendered it insubstantial again, and the photo drifted down to the tabletop, unsupported. “You always did demand absolute honesty from me, Clara, my Clara.” He met her eyes once more, and then was gone.

Alone again in the silence of the kitchen, Clara hesitated before crossing to the table to pick up the picture he’d taken from the box, curiosity eventually winning out over her lingering fear.

Like the photos she’d seen earlier, it was composed of monotones of brown, surrounded by a thick off-white border, but it was the image captured there that made the breath catch in her throat. A man and a woman stood side by side, gazing at each other rather than out at the camera, both smiling broadly. He was dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, and she wore a pale satin gown with a dropped waist and a boxy cut. She held a bouquet of flowers in her hands, and there were more flowers in her short dark hair, formed into a circlet that held a long lace veil in place.

Any hope that Clara might have clung to that she bore only a passing resemblance to her namesake was shattered, the longer she looked at the photo. The likeness was uncanny, and downright eerie given the fuss made over this box. So far as she could tell, they were identical in every way, from their height and their facial features to the dimple that only appeared when she smiled. It easily could have been her in that photo. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that it was.

And if there was any other face that she knew as well as her own, it was that of her ghost. His ageless, expressive face had been seared into her consciousness since childhood, doodled in the margins of homework assignments in adolescence, and featured in her dreams for as long as she could remember. There was absolutely no question in her mind, not at first glance nor after careful examination, that the man stood beside her great-grandmother was one and the same. She would know him anywhere. His hair was perhaps a touch longer now, more untamed, but he didn’t look like he had aged a day.

Turning the photo over, she found a short inscription on the back. Clara and John, 12 May 1923 was written in large block letters, but John had been neatly crossed out, and above it small, looping handwriting had added the Doctor in its place.

She’d never known her ghost’s name, and when she had prodded him for personal information as a child, he had given her only a few sparse details. It had never particularly bothered her — she knew him, so as a child she had simply accepted that he was her ghost, and she was his Clara, and that was all that mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as though she could speak to anyone else about him, certainly not after the way her Mum and Gran had reacted.

But she wondered at it now, at the life he had led, long before she was born. She wondered about the man in the photograph, John or the Doctor or whatever he preferred to be called, this man that was so clearly her ghost. Had he had a good life? And what had made him want to linger in this house after it had ended?

She turned the photo back over, her eyes catching on his familiar face again. He looked so very happy in that frozen moment, gazing with absolute adoration at the woman who could have been her. Her great-grandmother wore a matching expression, giddy with happiness and clearly very much in love. Clara didn’t think she had ever looked at anyone that way. In her nearly twenty-eight years of life, she had never once felt for anyone what the two people in that photo so obviously felt for each other. Not anyone, except—

That thought cut short at the sound of music drifting down from upstairs, ethereal and haunting, even discounting the fact that she knew it was played by a man dead almost a century. Still cradling the photograph in both hands, Clara followed the music up the stairs, and found him in the dim back bedroom, perched on an old blanket chest with an acoustic guitar across his lap. He glanced up at her when she paused in the doorway, but didn’t stop playing. She didn’t want him to stop.

Clara watched his long fingers move effortlessly across the frets, felt the way the familiar melody reverberated out from the guitar, full of love and longing, and thought again about the expression he’d worn on that long ago day, captured in the photograph in her hands. As a teenager she had entertained fantasies that he might one day look at her like that, but as she’d gotten older she had come to accept the futility of it. He was a ghost, dead decades before she was born, and no matter how special he was to her, or she to him, there would never be any way to alter those facts.

But now she found herself confronted with something almost infinitely worse: here was her ghost directing that look at her great-grandmother. The familial implications were obvious, and distressing in a way she couldn’t even quite articulate to herself. It wasn’t just the likelihood that she was descended from this man who had featured so prominently in her life, or that he had never bothered to reveal that bit of information to her. It wasn’t even jealousy, exactly, but rather a sort of longing for what could have been. It could have been her in that photo. It should have been her.

She leaned in the doorway and listened to him play, and tried to imagine a world in which he wasn’t dead, and she was free to love him.

“That’s the song I was humming earlier,” she said softly, once the last note had faded away. “What’s it called?”

He was silent a long moment. “It’s called Clara,” he murmured, carefully setting aside the guitar and not meeting her gaze. “I wrote it, a very long time ago, for your great-grandmother. I used to hum it for you sometimes, when you were a baby. I don’t know if you were always that fussy, or if you’ve just never slept well in this house, but it seemed to... help, I suppose.”

“I didn’t know you appeared to me when I was a baby,” she said. “But I guess it makes sense.” She glanced down at the photograph in her hands, thought again on the familial relationship that could be inferred from it. “I’m not sure I have a first memory of you,” she told him honestly. “I remember the first time I spoke to you, the first time you responded, but even before that, you were always just there, every time I visited Gran.”

If she didn’t know his face so well, she would have missed the sad smile that briefly curled one corner of his mouth. “Ellie brought you here when you were a week old. Your grandfather’s health was failing, and he hadn’t been able to visit her in hospital. She let him hold you, but rather than look at him, you looked directly at me. Focused on me like I’ve never seen out of a newborn. It’d been fifty-eight years since anyone had seen me, and then there you were, staring right at me. My Clara.”

Her heart flipped over in her chest, and she looked down the photo again and willed herself to speak. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

“And there you go again, demanding utmost honesty from me,” he said with fond ruefulness.

She hesitated, chickening out and deciding to take a slightly different tack. She held up the photo so he could see it. “Is this you?”

He glanced from the photo up to her face, like he was surprised at the question. “Yes.”

“Are you my great-grandfather?” she blurted out before she could lose her nerve again.

He winced. “That’s a complicated question.”

“It’s really not,” she pressed, gripped with the need to know, no matter how much it might hurt. “Either you are or you’re not.”

“Clara—”

“This is a photo of you and my great-grandmother, on what certainly looks like your wedding day,” she said, pushing the words out in a rush, as though that would make it easier. “You said you had a ‘duty of care’ for my Gran, a promise strong enough to keep you here for the last eighty-seven years. So are you or are you not my great-grandfather?”

He sputtered a moment, clearly not wanting to answer the question. “Legally, technically, yes,” he finally said. “If you go digging into the paperwork — wills and birth certificates, that sort of thing — you’ll find my name there. But in reality? Biologically? No. Margot wasn’t mine. There was no way she could have been mine, and your great-grandmother knew it.”

A strange sort of relief washed through her, quickly followed by confusion. “Wait, that’s the dark and terrible family secret?” she asked in disbelief. “That you’re not Gran’s father?”

He hesitated. “That’s part of it, yes,” he hedged. “And if anyone had ever found out, it would have cost her this house and the rest of her inheritance, every bit of anything that provided her with stability and security, as a girl orphaned at three months old.”

“That’s why you were trying to keep it hidden from her,” Clara realised.

He nodded. “Margot lived her entire life never knowing the truth of her parentage, which is exactly what her mother wanted. That was part of the promise I made, to spare Margot from as much of that pain as I could.”

“Why have you never told me any of this before?”

“It didn’t seem right to speak of it while Margot was alive,” he shrugged. “But you’re right, there’s only the two of us left, now. And I suppose there are some things you are entitled to know, as much as I might wish for nothing to change.”

Clara watched him for a long moment, studying his face. “There’s more you’re not telling me,” she said, trying to keep her tone from turning accusatory. “What else is in that box?”

He held his hand out for the photo, taking it from her carefully when she offered it to him. “This was a good day,” he said, staring down at the man he had been, and the woman who could have been her. “We were very, very happy. But there were less happy days, memories I would protect you from, if I can. If you’ll let me.”

“You can’t protect me from everything,” she told him, gently but firmly. “I’m not part of your duty of care. I never asked you for that.”

He looked up from the photo to find her gaze again. “My Clara. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

Chapter 3 - The Journal

Clara couldn’t sleep that night. Alone in her flat, she tossed and turned in bed, the day’s events replaying on a loop in her mind. The revelation of the identity of her ghost, the family secret he had spent almost a century protecting, her uncanny resemblance to her great-grandmother, it all felt like a complicated knot she needed to untangle. Beyond everything she’d learned, there was still more her ghost refused to tell her, and the thought nagged at her, keeping her awake.

Shortly after midnight she gave up on sleep, getting up and padding down the hall to her small sitting room. Given that it was early Sunday morning, she wouldn’t have to be up for work in a scant few hours, so if she was awake anyway she might as well do something useful. She flicked on the lamp closest to the sofa and pulled over the ancient box she’d brought from her Gran’s house, positioning it at the near end of the coffee table.

Before she left, she’d managed to extract a promise from her ghost that he wouldn’t burn down the house while she was away. But she still hadn’t completely trusted him alone with the box that had caused so much upset, so she’d loaded it into her car and brought it home with her, uncertain of exactly what she intended to do with it.

It’d been obvious that he was no more comfortable with the idea of her in sole possession of the box than she was with the thought of leaving it with him. You won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he had said to her, and she knew herself well enough to admit that he was probably right. Now that she knew of the existence of this box, she could hardly just let it be.

But it was more than simply feeling entitled to her family history. There was something there, some hidden edge of the mystery that called to her, something she felt like she should know. It wasn’t just her resemblance to her great-grandmother, or her attachment to her ghost, or his unwillingness to explain the situation to her. It’s more than that, and you know it, he’d told her. Deep down, you know it. And now it’s only a matter of time until you realise...

Clara shivered a little, remembering his words, more unnerved in the silence of her flat than she’d been when he’d first said them. Whatever this was, wherever this led, she had to know.

Glancing into the box, she picked up the wedding photograph from the top of the pile of papers and leaned towards the lamplight to examine it again. It was less disconcerting than it had been earlier, now that she knew some of the context behind it, but it was still odd to see her own face in a photo taken more than ninety years ago, in the spring of 1923. Staring at it, she was struck again by the feeling of what should have been, of how fiercely she wished it was her in that photo, marrying the man she loved.

But it wasn’t her in the photo. It couldn’t possibly be her, no matter how much it looked like her and no matter how much she wished it was. Perhaps getting to know the woman depicted there, her great-grandmother and namesake, would help her shake the feeling that somewhere along the line, fate had gone horribly awry. With that thought firmly in mind, she reached into the box and began pulling items from it.

There was no sense of order to the box, but as she dug through it, Clara began to suspect that it was the contents of her great-grandmother’s writing desk, quickly and haphazardly transferred to the box, however long ago. It was a mix of correspondence and shopping lists, photographs and small pieces of memorabilia, all jumbled together, fragile with age. She took each item out one by one, sorting them into piles as she went — a stack for photos, another for letters, a third for keepsakes, and a smaller pile for the ephemera of everyday life, things she probably didn’t need to keep. She could spend tomorrow going through them in more detail, reading the letters and looking at the photos in the light of day.

At the bottom of the box she found what appeared to be a well-loved brown leather travel journal, thick with envelopes and postcards and loose leafs of paper fitted between the pages. The front was emblazoned with a globe and the words 101 Places To See. She smiled softly, running her fingertips over its dips and ridges, and thought of her own brief travels after university. When her Dad had balked at the idea of her travelling on her own, her Gran had declared it a family tradition for the women in their family to travel. Apparently it was one that went back further than Clara realised.

Curious about the sorts of travels her namesake had chosen, she leaned closer to the lamp and opened the journal to the first entry, written in the same small, looping handwriting as on the back of the wedding photo:

1 March 1921, London

I purchased this journal for my upcoming holiday, but I fear the title may be more aspirational than factual. Mother and Father have agreed to allow me a solo European tour, perhaps under the mistaken belief that giving me that much freedom will quench my thirst for more far-flung adventures. If they knew of my ambitions, they would certainly forbid me from leaving home at all. We shall see how far I can get on the stipend they have gifted me, before their disapproval catches up with me.

A family tradition indeed, Clara thought, smiling wider, and flipped ahead a few pages.

16 March 1921, Paris

Paris is lovely, if not so very different from London. It is, however, an excellent hub from which to book further travel...

The next several pages were devoted to cataloguing life in Paris in the early ‘20s, an era that had fascinated Clara during her literature studies at university. She scanned through the entries on the off-chance that her great-grandmother might have crossed paths with a famous name during her time there. Seeing none, she ran her thumb along the outer edge of the pages to jump further ahead and get an idea of where she had gone after Paris.

Of its own accord, the journal opened to a place where a small sepia photograph had been wedged between the pages, and Clara carefully prised it free to examine it closer. Though it wasn’t nearly as crisp as the wedding photo, the two figures in it were instantly identifiable as her ghost and her great-grandmother. They stood side by side, her arm slung around his back and his draped over her shoulders, smiling at the camera and squinting in bright sunlight, a desert landscape rolling away behind them. Surprised, she turned it over to find her great-grandmother’s handwriting on the back had labeled it Doctor John Smith, Thebes Egypt, 19 May 1921.

Egypt? Her curiosity piqued, Clara backtracked a few pages to try to find the context of the photo, and when exactly her ghost had first entered her great-grandmother’s life.

2 May 1921, Cairo

Egypt is enthralling, everything I had dreamed it would be. Thankfully I find I am able to stretch my budget further here than I could on the continent. I sent my last letter home from Athens, and carefully did not mention my future plans — my hope is that I can spend a few weeks here before returning to Europe via Malta and then on to Italy, and Mother and Father will never be the wiser. To that end (and to ensure I don’t run out of funds and thus be forced to resort to begging parental assistance), I have already booked passage aboard a ship departing in three weeks.

The next few days detailed her sightseeing in and around Cairo, and Clara scanned ahead until her eyes caught on an entry almost two weeks later:

14 May 1921, Cairo

I met the most fantastic and intriguing man at the museum party last night! We spoke like old friends for near an hour and a half before he was pulled away by his compatriots, and it was only after he was gone that I realised we did not so much as exchange names. At the time, names felt superfluous, secondary to my desire to know him, but this morning I find myself wishing I could put a name to the face that hasn’t left my mind these last twelve hours.

He is Scottish, an academic of some description, though his interests and expertise seem so wide ranging, I can hardly guess at what his specialty might be. His has the nose of a Roman emperor, more regal than the bust of Marcus Aurelius that lives on the shelf in my bedroom back home, but recently burnt to peeling by the hot desert sun in a way I found entirely too endearing. There is no question that he is significantly older than myself, but he carries none of the condescension I typically associate with such an age difference. He showed more than polite interest in hearing of my travels and my thoughts on all that I have seen, and in exchange told me stories of his many adventures.

He is exactly the sort of kindred spirit I have for so long dreamed of knowing, and yet I know no hard facts about him at all. I don’t suppose we will ever meet again — and isn’t that sad? To have met someone as singular as him, spent an hour and a half in one another’s company, only to be forever lost to each other in the shuffle of humanity. At least he will be a fond memory of my time in Cairo.

Gripped by this introduction to the ghost she had known all her life and the man she had never had the chance to meet, Clara turned the page and read on.

15 May 1921, Cairo

I wrote yesterday that I know no hard facts about the man I met at the museum party, but on reflection I find that isn’t entirely true. His friends called him only ‘Doctor’, though that hardly narrows down his identity, with so many educated men roaming about the country. He has lived in Egypt for several years, can read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and mentioned he was in Cairo on a brief respite from some activity in Thebes, on which he did not go into detail.

But a ‘brief respite’, by definition, should mean that he will return to Thebes, shouldn’t it? And then there is the matter of his sunburnt nose...

The on-going archaeological work at Thebes is widely known in Cairo, especially amongst those who frequent the museum. Could it be that this ‘Doctor’, this man who has not left my thoughts since Friday evening, could now be found in Thebes? I so wish to see him again, even if only to exchange our names and other such information, so that I might send him a postcard from time to time. And perhaps more, if he is agreeable.

And if he is not to be found in Thebes, at least I will have tried. I will be able to board the ship to Malta knowing that at least I tried to find him.

Despite knowing that her great-grandmother would, inevitably, cross paths again with the man who would become her husband, Clara read on without pause, enthralled by the unfolding drama.

17 May 1921, en route

I have left Cairo for Thebes, though it may well mean I will miss my ship to Malta. He has not been out of my thoughts, and I find I cannot wait any longer. I cannot talk myself out of this. And if there were anyone in a position in my life to talk me out of it, I would not let them, either. My mind is made up.

An adventure, then. To see the archaeological work at Thebes, and perhaps recognise a friendly face. I do hope his sunburn has not got any worse.

The next entry, adjacent to where the photograph had been tucked away, read simply:

19 May 1921, Thebes

His name is John, and I am besotted. I fear I may never recover.

Clara set the journal down in her lap and picked up the photo, looking again at their smiling faces. She tried to imagine it, meeting an interesting stranger and then striking out into the unknown, alone, on the hope of finding him again. Studying the picture, she could almost feel the desert sun on her face, and the giddy joy of new love. In just under two years, they would be married, but it had begun there, with a conversation in the Cairo museum and her great-grandmother’s bold decision to follow him to Thebes.

In the spring of 1921, she would have been just barely twenty-two years old, and Clara couldn’t help but wonder about the age of her ghost. He looked so unchanged in the photographs she had seen, the length of his salt and pepper hair the only thing that indicated any passage of time. He had always been ageless to her, but her namesake had commented on the age difference, and as she neared twenty-eight herself, Clara had to admit that he still looked significantly older than her. In his forties, easily, perhaps fifties. He’d told her that if she dug into the paperwork she would find him there, and she decided to look into it in the morning, see what information could be gleaned from genealogical websites and the like, since he’d always shown such unwillingness to answer any sort of personal question.

She turned back to the journal, curious where their story had gone in the two years between meeting and marrying. The next section was filled to bulging with postcards and envelopes tucked between the pages — a period of extensive correspondence, clearly. Clara hesitated. Reading her great-grandmother’s travel journal was one thing, but in the current moment, alone in the post-midnight silence of her flat, she wasn’t sure she could bear to read the letters her ghost had written to his future wife as they fell in love. Instead, she flipped through quickly until she reached the last of the postcards, and then read the first journal entry that followed it.

4 March 1923, London

He is in Glasgow! After all these months of correspondence, of knowing my true feelings but being unwilling to divulge them via the impersonal medium of paper, the Doctor is no more than a train ride away. And yet after the fiasco of my extended stay in Egypt in ‘21, I cannot imagine that Mother and Father will react well to my desire to go to Scotland to see him.

His postcard did not say how long he plans to be in Glasgow, only that letters sent to the university there might reach him faster than if sent via the normal address. I worry that he will be this close by for only a short time. With all the news out of the Valley of the Kings these last few months, I don’t expect he will stay in dreary old Scotland for long.

I’m afraid that if I don’t seize this opportunity, I will never get another chance to tell him of my feelings for him in person. I worry that if I ask to go, Mother and Father will not permit it, and that if I take the initiative and go without asking, they will never forgive me.

And I am afraid that the Doctor does not love me as I love him, that he won’t be able to see past the differences in our ages to all that we could be, the life that we could build together. I worry that in running off to see him, I will destroy not only my relationship with my parents, but also my friendship with him.

What fear should I let rule me? Which worry is the most likely to be true?

No.

Instead, better questions: How will I live with myself if I let myself be ruled by fear? If I do not live by the truth of my heart, how can I live at all?

I will follow him to Glasgow, as I followed him to Thebes. Let me be brave. Let the fates do as they will.

The next entry was written a few days later, detailing her clandestine departure from home and the long train journey from London to Glasgow, peppered with her simmering fears at how her unannounced arrival would be greeted by the Doctor. Her worry and her longing were palpable, and Clara felt an odd sort of kinship with this woman, her great-grandmother and namesake, as she abandoned everything in her life on the chance to be with the man she loved. She had never done anything like it herself — she had never felt that strongly about anyone, besides her ghost — but somehow it felt like something she would do.

She turned the page, looking for their reunion, but found that the next entry was dated weeks later.

28 March 1923, Glasgow

The days have been too full and too happy to find a scrap of time to add my thoughts here, so in short: one of my fears was unfounded, the other not.

The Doctor loves me as I love him. It is the truth that will chart the course of our lives together, from now until the stars all burn from the sky.

And Mother and Father will never forgive me.

The pages that followed were filled with hastily jotted down notes, interspersed with little keepsakes: a visitor’s guide to the Kelvingrove art museum, a program from an orchestral performance, a short love letter scrawled on university stationary in handwriting Clara had to assume belonged to her ghost. She folded that one back up without reading it, then skipped ahead to the date on the back of the wedding photo and found that her great-grandmother had written:

12 May 1923, Glasgow

Tomorrow we will make our farewells to Scotland and start the long journey south to Egypt, but today marks the beginning of a different and far greater adventure: marriage!

It will be a very small wedding, with only a few of the Doctor’s friends and cousins in attendance, but I find I do not care. I get to keep him, and any other concerns fade out of existence in the blinding light of that fact.

Tomorrow will also be two years since our first meeting in Cairo, and I am looking forward to revisiting the scene of that fateful interaction, this time as a married woman. How wonderful it is to have not lost that intriguing stranger to the shuffle of humanity, after all.

The journal shifted in tone after that, chronicling their journey from Glasgow to Cairo and the beginnings of their life together in Egypt, as the Doctor returned to his archaeological work in the field. In the summer of ‘23, her great-grandmother decided to take up drawing, and many of the pages that followed were filled with pencil sketches of the monuments of Egypt, the series of small homes they lived in, and the familiar face of her ghost, growing ever more accurate as her skill improved.

Clara thought of her own childhood habit of sketching his face on any blank corner of paper she could find, and wondered how they might compare. Her great-grandmother’s drawings were occasionally dated, and by the spring of 1925, the journal shifted back to being more of a travelogue again, though the entries were more sparse than they had been before, and sketches continued to fill the margins.

15 June 1925, London

Even in the height of summer, London feels grim and drab after two years in Egypt. When I said as much, the Doctor merely laughed and pointed out that it could be worse: it could be Glasgow. He has spent so many years now, off and on, living in Egypt, moving from dig site to dig site as the work demands, and I think he is ready for a more settled existence for a while. The position at the British Museum suits him well, and will provide us with a more stable foundation on which to build our life — and as much as I enjoyed our transient circumstances in Egypt, there is a certain allure to building something lasting together. A new sort of adventure.

I had hoped that with our return to London, and after two years of marriage, Mother and Father might have found a way to forgive me, but it seems that door is forever closed. I am determined to focus on the future instead, and on the family the Doctor and I mean to create together.

Reading that, Clara felt a pang of heartsickness for this woman she had never known. She had been close with both of her parents before their deaths, and was grateful to have had that time with them. She couldn’t imagine her parents being so angry with her that they would shut her out of their lives, but scanning ahead, she didn’t see any indication that her namesake’s parents had ever relented. Instead, the journal dealt with the process of settling back into life in London, and her great-grandmother’s dreams for the future, with small sketches peppering the edges of each page.

As she turned the pages, Clara’s eyes caught on the rare use of colour in one of her drawings, and with a surprised blink she realised she recognised it as the stained glass window over the front door of her Gran’s house. The journal entry beside the drawing read:

1 August 1925, London

The House, as I have determined it must always be called, is a ridiculous rambling Victorian thing, all gabled roofs and ornate woodwork and stained glass windows, such as the one I have drawn here. It is entirely too large for the two of us, but it was love at first sight for both the Doctor and myself, and no house we have considered since has compared. At least there will be enough room for our ever-growing legion of books. And there are several bedrooms — perhaps it is too ambitious of me to imagine them someday filled, but despite all our failed efforts, I remain hopeful.

Having dealt so closely with her Gran’s personal details the last few weeks, Clara knew that she would be born barely three years later, in late August of 1928. Her great-grandmother died only a few months after that, and it felt strange to read of her hopes for a large family, knowing it didn’t happen in the end. Through reading her journal, it had become clear to Clara that they were alike in many ways, but on that one point they couldn’t be more different. She enjoyed children, she wouldn’t have become a teacher if she didn’t, but she’d never felt drawn to motherhood. She was almost the same age as her namesake had been when her Gran was born, and she couldn’t imagine having a baby now, much less hoping for multiple children.

Of course, she wondered if she might feel differently if she’d had the sort of fairy tale romance her great-grandmother had had. Starting a family with someone she loved felt a lot less abstract than the vague idea of having a baby. Maybe that was the difference. She could certainly understand her great-grandmother wanting children with the Doctor—

At that thought, it all came back to her in a rush, everything her ghost had revealed that afternoon, the truth of her Gran’s parentage — and with it, one of the few facts about him that she’d managed to wring out of him as a child. With dread turning her stomach, Clara quickly flipped ahead to the autumn of 1927, scanning the journal entries for any indication, any clue. There was a brief note in early November about plans for Christmas, but then nothing until:

1 December 1927

He is gone. He is gone, and I will never, ever recover.

The bruises may heal, but I will not.

Tears sprung to Clara’s eyes, but she blinked them away, reading on.

8 December 1927

Is it the House that is haunted, or me?

She stared at the words, knowing that almost eighty-seven years later, the house was very much haunted. She turned the page, feeling the tears begin to roll down her face.

12 December 1927

Perhaps it is only my mind playing tricks on me, but perhaps it is something more. Perhaps there is some magic that ties us together even now. I live in hope — for what other way is there to live, now?

The following pages were full of nothing but undated sketches of the Doctor, looking exactly as Clara knew him. I made that promise to the only person I’ve spoken to since my death. The only one who could ever see me, her ghost had told her, not twelve hours earlier. Gripped with the need to know, she turned the journal pages quickly, looking for her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting amongst all the drawings of her ghost, until finally:

3 February 1928

I have counted out the days and counted them again. My memory of last November is far from clear, but there is no mistake in this: I am with child. And this is no parting gift, no consolation prize from the universe, only one more tragedy to heap onto the pile. This baby will not have the Doctor’s eyes or his smile or his laugh. This baby—

How am I to endure this? Alone in the House we had hoped to fill, how can I possibly find the strength to face what is to come?

I continue to dream of him, to have visions, even. Some days I fear I have gone mad with the grief, but other days, those visions are my only comfort, those dreams my only reprieve from the nightmares that plague me. Something in my heart refuses to believe that the Doctor is truly gone. Something compels me to speak to him, and hope that he will, somehow, impossible though it may be, hear me and respond.

And then:

8 February 1928

They are not visions, and I am not mad.

But more importantly — I am no longer alone.

Clara set down the journal, taking a moment to swipe at the tears on her face. She had known, deep down she had known that she would find only pain at the end of this story, and yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself. I know you won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he’d said to her, and he’d been right, of course he’d been right. Her ghost had tried to protect her from this, but she had charged ahead anyway, disregarding his warnings.

And that edge of the mystery still called to her, the unanswered questions still nagged at her. However much it hurt, she had to know. Picking up the journal again, she skipped ahead, flipping pages until she reached her Gran’s birthday.

21 August 1928

It is a girl. I have named her Margaret Eleanor, as we so long discussed. Our little Margot. None of this is her fault, and I do not love her less for it. I only wish I could love her more. I wish my heart were still capable of it. I wish I could have greeted her arrival with the joy she deserves. I wish I didn’t have to welcome her into the world alone.

The more days pass, the more I am convinced the Doctor meant what he said as a final goodbye. The last six months with him have revived me in a way I didn’t think possible, and to have that ripped away, to once again be facing the prospect of a future without him—

‘You are stronger than you know,’ he told me, and I wish I could believe it.

Even more, I wish he was still here. In whatever form, I wish he was here. Perhaps in time I will see him again. I must hold to that hope, for it is the last one I have.

The journal entries stopped after that, and again the pages were filled with sketches: a round-faced newborn with wispy hair, bits of the house that Clara recognised easily, and the Doctor, always the Doctor.

Turning the pages quickly, she came across one last entry in the journal, the following pages all blank. Her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting was no longer small, neat loops, but instead scrawled wide with anguish, and Clara felt her heart skip a beat at the date at the top of the page.

23 November 1928

Where have you gone, my love? Why have you left me?

I suppose I cannot fault the dead for not keeping their promises. You did not choose this fate for us, and I do not blame you for it. I only wish it could have been different. I wish that we had a second chance at life, a second chance to build for ourselves everything we dreamed our life together could be.

I cannot live like this. I will not.

I will follow you, my love, wherever it is that you have gone. Wherever you are now, I will find you. As I followed you to Thebes and to Glasgow, I will follow you now.

I will see you again.

Wait for me.

Clara stared in horror at the final words on the page. Seized with a sudden nauseous dread, she dropped the journal on the coffee table and bolted up from the sofa, lurching towards her laptop on the desk across the room. Her hands trembled as she pulled up a search page, pouring out every scrap of relevant family information she could think of, ending with 23 November 1928 suicide.

The internet, that modern wonder, took only moments to confirm her fears. Tears filled her eyes again, blurring the screen in front of her, but she fumbled her way through printing the eighty-six year old coroner's report. She snatched up the paper still warm, jammed her feet into her trainers and pulled on a coat, grabbed her keys and her purse, and was out the door before she could change her mind.

Chapter 4 - The Past

By the time she arrived at the house, Clara’s hands were shaking so badly, it took her three tries to unlock the front door. Her tears hadn’t stopped the entire drive over, and in the two a.m. darkness her sniffling sounded loud in her own ears.

Finally managing to fit the key into the lock, she let herself into the foyer and closed the door behind her. She dropped her keys and purse on the table, but couldn’t make her fingers uncurl from the crumpled coroner’s report still clutched in her other hand. The house was silent, dimly lit by a lamp in the parlour and another at the top of the stairs, and for a moment she was seized by a sense of déjà vu so strong it was nearly vertigo. It had only been a few hours since she’d gone home for the evening, but it felt like she’d been away for far longer than that. She needed her ghost, she needed to talk to him after all that she’d read, she needed—

“Clara?” came his voice before she could call out to him, and she felt her breath leave her in a rush. She had never been so grateful to hear his familiar voice, and she looked up at him, finding him standing at the top of the stairs. “What are you doing here?” he went on, sounding concerned, as he descended the staircase towards her. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I— I had to see you,” she said, her voice shaking almost as badly as her hands, and she swiped roughly at the wetness on her cheeks. “I couldn’t wait ‘til the morning.”

His steps quickened, and he didn’t stop until he was barely an arm’s length from her, seeming reassuringly solid and real in the dim light. “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “What’s happened?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she told him, stumbling over her words as her tears continued to fall, “and the box was— I had to know. I read her journal, I couldn’t stop myself. You were trying to protect me, and I just—” She cut herself off, shaking her head, trying to sort through her jumbled thoughts. “The twenty-third of November,” she forced out, looking up at him.

His expression shuttered. “What about it?” he asked warily.

“I was born on the twenty-third of November, 1986.”

“Clara, I am aware of your birthdate,” he said evenly.

She held up the crumpled paper in her hand. “Twenty-third of November, 1928. That’s the day she, the day my great-grandmother—”

“Yes,” he interrupted her.

“I was born fifty-eight years to the day—”

“Yes,” he said again, even more forcefully. “And? What is it exactly that you’re asking?”

She stared at him, grasping for the words as tears slipped down her cheeks. “Why?” she finally said. “Why would she do that to herself? Why would she leave her three month old child like that?”

He studied her face for a long moment. “I think you know why, my Clara,” he said softly.

“I don’t,” she shook her head, tears thick in her voice. “I’m trying to understand. I tried the entire drive over here, but I don’t— Why?”

He looked away, chewed at his lip. “You asked me once, when you were about eight years old, when it was that I died. Do you remember that?”

Clara nodded. “1927. You wouldn’t tell me the date, but you said it was in 1927.”

“I couldn’t very well tell you,” he said slowly, “at eight years old, that I died on your birthday in 1927.”

Realisation dawned. “She killed herself on the anniversary of your death.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, barely a breath.

“But... why?”

He looked at her in confusion, eyes glinting a silvery blue in the lamplight. “Why?”

“You said— you said you talked to her, after you died. Like we talk now. And in her journal she said— She hadn’t really lost you, so why would she—”

“I had stopped talking to her, stopped appearing to her,” he cut her off, voice soft. “Shortly before Margot was born. I wanted her to move on, even if I couldn’t. To live her life in the land of the living. I thought I was... a distraction from that. I worried if anyone found out that she was talking to her dead husband, that it would cost her everything, that she would end up in some sort of institution. Instead, I—” He stopped, swallowed harshly. “I was the one who cost her everything. By deciding I knew what was best. By ignoring her. By not protecting her like I should have done.”

She stared at him, tears still tracking down her face. “This is what you didn’t want me to know.”

“Clara...” He closed his eyes briefly, expression pained.

“You thought I wouldn’t be able to forgive you for it. That it would change the way I see you.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t want you to know about this, no.”

“...But?” she prompted, feeling like there was more he wasn’t saying.

His gaze found hers again. “What am I supposed to do, Clara? Which mistake should I repeat? Not protecting you? Or deciding that I know best?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “You found out this much, you won’t stop digging until you’ve found every horrible thing there is to find. And I don’t know what that will do to you. I can’t protect you from yourself. I’m not sure I ever could. All I can do is be here to try to pick up the pieces.”

She studied his ageless face, so very dear to her. “Then promise me one thing,” she found herself saying.

He huffed out a humourless laugh. “Just the one thing?”

“Promise me you won’t ever ignore me like that.” She had to swallow down the inexplicable again that tried to append itself to the end of that sentence. “Promise me that you will never stop talking to me.”

“Clara—”

“If you love me—” The words caught in her throat and she stopped. It was an unspoken line never before crossed, a word never before spoken between them, and she quickly added, “—in any way, you’ll stay.”

One corner of his mouth curled up in a sad smile. “So long as it’s my power to stay, I don’t think I will ever be able to leave you, my Clara.”

“Good,” she said, her tears making her voice crack. “I refuse to lose you. I won’t allow it.”

“Five-foot-one and crying,” he said fondly. “I never stood a chance.” He reached up and brushed away a tear as it rolled down her cheek, his long fingers steady and just slightly cool against her skin.

Clara stared at him in shock, trying to fit this newest revelation into her over-full mind. “You’re... rather solid,” she said, more eloquent words failing her.

“Always am, this time of the night,” he replied, eyebrows drawing together. “It’s the lack of sunlight. I thought you knew that.”

“I’m never here this late,” she reminded him, shaking her head. Seized with a sudden realisation and an urge she couldn’t deny, she took a step forward and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Her ghost went rigid beneath her touch, only slowly relaxing. “Clara,” he breathed against her hair, seeming to remember what to do with his arms. He held her carefully, like he thought she might shatter, but the substantial realness of him was better than anything she could have hoped for. “My Clara.”

“You cannot imagine how long I’ve wanted to do this,” she said into his shoulder.

“I have some idea,” he replied, drawing her closer.

Clara clung to him, unwilling to let the moment end. She had thought about hugging her ghost so often over the years, but the reality of being held by him far outpaced even her best dreams. It was exactly the sort of comfort she needed after all the discoveries of the day, and gradually her tears stopped.

“I don’t think you should drive home tonight,” he said quietly, gently pulling away from her. “You’re upset, and it’s late. Sleep here, go home in the morning.”

She stepped back and nodded, but said, “I don’t know if I can sleep. It’s all still clattering around my mind, everything I read.”

He carefully prised the paper from her hand, smoothed it out and read it. “Coroner’s report,” he said grimly. “As though the journal wasn’t bad enough.”

She hesitated, then asked, “You’ve read the journal?”

“Only the final entry. But I was there for most of the rest of it. Come on,” he said, clearly changing the subject, as he folded the paper and tucked it away in his trouser pocket. “There’s still some chamomile tea in one of the decorative tins in the kitchen. Maybe a cup will help you sleep.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re just trying to distract me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Because I am,” he said dryly, then turned and led the way down the hall. Sighing, Clara followed after him.

She sat at the table and watched him move around the kitchen, confidently pulling items from drawers and cupboards as he prepared the loose-leaf tea. It was still strange to think of this as his house, as the house he had bought with his wife, where they had hoped to build a future together. And tragic, too, given the way things had turned out. Based on the dates in her great-grandmother’s journal, they had lived here for just over two years before his death, between the summer of 1925 and the autumn of 1927.

“Were you happy?” Clara asked into the comfortable silence.

Her ghost glanced over at her from his position near the stove, eyebrows raised in question.

“When you lived here with my great-grandmother,” she clarified. “Were you happy, together in this house?”

He brought her the cup of steaming tea and sat down across from her before he answered. “We were very happy,” he said softly, staring at his hands folded on the tabletop. “And very much in love.”

Clara’s heart clenched in her chest, and she didn’t reply until she was certain of the strength of her voice. “I’m sorry it didn’t end well,” she said, feeling like the words were horribly inadequate. “That you didn’t get more time together. You deserve to be happy.”

He looked up at her across the width of the table, his familiar face ageless and ancient. “Things end,” he said gently. “That’s all. Everything ends, and it’s always sad. But everything begins again too, and that’s always happy.”

“And have you been happy?” she asked before she could stop herself. “In the years I’ve known you?”

His gaze searched her face for a long moment before he said, “Very happy, my Clara. As much as a dead man can be. Now, drink your tea. It’s a few hours yet before dawn, and you should try to sleep.”

She decided not to argue with him, starting to feel fatigue pull at her now that the adrenaline of her discovery had passed. “You told me as a child that I shouldn’t stay the night here,” she said between sips of warm chamomile tea. “Why?”

He looked away and was quiet for so long that she began to wonder if he would answer at all. “You never slept well here, when you were small,” he finally said. “You would wake up crying, even screaming sometimes. Ellie seemed to think it was just being away from home, but I always worried it was this house specifically, something about it that you knew even before you were old enough to talk.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t you.”

“What?” he asked, meeting her gaze, eyebrows drawing together.

Clara shrugged though a sip of tea. “Gran’s house is haunted. That’s the sort of thing that might scare some kids. Most, probably. But you’ve never scared me.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I mean it,” she said, smiling at him over the rim of her cup. “If ghosts are meant to be scary, you’ve failed utterly.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said dryly, then after a moment added more seriously, “I’ll stay with you tonight, if you want. So you’ll know you’re safe. Hopefully I’m wrong, and you’ll sleep fine, but just in case.”

That longing for what could have been that she’d felt when looking at the wedding photo bubbled up again, but she shoved it away. He was her ghost, and she was his Clara, and that would have to be enough. “I would like that,” she said softly, her eyes on her tea. “Thank you.”

She led the way upstairs a few minutes later, choosing the back bedroom where he’d played her great-grandmother’s song for her earlier, and snuggled in beneath the quilts and blankets that she had laid out on the bed in a bid to make the house look inviting to potential buyers. Her ghost lingered uncertainly nearby until she patted the space beside her, but she drifted off to sleep before he’d finished making himself comfortable on top of the coverlet.

--

Clara woke suddenly, bolting upright and gasping for breath, all of her senses on high alert in the darkened bedroom. On instinct she reached for the Doctor beside her, her fingers curling desperately around his shoulder.

“Clara?” he asked, sounding confused.

“There’s someone downstairs,” she hissed, keeping her voice low, fear gripping her.

With a sigh, he put his hand over hers and squeezed it gently. “There’s not.”

“I heard a window break!” she insisted. “Someone’s in the house—”

“Clara, Clara, listen to me,” he said, sitting up beside her and taking her hands in his. “You had a nightmare,” he went on, leaning in close and trying to catch her gaze. “Just a nightmare, yeah? Everything’s alright. Trust me, there is no one in this house but you and me.”

She blinked at him, trying to make his words fit into her consciousness in between the frantic beating of her heart. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m certain I heard—”

“It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. Nothing but a bad dream,” he assured her. “It’s over now, try not to think about it.”

There it was again, a noise like a rock shattering glass, coming from downstairs. “The window,” she whispered urgently, turning towards the bedroom door.

He shifted closer to her, cupping her face in both hands, commanding her attention. “It’s not real,” he said, gently but firmly. “What you’re hearing, it’s not real, it’s not happening now. Focus on now, this moment here with me.”

Clara tried to do as he asked, but it kept slipping away into the sound of breaking glass and the certainty that there was someone else in the house with them. She stared at him, forcing her frantic mind to react, to focus only on her immediate surroundings. The quiet stillness of the bedroom, the muted blue of her ghosts’s eyes in the low light, the familiarity of his voice, the feel of his fingertips, solid and cool against her skin. This moment.

“It was just a bad dream?” she said in a small voice, still not completely convinced.

“Yes,” he replied, holding her gaze. “And it’s over now.”

“It felt so real,” Clara said, unable to quite shake the lingering unsettled feeling.

“I know,” he said, his thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones soothingly. “I know it did. It’s alright.”

“Why do I have nightmares in this house?” she asked, the words bubbling out of her as soon as the thought crossed her mind. “I’ve never slept well here, since I was a baby, you said. Why?”

“Clara,” her ghost said in a warning tone, “just leave it be.”

She wrapped her hand around his wrist before he could pull away from her. “That wasn’t the normal sort of nightmare, was it?” she said, more statement than question. “You said earlier that you worried I knew something about this house, even before I was old enough to talk. What is it? What could I possibly have known when I was that young? What did I just dream?”

“I also told you that sometimes the past is better left buried,” he said, voice low.

“And sometimes not knowing the truth is a lot scarier than the facts themselves!” she shot back.

“And sometimes it’s not!” he snapped, surprising her. He sighed and shook his head in apology. “My Clara,” he said softly, his hands still gently holding her face. “Sometimes the truth is so terrible that you’re better off not knowing. Please let me protect you from this? Just this once?”

“Oh, god,” she said in realisation, nausea rippling through her. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew. “I wasn’t wrong about someone breaking into the house, was I? Only, it’s not happening now.”

“Clara, please.”

“Why do I know that? How? What was that dream?” The sound of footsteps downstairs drew her attention, and she looked to the door again. “Doctor,” she whimpered, her grip on his wrist tightening as terror surged through her, “there’s someone in the house.”

“Clara, Clara,” he said, leaning close to look into her eyes. “You can’t think about it. Focus on something else. Focus on me.”

She shook her head within his unrestraining hold. “You were there, too,” she said, sounding distant in her own ears. “I heard your voice from downstairs, and then a gunshot, and—”

“Not that memory,” he said quickly. “Anything else, any other memory. Please, Clara. You have to make yourself think of something else. The church in Glasgow. Think about the church in Glasgow.”

“The church in Glasgow?” she repeated, staring at him in confusion as her mind spun chaotically and her heart thundered.

He nodded. “It had stained glass windows and dark wood pews, remember? It was small, but we still only filled the first quarter of it.”

It was just a flash, there and gone, but for a moment she could see it. “It smelled of incense,” she said, utterly certain, the knowledge welling up from some deep, long-buried corner of her mind.

“Yes, good. What else?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Your flowers,” he prompted. “That day at the church, what colour were your flowers?”

“Blue,” she replied immediately. “My bouquet was blue and white, and the flowers in my hair were blue. How do I know that?” she demanded, looking up at him. “That wasn’t me, how do I know that?”

“You know how, my Clara. Think it through.”

She heard breaking glass again, and looked towards the door. “The window,” she choked out. “Someone’s in the house.”

“There’s no one,” her ghost insisted, cool fingertips pressed to her face to pull her attention back to him. “It’s your mind trying to relive the trauma. Don’t let it. Think about— think about Cairo. The museum, yeah? The first time you saw me. Focus on that.”

“I can’t,” she said, a sob catching in her throat. Someone was in the house, and the gunshot—

“Try, Clara, please. For me. Think about Cairo, and the museum, and say the first thing that comes into your head.”

She took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to focus on the impossible, to forget about the sound of breaking glass and think of the Doctor instead. “The first time I saw you, you were scowling,” she said, seeing it in her mind’s eye.

“Was I?” her ghost asked, sounding almost bemused through his worry.

She nodded absently. “And then someone said something to you, and you laughed, and I thought...”

“What did you think, my Clara?” he prompted when she didn’t go on. “Stay in that moment.”

“I thought you looked— interesting. Intriguing. With your angry eyebrows and your laugh-lines. I thought ‘that is a face I would like to get to know.’”

“Good, that’s good. What else do you remember? What did we drink that night? It was a party, what did they serve?”

“Champagne,” she said without hesitation. “But I didn’t like it, it was too dry.” She opened her eyes and looked at him, his face inches from hers. “How do I know that?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer her question, but pressed on instead. “You came to Thebes, almost a week later, do you remember that? Do you remember the first moment you saw me there?”

She searched within herself for the answer and somehow, miraculously, found it. “You were at the dig site,” she murmured, wrapped up in the unfamiliar memory filling her mind, crowding out everything else. “I saw you before you saw me, and you... You just looked so beautiful standing there, I wanted everything to stop. I wanted nothing to change, ever again. But then you looked up, and you grinned when you saw me. And I thought...”

Clara stumbled to a stop, feeling like the reality of what was happening was just outside her grasp, profound and unseen, some force of nature begging to be recognised. “I thought, ‘that is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.’ No,” she corrected herself, staring at him, that same heartbreaking longing coursing through her, identical to that remembered moment standing in the bright sunshine of Thebes. “I thought, ‘that is the man I want to spend the rest of the life of the universe with.’ I didn’t even know your name, but I knew—”

Swallowing past the tears forming in her eyes, she shook her head, words failing her. It was too much, her own emotions twisted up with the impossible images in her mind, her love for him tangled together with memories that couldn’t possibly be hers. “But that wasn’t me,” she insisted, her voice breaking, even as she wished desperately that she had been the woman who had met him in 1921. “That was her. My great-grandmother. How can I know that? How can I know any of that?”

“You know how, Clara,” he said again, gently wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Deep down, you know the truth. I think part of you has always known.”

She flickered her gaze over his familiar face, trying to understand, trying to fit the scattered pieces inside her together. In that moment, she wasn’t certain of anything — except that she loved him, and had always loved him. Her whole life, as long as she could remember, she had loved this man, her ghost. Loved him even though it was impossible, he was impossible. He would never feel that way about her, there could never be any chance of a future together. It was utterly hopeless, but that had never been enough to change the way she felt about him.

“Please, just see me,” he murmured.

Her eyes locked with his, pale blue in the dim light spilling in from the hallway. She knew every fleck of green in those eyes, every line on his face, every streak of silver in his hair, with as much certainty as she knew her feelings for him. And maybe, in the end, that was all she needed to know. Maybe it all added up to the same thing. The photos and the journal, her birthdate and that nightmare, her love for him and her longing for what might have been. There had only ever been one answer to any of it, and finally, Clara spoke aloud the only truth she could find.

“It was me,” she whispered, sure of it down to her bones. “It was me that met you in Cairo, and followed you to Thebes and to Glasgow. It’s me in those photos.”

“Yes,” he said, voice soft and emphatic. “It’s always been you. You found me again, like you promised you would.”

She stared at him, the enormity of that truth somehow not overwhelming her but completing her, the missing piece she had been searching for all her life. “I love you,” she said, the words bursting out of her, unwilling to let another moment pass before she told him. “I didn’t just realise that,” she clarified. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. But I didn’t know it was something I could say.”

Her ghost — the Doctor, the man she loved, her husband — smiled at her softly, wiping another errant tear from her face. “I have loved you for more than ninety years, my Clara. I didn’t think I would ever hear you say those words again.”

Leaning in, Clara closed the short distance between them and kissed him, her hands finding their way to his hair as he pulled her closer. It was miraculous, and ridiculous, and incredible, the solid reality of him against her. She had dreamed of this for so long, wished for it for so many years, without realising that it had always been hers to claim. Kissing him felt like coming home. She pressed closer to him, trying to remember him and memorise him all at once.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she said breathlessly when they finally parted, her forehead resting against his, “but I’m still a little unclear on the how of all this. If I’m her, then I— I died. How is any of this even possible?”

He gently kissed her eyelids and her forehead, then shifted them around so that he was leaned against the headboard and her head was resting against his chest, his arms around her. “Reincarnation is the word you’re looking for, I think,” he replied. “Rebirth. Same soul, new life.”

She mulled that over, adding it to the truths she had found inside herself. “That’s a thing that can happen?” she asked.

“Apparently. I know as much about this as you do. But it’s hard to deny the evidence in front of us.”

“So all those times I joked about us bantering like an old married couple...?”

“Well, one of us is old, anyway,” he said ruefully.

She pressed a kiss over his silent heart. “How long have you known?”

“There wasn’t a single moment,” the Doctor said, holding her close and running the backs of his fingers up and down her arm idly. “It was countless little clues, over the years. The fact that you could see me, for one thing. The way you turn your head, the way you laugh, a phrase here and there. Your kindness, and your never giving up. And your eyes, of course. The past few years you’ve started to look more and more like yourself, your previous self, but there was always something familiar about your eyes. It was only in the last decade or so that I became convinced it was really you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She felt him shrug. “At what point, exactly, would it have been appropriate to inform you of my suspicions? By the time I was certain of it, you’d never shown any signs that you remembered, not really. Not like tonight. And I thought...”

“What?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

He hesitated, his hand stilling, and then said, barely a breath, “I thought it might be best if you never remembered. If I remained just the ghost that haunted your Gran’s house, and you went on with your life, not knowing the truth.”

“Live my life in the land of the living,” she said, repeating his earlier words. “Is that why you didn’t want me staying the night here? You thought it might trigger my memories?”

“No,” he said, taking a deep breath and sighing it out. “I didn’t want you to have nightmares like the one you just had, and the ones I suspect you had when you slept here as a baby. If that was the cost of remembering, I didn’t want you to have to pay it. Even if it meant you never remembered me.”

“That was a memory, too, wasn’t it?” she asked in a small voice, already knowing the answer. “That nightmare.”

“Clara...”

“Doctor,” she said, angling herself to look up at his face without moving away from him, “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I need to know the truth. All of it.”

“You know everything important—”

“But I don’t, do I?” she interrupted. “There are key facts I still don’t know. How you died, who my Gran’s father was, what exactly it was I just dreamed about. If you won’t tell me, you know I can find the answers on my own.”

He sighed. “I have no doubt you will.” He was quiet a moment, then said, “If I give you the basics of it, will you stop digging for the memory and let it be?”

Remembering the terror that had gripped her when she’d first woken from the nightmare, she nodded against his chest.

“Alright then,” he said quietly. “But in the morning. Some facts are too terrible for this hour of the night, and you should try to sleep again, if you can.”

“What makes you think it’ll go better this time?” Clara asked, burrowing deeper into his embrace and trying to keep her mind from straying to the memory of breaking glass. It was strange to think that when the sun rose, she would be back to not being able to touch him, but in that moment she was unspeakably grateful for the comfort of being held, secure in the arms of the man she loved.

The Doctor ran his fingers through her hair soothingly. “I could hum the song for you,” he suggested. “It seemed to help, before. Maybe it’ll help now.”

“My song,” she said, smiling against his chest.

“Yes, your song,” he agreed, and kissed the top of her head. “The song I wrote for you, my Clara.”

She drifted to sleep to the sound of that song, and didn’t wake until morning.

Chapter 5 - The Present

Clara woke slowly to the sound of birdsong and the blue light that preceded dawn, feeling surprisingly well-rested, despite the night she’d had. Opening her eyes, she found the Doctor stretched out on the bed beside her. In the first of the daylight he looked pale but not yet translucent, a reminder that the hours in which she was able to touch him were quickly coming to an end. When he saw she was awake, he smiled at her softly, his gaze tracing across her face.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he said quietly.

Humming happily, Clara stretched against the pillows. “Good morning, Doctor.”

His smile widened. “It’s good to hear you call me that again.”

“Why do I call you that?” she asked curiously, rolling onto her side facing him and propping her head up in her hand. “The journal referenced it but didn’t explain. Why do I call you Doctor instead of John?”

He made a face at the mention of his given name. “By the time we met, most people I knew had been calling me Doctor for years. It started as a joke on my first archaeological dig — that with a name like John Smith, the most distinctive thing about me was my newly acquired academic title. The nickname stuck, and I’d never been particularly attached to John in any case.”

“Is that what your doctorate is in, then? Archaeology?”

“With a special emphasis on Egypt and its ancient languages,” he said, nodding. “That’s why I was at that party at the Cairo museum, the night we met in 1921, I was part of the team that discovered some of the artefacts that were on display in the new exhibit.”

Clara let her mind drift to the hazy memories of her previous life she had uncovered the night before, trying to will them into sharper focus. “I wish I could remember it better...”

“I’m glad that you remember it at all,” he told her. “It’s more than I’d hoped for.”

She hesitated, then said, “About the other memory, that nightmare—”

“Later,” he said, rolling away and pushing himself into a sitting position. “There’s something we should do before the sun is properly up. I hid another box, besides that one in the attic, buried it in the garden out back. If we get started now, I might even be able to help you dig it up before the sunlight makes me useless again.”

“What’s in it?” Clara asked, also sitting up.

“It’s, ah.” The Doctor shot her a sidelong look, not quite meeting her eyes. “What’s in it is yours, and you should have it, even if...” He trailed off, chewing at his lower lip.

Something about his tone chilled her. “Even if what?”

“Clara, I don’t want you to be tied to a dead man,” he said carefully, gaze on the bedspread. “You know the truth now, but you still have your life ahead of you. You should live that life, even if it’s without me.”

“We are not having the ‘land of the living’ argument again,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I just got you back. There is no version of my future that makes sense without you in it.”

He turned to look at her. “I’m still a ghost, Clara,” he said, a note of self-loathing making his tone harsh. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But in the dark you’re as solid as I am!” she objected.

“And now that the sun is rising, that’s quickly going away.” He reached out one hand and ran his knuckles across the curve of her cheek, his touch faint and cool.

She resisted the urge to take his hand, worried that her fingers would pass right through his. “The sun will set again, it always does. It’s better than nothing. At least we’ll be together.”

“So you spend each day counting down to sunset?” he demanded. “What kind of a life is that? What sort of a life can I give you, as a dead man?”

“You don’t have to give me any sort of life!” she shot back, trying not to be offended at the old-fashioned notion. “I’ve done quite well constructing a life all on my own, thank you very much. All I want is for you to be part of it.”

“As a ghost,” he said derisively.

“Yes, as a ghost! I’ll take what I can get when it comes to you.”

“You deserve to have a real life, with someone who won’t literally disappear on you during daylight hours.”

“I have lived almost twenty-eight years only knowing you in daylight. Every moment I’ve spent with you in this life, that has been the deal. And even then, no one ever managed to measure up to you. I have loved you my whole life, Doctor, and that’s hardly going to change now. I want a life with you, whatever shape that takes. I meant what I said last night: I am not going to give you up. You promised to stay, and I am holding you to that.”

He dropped his gaze, looking away and fiddling with the ring he wore on his left hand — his wedding ring, she realised abruptly. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?” he asked in a low voice.

“No,” she told him firmly. “Not unless you take away my say in it.” She didn’t add again, but she knew they were both thinking it.

He winced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She softened, watching him fold in on himself. “Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “Make it up to me.”

He looked up at her sharply, hope hidden in the fading blues of his eyes.

“If you keep your promise and stay, you’ll have years to make it up to me,” she said, smiling at him. “Decades, even. The rest of my life.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want?”

“Very sure.” She stared at his familiar face, the face she had loved for so long, watching him become fainter as the sun began to rise outside, rendering him back into the incorporeal presence she had known all her life. “Our story, Doctor... It isn’t the tragedy you think it is. This isn’t a ghost story. It never was. It’s a love story. And if I know one thing about love stories? They always have a happy ending, one way or another.”

“Clara, my Clara,” he said fondly, raising his hand to sweep his cool fingertips across her cheekbone with feather-light pressure. “How can I argue with you when you look at me like that?”

“Then don’t argue,” Clara said softly. “Promise you’ll stay.”

“I promise,” he murmured. “And that’s all the more reason for you to have what’s buried in the garden. Come on, I’ll show you where, while you’re still able to see me.”

They went downstairs together, and he waited as she pulled on her shoes and her coat, then let herself out through the kitchen door that opened onto the garden. He led her confidently to the base of the old maple tree at the back of the garden, its branches clinging to the last of their autumn leaves. She had to sidetrack to the shed to find a spade, but the sun was still low behind the roofs of the nearby houses, and in the shadow of the maple tree the Doctor had enough form to pick up a crimson leaf and spin its stem between his fingers for a moment before letting it drift back to the ground.

Clara dug in the spot between the roots that he directed her to, relieved when she hit something solid only a foot or so down. Reaching into the shallow hole and brushing away the last of the dirt, her fingers found a metal jewelry box about the size of a paperback novel, and she carefully lifted it out with both hands. The silver surface was tarnished, throwing the raised geometric designs into sharp contrast, but it appeared to be in good condition. She glanced up at the Doctor, who was looking more translucent in the gathering daylight, and he nodded at her.

“Go on,” he said when she hesitated. “Open it.”

Taking a deep breath, she thumbed open the latch and pulled up the lid, the hinges squeaking slightly. Inside, resting against the crumbling blue felt that had once lined the box, there was a black velvet ring box and several other pieces of jewelry, the largest of which was a wide silver amulet on a delicate chain necklace. Her ghost brushed his fingertips over the ring box, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed on it.

“I’m split between wanting you to have it right away,” he said softly, “and wanting to wait until I can put it on you myself.”

“We could go back inside,” she suggested in a matching tone. “The west side of the house should still be shadowy enough.”

He shook his head. “It’s best appreciated in the sunlight, anyway.”

Clara grazed her hand over his, feeling only the chill of his daytime insubstantiality but hoping he took it for the affectionate gesture she meant it to be. Setting the jewelry box carefully on the ground, she picked up the ring box and lifted the lid. The ring inside was small and delicate, a white gold setting holding an oval cabochon sapphire flanked on each side by narrow tapered diamonds. In the indirect light, the smooth rounded surface of the sapphire was a dark indigo blue.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“It’s your wedding ring,” the Doctor replied. “Not very traditional, perhaps, but then, we never have been, either.”

She looked up at him, her heart in her throat. “May I?”

“Of course,” he said, raising his eyes to meet her gaze. “It’s yours.”

Carefully pulling it from its velvet box, Clara slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, where it settled naturally into place as though she had worn it there every day for years. “We really are going to have to go inside,” she told him when she had control of her voice, “so I can kiss you properly.”

He smiled at her fondly. “Go look at it in the sunlight, first. I’m looking forward to seeing your reaction to it all over again.”

She glanced at him curiously but did as he asked, putting the ring box back into the jewelry box and then pacing a few feet away. The early morning sun was casting long shadows through the garden, and she turned her hand until the ring caught the light. Clara gasped. As if by magic, a pale six-rayed star appeared in the depths of the sapphire, clearly visible against the luminous dark blue of the stone.

“It’s called a star sapphire,” the Doctor said, and she looked up to find him standing beside her, his form a faint wispy outline in the dappled sunlight. “When you found me in Thebes in ‘21, I took you to see the excavation work going on at the Temple of Hatshepsut, and you were particularly fond of a section of the ceiling that was painted with stars against a dark blue sky. I was immediately reminded of that when I saw this ring.”

It wasn’t a memory, exactly, just a quick surge of nostalgia and images she couldn’t quite hold on to. “Our first date, sounds like,” she said, smiling up at him.

His answering grin was warmer than the gathering daylight. “I suppose it was.”

Despite his spectral appearance, Clara felt herself swaying towards him, overwhelmed by the need to kiss him in this happy moment. She shook herself, squaring her shoulders. “Alright, mister, inside with you, before the neighbours catch me talking to myself in my pyjamas in the garden at dawn. The last thing we need is more gossip about how strange this house is.”

She quickly refilled the hole she’d dug and returned the spade to the shed, then led the way back into the kitchen, the Doctor trailing silently behind her. Pausing only long enough to set the jewelry box on the table, Clara continued on towards the large walk-in pantry just off the kitchen, casting her ghost a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure he was following her.

“Clara, what are we—” he started to ask as she closed the pantry door behind them, plunging the tiny room into complete darkness. The rest of the question was lost when Clara pushed up onto her toes and kissed him soundly, steadying herself on the solid line of his shoulders. She felt the reassuring pressure of his hands at the small of her back and hummed in happiness, deepening the kiss.

“See?” she said when they separated, her smug tone somewhat ruined by the breathless elation of a woman well-snogged. “No need to spend each day counting down until sunset when there’s a world full of darkened rooms.”

“You make a very good point,” the Doctor agreed, and kissed her again.

The growling of Clara’s stomach eventually forced them out of the pantry and into the daylight, and with it came the realisation that there was very little food in the house, and absolutely nothing resembling coffee.

“I should shower and change into real clothes, too,” she told him as he followed her into the foyer, the jewelry box again clasped protectively in her hands. “All the more reason to get back to my flat.”

Her ghost nodded. “Will you come back later today?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. “Or do you need to spend the day doing human-y things, preparing for the work week or shopping for groceries or whatever it is you do when you’re not here?”

Clara shot him a disbelieving look. “I do, in fact, need to do all that stuff today,” she allowed, watching as he nodded and glanced away, fiddling with his wedding ring. “But I just assumed you’d come with me?”

He looked up at her in surprise, his expression tinged with hope. “Seriously?”

“Of course, Doctor. When I said I wanted you to be part of my life, I didn’t mean here in this house. Our future isn’t here, it’s out there,” she said, nodding towards the front door and the world beyond. She hesitated, a thought occurring to her, and added, “You can leave, right? You’re not tied to the house?”

He nodded, his hands still nervously occupied with his ring. “It’s been a long time since I last left, but... No, it was never the house that I was tied to.”

“What is it, exactly, that you’re tied to, then?” she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer, of the power it held over their future. “What’s kept you here all these years?”

“What do you think?” he said, looking at her like he thought it ought to be abundantly obvious. “You. It’s always been you, Clara.”

--

After a none-too-brief detour to the small and blessedly dark coat closet, she finally managed to get them out the door and on the way to her flat. The Doctor sat in the passenger seat as Clara drove, faint and ghostly in the daylight, but with enough form that she could clearly make out his expression. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at the way he stared out the window in wonder, angling his head to catch a passing skyscraper or an airplane flying overhead.

“First time in a car?” she asked, only mostly managing to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He shot her a sour look. “We did have automobiles by 1927, you know. And I’ve left the house since then, back when Margot used to travel. It’s just— been a few years, is all.”

“I can see how it would be jarring,” she said levelly. “I’ll try not to tease you. Too much.”

“Clara, my Clara,” he said on a sigh, shaking his head. “We both know that’s a lie.”

She shot him a quick look, finally letting her grin break through, and tried to keep her attention on driving and not on how unreasonably happy she was.

--

By the time they arrived at her flat, it was still early enough in the morning that not many of her neighbours were about, and Clara silently led the way up the flights of stairs and let them in through her simple front door that matched all the others, such a stark difference from the grand Victorian house where she’d always known her ghost. He trailed in behind her, looking around in interest at her clutter and her framed pictures, the dimness of the windowless hallway making him look almost alive again.

“Left it in a bit of a mess when I rushed out of here last night,” she said with a wince once she’d closed the door behind them, setting down her purse and keys and the jewelry box on the tiny table next to the door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had company over, let alone someone whose opinion mattered to her as much as the Doctor’s. “It’s not much, but it’s mine and I’m fond of it,” she added, trying not to sound defensive.

“It’s intensely you,” he replied, leaning in to examine a photo from her travels after university. “If I wandered in off the street I’d know it was yours.”

Clara directed a bemused smile at his back, oddly touched at his first impression of her home. “Thanks, I think,” she said as she hung up her coat on the wall rack and toed off her shoes. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour, it’ll be quick.” She led him down the hall, indicating each room as they passed. “Kitchen is in there, that’s the loo, my bedroom, and the sitting room,” she said, pausing just inside the doorway and surveilling the chaos left behind from her late night efforts to make sense of the box they’d found in the attic.

“When you said you couldn’t sleep last night...?” the Doctor asked, looking at her sidelong.

“It looks worse than it is,” she said as she crossed the room and pulled the curtains closed over the door that led to the balcony, blocking out as much sunlight as possible. “I sorted everything into piles, maybe later we could look through it together? See if any of it sparks bits of memory for me?” she added, turning back to him.

The journal was still sitting on the coffee table, open to the scrawled final entry, and as she watched the Doctor leaned down and used what substance he had in the dim room to carefully close it, his fingertips lingering on the embossed cover. “I would like that, my Clara,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze back to hers.

She stared at him for a breathless moment, still trying to come to grips with their new reality, like something out of her teenaged fantasies come to life. “I should— I should shower, and eat, and all that,” she said, shaking herself. “I won’t be long, feel free to peruse the bookshelf or whatever, make yourself at home. Which,” she laughed, her nerves catching up with her, “if we sell the house, I suppose it is, or will be, at any rate—”

“Clara,” he said gently, crossing towards her. “This is just you and me, same old, same old. Nothing’s changed, not really.”

“Right,” she murmured, looking up at him.

He watched her, his expression concerned. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than you want it to be,” he said. “I can go back to being just your ghost, if that’s what you want.”

She realised she was twisting her wedding ring around her finger and dropped her hands. “No,” she assured him. “No, I want a future with you. I want... I want long evenings and sneaking into coat closets and waking up with you beside me. It’s just a lot to adjust to so quickly.”

“Take your time,” he said easily, grazing her cheek with his cool fingertips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

--

After her shower, Clara carried her coffee and her breakfast down the hall to the sitting room. She found the Doctor camped out on the sofa, a rag and the wide silver pendant from the jewelry box in his hands, and a bottle of silver polish and the jewelry box open on the coffee table in front of him. At her inquisitive look, he said, “I thought I’d clean these up for you. I noticed it’s all looking a little tarnished — not too bad, considering they spent the better part of a century buried in the garden, but no reason not to treat them to a good cleaning.”

“Why did you bury the jewelry box?” she asked, settling into the empty space beside him and taking a sip of her coffee. “And when?”

“End of November, 1928. A few days after you— after you’d gone,” he replied, not looking up from methodically working at the tarnish on the necklace. “I wasn’t really thinking straight. I’d just lost you, and I didn’t want to be there, but I couldn’t leave Margot.”

“Your duty of care,” Clara said quietly.

He nodded but didn’t elaborate. “There were strangers in the house, including your parents. Your former parents, I mean, not Ellie and Dave, obviously,” he clarified, gesturing with the polish rag. “I couldn’t stand the idea of them touching your personal things, not after how they’d treated you the five years or so prior. I reverted to some sort of archaeologist’s instinct, I suppose: bury the evidence and let someone in the future piece together the true story of what happened.”

“Not realising, of course,” she said, “that the someone in the future would be us.”

The Doctor glanced up at her then back down at the necklace. “I couldn’t have imagined something like this at the time. I know I wished for a miracle, when I buried this. Wished for a way to see you again, without breaking my promise to watch over Margot. But it just felt so...”

“Impossible,” she finished for him, thinking about how hopeless her love for him had seemed, even just twelve hours earlier.

“My impossible girl,” he whispered, gaze on his work. “I should have known you would find a way. Here,” he said more briskly, turning towards her and holding out the necklace. “Ready to wear again. If you want.”

She carefully took it from him, turning it in her hand so the details caught the dim light. It was a single piece of engraved silver, heavier than she’d expected, about two inches wide and maybe half an inch tall, with the necklace chain attached at the far ends. Now that the tarnish was gone, she could clearly make out the shape of long, finely feathered wings extending from a circle in the centre, and what looked to be a snake’s head flanking each side of the circle. In much the same way as her wedding ring, it felt familiar, both the design and the weight of it in her palm, but she couldn’t quite summon up a memory that fit with it.

“This was a favourite of mine?” she asked, glancing up at the Doctor. “It looks Egyptian.”

“It is,” he said, his attention focused on removing the layer of grime from a narrow bangle bracelet. “It’s a winged solar disk, based on an image found in many ancient Egyptian temples. It symbolised their concept of the soul, which they believed to be immortal and capable of rebirth.”

“So it’s ancient, then?”

“The design is, the necklace isn’t. I suppose it’s an antique now, but it was new when I gave it to you in 1925. Part of the Egyptian revival movement, Tut-mania and all that.”

Clara frowned to herself, thinking over the dates covered in her great-grandmother’s journal — her journal. “It hadn’t occurred to me that the discovery of King Tut’s tomb would have been right around the time we were in Egypt.”

The Doctor shot her a quick look then said, “Somewhere in that pile,” he nodded at the stack of photographs on the coffee table, “there’s a photo of you and me and Howard Carter, taken just outside the tomb in 1923.”

She tried to imagine it, but her mind snagged on the memory of finding the Doctor at the dig site in Thebes in 1921 instead. “What was Egypt like, when we lived there?” she asked, running her fingertips over the engraved surface of the necklace.

“Hot,” he shrugged. “Though I seem to remember you complaining more about the weather in England when we came back in ‘25 than you ever complained about anything in Egypt. It was an exciting time to be there, an exciting time to be a field archaeologist. There was plenty of excavation work still to be done, but the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb had caught the public’s imagination, and there were more tourists than there’d been since before the war. You were far more swept up in it than I had expected, especially given the sorts of places I dragged you around to.”

She smiled in bemusement. “I read the journal entries from that time and she— I sounded happy. Even drew some of the little cottages we lived in.”

“‘Cottage’ is far too flattering a word,” he said, making a face. “Most were barely more than workmans’ huts, smaller than this flat, and a few didn’t even have indoor plumbing. And every time we moved into a new place, stepping into it for the first time, I’d think, ‘this is it, she’s definitely going to leave me now.’ But every time, every time, you would look at me with this sparkle in your eye and say—”

“‘Well, this will be an adventure,’” Clara said, quoting the words along with him.

The Doctor shot her a surprised look. “I didn’t think you would remember that.”

“I didn’t, not until right before you said it,” she replied. “But it’s like we’ve opened the door, now. It’s getting easier to remember little details like that.” She looked down at the necklace in her hand, running her fingers over it again. “Doctor,” she said slowly, keeping her gaze on the necklace, “we need to talk about that other memory. That nightmare, and the events that inspired it.”

He sighed loudly, and she looked up to find that he had closed his eyes, his hands gone still. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” she said. “We can’t will it out of existence.”

“Why not?” he demanded, turning to look at her. “It’s the worst thing that ever happened to us, and you want to relive it? I can’t understand why!”

“I need to know what happened. It’s like it’s hovering at the edge of my consciousness, all undefined and foreboding. I have pieces of it but there’s still so much I don’t know.”

“I should have burned that damned box when I found it,” he said, scrubbing at the bracelet in his hands with more force than necessary. “I should have burned it years ago, as soon as I realised you were you.”

“You really think I would have been better off never knowing? That we were better off without this?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“I’m glad you remember me, but the last thing I ever wanted was for you to have to remember that night!” He tossed the rag down onto the coffee table and dropped the bracelet back into the jewelry box, his agitation evident in his movements.

Clara closed her hand around the silver pendant, grounding herself in the immediacy of its feathered edges biting into the skin of her palm. “I don’t want to remember it either, Doctor,” she said. “But if you tell me what happened, I won’t have to go digging for the memory. Please, I just— I have to know. Not everything, just the basic facts of what happened.”

“And what if telling you those facts opens the door to that memory, too?”

“Then I’ll be grateful I won’t have to sleep alone tonight,” she said, holding his gaze. “Or any night.”

The Doctor stood abruptly and paced away, bracing one arm against the bookshelf, his eyes downcast. “Why do you have to be so stubborn and headstrong?” he said in a low tone. “Why can’t you just let it be?”

“I know you’re trying to protect me—” Clara started, her voice even.

“Of course I’m trying to protect you!” he burst out, turning back to her. “I died trying to protect you, so you can see how it’s a bit of an important topic for me!”

“How would I know that?” she demanded, pushing to her feet as well. “If you won’t tell me what happened, how the hell am I supposed to know that?”

“You already know,” he said harshly. “You know everything important. But you have some morbid desire to revisit all the gory details that I frankly cannot understand.”

“I have to confront this,” she told him, sharp with honesty. “I’m not sure I ever did, before I died. I don’t want this unknown, half-seen thing looming over us. I want to be able to go into our future together with all of this firmly behind us.”

“Then just let it alone! Don’t go looking for trouble!”

“I didn’t go looking for it last night! That nightmare, that memory dredged itself up all on its own.”

“That’s just the house,” the Doctor said, shaking his head. “You’ve never slept well there.”

“Since I was a baby, you said. Last night you said you worried it was because I knew something about the house. Well alright then, here’s what I know: You died trying to protect me, so that means we’re talking about the twenty-third of November, 1927, yes?”

He turned his face away, seeming intent on not answering her.

“Someone broke into the house,” she went on anyway, “broke a window and came inside, the noise woke me up in the middle of the night.” She curled her hand tighter around the necklace, trying desperately to keep her mind in the current moment, keep it away from the memory of breaking glass. “And I woke you and asked you to go investigate. I heard your voice from downstairs, then a gunshot— ”

“Clara, stop,” he snapped, looking up at her. “I don’t see what good can possibly come from this.”

“I need to know. And if you won’t help me, I’ll piece it together on my own!”

“I am not going to indulge you in your self-destructive urges!”

“You said you would tell me! You said you would give me the basic outline of what happened that night. Why are you being so difficult about this?” she demanded.

“Because if you’re angry with me now you’re not thinking about what happened to you then!” the Doctor said, the words seeming to explode out of him.

She stared at him, flabbergasted. “What happened to me?” she repeated. “He shot you! I heard it! I saw your blood on the—” She stopped abruptly, the memory flashing through her mind in vivid colour, the chilling implications close on its heels.

“Clara—”

“I saw your blood on the floorboards,” she went on over his objection, her voice sounding far away. “I heard the gunshot and I came downstairs, and I saw... There was so much blood.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he insisted, “don’t think about what happened next. Not that memory.”

She shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re worried I remember, I don’t. There’s nothing after that. I came downstairs, terrified for you, I saw the blood — and then I woke up in hospital, and they told me you were dead. I’m missing that whole chunk of what happened in between.”

The Doctor was staring at her, his expression closed off and his gaze searching. “You always told me you didn’t remember it,” he said, his voice low. “But I was never certain if that was the truth. Or if you were just... trying to spare my feelings, I suppose. My guilt and my worry.”

“What did happen? Why don’t I remember? Please, Doctor,” she said softly. “I need to know.”

He sighed, and she could see the instant he relented, the shift in his expression and the way his shoulders dropped. “The man who broke in—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, then tried again. “He hit you,” he said, pushing out the words like each one took a monumental effort, “with the butt of the gun. He’d tried to shoot me a second time, but it had jammed, so he hit you with it instead. You were in and out of consciousness after that, for what came next.”

“I really don’t remember it,” she told him, searching her memory again and coming up completely blank. “Whatever happened next, I don’t remember it.”

He studied her face for a long moment. “Then that’s a small mercy,” he said quietly. “When they examined you in hospital, they said you had a concussion, along with all your other injuries, everything else that monster did to you. I’m sorry,” he added quietly, “I shouldn’t have doubted your word.”

Clara intentionally eased her grip on the necklace, letting the ache in her fingers ground her in the current moment, safe in the company of her ghost, home in her familiar flat, far away from that night in 1927. “But you remember it,” she said, not really a question. “You know what happened to me.”

Nodding, he turned away. “I saw it all,” he said softly, his back to her. “I was bleeding out on the floor of the home where we’d hoped to build our future together, but I fought to stay conscious, for you. I couldn’t just... leave you with him while he hurt you. I saw it, and if I can carry any part of that pain for you now, I will.”

She hesitated, then carefully approached him and touched his shoulder, grateful that he had substance beneath her fingers in the dim room. “You’ve carried it alone long enough, Doctor,” she said. He looked up at her, his expression anguished. “Let me be an equal partner with you in this. What happened next?”

“Clara,” he said, shaking his head, “if you don’t know, if you don’t remember, maybe we ought to keep it that way.”

The answer formed in her mind, even in the absence of first-hand memory, the pieces of the mystery fitting themselves together. The hints in the journal entries, the secret of Margot’s parentage that she’d asked the Doctor to keep, his insistence that she was better off never knowing what had happened to her that night. It all added up to only one possibility, one horrible truth. The realisation was jarring, grim and ghastly, and she found she couldn’t quite make herself think the single little word that would encapsulate what had happened to her.

“The man who broke in...” Clara said in a small voice. “He was Margot’s biological father, wasn’t he?” she said, avoiding that word and sparing the Doctor from having to say it, either. “That was the night she was conceived.”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Oh,” she said on the breath that rushed out of her, dropping her gaze to the floor as she struggled with the enormity of that revelation. She had no memory of the man’s face, this stranger who had broken in and ruined everything. And perhaps that was a small mercy, too, that she had never had to look at her Gran — at Margot, her daughter — and see the resemblance to the man who had attacked her and killed her husband.

“Clara,” the Doctor said in a gentle, worried tone, drawing her attention back to him.

She looked up at him, blinking away her tears. “That’s what you didn’t want me to know,” she said. “That’s what you’ve been trying to protect me from.”

“I couldn’t protect you when it mattered,” he murmured. “I’ve spent the last eighty-seven years trying to make up for that.”

“Is that why you stayed, after you died? Because you felt guilty?”

“I stayed because I had to be sure you were alright!” he said, raising his hand to her face, his fingers cool against her skin. “Because I couldn’t stand to leave you.”

Clara stared at the Doctor with tears in her eyes, finally understanding the depth of his love for her, everything he had gone through to bring them to this moment.

“I don’t remember it well,” he went on, “my death or what came immediately after, but I know I could have moved on then. That that’s what I was supposed to do. But you needed me, so I stayed. I sat by your hospital bed, even though I didn’t yet know how to make myself visible to you, or even that I could. I just... I couldn’t bring myself to leave you.”

“I am so selfishly glad that you couldn’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “That we get this second chance.”

“My Clara,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with the pad of this thumb. “All I ever wanted was more time. We were supposed to get more time. It shouldn’t have ended like that.”

She smiled at him tremulously, and reached up to lay her hand over his. “We get more time, Doctor. This, right now, the rest of my life. We’ve stolen this time, and it is ours. We have our future back.”

Chapter 6 - The Future

They ended up spending the day huddled together on the sofa under the low awning of the blanket fort the Doctor helped her build. Its purpose was at least nominally to block out as much sunlight as possible, but after the emotional marathon of their conversation and the revelations of what had happened to them in 1927, Clara welcomed the comfort of the enclosed space, cut off from the rest of the world. In the darkness of the fort, the Doctor was solid beneath her touch, and she rested her head on his chest, curled against his side. He held her gently, combing his fingers soothingly through her hair, seeming to be as much in need of the reassurance of her presence as she needed his.

Clara’s mind felt overfull, crowded with everything she had learned since they’d discovered that dusty old box in her Gran’s attic. It seemed impossible that her life had changed so completely over the course of twenty-four hours, that her sense of self could shift so quickly. If not for the memories of her past life, as real as her memories of the last twenty-eight years, she might have doubted any of it was true. But there they were, vivid and visceral, memories formed almost a century ago, truths about herself she couldn’t deny.

Clinging to her ghost, curled together in the safety of the nest they had created for themselves, Clara found she didn’t want to deny any of what she had learned. She wanted to grab hold of their past with both hands and claim it for herself. The feeling of what might have been that seeing their wedding photo had elicited in her wasn’t some strange, misplaced jealousy, but rather the knowledge she carried deep in her soul, buried in her subconscious, that their story wasn’t over yet.

The path that had brought them to this moment had been anything but smooth, but somehow the universe had allowed her to keep him, her ghost, her Doctor. They had been gifted a second chance at a future, and that was more than worth the pain of remembering the tragedy that had marked their past. As much as she wanted to go into their future together with that night merely a terrible thing that had occurred long ago, Clara was glad to know what had happened. Glad that it wasn’t an undefined horror hovering at the edge of her consciousness anymore, and glad that the Doctor no longer had to carry the burden of remembering all on his own.

“I have a few more questions,” she murmured into the cosy silence. “About that night in 1927.”

He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “I suspected you might,” he said, sounding resigned. “And I suppose there is some sense in getting it all over and done with now. Not let it loom over us, like you said. What is it you want to know?”

She considered it, thinking about all the gaps in her memory, but decided that out of everything she still didn’t know, there was only one piece of information that nagged at her, only one answer she couldn’t move forward without knowing. “Did they ever catch him, the man who broke in?” she asked quietly.

“Oh. Yes,” the Doctor replied. “He tried to sell some of the items he stole from the house, not realising how unique and valuable they were. It took a few months, dragged on into the spring, but they caught him and convicted him of his crimes. He spent the rest of his very short life in prison.”

“You sound rather certain of that,” Clara said, not quite a question.

He was quiet a long moment. “There are some benefits to being a ghost,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully. “Places that you can get into that you couldn’t if you were alive.”

“What happened to him?” she asked when he didn’t go on.

“Clara,” he said, looking down at her in the dimness, a warning in his voice. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“I need to know,” she told him levelly, returning his gaze. “Not the details, but I need to know.”

His jaw worked for a moment, then he said, “I did what I could to make sure he left the world before Margot entered it. Let’s leave it at that.”

She pressed a kiss over his silent heart, mulling over that revelation, the lengths the Doctor had gone to keep her and Margot safe. “This is the secret I asked you to keep from her, isn’t it? I didn’t want her to know about her biological father, how she was conceived.”

“You didn’t want her to grow up with that hanging over her head,” he said, nodding, “or risk what it might mean for her inheritance. I don’t think anyone ever knew, besides the two of us. You listed me as her father on her birth certificate, and never gave anyone any reason to question that, so far as I know. But by 1927, we’d come to terms with the fact that we couldn’t have children — that I couldn’t father children,” he added with a sour twist to his voice.

A fragment of a memory flitted through her mind, a bit of conversation she could feel but couldn’t quite hold onto. “We’d come to peace with it,” she said, suddenly understanding how in this one aspect she could feel so very different from the woman who had written in 1925 of her hopes of filling their house with children.

He nodded. “We’d started to reconceptualise our future, in the absence of children. How we wanted to spend our life together,” he said quietly.

Clara smiled softly at the thought. “And what sorts of plans for the future did we make?”

“We talked a great deal about travelling, seeing Europe together,” the Doctor said, running his fingers through her hair again. “Which is almost funny now, with the hindsight of how turbulent the 1930s and ‘40s turned out to be. We also discussed writing a book about our time in Egypt, but my role at the British Museum made that a little iffy.”

“We could do that now,” she said. “Travel, I mean, not write a book — though I suppose we could do that, too. I did study literature at university, after all.”

“The book is the more realistic option, this time around,” the Doctor said in a low tone, his voice taking on a bitter edge.

“What do you mean?”

“How exactly would travelling together work now? You’re the only one who can see me, Clara. It’d be like you were travelling alone.”

“Except I would know you’re there,” she said reasonably. “We would still be together, see all those things together.”

“And what, hope no one notices that you talk to yourself, that you respond to someone who isn’t there? That seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“Don’t give me another variation on the ‘land of the living’ argument, Doctor, you are really never going to win that one. The world has changed in the last eighty-seven years, there are these wonderful things called mobile phones. At any given moment half the people you pass on the street are talking to someone who isn’t there. All I have to do is wear a little headset and no one will blink an eye at it. Besides,” she added, shrugging slightly, “as a child I got rather good at hiding that I could see you, after the way Mum and Gran reacted when I tried to tell them about you.”

“But you have a whole life here,” he pointed out. “A job and a flat, not to mention the house. You would give that all up? To travel the world with a ghost?”

“I would give up that and more to build a future with the man I love,” she told him with blunt honesty. “I did it in 1923 and I would do it again, without a single regret. Whatever we decide we want our future to look like, travelling or writing a book or anything else. Just so long as I get to keep you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my Clara,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But I don’t want you to think you have to give up something to keep me around.”

“I’m not giving up anything,” she said, curling closer to him and wrapping her arm around his middle in half a hug. “I have always wanted a future with you. We have that chance, now. We get to decide what we want our future to be. Together.”

--

They emerged from their cosy cocoon around sunset, reality feeling easier to face after their time spent curled up together. Alone in the kitchen, Clara stood for a moment grimacing at the contents of her fridge before she remembered that she was still only cooking for herself, same as ever. She supposed it shouldn’t surprise her, how easy it was to fall into domestic patterns with the Doctor. She’d known him for all of her nearly twenty-eight years of this life, and remembered bits and pieces of what it had been like to be married to him in her last life.

What might a future with him be like, she wondered as she cooked. The thought of travelling with the Doctor was exciting and enthralling, but there was also something so sweet about the idea of coming home from her work day to find him waiting for her. To spend long evenings and lazy weekends with him, reading together or writing a book about their life in Egypt, or anything else that grabbed their interest. Not since she was a teenager had her future felt this wide open, this full of possibilities — or this full of her ghost’s exhilarating presence.

The hiss of boiling water hitting the stovetop pulled her attention back to her task and the sudden realisation that she’d been so absorbed in daydreaming about their future that she’d quite nearly forgotten about her dinner.

Carrying her food down the hall to the sitting room, Clara found the Doctor perched on the edge of the sofa in the warm lamplight, going through the pile of sepia photos on the coffee table. He looked up when she entered, grinning at her and holding up a photograph.

“I found the one of us with Howard Carter,” he told her. “Valley of the Kings, July 1923.”

“And for those of us not fluent in Egyptology...?” Clara said, sitting down beside him and clearing a spot on the cluttered table for her food.

“He’s the archaeologist who discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun,” he said, carefully handing her the photo as she reached for it. “It’d been in all the newspapers for more than six months by that point, but it took him several more years to catalogue the contents of the tomb, he was so meticulous about it.”

The photo was of her and the Doctor standing beside a dark haired man with a wide moustache, the three of them posed in front of a rock-cut staircase descending into the earth. She was clasping the Doctor’s arm and smiling up at him, seeming completely unaware of the camera. “We must have been married, what, about three months?” Clara asked, glancing at him. “We look like such newlyweds.”

“Oh, we were,” the Doctor replied, accepting the photo back from her. “Disgustingly in love and probably annoying everyone around us with it.”

“Naturally,” she said, laughing. “Did we know Howard Carter well, then?”

“Quite well. He was the one who suggested you take up drawing, after you commented on his method of sketching each artefact in detail as it was removed from the tomb. Though I suspect he was simply trying to give you a hobby, in the hopes of getting my mind back on my work.”

Clara smiled at the mental image as she dug into her dinner. “We should frame that photo,” she said between bites of food. “And our wedding picture, and the one from Thebes in ‘21, maybe a few others from that pile. Find places around here to hang them up. I like seeing the two of us together, looking disgustingly in love,” she added, grinning at him.

He shot her a skeptical look. “Won’t that be hard to explain when you have company over? ‘Oh yes, that’s me in 1923, haven’t aged a day.’”

“Don’t often have company over,” she shrugged easily. “There’s no one I’m that close with.”

“Has your life really been so lonely, Clara Oswald?” the Doctor asked quietly, his gaze on the photos in his hands.

“No, not lonely,” she said, keeping her voice cheerful to balance out his maudlin tone. “I have my students, and friends at work, and until recently I had Gran, of course. But I think part of me knew...” She trailed off, thinking over the feeling, and how much it had shifted during the last day and a half.

“Knew what?” he asked when she didn’t go on.

“I’ve felt for a long time like I was waiting for my future to get here,” she said, looking up at him and holding his gaze. “I don’t feel that way anymore. I think part of me always knew I was waiting for you.”

--

When she finished eating, Clara went to her desk to fetch the folder with her lesson plans, and then settled into the corner of the sofa with her legs stretched out towards the Doctor as he continued to sort through the piles of photos and letters and keepsakes she’d taken from the box. They descended into a comfortable silence broken only by the rustling of papers, and she thought fleetingly about how easy it was to have him in what had always been her private space. In this life, she’d never had a relationship serious enough to tip over into this sort of domesticity, but she found herself enjoying the quiet companionship, the simple joy of existing in the same place together, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

It was easy to imagine a future with him full of days like this, but even as she tried to keep her mind on her work, her thoughts strayed again and again to the idea of travelling together. She’d gotten a taste for it after university and had always intended to see more of the world, but it took on an extra dimension now, the concept of seeing the world with the Doctor. Planning their destinations together, dreaming up where they might go next, seeing ancient monuments and modern marvels with the man she loved at her side. An extended holiday to travel the world wasn’t really something she could afford on her teacher’s salary, but maybe once they sold the house...

Shaking her head, she set the thought aside and tried to keep her focus on her task, determined to finish it as quickly as possible so that she could spend the rest of the evening with the Doctor.

Some time later, she felt his eyes on her, and glanced up to find him watching her fondly, a stack of letters forgotten on the coffee table in front of him.

“Lesson plans for the week?” he asked when she met his gaze.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, most of her attention still on the outline she’d made when she taught this unit last year.

“And just what are you teaching the youth, these days? Nothing that’ll turn their brains to pudding, I hope.”

Clara huffed out a little laugh and shook her head. “My students are working their way through a selection of Shakespeare’s plays. Antony and Cleopatra currently.”

“Bah, the Ptolemaic pharaohs,” the Doctor groused lightheartedly. “Hardly even count as Egyptian.”

“Shush,” she told him, suppressing a grin and swatting at him with one foot. “Go back to sorting through those letters, I’ll be done with this soon.”

He caught her foot and tugged it gently into his lap, and she shot him a quick smile before turning her attention back to the last of her work. Just as she finished jotting down a note to herself about the homework she meant to assign her classes on Friday, her gaze landed on the date. She sat blinking at it for a moment, surprised at how easily it had snuck up on her.

“It’s next week,” she murmured.

“Hmm? What is?” the Doctor asked.

“The twenty-third of November,” she replied, eyes still on her lesson plan calendar. “My birthday. The anniversary of your— of our deaths. It’s a week from today.”

“I suppose it is,” he said quietly.

“I don’t quite know what to do with it,” she admitted. “How exactly am I supposed to mark it now?”

“As you have for the last twenty-seven years, I expect,” he said. “It’s your birthday, Clara.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “I know, but—”

“Given the nature of the human race, any particular birthday is also the anniversary of someone’s death,” the Doctor said reasonably. “Quite a lot of people’s deaths, in fact, if you consider decades or centuries of time. That doesn’t mean birthdays shouldn’t be celebrated.”

“True,” she conceded. “But it feels odd when it’s my own death that happens to fall on my birthday. Add yours to the mix and it seems like that ought to outweigh any sort of birthday celebration.”

“Weren’t you just saying that you want to be able to go into our future without the past hanging over us?” he asked rhetorically. “Birthdays are about the present and the future. We can’t do anything about the past, about what else happened on that date. But we can celebrate the fact that we are here, together, right now. We can celebrate you getting another year older.”

Clara hummed thoughtfully, unable to argue with his logic. “Reclaim the date, in a way.”

“Exactly.”

“And what about you?” she asked, closing her lesson plan folder and setting it aside. “When is your birthday, anyway?”

“Oh, no,” he said, chuckling softly. “One of the best parts about being dead is that I’m not getting any older. Let’s stick with celebrating your birthday.”

“Spoilsport,” she muttered.

“And anyway,” he shrugged, “I was always far more interested in celebrating our May anniversaries than marking my birthday.”

“Anniversaries?” she asked, tilting her head as she watched him. “Our wedding, and...?”

“The day we met,” the Doctor supplied. “Which are conveniently only a day apart — convenient, that is, for those of us who in life were known to be temporally-challenged and easily distracted by our work, or any other shiny object.”

She laughed lightly. “And you’re saying that in death, that’s changed?”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, smiling at her and squeezing her foot where it still rested in his lap.

“How long is it that we’ve been married now, anyway?” she asked. “This last May must have been, what, ninety-one years?”

He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. “I don’t know that we can count the last eight-seven years.”

“Of course we can,” she said, running her fingers over the smooth rounded stone of her wedding ring. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“That sort of tallying usually stops at death,” he pointed out.

Clara narrowed her gaze at him. “That little church in Glasgow, the one with the stained glass windows, that smelled of incense...”

“What about it?” he asked, confused.

“Am I right in thinking we wrote our own vows?”

“Yes,” he allowed warily, clearly not sure where she was going with this.

“And did those vows in any way mention death?”

“Well, no, but—”

“No! No ‘but’ on the end of that sentence! At no point did we agree that this relationship would end at death. Until the end of the universe, that’s how long you’re stuck with me.”

He smiled softly, his gaze distant. “‘Until the stars all burn from the sky,’” he said. “That was the phrase you used at the time.”

“Until the stars all burn from the sky,” she repeated, nearly remembering that moment, in that old church in Glasgow, so long ago now. “That’s what we promised. Don’t think a little thing like dying is going to get you out of this relationship, mister,” she said, nudging his leg with her foot. “And just think of it — in a few years, we can celebrate our one hundredth wedding anniversary! Who gets to do that?”

“On one condition,” the Doctor said, pulling the foot she’d nudged him with into his lap alongside its mate. “You don’t make me go to Glasgow to celebrate it.”

“Deal,” Clara laughed. “Now, Egypt on the other hand...”

He looked up at her with interest. “You’d want to go back to Egypt?”

“Of course, why not?” she said, smiling at him. “The number of places I want to visit with you is only growing the more I think about travelling together — 101 Places To See and all that — and Egypt is definitely top of the list. I don’t remember it well, but your memory seems sharp as ever, you can remind me of any pieces I’m still missing. And maybe being there will shake loose a few more memories.”

He was gazing at her in that way she had spent so many years wishing he would, and she felt her heart stutter at the sight. “I would like that very much, my Clara,” he said softly. “Maybe when you have time off from teaching? Next summer perhaps?”

“Why wait? Maybe once we sell the house, I’ll resign from Coal Hill and break the lease on this place, and we can make it a much longer holiday. An extended second honeymoon.”

His expression shuttered and he looked down at her feet in his lap, his long fingers curling around her sock-clad toes. “You still want to sell the house,” he said in a low tone.

“Doctor,” Clara said gently, “I thought you knew that. We have to sell the house. I can’t live there, last night proved that. And I have no hope of paying off the property taxes if we don’t sell it soon.”

He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “No, you’re right,” he said, his voice still subdued. “Of course you’re right.”

She watched him for a long moment, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Why have you been so against selling the house?” she asked quietly. “You must have frightened away a dozen potential buyers the last few weeks.”

“I didn’t want anything to change,” he murmured.

She frowned to herself. “But now everything has changed,” she said, worry creeping into her tone.

He looked up at her finally, blue eyes finding hers in the lamplight. “I don’t mean this, I don’t mean us,” he said, no trace of doubt in his voice. “I wished so many times for a second chance like this, though I knew I didn’t have any right to hope for it.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Before all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the piles of keepsakes on the table, “before your memories came back, the house felt like my last real tie to you. We bought that house together, we were happy there, we planned our future there. And when you came back... To this version of you, I was the ghost who haunted your gran’s house. Dropping the weight of our history on you didn’t seem right, no matter how much I wanted you to remember me, so I was just your ghost, and that was better than nothing.”

“But then Gran died,” Clara said softly.

He nodded. “It felt like everything was ending. Suddenly there were strangers in the house, forcing me to face the fact that I was losing you all over again.”

“So you tried to scare them off,” she said, not quite a question.

“I may have panicked,” he admitted. “I’ve never handled the prospect of losing you very well.”

“I don’t think either of us have handled that very well,” she pointed out, a surge of sympathy filling her. “I probably would have done the same, in your position.” She gently pulled her feet from his lap and shifted around so that she was pressed against his side, curling in closer when she felt his arm come to rest across her shoulders. “I have a lot of fond memories of that house, Doctor,” she murmured. “But it’s just a place. We were happy there because we were together. We can be happy in this flat, or in Egypt, or anywhere else we choose to go. So long as we’re together.”

“Until the stars all burn from the sky,” he whispered, holding her close, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

--

They sat beside each other late into the evening, looking through the contents of the dusty old box that had changed everything. The Doctor filled her in on the stories behind each of the photographs and keepsakes, and they read the letters they had written to each other while they were falling in love, so long ago, laughing about how much things had changed, and how much they remained exactly the same.

Eventually Clara pulled them away from the remnants of their past and off to bed, only too aware that her alarm clock would wake her well before dawn the next morning. The Doctor lingered nearby as she prepared for sleep, looking solid and real and nearly alive in the light of the lamp on the bedside table. His expression was soft as he watched her, his eyes full of that same adoration she’d seen him wear in so many of their old photos.

She had spent so long wishing he would look at her like that, dreamed of it so many times, never once believing that it could really happen. But somehow, impossibly, her ghost loved her as much as she loved him. Against all sense in the universe, she got to keep him, and their future felt wide open, full of possibility and promise. Lost in her thoughts, Clara caught a glimpse of her expression in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth, and recognised it as the same she’d worn on their wedding day: giddy with happiness and very much in love.

When she returned to the bedroom she found him waiting for her, sitting at the foot of her bed. He’d removed his boots and the dark red velvet jacket she’d always known him to wear and set them neatly to one side of the bed, and he’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt. Evidently he hadn’t heard her approach, and Clara paused just outside the door, watching him, her heart thudding against her ribs. It reminded her of that day in Thebes, when she’d tracked him down to the dig site and found him standing in the bright sunshine amid the sand and artefacts and half-filled crates. He just looked so beautiful, sitting in her bedroom in his shirtsleeves, that she wanted nothing to change ever again.

Feeling her eyes on him, the Doctor looked up at her and held her gaze for a long, silent moment. Something seemed to pull taut between them, a tension Clara had felt before but had always assumed was one-sided, part of the love she had for him that he couldn’t possibly return. To realise that the Doctor had always loved her, that he had only kept his distance to protect her from painful memories of the past, put every moment they had ever shared into a different context. Her longing for him had never been one-sided, and standing there staring at him in that endless, perfect moment, she was certain that it wasn’t now, either.

“Ready for bed?” she finally asked, a little breathless.

“I wasn’t sure...” he started, trailing off. “I don’t really sleep, as a ghost,” he said instead, “but I thought I’d stay with you. If you want.”

“I do want,” she said, eloquence failing her. “I mean, unless you’d rather stay up and read or something, if you don’t sleep anyway—”

“No, I’d rather be here with you,” he assured her quickly. “If that’s alright with you,” he added, and it occurred to her that he might be feeling just as nervous about this new phase of their lives as she was.

She smiled at him and crossed the room to sit beside him at the foot of the bed, close but not quite touching. “Were we this awkward before?” she asked.

“We had our moments,” he said, returning her smile.

“What was it you said this morning? This is still just you and me.”

“Same old, same old,” the Doctor murmured, gaze tracing across her face.

“Right,” she said on an exhaled breath, forgetting everything she’d been about to say as she stared at him. “I, uh...” she trailed off and had to start again. “I usually sleep on the left side of the bed. If that works for you.”

“You always did before,” he said absently, still staring at her.

Clara shook herself, realising she’d been leaning inexorably closer to him, longing for something she hadn't let herself consider since her love-struck teenaged years. “See, those little insights into our past?” she said, getting up and walking around to her side of the bed. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“And here I thought it was my sparkling wit and stellar conversational skills,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, shush,” she said, laughing and tossing the spare pillow to him, strangely relieved at the break in the tension. “Just shut up and come to bed already.”

“Yes, boss,” he said easily, and joined her beneath the covers.

It took them a few moments to find the right arrangement, to shift around each other and relearn the ways that they were meant to fit together. Once they finally settled, Clara reached over to switch off the lamp on her bedside table, then paused, looking back at her ghost, a question on the tip of her tongue.

“Doctor, after you died, did we ever...?” She trailed off, not quite able to get past her awkwardness to ask outright. She loved him, she had loved him her entire life, but once she’d talked herself out of her teenaged fantasies about him, she had forcibly separated her mind from any thoughts that involved both the Doctor and sex. Undoing that would apparently take some effort.

“Did we what?” he asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Sleep together?” she managed, not exactly what she’d meant to say, but she hoped he took her meaning.

“Like I said, I don’t exactly sleep,” he said. “But I stayed with you most nights, like I did last night. It seemed to help.”

“No, not sleep sleep, I mean—” she started, stopped short, tried again. “Did we— you know?”

He peered at her as though waiting for that sentence to finish itself. “Clara, you should know by now that the obtuse thing, it isn’t an act. Sometimes I really don’t know what it is you’re trying to hint at.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and willed the words into existence. “When you came back to me in 1928, did we have sex?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and Clara squinted her eyes open to gauge his reaction.

His confused expression hadn’t changed. “No,” he said shortly.

Her stomach plummeted, but she tried to hide her disappointment. “Not an option, then?” she asked, willing her voice into a neutral tone and thinking of his lack of a heartbeat.

The Doctor blinked at her as though finally catching on to what she was really asking. “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Between sunset and sunrise, at least.”

Clara’s heart turned over in her chest, but she asked, genuinely curious, “Then why didn’t we, before?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You weren’t... in a good place emotionally, in 1928. I stayed with you overnight, read to you or hummed your song when you couldn’t sleep, or just held you through your nightmares. But you weren’t ready for anything more. Maybe if I hadn’t left you at the end of that summer, maybe if we’d had more time...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, my Clara.”

“Doctor,” she said levelly, holding his gaze. “We have more time. This, right now, this is the time we wished for, this is our second chance.”

“Right, as you keep saying.”

“So...?” she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

“So?” he repeated, looking at her in bewilderment. She waited for the penny to drop. “Oh,” he said, realisation lighting up his face. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning at him, then reached over and turned out the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

--

In retrospect, Clara supposed she probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she overslept. She rushed through her morning routine as best she could, despite finding herself continuously and delightfully distracted by the Doctor’s presence as she darted from one task to the next.

“Alright,” she said, talking rapidly between bites of toast, all too aware of the time, “the curtains are closed, lamps are on, the flat is yours. Feel free to peruse the bookshelf or watch television or use my laptop or whatever,” she told him, brushing the last crumbs of her breakfast from her hands.

Leaving the kitchen, she headed for the front door with long strides, her ghost trailing along behind her. “I’m usually home by around four o’clock,” she went on, barely pausing for breath, “then marking until six, and then I’ll be yours for the rest of the evening.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, grateful for perhaps the first time in her adult life that her work schedule meant she had to be up well before dawn on weekdays. “I mean— I’m yours the rest of the time too,” she quickly amended, “but we can spend the evening together.”

“Clara,” the Doctor said with laughter in his tone, “stop worrying, I’ll be fine. I’ve had eighty-six years to get used to keeping my own company. I can survive a few hours alone.”

“I know,” she said, pausing in the act of gathering up her school papers to press a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s just— things have changed a bit since Friday, haven’t they?”

“Oh, I see,” he said with dawning comprehension. “This is more about you not wanting to leave than any real worry about me being here on my own, isn’t it?”

She grinned at him as she pulled on her coat. “Can you blame me? If it was up to me, I’d drag you back to bed right now.”

“I take it we’re going for round two of ‘disgustingly in love newlyweds,’” the Doctor said, returning her grin, not even able to fake a sour tone. “And here I thought we’d gotten past all that.”

“Shush, ninety-one years married still counts as newlywed if we say it does. Speaking of—” Clara turned away from the front door, keys in hand, completely forgetting what she’d meant to say in favour of kissing him again, too overwhelmed with love to even care that at this rate, she would barely beat her students to class.

“Are you capable of finishing a thought without stopping to snog me?” he demanded playfully when they parted.

“Signs point to no,” she quipped back. “But as I was saying: give some thought to that second honeymoon idea, places we might want to travel once we sell the house.”

“Yes, boss,” he said, anticipating her next move and leaning down to kiss her. “Now go, or you really will be late. Go fill the pudding brains’ minds with Antony and Cleopatra, I’ll be here when you get home.”

“I love you,” she told him, pausing with the door partway open.

“My Clara,” the Doctor said, smiling at her with adoration in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Chapter 7 - The Museum

13 May 2021, Cairo

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that the museum stay open late for us, today of all days,” Clara said quietly, as they strolled side by side through the nearly empty Museum of Egyptian Antiquities. Even after so many years travelling the world together, she was still cautious about attracting any undue attention from curious strangers, aware as always that no one but her could see or hear her ghost.

“We’re lucky enough as it is that they’re open until nine p.m. on Thursdays,” the Doctor replied. “If the thirteenth had fallen on a Monday this year, we would have been stuck visiting before sunset, they close so early. In 1921, the museum was only open that late because of the party celebrating the new exhibit.”

“You know, until we started planning this anniversary trip, it hadn’t occurred to me that the thirteenth of May that year was a Friday,” she said. “So much for the unluckiness of Friday the thirteenth.”

“Actually, the ancient Egyptians considered thirteen to be a lucky number. To them it symbolised immortality, resurrection, and rebirth.”

“Well, there you go,” Clara said, laughing softly. “Or rather: here we are, a hundred years later. And you’re sure we met at nine?”

He nodded. “The lecture on the exhibit ended just before nine, and we met a few minutes later, as everyone started to disperse into the surrounding rooms. It was half past ten before my colleagues from the dig site were able to pull me away. Unfortunately the museum won’t let us stay that late tonight, but at least we can mark nine p.m. in the right place.”

“One hundred years,” she said, directing a quick smile his way. “Things have changed a bit since then, I suppose,” she added, looking around at the few remaining tourists, half of them reading information about the exhibits on their smartphones. She self-consciously adjusted the small bluetooth headset she wore for show, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention, thankfully.

“They have and they haven’t,” the Doctor shrugged. “The building itself hasn’t changed significantly since I first arrived in Egypt, and the public remains fascinated with the archaeology and the history of the region. Obviously the exhibits have been rearranged over the years, newly discovered artefacts added, but honestly it still looks quite like it did then.”

“I meant more the people than the place. I seem to remember the party in ‘21 being a bit more of a formal affair.”

“They still host black-tie parties here, now and then. We could come back for one someday, if you’re feeling nostalgic.”

“Might be worth another trip to Cairo, if we can figure out a way to get an invite,” she said. “Do you remember what I wore that night?”

The Doctor kept his gaze focused ahead of them and his face carefully blank, but Clara swore he would have blushed if he could. “Yes,” he said shortly.

She laughed fondly and leaned into his shoulder briefly, charmed by his awkwardness even after six and a half years of living as a married couple again. “You’ll have to describe it for me sometime. In a more private location.”

He hesitated then said, “We won’t be able to stay here long tonight, anyway. Play your cards right and I’ll describe it for you in detail once we get back to the hotel.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, mister,” she said, grinning.

They lapsed into comfortable silence as the Doctor led her confidently through the halls of the museum, ending in a smaller room tucked away from the main flow of the central corridor. They had the room to themselves, and Clara let herself relax, shedding her perpetual wariness of someone seeing her interact with her ghost.

“Oh, this wasn’t here before,” the Doctor said as they entered, sounding surprised and pleased. “This is lovely.”

“What is it?” she asked, bemused by his obvious interest.

“It’s a reproduction of the burial chamber of Thutmose the Third, which is in the Valley of the Kings, near Thebes,” he said, looking around at the illustrated walls and the stars painted on the low ceiling, his expression like a kid in a candy shop. “That’s the mummified pharaoh himself, just there,” he added, nodding to a glass-enclosed display case in the middle of the room. “And I imagine the other artefacts are from his tomb, as well.”

“The ceiling is just like my ring,” she noted, glancing up at the spindly stars against the dark blue and fiddling with her wedding ring, its stone opaque now in the diffuse artificial light.

“It was a popular artistic element in the Eighteenth Dynasty,” the Doctor said absently, as he leaned in to examine an intricately carved scarab figurine on display. “Thutmose the Third was the step-son of Hatshepsut, after all, whose temple I took you to see after you found me in Thebes.”

“I forget, sometimes,” Clara said affectionately, “that this is what you spent your life working on. Your true academic passion, above all your other many interests.”

He shot her a quick smile. “It’s why I was in Egypt in the first place, that night in 1921.”

“And you’re sure this is the right place?” she asked, looking around. “The room where we met?” Like the rest of the museum and Cairo in general, it felt vaguely familiar, but nothing specific jumped out at her.

“Quite sure,” he said, meandering around the edge of the room to join her again. “A friend of mine stood in that archway just there, off and on for the better part of an hour, trying to get my attention while I studiously ignored him.”

“Naturally,” she said lightly, “being that you were otherwise occupied with an intriguing stranger.”

“Luckily for me,” he said, smiling down at her.

“So, what are we looking at here?” she asked, gesturing to the complex mural of stylised stick figures that adorned every inch of the walls of the room. “Put that doctorate of archaeology to good use and tell me about this, as we count down to nine p.m.”

The Doctor stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her, and Clara leaned into him, glad for the relative privacy of the enclosed space and the rare chance to touch him while they were in public.

“It’s the Amduat,” he told her, his voice soft near her ear. “Which translates to ‘The Book Of What Is In The Underworld.’ It’s a funerary text that details the sun god Ra’s journey through the land of the dead each night, from sunset to sunrise, on a river that flows from west to east. It’s found painted in the tombs of several pharaohs and on various papyri fragments. The text is divided into the twelve hours of the night, the different gates that Ra — and the recently deceased, who travel with him — must pass through to reach rebirth with the sun at dawn.”

“The twelve hours of the night?” she said, glancing up at him. At his nod, she recited the last eight lines of the poem from memory:

He whispered, “And a river lies Between the dusk and dawning skies, And hours are distance, measured wide Along that transnocturnal tide— Too doomed to fear, lost to all need, These voyagers blackward fast recede Where darkness shines like dazzling light Throughout the Twelve Hours of the Night.”

“...Seriously?” the Doctor asked when she finished, his voice sour. “We’re standing in the middle of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities and you’re subjecting me to Ashbless of all people?”

Clara laughed. “You say ‘The Twelve Hours of the Night’ and my mind spits out that poem. I studied English literature at university, it’s a reflex, I can’t help it.”

“You know, I’m not convinced he actually knew the first thing about Egypt, much less the Amduat. Most of the rest of that poem is complete gibberish.”

“He did live here in Cairo for a time,” she said reasonably.

The Doctor sighed in exasperation. “It’s two minutes ‘til nine,” he said. “Are we going to stand here and debate nineteenth century poets of questionable literary value, or can we enjoy the moment?”

Laughing again, she turned her head and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yes, let’s just enjoy the moment. Who else gets to celebrate their hundredth anniversary, after all?”

“Technically that’s not for another two years yet. And we’d have to go to Glasgow,” he added, and Clara knew without looking at him that he was making a face at the thought.

“Our wedding anniversary, sure. But I meant the anniversary of when I fell in love with you.”

The Doctor was quiet for a moment. “You think it was that night?” he asked softly.

“I know it was,” she answered in a similar tone, squeezing his hands where they were clasped low on her stomach. “I wouldn’t have followed you to Thebes otherwise. It just took me a while to put the word to the feeling.”

“You were — what was the phrase you used? — an intriguing stranger for me that night. But when you showed up at the dig site, that’s when I knew.” He took a deep breath and sighed it out, stirring strands of her hair. “I also knew you were less than half my age, far too beautiful for the likes of me even if you hadn’t been, and extremely unlikely to return my feelings.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” she asked playfully.

“Quite well, as fate would have it,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his tone.

Before she could reply, she felt him go rigid behind her, then sway in an alarming way. “Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

“Bit lightheaded all of a sudden,” he said. “I think I ought to sit.”

She helped him to a bench at the back of the room, grateful that his hand remained solid in hers. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Possible explanations crowded her mind for why a ghost might feel lightheaded, none of them good.

“What is it?” she asked him, worry twisting her gut.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice distant. “I feel strange...”

Clara knelt in front of him looking up at his face, so familiar and beloved, now alarmingly pale and drawn. Somewhere in the distance she could hear an announcement, repeated in multiple languages, that it was nine p.m. and the museum was closing. She ignored it and focused on the Doctor, and on her fear that something had just gone terribly wrong. There was a sudden knot in her stomach, a growing dread that this happy semblance of a life they’d managed to build together the last six and a half years couldn’t possibly last.

“Is this it?” she said, and she could hear the panic colouring her voice. “Have we run out of time? A hundred years exactly and I’ll have to lose you all over again?”

“My Clara,” the Doctor murmured, his low voice cutting through her frantic rambling. “All I ever wanted was more time with you...”

“No, you’re saying goodbye, don’t say goodbye!” she cried, cupping his face with one hand. The pain of that possibility rippled through her, the unimaginable thought of facing a future without him. “Don’t go. Stay with me,” she said desperately. “You promised. You promised you would stay.”

He found her gaze, his eyes red-rimmed as tears began to form. “Clara.”

“Everything you’re about to say, I already know,” she told him before he could say anything else, afraid that at any second, he would fade out of existence right in front of her. “I’ve always known. If this is it, if this is all the time we get—” Her voice cracked, her tears overwhelming her, and she shook her head. “Until the stars all burn from the sky, that’s how long you’re stuck with me. That’s how long I’ll love you. I will find you again someday. I promise.”

The Doctor took her hand from his face and kissed her knuckles tenderly, and she clung to the solidness of him, trying to commit it to memory one final time, in case this was the last moment of this life she had left with him. He had been abruptly stolen from her once before, on that horrible night in 1927, and suddenly the agony of that was fresh and new all over again, threatening to swallow her whole.

“I love you, my Clara,” he said despite her assurances that she already knew. He squeezed her fingers, and raised his other hand to wipe a tear from her face. “I’ll love you ‘til the end of the universe.” His gaze held hers, blue eyes flecked with green that she would never, ever forget. “And I know how much you like to be right,” he went on, his voice gentle. “But just this once... Do you think you could bear it if you were totally and completely wrong?”

She blinked up at him, tears catching in her lashes. “What?” she asked, uncomprehending, as he moved her hand to press flat against the left side of his chest. It took her a moment to understand, to register the strong and steady heartbeat under her palm, utterly strange and unexpected after so many years grown accustomed to the lack of it. She stared at her hand in disbelief, then raised her eyes to his face, realising that he no longer looked nearly so pale. “How?” she demanded.

He shrugged, smiling softly at her. “Honestly? I’ve no idea. Lucky thirteen, perhaps?” he suggested. “I can’t claim to understand it. But it feels so distinctly different from the last ninety-three years, I can’t really question it, either.”

“We get more time,” Clara breathed.

“We get more life,” he corrected. “A real second chance. Somehow, we’ve passed through the twelve hours of the night, and now the sun is rising again.”

She stared at him for a moment, her heart still stuttering in shock at the sudden reversal of their fortunes, then leaned up on her knees and kissed him soundly, reveling in the living warmth rolling off of him. Her living, breathing, very much not dead husband. The reality of it was better than anything she could have wished for, and she clung to him, hardly believing what had just happened.

“Sir, ma’am?” called an unfamiliar voice as they broke apart. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s after nine p.m. and the museum is closing.”

“Quite alright,” the Doctor replied, his gaze never leaving Clara’s face. “It’s time we were getting home, anyway.”

Chapter 8 - The Temple

18 May 2021, Deir el-Bahari

“Do you ever wonder if we’ve done this before?” Clara asked, her voice hushed as they stood together looking at a wall full of hieroglyphs and painted figures illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through the open walls of the temple.

The Doctor glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Visiting the Temple of Hatshepsut was more or less our first date,” he replied. “A hundred years ago this week, in point of fact.”

“No, I mean— lived before,” she clarified. “Transversed the twelve hours of the night and come back out the other side. Rebirth and all that.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” he said, frowning. “We know it’s happened at least once for each of us, so why not? What makes you ask?”

“There’s something... Not quite a memory, but a feeling, I guess.” She turned away from the temple wall in front of them and led the Doctor back to the large display near the entrance that informed tourists about the history of the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the photo of an ancient artist’s sketch on a limestone chip depicting a man in profile. She glanced up at the Doctor and nodded at the drawing on the display. “Tell me about him?”

“That’s Senenmut,” he said, following her gaze. “He was the chief architect of this place, royal adviser to Hatshepsut, and tutor to her daughter, among dozens of other titles. Many people believe he was also Hatshepsut’s lover, even though he was a commoner and at least twenty years older than her.”

Clara made a thoughtful noise and walked a few steps further, squinting up at a towering statue set just outside. “And that’s her?” she asked, looking to the Doctor for confirmation. “Queen Hatshepsut?”

“She was Pharaoh in her own right by the time this temple was built, but yes, that’s her.” He eyed Clara curiously. “Why the sudden interest in Hatshepsut and Senenmut? I thought you’d be more taken with the ceiling.”

She pulled her gaze away from the statue to grin at him, and then stepped back inside the temple just so she could see that high ceiling again, a deep dark blue covered in spindly stars, so very like the star sapphire of her wedding ring, twinkling in the midday sun. “I do love that ceiling,” she told him, lacing their fingers together without looking away from the sight above. It had only been a few days since that miraculous moment in the Cairo museum, and Clara found herself taking every possible opportunity to touch the Doctor during daylight hours, still not quite used to finding him warm and solid beneath her hands. “If we ever settle down anywhere long enough to have a house or a flat again, I might just have to paint something like that above our bed,” she added.

“You should see the ceiling in Senemut’s tomb,” he replied. “Stars like these, but organised into detailed astronomical information. The oldest of its kind in Egypt. It’s not open to the public, but it’s just around the corner from here,” he said, gesturing vaguely back out at the desert behind them. “He wanted to be buried as close to Hatshepsut as he could possibly manage.”

“You’re practically making my point for me, Doctor,” Clara said, finally dropping her gaze from the ceiling and turning towards him.

“Which is what, exactly?” he asked, looking at her as well.

She used their joined hands to pull him back to the visitor’s information. “He has your nose,” she said, pointing at the ancient sketch of Senenmut. “Your chin, a bit, too. Give him your eyebrows and the resemblance would be downright uncanny. And her,” Clara shifted her attention to the other side of the information display, to a photo of another statue of Hatshepsut, considering it critically. “It’s not nearly as jarring as the first time I saw our wedding photo, but there’s something...”

“Your cheekbones and your giant eyes,” the Doctor agreed thoughtfully. “She was about your height, too.”

“It makes me wonder, is all. If this isn’t the first time we’ve done this, if we’ve found each other before. And there’s something comforting in that, I think.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “Just the thought that maybe some things don’t end. Not love, at least, not always. That maybe there are dozens or hundreds of versions of us, out there scattered throughout history. Finding each other and falling in love, getting it a bit more right each time.”

The Doctor was quiet for a long moment, then said, “I’m not sure it matters to me, in all honesty. If we’ve done this before, or if this is the first time — I’m happy with this version of us, the here and now. That’s enough for me.”

“You mean the here and now where we’re stuck in Egypt while we try to fabricate enough of a legal identity for you to be able to travel?” she asked dryly.

“Since when have we ever been stuck in Egypt?” he snarked back. “I love it here, and I suspect you do too, your complaints notwithstanding. But maybe you do have a point. Maybe there’s a reason we keep gravitating back to this place in particular.”

“A reason you were drawn to study ancient Egyptian languages, and that I was so set on seeing Egypt in 1921.”

“Exactly. And you’re certainly right about one thing,” he added, studying the image of the pharaoh queen, “her face is weirdly round, just like yours.”

Clara snorted and elbowed him playfully.

“Ow, hey,” he said, rubbing at his ribs in mock-injury. “I can actually bruise now, don’t forget.”

“And sunburn, as it turns out,” she sighed, glancing up at him. “Your nose, again. Come here,” she said as she pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her bag. “I suppose some things never change: my round face, your sunburnt nose.”

“I could do with a little less sunburn,” he grumbled, bending down so Clara could apply more sunscreen to his nose.

“I’m happy, too,” she told him softly, her focus on her task. “This version of me and this version of you, and this second chance at a future we’ve been given. But who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll get to travel the stars together,” she added, glancing up at the painted ceiling overhead, the rows of spindly stars against the deep dark blue.

“It’s a nice thought, my Clara,” the Doctor agreed, and leaned in to kiss her in the bright desert sunlight, standing together under those ancient stars.

--

Fin

--

Behind the scenes extras for each chapter

[aplacetosharemyfics]

The Downfall of Susan St. Clair: Who are the James Family?

I feel incredibly sad and angry that Paramount Plus has chosen to drop Rise of the Pink Ladies and remove it from its services. But I will endeavor to keep posting this fanfic on a weekly basis to allow the dream of the Pink Ladies to stay alive for 14 more weeks. I hope this helps someone.

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

“Have you heard of the James family?”

Susan slipped onto the couch beside her mother. If she posed the question casually, relaxed into the sofa, and didn’t look her mother in the eye, it could be passed off as a merely curious question. Nothing more.

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

Through late into last night, Susan had been pouring over her yearbooks, dating back to first grade. In each book, Susan was front and centre, her hair combed, and dress pressed, the picture of perfection. The girl from Home Economics, however, was nowhere to be found. Returning to the latest yearbook, and pulling out a magnifying glass, she carefully studied each and every photo. Finally, in the background of a photo featuring her and Buddy after their narrow loss at last year’s closing Football game, someone else had realized the camera was pointed at them. It was the same terrified eyes that had stared at her from the grass of the Football field. Pleased with her detective skills, and with a more concrete image of the girl’s face, she scanned through the class photos. There were a couple of people who matched the basic description, she’d spotted them the first time through. But then her finger paused. The little photo under her manicured nail was of a dull girl, her mousey hair darkened by the grainy photograph, a plastic smile plastered on her face. Flipping back to the original photo, she compared the two girls. Details were hard to see, and she had changed her hairstyle for the class photo, but there was no mistaking that this was the same girl. Maisie James.

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

“Hmm?”

Her mother’s eyes raised from the cross-stitch she’d been dutifully filling in, cold as she regarded her daughter. Susan found her resolve shrinking under the hard gaze.

“I didn’t recognize the name,” she admitted.

She offered a weak smile. Indeed, she couldn’t remember a James family, though she prided herself in knowing all the important families in Rydell. Maybe they were just a little poor, or a little new. Maybe her mother would accept her as a friend.

“I wouldn’t get involved with them, darling.”

Susan felt her heart drop. There were plenty of families Mrs. St. Clair wouldn’t be seen dead fraternizing with, but very few she would speak about with such anger. All hope that she could make Maisie a friend was out the window. Or – she reasoned – a friend her mother knew about.

“Why do you ask?”

Susan straightened her face, smoothing her skirt. She didn’t want her mother to see any emotion.

“I was looking into students to help Buddy with his election.”

It was a lie she’d perfected earlier, and instantly her mother’s face relaxed. Buddy always had that effect. He was the perfect boy, could never do anything wrong, even when it was him who … never mind. Susan had occasionally – bitterly, and never out loud – said that if she liked Buddy that much, she should marry him herself.

“I’m so glad that you’re finally getting back together.”

Susan didn’t bother to correct her.

“So, for Buddy’s campaign, what was wrong with the James family?”

“Ah,” her mother started, settling back into the couch into her gossiping position, hand resting on the arm of the chair and legs crossed under her skirt. “Where to start? Well, for starters, no one has seen the father for years. The mother claims he’s overseas on business, but I’ve heard that he divorced her and moved in with his mistress.”

Susan gasped at the right moment, earning a little smirk as her mother continued.

“And the mother has been seen hanging around pubs and bars, drinking to her heart’s content, they say. I’ve tried to be nice and invite her to tea parties, but she always ends up ruining the mood.”

She shook her head, bemused at the nerve of people these days. After all the effort spent inviting her over, and finding people she should be able to relate to, she could only go and ruin her hard work.

“What about the daughter?”

Brought out of her thoughts, Mrs. St. Clair blinked at the sudden question.

“Daughter.”

There weren’t many questions that could stump Susan’s mother, and she racked her brains quickly to avoid the embarrassment.

“There was a girl who used to attend the same etiquette lessons as you. A few years older, I think.”

Susan considered the information for a second. Did that mean her mother had forced her into lessons meant for older children? Or was Maisie slow at picking up the teachings? It was in the next second that she realized the contradiction in her mother’s answer. How could someone a few years older than her still be in high school? Quickly thanking her mother, she rushed upstairs.

Upon finding her name last night, she had considered the hunt over and hadn’t looked further. Skimming through the earlier issues, she searched through the names. If she was a few years older and had been held back, then, surely, she would have started school in a different year initially. But there was Maisie, in the same first-grade class as her, hair pulled back into bunches. In every book, in the same year, was Maisie.

Taking a deep breath, Susan closed the books, putting the magnifying glass back into the drawer. Her mother must have just been confused.

----------

“It was a western.”

Maisie looked up from her breakfast to find her mother staring at her.

“The movie at the drive-in. It was a western.”

Maisie made a non-committal noise before returning to her food. It was too early in the morning to be talking about movies or drive-ins. Such things suggested some form of sociability. But her mother wasn’t finished.

“You said it was a high-school drama.”

Maisie swallowed. She’d completely forgotten about the drive-in and the lie she’d told when she returned. So much had happened that it felt like years had passed.

“And it didn’t finish early.”

Raising an eyebrow, she waited for her daughter’s explanation. She thought she had raised her better than this.

“I …”

Maisie winced. There had been a deal riding on the event. But how was she supposed to tell her mother that she’d gotten bullied, so sitting in the seats in front of the concession stand was impossible?

“I ended up …”

The seats were full? That wouldn’t work, so many kids had their own cars that the seats were almost always empty.

Mrs. James sighed. She knew her daughter, knew how much she struggled in social situations, and knew how cruel kids could be.

“I will let this go,” she started, allowing a smile to form on Maisie’s face before dropping the bomb: “If you go to the Pep Rally tonight.”

Maisie’s stomach dropped.

[scalamore]

[Thoughts/Minor spoilers] Hide and Seek (Ch95)

Wanted to bring up some thoughts about Ch 95, especially a few points made by Sir Baileys: 1) As a child, Lari was like a reckless angel 2) When she's hurt, she still worries about others 3) She used to love playing hide and seek This is yet another reminder how Lari's memories is unlike what she thought was the truth: from her POV, she was always a well-behaved quiet, calm little girl that never ran around or anything exciting - at least that's what her mother told her (novel detail). However, Sir Bailey's recollection is different: she enjoyed playing games and running around, and doing whatever she wanted. It was to the point where she had a small team of knights play with her, to make sure she never got too far or lost. In one situation, she was stuck in a rosebush and cried because she couldn't get out; when Sir Baileys helped her out, she felt bad that he had pricked himself on the thorns and offered her a handkerchief. - This is yet another indication that the polite, quiet, well-behaved Lari of TL1 is not the "real Lari", but rather the easily excitable, emotional one that we've seen in TL2 is the real one. Her training by House Belois basically suppressed her true self for the longest time, and in TL2 she's undoing all that learned behavior and allowing her true self to shine - her true self that Rupert appreciates and grew to love. His description that she was a reckless angel is spot on - in Vol 5, Rupert used very similar terms to describe Lari - that she appeared so innocent as if she couldn't do any harm, but she was capable of anything due to that recklessness. Regarding point #2 - we see it over and over especially her towards rupert - she may be hurt herself, but she will still worry about him the most. (foreshadowing the next arcs) --

The term "Hide and seek" is very interesting, as in the novel, it describes the chapters that compose the arc where RupeLali are separated (Vol 5, Chapter 14: Hide and Seek). I think this chapter alludes to why it's titled that way: Lari used to love playing hide and seek, but stopped - probably because House Belois didn't let her have the chance to enjoy that freedom as she had to be trained to be a perfect lady. But just like she was a kid, after all the events at the start of Vol 5, Lari had enough, and she just wanted to run away and hide from everything. But as much as she wanted to hide from her responsibilities and Rupert, hide and seek doesn't end until "it" is found. In her case, the game of hide and seek has always been between her and Rupert.

They both helped each other find "their true selves". In the earlier chapters, she always sought Rupert out. He had a tendency to hide away when he was feeling hurt or upset, and would stay that way until he composed his tough guy exterior, then emerged the same as usual (Chapter 60, small flashbacks in Vol 5)

With her help and reassurance, helped him stay strong when things got rough. While at first he found her annoying for sticking beside him all the time, it didn't take long for him to warm up to her presence, and eventually, become uncomfortable when she wasn't there. By that time, he naturally sought her out himself (Notably in chapter 74, where he had no reasonable explanation for why he would visit her room, except he was bored ((he didn't care about the dresses, but it's hinted he used that as an excuse to look for her because she was late)). --

Rupert returns this act tenfold, as he finds her after she is kidnapped (Ch 46ish), from the Grand Duke's trap (Ch 70ish), when she hides away from the crowd during his coronation (Ch 77). In this current Debutante arc, we meet Elaine, who was personally selected by Rupert to ensure Lari's needs were met. She's from Belois, is very nice and friendly, who is loyal to both Rupert and Lari. While Lari is still the head attendant and Elaine is a maid that supports her, she still reports directly to Rupert often about Lari's activities. Although it sounds as if Rupert is monitoring Lari, that's not at all what is happening. Around this time, Rupert is trying to maximize his free time in between his duties and spending it with Lari. The issue is, is Lari is starting to feel super awkward around him because she's starting to become more aware of her feelings, so she hides away in libraries or something and somewhat avoids him. BUT HE HAS ELAINE TO SNIFF HER OUT (haha). and he always finds her, no matter where she is. During their separation, Rupert found her relatively quickly (through Lehan). The thing is, he understood that Lari wasn't ready to be "found" yet. She needed that time for herself, and as much as he wanted to reach out, he couldn't yet. So he just watched from afar. But when she was kidnapped by the psycho baker, he was the one who found her again. Throughout the series, he's the one who also found her "real self", and helped her realize this is the person she wanted to become. It's pretty cute, that at the start of Vol 5, in Rupert's POV, Lari was the one who always looked for him and found him when he was in pain, while at the end of the volume, Lari says that every time when she's feeling lost, Rupert is the one who finds her. THESE TWOOOOOO ;___;

[ausbutlerhq]

late for valentine's day

WHO: Vanessa Hudgens & Austin Butler @queenvh WHEN: February 14th, 2019 WHERE: Miami, FL TRIGGER WARNINGS: mature themes, mentions of pregnancy and abortion SUMMARY: When Austin comes to visit Vanessa for Valentine's Day things are a bit unpredictable when Vanessa fears she is pregnant.

Austin — 10/01/2023 3:19 PM Austin had been at home reading up on scripts, making connections and working on little things in between projects. He'd wrapped his small role in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood a few months previously and before that he had a small role in a movie with Selena Gomez that he'd also enjoyed. Those roles were long gone though and now in post-production. The in-between time made him antsy sometimes. He'd been lucky but knew another opportunity like the one he'd had with Tarantino certainly wouldn't be easy to come by. He flew out to Miami to spend Valentine's Day with Vanessa because he could and he missed her. He got off the plane, took a ride to her hotel and went up to her designated room before knocking. He'd made a quick pitstop on the way there and came bearing flowers - even after all those years.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 3:43 PM To say that she was counting the hours and minutes until Austin got there would be an understatement. Not only because she had missed him like crazy but because she had noticed that she was late. Her period was working like clockwork even when traveling so this had her on edge. She had filmed all night and early morning and had the rest of the day off until the cast Valentine's party. When the door knocked she ran to open before throwing herself at her partner

Austin — 10/01/2023 3:49 PM Austin let out a soft grunt and wrapped his arms around Vanessa, still holding the flowers in his left hand. "Hi, I've missed you too," he said, hugging her tightly. "These are for you but I'm fighting the urge to drop them so I can pick you up off the ground."

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 3:52 PM She hugged him back and breathed into his scent deeply, not able to get enough of him. They hadn't been apart too long but she still had missed him. "Thank you, I love them, Throw them on the bed" she said eagerly

Austin — 10/01/2023 3:56 PM Austin stepped back to step around her and moved into the hotel room. "Just on the bed?" he asked, setting them down. "I can look for something to put them into, I figured you'd have something from the last time I sent you flowers." It was something he'd been having fun doing. Curating different bouquets and surprising her with them.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:02 PM "I figured nothing would happen if we didn't immediately put them into water" she said with a smile as he got inside. "Oh yes, I do have a vase it's on the coffee table" she said pointing towards the small sitting area in her room. Every time he sent her flowers it made her smile. She still couldn't believe how lucky she had gotten with him

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:05 PM "I'll put them away for you, don't worry," he said and got to work transferring the flowers to the vase. He added some water and set them up on her counter. "They look nice. And you do too. I've missed you," he said, opening his arms up again for her.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:13 PM Vanessa nodded her head. She watched as he put the flowers in the vase. "I missed you too" she said as she got into his arms and breathed into his scent again "I… have something to tel you though" she said chewing on her lip

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:14 PM He rubbed her back gently and hugged her tightly. "What's wrong?" Austin asked, a little frightened by her tone of voice. A few things flashed through his mind. "Is your mom okay? Is Stella okay?" Austin asked, pulling away and scanning her face for any clues. (edited)

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:17 PM She loved being in his arms again. The fact that his first question was whether her mom or sister were OK was exactly why she was with him. She nodded "Yeah both my mom and Stella are fine" she said. She moved her hand at the back of her neck rubbing nervously "I…" she took a breath "So my period is kind of late" she said

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:20 PM Relief spread over his face at the confirmation. During the time they'd been together they'd lost two out of their four parents and it was something that always crossed his mind. He swallowed a little and nodded. "Okay, good. I'm glad that they're okay," he said again. His eyes scanned her face. "Late?" Austin asked, frowning a little. "Why? That doesn't usually happen," he said. He'd been with Vanessa long enough to have an inkling of when her period would come or at least had gotten used to the hints. It was usually on time, he knew how to take care of her and help her feel a little bit better during that time each month.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:25 PM Vanessa nodded. She knew why both their minds would go there. It was trauma bonding in a way. At his question she nodded again "I mean I know that's why I'm worried" she said nervously "I mean there's only one thing that I can think of causing this…." she trailed off

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:26 PM He looked confused for a moment and stopped to think. After a moment or so and a little bit of counting on his fingers he realized her concern. "Has it been three years?" he asked, frowning. "I - okay. Yeah, I can see why your worried that would make sense," he said, taking a deep breath.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:31 PM Vanessa nodded yes "Well nearing three years" she said still chewing on her lip. She did want a family, and obviously wanted it with him but she wasn't sure she was prepared for this happening now

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:33 PM "Okay, well," he stopped and took a deep breath. "How late are you?" Austin decided to ask next.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:37 PM "About two weeks" she said. The timing made sense as well because if her calendar was correc it should have been her last time in LA. "I got tests but I wanted to wait until you got here" she said

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:39 PM "Fuck," he mumbled. "That's a long time for you. Okay," he said, rubbing his face. He took another deep breath and nodded. "I was just about to ask you if you needed me to go get some." He bit his lip and shook his head a little. "How - how will you feel if it's positive?" he asked.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:42 PM "Mhm, it is" she agreed "Nope, got that covered. I sent my assistant" she said. She didn't want to be seen buying tests or people knowing the tests were for her obviously "I… I mean this was not planned. I don't know" she said "You?"

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:45 PM "I'll be shocked," he admitted. "I don't know. I mean, I've thought about this with you, of course. We've talked about it," Austin said. He reached his arms out and pulled her back into his embrace. "We'll make it work, we'll get through it."

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:47 PM Vanessa nodded as she got into his arms. Somehow she felt like crying. Not that she would be sad if she was pregnant but from the stress of the situation

Austin — 10/01/2023 4:52 PM Austin stroked her hair gently and held her. "I've got you. You know this but you'll never have to do anything alone again," he reminded her. "You've got me, always. Are you, would you want to keep it?" he finally asked, of course valuing how she felt more than anything else.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 4:59 PM Vanessa just nodded, unable to talk, his presence soothing her though "I mean, yeah. Of course" she said "You?" she asked

Austin — 10/01/2023 5:02 PM He moved his hand to rub her back gently and pressed his lips to the side of her head. "Absolutely," he responded in a quiet tone. "I care about how you feel more than anything but I've have - a dozen babies with you if we had the opportunity," he assured her. "I know it's scary and the timing isn't great - but we've been here long enough and I love you and..you're it for me, Vanessa. So, if this happens then, I'm just glad it's happening with you," Austin reassured her.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 5:06 PM Vanessa just nodded again "We're not having a dozen" she said shaking her head. She took a deep breath "OK I think I need to pee on some sticks then" she said

Austin — 10/01/2023 5:09 PM He laughed lightly. "I know. I know just trying to make you feel better." Austin kissed the top of her head and cupped her cheeks with his hands. He leaned in and kissed her gently. "Okay, I'll wait for you out here. You want to bring them out when you're done and we'll wait together?" he asked.

Vanessa — 10/01/2023 5:15 PM Vanessa kissed him back before sighing "Sure, I can do that. We need to set a timer anyway" she said before heading into the bathroom in order to do the tests

Austin — 10/01/2023 5:25 PM Once she left Austin began pacing the floor. He was extremely nervous. He knew he'd been put in the right direction to work on some potentially big projects in the next year or so and he knew if they were having a baby that those would need to be postponed. He wouldn't make this about himself though, he'd never dream of it and knew they were a team. But it all scared him. October 2, 2023

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 12:55 AM Vanessa opened the tests and took a deep breath before she went through the whole process. Once done she washed her hands put the cups on the tests and exited to her room, setting them on the vanity. She set an alarm for 3 minutes on her phone"Well here goes nothing" she said

Austin — 10/02/2023 12:55 AM Austin had taken a seat on the couch and opened his arms. “Come here,” he said. “Come sit with me.”

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 1:19 AM Vanessa nodded and headed towards him, curling on the couch next to him, hiding her face in his neck as her arms went around him

Austin — 10/02/2023 1:22 AM Austin rubbed her back gently. “I love you. No matter what happens I’m going to be right here. Always.” He took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 1:45 AM Vanessa nodded. Of course she wanted a family with him but she didn't know if this was the time for it

Austin — 10/02/2023 1:48 AM “Would it help to take deep breaths?” He asked. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 1:59 AM Vanessa shook her head "Not really. These are the longest 3 minutes of my life" she said

Austin — 10/02/2023 2:04 AM He rubbed her back comfortingly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 2:54 AM "Why are you sorry?" she said "This is both our doing" she said with a faint smile. Her alarm went off and she shot up from the couch towards the vanity. She picked up one test up "Negative" she said before putting it down, she took the second one as well "Negative" she said again, she then picked up the last one "Also negative".

Austin — 10/02/2023 6:41 AM Austin felt relief wash over him. “See? Nothing to worry about. I love you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 6:52 AM "Is it bad that we're relieved?" she asked taking a breath in what felt like hours "I love you too" she responded

Austin — 10/02/2023 6:56 AM “No, of course not.” He moved his hands to his lap.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:05 AM Vanessa just nodded before heading to the couch and sitting back down "Well with that out of the way, back to the regular programming" she said before she kissed him "Hi"

Austin — 10/02/2023 7:09 AM Austin kissed her back gently before pulling away. “Do we need to talk about it?” He asked.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:10 AM "I mean I don't have anything to say. I'll book an appointment once filming is done to renew the implant" she said "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked

Austin — 10/02/2023 7:11 AM “No, I don’t need to. That just, was kind of scary. Do you think I should go back to condoms until then?” He asked.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:14 AM "I mean, I don't know. Maybe, just to be on the safe side?" she asked "Even though it seems that the delay is not due to the implant, it obviously works. Maybe it's the weird times I've been sleeping or stress or something, even though I don't know what I'm stressed about" she said

Austin — 10/02/2023 7:16 AM Austin frowned a little and rubbed her back. “I’m kind of worried,” he admitted.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:18 AM Vanessa tilted her head "About what?" she asked

Austin — 10/02/2023 7:19 AM “About your period,” he admitted. “And any stress you’re dealing with,” Austin explained. He shifted his fingers through her hair.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:20 AM "I'll book an appointment with my doctor once I'm back" she said nodding. Maybe traveling finally got to me or something" she said "No need to worry"

Austin — 10/02/2023 7:23 AM “I’ll always worry about you,” he reminded her. “You’re everything to me,” Austin stated gently.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 7:33 AM She out her hand on his cheek and caressed it "Thank you baby, but I'm good. Promise. And now you're here even better"

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:13 AM Austin leaned back in and kissed her softly. “I love you. I can’t ever tell you that enough.”

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 10:17 AM She smiled at him "I love you too" she said "So other than the cast Valentine's Party which we have to go to, what do you want to do while you're in Miami?"

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:23 AM “Snuggle, I’ve missed you like crazy,” he admitted.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 10:24 AM "That's a given babe" she said "I meant if you want to go some place or do anything specific"

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:24 AM “Maybe we can go out to dinner? Pasta sounds fantastic,” he admitted.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 10:32 AM "Oh my god yes please!" she said "There's this traditional Italian restaurant I was told about"

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:34 AM “Oh I’d love that. Be warned though I know I’m going to eat too much. You’ll have to roll me back to the hotel,” he said with a gentle laugh before kissing her head.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 10:40 AM "In that case, don't go hard on the snacks at the party" she joked "I'll get you a bicycle taxi"

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:42 AM Austin laughed softly. “No judgment please,” he said, leaning into her gently. He kissed her all over her face. “You’re so cute.”

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 10:58 AM "I'm not judging. I'm just saying so you won't hurt your stomach" she said with a shrug. She giggled when he kissed her all over her face

Austin — 10/02/2023 10:59 AM “And we can come back to the hotel and snuggle,” he said softly. “So I’m not terribly worried.”

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 11:04 AM "Exactly" she said with a smile "Do you want to have a shower? Everything is set in the bathroom" she said

Austin — 10/02/2023 11:04 AM “Sure, we can do that,” he agreed.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 11:24 AM "No I meant if you wanted to go for a shower" she said "I figured you'd be tired after your trip"

Austin — 10/02/2023 11:43 AM "Oh me, yeah. Yes, of course." He stood up. "I think I'm still a little - disoriented from the whole pregnancy thing when I first got here," he admitted. "I'll go take a shower."

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 12:01 PM "Understandable" she said nodding her head "Do you want me to unpack your bag while your shower?" she asked

Austin — 10/02/2023 12:10 PM "You don't have to do that but if you want to I won't stop you," he said with a smile. He walked to the bathroom and began taking off his clothes before grabbing a towel, setting it aside and getting in the shower.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 12:13 PM Once he walked in the bathroom she put his bag on the bed and opened it. He took out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie, along with clean underwear for him to wear once he was done with his shower and then proceeded to take the rest of his stuff out and put them in the closet and vanity accordingly

Austin — 10/02/2023 12:18 PM He took his time taking his shower and finally returned back out a while later after fixing his hair, brushing his teeth and generally cleaning himself up. He put the towel up to dry and came out of the bathroom stark naked as he approached his clothes on the bed.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 12:56 PM The party would be pretty casual so there was no need to dress up. "Was your shower good?" she asked

Austin — 10/02/2023 1:01 PM "Yes, it was great. I really needed it." He glanced down at the clothes she'd picked up for him and began slipping on his underwear and then his t-shirt.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 1:20 PM She stretched on the couch lazily, relieved that the whole preganancy thing had gone so well. "Nooo the show's over?" she teased when he started getting dressed

Austin — 10/02/2023 1:23 PM "You can have me later when I look like Winnie the Pooh after we've eaten," he said. "You can have whatever you want," he said, shimmying into his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled his hoodie on over his head. "Mmm, comfortable. Thank you."

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 1:37 PM Vanessa shook her head amused "Ahaha you're gonna go hardcore on the food?" she asked "You are welcome. I figured it's a casual thing so comfort over anything"

Austin — 10/02/2023 1:51 PM "Absolutely," he said confidently. "It's Valentine's Day, we're in love and we're not having a baby, I think we can celebrate," he said, raising an eyebrow teasingly. "Yes, thank you. This is perfect."

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 2:12 PM "Oh for sure!" she agreed smiling. "Pasta for everyone!" she joked "Glad I made the right choice. The hoody looks cosy" she said

Austin — 10/02/2023 2:13 PM "Pasta for you, pasta for me. Pasta for anyone and everyone," he said, smiling brightly. "It is. And if you get cold later I'll hand it off to you, although I'm sure your outfit will be much prettier than mine. What are you wearing?" he asked.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 2:19 PM "OK Oprah" she said "No you're not handing me your hoodie, it's cold out" she said "I mean I was planning on jeans and a sweater to be honest" she said with a shrug

Austin — 10/02/2023 2:26 PM He laughed softly. "You'll look lovely. And I'll have a lot of fun tearing those off of you later. Gently, of course. Wouldn't wanna ruin your clothes," he said, smirking. (edited)

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 2:27 PM Vanessa laughed in response "I do appreciate the thougtfulness of not ripping my sweater off. Thank you" she joked

Austin — 10/02/2023 2:33 PM "Of course. Wouldn't dream of ripping your sweater, my love." He sat down to put his socks and shoes on before stretching a little.

Vanessa — 10/02/2023 4:01 PM "So chivalrous" she joked as she got up to get dressed as well. She had showered before Austin got there so it wouldn't take her long to get ready. Her hair was already styled because of filming as well so that also saved her time. She opened her closet and took out a pair of jeans and a black sweater.

Austin — 10/02/2023 5:23 PM "You're beautiful," Austin commented, glancing at her as she chose what to wear. October 3, 2023

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 2:08 AM "In the words of Judge Judy, beauty fades, dumb is forever" she joked as she took her hoodie off and put on the sweater

Austin — 10/03/2023 8:42 AM Austin stood near the door and stretched again. “Slept a little funny on the plane.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 8:55 AM Vanessa slipped her tights off and put on her jeans before she turned to Austin "Want me to book you a massage?" she asked "Or we can wait to see and I have an ointment for muscle pain"

Austin — 10/03/2023 8:55 AM “Let’s wait. I want to be with you as much as possible,” he responded.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 9:24 AM Vanessa nodded "OK" she conceded "But if you keep hurting let me know"

Austin — 10/03/2023 9:56 AM Once they had gone to the party and left to go to the restaurant he ordered them a bottle of wine and happily began on the bread that had been brought to the table. “The party was fun. Everyone you’re working with seems nice,” he stated.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:02 AM Vanessa nodded "Yeah Alexander, Charles, Paula and I have bonded" she said nodding "We have been to hikes together and stuff" she said "We're even planning a weekend trip sometime soon" she said "Plus Will and Martin are great" (edited)

Austin — 10/03/2023 10:05 AM Austin thanked the waiter when he returned with their water and wine. “They seem nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad that you’re having a good experience there.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:09 AM "They are" she said nodding "We have fun together so that's important. I mean we also had to bond because that translates on screen" she said "But yeah it's one of the better sets I've been on"

Austin — 10/03/2023 10:14 AM Austin smiled softly and took a piece of the bread. “I’m glad, baby.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:18 AM Vanessa took a sip from her wine "Plus it helps when you have to film all night or have difficult scenes to have a good relationship with the people you work with"

Austin — 10/03/2023 10:30 AM Austin took a few sips of his wine. “Do you know what you want once the waiter comes back?”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:33 AM "I'm between between two" Vanessa said reading the menu "Either spaghetti alle vongole or the Tonarelli Cacio e Pepe" she said "Do you know what you want?" she asked "And do you want us to get a pizza for the middle?"

Austin — 10/03/2023 10:39 AM “Let’s order whatever you want. I’m so hungry, I think I could eat everything,” he admitted with a gentle laugh.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:40 AM Vanessa nodded "So you want to get the two pastas and the pizza and we share everything?" she asked

Austin — 10/03/2023 10:46 AM “That sounds glorious,” he agreed. “And we will pretend like I’m not lactose intolerant. The gnocchi looked good too. Maybe we should see if we can get a smaller order if that too.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:55 AM "They have gluten free pasta options, the only pasta that has cheese is cacio e pepe and they can make the pizza with delact cheese if you want" she said with a shrug "Oh you really do want me to roll you over!"

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:08 AM “I’m all in. That’s fine we can make it dairy free,” he said. “Thank you for always thinking of my digestive system,” he said, chuckling gently. “You’re trying your best to keep me in check.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 11:10 AM "Because I don't want you to be in pain and regret all your life choices" she said smirking drinking her wine "Emphasis on the trying" she said laughing

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:11 AM “You’re right, you’re right. Thank you,” he said, leaning over to take her hand. “My tummy thanks you - seriously.”

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 11:25 AM "Plus it's Valentine's day, I'll kill you if you get sick" she joked again

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:26 AM “I know, I’m sure you want some special attention tonight,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. He smiled again and took a few more sips of his wine.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 11:30 AM Vanessa laughed "Oh my god, I can't" she said shaking her head. The waiter came and Vanessa ordered the pastas and the marinara pizza with the delact cheese

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:31 AM Austin smiled brightly at her response. “And now that we know that you don’t have a mini me inside you, we can celebrate,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 11:43 AM "Why would it be a mini you and not a mini me?" she asked amused as he squeezed her hand and she squeezed back

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:56 AM “Because I imagine it as a boy,” he admitted, laughing gently. “I guess it could be a girl. Well, hypothetically of course.” He took another sip of his wine.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 12:20 PM "50 50 chances. But gender is a construct so" she said with a shrug as she took a piece of bread

Austin — 10/03/2023 12:21 PM “You’re right,” he agreed. “Either way. It would be ours,” he said. He took another sip of his drink and laced their fingers.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 12:50 PM "Well, someday" she said with a smile "And hopefully they'll take your height not mine"

Austin — 10/03/2023 12:54 PM “But I love your height,” he said, looking at her adoringly.

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 2:17 PM "Babe. I'm short" she said shaking her head

Austin — 10/03/2023 2:41 PM "I know you're short but you're so fun," he teased. "I'd be happy whether they end up being short, tall or somewhere in between."

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 3:11 PM "Yeah, pocket size" she said. She nodded in agreement right as the waiter brought the food. "Could we have two plates? And have everything for the middle please?" Vanessa asked

Austin — 10/03/2023 3:11 PM He smiled once the waiter brought their food and thanked him once he'd brought the plates and everything else back. "This all looks so good."

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 3:29 PM "Mhm it does" she agreed "Well dig in!" she said as she got some pasta from the alle vongole dish and put it into her plate

Austin — 10/03/2023 3:33 PM He took a little bit of everything and took another sip from his wine glass before beginning to try the food. "My God, it's all so good," he said. "You were right."

Vanessa — 10/03/2023 10:52 PM "Of course I was" she said with a shrug as she also added some cacio e pepe and started eating. The pasta was made fresh and you could tell

Austin — 10/03/2023 11:17 PM Austin went to town on his food and enjoyed himself greatly as he ate. October 4, 2023

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 2:38 AM The food was truly great. And the pizza marinara, you couldn't even tell that the cheese they used was the delact kind. Once done with her food she leaned back and took a sip of wine "I don't know who is going to roll who back to the hotel" she said

Austin — 10/04/2023 8:06 AM Once he had finished, he leaned back a little against his seat. “Mhm, you’re not pregnant but maybe I am,” he said, closing his eyes.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 10:42 AM Vanessa laughed shaking her head "Food babies" she said clearly amused

Austin — 10/04/2023 10:50 AM He leaned his head on the table for a minute before thanking the waiter when he brought them the check. "I'm going to skip out on the cannoli. It's tempting but if I even see anymore food I'm going to throw up," he said, shaking his head slightly.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 10:52 AM "Do you want us to get it to go anyway so if you change your mind you can have it later?" Vanessa offered

Austin — 10/04/2023 10:58 AM "Hmm, I guess we could do that. Maybe they can put it in a to-go box so I don't have to see it," he said.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 11:05 AM "Yeah. I can ask them" she said shaking her head as she finished her wine

Austin — 10/04/2023 11:21 AM “Hm, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 11:47 AM "Nothing, why?" she asked as she waved the waiter over and asked him for a canoli to go

Austin — 10/04/2023 1:47 PM “Just checking.” Austin took the check once they got it and took his card out.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 2:42 PM Vanessa waited until he paid and she got up, and too her purse and the takeout container "Shall we?" she asked

Austin — 10/04/2023 2:54 PM He stood up uncomfortably and began walking with her. "Thank you for carrying the cannoli," he said. He winced a little as he saw other people getting their food as they left the restaurant.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 2:56 PM Vanessa laughed "Oh how will I survive with this hige sacrifice" she teased as the made their way out "You want to walk or get a cab?" she asked

Austin — 10/04/2023 2:57 PM "How far away are we from the hotel again?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 3:34 PM "About a 10-15 minute walk" she said checking her phone to make sure she was right

Austin — 10/04/2023 3:35 PM “Can we get a cab?” He asked, stretching a little. “Normally I’d say that would be fine but, I don’t know.”

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 3:40 PM "Sure" she said with a shrug. She ordered a lyft so they wouldn't have to walk "Our ride will be here in 3 minutes" she announced

Austin — 10/04/2023 3:41 PM Austin nodded and stretched again. “I can’t wait to go back to the hotel and stretch out,” he admitted.

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 4:36 PM The Lyft got there and Vanessa pointed to it "Well your wish is coming true!" she announced with a smile as she got in the car

Austin — 10/04/2023 4:37 PM Austin sat in the back of the cab and thanked the driver for coming before leaning back again. He yawned softly, covering his mouth as he did so and played with his sweatshirt a little. “I’m so drowsy now.”

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 4:50 PM "Well we can go back to the hotel and sleep" she said with a smile "Soft bed, pillows and everything. Can't wait" she said

Austin — 10/04/2023 4:57 PM He reached his arm over and took her hand. “And then tomorrow morning we can go for a run if you want or a hike or something once I revive.” He kissed the back of her hand gently. “I’ve missed you, I just want to lay with you.”

Vanessa — 10/04/2023 5:03 PM "You got a deal" she said smiling. As he kissed her hand she smiled "I missed you too baby" she said. And honestly she couldn't wait to just lay in bed with him either

Austin — 10/04/2023 5:04 PM He squeezed her hand gently and turned his head to look out the window as they drove the short distance to the hotel. Once they’d arrived he thanked the driver again and got out before walking to Vanessa’s side and opening the door for her. October 5, 2023

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 3:21 AM Once they got to the hotel she noticed how he got out to open her door. Always a gentleman even though they've been together for such a long time at this point. She got out of the car thanking him and the driver before they made their way into the hotel lobby and towards the elevators

Austin — 10/05/2023 3:22 AM He held the door open for her in the elevator and watched as the numbers went up as they made it to the correct floor and to their room. “So happy to be back,” Austin said, waiting outside the door for Vanessa to open it.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 5:50 AM Vanessa smiled and shook her head "And no rolling was necessary" she teased before she swiped her key card on the door and entered her room. She immediately took her jacket off and put it on a chair before she sat down and took her boots off as well

Austin — 10/05/2023 10:55 AM He entered the room behind her and began removing his jeans. He sighed happily once they were off and sat to remove his shoes. Once he’d finished he stood up and walked to the dresser. “What sounds the most comfortable?” He asked. (edited)

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 2:43 PM "In terms of bed clothes?" she asked "I mean you can put on pajamas if you brought any, or sweats" she said as she stood up and unbuttoned her jeans letting out a relieved sigh before shimmying out of them

Austin — 10/05/2023 2:52 PM "How're you feeling?" he asked. "I need something with breathing room, sweats will work." He slipped into some sweats and didn't tie them before pulling off his hoodie and setting it aside. "It's not a real baby, don't worry," he teased, allowing himself to flop onto the bed. He wrapped one arm around himself. "It's bread and pasta and pizza."

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 3:03 PM She usually didn't wear clothes to bed but she wanted something comfortable so she took an oversized shirt from her closet and put it on after taking off her sweater and bra as well. She took the take out box with the canoli and put it into the mini fridge. At what Austin said she laughed shaking her head "Whatever it is, it's not mine" she joked

Austin — 10/05/2023 3:35 PM “I feel so alone in this,” he teased, smiling with an amused look on his face. “Come here,” he said, holding his arms out.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 3:40 PM "This" she said pointing to his stomach "Was not a group effort" she said. She approached him walking into his arms

Austin — 10/05/2023 3:41 PM “You didn’t stop me, it’s yours,” he disagreed, pulling her into his arms gently.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 3:52 PM "Yeah yeah" she said waving her hand dismissingly as she wrapped her arms around him and inhaled him "Bed and movie?" she suggested "Not suggesting snacks because you'll probably cry" she joked

Austin — 10/05/2023 3:53 PM He nestled against her gently and closed her eyes. “Yes, whatever you want. I just want to lay here and hold you,” he responded. “I will cry. I can’t eat anything else, maybe ever,” he teased.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 3:56 PM "Hell of your own doing" she joked "OK lets get to bed then" she said "What do you wanna watch?" she asked. She was of the opinion that you didn't need a specific day a year to show your love, plus they've been together for a long time so Valentine's day was just… a cute thing but that was it really. Just like they didn't need a paper to confirm they were partners. What matter was that they were together

Austin — 10/05/2023 3:58 PM “Can’t believe you’re letting me be a single parent after earlier. Baby, I don’t care. I just want to hold you,” he said. They had been together long enough that they did end like an old married couple most of the time. The engagement rumors were always out there, especially after being together for so long.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 4:00 PM "Earlier was a team effort if you recall" she responded amused. "OK, old man, come on get to bed" she said walking out of his arms and pulling him towards the bed so they could get under the covers

Austin — 10/05/2023 4:08 PM “Mhm, exactly. That’s why you are half of this baby’s parents,” he said matter of factly. He followed after her and crawled into bed before settling down and curling up, trying to get comfortable.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 4:29 PM "Nope" she said as she pulled the covers and got into bed and got comfortable adjusting her pillows

Austin — 10/05/2023 4:42 PM He held her arm out for her. “Yes, my burden is your burden. So, this baby is yours too.”

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 4:59 PM "Can we stop talking about babies? I think we've had enough mention and scare of them for one day" she said shaking her head with a smile

Austin — 10/05/2023 5:00 PM “Yes,” Austin agreed. “We can stop talking about my stomach,” he said softly.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 5:06 PM "Not about your stomach. Babies" she said with a shrug

Austin — 10/05/2023 5:06 PM “Am I bothering you?” He asked, biting his lip.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 5:08 PM "No you are not. I just think we should not challenge our luck anymore today by keep mentioning it, you know?" she said "The universe listens"

Austin — 10/05/2023 5:08 PM “Oh okay. Yeah, of course,” Austin said.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 5:10 PM "Let's not challenge our luck" she said with a smile as she ran her fingers through his hair

Austin — 10/05/2023 5:27 PM Austin laughed gently. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right,” he responded.

Vanessa — 10/05/2023 5:28 PM "I know I am" she said smirking "So movie? Or nah?" she asked

Austin — 10/05/2023 6:13 PM “You can put it on, honey,” Austin said again. October 6, 2023

Vanessa — Yesterday at 2:14 AM "Yeah but what do you want me to put on? And yes I know you are not going to watch probably but you'll listen so" she said smirking

Austin — Yesterday at 4:38 AM He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes and choose the first thing you click.”

Vanessa — Yesterday at 7:01 AM Vanessa shook her head "Fine. Nightmare before Christmas it is" she said still smirking. That was such a comfort film for her

Austin — Yesterday at 7:02 AM "Mm, sounds good." He curled up every so slightly.

Vanessa — Yesterday at 7:07 AM Vanessa put the movie on and sighed happily as the familiar sounds of the beginning of the movie started playing

Austin — Yesterday at 7:16 AM Austin leaned over and pulled her in closer to him.

Vanessa — Yesterday at 7:31 AM She wrapped her arms around him and settled adjusting both their pillows beforehand so they'd be comfortable

Austin — Yesterday at 7:37 AM He moved his hand under her shirt and traced her spine lightly with his fingertip.

Vanessa — Yesterday at 8:10 AM She could feel goosebumps on her skin as he touched her and she let out a sigh

Austin — Yesterday at 8:25 AM Austin traced patterns against her spine.

Vanessa — Yesterday at 8:45 AM "I'm gonna sleep if you keep doing that" she said utterly relaxed

Austin — Yesterday at 9:17 AM Austin rubbed her back softly. “I love you.”

Vanessa — Yesterday at 9:42 AM Vanessa smiled before giving him a kiss "I love you too" she said "Thank you for being so chill with the whole scare thing"

Austin — Yesterday at 10:06 AM "You are my future," he reminded her. "Eventually it will be us doing this together."

Vanessa — Yesterday at 11:01 AM She put her hand on his cheek and caressed it. "Aw baby"

Austin — Yesterday at 11:03 AM He pulled her in a little bit closer and traced spirals over her back. "I know you were scared. It scared me too. But, one of us had to stay calm or we both would've been freaking out."

Vanessa — Yesterday at 12:47 PM She nodded with a sigh "Well thank you for being the calm one and for grounding me" she said hiding her face in his chest

Austin — Yesterday at 12:50 PM He used his free arm to stroke her hair gently. “That’s part of my job description,” he reminded her. “I’d never walk away. Baby or no baby. Sickness or health. ‘Til death do us part,” Austin whispered, curling a piece of her hair around his finger.

Vanessa — Yesterday at 2:39 PM "Mhm" she agreed, face still hidden into his chest, breathing in his scent "Forever and ever" she agreed

[lordofwaffless]

14. Wesley

Our two protagonists did, eventually, succeed in making it to school. The two of them collapsed into their seats in the cafeteria just in time to get whacked upside the head with The Unabbreviated History of Sainthood in Northern Everin, a seven-hundred-page paperback tome used to teach magic history to students who would never be saints. (“I’m holy enough as it is,” Fiona had laughed, when one of her classmates had tried to press her on the subject.)

“You two morons are late,” she declared. She had save them a completely empty, Blonde-free table by the window. 

“We were preoccupied,” Wesley muttered, rubbing the spot where his great-great grandfather’s face had connected with his skull. 

“Right, you two were clearly fucking-” 

“Fiona!” 

“-but regardless, I need your help with something, and now we’re not going to have enough time to get this done!” She exhaled, drawing herself up to her full height. “So you two are going to have to come over to my house after school.” 

“Fi, if you wanted us to come over, you could have done it without the assault. Or the fucking comment, either,” Wesley said, rolling his eyes at his friend’s complete and utter lack of tact. 

“It’s not just that,” she pouted. She’s like an angry, violent version of Stu, Wes realised with a shudder. “I really do need your help with something.” 

“We’ll help,” Stu assured her, nibbling on the sandwich Wesley had made him. “Wes, are you going to eat?” 

“Don’t bother, Stewart. Statistics show that only one out of every nine meals is subjected to Death by Wesley. The other nine are set free into the wilderness to be consumed by others,” Fiona butt in, shaking her auburn head with a sigh. “He’s been like this since we were kids.” Wesley glared at her. “I’m fine, Fiona. Fuck off.” 

“Oh, nice, Wesley. So you’re allowed to curse at me, but I can’t say anything about you? How bloody lovely.” 

Stu looked back and forth between them, multiple layers of concern etched on his face.

“Guys-” 

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business what I eat, Fiona-” 

“I care about you, you absolute git-” 

“Guys-” 

“I’M FINE-” 

“Shut up!” Stu yelled, holding his hand out between them, as if his small musician’s fingers could pry them apart if either of them decided to pounce. The feuding pair did shut up,

out of shock more than anything. Wesley glared down at the table, sniffing, while Fiona looked up at the ceiling and attempted to blink the tears out of her eyes. 

“Wes?” Stu asked. He was worried about both of his friends (since Fiona was now, apparently, his friend), but his boyfriend took precedence over Fiona at the moment. Wesley looked up from the table. “What, Stewart?” 

Stu hugged him. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Wesley blinked, and glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not going to say something stupid?” 

Stu giggled softly. “Wesley, I’m pretty sure I just did.” 

His boyfriend chuckled in reply. “Well. You’re not wrong, Stewart,” he said, with a shake of his head. He sighed. “Fiona’s right.” 

She whipped her head around. 

“I’m probably not fine,” he elaborated. 

Fiona really had never learned tact. “Probably?” 

He sighed again. “Alright, I’m definitely not fine, but there isn’t really anything I can do about it right now. I’ve tried talking to my parents, but they’re never home. The only time I ever really see them is for an hour or two after school, and even then, they’re not really there, you know?” 

Fiona sighed. She reached across Stu to rest a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “We know. Or, at least, I know, and Stu’s learning. But Wes, you can always talk to my mum,” she said, gently squeezing. 

He smiled wanly at her. “I know. I- might, sometime soon. I just-” he paused, considering. “Being not fine makes more sense to me at this point than being fine. I don’t want someone to fix me before anyone important even notices I’m broken, you know?”

 “Wes-” 

“-and I know that that’s fucked up, but all of this is fucked up, Fiona-” 

“Wesley, I agree, but I really think that taking care of yourself is more important than proving a point,” she said, just as the bell rang. “Right. Stu, we’ve got to get to PE, but don’t forget to come over!” 

“We can just grab him from art at the end of the day, Fi.” 

Stu kissed him goodbye. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Bye, Stu!” Fiona called. 

“Bye,” Stu whispered, as they walked away.

[letarasstuff]

Normal People don't know their IQ

(A/N): Inspired by me, who recently discovered normal people don’t know their IQ, while I was tested two or three times already...

Summary: A certain someone is the only way to get the UnSub. But there’s also something different that makes her special.

Warnings: Angst (fluffy end, I swear), language, mentions of rape and torture, mention of dead people, the usual CM stuff I guess Wordcount: 2.0k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________________

“Garcia, I need you to look into high school teachers, who are suspended or fired for inappropriate behavior towards students and live in the area of the kidnappings”, Hotch orders in a stern voice. But you can’t blame him, after all there are currently six dead teenage girls and one missing. One can only hope and work as fast as possible to get her back to her parents alive.

The team is working a case in Sacramento, California. Teenage girls get abducted on their way home from school, are held for exactly a week and are killed by a simple cut to their throat. The torture they have to endure beforehand isn’t as simple. The last two also show signs of rape.

The dumbing sites are different parks all over the city. The placing happens overnight only to have the girls found the next morning by a clueless jogger or stroller.

“Let’s go over the profile again, I feel like we are missing something”, Rossi commands. His gut feeling tells him only that much, he just has to find out what it is.

“It’s a white male in his mid thirties to late forties. He blends in, so he has to be or has been a teacher. Someone who looks like they belong into a school isn’t suspicious”, Spencer counts the facts.

“The victims all look similar, probably resembling an ex-wife or girlfriend”, Morgan adds. Before he can get into the depth of the torture a phone rings.

“My lovely crime fighters, I got an address. Charles Collins. philosophy and history. Got suspended for suggestive talk towards his female students. He is also said to stare at them and certain body parts for way too long and way too obvious. Gross. Annnd that- wait”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asks after a moment of silence, which is unusual for the ever bubbly tech analyst.

“You got your profile wrong. Collins doesn’t take these girls because of an ex flame.”

The team looks at each other in confusion. Garcia always stresses how she isn’t a profiler and can’t judge over people, because she only wants to see the good in them. How is she able to tell that the profile is off?

“Shoot baby girl, we don’t have much time left”, Derek urges her. He wants nothing more than to have this SOB finally behind bars. The whole team wants that.

“He has a daughter. Technically it’s not his daughter, it’s someone else’s, but he is her foster father. Go and please save both girls!”

Penelope doesn’t have to say it twice. After a brief thank you and goodbye the team is on their way to the given address. As soons as they get there, everyone notices the absence of a car in the driveway. Hotch sends Spencer, Emily and Derek through the back door, the rest goes in from the front.

“FBI! OPEN UP!”

It’s needless to say that nobody opens up. There is no other way than kicking the doors down.

After entering the house and clearing the first floor, Rossi points towards the stairs that leads to the first story. There are only two rooms. A bathroom right hand and a closed door left hand.

Morgan counts quietly down before also kicking this door down and screaming “FBI!” But he seemingly talks with air, because there is no one to be found. Once again the team swarms out to look for evidence or clues.

As Spencer looks through the room they cleared last, he sees various things that make him smile. Several bookshelves are flooded with all kinds of genres, authors and covers. At first he can’t make out in which way they are sorted. But a closer look makes him realize that they are sorted by the author’s birth year. The doctor is kind of impressed, because that means the person knows when they are born in order to find a certain book. He likes the idea, it is a nice little challenge.

While he investigates further a sound makes him stop. He sends a text to Emily and waits for her. When she enters the room Spencer gestures to her to keep it quiet. Then he points to the bed.

They lower themselves down to the floor at the same time on each side of it. A girl, no older than 14 years, lays there shivering in angst. With big doe eyes she looks at Spencer and whispers:

“Please don’t hurt me.”

A while later the team is back at the station with the girl sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. The temperature is already set down, though Hotch feels really bad for it. Still there is another girl out there waiting to be safed.

“Baby girl, what can you give us on her?” Morgan sets his phone in the middle of the table and switches the speaker on.

“Our little girl’s name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), fourteen years old. Parents were deemed to be unable to look after her since they are both heavy drug addicts and didn’t even register her crying for two hours straight. Since the age of six months she bounces through the system with nobody wanting to keep her longer than two years. They claim she is too smart for them and want somebody to look after her, who can challenge her intellectually.

“Collins took her in one and a half years ago. He got her signed up in several activities after school, like chess and academic decathlon. As of right now she is a junior with an opportunity to graduate next year. Her teachers describe her as incredibly bright with a complicated way of thinking.”

“Complicated way of thinking? Her intelligence was neglected for years, so she gave herself her own challenges. I found her books sorted by the birth year of the authors. She found ways of making things more difficult for herself, that’s why she fabricated strange ways of thinking. This is often found in children with high intelligence, who are not boosted enough by their environment”, Spencer explains, getting more and more furious.

His colleagues feel that this is a sensitive subject for their resident genius. JJ comfortably puts a hand on his shoulder, making the tense go away.

“Emily and Dave, I want both of you to interrogate her. We need to know where he hides the girls. JJ, try to hold the press off for a bit longer. Morgan, Reid, I want you to watch and look for tells or anything else”, Aaron orders.

Everyone works on their given task immediately.

You don’t need to be a profiler to see that (Y/N) is scared out of her mind. She has her feet on her chair and her head lies on her knees. When the two agents enter, she tries to at least fake some kind of composer. But she fails miserably at it.

“Hello (Y/N), may I call you that?” Emily begins in a soft voice. The teenager nods shyly. “Good, (Y/N). My name is Emily Prentiss and this is David Rossi. We are agents from the Behavior Analysis Unit from the FBI. Do you know why you are here?” The teenager shakes her head.

“Ok, let’s cut the chase”, David's voice booms through the small room. “You know exactly why you are here. From what we saw in your room you are an incredibly smart girl. How high is your IQ? 130? 135?”

“147 a-actually”, she nervously corrects the agent, never meeting his eye. The team notices this fairly quickly.

“Even better, normal people don’t know their IQ. So you know what your forster father does. You saw the news, you read the papers, you heard your classmates talk. In addition to that, the girls look alarmingly similar to you. And all of the sudden Charles is more often out than usual. So do us a favor and come clear.” Then he pulls out a picture from a manila folder on the table. Emily tries to intervene.

“Rossi, don’t. She is not the UnSub. (Y/N) is just unfortunate to be at the wrong place.” “She might as well be another UnSub if she doesn’t do anything to help us. Do you know how long you are going to jail for helping hi-”

“I don’t know anything. I- of course I saw what is h-happening. A-and I connected the dots a long time a-ago. You know, Charles lost his job and that’s a stressor. T-then Child Service was investigating him, because of the suspension’s reasons. I-I couldn’t do anything. I had no evidence, the police wouldn’t believe me. I asked him once wh-what he thinks about, you know, what’s happening. He slapped me and told me to not talk about it again. I’m so sorry, I wanna help. The only thing that comes into my mind is an old cabin he once mentioned when I first arrived at his. B-but I don’t know if it helps you. P-please, I don’t want to go to jail or juvenile, I-” Then (Y/N) breaks down into tears.

Emily is in an instant by her side trying to calm her down, while Hotch gives the information to Garcia. As soon as she finds the location, JJ takes a seat next to (Y/N) and the rest of the team flies out.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Sweetheart. My colleagues will find him and he will be tried and convicted. He will never be a threat to you again”, the blonde tries to comfort her.

“Whenever I leave an abusive home, there will be another one that’s exactly the same. The only difference with Charles was that he seemed to understand me. He helped me. There’s nobody who is willing to do what he did for me”, she admits sadly.

It breaks JJ’s heart, because her words are true. Even though he is a killer, Collins did help her. But she is also determined to show the young girl that he isn’t the only one who can do that. That there are more people out there, who are kind and as helpful if not more.

Not long after this the team brings the man into the station, Morgan guiding him with a deadbolt-like grip.

Rossi spots (Y/N) in a break room with a hot drink in her hands. While making his way over there, Spencer follows him. He wants to talk with her as well.

“(Y/N) I’m sincerely sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn’t intend to scare you, we just had to act quickly and you were the only source of information available. I also wanted to tell you, that your achievements are astonishing and I guarantee you a bright future, maybe even at the FBI”, he winks at the end of his last sentence.

“I understand, Agent Rossi. But doesn’t everybody know their IQ? I assumed everybody gets at least tested once in their life in some way”, she asks with surprise in her voice.

At that the older man is speechless. Of all things she could accuse him of legitimately, (Y/N) goes with the most innocent question.

“Actually, not everybody gets tested. A reliable test has to be done by a psychologist and most people don’t go to one. Furthermore there has to be a valid reason to do one, that’s why a great part of the population doesn’t know their IQ”, intervenes Spencer. He has to infodump, since the last time was over half an hour ago.

“But you also have to differentiate between the several kinds of intelligence, because intelligence is way more than being good at math. There…”

Rossi stopped listening to the excited interaction between the two geniuses. Instead he watches their body languages and facial expressions. He hasn’t seen both of them more at calm than they are now.

After all there might be a way for (Y/N) to get a little Happy End.

[icerosecrystal]

An Unexpected Turn Of Events

Mominette Month 2021

Day 01 - Find A Child

Masterlist

Authors note: Hi, everyone! Just one quick to let you all know so that this fic is not confusing for you. This fic is a reverse Robin fic. In other words, Dick is the youngest instead of the eldest, and Damian is the oldest instead of the youngest. This same thing applies to all of the other bat children as well.

Marinette sighed in relief as she finished rifling through her purse. She had woken up late and had hastily left her hotel room for her consultation. She had thankfully not left behind anything that she would need during the consultation. Feeling a bit paranoid, she looked once more through her purse, and there was the tape measure, pencils, notebook, sewing kit, and the NDAs. She may or may not have flipped through the grimoire belonging to the guardians and found the spell for expanding the space in her purse to be the way it was for her yo-yo when she transforms into Ladybug. Unlike her yo-yo, the expansion was still limited. But the extra space was still beneficial.

As Marinette was walking, she pulled out her phone to look at the time. 9:50, she thought, leaves me enough time to get to Wayne Tower by 10:00 if I want to be on time. As she was putting her phone away, she felt something hit her legs and torso. She let out a slight oof at the unexpected weight against her lower body. As she peered down, she saw a cute boy, probably around eight years old clinging onto her legs. He had black hair, and as he looked up at her with teary eyes, she saw the most devastating sparkling blue eyes she had ever seen. His slightly chubby cheeks were flushed pink, and his nose also had a pink tinge to it. The flushness was probably a result of the choked sobs he was currently letting out.

As Marinette looked around, she realized that none of the nearby grown-ups looked to be his parents, nor did they look like they were missing a child. She bent down and smiled softly at him, hoping to calm him down a bit. After a beat or two, her smile seemed to do the trick, and his sobs reduced down to a few tears. Once she knew that he had calmed down, she softly whispered, “ Hey, honey. Are you lost? Do you want me to find your parents?”

He sniffled a few times before replying with a slight tremor in his voice, “Yes. Please help me find my Boose.”

“Your Boose?” Marinette questioned.

“Yes,” he slightly whimpered, “Boose is my new daddy. My other daddy and mommy had to say goodbye to me.”

Marinette gasped in shock at his words. This poor kid, so young, and yet his parents were gone. Dead. Marinette thought about the many akumas which her parents didn’t survive. She then shook herself out of her thoughts. Come on, Marinette. Stop worrying about yourself all time. Your parents are okay now. But this kid is lost! Get out of your head! Steeling herself, she gently asked him, “What’s your name, hon? Mine is Marinette, but you can call me Mari..”

Surprised by the kindness and warmth in her voice, he stuttered out, “Richard… but I like Dick better. Richard sounds old. I’m not old!” He then shyly added, “It’s nice to meet you, miss. You have a pretty name.”

Marinette smiled as she saw his confidence growing with every word he spoke. Marinette laughed aloud at the words he shyly said, “It’s nice to meet you too.” She then questioned, “Do you remember where your daddy is?”

Dick was now bouncing on his heels, and he squealed out in excitement, “Yes! My daddy is in the big, tall building with the huge ‘W’ on it!”

The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. Dick’s excitement was infectious. His words then caught up to her. Well! It looked like luck was on her side after all! She would have enough time to get Dick back to his dad and still be on time for her consultation. She stood back up and then smiled down at him, “Well, I’m heading there too! So why don’t I take you back to your daddy?”

Dick nodded his head rapidly before holding her hand with his much smaller one. They then started walking towards Wayne Tower. Dick continued to babble on about the most random of things. He talked about his grumpy older brother, who it seemed begrudgingly liked him. He also discussed the many pets his older brother had. It also seemed like Dick’s adoptive dad had a slight problem with adopting too many children from what could be told from the many siblings that Dick mentioned.

When the door of Wayne Tower came into sight, Dick stopped talking, allowing them to walk in comfortable silence. As she was about to speak to ask him where in the building his father worked or the name of his dad, Dick blurted out, “I like you, Miss Mari. Can you be my mommy? I don’t have a new one yet!”

Marinette stopped in shock before trying to stutter out something, anything, but all of her words were incoherent. What do you say in response to a question like that, she thought to herself? She saw Dick looking at her for an answer, and after a while, he decided to pull out some puppy eyes. Shoot! Marinette thought. I need to say something to stall for time. At least until I get him to his dad. She reassured him, “I am thinking about my answer, Dickie! But how about we first get back to your daddy, and then we talk about it?”

Dick contemplated her words before nodding in agreement and practically bouncing through the doors. Marinette sighed in relief and also walked through the doors. Her head was down as she speculated what she should do about Dick’s question. Suddenly, a rough voice spoke up in front of her, “Hello. Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I presume.”

Marinette lifted her head, and there in front of her was Bruce Wayne, her newest client. And clinging to him was the very boy that was holding her hand just seconds ago. She suddenly remembered hearing something about Bruce Wayne adopting the son of some acrobats who were in an accident. The name of the kid was Richard Grayson! She hadn’t made the connection!

Realizing that Bruce was looking for an answer, she hastily stuck out her hand, stuttering, “That is correct, Monsieur Wayne. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He stared at her hand before gently taking it and raising the back of her hand to his lips. “Please, the pleasure is all mine. Let’s make our way upstairs.”

She blushed at his gentlemanly actions before squeaking out a small, “Let’s.” The three of them climbed into the elevator and went to the top floor of the building. The doors of the elevator opened up, and Bruce gestured for her to go first. She did so and looked around at the beautiful interior of the building that she had not yet noticed. Bruce then opened up the door to what seemed to be his office. Inside she saw there to be seven kids. She smiled at them in greeting. Most of them smiled back at her. The exception to this was what looked to be the oldest and one of the younger ones. (Damian and Jason, if you didn’t figure it out.)

Marinette felt Bruce step closer so that he was next to her before he spoke once more, “These are all of my children, biological, adopted, or otherwise.” He pointed to the man with stunning green eyes stating, “This is my oldest son, Damian. He’s 22.” Damian gave a tight-lipped smile in response, along with a slight tilt of his head.

Next, Bruce gestured to what looked to be the second oldest saying, “This is Tim. He’s 18 years old.” He was sipping coffee and giving the briefest of nods to her. He looked seconds away from collapsing.

He then acknowledged a blonde girl, remarking, “This is Stephanie, but she likes to be called Steph. She’s 17 years old.” The girl seemed to be bouncing in place and close to bursting from excitement.

He pointed to a rough-looking boy stating, “This here is Jason. He just turned 15. He’s a few months older than the next youngest.” The boy smirked at Marinette in acknowledgment of his introduction.

Bruce finally gestured to a girl with Asian features saying, “This is Cassandra or Cass. She’s 14, but like I said, a few months younger than Jason.” The girl seemed to be peering through her very soul. After gazing for a few seconds, she hummed in what Marinette deemed to be satisfied as if she liked what she saw.

Bruce then turned towards her, “And you’ve already met Richard or Dick. Thank you for bringing him back.”

Marinette smiled in acknowledgment of his compliment before replying, “It was nothing Monsieur Wayne. He was all alone, so I had to help him. But he was delightful the whole time. Now as for what I came here for, what type of clothes have you been looking for–”.

But before she could continue, Dick blurted out, “Daddy, I like Ms. Mari! Can we keep her? I want her to be my mommy!”

The result was instant. The room burst into a flurry of noises, each of Bruce’s kids trying to speak over one another. Marinette was blushing very brightly. In fact, from how hot her face felt, she was sure that she was inventing new shades of red. Marinette looked over to see Bruce’s reaction and squeaked when she saw him staring at her with a sharp, analytical gaze.

Marinette took a few breathes to calm herself down. She then softened both her gaze and voice as she addressed Dick, “Dickie, honey, as much as I loved meeting you and talking with you, I, unfortunately, cannot be your mommy. Bruce is your daddy, and he will someday find a lovely lady who will be your mommy.”

At her last sentence, all or most of the kids seemed to have snorted in amusement. It seemed as if they disagreed with her statement. Dick looked sad and seemed to be growing teary-eyed. Marinette looked over to Bruce for some help but only found him concealing the amusement that he was most likely feeling quite well. If she hadn’t been Ladybug, she probably would have never noticed the slight bit of emotion peaking through his mask. She glared at him reproachfully as if saying, this is your kid, so you need to help me convince him that I would not make a good mother.

He rolled his eyes in return as if trying to say, Don’t kid yourself. You would make an excellent mother. And you’re already attached to him, don’t deny it.

As Marinette sighed in response, Bruce turned away from her towards Dick and knelt to his level. He then gently said, “Now Dick. Miss Mari can’t be your mommy.” Marinette started nodding as if agreeing with Bruce’s words. But then stopped when he continued, “But she can visit you and maybe one day be your mommy.”

Marinette opened and closed her mouth, no words coming out. Before shyly looking down before raising her head, stammering, “Well, I guess I could visit.”

All the kids started cheering in response. The exception to this was Damian. But the corner of his lips was slightly raised as if the start of a smile. Dick bounded over to her, hugging her and babbling out everything he wanted to do with her. And in all the chaos, Marinette’s and Bruce’s eyes met. They both exchanged small smiles.

Marinette then clapped her hands together, reminding them, “I do still have to do a consultation with all of you. So how about we do that, and then we can do something fun together?” Seeing everyone’s nods, Marinette then continued with the consultation. But unbeknownst to anyone in the room, their relationship would change drastically in the coming months. But ultimately, it would change for the better.

One Year Later

It has been a year since the faithful day when Dick requested Marinette to be his mom. And since then, they only seemed to grow closer. She had met Alfred, Bruce’s Psuedo father and the children’s pseudo grandfather. She thought that he was extraordinary. And honestly godsent. She also experienced a lot of adventures with the Waynes. In fact, after only four months of knowing each other, she figured out that they were the Bat-Family. She had caught them once after patrol and raised her eyebrow as if demanding an answer, and god did she get an answer from them!

Marinette and Bruce had also started dating. This change in their relationship occurred a few weeks after she found out their identities. They were now engaged to be married in a few months. All the children had warmed up to Marinette over the months, even Damian, who always withheld his emotions. But they had all come to see her as their mother figure and were ever so grateful for her. And so they wanted to do something for her birthday.

The very morning of her birthday, everything went wrong. Marinette woke up to quite the sight. All over the kitchen was what looked to be cake batter. It seemed as if they were trying to put the baking she had taught them to good use, but they had also made the cake batter explode. Marinette and Bruce stared at the mess before they both started laughing. Marinette had a light, melodic laugh, while Bruce had a very gruff laugh.

Marinette beckoned all of them forward for a hug before proclaiming, “I love that you all were trying to do something for me, but none of you had to do anything. But it’s the thought that counts, so thank you. But next time, please stay away from the kitchen.”

She then shooed them on their way before getting two mops, handing one to Bruce as she passed by him. She kissed him on the cheek before starting to clean up the mess, Bruce following her actions. She then quietly snickered, “Well, this was quite a sight to wake up to on your birthday. I would have thought that today would have been relaxing.”

She looked up to see Bruce shoot her a small look before shaking his head in amusement. “Mari, darling, when has our lives with them ever been relaxing? They are always getting into trouble.”

She snorted in response, “Yes, well, they get it from their father.”

Bruce glared at her lightly before pulling her into a deep kiss, “I don’t know. Their mother seems to be just as chaotic sometimes.”

She shook her head in amusement, pulling herself away from Bruce’s embrace and questioning, “How is this even my life anymore?”

He chuckled lightly, alerting her that he was about to sass her in some way. “Well, from what I remember, about a year ago, you came across this kid that–”

Marinette held up a finger to his mouth, stopping him from uttering another word. She was also glaring at him reproachfully. “Yes, I do know-how. I was there. Now go away so that I can clean up the rest of the kitchen. You’re distracting me.”

He let go of his mop before giving her another deep kiss and then darting away. As he strolled out of the room, he shouted over his shoulder, “Oh, I know how distracting I am. I am well aware of how irresistible I am, ma coccinelle.” He could hear her spluttering in response before yelling back at him, but he continued on his way to his office. Along the way, he chuckled to himself.

Back in the kitchen, Marinette was glaring at nothing. She was also plotting ways to show her fiance who the irresistible one was. She then sighed in happiness. Yes, her life was amazing. A year ago, if someone told her this would be her life, she wouldn’t have believed it. But now she was living it, and god was it amazing. Funny what finding a child will do to you, Marinette thought to herself before carrying on with her task of cleaning up the mess her kids had made. Yeah, life was amazing.

2,683 words

I actually got it done!

~ ❄ Crystal ❄

@mominettemonth

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[cutethingstolove]

New Experiences

Photos from @little-stephanies-diary​ and @babiechristy​, Part 14

Stephanie and Courtney were having an amazing time hanging out in just their wet Goodnites and t-shirts. Both girls had a feeling of liberation as they now knew each other’s secrets, and they could now hang out without the fear of being caught wearing diapers. As the afternoon went along,  their comfort level only increased to the point that Stephanie decided it would be funny to stick her foot out and poke Courtney’s wet diaper with her toe making a ‘boop’ noise. Courtney giggled a little at this before launching herself across the couch and pinning Steph’s hands down exclaiming it was a ‘tickle attack!’ Stephanie erupted into laughter, causing her to pee a little, and unable to stop laughing she simply went along with it for the moment. As soon as her hands were freed, Stephanie bear-hugged her best friend and the two girls settled into cuddling on the couch watching TV.

As the girls were holding each other, they started to doze off a little bit. It wasn’t until they heard the garage door start to open, indicating that Steph’s dad was home, that they shot upright and realized they still needed to change before he came through the door. Stephanie ran upstairs, leaving her pants in the living room, and went straight to the bathroom to change out of her wet pullup before her dad caught her. Courtney’s reaction was a little slower, but she stood up quickly pulling her blue sweatpants back on so Steph’s dad wouldn’t catch her without pants on. While she did manage to pull her pants over her legs, her Goodnite wasn’t fully covered as Steph’s dad entered the house.

“Hi Courtney,” Steph’s dad said with a hint of curiosity, “You aren’t still wearing that wet pullup from this morning are you?”

“No sir,” Courtney said a little embarrassed, “Steph asked if I would wear one today like she has to so she would feel more comfortable.”

“Oh!,” Steph’s dad replied, “Well that was very nice of you to do. You really are a good friend. Where is Stephanie by the way?”

“She had to go to the bathroom,” Courtney said covering for her friend, “She mentioned she would get I trouble if she had another accident, so she has been making sure she was staying dry all day.”

It was just then that Stephanie came bouncing back down the stairs in a dry Goodnite, giving her dad a hug when she  reached the bottom of the stairs. Steph’s dad asked if the girls were hungry, which they very much were, and offered to make dinner quickly if the girls would set the table. They quickly agreed, even though Courtney was still wearing a wet diaper while Stephanie’s was dry, but at least Courtney had her pants on – mostly. Courtney did think it was a little odd that Stephanie was still only wearing her Goodnite and t-shirt around her dad, but realized pretty quickly that it probably wasn’t uncommon as they lived alone with each other. Almost as fast as the girls had finished setting the table and took their seats, Steph’s dad was bringing food to the table. As they began to eat, the conversation turned to how their day had been.

“So what did you girl get up to today?,” Steph’s dad asked.

“Nothing really,” Stephanie fibbed a little, “We just hung out on the couch watching TV.”

“It was super fun!,’ Courtney said excitedly, “And as you already know sir, we both wore our Goodnites today!”

“I can see that,” he said slyly, “But I bet you’ll need to change before you head home Courtney.”

“Actually daddy,” Steph piped up, “I was going to ask if Courtney could spend the night again! We’re about the same size, so she could borrow one of my school uniforms for tomorrow. What do you think Court?”

“Oh my god!,” Courtney yelped, “That sounds super fun! Can we please?!”

“That does sound fun,” Steph’s dad replied, “I’ll call your parents and let them know, and I’ll make sure they know we have extra Goodnites here for you to use.”

The girls looked at each other with giddy expressions on their faces. The idea of spending a second night together without any fear of being caught wearing diapers made them both excited beyond belief. The only concern Stephanie had was that she was going to have to wear a big diaper for bed, and her dad wouldn’t be able to change her like he had been, but she was willing to sacrifice that for more time with her best friend. As soon as they were done eating, the girls cleared the table as Steph’s dad called Courtney’s parents to fill them in on the plans. As soon as he was off the phone, he told the girls that they were good to go on the sleepover, and the girls grabbed each other’s hands jumping up and down a little while they squealed with excitement.

“Let’s go upstairs and get ready for bed!,” Stephanie said excitedly.

“Sounds great!,” Courtney agreed, “It is getting a little late, and we do have school in the morning.”

As Courtney started heading upstairs, Steph’s dad pulled his daughter aside for a moment whispering, “You know you need to wear a big diaper for bed right?”

“I know daddy,” Steph responded timidly, “But I’ll put it on myself tonight since Courtney is over. Where are the big ones?”

“Well princess,” her dad responded, “I noticed we used the last one from the pack last night, so I stopped by the store and bought more today. They are a different design, and I left them in the trunk if you want to go grab them.”

Stephanie understood and headed to the garage to grab the new diapers from her dad’s car. The side of the bag read ‘Lil’ Monsters’ on the side, and she could see the cute cartoon monsters they ad printed on them. Thinking that at least these were a little less babyish than the teddy bear ones she had been wearing, she gleefully grabbed the bag and headed up to her room where Courtney was waiting. Steph was a little embarrassed carrying a bag of big diapers in front of her friend, but Courtney didn’t seem to care. A quick thought raced through Steph’s head as she thought that, because she had agreed to wear a Goodnite all day, maybe Courtney would wear one of the big diapers to bed too!

“Hey Court,” Stephanie hesitantly said, “You remember how I have to wear different diapers at night?”

Looking up from her phone, Courtney replied with a simple, ‘Yeah, what about it?”

“Well,” Stephanie asked while biting her lip, “It was really nice that you wore Goodnites all day with me, so I was hoping maybe we could both wear the big ones to bed too?”

“Sure!,” Courtney piped up, “I’ve always been a little curious about wearing something other than pullups to bed anyway!”

“Can I ask one more question?,” Stephanie quietly said, “Last Monday when the nurse made me wear a diaper, she put it on me, and honestly it fit better than any of the times I’ve done it myself. What do you think about changing each other before bed?”

Courtney was a little shocked by this, but after thinking for a minute she agreed. She was still wearing her wet Goodnite, so she told Steph to grab everything while Courtney went to the bathroom to change. Stephanie was elated because, even though it wasn’t going to be her daddy changing her, at least someone was going to. She was even a little excited to have a chance to change someone other than herself too. Steph prepared everything they would need, and decided to change into a black t-shirt since her purple one was starting to stink a little. Courtney returned to the bedroom a few minutes later wearing just her white t-shirt and blue sweats having left her wet Goodnite in the bathroom trash. She noticed that Steph had laid out two of the big diapers on the bed right next to a bottle of baby powder.

“So,” Courtney said curiously, “How do you want to do this?”

“Well,” Steph responded, “I thought since I have a little more experience putting these on, I could do you first so you can learn, and you can change me right after.”

“That sounds like a good plan actually,” Courtney said in an assuring tone, “What do you need me to do?”

“Well,” Steph said apprehensively, “I’ll need you to take off your sweats and lay down on the bed. I can pretty much take it from there.”

Courtney did as she was asked and pulled off her sweatpants, but realizing she was kind of cold wearing just a t-shirt, she went to her bag and grabbed a pair of yellow and white striped fuzzy knee-high socks to put on before she laid down on the bed. Stephanie grabbed on of the diapers and slid it under Courtney before reaching for the baby powder and sprinkling it over her friend’s naked body. Just as her dad had done with her, Stephanie gently spread the baby powder around with her hand before securing the tapes around the front of the diaper. Courtney was surprised at how intimate everything was, and really impressed by just how comfy the big diaper felt between her legs. Sitting up in the bed, Courtney smiled at her friend before saying, “Ok, your turn Steph!”

Stephanie was pretty used to this, so she laid down on the bed as she slid her dry Goodnite to the floor. Laying there exposed, she guided Courtney on what to do. Stephanie lifted her butt off the bed while Courtney slid the diaper under her before grabbing the baby powder and sprinkling it over Stephanie’s naked body. Courtney took note of how Steph had done this part, and slowly spread the baby powder with her hand lingering just a little longer as she ran her fingers over Steph’s smooth vagina. Stephanie’s face went a little red as this was happening as she was feeling the same sensation she had felt with her dad earlier in the week – she was starting to become turned on. As soon as Courtney was done fastening the tapes of the diaper, Stephanie lifted her feet into the air for just a moment to try and hide her expression.

“That was…really nice,” Steph blurted out.

“I was hoping you’d like that, “Courtney said with a smirk, “Come here and give me a hug.”

Stephanie sat up and hugged her best friend with a giant smile on her face, and never wanted this hug to end. She was a little sad as Courtney started to move her arms away from Stephanie’s body, but sadness turned to excitement as Courtney placed her hands around the back of Stephanie’s head running her fingers through her friends hair. In a moment that shocked Stephanie, Courtney pulled their faces together as their lips locked. This was an unexpected turn of events for Steph, but Courtney had sort of wanted to do this for a while. Courtney slowly let her tongue leave her mouth and used it to spread Steph’s lips apart, gently thrusting it into her friend’s mouth. The girls continued to make out for what seemed like an eternity, but was really only about five minutes in real time.

As soon as their lips separated, Steph squeezed her friend even tighter before pulling them both down onto the bed to cuddle like they had done on the couch earlier that day. Stephanie was going to have a wet diaper again tonight, but hopefully not from an accident. Courtney was ecstatic at everything that had transpired while they were in the bedroom, and felt warm and safe with Stephanie’s arm wrapped around her. She wished that her and Stephanie had gone a little bit further than just kissing, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Both girls were tired though, and pulled the covers over themselves as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

To Be Continued…

[amaya-chwan]

Takeaways from Therapy Game Restart 14 + Illustration Book Release Date

Hello again everyone! ❤️💛💜

It's finally here... chapter 14! In all its glory! 😍🥰✨

Before we get to our takeaways, just some news I missed in the last post!

🎉 SENSEI'S ILLUSTRATION BOOK WILL BE RELEASED AROUND THURSDAY, 23RD SEPTEMBER! 🎉

Image taken from this Twitter post from Dear+!

It is titled "日ノ原巡イラスト集　DARLING" and boasts a collection of illustrations from Sensei's works so far: Secret XXX, Therapy Game, and Kamisama no Uroko.

The current price is ¥2970 with tax (¥2700 without tax). If you'd like to preorder it on your proxy shopping service, I've found it on the Comi Comi Studios website here! The bonus for purchasing it on this website is a B5 clear file~ I haven't seen it on Animate just yet, so fingers crossed it'll appear on their website soon with another (different) bonus! ❤️💛

Alright, with this amazing news done, let's move onto our takeaways, the long awaited takeaways! Thank you for being so patient with me! 💜

My short life update: currently in week 8 of lockdown and I haven't left my house in a long time other than for exercise or groceries. But I do have my vaccination appointment booked so YAY! 🎉

Here are our takeaways for this chapter:

Oh man, we pick right up from the last page of chapter 13. MINATO, BB, YOU LOOK SO PAINED! 😭

Sensei is the BIGGEST tease... that's all we got of that Minato and Shizuma scene...👀😭

The female staff at the veterinary hospital have really mellowed out! They're not bad, after all. ☺️

Oh dear, Nakajou-sensei, please get better ASAP!

Whoa... did Onodera just...?? I'm starting to think back to that Onodera discussion we had a couple of months ago... 🤔

Poor Shizuma, always roped into Onodera's workplace stuff! IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE GREAT PEOPLE SKILLS, SHIZUMA! PROUD OF YOU! 😍🙌

Man, Onodera has a really... blunt way of saying things to her human clients. Wow, brave. 😲

But I will say, Onodera really is good with animals. 🙌

Yet again, I think about that Onodera discussion we had... 🤔🤔

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! There may or may not be a surprise scene (or two) there. Please keep reading if you want to see~  😉✨

Our chapter begins where we left off in chapter 13--Minato pinning Shizuma down on the bed. Shizuma looks up at Minato and reflects on his actions that caused the pained look he is seeing.

Image taken from this Dear+ Twitter post!

On the next page (title page), the dialogue reads: Shizuma wants to understand what it is about his director (Onodera) that is making Minato uneasy. // However, that beautiful liar hides it well...

(I believe we are taken back to the morning before Shizuma and Minato meet up for their date.)

The title page features Onodera walking back to the clinic, bread in hand, with a cat cozying up on her leg. We are then brought to the clinic's lunchroom, with the female staff and Shizuma on break. The roster in the room shows that Onodera is extremely busy, Nakajou-sensei has afternoon house call appointments, Tatsumi is Nakajou-sensei's support for these appointments, and Shizuma has a half day and finishes in the afternoon in lieu of working on his scheduled day off.

Shizuma asks his coworkers what presents they like from their partners and takes note of their answers. One of the female nurses asks if it's Minato's birthday. Shizuma confesses that their relationship has been affected by the various things happening lately, so he wants to get Minato a gift before seeing him later that day.

The nurses quickly pick up that the gift is a "tribute" of sorts as this line of work means a lot of missed appointments and dates, and Shizuma confirms their suspicions. While the nurses realise male-male relationships and male-female relationships aren't that different in this aspect, everyone in the lunchroom is alerted to someone shouting Nakajou-sensei's name.

Shizuma and a nurse see Tatsumi with Nakajou-sensei, who has collapsed on the floor. While the staff are concerned about Nakajou's well-being, she brushes it off as a dizzy spell. Before they can help her up, Onodera sweeps her off her feet and carries Nakajou to her (Onodera's) office. While Nakajou asks Onodera to put her down out of sheer embarrassment, Shizuma and Tatsumi are in shock, with Tatsumi commenting on Onodera's manliness in that moment. One of the other nurses gently smacks Shizuma's shoulder and tells the two to grab a blanket and a drink for Nakajou.

In her office, Onodera asks Nakajou why she's been overworking herself to the point of collapsing. The nurse (who gave the gentle smack) very obviously hints to Onodera that it is her fault. As Nakajou calms the nurse by saying that's just how the director is, Tatsumi asks Nakajou about their afternoon appointments. She says she'll be fine to go after a little rest, but the nurse says she mustn't overexert herself.

After a few back and forths about who should go and the clients' needs/personality (picky about the vet, had a pet that doesn't like men, etc), Onodera says she will go. The nurses are shocked and reminisce about all the issues they've had when Onodera interacts with the owners. Tatsumi and Shizuma stand there, and can very clearly imagine those situations happening.

While Onodera rearranges and informs the nurses of the shift changes to accommodate Nakajou-sensei, Shizuma has a terrible premonition that unfortunately comes true: he is appointed as Onodera's support for the afternoon house calls.

Wearing a sulky expression, Shizuma packs the necessary equipment in Onodera's car and reminds her that he has a very important engagement that night that he cannot miss, and as such will leave immediately after the house call appointments are done. Onodera bursts his bubble, and tells him to give up on those plans while he can since this is the line of work he's chosen.

As Shizuma reads the client files, he questions Onodera on why he is her support when he's never attended to these clients before. While Onodera tells him that good coordination is important with a physician's support and that he's the only one she can rely on to give her an honest opinion and calm the clients, Shizuma realises that he's basically the mediator between her and the owners. She confirms that this is his strong point, has great expectations for him, and proceeds to drive. Shizuma then reads the patient files at lightning speed, realising there's a threatening 'something' that Minato has sensed, but that's just how the director is. He then vows to make it to their meeting tonight, no matter what.

The first three house calls, as expected, involve Onodera insulting and angering the owners--Onodera tells the first client that his insistence on seeing Nakajou rather than a 'young' director is having a negative effect on his pet who needs immediate medical care; Onodera offends the second client, inferring from their conversation that her pet's appearance is more important than the need to shave their fur and get an ultrasound done; Onodera accuses the third client of being irresponsible in caring for his exotic animals and asks for more effort on his part. In all three scenarios, Shizuma awkwardly smiles while trying to ease the tension.

The scene skips to Onodera and Shizuma arriving at their fourth and final house call for the day. Just as Onodera explains to Shizuma that she must check a whole host of things at house calls (and indirectly be too blunt about it with the owners), Shizuma asks her to consider the owner's feelings and change when and how she says things. She glares ahead in silence, and Shizuma is just glad that she is now aware of it. He again reminds her to talk with the owner nicely and gently as he probably won't be able to help with the next client as their pet dislikes men. Onodera tells him to just sit in the corner and witness the client become furious while he doesn't help, making him feel slightly guilty for saying that. He is now adament on not helping her.

They reach the owner's home and we meet an elderly woman named Shiratori and her 9-year-old male cat, Tono. Shiratori apologises to Shizuma as her cat doesn't like men. Tono hisses at them as Onodera opens his cage, but is then coaxed into submission by Onodera who covers his vision with a towel and takes him into her lap to calm down. Shiratori and Shizuma are surprised at his sudden docile nature, with Shizuma witnessing how well she deals with animals.

As Shizuma looks on at Onodera while she completes a check on Tono, he sees she is crumbling at the friendliness and talkative nature of Shiratori, who sings nothing but praise for Onodera and how her family must be proud to have such an amazing daughter. Aiming to ease her troubles and remembering the earlier guilt-trip she gave him, he redirects Shiratori's attention to her broken fly screen and offers to fix that plus everything else that needs repair in her home.

Onodera watches as the two leave the room for a bit before apologising to Tono for ignoring him. Tono looks on at Onodera happily while she asks him how he can live with such a lively human and to tell her his secret to this. She brings him into her arms once more to check his limbs, and as Tono looks up smiling at Onodera, Onodera sees her reflection in Tono's eyes, and both seem to realise something.

BG Text: Stare...

Suddenly, Shizuma and Shiratori, who are busy fixing the window, hear a loud crash and rush into the room to find Tono atop the cabinet and Onodera on the floor, with her hair in disarray. In the next panel, Tono is shown to be hiding in the bookshelf, looking on irritatingly at the humans. Shiratori apologises to Onodera, who shakes it off and says it's nothing to worry about and no harm's been done.

Shiratori asks if Onodera will fix/tie her hair up again, but when Onodera says her hair tie was broken when Tono used her as a launchpad to get on the cabinet, Shiratori runs to get her a new one. As Shiratori gushes over the 3 piece dopey looking character hair tie set she received as a present from her grandchild (and lets Onodera pick one), a greatly displeased look is plastered on Onodera's face. Shizuma, in shock, notices her displeasure and hopes she just thanks Shiratori for it. And Onodera does, bringing a great big smile to Shiratori's face.

As Onodera and Shizuma leave, Shiratori says she's glad to have talked with Onodera and invites her to come over again. As she says this, we see Onodera looking back with a blank look in her eyes.

And that’s it for this chapter! THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! 💜 While I was surprised at the lack of Minato in this chapter (Sensei legit is such a tease, LOL 🤣), I'm happy we can learn more about Onodera. Ngl, I'm starting to really question if Onodera is male or female now, given what transpired in this chapter. I guess we shall see in the next one!

I also changed the formatting a bit and removed the bullet points. Please let me know which format is better/easier to read! Ahah!

EDIT: Spelling and grammar checks are done! Didn't change a lot, but hope it reads better! 💜

📢 As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

And please also refrain from resharing these translations and images outside of this post! Thank you for understanding! ❤️💛

There won't be a chapter in next month's (September release) Dear+, so I shall see you in two months for the next chapter (Dear+ November Issue, to be released in October).

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜❤️💛

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 5/?

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name ( your best friend’s name)

Part 5! This is going well, I think, I hope you like it :) 

So last night, I finished two parts to this series, and guess what? Turns out when Tumblr glitches you have no rights and suddenly all your work is gone! If you need me, I’ll be crying in my writer’s corner

Warnings: Swearing, Trauma, Family Issues, Left on a cliffhanger lol :) sue me, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Down girl, you’ve been on two dates, did he even open up to you fully? A/N texted back to Y/N, who took a quick break to the bathroom to compose herself and fix her hair after Jason, the man she was casually seeing, opened up to her about his father and his father’s criminal record as well as his mother and his mother’s passing.

Yes he opened up to me! But we’ve been spending all day flirting and I told him about how my father is an immigrant and how I tell everyone I am legally a bastard, and I just don’t know, is it too soon to say I like him?

Go get him, Girl. Go get him.

In the other room, Jason was hastily texting his brother Dick, who has been in a relationship with Barbara for a while now, and is deeply committed to her. So, he needed advice.

How did I know when to kiss Barbara? Do you want to kiss Y/N? Dick asked back to Jason.

Yes I want to kiss her you idiot, but when do I do it? We’ve only been on two dates.

Why don’t you take her to a fancy restaurant out of the city where you aren’t being watched constantly and she isn’t flipping off the paparazzi, and then do it? Also, Bruce thinks her flipping off the pap twice is very funny, shockingly.

As soon as he received that text, she walked back out of the bathroom, this time, letting her hair down out of the bun it is usually in.

“You look nice with your hair down, Y/N.”

“You think so? I usually have it down when I don’t have classes.”

“I do think so.”

“Well, thank you, Jason,” she purred, sitting back down in her chair, opposite him.

“Bruce saw your shenanigans with the pap, he apparently thinks it’s funny.”

“Your family is checking in on you? Can’t they trust me?” she said, in a completely sarcastic tone.

“Well, I was just bragging about how lovely I find you.”

“Kind of you to do so, Jason,” she placed her hands on his and had to lift herself up slightly to lean into him, not to kiss him or anything, but to be closer to him. 

“Your love language is physical attention,” he smirked at her, “I can tell by how you grab me, Y/N.”

“Don’t psych me out now, we’re having fun!” she whisper-yelled at him.”

“I do it when I’m nervous,” he assured.

“What’s there to be nervous of?” she asked.

“The pretty girl leaning into my face making moves on me?”

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he grinned, “no chance I want you to stop.”

And then his phone rang. He picked it up to hear a very panicked Bruce on the other end,

“Jason, here, now.”

“Okay, okay.”

He hung up and grabbed her hands and leant in, like he was going to kiss her, but only rest his forehead against hers,

“This has been lovely, really, but that was Bruce and he needs me, I’m sorry,” he whispered down to her.

“I understand, we can always go on more dates.”

“I hope we do, see you later, Y/N.”

“See you, Jason.”

And he left. But there was something about the furniture in the house after he left, it smelled like him. Not in a weird way where she was obsessed with it, but she associated the smell with the feeling of riding through the city and the back roads like no one was watching, the feeling of being free, the feeling of being unstoppable.

And that, that was the beauty of the chase, the beauty of what she wanted, to be free, gone from her parents, gone from her twin sister, free.

But, she went to bed that night without even going to her car to pick up her notes. She did have class tomorrow, but it wasn’t criminal psych. It was regular psych. Which she wasn’t stoked for, that’s for damn sure.

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

Waking up, she opened her phone at around 5am to see a text from Jason,

You know, I always wanted to try some restaurants in Metropolis, I know you don’t like it, but I know the press doesn’t follow me there. What do you say? (Yes I know it’s 3am I’ll tell you all about what happened and why I’m awake so late later lol)

She thought about it, scared that her parents would see her walking around with this guy they didn’t know. Fuck it, she thought, I only live once.

Jason, I would love to. And I hope that story is a good one.

He almost immediately shot back, Mornin’ and yeah, it is. Do you have class today? I can come get you from your’s and pick you up from class if you need it, I swear you won’t have to ride the motorbike in your home city.

I do have class, and you don’t have to but my class is at 3pm again if you’re willing.

Meet up at 12 and talk for a while? Might be fun. 

My roommate will be here, though.

Well, you already inadvertedly met my best friend, remember the baker? His name’s Will Harper. I called in a quick favor to impress you and he’s a sucker for a good romance story.

Well, he seemed nice, and yeah, if you want to meet my roommate you can come over, Jason.

You can call me Jay if you want to, Y/N.

I gotta shower now, Jason, but I figured nick names would come out in time.

She put down her phone and went to shower.

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

“Mornin’ A/N.”

“Y/N,”, she greeted happily, “the coffee’s already brewed by the way.”

“God I love you,” she blurted out.

“Yeah yeah, tell me the drama, did you guys have sex?”

“No, but he’s coming over today to meet you slash talk to me before taking me to class and then driving himself and I to Metropolis for dinner.”

“Escaping the cameras to go to the city that has your parents?” A/N questioned, seeming concerned.

“I know, I know, but I only live once and I doubt we’ll see them. If we do, I might just call him my boyfriend to get it over with. Have to talk to him about that though.”

“Honestly, have you told him how insane your parents are?”

“That’s what I’m planning on doing today, A/N.”

“Don’t scare him off, Y/N.”

Y/N scoffed and she went to go get her notes from last night, it was around 11:50am, so she knew that Jason would be here any minute, but she needed to get those notes into her room, she was right about Jason when he pulled down the street in a Porsche. Pulling into her driveway, Y/N waved at Jason while finishing to pull out her books from her beat up car. Quite the difference from the Porsche and her car, but she only noticed it for a few seconds before both doors slammed, in sync.

“Well, that was timed perfectly,” she said to Jason when he met up with her at her car.

“Wow, we’re magicians,” he joked, “Do you need help?” he asked.

“No, no, I can handle it myself, thank you.”

“Well, it doesn’t kill me to ask, you’re going to need help with that door though,” he mused.

“Oh no, you underestimate me, I can open doors with my hips, and I think I didn’t shut the door the whole way so I could do this easier,” she laughed and began to lead him up the driveway, like she had done last night before he ran off with Bruce.

“Thinking ahead?”

“Something I clearly didn’t do when saying we could go to Metropolis, I’ll admit.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have time to talk about it later, Jay, are you however, ready to meet my roommate?”

“No, but you only live once, Y/N.”

“You won’t die, I promise,” she said as she nudged the door open with her hip and greeted A/N, “Hey girl! This is Jason, entertain him while I file notes, maybe, I swear I’ll speed run it.”

“Entertain him? Are you serious? He’s your guest!” she joked.

“Hey thanks man really appreciate it,” Y/N joked before hastily walking towards her bedroom, this was obviously a song and dance they had done with A/N’s lover, so Y/N shot it back at A/N.

“Jason.”

“A/N, right?”

“Yes, sir, how are you today?”

“I’m good, was that a fight?” he questioned.

“No, don’t worry, it’s just the way I acted when I first brought my partner, person, thing, over. She’s just being spiteful. Trust me, if it was a fight, there’d be a lot more of a screaming match.”

“Well, that’s reassuring, I think.”

“So, Jason, do you like her?” she asked.

“We’ve been on back-to-back dates since Sunday, A/N,” he paused, “I really do.”

“Well, it is not like I am going to sit here and be like ‘Oh you can’t date her!’ and feign being upset about this, I mean it’s been 2 dates and you’re going on a third, if that’s not leading towards seriousness, I don’t know what is,” she assured him. He seemed to like this.

“How much has she told you? My secrets or anything?”

“God no, you’ll tell me those with time when we’re friends.”

“Well, I hope you’re a good friend to Y/N and myself, in the future, then.”

“The future is just around the corner. Don’t let Y/N escape you. She’s a catch,” she finished as Y/N reentered the room,

“Did you two have fun?” Y/N asked.

“I think we did,” Jason said.

“We did,” A/N assured, “you two can go to her room now, I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t worried you weren’t going to be, you always are.” Y/N said to A/N before grabbing Jason’s hand and taking him to her room. He hadn’t been in her room yet.

It was kind of a mess, I mean it wasn’t like they had a maid and they’re both broke college/university students. Notes were strewn across her desk, but that was expected with such a high-study class, the one they met in.

“You clearly like the colour red,” Jason said, pointing to the obvious red feature wall, grinning.

“Well, I told my sister to design my room last time she was over and she picked it based off of the criteria I gave her, she’s going to be an interior designer, and red was one of the colours I gave her,” Y/N said with a sigh, “That’s kind of the thing we need to talk about, my family,” she sighed again, “They are, special, to say the least.”

“Well, so is mine.”

“Yeah but,” she sat on her bed and he joined her, “My family is quite, how do you say it, Christian? They’re very hard to impress and if they see me running around the city with you they might expect you to be my boyfriend, not the guy I’ve known for 3 days and went on back-to-back dates with,” she rambled, “ Not that they wont like you! They’re just traditional, and I’m not and it drives a slight wedge between us,” she paused to look at him, “This is just a really long-winded warning about only a chance to meet them,” she finished.

“Well, that doesn’t scare me. You would understand why if you knew the Waynes, not that they’re traditional, they too, are just hard to impress,” he assured.

“Probably shouldn’t have flipped off the paparazzi then, honestly.”

“No, Bruce found that funny. And about last night, my brother, Damien, he’s the youngest Wayne and one of the only not-adopted ones, being 3 not adopted ones,” he paused, “Anyway, he broke his leg playing office chair racing in the Manor, and I needed to go to Bruce to get yelled at for bringing up the idea,” he laughed, “Bruce then told me after that if he was invited I wouldn’t have been yelled at,” he paused, “That was fun.”

“So, very posh and pristine family, and one of you broke your leg roughhousing in a very expensive Manor?”

“Only in Wayne Manor would that be a sentence.”

“Seems like you have your hands tied with your family,” she joked.

“I wouldn’t if the idiots stopped hurting themselves playing games when I’m on dates,” he retorted and laughed with Y/N.

It seemed crazy that these two would meet, since so many factors played into it, but she swore God saw the potential for this to happen and said, This, this deserves a shot to shine. And she was grateful. She didn’t exactly believe in God, but if God sent her this boy, she might change her mind on going to church with her parents when they invite her.

And that’s the beauty in the mystery, the beauty in the ‘Positive’ they claimed after not knowing what to do next but still powering through to go on dates, and they had gone on enough dates and spent at least 1 third of the last 3 days with each other. That was impressive. That was a good sign and they both knew it.

The next step was packing a few bags and going on 24 hour dates in the cities, but they weren’t ready for that yet. They both thought a first kiss would be better before that. Luckily, Jason wanted to kiss her today, and she wanted to kiss him today.

Before they knew it, they were in the Porsche driving through the streets she describes all-too well, blasting songs and screaming lyrics with Jason, a song stuck out and that was the Annapantsu’s Smooth Criminal Rendition with Caleb Hyles. Since the rendition had a multitude of riffs that Y/N adored, she would scream it and Jason would continue the male parts. It was peaceful yet the most high-pressure intense situation she had felt in a while.

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

Getting out of class, she somehow avoided the paparazzi she had grown somewhat accustomed to over the days she had known Jason, she got back into the Porsche before they noticed she was even there, but then they noticed, and Jason fucking floored it to the streets and out of there.

He dropped her off at her place to get ready for an expensive dinner with him in Metropolis. She thought long and heard about what to wear to her date, but in the end, she decided on a nice pink dress her mother had bought for her back in Metropolis. She had told her daughter, Only wear this on a date with a man you think is endgame, now, she didn’t know if Jason was endgame, but she did want to put all the energy she could into the universe to make him worthwhile.

(This is the first time I’m going to include pictures! I think I’m getting the hand of Tumblr now hehe :) )

(If the skin tone doesn’t match your own, because you’re darker or paler, just imagine it’s yours :) you’re all beautiful in your own right and I’ll use pictures with varying skin tones as I progress the story)

She gave a little twirl in her mirror before taking a quick picture to send to one of her other class friends, who was wondering how things were going with Jason at the time. Her name was Artemis Crock, she knew that Art and Jason were friends, but she also liked Artemis Crock a lot, thinking that they were likely going to be good friends.

You’re going to make him swear up and down to Will that he is ‘Only seeing you casually’ while Will says he’s in love with you, you’re killing it. She shot to Y/N.

Y/N smiled and left her bedroom to go meet up with A/N, who wanted to make sure the dress she was wearing was cute, and it was,

“Holy shit! I said look cute, not make him your bitch, Y/N!”

“Potato, Potahto,” she laughed, “You really think I look worthy of a Wayne?”

“You always do, but you didn’t have to go THIS  hard to prove a point. Only one tabloid said you weren’t enough for him,” she paused and Y/N thought about that tabloid, it upset her, sure. But she was completely aware that spite was going to fuel many of her next moves in the press, “Just the one tabloid.”

“And the one tabloid is enough to make me spiteful. Fuck them tabloids, girl, they can suck it,” she said.

“I don’t think Jason would appreciate if the tabloids blew you,” she joked.

“You don't know that, A/N,” she retorted.

“Do you know that?” A/N said as the doorbell rang, “I’m assuming that’s for you, have fun!” A/N said and waved as Y/N waved back and walked to answer the door. Yep, it was Jason.

“Woah,” he said, mouth agape, when she answered the door.

“Close your mouth, Romeo. You’ll attract flies,” she joked.

[yoichichi]

To Call You Mine

college!tsuki x reader series

Ch. 1 - study buddies

warning(s): swearing, early early mornings 😵‍💫, second hand embarrassment LOL

a/n: ahhhhh!! Here’s chapter one of my first series!! I have the masterlist and details linked above but for some quick info: this is a college!au multi chapter fic about tsuki and the reader :) if you’d like to be added to the taglist let me know!! And as always I really appreciate your thoughts and comments n all that :) my inbox is always open!!! Enjoy <3 psps - don’t forget to check out the playlist linked above hhehehe

You’re not sure what woke you first; your alarm, the pain shooting up your back from the stiff cot your university has the audacity to refer to as a “bed”, or your own sour attitude from having to be up so early.

Five am. Five am. It takes a certain kind of sick and twisted individual to suggest meeting up to study at five in the morning. Although, you have to admit, it does take a different kind of person to actually agree to those terms.

Why, why, why, why, why.

Is the mantra you chant to yourself while you mindlessly dress and pack your bag, not even bothering to snatch a power bar from your nightstand for breakfast. Water will have to do.

You make an effort to click the door shut behind you quietly, not wanting to wake up your more than sweet dorm mate who’d surely be focusing on being just as careful as you were right now.

“Oh my gosh, don’t you have that study date in the morning sweetie? You should be sleeping right now.” Bonnie, said dorm mate, leans over the back of your desk chair to peer down at the page of your calculus ll textbook you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes. Concern is evident in her voice and her body language as she brings up a hand to gingerly rub your shoulder, hoping her small sideways smile will give you a sense of comfort. Or maybe even convince you to give it, and yourself, a rest.

“I know, I know. I just want to be prepared is all. I’m already dropping past a C at the speed of light and I’m sure my professor thinks I’m an idiot, hence him actually setting me up with a tutor, and I don’t need this guy to think I’m one too.” Your head falls in your hands at the end of your sentence, a dramatic groan feeling needed to really emphasize your point, too.

“Okay, just head to bed soon.” She placed a kiss on the top of your head before crawling into her own bed, using a storage container to prop herself onto it properly. She almost made you homesick with the way she doted on you like she was your mother.

You looked over and tapped the screen of your phone to see it read 9:14, not too late. You could reasonably cram in one more lesson.

You scoffed at yourself with the door fully shut and locked. You should’ve listened to Bonnie when you had the chance, it was just past midnight when you finally tore yourself away from last weeks review and decided to get ready for bed. Barely even four hours later and you’re up and getting ready to look at it all again.

You could at least appreciate how quiet the dorm hall was this ea-

“Mornin’, you!”

You internally banged your head against the wall at the bright voice that came towards you with such heavy and loud footsteps, how can someone’s footsteps manage to be so loud on carpet?

You substituted a hello with a gentle smile and wave as your R.A., who definitely didn’t remember your name - which is fine cause you didn’t remember theirs either, rushed past you.

Sighing deeply, you left the warm confines of the dorm building and stepped into the cold and brisk morning, starting your trek to the library.

He couldn’t have even chose a coffee place or something?

You had some, thoughts, about this guy. You didn’t know much about him, only two things.

One, his name: Tsukishima Kei.

Two, he was a good enough student to be assigned to you as a tutor.

You swallowed your slight embarrassment at the thought of your professor reaching out to someone on your behalf and instead chose to focus more on how weird this guy has to be.

Waking up before the sun rises on a Sunday was not something you looked forward to, you don’t think anybody would truly; especially to meet someone for the first time; yet this guy thinks it’s a great idea. So much so he didn’t even think to ask first, just tell you when and where to meet.

Thursday 4:14 pm

- ‘It’s Tsukishima. See you at 5 in the library this sunday.’

- ‘Oh hi!! Oh ok, am or pm?? lol’

Thursday 7:43 pm

- ‘am.’

- ‘Ok cool, see ya then!’

And that was it. Neither of you have texted since, which was three days ago on a Thursday afternoon. It kind of bothered you really, I mean, what kind of self righteous ass-

You took a deep breath and chose to think happy thoughts instead. You’d much rather be in a somewhat pleasant mood when you meet this guy than have some grudge against a stranger. And he probably talks different than he texts, right? You’re sure he didn’t mean to sound like a complete jerk.

You shook your head as if you were shaking away your thoughts as you started to walk along the path to the library. It was a fairly nice walk, about five minutes, and being alone was kind of peaceful on the way there this early.

Your feet shuffled only slightly on the cold concrete surprisingly enough considering the way your fatigue was starting to creep into your joints - but surely the cold wasn’t helping.

It was that kind of morning cold that stung your nostrils when you breathed in and tickled your cheeks and ears. It made your hands clench and unclench in your coat pockets, debating whether or not it’d be worth it to pull the cold metal of your jacket zipper just a centimeter higher in hopes of keeping your neck warmer. The morning fog leaving droplets on the synthetic material of your coat, making it squeak awfully when you moved your arms. And there was the dew on the grass that’d cling onto the tops of your shoe when you had to walk through it.

But the way the old fashioned light posts lit your walk and illuminated the fog kind of made your slight discomfort worth it. And by the time you reached the tall brick library, you could almost say you were in a pleasant mood, almost. And then you remembered why you were here.

You took one final deep breath as you reached the heavy doors of the university library. It was a grand sight really.

The building had its own separate spot on campus, towering at about four stories high, which although didn’t sound ginormous, it definitely felt that way when you had to climb those stairs to the top floor for a book you really didn’t even want. The brick with the foliage creeping up the sides to cover some of the lower windows even gave it an almost magic feeling when you took it in from the outside, it’s too bad that sense of wonder couldn’t be mirrored on the inside.

It was too quiet, especially this early, it smelt almost stale, and everything seemed to have a layer of dust no matter how new a book was. And the bathrooms? Old. Most stalls didn’t even have usable locks at this point. It’s arguably all apart of the charm of such an old building, but it’s not as charming when you have to reach out to keep the stall door closed with your fingertips just to use the restroom. And the water from the sink that never seems to get warm enough when you wash your hands doesn’t help either. Yet the water fountains are always too warm curiously enough.

You made little to no noise besides the occasional rustling of your jacket and squeaking of your shoes as they padded across the dingy off-colored carpet towards the back of the first floor.

There were various sizes of tables spread out throughout the space, few actually matching in color or style. The chairs varied less - but you could still find the oddball desk chair, or the chair with the wooden frame just a tad to wide to feel like a normal seat but just as evenly too small to be a bench.

Your heavy eyes surveyed the dimly lit space in hopes of finding any sign of human life when you finally noticed a backpack haphazardly tossed onto a table, still zipped open. Pens were splayed across the table with a single notebook, scribbles scrawled across the pages too far from you to be read. Not seeing anyone occupying the seat pulled away from the tables edge, you took out your phone to take a peek at the time.

4:58 am

Wow, I’m early?

Shoving your phone back into your pocket you began to make your way towards the (un)occupied table, debating whether a seat closer or farther would be more polite.

If I sit too close that’ll definitely be-

“Hey.”

You felt your shoulders hunch up to your ears and a small gasp leave your mouth at the way the voice behind you so suddenly interrupted your train of thought.

You turned around to come face to face with the voice.

“Are you (y/n)?”

Damn. He’s kinda tall.

Kind of was certainly an understatement. God he was definitely above 6 feet, 6’2” maybe? No, maybe even a little taller.

A single earbud was still in his ear as the other hung down and rested against his chest. He took the time to take the other out and wrap the cord gently around his middle and index finger before shoving it into his coat pocket, presumably the same one with his phone, in an effort to prevent them from getting tangled most likely. He took a deep breath and eyed you up and down before chuckling softly to himself.

“Okay.”

The tall man, who you’re now beginning to realize is Tsukishima, gives you a quizzical stare with a quirked eyebrow as he looks you up and down one last time, definitely judging you and your silence at this point, before turning around and making his way to a table.

Well it’s a good thing he stopped you before you sat at some other strangers table. You don’t think your heart could’ve taken that today.

You watched his back as he made his way towards a table farther into the back, closer to a window peering out onto the foggy and barely illuminated field.

Oh shit

“Oh, sorry!” You clear your throat and begin again, your own sudden volume startling yourself for a moment, as you double your pace to catch up and walk beside him towards a table,

“Um, yeah. Sorry, it’s a little early, brain hasn’t woke all the way up.”

Silence.

At the lack of a response, you decide to awkwardly laugh rather than wallow at the fact he didn’t even give a pity chuckle at your bad attempt at a polite joke to ease the seemingly tense vibe between the two of you.

Okay, well he definitely seems to talk the way he texts.

Clearing your throat again, you tried once more.

“I’m (y/n) by the way, it’s nice to m-“

“I know your name.” He stopped at the table and turned to glance down at you over his shoulder, the tiniest of smirks resting on his face with raised eyebrows, before pulling out a seat to sit in.

Yeah, maybe being quiet for a bit would do you some good. You’ll try again later.

Still trying to shake the embarrassment, no humiliation at this point, you busied yourself with taking out all the proper materials and waiting while he did the same. Sitting patiently opposite of Tsukishima, you decided to finally get a good look at him. Take in what you see and make some judgements.

He shook off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, showing you his wide shoulders underneath the simple grey t-shirt he wore. You didn’t fail to notice how the sleeves were cuffed, either.

Hm. Nice look.

Points for Tsukishima.

His hands and ears were slightly pink from the weather outside, contrastingly sweet against the paleness of his skin.

Kinda cute, in like a Keebler elf kind of way.

More points, you guess, for Tsukishima.

He sighed as he opened up the calculus ll textbook, adjusting his glasses with long and slender fingers before flipping through the pages. You decided it’d be best to do the same.

It was quiet for a moment too long when you thought it might be a good idea to try and speak again, but apparently he must’ve had the same idea.

“So, why d-“

“Thanks for-“

Cutting each other off, you pursed your lips as he gave you some emotionless stare, one of you waiting for the other to start back up again.

Andddd, another awkward beat of silence.

Jesus, this was gonna be the longest hour of your life.

—————————

AHHHHH HERES CHAPTER ONE - I promise the next one will be full of tsuki and tsuki content ok, I just had to get the ball rolling and really wanted to post smth!! I hope you guys like and please please leave your thoughts or anything in my ask box or anywhere!! I’d love to talk :D MWAH I also have little footnotes in my tags too :) (more like commentary but yeah)

taglist for series: @plutowrites @c0rncheez @ruetaro @daniagabriela48 @toyas-wife @devilkou @anime-and-kpop-trash (if you’d like to be added or removed let me know! And if ur crossed off tagging didn’t work!)

[amelee23]

Fool | J. YH

Genre: Fluff

Tags: Best friends to lovers, Suggestive themes and sexual jokes, Wooyoung is an accidental wingman, Nerdy gamers having at it, A lot of Need for Speed references

No. Words: 3.5k

⭐⭐⭐

She always loved when they got completely absorbed in their little bubble - engrossed in what was making them tick in the most passionate of ways. Since Yunho came to pick her up and take her to the dorm, she didn’t even realize when they got there - or even that the house was empty -  because they were too caught in a conversation about the new-coming video games of 2021. The small task of taking off shoes or their jackets, the walk to Yunho’s room and the struggle to get comfortable in the gaming chair; these were not memories in her mind. All she could remember was the way he smiled without stop and the sparkle in his eyes as excitement took over his entire being.

Only after Yunho told her he’s been playing old games lately - specifically racing classics, of the Need For Speed series - had she realized the house was too quiet. Yunho then informed her they all left to eat at a restaurant with the manager team, but he asked to be left behind so he could spend time with his best friend. She couldn’t help the warm smile raising her lips at the sweet sacrifice this man made for her.

A few minutes later and she felt the usual competitive side of her kick in, seeing Yunho with a controller in hand, playing Need for Speed: Underground 2, a game she remembered dearly from her childhood. She couldn’t help but feel she could do so much better than him - and that’s how the challenge came to be.

“Yeah, you want to bet?” Yunho suggested, his cheeks raised in a cheeky smile, but his lips expressed something a lot more smug. 

“2 out of 3: sprint, Street X and drift.” The boy laughed at his best friend’s confidence, finding her determination very charming, like always.

“Deal.” He announced, raising his hand so she could high five the deal to completion. It never failed to amaze him, how gentle her high fives felt to him, even though she’s the only woman he’s ever seen break a controller before. “What are we betting on, money?”

“Money is boring.” Taken aback, Yunho had a healthy laugh at her statement. He couldn’t wait to say this sentence again, out of context, and turn it into both teasing material and an inside joke.

“Okay, then what do you suggest?” He asked, still cackling with a half lidded eye smile.

“Let’s do something more… daring.” Trying to act surprised, Yunho opened his eyes in curiosity and hummed. They both got to thinking for about a minute, then she snapped her fingers exaggeratedly to show she had an idea. “Let’s randomly ask Wooyong to give the loser a punishment!”

“Like, with no context?”

“Exactly! After one of us loses, we ask Wooyong to give out a spicy punishment-! No one would be better than him at coming up with something totally ridiculous that one of us will regret for a lifetime!”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. But I’m starting to think you’re a masochist.”

“It’s a 50/50 gamble, so who knows?” She rebutted, wiggling her eyebrows at Yunho suggestively. He could feel his ears heating up so he pretended to need to face his computer for a while. “So, what do you say?” She questioned him, moving closer to where he was, probably intentionally, because she knew how to tell when he was turning shy. 

“I say you’re both crazy and a genius … a crazy genius. But I’m all on board.”

“Yas, leggo baby!” Yunho shook his head as he took in the image of his best friend leaning back into her chair, controller in hands, legs somewhere in between the right armrest and the air. Her enthusiasm dripped from the way she was grooving to the OST of the game. Warmth and an electricity-like feeling began filling his chest.

It took them perhaps a little too long to decide on the first track to play. Eventually, after long minutes of bickering, they chose a winding long race and swore to not try to mess the other up.

Yunho was the first one to drive, his engine roaring as he continued to hold his acceleration button. He had some lucky escapes from running into traffic - and easily overcame his competition. Now in front, he was taking short cut turns, but to her, they looked too time consuming. Yunho was trying to drive as properly as possible, and it was affecting his time; she couldn’t help but puff up as she realized it would be an easy win against him. With a record of 2:27:34, Yunho rolled his chair away from the screen and let his best friend take over.

Hands grasping the controller, she took a deep breath to overly-dramatize the situation even further.

“Eat my dust.” She mumbled, and Yunho gave her a curious side eye.

Swiftly she overtook all the NPCs, climbing up to first place. She wasn’t even worried about them to begin with. As the turns approached, Yunho realized she wasn’t showing signs of taking her fingers away from the acceleration button - not until the last second, at least. Her turns were either taken with the help of crashing into a wall or into a stylish, speedy drift. Yunho was baffled, thinking that crashing on purpose to finish faster should be considered as cheating. But he accepted his defeat as her time was 2:14:58, over ten seconds less than him.

Cracking her knuckles, she wore a smug smile as she let Yunho choose the next race for them to play. It was 1 to 0 currently, so he decided he should spice things out now - by choosing a ‘random’ Street X race. He probably forgot to mention to her that Street X were his forte in this game.

Yunho put his focus face on from the moment the cars showed up on screen. For most, this Street X race was difficult to even beat on first place - but he knew what he was doing. 

“I hope you had your fun.” He threatened, hands moving effortlessly on the controller to take him through the sharp, abrupt turns which were in Street X - a race type specifically made about taking those turns right, not about speed. Raw talent was dripping off of his fingers, but she didn’t want to feel discouraged just yet. Perhaps her method of using walls to take turns could work here, too-

Now that it was her turn, she realized it wasn’t the case - in here hitting walls was the worst thing you could do. Eyes dashing in between her car and the timer non-stop, she realized she was losing a lot of time correcting her direction if she didn’t brake properly before a turn. By the last lap, she already lost hope, as she reached Yunho’s record and wasn’t done with the race yet. 

“Tight game.” She stated, trying to ease the thick competitive air in the room. Yunho just smiled, a sparkle of something naughty in his eyes.

“Would you like to do the honours?” He asked, referring to choosing the drift track, the last race of their competition. He looked so sure of himself, to even offer that she chooses the track; she couldn’t help but feel even more frustrated by that cockyness. 

“Yeah.” She answered, not even looking him in the eyes. She knew what track she wanted - the one on the actual streets of the city, which had two off road areas - those were bomb in doing drifts over 50.000 points. 

Yunho was surprised she chose such a difficult track, but didn’t really complain. He had recently unlocked this track since he was nearing the end of the game, and so he knew the trick of the off road areas too, especially because he failed them enough times. He collected small drifts here and there on the way to the first special area, then he made sure to catch enough speed to send the back of his car in a beautiful curve, following the form of the turn. He didn’t need to, but he took the risk of connecting that turn to the next one that followed and gathered around 74.000 points in that area only. She was biting her lip, wondering if she still had the nimbleness to beat that.

The next special area gained him about 37.000, and with all the other points collected from smaller drifts, he was able to gain over 130 thousand. 

She was already pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that she would probably lose. It’s been a while since she played this game, and the special drift areas were always a gamble. Yunho couldn’t help but laugh at the tension in her back, giving her a friendly pat to brighten up.

“You got this!” He cheered, because even if he wanted to win, he didn’t like seeing her so discouraged. He often times also got mad when he realized he was being too competitive and not giving anyone a chance to win against him.

She started out just like Yunho, gaining some small scores on the way to the main attraction of the race. As she saw the goal in her eyes, suddenly she struggled to regain control of her car in the midst of the big drift. She was headed straight for the edge, meaning her score would be neutralized if she hit it - so she was forced to stop her car. The special area unfortunately only brought her 55 thousand, a weak number compared to Yunho. She brushed it off and continued on her way, towards the second special area. She had a better feeling about this one, as her car was being much more responsive, and even if the space was smaller, she gained another 50 thousand there too. 

But unfortunately, as she hit the finish line, she realized - they both scored in the range of 130 thousand - but hers was exactly that number. Yunho was closer to 140.

With a little dance celebration, Yunho announced he was the winner of the tournament. Seeing him act so goofy, she couldn’t even bring herself to sulk. It’s not like it was unusual for Yunho to win their dumb little competitions, but it would’ve been nice to win one anyway.

“I acknowledge your driving skills, Mr. Jung.” She said with a smirk, offering him a hand to shake. 

“You weren’t so bad yourself, well… except the part of taking turns with your face.” Now that the tension was lifted, they were back to being all smiley and supportive of each other.

“What can I say? I like using my head.” Yunho chuckled, grabbing the controller to quit out of the game so he could find some movie to watch while they eat. Remembering that he needed to order some food, he pulled out his phone - and read Wooyoung’s name.

“So… do I need to ask Wooyoung to give you a ‘daring’ punishment?” He used air quotes to express the idea of something naughty. For a while he forgot that this was the penalty of losing, the thought completely slipping his mind as he focused too much on doing well in the game.

“I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders, secretly hoping that he had forgotten and she could’ve avoided doing something so embarrassing. 

Hesitant, Yunho opened the messenger app and tapped on Wooyoung’s name. He didn’t know if he was excited about what was about to come.

[Yunho]: Hey Wooyoung, can you come up with a ‘daring’ punishment a girl could do for a guy for losing a game?

[Sent 18:46]

A thick silence enveloped the two as Yunho stared at the screen, waiting for Wooyoung to see his message. They were both hoping the resident jokester of the group would go easy on them this time.

[Seen 18:51] 

Five minutes later, Wooyoung saw the message and Yunho watched the three dots dance for a very short amount of time. And, as it turned out, Wooyoung didn’t ask any questions - he gave a straightforward answer.

[Wooyoung]: Oral

His answer had Yunho opening his eyes in pure shock. He glanced at his best friend, who was looking at him expectantly, and then back at the screen. 

“Uhm…” He couldn’t even bring himself to mutter such a word to her. Before he knew it, he let his phone down and stared into the distance like a deer in the headlights. 

Yes, asking Wooyoung was a bad idea. 

“Uhm? Did he answer?” She pressed on, and Yunho couldn’t do much more than nod. 

“Look for yourself.” He showed her his phone, and she felt as if she just got hit with a soccer ball in the stomach. Blinking at Yunho in disbelief, she let out a confused puff of air.

“I mean, I expected something like a sexy dance…. But not this. Wooyoung really is another level.” She complained, suddenly looking as lost as Yunho. They both looked like ghosts, the colors drained from their faces. 

In truth, both of their heads were racing at that moment - imagining what could happen if they went through with it. Yunho’s face heated up and his body grew heavy, and she was biting her lip. But a common thought was keeping them both grounded; that they were just friends, and nothing more.

Moments later, Yunho was able to collect himself and focus his vision again. She was in distress, even in a haze. He pulled out his phone again, texting Wooyoung to rectify the situation.

[Yunho]: How about something a little bit… more decent. This is my best friend we’re talking about.

Wooyoung read the message instantly after, his fingers fast on the keyboard.

[Wooyoung]: Oh my God it’s her! Why didn’t you tell me! I thought you were finally scoring a lady with those video games of yours!

[Yunho]: I told you guys I was spending time with her today

[Wooyoung]: You did? OOPS

[Yunho]: Yeah, oops. You almost gave me a heart attack

[Wooyoung]: *boner

[Yunho]: DUDE

[Wooyoung]: Okay okay I’m sorry, but you’re the one who asked me outta the blue

[Wooyoung]: Something a little more tame… HMMM

[Wooyoung]: You’re a tall dude, right? How about you have her wear one of your shirts for the rest of the day… but like only your shirt. I bet she’d look cute ;)

[Yunho]: That doesn’t sound that bad, thanks

[Wooyoung]: I can’t wait to get home :P

She dragged her voice suddenly, bringing Yunho back to reality. He didn’t realize how focused he was in his conversation with Wooyoung.

“Uhm, so, yeah! Wooyoung gave you a more tame challenge. He said you should wear one of my shirts for the rest of the day… like, as a dress type thing.” Yunho tried to explain, but he was still nervous from the previous shock and tripping over his own words.

“So wear a boyfriend shirt.” Yunho felt his being vibrate once again at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

“I… guess so.”

“I can do that! That sounds more like a prize than anything, to be honest. You know I have a fixation for your clothes.” She said with a laugh. She seemed to be back to her cheerful self, already walking her way to Yunho’s closet. “Can I choose any shirt?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Still no intonation in his words, Yunho’s mind was not present in the conversation at all. It wasn’t long before he zoned out again.

He couldn’t possibly be attracted to his best friend in such a way. They had a strong spiritual bond, for sure, but it was never anything physical for them. They appreciated each other for who they are, so he never asked himself questions like these before.

Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. He heard the door handle move and then saw her come back in, legs bare and sexy, her small frame basically swimming in his large shirt. She sat down on her chair and melted back into it without a care in the world. She looked comfortable, even.

“So, are we ordering that food?” She asked, but in Yunho’s daze, he missed the smirk playing on her lips. If only he knew how much she was enjoying this.

Forcing her to stay put, Yunho was the one to receive the food at the front door. He sighed in relief when he managed to put a blanket over her, as they nestled up in bed to watch a movie and enjoy their food. Out of sight, out of mind, they say.

His torture began again as soon as they got back into gaming -  this time choosing to do their usual foolery - playing Minecraft together, one being in charge of the mouse and the other in charge of the keyboard. No wonder they never made any real progress on their world, since they could never be in sync with each other to actually defend themselves from zombies. ‘

Time flew by as they laughed and played, but the rustle of keys at the front door still managed to startle Yunho out of his mind. Panicked, he got up to throw her pants back at her, words leaving his mouth a little too fast.

“How about you put those back on now.” Cocking an eyebrow at him, she hung them on the chair, clearly refusing to do so.

“Why would I? The punishment says for the rest of the day - or as long as I’m here.”

“Yes, but-” Yunho pursed his lips to the side. He didn’t know how to word his thoughts. To add more pressure, the door to his room swung open and San came inside to throw his phone on the bed. He glanced at Yunho’s best friend briefly and they exchanged hellos before he went back to the living room, where the boys were being loud over something.

Yunho breathed out in relief that San was nice enough not to stare. Something about other men seeing her like this irked him, even more so that she was wearing his shirt. 

“But?” She urged him to continue speaking, getting off of the chair to stand in front of him. Being the tall guy Yunho was, it wasn’t often that she had the opportunity to stare him down like that. Yunho gulped as he felt his throat dry up, taking in the image of his friend - no, an attractive woman - looking at him with such a suggestive expression.

“I don’t want anyone else to see you like this…” He mumbled, the beauty before his eyes already making him breathless.

“Why not?” She teased.

“Because…” There wasn’t any logical answer in his mind, or even a concrete idea. “I think we need to reevaluate our relationship.” Letting out a healthy laugh, she wasted no time to climb in his lap. Yunho was happy, perhaps the most relieved he’d been the entire day. He didn’t know there was such a sexual tension in between them until it finally dissipated. 

“Finally!” She exclaimed.

“You think so too?” She hummed in response, eyes locking with his lips as she did. 

The kiss itself felt good - like two magnets clicking into place. What felt even better though, was being able to accept all the feelings he’s been burying deep inside himself. He was wrong in thinking something more wasn’t possible between them.

A loud knock echoed from the door, and Wooyoung’s voice could be heard screaming from the other side.

“You two decent?” 

“No!” Yunho yelled back. They certainly weren’t a sight he’d want his bandmates to see - his shirt was hiking up on her thighs, their arms tangled around each other’s bodies. 

“What do you mean ‘no’??!” This time it was HongJoong’s voice, and Yunho knew he messed up. Almost effortlessly, he got up with her still around his hips and grabbed her pants on the way to the bathroom. 

“Okay, but seriously get dressed now.” Yunho said, and only got a wink from her in response. He rolled his eyes and went back into the room to let her change. 

He really was a fool to think this wouldn’t work out - he already loved every second of it.

[ohheyitsokay]

good eye

part 4 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 3.5k (I’m only 14% sorry about that)

warnings: strong language, extremely mild injury, Benny Miller working out, a little bit of a cliffhanger ending

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball. 

“good eye” is an encouragement for batting players, essentially applauding them for having good judgement when and when not to swing.

In this chapter, the guys becoming increasingly aware of how interesting you are to the whole gang - and what they’re going to do about it. 

>>

Bottom of the ninth inning – the end of the game.

Sometimes players fixated on the score, glancing at the flashing lights or acting desperately but for Will, keeping it in his head was just as natural as breathing. Floating around first base made it easy for him to keep an eye on everything, and stay focused under the summer sun. His team was up by two.

The opposition was at bat – their final advantage as the home team. He didn’t feel particularly nervous, but couldn’t breathe easy just yet. They already had two outs, thanks to his little brother’s inhuman speed and some excellent Garcia pitching, and just one more to go before it was all over. Preferably, this would happen before the man on third made it to home base. 

There was a bead of sweat rolling down, down, down his temple over his cheekbone, and into his beard. The clouds from the start of the game were long gone – even with his cap, his blue eyes were getting tired.

They were focused on the batter, not even Pope, and never the crowd, since it was always just a blur of noise and rival colors and waving hands. The closer the game came to an end, the more the mass of people writhed with tension. It was better just to ignore it. There was no reason at all, but he looked up just for a split second and he saw a single, tiny form make itself clear, sending a confusing thrill down his spine.

A familiar crack rang through the air and he snapped back to focus. The batter was hurling towards him, the crowd was holding it’s breath as he looked around, almost frantically.

Where was the ball?!

Your form was still in his minds eye, he didn’t understand, but then – there, in the outfield. No, here. Instinct had taken over.

It was in his glove, and his left toe had found first base. Will heard a curse as the opposing player plowed behind him a second too late, a yell from the umpire, and then the satisfying groans of the other team’s fans.

Pope crashed into him first, then whoever else was the closest. It was giddy and triumphant chaos, hands clapping his shoulder, sweaty hugs, slaps, and high fives, and Will barely noticed any of it. Jogging back to the locker room was quick, the crunch of their shoes in the grit of the field like a stampede, impossibly loud. The locker room wasn’t as bad. It would have been louder if they had lost, like they had expected. Something still felt strange in his gut as they changed and rinsed off and packed their things.

You were interesting to him, he liked how real you were. He was normally the one that grounded others, that kept his head, learned his lessons and left the game on the field. It was nice, spending time with someone he didn’t have to do that for – or really anything for. There wasn’t a need to put on a show for you, or be your steady sidekick. It was nice. But it had only been a lunch and a night at the bar, no reason to know the shape of you, much less be thrown off by it.

He was taking extra care to clean his newest tattoo, absentminded, when the locker-talk caught his attention.

This was the first away game they had won this season, and everyone was debating why their luck had changed. Some of them were arguing loudly, ridiculously, and as usual, his friends started gravitating together, interested, but with lower voices and cooler heads.

“Do you think it was because I wore last weekend’s socks, Fish?” Benny was grinning, as his friends eyebrows answered for him. Frankie was superstitious, but in a way he’d gotten from his abuela, not the game. Will had a thought, the confusing last moment of the game clicking into the conversation, his eyes meeting Pope's for a moment.

“Actually, I have a theory,” he kept his voice quiet. If the rest of the team got wind that William Miller was participating in the banter, they’d be all over him, sure he was right only because he rarely cared. His friends looked at him, curiously, and he chewed on the idea for a moment, liking it more and more until he actually believed himself when he told them.

Their good luck charm?

You.

-

Tom had missed the conversation, occupied with a love-sick staff member in a quiet corner of the stadium.

He would never admit it, but he always needed a distraction when the winning catch had nothing to do with him. And Molly had to travel with the team most weeks anyway, the availability becoming increasingly more appealing than trying his luck with a random fan.

The next day after practice, he found her again and this time, despite the crude nature of the location, he took little more time. It was strange, to grab her without pent up frustration driving his actions, but not an entirely unwelcome change of pace.

He didn’t dwell on it, almost running away, but she did, trailing her fingers over the places his had been as she put herself together again. She wanted to remember each one, to savor them like it was the first time. And maybe it was – the very first time he had even kissed her with no particular personal agenda. Of that, she didn’t feel as guilty about wanting more.

Tom had long since slipped out the door when she finished the process, just slipping on her heels when the someone knocked.

Opening it, she found an eager and awkward shortstop pushing into her office. He seemed nervous, more nervous than she had seen him during photo shoots and press conferences and final innings. It wasn’t what she expected – not the demeanor the players normally held when they asked for favors. Professional athletes were confidant, suave, even. Ben had something else going on, something sweeter, maybe even innocent.

He called her ma’am, and she rolled her eyes when he asked for you number.

“Don’t you boys ever talk?” she was kind of annoyed. Ben was confused, it showed on his face.

“Tom got it awhile ago,” she started, and he got it, immediately. The older man hadn’t told any of them that you would be at the bar last week. He wondered if you knew he had arranged it. Something felt off but before he could ponder it she finished.

“And Santi got it yesterday.” Actually, she was more than annoyed. You hadn’t seemed special at all when you’d been there opening weekend. Your grandfather was sweet but nothing about that day could explain why three of the players were willing to bend the rules to find you again.

Tom’s voice rang in her ears: he’s got it bad for her. That didn’t quite fit what she was seeing, but she cooled down a little.

She didn’t even have to shoo him away, his thank you, ma’am, sorry to bother you made her feel like an old lady as he turned on his heels and trotted off.

The younger Miller was increasingly thoughtful, but he could feel something shift in the air. Then he shrugged it off. He was sure he’d find out, sooner or later.

-

“Ben, where’s your brain?” Catfish had caught him making eyes upside-down at the girl standing by the athletic trainer while he was mid workout. He didn’t really need a partner to work out, but they tried to go together, to spot on another and to argue over who could bench press the most.

He watched as his friend’s brain and body scrambled to put down the weights and he stood up too fast.

Across the room, girlish laughter bubbled and Benny blushed, still not attending as he grabbed the water bottle he was being offered and squirted himself in the mouth.

“What?”

Frankie shot him an amused look, gesturing vaguely, his point now proven. This had happened before. The young player was almost certainly going to tell him some random information now to distract him and trying to avoid the inevitable teasing.

“Did you know Tom got her number?”

It worked. There was almost no context, but he knew immediately and there was a twist in his stomach. It was the answer to a question he didn’t know had been on his mind - Catfish fully short circuited.

Redfly got your number? That was why Frankie had found him putting the moves on you before they were scheduled to meet. He was shaking his head, dazed, when Ben added, “And Santi got it a couple days ago, too.”

A moment of silence, and then,

“Fucking what?!” 

Heads around the private gym turned.

Ben hissed for quiet as he dragged him towards the locker room, and he found himself allowing it as he heart tried to catch up with his mind. No way Pope was going after you too.

“Weird, right?” Frankie felt like ‘weird’ was putting it mildly.

“I just asked for it,”

“You -"

“- because I wanted to be friends, but,” the younger man was ignoring his sputtering panic. He didn’t know if he should be mad or grateful. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”

That stopped his racing heart. That was the question, wasn’t it? Frankie dragged his hand down his face, smoothed his mustache, readjusted his hat, trying fruitlessly to ground himself.

He said something noncommittal in response, barely hearing himself as he changed the topic. Ben was watching him, he could tell, but it wasn’t as though he could explain why he had reacted so strongly. He didn’t even know why.

It’s not like the feel of you against his hand was all he had been thinking about for the past few days.

His head was spinning, and not in the same way as when he had heard you were at the last game.

Of course other men had their eyes on you. You were gorgeous. His hand twitched on the locker as an image of him pressing you against it flashed through his mind. Shoving it down, he moved on.

You were smart, too, and kind. Certainly he couldn’t be the only one who liked the way you looked when you were thinking, or the little messiness of your hair, or the curve of your neck and shoulders as you leaned against the table.

There was a flare of something green in his chest. He was thinking about your hand on his arm, the way it made him feel like he was your anchor, the white lines on the ground guiding your feet. That, was his. For a moment, his brain reminded him of your lips on Pope’s cheek, your fingers on Benny’s shoulder, and palm on Redfly’s jaw. The locker door resonated in the quiet room as he slammed it shut. Even your eyes in Ironhead's for just a moment… it made him want to kidnap you, press into your space, surround you with his body until all you could see or touch or think about was him. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe what he was aching for was for there to be a room full of handsome, athletic, perfect men, and for you to seek him. Find his eyes, and hold them in yours until you reached each other. To choose him. 

Either. Or maybe both.

Whatever he’d been saying got lost on his tongue.

Benny was looking at him thoughtfully, and Frankie sighed, his anger slowing to a simmer. It was absurd, he knew that. Knowing didn’t make it go away, but it helped.

Really, he should be lucky he got any of you at all, that alone was a minor league miracle. Hiking his bag up, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and changed the topic once again.

The smell of dirt and grass and sweaty men faded as they walked out of the room, and when someone made a group chat that included you, Frankie remembered that he liked his friends. The bats in his bag clanged like bells, and Ben said something that made him laugh, and he thought he was a fool to have forgotten it.

-

Santiago was the first one there, over half an hour early, by accident or design you had no idea. He made all of James' things look small, and it made you laugh, because you knew it was only the beginning.

You’d been added to a group chat a few days ago. The list of total bizarre things happening to you was increasing every day of knowing them but you couldn’t exactly complain. It was exciting and honestly, you ached for them in a way you couldn’t explain. Seeing Santiago sent sharp excitement through the anxiety of preparation, but even with the handsome man removing his shoes, you couldn’t help but check behind him for Francisco.

It had been a joke, sort of. They had invited you out and you retaliated by saying you owed them a meal. You should’ve known, already, they weren't afraid to take you up on it, and you’d had to use James as your crutch. His house was much bigger than your apartment, and he was so excited to talk to them it was adorable. Before you’d even turned to Santi properly, they were already chatting, and you watched, smiling.

He looked good. It really was almost as if they actually were family – not physically but you could see it in how they interacted. Santi was more cleaned up than he’d been at the bar, thanking your grandfather like it really was an honor to be welcomed into his home. Jimbo was standing as tall as he could to scruff the younger man’s perfect hair, and you laughed as he clarified that they were always welcome, as long as they helped cook. And when Santi grinned, agreeing readily, the line on his forehead smoothed.

The stress of hosting even such strange guests lessened again, and you slipped back into the kitchen.

Not two minutes later, he found you there, and you could feel him watching you, lounging against the door as graceful and powerful as a panther. Slicing vegetables to grill, you let him, for the time being. He would tell you what he was thinking if he wanted to.

It made you smile again, when his large, calloused hands began to make motions for you to let him take over. Determined or maybe even insistent, but not entitled. He mimicked your cuts, checking silently for your approval, and you saw something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.

Over food and drinks he had been smart and clever and passionate – an idyllic picture for over-ambitious fans. None of that was gone, but there was another layer under it, something distinctly humble, and if your dreams hadn’t already been occupied, you might’ve fallen in love with him a little bit. Prepping food to the sounds of quiet music and the rhythmic thumps of the knife against the cutting board felt domestic, but in a familial way. There was no pressure for words, for you, and when he did speak, it seemed as though he agreed.

“This might sound fu… uh, stupid but I’m glad there aren’t bobble heads around.” Of him and his friends, he implied. You wondered if he checked his language for your sake, or out of mindfulness for James.

“He really respects you guys,” you shrugged. “He’s always lecturing me on remembering that you’re human, and not overstepping normal people boundaries.”

Pausing your salad assembly, you stole a glance at him, only to find deep brown eyes looking at you curiously. His hand scraped over the stubble on his jaw, and you could almost see his thoughts, running diamonds in his head.

“Is that why you shot Redfly down?” he wasn’t looking at you, so he missed the tilt of you head. You didn’t need to know the nickname to know what he was talking about, but he clarified a moment later.

You weren't prepared for this to come up, but it shouldn’t have surprised you.

“Yes and no,” was the most honest answer. “He’s already got a girl, whether he knows it or not.” You felt good, talking to him, good like laughing, so you did. It was a strange moment, when the team’s outfield dreamboat had leaned in to kiss you, and you turned him away, but it wasn’t weighing on you at all.

Santiago was grinning at you, hands still, and you wondered if this was the first moment the two of you were seeing each other clearly. Biases and judgement and wariness stripped away easily in the kitchen, like the peels of potatoes.

“So,” his tone and eyes were mischievous, and you had never felt more like an almost stranger was your brother. “If one of the other guys asked you out, you would consider it?”

Face flaring with heat, you barely contained a squawk. He let out a triumphant noise and you shoved him. There was no doubt he wasn’t talking about himself, but you still wanted to melt into the floor.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen –”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Both of you were laughing when the other men pushed through the front door.

Santi answered their raised eyebrows by sticking out his tongue.

-

There was moments all the time in baseball, where when you have the ball and have to choose which opposing player gets to make it safe and who you’re going to try to get out. It’s a split second where you feel torn in two, and that was exactly how Frankie felt now.

When he had seen you, flushed and laughing, part of him wanted to give a damn thank you speech to Pope for helping bless the world with that, and the other part of him wanted to murder his best friend.

They had all pushed into the little home and he tried to focus on greeting James and looking at the cozy, dated furniture, the humble decorations, clearly cleaned just for them. There had been a moment, where you’d waved at what felt like just him, and his heart rate had doubled. He tried to talk with the guys, the friend you had invited, or help grill or set the table or … anything, but all he wanted was to find you again.

Staying by your side the other night felt as natural and the ball hitting the palm of his glove, time and time again. It was exactly where he was meant to be.

And you were so lovely he wanted you to press into him so close he absorbed just a fraction of your glow. He wanted to wrap you up and take you with him wherever he went, or maybe just settle into your shadow, to follow you forever. It felt greedy, which he didn’t really mind, but the problem was that it was unrealistic.

You were working hard to be a good host, floating around, making sure everyone was content, helping, handling things, or happily having heaping helpings of your cooking. There was another game on the TV, and James was telling stories, and his friends had made themselves right at home. In a strange way, it felt like a Sunday with his abuelos, and cousins, casual and comfortable. It was telling, of you, fitting, and he liked that, but it was distinctly missing... you.

Santi found him, listening to James, trying not to look over his shoulder for you, hand twitching to find it’s place on you again. They kept their voices low, trying to be respectful, as they caught up on the last few minutes, hours, days. Frankie felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had been subconsciously avoiding his friend. There was still some more private communicating they had to do… He offered Pope a drive. That would do it.

There was an understanding as the looked at each other, under the music and talk, and clatter of dishes. Will was making James laugh, loud and care-free. The uneasiness settled in his gut – he trusted Santi with his life. He could certainly trust him now, with whatever this was.

Not long after, Frankie found himself being herded through the little house, around tables with glasses and napkins, and back into the little kitchen. There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and then he was alone with you, for the very first time.

Your eyes were big, staring at him, as you held a pile of dirty dishes.

He wanted to kiss you.

Of course, he didn’t, only cursing himself as he awkwardly offered to help. When you shook your head, your hair fluffed, and with the sunlight through the window, he was having trouble remembering how to function.

Frankie was solid, known for being sturdy and safe. Not like Will was, with his ethics and upbringing like roots into the ground, but that of Atlas, supporting the world on his shoulders.

He was the cornerstone of the team, the background man behind the curtain, with hair and eyes and thighs that Santi swore made women swoon.

And he was doing dishes in the kitchen of your grandfathers house, weak in the knees because you had smiled at him, impressed and grateful. His mind was telling at him to talk to you more, to say something interesting or impressive or to make you laugh when he heard you yelp.

The sound was awful, and adrenaline pumped into his blood as he realized you were hurt. Swinging around he didn’t see you for a moment before registering you had sat down, hard, and were clutching your wrist. There was a thick line, throbbing and an angry red – burnt.

When his knees hit the tile, he didn’t even notice the dull pain. His hands grasped yours as you tried to apologize, explaining the stove was still hot after you had turned it off. Frankie heard you, really he did, but he mind was chanting do something! And stringing Spanish curses, demanding that he protect you, that he fix it.  

He didn’t realize how close he was to you until your eyes found his. it crashed into him the realization that if he leaned forward, tilted his head a bit, and sunk a little lower onto his knees, he could have your mouth against his. 

Panic slowing, he looked at you. You were so sweet and beautiful, collapsed on the kitchen floor with him like the two of you were the only things in the world, and you were trying to tell him you were fine, that it was a silly accident. Frankie felt ridiculous, caught up in his thoughts, and he just... threw aside logic.

Time stopped, and he kissed the burn.

>>

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