#anyway long story short my knee is taped up now with some sort of special tape that Will remove my skin if i try to take it off too soon

[fingertipsmp3]

Everybody: physical therapy hurts! You’re going to feel like you’ve been beaten up after you get out

Me: yep okay

Me when the physical therapy hurts:

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch. 

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night. 

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ���adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?” 

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-” 

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy. 

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded. 

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation. 

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her. 

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be. 

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success. 

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.” 

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences. 

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion. 

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

--

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright? 

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place 

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly. 

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

[onelastbreath-writes]

I Spy (2)

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales/Fem!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary (lite): You literally fall for a guy you meet in a bar, and everything is going great until you learn both of you have been lying about who you are and what you do. Oof. (SpecOps&Spies AU with Young!Frankie)

A/N: Wow part one got a lot of love, thank you so much! And now I also have a taglist going for this fic, so let me know if you want to be tagged the next time I post. This chapter is basically just fluff with a bit of background plot,,, i’ve created both a slow burn, and a 100 metre sprint of a relationship for y’all, so be prepared for that. Depending on what I manage to get into the next chapter, aka if i can finish the story or if i wimp out, there will either be 3 or 4 chapters total, and if i like the universe enough I might have some bonus content in the future. Nothing is set in stone so don’t start counting your chickens yet, but like... maybe. Anyways, I hope you enjoy part 2 of Let Me Have Nice Things I Spy <3

PS it is 3:45am when I’m posting this, please forgive me if its actually just weird thnxxxx

[AO3A][Masterlist]

[Previous Part]

---

“Water with a wedge of lemon, please,” you ordered as you and Frankie claimed a bar stool each at the counter.

“And a coke for me, thank you.”

The drink offer was always a toss up for you; a good way to measure the type of guy interested in your company. Even if you hadn’t decided that you were done with the alcohol tonight, you would still have ordered a water on your date’s dime. It was a simple test of character that more than a few guys had failed in the past. Were they looking to get you drunk, or were they willing to respect your choices? Frankie, so far, had done nothing but respect you.

Your drinks arrive quickly, and the cool glass feels refreshing in your hands. You still feel warm from your brief contact with the handsome man beside you, but after peaking at him from the side of your eyes, you can see that his ears and cheeks also have some red to them as well.

Frankie accepts his glass and angles himself towards you, bumping his knee lightly to yours and offering you another sweet smile. “Would it be presumptuous of me to offer a cheers? To meeting new people? Or I’ve got some great, really catchy and not at all cheesy pick-up lines, if that’s more your style?”

You snorted a laugh at his teasing but held out your drink for him to clink his against, “To meeting new people, then. And please, I have extremely high standards so only your best lines will appease me.”

“Ah, a connoisseur! Well then, please prepare to be amazed,” Frankie swivelled around to fully face you, ran a hand through his hair, fluffing his curls and pushing them away from his face, and cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “You blinded me with your beauty, so I’m going to need your name and number for insurance purposes.”

Your plan was to hold out, not to crack against whatever corny, horribly cliché thing he was going to say to you. You’d been given them all, and had never had much trouble before, even with guys as attractive and cute as Frankie. You had a great poker face, and could keep yourself together like a pro. There was nothing he could say to you that would break your façade. And then he opened his mouth, and you were gone.

“Oh my god! That’s so bad!” You were shaking, gasping while trying to contain and smother your laughter. You hadn’t thought to put your drink down before he started, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around the glass in your hand. Frankie, thankfully, noticed your problem, and gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist to steady your grasp. He helped you set the drink down safely, before pulling your still jittering limb away from further potential accidents. And then, he just didn’t release you.

He had slipped his hand into yours and was running his thumb over your knuckles.

As if your cheeks weren’t warm enough already.

What is it with this guy? You just couldn’t catch a break.

“Okay?” Can I keep holding your hand?

“Yes,” Please don’t let me go.

---

“And so, we’re just, like, full-tilt sprinting to catch this last train. And of course, its raining cats and dogs, so the sidewalk is slippery as hell, and Santi’s down a shoe so he’s splashing around in his sock, and then we hit the stairs up to the platform, and the train is pulling out…” You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so much but listening to Frankie’s stories about his friends and their misadventures was making your cheeks ache.

You had been trading stories for ages, back and forth and jumping all over your lives to tell each other your greatest hits. Something between you two had just clicked, and it felt like you’d known him forever.

Early in the conversation you’d discovered he was his buddies’ designated driver, and would be on non-alcoholic beverages all night, but offered you anything you would like if you wanted more than water. You’d of course thanked him, but refused, stating your own reasons for sobriety. And that’s the point you got into talking about your careers.

“The guys wanted to get wasted during shore leave, and I’m not big on drinking so I offered to be their ride this time.” He was rather adorably touchy-feely with you, currently playing with your fingers and drawing on your palm absentmindedly.

“Shore leave? So, you’re military then?” That would explain the callouses and healed scars on his hands that you’d also been acquainting yourself with.

“Army, yeah,” Frankie had pointed out his group of hooligans across the room, playing what he’d told you was ‘Extreme Darts’. “Me and Santi were best friends in high school and enlisted together, and then we met Will and Benny in basic training. We worked together well enough to get us assigned to Tom’s squad and the rest’s history.”

“Then you’re still on active duty, right?” You couldn’t say you knew much about how a military contract worked, beyond what you’d seen in movies and on TV, but you knew soldiers were required to do a certain amount of service before they could retire; baring career-ending events that would get them discharged, of course. “When does shore leave end?”

“Ah, that’s a little complicated to explain, actually. We’re technically active soldiers still, but after our last deployment ended, we signed back on as like, uh, contractors. Sort of like on-base reservists? We help out where we can but don’t really see much in-field work, you know?” He was definitely struggling to describe his job to you, and you could imagine there was a lot of red tape and confidentiality around anything military he was doing, so you just nodded along and let him drop it. “But we still have a couple weeks stateside before we ship back out.”

You hummed at that, thinking over your own known schedule. “I can’t say I’ll have much time off before you need to leave, but I would like to see more of you, if you’re agreeable?” There was something special about this guy, and whether you were just friends or something more eventually, you didn’t want to waste your opportunity to have him in your life. Long distance anything was a lot of work, but you wanted him to know you were willing to try if he was.

“Do you like raisins? How would you feel about a date?”

---

That was how your unconventional romance with Frankie Morales started. You’d talked all night, and when the bartender kicked you and your groups out at closing time, he and his friends helped get your girls into their cabs. And once they were all taken care of, he had offered you his arm and walked you to your car like a proper, posh gentleman.

“Goodnight, paloma, thank you for such a wonderful evening.”

You had given him your business card, personal phone number and a flirty call me xx written on the back, and he in turn lifted your hand to brush a delicate kiss to your knuckles with a teasing wink. You went home that night mildly concerned you’d spontaneously combust from the heat blazing through your body. That man was a menace, and he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He had called the next evening, and from there you spent as much time as you could together. Coffee dates, dinner and movie nights, even a walk in the park like some fairy-tale couple; he always greeted you with a bad pick-up line to make you smile, and a left you with a kiss on the hand at the end of your outings.

It was three wonderful but short weeks later that he got his ship-out date.

You were back at the dive bar where it all started, your friend (and some of her friends) and his all together again, to celebrate their last night of leave. The bar had unofficially become your ‘spot’, and you’d visited a few more times over the weeks, both as private dates and as group activities to get to know the rest of his squad.

It was bittersweet, saying goodbye to your new friends and your, well, Frankie. You had both agreed not to put labels or promises into your relationship until you were sure, and you were fine with that in the beginning when you were still strangers just interested in spending time together. But now you knew him, now you had feelings to back up your attraction to him, and now, he was leaving for who knows how long and you didn’t know if he felt the same way about you.

He must have noticed something was upsetting you, because he excused himself from his buddies’ conversation and held out a hand to help you up out of your chair.

“Join me for some fresh air, hermosa?” He was as courteous as ever as he led you outside into the chilled night, offering you his jacket and his side to cuddle into when you shivered. He was good at reading you by now and could tell when you wanted to work up to saying something without prompting, so he stayed silent and let you organize your thoughts.

You were struggling with your plan, with what you wanted to say to him, ask of him. He was rubbing your shoulder and you reached up to lace your fingers together, remembering the first time you held hands here at the bar…

Please don’t let me go.

That was your answer then, and it was still your answer now. You wanted him to keep holding your hand, now and for however much longer he could. You just needed to tell him that. Easy peasy. And because he’d made a sentimental dork out of you with his unending lines, you couldn’t think of a better way to confess to him. You looked up and met his eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in them.

“I must be a snowflake, because I’ve fallen for you.”

He untangled your fingers from his, pulling his arm away from where it was draped warmly over your shoulders, and took a step back to face you head on.

Oh gods, you wanted to rewind time and stop yourself from opening your big mouth, I’ve ruined it all.

Frankie snagged both of your wrists in his hands, startling you out of your downwards spiral as he tugged you close to his chest. He was staring down at you, brows furrowed and lips pursed seriously. Your hands were pressed between you, resting against his sternum over his steadily beating heart.

“Feel my shirt. It’s made of boyfriend material.”

And then you were both gone, laughing so hard you had tears in your eyes and grins splitting your faces as you held each other close.

You hadn’t ruined anything after all; you could cry you were so relieved.

Once you’d both managed to settle down, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, his own shiny eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I’m a terribly selfish man to ask this of you, but would you wait for me? Will you give us a chance? Exclusively?”

“Yes.”

Your first kiss together was there, on that cold night outside the bar where everything changed. It was soft and sweet, and you couldn’t wait for more.

---

Taglist:

@playbucky​

[takingcourage]

Jaime x MC Fluff Alphabet

Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Jaime x MC (Arden)

Word Count: 5,650

Note: July 8 marks the first anniversary of the Wishful Thinking finale. I’m still not over Jaime Lewis, and this seemed like an excellent opportunity to check in with him and Arden through a series of drabbles. Since I’ve already addressed some of these topics in previous fics, I’ve linked the relevant stories below as well.

I plan to release Part 2 within the next week. I hope you enjoy! : ) 

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them? 

Swatting away the sweat bee that was hovering around her neck, Arden trudged through the grassy acreage that lay between her and Jaime. They were still hours from the full heat of the day, but the air was muggy enough to drown in.

“You forgot your water bottle back up at the farmhouse,” she called once within earshot. 

Jaime dumped the shovelful of dirt onto the pile beside him and leaned a forearm on end of the handle. “Thanks.” He peered at her through one eye, the other blinking rapidly to dispel the sweat. 

“Next time, I’m bringing a bandana for you too.”

Taking a swig from the bottle, he pulled it back with a shake of his head. “My hair’s fine how it is.” 

“I’m not disputing that it’s fine, just that it’s impractical in this weather. Come to think of it,” she mused, shielding her eyes with her hand, “so is that shirt you’re wearing.” 

A sly smile crossed his lips as he squatted to set the bottle on the ground. “You sure you’re really here to help the people of Oak Hills, Arden?” 

She brushed the question aside with the wave of her hand. “I wouldn’t still be coming out here if I weren’t. But the day’s only getting hotter. Going shirtless would clearly be the most logical course of action.” 

“Uh-huh,” he drawled. “I’m onto you, Mrs. Lewis.” 

Squinting against the mounting sun, Arden cast an appreciative eye over his form. “And I’m looking forward to having you all to myself, Mr. Lewis.” 

Jaime sighed in feigned exasperation, but she didn’t miss the decisive wink before he returned to work. 

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

“Jinx.” 

A momentary sliver of green appeared between the calico’s eyelids. 

“Jinx,” she tried again, skimming a knuckle over the curve of the cat’s spine. “You know this isn’t your bed.”

Both eyes remained firmly shut. 

Jaime stretched an arm over Arden’s pillow to stroke the feline behind the ears. “She’s used to getting away with it until you go to sleep. You’ve thrown her off her whole routine coming to bed so early.”

"Well, she’s not getting by with it tonight. She’s just going to have to find somewhere else to sleep.” 

With a chuckle, he pulled the hand away and propped himself on his elbows. “Want me to move her for you?”

“I’ve got it.” Sliding both hands under the mass of fur, Arden transferred the cat to the foot of the bed. “There you go, princess. Sleep well.” 

Jaime had thrown back the blankets for her by the time she returned. “It’s nice to fall asleep with you again. And seeing you in these is definitely a perk.” She looked up in time to see his gesture toward her satin sleep set. 

“You mean the pajamas you bought me for my birthday? What a surprise,” she ribbed, scooting over toward the middle of the mattress. “Though they are super comfy.” 

“And they look amazing.” 

Lips curling at the tired, yet sincere compliment, she unlocked her phone and began scrolling through her personal emails.

“Seriously,” he continued. “I think I need you to wear them around the house all the time. Your hips look incredible.”

Arden looked up from the screen, “They’re just hips, Jaime.” At his dumbfounded expression, she shook her head and laughed. “There’s nothing special about them.”

“You don’t understand,” he countered, reverently stroking the arc from her knee to her waist. “They might be my favorite part of you; they’re absolutely gorgeous.” 

“And you’re an absolute flirt.” She bit her lip with a grin and leaned out of his reach to plug her phone onto the nightstand charger. The disappointment she heard as she moved away was visible in his eyes as well. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” she clarified as she snuggled back into the mattress beside him. “Besides, if this is the reception I get for coming to bed early, I might have to do it more often.” 

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.? (See also In Stasis, Back to Bubbly, and Flat)

Jaime could hear the panic in her voice when he called to check in over lunch. His fiancée’s words were measured and controlled, but he’d known Arden too long to ignore the shakiness that came along with each inhale of breath. 

“It’ll get done,” she assured from the other end of the line. “We’ll make it work. Anyway, I’ll probably be home late tonight, but I can’t wait to see you.”

She begged off moments later, leaving Jaime with the smiling picture of her that popped up from his contacts. From the sound of things, she was a long way from the happy, carefree Arden she’d been when that photo had been taken. 

With less than a week before tapings began for The Ellen and Arden Show, she was more stressed than he’d ever seen her. She was getting by on only a handful of hours of sleep, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d successfully convinced her to take a break from her work. 

Her strong work ethic was one of his favorite things about her, but she was approaching this phase of life with a bit more can-do attitude than he would have liked. That stubborn independent streak of hers was back in full force. If it weren’t for her insistence that he continue his normal work schedule, he’d be there with her now. 

Slipping the device back into his pocket, he surveyed the worksite and ticked off the tasks that remained. Edge sanding, screen sanding, staining... As he sorted through grits of sandpaper, his thoughts kept slipping back to Arden. He could easily have the first coat of stain done by 5:00. After that, he’d go to the studio and see what he could do to help.

Maybe it was time to remind her that she didn’t need to handle everything on her own. 

_____

She was busy when he strolled into the studio -- too busy to notice he’d arrived until he was standing across from her at one of the staff writing tables. “Hey!” she jolted, her reddened eyes trying to focus on his face. “Is everything okay?”

Jaime lifted a thick brow. From the mock scowl she gave in return, she’d taken his meaning. 

“I’m fine, Jaime. I just don’t know how we’re supposed to start filming in three days when our set still looks like that!” She pointed at the bare-bones stage on the other side of the room. “The electrician had a family emergency, and we still haven’t gotten the custom flooring that we ordered from the store downtown.” 

“Listen,” he urged, stretching out a hand to help her up from the chair. “When we head out of here tonight, I promise we’ll be leaving things in much better shape. But I need you to do two things for me first.” 

“What?” she inquired, her tone verging on apprehensive. 

“Let me hug you.”

In spite of her initial reluctance, she stepped willingly into his arms. “What’s the second?”

“Eat some dinner while I take stock of where you’re at.”

“But I don’t have time to--”

“There’s a bag of Chinese in your makeup room.” He dropped a kiss on her crown as her grip tightened around his waist. 

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in makeup since we were, like, nine.” Arden took a step toward him and he dipped closer to hear the words she murmured next. “It’s kind of hot.” 

“What? There’s no way that’s true,” he countered, hoping that the makeup was enough to conceal the blush that was stealing across his face. Two months into married life, he still turned to putty every time she used that tone.

“Did Maggie even touch your hair? It looks the same as always.” 

“Just some hairspray.” 

Mumbling something about the unfairness of genetics, she sashayed over to the mic station for final adjustments. Within minutes, they were ready to begin. He joined her on the stage and waited for the lead cameraman to give them the signal. 

Beside him, Arden slipped easily into her on-air persona. “Looking for something to do over the long weekend? We’ve got a project that’s fun, easy, and good for the environment. It’s great to do by yourself, with friends, or even with your kids. Here to help demonstrate, we have a very special guest...” 

Jaime tried to look into the cameras as she completed the introduction, but it was difficult to drag his gaze away from her. Seeing her in her element like this -- getting to be a part of it -- was nothing short of amazing. 

“Thanks, Arden,” he took over, finally directing his attention toward the studio. I’m going to show you how to make a window box planter out of things you probably already have around the house...” the narration slipped from his tongue with the ease of practice. They’d been planning the segment for weeks, and he’d lost track of the number of rehearsals they’d put on in the garage. 

She followed the steps as he began the demonstration, and he caught her quiet giggle as she showed off the tools on her workspace. 

They’d worked on projects together dozens of times, yet this experience was something new. It was a true intersection of their interests: a sign of what the two of them could do when they pieced their talents together. And although it was his first appearance on The Ellen and Arden Show, he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t going to be his last. 

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive? 

“What was the order you just tried?” Arden bellowed, popping her head out of the small coat closet. “3-1-5-7-8? Try 3-1-7-5-8 instead. I think the diagram shows that the third number is 5, not 7.”

With the flick of his wrist, Jaime tested the new series of numbers. Feeling the tension of Arden’s gaze, the thanked his lucky stars for the old rotary phone he’d found at Paula’s one summer. He’d never have guessed that his days of dialing fake numbers in the attic would come in so handy. 

As the dial returned to its original position, a mechanical click came from the door on the opposite side of the room. 

“C’mon! We’ve got to see what’s in the bathroom.” 

He’d just had a chance to complete a once-over of the tub before Arden burst in behind him, tossing open all the cupboards in her frenzy. In self preservation, he stepped back and flipped through the almost-familiar pages of the appointment book they’d started with half an hour before. Having noticed the prevalence of leaf-inspired last names, he started comparing entries against the trees he could see through the painted window. 

“We’re down to... 27 minutes,” she reminded after a brief pause to consult the digital readout above the main door. “If we fail this, that serial killer is coming for us with a hatchet. I refuse to die that way.” 

With an absent nod, he flicked through another few pages, grateful that she couldn’t see the way his eyes had rolled upward at her latest outburst. 

“Here, just let me do it,” she insisted, sliding behind him to trade places in the tiny room. “You go over to the sink and try to figure out the order on these medicine bottles.”

Sighing, he surrendered the book and made his way to the counter. Who decided escape rooms made for fun dates? This is awful. He craned his head out the door for a peek at the clock. Phew. Only 26 more minutes. 

Arden’s head spun over her shoulder. “This is fun, isn’t it? Why do you not sound like you’re enjoying it?”

Studying the labels on the bottles, he offered a distracted, “It’s fine. We can talk about it when we’re out of here.” 

She casually dropped the appointment book on the tank of the prop toilet, eyes locked on him as the cardboard hit porcelain. “This is no good if we’re not a team. What’s wrong?”

“It just feels like you’re coming on a little strong here,” he admitted, running a thumb along the lip of the glass bottle. “Like you’re trying to do all of this yourself because you think I can’t. I know I’m not as good at this stuff as you are, but I’d like to think we can work together.”

She sidled next to him again, but this time he had her entire focus. “My bossy side really comes out when I’m under pressure, doesn’t it?” 

Cocking his head to the side, he offered a reluctant nod. 

The next thing he knew, she’d hopped onto the tips of her toes for a kiss. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.” 

“I know,” he assured, feeling a new sense of confidence as her lips met his. “Ready to kick butt for the last 24 minutes?”

“Let’s make it twenty,” she challenged, reaching for the address book. 

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting? (See also OTP Prompt #25) 

Lukewarm coffee in hand, Arden extracted herself from the car and proceeded up the steps of the porch. As she’d come to expect on the days when Jaime worked from home, the front door was unlocked.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” her husband greeted as she latched it behind her. He appeared a moment later, his thoughts matching the warmth of his face. 

In spite of the splitting force between her temples, Arden grinned in return. Jaime wasn’t a cure for headaches, but he had quite a talent for making her forget about them.

“Come with me.” He hoisted the heavy briefcase off her shoulder and caught her fingers with his other hand. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” she giggled, allowing him to take the lead as they wound through the entryway and into her office.

“Tada!” he announced, pulling her onto the carpeted floor.

Beside her desk sat the cabinet she’d purchased a couple of weeks before. It looked even better in person than it had online, and it filled the space between her desk and window perfectly. But even so, the pressure in her head returned as a tidal wave. As she stepped closer, it crashed over her in a torrent of hot tears and shallow breaths. 

“It was on the front porch when I came home for lunch, so I decided to put it together as a...” His words fell short as he glanced back at her. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I wanted to do it.” 

She knew the complaint sounded shallow and pathetic, but she’d been operating on a short fuse for the better part of the day and her patience had worn extraordinarily thin. 

“I had no idea,” he whispered, concern etched in his brow. 

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about, but I was looking forward to building it,” she admitted, plonking her travel mug on the desk in front of her.

“You’ve been working such late hours the past several weeks. I thought it would be nice for you to come home and have it done.” 

With his explanation, it was easy to see how he’d come to such a conclusion. “True,” she conceded. “But sometimes it’s nice to work on something that has an actual, finished product.” 

His full lips teased a smile before he opened them to speak. “If that’s what you’re looking for, I have a suggestion.” 

“Hmm?”

“You remember those brownies I was telling you about last week? The ones Kyle brought to the worksite?” 

“Yeah?”

“I got the recipe from him today, and we have all of the ingredients we need  in the cupboard. Maybe we could test them out together? We’d have a finished product.”

“And we’d get to eat the finished product,” she highlighted, eyes widening at the prospect. “I think that’s exactly what I need. You’re brilliant, Jaime.” 

Beaming, he tossed the hair out of his eyes. “Meet me in the kitchen once you’ve changed?”

“You’ve got a deal,” she agreed, already making a beeline for the upstairs bedroom. 

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

“I received an email from Tara Simpson yesterday afternoon, out of the blue,” Jaime began, breaking the post-breakfast Saturday lull. 

“Who?” Arden gave her coffee a vigorous stir until she was satisfied with the rich caramel color.  

“The Northbridge Parks and Recreation Director,” he clarified, pouring himself another mug. “She’s interested in getting my feedback about a trail project for Memorial Park. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

Cup already on its way to her mouth, Arden took an extra-long drink to buy herself some time. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned a hip against the countertop. “She's probably heard that youv’e been helping clean the mountain trails outside the city.” 

Jaime’s eyebrow dipped with suspicion. “That park is owned by the state. It’s outside of her jurisdiction.” 

“Eh, she must have heard people talk about it.” With a shrug, she pulled open the dishwasher and slotted her spoon into the plastic basket. ”There are a lot of people who love what you did out there.”

Brooding over his still-steaming mug, he watched her behavior curiously. “I know you had something to do with this, even if you won’t admit it.”

Arden knew her husband was smart and capable, but sometimes she managed to forget just how clever he was in addition to everything else. She wasn’t sure how he’d found out about her involvement, but denying it further wasn’t any use. 

“I might brag about your work from time to time. If people hear that bragging and decide to contact you for services...” her voice rose as she let the implication linger. 

“Then thank you for being my cheerleader, even when I don’t know it.” 

“You’re welcome.” With an impulsive sigh, she returned attention to her mug. Hopefully his cleverness wouldn’t extend to finding out about the hints she’d been dropping in the governor’s ear during the last soirée they’d attended together. She never meant to meddle, but he was the perfect solution to so many of the community’s needs. She couldn’t help wanting to hype him up as much as possible. 

“You’re looking pretty shifty over there. Am I about to get a call from the mayor too?”

Arden nearly choked on the sip she’d just poured into her mouth. “Something like that,” was the only reply she could eke out. 

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Basket of clothes perched on her hip, Arden stared after her husband’s retreating figure as he passed by the laundry room. Jaime was acting suspicious. 

He’d fallen into many of the same patterns he had at Christmastime: trying to keep his distance when they were both home at the same time, working for hours inside the freezing garage instead of coming inside to use the table, having sneaky conversations with Opie when he didn’t think she was within range to hear...

He was trying to plan a surprise again. She just knew it. 

Not knowing anything else was starting to drive her wild. 

Just like Christmas, she was certain to overhear details sooner or later, but she wasn’t sure she had the patience for happenstance. Readjusting her hold on the basket, she followed him up the stairs to their bedroom. 

“So...” she drew out in an inviting tone as she dumped the warm clothes on their bed. “Our anniversary is only a month away. Have you thought at all about how you want to celebrate?”

He took a step toward the bed and snatched the collar of a T-shirt to begin folding. “I’ve got a few ideas, but nothing solid.” Technically, that’s true. 

“Technically?” Arden asked, scrutinizing every movement as he tucked in the sleeves and set the folded square on the mattress.

Don’t think about it. Nope! I’m thinking about...fire engines. And walruses. Totally random things. 

She was right! His thoughts were only this evasive if there was something he was trying to hide. Arden got his attention by tossing a pair of socks at his shoulder. “Are you trying to keep something from me?”

“No...” he attempted feebly, returning the sock roll to the small pile she’d started. 

“You’re such an awful liar, Jaime. Even before my powers, you were never any good at getting things past me.”

“I’m not lying, but I’m not going to tell you everything right now either. You’ll find out eventually.” With that, he kissed her cheek and vacated the room before she could overhear anything else. 

A little put out by his abrupt manner, she couldn’t resist asking, “What happened to being an open book?” 

“I’m not keeping you from reading it,” he called back from the stairway. “I’m just making sure you do it in the right order to avoid spoilers!”

She turned back to the laundry with a grumble. It looked like she’d have to wait for happenstance after all. 

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

“...then I’d like to get some ajuga for this big patch over here. I’ll get plenty so we have it for...”

Jaime’s words were interrupted as she caught the motion of her father’s front door swinging open. “Hey, dad!” she waved through the fence. Harry ambled to the near side of the porch to survey their work in the flowerbeds. 

“Hi, pumpkin. Your yard sure is looking good.”

“We’re coming for yours next weekend,” Jaime promised with a smile. “I was just telling Arden about what I’m planning to use for ground cover by the stairs. How’s your morning going?”

“Can’t complain. But my remote died and the channel is stuck on the news. Do you happen to have any spare AAA batteries? It’s almost 11:00, and I wanted to watch that new show on the History channel.”

He’s getting a whole crate of batteries for Christmas. 

Hearing Jaime’s thought, Arden had to avoid his face to hold in her laughter. 

“Lemme check,” Jaime volunteered, slipping off his gloves before making a quick trip into the house. Wasting no time upon his return, Arden watched from the flowerbed as Jaime vaulted himself over the fence and sprinted to pass the box to her father through the porch railing. Smothering her giggles under her gardening glove, she almost managed to go undetected. 

“Here you are, Harry. If you’ll excuse the sound behind me, I think your daughter is laughing at me.” 

“It’s better than laughing at me, I suppose. Thanks!” 

“Enjoy your show. See you for dinner!”

Returning to the fence, Jaime propped his arms on the pickets and stared down at her. “What’s so funny over there?”

“You’ve always given me so much crap for scaling the fence to come and see you that first day.” 

“You were right: it was a lot faster than going to the gate.” As if to demonstrate, he hitched his leg over the fence and dropped back into their yard.

“I’m glad we finally agree. Looks like I’ve rubbed off on you after all.” 

Approaching, he squatted down in front of her and brushed the errant strands of hair back under her bandana. “And where’d you pick up this sudden love of gardening?”

Though he posed the question in jest, his brown eyes were tender as well as teasing. 

“Touché.” Weed pulling had become unaccountably satisfying once it was their flowerbed she was tending. “I guess we’re both rubbing off on each other.” 

“Funny how that’s still inevitable after all this time.” 

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Opie rolled to face him on the area rug, staring up at Jaime with soulful eyes. He gave the dog a good scratch behind the ears, increasing his speed as the animal’s tongue lolled out one side of his open mouth. 

Arden snickered from the end of the couch. 

“Are you laughing at Opie’s tongue action?” Jaime rubbed the dog’s muzzle, letting out a chuckle of his own as the creature wriggled closer. 

“No, look at what Maggie just sent me.” 

He did as instructed, his fingers brushing her calf as he took the device from her hands. “Is this on ClickIt?”

“Yeah. They’re writing cringy listicles about us now. Guess that means we’ve made it big.”  

“23 Reasons We All Love Arden Gale,” Jaime read aloud, though the words felt almost foreign in his mouth. He was used to reading Arden’s writing, but reading what other people wrote about her was an entirely different matter.  Feeling his hackles rise, he thumbed through the entries with trepidation. 

Her hair, her smile, her puns... Not even halfway through the list, his head was spinning at the bizarre sensation of seeing his wife’s image on the familiar site. 

#14. Her pencil skirts. Seriously, have you seen her hips? 

His finger slowed before reversing course. 

“The one about my hips?” she asked knowingly.

“Yeah. I mean, they’re not wrong. You know how i feel about them. It’s just... I can’t believe people are posting stuff like that.” 

“Does it make you jealous?” Slipping off the couch, she sat cross legged beside him on the rug. Jaime accepted the hand she placed in his lap, sighing contentedly as she wove their fingers.

“Nah, jealous isn’t the right word. I think it’s just a little strange to see people say that stuff about you online. You’re gorgeous, Arden. That’s not a secret. But it feels like they’ve turned you into an object. They’re missing the essence of what makes you amazing.” 

She squeezed his hand gently. “It’s part of being in the public eye. Most of them will never know me for real, so they’re just writing about what they can see. Not everyone knows me the way you do, babe.” 

“Thank goodness for that.” 

Arden giggled against his lips before pressing forward in a kiss. 

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

“I choose...Arden.” 

“it’s your turn, birthday girl.”

Determined as she was to ignore her mom’s singsong voice, the flash from her disposable camera caught Arden off guard. She blinked quickly to erase the impression of light from the back of her eyelids, then pivoted on the carpet to stare the freckled boy. The giant red square floated above one of his ears.

“Truth or dare?” he asked. 

“Dare,” she announced, jutting out her chin to show that she wasn’t afraid of whatever he had to offer. Frank didn’t scare her. She’d bested him in last year’s spelling bee, after all. This was her chance to prove that she had guts as well as brains. 

Tucking her flyaway hairs behind both ears, she ignored the pounding in her chest that was almost certain to develop into a heart attack. 

“I dare you to kiss Jaime. On the lips.”

Her whole face turned to fire. Across the circle, the Atterly twins started snickering. A glance at her mother confirmed that her eyebrows had all-but disappeared beneath her feathered bangs. And Jaime? She couldn’t even bear to look in his direction.

“For five whole seconds,” Frank added with a smirk.

“Hey!” Olivia shrieked, “You already said the dare. It’s against the rules to add something else.” Maddie nodded solemnly at her sister’s intervention.  

“Fine.” he sat back against the couch cushion and folded his arms. “One second.” 

“Fine,” she agreed, feeling a surge of pride at how normal she’d managed to make the word sound. She hopped up from the floor and took a pair of steps to where Jaime was perched on a barstool. By the time she reached him, he’d hopped down to the floor. 

“It’s okay,” he promised, though his nerves were evident in his tone. “It’s just a dare.” 

“Yeah, just a dare.” Better get it over with, she thought as her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. 

Leaning forward, Arden tried to pucker, but she was wincing too hard for the effort to be very convincing. With a deep breath, she pushed herself until her skin brushed his, chanted a silent Mississippi, and jerked away with enough force to incur whiplash.

She knew Jaime’s cheeks were tomato red, but she couldn’t stand to look at anything other than the floor during the journey back to her seat.

Her mother’s exaggerated retching noises, the mingled chorus of “Ewwww”s, and the inevitable “Jaime and Arden sitting in a tree...” were all interrupted by the sound of her best friend scurrying out of the living room. 

“Uh, I’ll be right back,” he explained before bolting out the front door. 

Rattled, but victorious, she reclaimed her spot on the carpet and tried to remember the dare she’d been keeping in the back of her mind for this turn. Unfortunately, all thoughts were centered around a single truth:

For as long as she lived, she was never going to forgive Frank Lipscomb.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Arden? Ar-dennn? 

Her typing slowed as she strained to hear the tenor of Jaime’s thoughts. As they grew louder, she could just make out the tune. 

Arrrrr-den. Arden, Arden, Arden.

Wiping her palm over her face, she marveled at the man’s antics and tried to refocus on the message in front of her. It was a game they played at least once a week. He’d think up a grand declaration of love and move closer and closer, testing how long it took for her to hear it. 

I love you. I love you even though I just tripped over the shoes that you left by the door. Again. 

“Sorry!” she hollered into the hall. “I’ll move them when I’m done with this email.”

He was close enough for her to make out his footsteps now, and it wasn’t long before he appeared in the doorway to her office. 

"Were you singing my name to the tune of that insurance jingle?” Question posed, she rolled away from the desk to get a better look at him. 

Opie’s leash dangled loose from his hands, but the dog was still firmly attached to his heel. “I was. He loved it,” Jaime added, gesturing to the animal beside him. “And that was from all the way in the backyard, too. I think that’s the farthest yet.” 

“It’s like our own personal homing system,” she considered, stretching out a hand to beckon Opie toward her. She heard the faint tinkle of a bell as Jinx abandoned her perch and made her way forward for some attention of her own. Arden lowered her other hand to accommodate both animals. “As long as you’re thinking, I can’t lose you. You thinking nice things about me is just a bonus.” 

“I’m married to a superhero,” Jaime reminded, “How could I ever think anything else?”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic.” Retrieving the hand from Jinx’s back, she prodded his chest with a pointed finger. “But I love you so much,” she admitted, eyes giddy with humor. 

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like? (See also The Girl Next Door and OTP Prompt #10)

The mattress dipped as Jaime climbed back into bed. Arden rolled onto her side while he closed the distance, and they met somewhere in the middle in a tangle of limbs. He’d been away long enough for his legs to be cold, yet the feeling of his skin against her own was still a comfort. 

“It’s pouring down rain,” he informed, the words somewhat muffled by her pillow. “I had to follow Opie around with the umbrella.”

“Poor little guy.” She traced a hand across his shoulder blades, trying to transfer her warmth to him. “And poor you. Thanks for taking him out.”

Jaime kissed her forehead and tugged her leg around his waist. 

They fell into comfortable silence, content in the ebb and flow as their breaths synchronized. Arden could just hear Jinx padding back up the stairs for a post-breakfast nap under their bed. 

“This is nice,” she hummed into his chest. 

“It is.” 

“It’s just a shame our first Saturday as a married couple is so rainy and gross.” 

His chest shook with quiet laughter. “Like you wanted to do something outside in the middle of March.” 

"I’m just saying. It seems like an ill omen or something.” 

Jaime shifted his weight, separating from her just enough to meet her eyes in the muted light. “I think it’s a sign that we need to spend the day testing out all of the blankets people gave us as wedding presents.”

“And drinking coffee.” 

“Of course. With pancakes?”

She huffed in surprise. “I’m offended you even have to ask. Pancakes are a must. We keep that stash of frozen blueberries for a reason.” 

Jaime nuzzled into her cheek, his breath heavy at her throat as he spoke, “I know we’re only a week in, but marriage so far? It’s pretty great.” 

[lycorogue]

Perfect Doesn’t Need to be Perfect: Chapter 2

I miss these early chapters. They were easy. They were small. They were still relatively light-hearted. Then chapter 5 happened and I’ve completely lost this project down an angsty rabbit hole. 0.o I’ll try to get that sorted out in the next couple of days.

In the meantime, enjoy one of the short, fluffy chapters.

**Contains Spoilers for Taurus Pixie’s story Twelve Days of Chatmas**

Summary: Chat Noir has run into a long streak of poor luck, all in an attempt to give Ladybug the perfect Christmas gift. Little does he know, his first try was already perfect in Ladybug’s eyes. Now it’s her turn to try to navigate around Chat Noir’s failed attempts in her own pursuit to find something equally fantastic for him. **A Switched-POV Unofficial Companion Story to Twelve Days of Chatmas by @thetauruspixie​**

Rating: General Audience

Chapter Word Count: 1733

Story Total Word Count: 37,973

Status: chapter 2 of 12; complete

**For reals, if you haven’t read Twelve Days of Chatmas yet, read that first so my story doesn’t spoil anything for you. It’s cool. This story will still be here when you get back. ;) **

See below for chapter 2, or find this story over on AO3, on FFN, or on DA. 

CHAPTER 2:

The little pear tree sculpture was worse off than Marinette gave it credit, but it wasn't completely irreparable. She had taken stock of the damage the night before, and made a point of picking up the necessary supplies after school. Now it was time to get to work.

Too much of the foam base was chipped away when the card stock truck was ripped out of it, so she started off with replacing that. Then she carefully bent the trunk back so it was flat. The bad bend left a scarring crease in the base of the trunk, bit it actually looked good. Most trees had some sort of scarring in their bark. Using tracing paper to make a pattern, Marinette cut out two slightly smaller versions of Chat Noir's trunk from more card stock. Doubling up her own tree trunks, she glued them to the back of Chat Noir's to reinforce it. Finally, she made it 3D by adding a support branch of roots off the back. Resting the tree on her desk, it stood perfectly straight on it's own; no foam required.

Confident it was now sturdy enough for the weight of the filled in branches, Marinette got to work on fixing everything else. Using a decorative hole punch, she created a small confetti pile of green almond-shaped leaves out of construction paper. She then laid them out on parchment paper, and sprayed them down with adhesive before taking a deep breath.

“He's lucky I like him.” Through gritted teeth she started shaking the green glitter onto the sticky green leaves. She kept it as close to the project as she could, and she tried to stop once the leaves were properly coated without having too much excess. With any luck, she'd only find glitter for the next week or so.

As the leaves dried she got to work on reinforcing the partridge so its chubby little head wouldn't bend forward from the weight of the wooden beak and note.

The note. Forgetting what she was doing, Marinette gently pushed the clothespin open and released the torn note from the bird's grip. Folded over, the little note was barely larger than a postage stamp. Carefully opening it, Marinette was greeted by tiny but elegant writing; far fancier than she imagined Chat Noir's handwriting to be.

“Wishing the most amazing girl in the world the greatest of Christmases,” Marinette read the note aloud to Tikki. It was signed with a little heart drawn with red ink, and a paw print colored in with green ink. Giggling a little to herself, Marinette tore off two small strips of tape and patched up the tear running through the center of the message. She then tore off one more piece of tape. Flipping through to the next blank page of her diary, she taped the note to the bottom corner. A smile stretched across her face as she rested her palm against Chat Noir's tiny Christmas card.

After taking a beat, she closed up her diary and locked it away in its box. Rolling her shoulders, Marinette got back to work on firming up the partridge and touching up the coloring Chat Noir had done on the bird.

She let all the components dry while she had dinner, but instantly went back to work once she was done. First up was carefully gluing the leaves into place. Her new ones weren't nearly as drenched in glitter, and the shade of glitter was slightly lighter, but the two-toned leaves added a nice dimension to the piece.

She took a homework break while the leaves dried completely, then it was back to work to add on the pears and – she couldn't believe she followed through with it – the heart decorations. She managed to tuck the corners of the pears and hearts between some of the leaves to add more depth to the tree and make the fruit and ornaments look like they were actually nestled inside the tree branches.

As she waited for the tree to dry one last time so she could add the bird back onto its perch, Marinette started up a list; instantly and a bit frustratingly crossing off each item the moment she wrote it down.

She needed to come up with the perfect gift for Chat Noir. He seemed so hurt about his present, and he had put so much pressure on himself to get her the perfect thing that she couldn't fall short in doing the same. He was more precious to her than he realized, and this was her chance to make sure he knew that. She was stumped on what to do though.

Scarves, hats, mittens, shirts, vests, necklaces, earrings, pins; everything Marinette came up with wouldn't work. She was a fashion designer; her default gift for everyone was a piece of clothing or an accessory. None of it was a good idea. Her silly kitty would most likely be too excited about her gifting him something to remember to not wear it as a civilian. Then she could possibly run into him, and see him wearing the gift she made for Chat Noir, and then she'd know his identity, and-

She shook her head to try to get out of the spiral. Even if he was disciplined enough to not wear anything she gifted him while in his civilian form, it wasn't like he could really wear any of it while powered up either. Which meant, either he had to wear it alone in his house and nowhere else, or he'd never use it. That wouldn't work at all.

Blanket? Marinette tapped on the word, circling it a couple of times. That could be the best option for her. People rarely take blankets out of their rooms anyway, so he could use it without her seeing. Plus, it was always comforting to just curl up under a warm and semi-heavy blanket during chilly winter nights. Was it special enough for him, though? Would she have time to make him one? What design should she use for the blanket? Something not too obvious, in case he wanted to use the blanket in communal rooms in his home.

Looking out her window, Marinette knew she needed inspiration. It was time to go to her well.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Less than ten minutes later, Ladybug landed atop an apartment building just four blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. It wasn't the Trocadéro, but unfortunately the park was swarming with tourists this time of year, and she just needed some time to sit and think. It wasn't the same view that usually amazed her no matter how often she saw it, but the Seine still sparkled under the lights of Paris to her left, and the Eiffel Tower still spired before her on the other side of the river.

The sun was sinking below the horizon past the Eiffel Tower, and it cast a purple and deep magenta glow within the overcast sky. Curling up into a ball, Ladybug sat on the roof with her knees pressed against her chest and her chin resting between them. The lights running up the Eiffel Tower turned on in the twilight, and the whole of Paris joined suit. The yellows, blues, oranges, and Christmas reds and greens created a sea of lights below her. It was calming, welcoming, and inspiring.

Warmed by how serene her city looked, Ladybug uncurled. Dangling her legs over the ledge of the roof, she leaned back and admired the Eiffel Tower as it sliced through the cotton candy clouds.

The clouds are kind of blanketing the sky. Could I make something that looks like Paris on a winter's night for Chat Noir? She hummed softly as she pondered how she'd be able to execute something like that. She really fell into the zone as she meditated to the arrhythmic clicking of her swinging feet gently tapping against the side of the building. She could do a gradient fabric, and a quilted stitch so there were pockets of fill to mimic clouds. She could even purposefully avoid a symmetric square quilted look, instead pocketing the fill within a quilt of cloud shapes.

A duet of cooing pulled her attention from her designing. The flapping of wings grew louder, and two pigeons flew straight for her. She flinched and leaned slightly out of the way as they buzzed past her, close enough for her to notice their orange turtle-shell patterned wings and brown-gray bodies. Whatever they were, they weren't regular pigeons. A moment later, she registered that both birds had something gripped within their toes. One was carrying a trio of red roses. Its partner had a handmade card wrinkling slightly in its grip.

Homing pigeons? That didn't quite feel right to Ladybug either, but the duo seemed to be on a mission, so she mentally wished them save travels and hoped they found who they were looking for.

It seemed weird though. Even with Mr. Ramier in Paris, Ladybug didn't recall ever seeing anyone use homing pigeons before. She scanned the rooftops, trying to see who might have released the birds.

Nothing. There was no one on the rooftops nearby. No one on balconies. At first Ladybug was just curious as to who is using the skilled but archaic method of communication, especially with regards to sending what looked like a very romantic Christmas gift. However, after spying not a single soul in the area, it became an intriguing mystery she was itching to uncover.

She wandered her rooftop to try to get a better view, but there were still no clues anywhere. It was like the birds simply appeared. After a couple minutes, Ladybug decided that was a good enough explanation for her. They appeared from nowhere, and vanished to the horizon. They were an enigmatic package carrying a sweet gift for someone. A beautiful mystery of life not meant to be solved.

With a satisfied shrug, Ladybug headed back home, her head filled with fantasies of Adrien sending the pair of birds to her, and the card being a love letter. She giggled at the elation she'd feel if that were true, as well as the insanity of such a thing happening.

Imagine, Adrien Agreste sending Marinette Dupain-Cheng a pair of birds holding a Christmas gift and a declaration of love. A girl could dream.

Thank you for reading. Read Next Chapter

Read from the beginning: Chapter 1

Please let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list.

@discoveringmiraculouswriters

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

@jambudweek Day 2: Singing and/or Humanity 

A Private Performance

Steven’s therapist suggests he turns to music as an emotional outlet after seeing the video of him performing “Never Giving Up.” Unfortunately, he has a difficult time in doing so, until Connie shows up.

Word count: 1,623

Post-SUF

(A little late into the day, I know! Honestly didn’t know if I was gonna finish this on time in the first place, let alone post it. It’s the first fanfic I’ve written in a few years, so please keep that in mind. It was fun, though! I hope you enjoy!)

(If you want to see more writing content from me, either snippets from my original work, or possibly more fanfiction, feel free to visit my writing twitter!)

“Hey! So, uh… my name is Steven Universe! Ah, you already know that, obviously… uhhhhh… sorry I haven’t really uploaded in a few years. My life got pretty crazy a couple years back and—uhhhhh… I just didn’t have the time to. Ah. Make more videos. Or anything. But! Ah… w-well, my therapist told me I should write a song about my feelings, you know, use it as an outlet? She saw my video from a few years ago, where I played that one song I wrote… I-I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and, uhhhh, she said it would be really healthy for me to—NO! This is too weird! I can’t do it!” Steven groaned in frustration, hands covering his face. Why had he let her see that video? He should’ve known she would suggest something like this…

“Steven?”

“Connie? Aw, jeez, what time is it?”

“11:30?” Connie walked into the house, one eyebrow raised. “That is when we agreed to meet up for lunch, after all.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just… lost track of time, I guess.”

Connie glanced at the camera pointed at Steven, then turned back to face him. “Are you… recording a video?”

“Yeah,” Steven said, blood rushing to his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed to be caught trying, and failing, to film for the first time in years. “My therapist said I should try using music as an outlet again, so I wrote a song, and I was going to record it and everything, but it just… feels so weird, you know?”

“How do you mean?”

Steven crossed his arms and looked to the floor, feeling awkward with Connie’s probing questions and determination to not break eye contact. “I mean, I haven’t uploaded in years, and the first thing I do is dump all my feelings? I mean, sure, nobody knows the context, which in a way is kind of nice, it keeps some of it private, but also… isn’t it all weirdly personal?”

“Don’t musical artists tend to get all weirdly personal… literally all the time?”

“Yeah, but they’re used to having no privacy. I mean, that’s kind of their entire life, Connie.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Connie raised her hands in defense, shaking her head. “No need to get defensive, Steven. I’m not attacking you; I’m just trying to help you out.”

Steven sighed ashamedly. “I know, I’m sorry. It just feels like… I don’t know, I feel like I’m telling the whole world all my most personal feelings. Isn’t it fair to be at least a little intimidated by that?”

“I mean, yeah, of course it is. But isn’t that the whole point?”

“Huh?”

“Well,” Connie said, “one of the biggest issues you’ve had is being open about your feelings, right? Maybe this is your therapist’s way of helping you get more comfortable with it.”

“I mean, maybe…” Steven said, his tone unsure, though his mind was making the connections. “But it’s still a bit much, don’t you think? Showing this to the whole world and all, that is.”

“Sure, it seems like a lot, but this isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s normal to be scared, Steven.”

Steven was about to respond with some sort of sarcastic or moody remark but stopped himself. She was right, after all. But something still stopped him. Just because he knew it was supposed to be scary didn’t change the fact that he had so many butterflies fluttering around in his stomach that he wanted to throw up. Sure, he knew full well that he was supposed to be facing his demons or whatever, but facing the monster within yourself was a completely different story from facing the monsters within others, literal or metaphorical.

“… Steven?”

Right, Connie was still there and expecting a response. What could he say?

Sighing, Steven resigned himself to just telling her the only thing he did know: “… knowing it’s supposed to be scary doesn’t make it any easier.”

Connie’s face had a soft expression, one of kindness and understanding. She pondered his statement for a moment, eyebrows wrinkling in thought, before finally saying, “if it makes it any easier… maybe you could sing just to me?” Realizing the intimacy of what she’d just suggested, her face became flushed and she looked to the floor. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course! I just thought that focusing on one person—”

“That… might actually help.” Steven said.

Even though she was the one who had the idea in the first place, Connie looked surprised. “A-are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Steven shrugged. “I wanted to share this with someone, but immediately sharing it with the whole world might be a bit… too much. I think that sharing it with you would be okay, though. Baby steps, right?”

“Oh,” Connie’s shoulders relaxed and the colour in her face returned to normal. “If it helps, then I’ll just… sit right here?” She made her way to the couch and took a seat, brushing off her skirt while she did so.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” Steven readied himself again, ensuring his guitar was tuned properly and putting his fingers in the right places. His hands still shook ever so slightly, but having her there made it easier. He already felt like some of the butterflies had peacefully left his stomach, easing his nerves. He found that he could even put on his cheery persona again, if with some effort. “Now, without further ado, here’s Being Human!”

His fingers began to dance on the guitar strings, perfectly hitting every note after all the hours it took to write them just right. He was grateful for the song’s somewhat lengthy intro because his throat was still tight with anxiety, even if he was only singing to Connie. He tried breathing deeply, just like his therapist had taught him to, before finally beginning to sing.

“Just a little time,” he sang. “Just a little something else instead.” He looked up to see Connie’s fingers tapping along to the music. “Just a little time.” The thought of Connie enjoying the song gave him a light feeling that bloomed in his chest, encouraging his song. “Just a little something up ahead I’m dreaming of.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, absorbing himself more into the music. “Being… being… human…”

He continued to play, glancing at Connie every now and then to gauge her reaction. All seemed to be going well; her fingers continued tapping, and she even bounced her knee to the beat at one point, until she noticed him looking. As for Steven, he poured his entire heart and soul into his performance (as one always should), and by the end of it, tears pricked his eyes. When his fingers strummed the last chord, he noticed that he felt much lighter than he had for a long while. He did another mental check of his insides, in which there was no butterflies to be found. Well, except for one…

Connie was clapping, exclaiming “Steven, that was great!”

… and that last butterfly was gone.

“You really think so?” Blood rushed to Steven’s cheeks again, this time not in embarrassment, but in flattery.

“Yeah! I mean, I know that it doesn’t matter how good it is, that’s not the point, but it really was a great song.”

Before Steven could process what was happening, Connie rushed over and hugged him with all her strength. His face became hot from the surprise and the joy it brought him. His arms rose to wrap around her, never wanting to let go. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment, but realized he’d seen something he shouldn’t have seen before he’d done so. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open, praying it wasn’t true, but…

“… aw, jeez, I was still recording.”

“Huh?” Connie said, confused, before she turned her gaze to where he was looking. Surely enough, the red button that indicated the camera was recording was on.

“Argh, I’m such an idiot! I’m sorry, I should’ve—” Steven cut himself short, because Connie was… laughing? “Hey, are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no!” Connie stopped, but it was clear she was struggling, as she kept supressing snorts and chuckles. Before long, her composure broke, and she burst out laughing yet again. “Okay, you’ve gotta admit it’s a little funny.”

“What is?”

“Just the fact that you were all anxious to record yourself singing the song and didn’t even realize your camera was still on when you eventually did manage to do it under the guise that it was a private performance.”

“… okay, you got me there. I’m not keeping it, though!”

“Oh, come on!” Connie pleaded. “Can I just have it, then?”

“Why do you want it? I’ll probably just record it again and post it anyway.”

“Sure, but…” Connie paused for a beat, finding her words. “That’s the first time you ever performed that song for someone else! It’s special, I wanna keep it!” When Steven didn’t respond, she persisted. “Pleeeeaaaase?”

“Fine,” Steven said, before immediately adding, “only if you buy my lunch!”

“Okay,” Connie rolled her eyes. “A small price to pay for a rare recording of Steven Universe performing his latest hit!”

“Yeah, whatever, you dork,” Steven said. He had a playful glint in his eye, realizing he could take advantage of her newfound victory. “I’ll race you to the dondai!”

“Wha—Hey!” Connie cried when Steven pushed her off, getting his completely unfair head start.

Naturally, after their debate over ownership of the tape, the couple had forgotten to turn the camera off, leaving its battery to die after recording hours of literally nothing but a forgotten warp pad and guitar.

[thewordreaper]

Not Some Ordinary Name

My 2nd story for @short-story-slam

(This story is an independent story that falls into my supervillain universe. You don’t need to read my first story to understand this but you should because it’s great.)

Moira was convinced that Grahitha was going to break her phone. “What’s happening?” She asked as Grahitha typed furiously at her screen.

“So apparently,” She said, not looking up but raising her voice too much. “Zeher went and got himself a girlfriend  and he’s too busy trying to book a restaurant for her, so he’s ditching us again.”

“We are never inviting him on-” Moira was cut off as a lumbering figure draped himself over Grahitha.

“Seriously? Is she on Insta?” He asked, removing his obnoxiously large phone.

“Well probably,” She said, holding her hand up so that he could see the screen. “But he follows so many accounts it’s hard to tell which one is hers.”

“Stop.” Said Moira, waving her hands between them. “That’s a mission for a different day. KC get out. What are you doing here anyway?”

He grinned. “I have a gig here tonight. The Downtown Ostrich is going to pull off his slickest heist yet.”

“Please don’t ever say the word slick again.” Muttered Moira.

“So what are you planning?” Asked Grahitha her voice rising in excitement.

“I thought I’d keep it simple and just send them all to sleep. Although I have a Sonic Disc jus in case.”

“Can you stop!” Said Moira waving her hands between them again. “Please stop discussing your villainous plans in the middle of a mall where we have also planned a heist!”

“You’re the one shouting now grumbled Grahitha. "Anyway, I can’t see why we can’t do this with just two people.”

“The smoke machines! The smoke machines Grahitha! Who’s going to operate the smoke machines?”

“It can’t be that hard…”

“It’s a special one I ordered from Paracelsus. You know, Revanth.” Said Moira. “There is one person I could ask though.”

“Who.. began Grahitha before her eyes widened in realisation. "No.” She said, taking several steps back. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“Too late.” Said Moira, as she typed out a quick message. There was an immediate response. “Oh, nice. He’s in the mall already. I’ll just forward the instructions to him”

“It had to be him didn’t it.”

“Who’s this mystery person then?” Asked KC.

“Get out!” They screamed in unison.

Then they waited in awkwardly for their third party member.

“Soooo.” Began Moira, “Your villain name, how’s that coming along?”

“She sighed. "I’ve been thinking of the Monstrous Maiden, but I don’t think it’s really me you know?”

She frowned. “What about you, any luck with Raat ki Raani?”

“I wish! I even added the flowers to my mask. How hard is it for the media to get it. The closest I got was a tabloid saying I had hair as black as the night. Well, they’re going to get it right today. That’s what today’s all about.” She stated.

Grahitha looked stunned. “Wait’ seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Why did you think we were doing this?”

“To hang out, have a good time. You haven’t given me a holiday in ages.”

Moira glared at her. “This is serious business.” She pointed forcefully at the floor. After a beat of outraged silence, she spoke again. “Everything is in place, isn’t it?”

Grahitha rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t touch any of the settings.”

“HI!” Exclaimed a loud voice, nearly causing them to jump in fright. Waving enthusiastically at them was Adi, six foot four, with unevenly cropped hair and limbs that looked in danger of falling off his body.

“Grahitha! It’s so wonderful that I’m working with you.”

“Hey, dude.” She said, sounding tired, “Still an intern I hope ?”

“Not for long.” He said dramatically, placing his hand over his chest.

“I will be the terror of this city someday and you will be proud. And oh!” He broke from his pose to rummage through the pockets of his jacket. “How do you feel about poetry?” He said triumphantly, holding up a couple of yellow post-it notes.

Moira and Grahitha gaped at him, all rational thought having completely given up on this scene. He cleared his throat before starting. “For green is a colour,

Found on leaves, found on trees,

Which are often found to sway’

In the breezy breeze. Oh, wait.” He shuffled the yellow patches of paper in his hands. “That’s the fifth verse.”

“No!” Yelled Moira, as rational thought returned and smacked her in the face. A baby in a nearby stroller started crying.

“No no no no no no no no no no no. No.” She jumped in between them and shifted her gaze between the two of them.

“No. No.” She stood on her toes to look straight into his face. “No!” She barked. He took a hasty step back.

“Moira, are you okay?” Asked Grahitha. “Are you stuck on ‘no’ for today?”

Moira closed her eyes, clenched her fists and took several deep breaths, imagining a pile of gold falling into her lap every time she inhaled. “In the next ten minutes,” She said, every word strained, “We will have entered that store, emptied it an disappeared from her. Standard issue stuff and if you can’t pull it off I’m going to gist wrap you in police tape and place you at the nearest hero’s doorstep.”

Grahitha flashed her a thumbs up. Adi slipped around her to kneel in front of Grahitha and placed his hand over his heart again.

“I will not let the deep affection and admiration I have for you to interfere with this mission even if every time I see you the world aligns itself to showcase your splendour.”

“I’m going to gift wrap myself.”

“I’m not going to pay for the tape.” Warned Moira.

“I will.” Said Adi, earnestly, getting down on both knees, “Once I can organise a heist of my own, I shall rob every stationery shop in the city of its stock.”

“I want to be paid double.” Yelled Grahitha after Moira’s already retreating form.

Within the next two minutes, they were all in position. Moira was pretending to wander aimlessly through the shop as her shoes left a trail of nearly invisible dust. Adi was pretending to examine a row of earrings. He had a single post-it stuck to his shirt. Grahitha was in the vents above, hopefully with a mask this time.

The doors closed with a bang and a split second later there was a second bang from above. Moira whistled once, low and long before snapping her fingers and plunging the store into darkness. Smoke began to rise from below, and she hoped desperately that Adi had configured it right. She snapped her fingers again and the lights flickered slowly. She hadn’t found much use for her powers yet, but it made one hell of an entrance.

She pulled on her mask, black with small, white jasmine flowers cascading of one side. It was clasped behind her head with magnets. She slipped a small device into her mouth and climbed onto the table. Another snap and she was illuminated by a single light.  She really wished she had a mike, the long ones you could curl your body around. Maybe next time. “If you were attracted here by the Diwali sale, you will not believe my prices.” She said her voice low and dusky, completely transformed.

“If you’re wondering how,” She said, snapping her fingers again, and the light shifted focus to the now-empty racks behind her. At least they worked fas. “I’ll leave behind my name, a calling card of sorts. Just start asking around and your most coveted piece will find its way into your hands.” She stalked across the counter until her hand closed around the rope hanging from the ceiling.

“The smoke will immobilize you until all the jewels are mine. Please take this time to decide what you’d like to buy. It will be a pleasure doing business  with you.”

A final snap plunged the store into darkness once again, and they were gone.

Well, almost.

“We actually have a little more time than we need.” Said a nervous voice accompanied by thinking as he climbed the counter in the dark. “I was hoping some of you would be nice enough to give me some feedback on this poem I wrote for a truly spectacular girl.”

A  day later:

Moira handed the still folded paper to Grahitha.

“You can read it out.” She said. “If they can’t get it right even after I spelt it out for them I give up. Do you know how many people I’ve had to pay to act as runners? Oh, you just need to say her name to contact her. It’s the most expensive way to sell stuff. It better be worth it.”

“Jewel thief strikes again.” Read out Grahitha. “Are we witnessing the greatest robberies of the century or the greatest love story?” Grahitha looked up at her. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

“What is Adi doing at the moment?”

“Someone insulted his poetry, so he’s hatching out a convoluted plan to get revenge on them. He might make a villain yet.” She added thoughtfully.

“Good. Because he’s not getting paid.”

“Are you sure you want me to continue? Like absolutely  sure ?”

“Do you also want to not get paid?”

Grahitha gave up and continued. “Who is Ram and who is his queen ? And to what lengths is he willing to go for her?”

Moira stared at her in confusion. Grahitha handed the newspaper over. “Er, I think the love story is about you.” She said apologetically.

Spread across the front page of the paper was a picture of the barren jewellery shelf. The smoke formed clearly defined words in front of it. 'Ram ki Raani’.

“He spelt it wrong.” Said Moira in disbelief. “That idiot Revanth spelt it wrong. Or maybe you accidentally fiddled with it. Or maybe Adi did.” She threw the newspaper over her shoulder. “None of you are getting paid!”

“But I need the money!” Protested Grahitha. “Do you know how expensive data is ?”

“You can earn it.” Answered Moira curtly.

Grahitha groaned, “What do you want me to do this time?”

Moira turned her head upwards, yesterday’s failure already fading. “What if we cut it in with lasers? That would be difficult to misspell.”

Grahitha groaned and their voices continued rising, fading into the ever-changing ordinary.

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

Taglist: @focusdumbass @ohlooksheswriting @velvetlighthouse

Let me know if you want to be added or removed !

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine Jamie giving Brianna a birthday present for the first time in his life.

Sometimes the questions that Jamie asked Claire made her world tilt.  He would draw her handsclose to his chest. Warm fingers held cooler fingers over his heart.  His questions would electrify her love forhim while simultaneously make her heart ache for each moments that he had lost withBrianna.

After an ellipses of silence, in which she wouldcollect her thoughts and words, she spilled it all onto a quiet canvas.  Sometimes the memories were watery, requiring some measure of artistic license to construct a moment worth telling.  Still other memories were so vivid in her mind thatevery insignificant detail poured from her, splashing color, bold andintentional.

He wanted to know about their celebrations – the happiestmoments.

They covered Christmas. Presents, fat primary-colored bulbs, trees, and sweets.  She explained Thanksgiving. Turkey and tart cranberries, the parade with its balloons and bands.  First days of school and walks to the schoolbus stop. Tears streaking down cheeks and a pink backpack.  Summer camp. Mosquito bites, skinned knees, and bruisedelbows.

And then birthdays.  

Jamie wanted to know about Brianna’s birthdays and how theycelebrated.

Claire breathed an entire two decades’ worth of informationinto him, hands absorbing the pounding of his ascending heartbeat.  Her fingers heaved under the rise and fall ofhis chest as his breathing quickened and slowed, deepening and then goingshallow.

Birthdays in Boston were always the same, she explained.

No matter how late her shift at the hospital ended, she alwaysmanaged to clear the morning of Brianna’s birthday for breakfast and the afternoon for some sort of special trip.  Claire made pancakes and squeezed oranges into afrothy, pulpy juice.  She brought thespread to Brianna’s room on a tray.

“When she was really little, she would pretend to be asleep whenI came into the room. Oh, Lord, Jamie… she was so sweet. She would pretend towake up with this theatrical yawn…. Like she was up for an Oscar–”

“Say again?” he asked. 

Claire could tell, even in the darkness of their bedroom, that his brows werefurrowed.  The touch of whisky on theirbreath made her more flippant with her words – sometimes she avoided sayingthings about her time (mostly nouns, things he had never seen). She kept herself from telling him just so he would not feel like he was free floatingin her stories. She wanted to ground him in the feeling of missing out, not to sethim further adrift. But with alcohol in her bloodstream, his own touch heavywith intoxication, she was loose with her words.

“It’s a sort of… well, I guess… a prize for acting… theAcademy gives out–”

“Like a university academy?”

Claire sighed gently, arching forward and pressing her lipsto his forehead. Patience. “No, love.Not academia. Like… a group of important people who make films. You know… movies. I told you about–”

“Yes, Claire,” he interrupted. “I ken verra well by now what a movie is.”  

He paused for a long moment and only spokewhen it was clear that Claire would not fill the silence. 

“Anyway… Brianna and her theatrical yawn.”

“Yes, well, uh… I would sing to her and we would eat pancakeswith plates resting on our thighs.”

Jamie had always been the storyteller in their relationship –the vocabulary, the voices, the broad gestures, the openness as his entire bodygot into it, the facial expressions, the ability to captivate and suck everyonein a twenty-foot circumference into his gravitational pull.

But since being back, Claire had, out of the necessity ofsharing everything, grown into moreof a storyteller.

She wanted him not just to hear it and remember it, but to see it and have something imprinted in his mind.  So she shared the details of ruffled yellow curtains in Brianna’s bedroom, her pajamas with feet, the presents with bright paper and intricate plastic bowsaffixed with tape, and syrup-sticky fat fingers on a mother’s neck.

“I always had a plan, Jamie. Like… the zoo, a park, the movies, the equestrian center.” For a moment she was taken back, thinking of knee-high boots, a shiny mahogany horse with a jet-black mane. "She was such a beautiful rider – that longrope of hair peeking out of the small helmet, biting down on her lip like shedoes now. Watch her tomorrow, you’ll see–”

“I ken what ye’re saying,” he said, his voice a littleshort. “About her lip. She chews on it when she’s thinking.”

There were some things Jamie had learned about Brianna since shecame to the Ridge, and he was always quick to point them out to Claire. He needed toshow that he knew their daughter,too.  It was an almost instinct in him toclarify that he was watching, to makeit apparent that he knew things.

“Yes, well, she’s done that for as long as I can remember.”

Jamie sighed, drawing her hands up to his mouth and pressinghis lips over her fingertips.  “More…tell me more, Sassenach. I to ken everything.”

His plea brought tears to the corners of her eyes.  There were not enough lifetimes for her totell him everything, but she couldcomply with this simple request to the very best of her ability.  

And soshe did.

Claire explained that in her pre-teen years Brianna started to think that birthdays were “cheesy.” Claire told Jamie how she would pretend to think about whether Briannashould be allowed to play hooky from school (the answer was always “yes”).  Making a face to show him how she feignedsurprise when Brianna would shriek “it’s my birthday, mama!” brought such a beautiful laugh from Jamie’s mouth that she could not help but to smile. 

His laughter died when he vocalized a question: what role he would have played in this lifethat occurred without him?

After a moment, a solemnity, he urged her on. 

“It was like she thought I would have a random Tuesday orWednesday off of work… like I did not have a plan to celebrate.  God, Jamie. It was precious.” Claire lost herself in the memory for a moment – tryingto put words to it to help him understand – the rush of the pancakes, thewarmth of golden sunlight through sheer pink curtains, the softness of theirdaughter’s cheeks under a damp napkin as Claire wiped away syrup.  

“She had this little birthday crown with fake jewels.  I put it on her bedside table.  When Bree woke up she would go absolutely mad.  She would scream until she woke the wholehouse.  It was like she thought it hadbeen put there by a birthday fairy–”

“Hmph. Verra Scottish of her.  Faeries.”

Claire smiled and pulled their hands towards her face,pressing her lips to his work-worn palms. Left,then right.

Claire did not disclose that as Brianna got older, theentire thing took on a little less whimsy. Breakfast at the kitchen table instead of in bed. Crown dispatched to amusty box in the basement with remnants of other childhood memories.  She kept to herself that the show became less elaborate as Briannabegan to express preference for just spending her day alone.  (Shopping, manicures,sitting on the couch, seeing movies with friends after school.)

“And what of… him?”

“What about him?” Claire asked, her voice like a blade.Jamie rarely asked of Frank – knowing that it bothered Claire.  

“The man was her father, Claire.  Dinna pretend as if he was no’ her da.”

Frank also had a routine for her Brianna’s birthdays.  He would show up after work and pile gifts infront of her – hastily-packaged things wrapped in the college newspaper.  One present for each year of Brianna’s life.Records and candy, cash and roller skates, beautiful silk scarves and the keysto a car that they could not afford and had never discussed purchasing forher.  

Claire had a physical reaction to Frank – to his pile ofpresents, to the fact that while Brianna grew weary of Claire’s birthdayroutine, she never tired of hisbirthday attentions.

“I don’t know, Jamie. There were presents.  He lovedher.  What do you want me to tell you?”

That was apparently enough because she felt him shrug, thequilt over them shifting as he moved closer to her.

Claire told him about one of her last days in Boston before coming back through the stones. They hada makeshift birthday celebration.   They ate pancakes – Claire mostly pushing hersaround on her plate in a flood of syrup.  They wandered Filene’s, touching expensivesilk scarves, sniffing imported fragrance on little paper strips, lettingthe women at the cosmetics counter talk them into shades of lipstick they wouldnever deign to wear on anything other than a special occasion.  Claire left the lipstick in Brianna’scosmetics case when she went back through the stones.  They tried on jeans and sweaters that Clairewould never have an occasion to wear. 

Claire overspent, a function of guilt.

Brianna just accepted, a function of the same.

That evening, Brianna unwrapped presents while they sat cross-legged onthe floor.   Claire hadjokingly wrapped the deed to the house and various financial miscellany in brightpink and green wrapping paper. Brianna had offered only a short smile and asigh, setting the documents aside.

Brianna had indulged her mother in this final birthday –blowing out candles, gushing over a record (oneshe already owned), kissing her mama on thecheek and whispering “thank you”after they saw a movie.

Telling him these things, Claire felt his ache – felt it in her ribs, in herlungs. It radiated off him; it was contagious. She wanted to burst out withwords and touches to fix it, but she couldn’t. So she just nestled closer.  Jamiefell silent, his body settling flush to his wife.  He yearned for the nearness of her. Theirhands still twined together and resting between them, they fell asleep.

Brianna did not know what to expect on her first birthday onthe Ridge.  She wondered, in an absentkind of way, whether her birthday would even be a passing concern in theirhighly-regimented life in this place. After all, there were far more important things to worry about out here– day-to-day survival, planning for tomorrow. It was hardly notable that she had a birthday. It was just one day in a series of threehundred and sixty-five days.

She smelled pancakes when she woke.  Her body warm and slow, protesting atthe prospect of rising into the cold room. Blinking, she let the familiarity of the scent wash over and her heart leapt a little.  She had not expected the pancakes, but it wasclear from the sweet, bready aroma, that Claire was attempting them on theRidge. She gave her body a quick wipe down with a rag and lukewarm water beforedressing, arranging her hair in a thick braid that wrapped around her hairline.

“The birthday girl!” Claire sang when she heardfootsteps.  The fact that her mama could identify her footfall from the others who lived at the Ridge made her smile.  Claire was crouched infront of the fireplace, a wooden utensil working at the edges of a pancakecooking on cast iron over a low, almost-extinguished fire.

“Thanks, mama.” Brianna cleared her throat; her voice was stiff from a night of disuse.

“I’m going to give you a birthday kiss as soon as I finishup with this – cooking these without the benefit of a regulated flame… well…the animals will have a charred treat later.”

Brianna mused momentarily that her smile might crack herentire face apart.

When Jamie joined them, he kissed his daughter on the top ofher head.  “Happy birthday,Brianna.”  

Brianna’s heart skipped a little at the phrase, her name stillunusual and startling in his accent. It rebounded as an echo in her ears.  “Thanks, Da. Another year.”

“Och, aye, weel, when ye get to my age ye’re going torealize each year’s a blessing, lass.”  

Jamie settled in the chair next to her, reaching for a chunkof the salty ham that Claire had fried until the skin blistered.  Claire could tell that he had an absolute warin his head as they settled in to their first birthday breakfast together as a completefamily.

The pancakes were similar to her memories, but they drenched with honey and tart autumn berries instead of syrup and butter. Fresh, frothy milk stood in for the juice. And it was perfect.

Table cleared and morning chores done, aquiet Sunday unfolded like many other quiet Sundays. With a kiss, fingers lingering behind Claire’s ear, Jamie excusedhimself and slipped out of the house. “Dinna fash,” he had whispered when hermouth began to quirk with a question.

He returned and just watched them through the window. 

Theywere his whole life.  Bree was fiery andanimated, hands moving and eyes rolling. Claire laughed, her fingers working across the spine of the book shewas reading.  

When he entered, arms behind his back, he was suddenlynervous. He had been to war twice.  Hehad lived in a hell on earth, watching men starve and be taken by all manner ofdisease.  He had lost the love of hislife and been found again by her.  He hadchildren stripped from him – at birth, by circumstance, through time.  

And yet this moment – a simple one that she had shared before with another man she called “daddy” – was almost too much forhim.

“I’ve got somethin’ for ye, Brianna,” he started. The undercurrent quaking in his voice made Claire’s ears prick up.  She set her book side and leaned forward to watchhim.  Brianna turned on the floor and Jamie knelt in front of her, bringing the most beautiful bow Claire had ever seen from behind his back.

It was long and gracefully arced with striated tones wherethe tree’s rings had been sliced by a knife to carve it and mold it into theperfect curve.  Rawhide was drawn tight betweeneach end.

Jamie plucked the string with fingertips and it sang with strengthas it snapped back between the handholds. The sound reverberated with thepromise that it would kill for its owner, that the power it harnessed couldprotect and provide.

“Did you make this, Da?” The astonishment in Brianna’s voice wassomething that Claire had not heard in years – probably since before she was ateenager.

 It was pure wonderment at the gift.  

“Och, aye.  I ken it’sno’ much, but–”

“It’s beautiful.”  

She was all wide eyes, parted lips, mouth upturned at thecorners.  She accepted the bow from himas he held it extended it to her.  He slipped a leatherbag from his shoulder and removed a handful of arrows – obviously handmade but sturdy,long, and imposing with a pheasant fletching.

Jamie pressed a thumb on the tip of the arrow.  A drop of red bloomed into a globe on the tip andhe brought it to his lips.  

“Be careful, these’requite sharp.”

Resting the bow against her shoulder, Brianna took thearrow, turning it over and over in her hand, running her finger tips reverentlyalong the dusky feathers.

“I’ve done a little practicing with it, just to make sure it’s a braw weapon…”  Jamie’s voice trailed off, unableto take his eyes from his daughter’s face.

“Yeah?” Brianna asked, turning her attention to the bow againand laying the arrow across it, just to see its geometry.  “And…?”

“Och, weel, ye’ll have no problem killin’ with it.” Helaughed when her face broke with a full grin. 

“Da… it’s beautiful.” She set the bow aside and leaned forward on her knees, winding her armsaround his shoulders.  “I’ve not donemuch bow hunting, but I cannot wait.  Do you have one? Will you show me?”

“I’ve had one for a while, lass,” he said, absorbing thewarmth of her embrace as long as she would allow him the moment. The moment imprinted itself on him - the smell of her hair, the feeling of her long thin arms, the swell of pride in his gut for creating a moment.

“Can we go out and do a little hunting then?”

Exhaling deeply, feeling like he knew at least one more thing firsthand, henodded.  “Of course, lass.”