#it’s either this or the drawer bread man I’m Losing It over here

[gideon-of-navareth]

After the “just some guy” incident I don’t trust that Hot Sauce is just called Hot Sauce because she likes hot sauce so my wife and I sat in a Subway for like twenty minutes picking out anagrams of Hot Sauce and really the only halfway legible ones were Chase Out and House Cat.

Is this anything

[buckysgoldenheart]

Just Us

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry is sick and tired of you bringing dates back to your shared apartment, and he has no problem letting you know. So basically, mega jealous Henry, which I am a pathetic sucker for.

Warnings: mentions of sex, lots of cursing. I think that’s it.

Notes: this is kind of similar to another fic I did, and I try not to do that, but I just really felt the need to write this, so I did.

Words: 2732

Henry’s mood turned sour the second you walked through the door with your date in tow. You came in with a bright smile on your face that he returned with a scowl, but you did your best to brush it off. Your roommate acting like an overgrown child every time you brought home a guest was nothing new; you certainly weren’t surprised, and you had no intention of stooping to his level.

“Don’t mind us,” You called to Henry from over your shoulder as you shed your coat and draped it on the hook. “This is James.”

Henry only grunted in response, not looking up from fixing his dinner; peanut butter about to be spread messily on a slice of wheat bread. You rolled your eyes, took James’s coat and led him over to the couch where he smiled sweetly when you invited him to sit and offered him a drink.

Entering the kitchen, you opened the fridge door and pulled out two beers. “So?” You asked, your eyebrow raised as you searched for the bottle opener in the junk drawer. Henry dropped the knife with a clang on the countertop, then turned to you and crossed his arms.

“So, you just thought this was fine,” He asked, his voice dripping with aggravated sarcasm as he shrugged his broad shoulders and frowned. “Just whatever, no big deal?”

You chuckled at the weak argument you’d had at least three times before. You wouldn’t have given him the chance to say anything about your date at all if you knew he wasn’t going to hang on to it the entire night just to explode in the morning for bringing a stranger into his home. Your home too, you would often have to remind him. So, it was your mission to let him get the anger out early in the night. You’d be less likely to have to worry about it later and could focus your attention on the man sitting in your living room rather than Henry’s imminent frustration.

“Henry,” You sighed and took a sip of your beer. “As of right now, it’s just the continuation of an innocent date. We’re going to watch a movie.”

“As of right now?” Henry huffed deeply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that if it gets a little heated, I promise not to make out with him in front of you, but at this current time, you have little to worry about.”

He sucked in a long breath through his nostrils. “Ok, that’s—”

“And we won’t fuck on our couch. I’ll take him to my room so you don’t have to see anything scarring,” You teased with a wink.

“Ok, enough.”

“And we won’t be loud, I swear.”

“Enough!” He snapped. You quickly whipped your head around the corner to see if James heard, but he was still sitting there, playing with his fingernails as he patiently waited for you like the gentleman he was. When you looked back at Henry, he was practically quaking with anger. “Get that asshole out of my apartment.”

“Um, our apartment. And no thank you.” You smiled and cocked your head to the side as innocently as you could. “I’d like to be having sex tonight.”

“With him?” Henry pointed a long finger in your date’s general direction. The fury in his eyes could’ve stabbed James through the back of his head if the wall weren’t in the way.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N. Have some self-respect.”

Your playful smile instantly dropped, and if you weren’t leaning against the wall, you would’ve stumbled. Henry had said a lot of things before; Hurtful things, things that made you want to slap him, but something about this felt worse. Assuming you were devaluing yourself by wanting to have sex with a man who was sweet, and kind and generous, and million other lovely things men, other than Henry, have never been to you, was like a stab to the gut. Henry was your best friend; you were his. You supported his choices and dreams, and it seemed Henry did the same for you unless it came to this very particular subject. He hated every man you brought around, but bringing them around or getting involved with them did not make you a stupid girl who cannot take care of herself.

“Jesus Henry, stay in your lane, would you?” You said, shaking your head and rubbing at your temple with your free fingers. “I don’t need my best friend giving me shit. Why can’t I bring a guy here without you acting like a complete dick to him and me?”

He stepped closer until you had to look up to meet his glare. “You’re a very smart girl, Y/N. Figure it out,” he growled, then moved around you, but you grabbed his arm before he could escape yet again. Every time, he tried to escape. Every time, he stomped away from you like a grump as if you had some reason to be sorry or ashamed, and you weren’t having it any longer.

“We aren’t children, Henry. I’m not playing this game. If you’ve got a problem with me, say it to my fucking face.”

He stared at you for a long beat, but then shook your hand off him and made his way down the hall, slamming the door to his room once he was inside.

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

James was better than most at kissing you, and you’d kissed your fair share. He knew what you wanted--how you liked things--without you needing to ask, and it was like its own little miracle. There was no fumbling around. His lips were firm and his arms around you were strong. He was confident in his touch on your skin as you straddled his lap, and all of it combined had you a moaning, whimpering mess.

“I wasn’t sure we would actually get to do this,” He said between kisses as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Why?” You lightly chuckled, your fingers skimming down to the little buttons holding his shirt together and easing one open. “I’m certainly having a good time.”

“Believe me sweetheart, I am too, but Superman there looked like he wanted to kick my ass.”

Fucking Superman. That asshole had come out of his room at random, inconvenient times as you and James lightly pawed at one another throughout the movie, and you both could feel Henry’s eyes on you. After the look he gave you the first time he came into the living room, you stopped turning your heads his way when his heavy footsteps thudded against the hardwood.

You made a low humming sound that had James’s cock twitching in his pants, and you moved your head down to peck your lips against his. “Don’t bother with him,” You whispered.

He leaned into the light scratching your nails were giving the side of his scalp, and with a groan, said, “If you say so, babydoll, I won’t give it a second thought.”

“Good.” You smiled, satisfied, then kissed him again but he pulled back barely a minute later.

“It’s just…the way he looks at you.”

“He’s a protective friend.” You snickered and ground your hips down on his a little harder to get him back on track.

He groaned as his fingers dug into your waist, but it didn’t distract him. “No, it’s not only that. It’s like…” His lips pursed trying to find the words. “He looks at you in a way that friends normally do not look at one another.”

“He’s got some weird attitude tonight, ok? It’s nothing.” Grabbing his cheeks, you forced him to look directly at you when you said, “Now keep kissing me before I get too impatient.”

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

At two in the morning, you figured you were safe. You figured there would be a direct and easy path to the front door of your apartment as you let James out with a smile and a goodbye kiss and promises to text one another the next day, though you weren’t sure how much either of you really meant it. And you were right, there was an uninterrupted tiptoeing to the door. It was when you turned back for your bedroom that you realized the path had a roadblock.

Henry stood in front of you, the fumes nearly visibly wafting off him, with the harshest look he had ever directed at you taking over his entire face. It was a disservice to his handsome features and made your stomach twist uneasily.

“Is this for fucking real right now?” He growled so intensely it vibrated in your ears. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“Jesus, Henry, you scared me.”

“You actually slept with that guy?”

“Wh—”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Laughing half-heartedly, he ran one of his hands down his face, but that was all it took for the shock to wear off and for your annoyance to set in.

“Ok, I’m done with this. What is your goddamn problem?”

The two of you didn’t fight this way. Not for long anyway, and even so, this time was significantly worse than any other. Outbursts happened for the both of you, snapping, and words you wish you could take back, but Henry was still looking at you the way he had earlier in the night; like you were a reckless child he was losing respect for by the minute, and it broke your heart.

He stared at you as if expecting you to have an answer to your own question, but when you didn’t continue, he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “I’m going to a hotel. I can’t be here right now.”

“What? Henry, why?”

His keys were in hand, his phone and wallet tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, when it finally registered to you that he wasn’t kidding. He was leaving so fast he didn’t care to take anything other than the necessities with him. That’s how much he wanted to get away from you, and you hated it. You never wanted to get away from him.

Light from the hall streamed through the doorway as you finally began to follow after him. You grabbed at his t-shirt when he wouldn’t respond to your repeating calling of his name, and he whipped around fast with a frown down at you. Your mouth kept opening and closing, unsure of what to say.

He sniffed once, thinned his lips, and removed your hand from his body, then as calmly as he had spoken all night, said, “I’m in fucking love with you.”

Then door was slammed behind him, jarring you and leaving you to soak the night in.

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

When he said those words to you, the six words that he would never be able to take back, the ones that irrevocably changed your friendship in the blink of an eye, everything inside of you began to tremble and vibrate and beat with such intensity you could almost feel the functions of your body. Your blood was pumping a hell of a lot faster and you heart was ready to burst.

Your brain, your skin, the nerves and veins under that skin; every bit of you was working overtime to help process what happened and keep you alert as you did so, and maybe it was all a little overkill, but he had said the one thing you never thought you’d hear.

I’m in fucking love with you.

It would repeat over and over in your head, bouncing around the walls of your skull as it tried to find a way to escape, but there was no use. You could never forget his confession, or the way he said it. There was something desperate about it, weak. There was exhaustion, as if he were tired of holding it back and had given up on even trying.

It was too much. You’d never dismiss it, and God, when he got his ass back home you wouldn’t let him brush it aside, but for now, it was too much.

You wanted sleep after sitting completely still for two hours, staring into space. So you carried your body to the closest room, his room, crawled into his bed, and tangled yourself within the sheets until you wouldn’t be able to unwrap yourself without effort you did not possess at such an ungodly hour. You were stuck, trapped, engulfed by him, just like you wanted to be. Then you took his king-sized pillow, massive like his body, and hugged it to your chest, tucking your face in it. It smelled like him, all musky and piney and perfect in a way that always made you dizzy when he would sit a little too close and drape a long arm around your shoulders as you watched tv or read a book.

And you cried yourself to sleep, wishing he was beside you.

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

Henry came back in the morning, though he wasn’t sure how he gathered the courage. Maybe it was the fact that it was you. Just you, his best friend, his roommate. He loved you in more ways than one, and perhaps it was that knowledge that made him a little stronger.

He’d face you, and he’d do it with the intention of making everything clear. He was in love with you and it wasn’t going to change. He loved you as his friend; that wasn’t going to change either, and no way in hell was he going to lose you twice over.

Taking a few deep breaths, Henry unlocked the front door and eased his way inside. You weren’t around the sunlit soaked first floor of the apartment, and when he traipsed upstairs and nudged your door open, you weren’t there either. He wanted you tucked in your bed, not gone and probably terrified at the thought of seeing him, so running to James’s or Jake’s or Jason’s apartment to avoid him. That would be the perfect painful exclamation point on the disaster of his poor decision making.

Then he found you. Not missing, but snug in his bed, warming the mattress with your body as it dipped the slightest under your weight. Everything about the sight killed him and melted his heart simultaneously. There you were, laying peacefully angelic, right where he had wanted you for months. And it looked so beautifully natural.

Not even stopping to think, Henry inched his way to the other side of his bed, lifted the duvet and slid beneath it. He reached an arm around your waist and pulled you close to kiss your forehead, then tucked his face into the crook of your neck. When you stirred, he leaned back to take in your face as your eyebrows scrunched and your lips parted in a yawn.

You didn’t open your eyes but rose a hand, placed it on his cheek, and ran a thumb along the corner of his mouth. As the goosebumps spawned all over his body, he wasn’t even sure you were fully awake, but then you whispered, “It was always you, Henry. Always.”

Henry swallowed hard as your sleepy voice continued.

“I figured you weren’t an option, and I was doing my best working around that.”

After running a hand over your hair and tucking some behind your ear, Henry pressed a kiss to your lips. A short, soft one to see how you’d react. Then you opened your eyes slowly and met your Y/E/C with his blue.

“Do it again,” You said, and so he connected your lips a little firmer, tightening his hold on you, and rolling on his back until your body splayed over his.

You moaned when he caressed his tongue against yours after opening your mouth an inch. Your heart fluttered in your chest the stupid way dramatic, moony-eyed women often described it in novels. You thought it was a myth, the idea that anyone could make you feel so loved just from a kiss, and you’d lost hope for that kind of thing long ago. But Henry ripped your pessimism to shreds in a matter of minutes.

“I want you to be mine,” he mumbled against your lips. “Just mine.”

“Then I’m yours,” You said without hesitation, tilting your head back enough to look in his eyes. You nudged your nose against his. “Just yours.”

---

Tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz​ @jazzwoman897​ @meganwinchester1999​ @ufffg​ @debra77​ @rebelliouscat​ @anise-d-castle6​ @projectxhappiness​ @lowkeysebby​ @stringgeek13​ @notmyfault404​ @jjamesbbarness​ @guera31​ @sophiatomlinson23​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @hiddles-rose​ @picapicapicassobaby​ @lokilvrr​ @sunshine-seven @harrysthiccthighss​ @agniavateira​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @tumblnewby @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @amberlokabrenna​

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it’s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

“Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter Six

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, THIS PART HAS SMUT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED but it is very soft 

word count: 3.2k

dress featured: x

a/n: this part was gonna be super fluffy and lovely but of course i cant do that so it’s quite angsty lol sorry. BUt Percabeth make an appearance and we love them so I think that evens it out :) I also apologise if there are any mistakes I wanted to get this out ASAP because I have exams coming up :( pls comment it genuinely makes my day i get so happy when people comment, anyway enjoy!

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Azriel wasn’t entirely sure he would ever get over ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier’, or any other Marvel movies for that matter, having cried when Bucky was revealed, or when Pietro died making you practically piss yourself with laughter as you muttered something along the lines of “Just wait.”

When the sun began to rise you had turned the laptop off, pulling him in tightly as you pulled the thick duvet over you and proceeded to snore softly with your head pressed over his heart and your other hand reaching out and clutching your favourite soft toy. He thinks he maybe got three hours of sleep, but he laid with you the whole morning, addicted to the heat emitting from you and the way the whole room seemed to be resting as you slept, the breeze swaying the curtains matching that of your gentle breaths and the plants drooping as they too relaxed.

When you did wake, Azriel found his way between your legs, determined to wake you up properly. Your soft cries were like music to his ears, and he made you cum three times before you were pushing his shoulders away, shaking from over-stimulation, and climbing on top of him, sinking down slowly, letting yourself feel every inch. As he sat back, his hands resting on your waist to guide you when you became breathless, holding tightly and occasionally thrusting up into you when the pace became to slow for his taste. You reached a hand to his wings as his thumb found your clit, and you kissed sloppily as you searched for release.

Soon, you fell on top of him as he grunted, hips stalling as you whined into his open mouth. He slowly pulled out and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle, the two of you laying silently simply enjoying the others presence. You soon looked up at him and gave him a breathless smile, pecking his jaw, before swinging your legs over the side of the bed and grabbing a robe of the floor. You made your way to the record player and filled the room with the sound of the Bee Gee’s, Azriel closing his eyes and letting the foreign sounds consume him. You sat down at your vanity and started putting on your jewellery, all the movements practiced, and he cracked open an eye watching you string necklaces with crystals hanging from them around your neck. He laughed as you sang along to the song, flirty eyes catching his as you swayed from side to side.

“More than a woman…” you sang softly as you pulled lacy panties up your legs and rubbed fruity lotion into your legs and hands, waving your hands to dry them before pushing of numerous rings. He sat up in bed, watching you intently as you moved to your wardrobe and pulled out a pretty off-the-shoulder, white dress with frills and faint flowers decorating it. You dropped your robe and pulled on the dress, shaking your hair out and turning to walk over to him. The golden light from the window coated you and you look like you belonged in the Day Court as your skin was cast in the glow, it seemed to weave around you alike a halo and he was struck by how angelic you looked.

“I’m gonna go wash my face,” you said, pressing quick kiss to his lips and giggling sweetly when he tried to chase your mouth for more, pulling away and leaving the room, blowing a kiss in his direction.

He stood, a love-drunk smile on his face as he went about finding his boxers from the night before and pulling them on, grimacing at the tight fit, before he wandered to the drawer you had pulled them from, laughing when he found men’s joggers as well and pulling them on. When he turned to find a top he was instead greeted by a middle-aged man in running gear. He reached for truth-teller, moving into a fighting stance, his shadows swarming around him menacingly and silently begged that you would stay in the bathroom to avoid seeing any blood.

“At ease Azriel, I won’t hurt you.” The strange man said, not actually looking at him and instead typing furiously on his phone.

“How did you get in here?” Azriel asked gruffly, assessing the man to see if he had weapons.

The man waved a hand through the air dismissively, “You are not supposed to be here you know.”

“What do you mean?” He was still uncomfortable at the fact the man knew his name, and now he was insinuating that he knew that Azriel wasn’t from this world.

“Stupid Aphrodite and her hopeless ideals messing up the routes so you could meet (y/n). The fates won’t be happy if you don’t return soon, and even worse Persephone will lose it if she thinks her daughter has been dragged into any messy situations like this, so you boy, are going home, come on.” He beckoned to Azriel, but he didn’t budge.

“Who are you?” He demanded as the man rolled his eyes.

“Hermes, messenger God, now come on I don’t have all day.”

“What did you mean by the fates?”

Hermes sighed deeply, muttering something about a pay raise under his breath before he finally looked up at Azriel. “Some soulmates simply just aren’t meant to meet I’m afraid, why do you think we wrote so many tragedies. If a Greek is born lucky enough to have a soulmate they will likely be from another world, and that means they cannot be together. I know you think she is your mate, but she must stay here, she’s not even immortal it would be cruel. I told Aphrodite to not let you two meet and that it would just end in heart-break, but she didn’t listen, felt bad for the girl or something, but either way you need to leave now.”

Azriel opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words, you really were his, his mate, but now he was being told that he couldn’t be with you. He tried to reply again but before he could you were floating back into the room, smiling widely when you saw Hermes.

“Hermes, long time no see. What calls you to my humble abode?” you asked, moving to Azriel’s side and laughing when he still didn’t put down his dagger, “It’s okay Az, Hermes is actually one of the nicer ones.”

Hermes laughed at the compliment, but sadness shone in his eyes as he looked upon you.

“You look happy,” he said, a regretful look suddenly over-coming his features, yet Azriel couldn’t feel any sympathy for the man that was going to hurt his mate.

“I am.” You said, gazing up at Azriel with soft eyes, and Hermes placed his buzzing phone in his back pocket.

“My child, it’s time for Azriel to leave,” he said softly, your head whipping around to look at him.

“What?” The sharpness of your tone surprised Azriel. He had grown used to your soft side that spoke to flowers and baked homemade bread, but now he was remembering the broken part of you that was part God and build walls up in seconds. He placed a hand on your lower back as the room suddenly shuddered under your power, all plants awakening.

“You two were never meant to meet, Aphrodite just wanted you to meet him after your fall, but she forgot that he would have to return, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes filled with tears as you tried to make sense of what was happening, snarling at the God.

“No but this has nothing to do with the Gods, it- he got here on his own, we met by chance,” You were shaking as you tried to explain, sadness and confusion battling anger, and Azriel thought he could hear his heart break.

“I’m sorry child, I have to take him back. He only got here because of Aphrodite.” You were shaking your head, tears flowing freely now, gripping his arm and Hermes approached.

“NO, no there must be another way, please don’t take him from me! I need him, I love him, please don’t do this!” Hermes, shockingly, also appeared to be close to tears as he rested his hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his body going numb as he was pulled from you, unable to fight back.

“(y/n), baby, I’m sorry, I’ll figure this out okay I promise. I’m not leaving you here.” He didn’t think he would ever feel this much pain again as he watched the woman he loved sob, trying desperately to hold onto him as he was pulled from her world, the image of her collapsing to her knees as he was wrenched from her grip becoming imprinted in his mind.

--

He was gone. He was gone and you were alone again.

The scuffed wooden floor below you was cool as you pressed your forehead against it, sobs racking your body. You pushed yourself up and sat against the wall, checking the time on the clock. 15 minutes. You would cry for 15 minutes and then you would get him back. To many times you have just accepted your fate, but you couldn’t this time, you and Azriel met for a reason there had to be something. You wouldn’t let the anger and fear swallow you again.

When 15 minutes had past you forced your self to stand, wiping your eyes with your hand before searching for tissues. When you had blown your nose, you found an old notebook and grabbed your pen. A list, a list would organise your thoughts, you could find a loophole something had to work. You wrote down every theory you had, every book you would have to look in and every person you had to ask, sniffling, and rubbing the tears from your eyes. When you were done you found the backup burner phone you kept for emergencies and found Annabeth’s number. She picked up on the third ring and you took in a shaking breath.

“I think I need your help.”

--

Hermes left Azriel on the outskirts of Velaris, strangely back in his Illyrian leathers, he had apologised again, true sadness shining in his eyes, but Azriel just growled as feeling returned to his limbs. Hermes looked as if he wanted to say something but decided not to and with that left.

As Azriel shot off the ground he was struck with a sharp pain in his chest, as if being apart from her was physically paining him. He flew over his home, the city he had grown to love but even the feeling of coming home couldn’t distract from the cold that was seeping into his bones. He would destroy the Gods themselves before he let them take you from him and he fought a snarl as he pictured the hell he would make them pay for making you cry.

He landed outside the town house but before he could even open the door the wind was knocked out of him as Cassian barrelled into him in what was either a really rough hug or a tackle, it was hard to tell with Cassian sometimes.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN IT’S BEEN WEEKS?!” he winced as Cassian yelled right in his ear, shoving him off him as the rest of his family, minus Amren, surrounded him. Feyre was next to hug him and he returned his High Lady’s embrace, when she pulled away he met Rhysand’s eyes, and he saw the sadness in Azriel’s, shocked as Azriel rarely let any emotion show on his face.

“C’mon lets go inside,” Rhys said, outstretching an arm for his wife. Mor, holding Nyx, followed them in and Cassian who was still glaring at Azriel grabbed his arm and tugged him in, grumbling under his breath about how Azriel hadn’t even sent a letter.

When they were all sat, including Amren who apparently just couldn’t be bothered to come greet him as she knew he was coming her way anyway, Feyre asked him what happened. His eyes instinctively found Elain where she sat huddled in the corner of an armchair, and as he took in her spectacular beauty, all he could think of was how no one compared to you. No one compared to your callused hands that had seen many fights and handled many weapons, or your scarred back that only proved how strong you truly were. No amount of beauty could ever compare to you when you had completely stolen his heart, it didn’t help that you were also the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

He paused, a small part of him wanting to keep you a secret as he feared Cassian’s flirting and the prospect of losing the woman he loved again, but as he looked upon where Cassian sat with nothing but worry for his brother in his eyes, Nesta perched next to him, back straight as usual but a hand in his brother’s, he realised he was being ridiculous. He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath, fiddling with his hands as he told his family everything.

--

Percy had forgotten how much he loved (y/n)’s cottage. It always smelt of cinnamon in winter and roses in summer and it usually had the second-best homemade goods her had ever eaten, their only flaw being the lack of blue food colouring. But he didn’t have time to dwell on how he had missed the house too much as Annabeth pulled him through the door and into (y/n)’s kitchen where she sat staring with the blank look on her face that Percy knew meant something had gone horribly wrong. She looked up when they entered and stood, practically falling into Annabeth’s arms, hugging her tightly before Percy tugged her into his own, a hand resting protectively on her head. She had always been like a little sister to him even though she was only a few months younger than him, and consistently beat him in training exercises. The first few months after they escaped Tartarus, he had brought her meals and held her when she sobbed and threw up due to nightmares, helping her through the trauma and trying not to throw up himself when Annabeth applied the ointment Will had given you to her back. When she told him of the fraught relationship she had with her father he decided that she needed someone who would be like family and had practically adopted her after they defeated Kronos, the seven, Nico and Will becoming the loving family she had always wanted.

When she pulled away, he nudged her to sit down as Annabeth started preparing chamomile tea for her in the hopes of relaxing her.

“What happened kiddo?” he asked softly, and she huffed a laugh at the nickname. He smiled when he remembered her reaction when he first said it.

“We’re literally the same age!” She threw her hands up as he laughed at her reaction.

“Doesn’t matter you’re technically younger than me.” He argued as she glared at him playfully before waving her hand, laughing when he was strung upside down by a thick vine encircling his ankle.

“Right that’s just unfair!” he laughed before adding “kiddo,” at the end, flipping her off when she rolled her eyes and let him fall and land in a heap, sitting up and rubbing his elbow.

“Rude.” He muttered but she just laughed, picking up the swords she was training with and moved to continue with her training.

They sat and listened as she explained what had happened, taking small sips of her hot tea as she went. When she finished Percy let out a soft curse.

“So Hermes just took him?” Annabeth asked, her eyebrows furrowed in a way Percy knew meant her mind was going a million miles an hour.

She nodded sadly, “there has to be something I can do right? I was finally making progress; I watched all three Iron Man movies with him.”

“That’s a lot of red,” Percy noted, and she bit her lip, nodding sadly.

“What if I never see him again?” She asked, the way her voice broke hit something inside him as he remembered how much it sucked being separated from Annabeth.

“You will.” Annabeth said with such certainty, Percy expected this faerie boyfriend to appear in the seat next to him. Annabeth lifted her bag and started pilling the books she had brought with her and (y/n) stood and moved around her living room, grabbing ones of her own.

“I figured old myths of my mum might help, y’know forbidden love and all,” she said the joke not quite reaching her eyes, but Annabeth nodded.

“I thought the same, but I also figured maybe something to do with Eurydice and Orpheus given he went to the underworld to get her back when they were separated.”

“Didn’t they both die at the end?” Percy asked and (y/n) laughed sadly.

“Shush,” Annabeth said, passing him a book and highlighter. He groaned.

“Why did I agree to this?” He asked but no one answered, and he looked up to see the two women already reading, determination covering their features, so he instead cracked his neck and picked up his own book.

--

Almost 10 hours later you slammed your book down in frustration, wiping your eyes roughly.

“Nothing, there isn’t one thing here. Either I do something stupid and we both die, or I need to find a way to be allowed to live in his world half the year and this one the other half.” Your shoulders slumped, “And that’s presuming I ever get to see him again, and then! Even then, I have what 70 years with him if I’m lucky. That’s nothing to him, he’s fucking five hundred years old.”

Annabeth looked up sympathetically, one hand woven in Percy’s hair as he slept with his head in her lap.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think this has ever happened before. We might have to start looking elsewhere.”

“I just miss him. I know it’s not even been a day, but he was my soulmate, Hermes said so, he thinks I didn’t hear, but I did and now my chest actually hurts now that he’s gone. He’s gone and I don’t think he’s coming back.” You didn’t know how you had any tears left but they were flowing down your cheeks, hot against your cold hands as you wiped your face.

“You will, I promise we’ll figure something out, even if we have to go to the Gods themselves.” Annabeth smiled at you.

“WAIT!” Percy jumped up suddenly, surprising you both, given he appeared to be sleeping. “The Gods, (y/n) you never got your reward.”

“What?”

“After the battle and the fall, you were offered a reward, but you said no because you sensed you would need it in the future. This is the future you need it now you can be with him!” Percy was practically running circles around your living room, gesturing widely as his arms flailed but Annabeth had gone wholly still, doing the math in her head.

“He’s right, that could work.” You felt hope rise in your chest as Annabeth spoke, “But you would have to be specific, if we’ve pissed off Zeus he’ll try trick you, he’s kinda like a genie.” You let out a genuine laugh.

“I think I need to visit my mum,” you said, eyes bright with hope.

“But it’s September.” Percy said, and you gave him a pained smile, grimacing as you realised where you were going.

“I think Nico and I are overdue for a family dinner.”

[melancholia-cressa]

Weakness

So, one random morning, I was listening to a certain song for the first time. Once the lyrics sunk in, I just had this idea for a Dio and female reader-insert fic. Hope you enjoy it, even if I do hate the guy lmao.

warning: angst, implied child abandonment, mentions of blood and death, swearing, and minor spoilers for those who have not finished Part 1

Addendum: I actually forgot to mention that I based my interpretation of Dio's personality and thought process mostly from the Over Heaven light novel. It's a good read and it helps you understand his character better, so I say give it a shot

                         •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

"How many times has it been this week?"

Dio grunted, turning his cheek away from the girl in front of him. Your arms were crossed over your chest with a brow quirked in a silent question. He felt the bruise on his cheek sting and smart by the slightest brush of the wind. If anything, the painful sensation was intensified by your glare. His tongue flicked over the cut on his lip in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the blood. Your exasperated sigh reached his ears; nothing more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Come here, you stubborn mule." Before Dio knew it, you had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the bustling streets of urban London. Passersby didn't spare a glance for the two teenagers dressed in soiled commoner clothes.

Dio, hoping to spare himself from the embarrassment of allowing a girl to drag him around, watched the crowd go about their mundane activities. Women gossiped with each other, hands covering their mouths to stifle scandalized gasps, while men languidly talked about adult matters—business and what other dull subjects they had in mind. His gaze drifted to the hollowed junction between a clothing shop frequented by aristocrats and an apothecary that had seen better days. The blond already sensed the death and neglect in the air before the sight made his skin crawl. He caught a glimpse of a man in tattered rags whose back hunched over, shoulders sagging from the weight of his head tucked towards his chest. His hand loosely held the neck of a bottle of booze, empty and hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the nape of Dio's neck stood on end, but a harsh tug from you brought him back to reality.

"We're almost there," you told him. You looked at him from the corner of your eye before focusing on the road ahead. Your hand, small and thin with a bony wrist, squeezed his arm before abruptly jostling through the crowd. The throng of people parted, cleaving a path towards the outskirts of the city. Dio scowled, directing his attention to the cobblestone path and ignoring the pain blossoming in the palm of his clenched fist. Murmurs from the socialites rang as clear as the church bells, but you paid no mind to it. Something about your indifference made his indignation and annoyance worsen; his blood dangerously close to boiling over what little patience he had. Another squeeze of his arm and a quick glance from you told him this was a losing battle, one he had never won before. With a scoff, Dio grudgingly remained silent and continued to let you drag him.

From how long Dio knew you and vice versa, he wouldn't be surprised if you somehow noticed his apprehension and discomfort. He never understood why you went out of your way to help him. The first time he met you, Dio had slapped your hand away when you tried to help him off the ground. He expected you to either cry or throw a tantrum, like all the other girls he observed from his time in the slums, but you didn't. Instead, you looked him in the eye with a glimmer of emotion Dio couldn't describe.

"Sod off. I'm helping you, and that's that." The look in your eyes remained even when you roughly pulled him up and dragged him back to your home to tend to his bruises and cuts. Now, here he was again, being dragged by you and your insufferable pity suffocating him. Its spindly fingers ghosted over his neck, which uncomfortably tickled his skin; sharp nails poking the soft flesh that one squeeze could puncture it. Every time your eyes met his, Dio could see the swirl of indiscernible feelings in your gaze, forlorn and soft, just like his deceased mother's. The one who died thinking about others on her deathbed and wishing his son to do the same. The woman who lost her life in return for compassion and kindness. You resembled his mother—the gentle grasp on his arm, the feather-light brush of fingers tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear, the small smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, the warmth in them—to the point where he found it disgusting and wretched.

He hated it, everything about you, but why did he still keep you around?

The cold, trickling sensation that dripped down his cheek made him jump in his seat. A cough echoed in his ears, followed by a faint snort that told him someone refrained from laughing at him. The corners of your eyes wrinkled in mirth while you held a cold, wet rag to his bruised cheek. He must have looked comically bewildered because you stuffed a fist over your mouth to keep in your giggles. A frown tugged the corners of Dio’s lips as his brows furrowed.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed. Your free hand grabbed his to replace the other one holding the cold rag, “Hold still while I get some more ice from the ice box.”

With that, you left with your skirt swishing from the rush towards the kitchen. A grunt rang in the living space, courtesy of the blond begrudgingly holding the cool cloth to his bruise. Upon looking around, he noted that nothing much had changed from the last time he was here (which was around a week). Moth-eaten curtains hid the windows, most likely coated in dust and grime, and the floorboards creaked at every step you took. The wooden chair he sat on felt cold and sturdy, indicating how you rarely sat on it due to your apprenticeship in the city, while the table across him bore scratches hidden under a doily you embroidered. A basket with a few apples and grapes tempted him, but he didn’t act on it. The house, smaller than his own, is located on the outskirts of the city, and he still couldn’t understand how you lived here by yourself like this. Knowing that women can’t own property of their own, Dio had asked you a question: how did you keep the house to yourself?

“I lie about father sending me on errands,” was your simple reply despite the fact that your parents were long gone. One morning, Dio had found you dragging your feet in the streets and, when you had suddenly leaned into him, the quiet sniffles told him everything. He had taken you home that night—damn his father, he never even cared where he went as long as he brought back a bottle of alcohol—and stayed upon your request. The moment he led you to your room, glimpses from an open door showed him emptied drawers and a barren wardrobe. A drawer box was left hanging from its cabinet, as if it was pulled out in haste. The candle was barely touched. Its wick remained spotless and barely any wax dripped down the candle holder atop the cabinet. He didn’t need to see the rest of the room to know what happened.

His ten-year-old mind didn’t know why he stayed, much less took you back to a cold, lifeless house. Yet, he did all that and more—he kept you by his side without a single, logical reason. You didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy would. If anything, he seemed to be the one drifting anywhere near you. He would wander the slums and traipse through the bars for scraps, mostly booze for his deadbeat father, then his gaze would land on you. You were there every single time, whether it was for apprentice work in that dress shop or buying bread in the bakery, and it drove him mad. Dio, the one who survived alone in this shitty reality of his, subconsciously seeking your company like a besotted fool. The very thought makes him scoff and laugh. Every time he asked himself about these coincidences, he came up blank. His mind conjured nothing but the image of your tear-stained face and the devastation that set itself in place of your usual smile.

Dio didn’t know why, but he’d rather not see you in that condition again. Never.

The creaking floorboards announced your arrival. With a sweeping flourish, you switched the warming rag with a new one wrapped around ice and firmly pressed it to his cheek. Dio hissed, throwing you a venomous glare at the amused smirk on your face. You shrugged, the damning smirk remained, and only laughed when he ripped your hand off the rag to grasp it on his own.

“Stop acting like a child,” you tutted, mocking him as if he was the child in the situation. Heat crept up his neck and ears, skin flushing a slight red. Whether it was from embarrassment or indignation, he didn’t know. All he knew was the annoyance fluttering in his stomach and the twitch of his fingers, ready to smack your hand away should it be necessary. Another laugh came from you, and the fluttering feeling increased tenfold.

“We are children. Speak for yourself,” Dio snarled, but this only earned him another smile from you. The soft, small one that always resembled his mother’s.

He hated it, how you sorely reminded him of his mother, but why won’t he leave?

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“Oh, aren’t you…”

Your wide eyes shifted into crescents, a smile gracing your lips, as you told Jonathan your name. The blue-haired aristocrat gently took your hand and kissed its knuckles, which caught you by surprise. The slight flush of your cheeks said it all. Dio could feel his eye twitch at the predicament unfolding in front of him.

Is this what it felt like when God has forsaken you? Not that Dio believed in the supernatural, but it best captured his feelings at the moment.

He coughed into his fist, diverting your attention away from his stepbrother, and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “I thought you’d be working in the dress shop today? You told me you couldn’t come to the rugby game.”

“Oh, w-well…” You trailed off, fiddling with your thumbs and looking away from the blond. You gnawed your bottom lip, a tic Dio associated with nerves, as your eyes flitted between him and Jonathan. Somehow, this irked him more than it should. Jonathan watched the scene in curiosity, only recognizing you from the time he had seen twelve-year-old Dio walk after you in the city once. The oblivious boy asked about you, and Dio immediately glared at him until he was cowed into silence. Dio was about to demand an answer—childish, really, but his patience was being tested—until you finally answered him.

“Mrs. Smith allowed me to leave early—” once she knew you were playing, was what you thought but chose not to divulge that information—“so here I am.”

Dio let out an amused huff, the swell of relief almost choking him, “Well, what did you think of the game then?”

You hummed, placing a hand on your cheek with a mock thoughtful expression. Dio subconsciously tapped his shoe on the grass as he awaited your response. The raucous beating of his heart dulled his senses the longer you mused, which wasn’t that long in all honesty. It only took a mere three seconds before you spoke.

“I think you and Jonathan were amazing. I would have never expected him to pass the ball to you, then you taking the winning score.”

Dio would have basked in your compliment, which was a rare occurrence unfortunately, if it weren’t for the fact that Jonathan was included in it. Regardless, he sported a triumphant grin and clapped you on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. Your eyes widened in surprise, but this had gone unnoticed by Jonathan, who knew nothing of your relationship with Dio, and the man himself. The confusion swarming your mind remained even when Jonathan bashfully grinned and expressed his gratitude.

“Oh! Well, thank you, but this victory is all because of Dio,” he told you. You sighed, knowing that would stroke Dio’s ego, but the latter felt his heart stutter at the sight of your smile. If he didn’t despise Jonathan and plotted to take the Joestar fortune for himself, then he would have been grateful to Jonathan at the moment. That was not the case, but he took the compliment in stride with a boastful grin.

Unfortunately, his heart dropped when you dismissed it with a wave. “Nonsense! You deserve the recognition as much as he does!”

It felt wrong seeing you smile at Jonathan; the one that always reminded him of his mother. His blood simmered under his skin as his jaw clenched, teeth painfully grinding together. His heart hammered in his chest; mind screaming and urging him to lead you away from the spoiled, ignorant Joestar. He didn’t like this: how you and Jonathan are in the same space and breathing the same air. He felt those ghostly fingers grip his throat and prick his skin, the phantom sensation of nails scratching the sensitive area. Yet, he kept the polite smile and the pretense that he’s friends with his stepbrother. Dio Brando will get everything he wants soon. He can’t afford to ruin his carefully sculpted plan all because of a girl.

You are not worth the repercussions.

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“How many times has it been this week?” You smiled, but the disgust and spite associated with the expression disappeared in a sharp inhale from Dio.

Blood stained your dress, splattered over your skirt and apron, as your fingers clutched at the arm embedded in your torso. Drops of blood found their way to your boots, the worn leather speckled with scarlet dots. A cough sent a spurt of blood to dribble down the corner of your lips as a terrified cry of your name echoed in the hall. Jonathan—it was Jonathan’s voice, followed by the voices of his companions Dio didn’t even bother to acknowledge. The muted horror of what he had done registered in his mind, and the blond vampire immediately ripped his arm away from you. The force propelled your body forward, falling towards the stone floor of the castle, but an arm hooked itself around your waist.

“You bloody idiot,” Dio hissed, dropping to his knees from the momentum of capturing you. One of his hands cradled your head, fingers buried into your hair, while the other held your body flush against his chest. “You bloody fucking idiot.”

“How many times have you taken lives this week?” Your voice warbled, hints of melancholy in your teasing tone. Dio briefly barked orders for the zombies to attack Jonathan and his comrades before he returned his attention to you. His heart clenched, cracks starting to form at the unsightly hole in your stomach, but his rage at what you have done made his mouth run.

“Why?” One of his arms supported your back, gripping you closer in a futile attempt at clinging to your life. He had no warmth—no comfort to spare for your dying body. It was the first and only time Dio cursed the consequences of his immortality, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Not when you, the girl he had known since childhood and the one he shared a strange bond with, were waning between the realm of life and death. You looked at him, and Dio’s rage grew at the soft smile still on your face. It spoke of promises and hope, the things Dio had forsaken ever since his mother died and his father began to further drive a stake into his future.

They were empty and meaningless, but not with you.

“Why?!” He demanded, visibly trembling at your silence. Dio didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you jumped in front of Jonathan to take the hit. The light in your eyes began to dim, but you shakily placed a hand on his cheek. The same bruised cheek you had tended to before his father died and he had been adopted by the Joestars. The memory made Dio shudder and he moved to evade your touch, but you stubbornly clasped his cheek with the remaining strength your fragile, bleeding body had.

“Should there be a reason?” You rasped, chuckling a little. The gesture resulted in another harsh cough and more blood to spill from your mouth. The red coated your lips akin to the lipstick of those aristocrat beauties Dio observed during the parties George Joestar hosted. The color mocked him, taunting him for his dependence on the wretched substance. The vampire’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. The rage festering inside him threatened to break through his cool façade. He was about to snap at you for your foolish remark when your thumb ghosted over the skin under his eye.

"This is a first," you whispered, chest heaving and eyes flickering between dark and light. "I thought I'd never see the day you'd cry."

"Save your breath," Dio fumed, cursing once more for the obvious tremor in his voice. "Just save your strength. I can save you—just—"

"Silly boy," your smile grew as you looked into Dio's eyes, finding semblances of the bruised boy you had bumped into when you first met. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, or I might regret my decision."

Before Dio could say anything, scream at you for your audacity in your last moments, your lips brushed against his cheek. His breath hitched and his hold on you slackened the tiniest bit. He felt your lashes flutter over his pale skin, the receding warmth of your body, and the dainty caress of your hands on his cheeks. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he yearned for more. Dio yearned for more time with you—to relive the days when you two were nothing but gullible children in a world dominated by greed and power-hungry beasts lurking beneath beautiful masks.

The moment shattered when your body sagged against him; your head lolled to the side and unceremoniously bumped against his shoulder. The blood from your lips marred his skin, but he paid no mind to it. His hands scrambled to hold you—keep you close to him—as his breath came in short, panicked bursts. Dio didn't care if he looked like an idiot in front of his army. He didn't care if Jonathan and his parade of fools saw him in his moment of weakness.

He only cared about you.

He lifted a hand, shoulders shaking a bit, to take a look at your face. The soft smile you always adorned, one that lit your expression, now painted itself on your pallid complexion. Your eyes remained close, and you looked nothing but peaceful the moment you died in his arms. The blood on your clothes and the hole he created didn't deter nor ruin your blissful image. He hated it. He always hated that smile.

It was the same smile his mother gave him before she died.

The ghostly, spindly appendages found their way around his neck. They ruptured his skin and crushed his throat as the back of his eyes stung. A lone tear dripped down his cheek and landed on your own, devoid of the flush it once had when you were still alive. A silent, choked sob slipped past his lips and he brought you closer; his nails digging into your arm from how tight he gripped your corpse. He brought your face into the crook of his neck. Dio couldn't bring himself to look at you, knowing what you meant by your last words.

You wanted to die as a human. This thought made him curl his body over yours, shielding the ghastly sight of your corpse from the others, if only to provide him some sense of comfort that you didn't shun him. You never did, not when you saw him discard his humanity and not even when you decided to join Jonathan to search for him. Dio never understood why you'd follow him to the ends of the earth. He never understood why you didn't leave him when he chose to become immortal. He never found the answers to these questions. Although, he understood why he never left you—he saw himself in you, a girl abandoned by her family and scorned by society. Dio couldn't find it in himself to leave you; his pride prevented him from stooping to their level. There was another reason, but the crushing weight of this revelation only served to choke him in his guilt-ridden wrath.

He loves you.

[bittydragon]

Roommates, Huh?

Notes: This was fun to write. That’s all I’m gonna say cause then I’ll spoil it. But have a Dream Team one now! Ft. tiny Dream who definitely still has the abilities of a speedrunner still.

Dream had never felt so scared in his life. In all of his years borrowing from this house, the one he had lived in for years with the same two residents, he had never once aroused suspicion. And now suddenly he was sure one of the humans had just seen him with a grape in tow duck into his small entrance on the kitchen counter.

He was sitting on the floor of his small hole, the grape still sat in his lap. He wanted to throw it and be angry at it. That grape was the reason he was probably just seen. But he was hungry and even this grape was only going to last him so long. Not long enough. 

Dream sighed and adjusted his small handmade cardboard mask so he could take a bite of the fruit. He just had to hope luck was still on his side, and if the human did see him they wouldn’t do anything about it.

The next night, Dream slung his borrowing bag over his shoulders. He needed more food whether he was staying or not. Neither human had made any indication of knowing of his presence yet, so he was still hesitant to leave just yet. This house was as much of a perfect home to Dream as it was to the two humans who lived here.

They had both been in this house as long as Dream. Dream found the house one day before these boys had moved in. He wasn’t originally planning on staying because the house was completely unoccupied, there was no food to borrow there. But when he was about to leave he heard commotion outside and watched people bringing stuff into the house. He decided to stay a little longer. After all, he knew from other borrowers he had met that when new humans arrived at a new house, losing items was normal. Humans wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

And Dream had only planned on staying another week to milk the moving in period. But then he grew attached and by the time he realized it, he had basically moved into the house as well. For years, Dream had used his abilities that were unusually good, even for a borrower, to borrow and escape any suspicion. The two boys were unaware for years. So Dream thought it could still be likely that the human who had seen him would pass it off as a trick of the eye, or maybe didn’t even see him. 

With that reassurance in his mind, he peeked out of his hole to assure the humans had headed off to bed. He stepped out as quietly as he could and began making his way to any food left out on the counter. And then he stopped.

A small pile was laid right around the toaster his hole was hidden behind. There looked to be a cracker, another grape, some small pieces of bread, and a small slice of cheese. Dream suddenly clutched the strap of his bag, ready to make a break for it. He darted his gaze around trying to find something, anything, that would signify this to being a trap. The human had seen him. Dream had to leave.

But against all caution, he approached the pile. He reached out for the cheese and was surprised that it still felt cool. The food was put out right before the humans went to their rooms. And there was no trap.

‘But the human saw you, you have to leave.’ Dream stared at the food laid before him. He was seen, but the human only left food out. Maybe it was to guarantee his existence. A small voice in the back of his head whispered that it could have been pure kindness. That was hard to believe, but at this point Dream wanted to believe it. He didn’t want to leave. 

He made up his mind. He slung his bag off his shoulders and began putting the food in to take back. He wasn’t leaving this house. Not until one of the boys makes an active attempt to truly catch him.

The next couple nights, nothing strange happened again. The humans still followed their normal routine and no more food was left out on the counter, except for the common forgotten snack. There was no indication of them buying any traps or calling any exterminators. Dream was safe.

He hopped out of his hole by the counter, hoping that one of the humans had left a drawer open so he could get himself a new paperclip. His hook was getting old and Dream was afraid it may break soon. He didn’t want to risk a fall from a high place. That could either kill him or leave him vulnerable to be truly caught. That wasn’t a situation Dream would ever be caught in. Maybe that reckless borrower Dream had met some years back, but not him.

He stepped out onto the counter and quickly ran to the edge to check for any open drawer. He grumbled in annoyance when he saw none of them were open, and unable for him to open as well. He began to pick himself up off the edge when he heard footsteps. He shot up in surprise and stumbled to his feet. He thought the humans had gone to their rooms. And it sounded like both of them. ‘Shit, I gotta get out of here-’

“-can’t forget the snacks when we have movie night, Sap! You know this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just grab what you want. I’m gonna grab me some chips.”

Dream ran for the hole but of course, his luck finally ran dry. He tripped over his own feet and face planted on the counter. He quickly maneuvered his arms under himself to prop himself up.

“You good, dude? Need some help?”

Dream froze. He flipped himself around to see the human looking at him expectantly.

“Sapnap? Who are you talking to- oh! Our other roommate! Hi!” The one in blue smiled and waved at Dream, who just stared at the two humans.

Had he heard them right. Other roommate? But he wasn’t human. They all had never properly met. So why were they acting like this was the most normal situation to ever be in. He just laid there, mouth gaping up at the two humans.

“I’ll ask again, you good my man? Did you need something?”

“Ask nicer, Sapnap! He’s probably scared!” The other human called out from the other side of the kitchen as he went back to rummaging through the cabinet looking for food again. Like it didn’t bother him in the slightest that there was a like four inch man on the counter.

The human Sapnap looked at Dream expectantly still, and Dream realized he was probably getting impatient. That wasn’t good for a human.

“P-paperclip.” Dream looked down horrified at himself. One, he should have kept his mouth shut. That was one of the first rules of borrowers, right with don’t be seen. Two, the only word that came out of his mouth was paperclip. And he stuttered.

Sapnap just hummed and nodded looking down at the drawers. He reached out and opened one and pulled out a… paperclip? Dream watched in surprise as he set it down on the counter and slid it towards Dream slowly. He then pulled his hand back once it was in reach of Dream. Dream hesitantly reached out and picked it up, pulling a bit to test its strength subconsciously.

“Does that work for you, man? I can try and find a different one if it doesn’t work for you.” Dream noted that Sapnap had even taken a step back from the counter, as if not to startle the borrower.

“Y-yeah. This is good. Thank you.” He really was grateful, confused, but grateful. Subpoena just smiled and laughed.

“Cool! Don’t hesitate to ask next time!” He suddenly reached around Dream and grabbed a chip bag that was right behind him. “George and I will be in my room watching a movie if you want to join. I’ll see you around, man.”

George stood up with a colorful bag in hand and turned to wave at Dream. “Bye, roomie! See you around later!” And then they left. They just left.

What. Just. Happened?

Dream still sat on the counter staring at the entrance of the kitchen, half expecting them to come back with cruel smiles screaming, “we gotcha good, didn’t we?” But it never happened. He stood up on shaky legs and took his paperclip back to his hole. He sat down on his little cotton ball bed structure.

And then he started laughing. Who would have thought the humans would be so kind and so strange? Maybe he would take them up on their offer another night. For now, he needed sleep. Just to make sure this was real.

And when he woke up to see the paperclip still in the middle of the floor, he knew it was real. And he knew he needed to figure out what a movie night was.

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Let Them Eat Cake part ii (Wolfstar bake off au)

This week on The Great British Bake Off

“Oh Lord I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I’ve just dropped my dough”

“I forgot to turn my oven on.”

“I’m going home for sure.”

Remus woke up to his phone ringing.

“Remus!” His mom half-yelled down the line, “You came third in the technical!”

Remus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Mam, I already told you that, I rang you right after it happened.”

“I know, I know,” Hope said, “But the first episode only came out last night so I’m all excited about it again. Christ Re it’s so strange seeing you on the telly.”

Remus let out an amused huff and flopped back down onto the plush hotel pillows. “Thanks?”

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart… What have you got on today?”

“We’re filming again today, so the first two challenges.”

“Oh, what’s the theme this week?” Hope needled and Remus rolled his eyes fondly. “Man, you know I can’t tell you that yet.”

“I’m your mother. I think if you told anyone, it should be me.”

“Well if I were telling anyone, I would tell you, however…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re not telling anyone.” She said a little disappointed. “It was worth a shot.” She let out a melancholic sigh, “My only child, too big a star now, doesn’t even have time to talk to his own mother.”

“I’m currently talking to my own mother so I think that contradicts your point a little.” Remus chimed in. “Also, I hardly think being on one episode of Bake Off counts as a star.”

“Well it’s all anyone here at home has been talking about for at least a month.”

“Wow, they really need to get a life.” He said dryly and chuckled when his mother began to admonish him. “Oh mam, I’ve got to go, I’m almost late for filming, I’ll call you later.”

“That sounds like a cop out if I’ve ever heard one Remus Lupin, but I’ll let you go anyways. Good luck today, I love you.”

“Love you too mam. Talk soon, bye bye.” He pressed the end call button and lay with his phone on his chest for a moment before actually checking the time. He had about an hour before he was expected on set. He rolled out of bed with a groan and headed into the shower.

Remus quite literally ran into Sirius.

“Oh shit sorry!” He cried as they collided. Sirius caught Remus’ wrist to steady himself and held on for a split second before letting go.

“In a hurry Lupin?” 

Remus flushed a little, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah I was supposed to meet Lily at the door five minutes ago but I got caught up.”

Sirius just maintained eye contact for a moment before reaching out and touching the sleeve of Remus’ cream knit sweater. “This is nice.”

Remus lost his words. “Oh um, thank you. I made it actually.”

Sirius quirked a smile. “A baker and a knitter? You’re a real home-boy.”

Remus laughed a little. “Yeah you could definitely say that. I knit when I’m watching TV or whatever, I hate when I don’t have something to do with my hands. ‘Idle hands’ and all that.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus said, shrugging him off despite the fact that he was possibly about to lose his mind. The Sirius Black was teasing him.

“Anyways, I should probably go.” He said, ducking his head. “Lily’s waiting for me.”

“And we’ve got a show to get to.” Sirius added.

“Yeah,” Remus smiled. “Yeah we do.”

“Hello and welcome back everyone, to this week’s episode of The Great British Bake Off.” James said grandly as soon as Marlene had signalled that she was recording. “This week, it’s bread week.”

Remus sighed. He fucking loved bread. He was coeliac, so he didn’t eat bread but… he fucking loved bread.

“For our first challenge,” Sirius announced, “Our judges would like to see two plaited loaves. Any flavouring is up to you, but each loaf should be twelve inches in length with clear, defined plaits.”

The bakers all nodded and the camera panned around the room to catch everyone’s reactions. 

“Alright then, Sirius, dough you want to tell them to begin?”

Remus bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. That pun was so cringy but Remus was a sucker for bad jokes. 

“Why yes James, I most certainly dough. Three, two one… Bake!”

Marlene started her rounds today by coming straight to Remus.

“So Remus, what’re you making today?” James asked, appearing by his side. 

“Well the first one, is going to have basil and some tomato sauce and then have some mozzarella plaited in.” Remus said as he took out a glass bowl and began adding ingredients to it. “Then the second one is going to have four different kinds of cheese in it.”

“So basically, no one who’s lactose intolerant can go anywhere near your bread.”

Remus laughed and scratched his cheek. “Pretty much. But I mean, neither of them will be gluten free, so I can’t eat them either.”

James grinned. “I suppose I’ll just have to be your official taste tester then.”

“You know, those already exist. They’re called judges.” Remus chirped and Sirius who was passing laughed, shooting Remus an appreciative look.

James moved on to Lily and Remus could hear her telling him about her toffee bread. Remus had seen her practicing it - it always looked amazing and the other contestants had raved about it. Remus had gotten the recipe from her and he was going to try to make a gluten-free version when all of this was over.

Remus covered the bowls with a layer of cellophane and put them in the proving drawer, waiting until they had at least doubled in size before he would take them out again.

In the meantime, Remus got busy finely chopping fresh basil, making a tomato sauce and slicing mozzarella.

“Looking good, Lupin.” Sirius said, jumping up to sit on the end of Remus’ bench, away from the food.

“Why thank you.” Remus said then had to slap Sirius’s hand away when he tried to steal a slice of cheese. “Oi, get away you cheeky bugger.”

Sirius shrugged,” I’m just trying to relieve James of his official taste tester duties.”

“You’re trying to relieve yourself from your stomach grumbling is more like.” Remus shot back, but he held out a chopping board with his many different cheeses all neatly sliced and grinned. “Go on then, you can have one.”

Sirius’s eyes glimmered. “You know, I quite like you Lupin.” He said, before hopping off the table and wandering away.

“It’s a good thing I quite like cheese Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said in an almost teasing tone as they reached Remus’ bench to judge. They cut the first loaf and each had a taste.

“I think I would have liked it to have stayed in the oven for a little longer.” McGonagall said, “It’s just missing the really crusty outside we were looking for. But the flavours are wonderful, I quite like the concept.”

“And I, as the official taste tester, i think it’s amazing.” James said, stealing a slice and there were a couple of giggles around the tent. Even Remus cracked a smile.

“Let’s move on to the next one, shall we?” Remus just nodded, his jaw clenched as he listened. This time, the knife made a much more satisfying sound as it cut through the bread. Remus couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief, his eyes trained on the loaf to see if the bake was even.

“Now, this one is much better.” Dumbledore said before he took a bite. His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed and Remus pursed his lips together to stop himself from smiling. “Very enjoyable Mr Lupin, I can’t find a fault with this one.”

McGonagall nodded in agreement and with that they moved over to Lily’s bench. Remus sat down on his stool with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

 “Hey, good job. ”Sirius whispered as he passed and Remus smiled. Yeah, he quite liked bread.

“Ah look at little Remus, eating his salad.” Tonks teased, ruffling his hair as she plopped down on the chair next to him. Remus scowled. “Believe me, if I could be eating bread like the rest of you lot, I would be.”

“Alas, alack!” A guy Peter, another contestant proclaimed. “We get to eat your bread though. It’s so good mate, much better than that sad lump I presented.”

Everyone around the table started sniggering. Peter had had a bit of an accident resulting in burned bread. It was edible, but it really hadn’t looked like much.

“I’m really going to have to up my game in the next two challenges.” He moaned. “I really don’t want to go home yet.” They all nodded in agreement and the table went quiet for a moment as everyone thought while they munched.

“What a rowdy bunch you lot are.” Sirius said, he and James each pulling up a chair. ”Can we…?” He asked, pointing to the selection of breads, all sliced in the middle of the table.

“Yeah of course,” Remus said. “They’re there to eat.”

Remus certainly didn’t that Sirius immediately went for one of the loaves he made. Nope. Not at all.

“So how are we all feeling about the next challenge?” James asked, tearing parts off his hunk of bread and popping them into his mouth.

“Oh my god, new rule.” Tonks declared. “No competition talk when we’re on our breaks. I need to talk about something other than the ratio of sugar to flour.”

Sirius chuckled at her abruptness. “Fair enough. Let’s see… What are your favourite colours?”

“Basic question.” Tonks countered, leaning back in her chair, “But I’ll take it. Mine is pink.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.” Remus said dryly, gesturing to her hair. Lily choked on her food.

“What’s yours then Remus?” Tonks challenged. 

Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a favourite, I like them all.”

“Even brown?” Peter piped in. 

“Especially brown. It’s the colour of chocolate. It’s also like the most hated colour, it needs some appreciation.”

“It’s one of the most hated colours because it’s boring. Like is there any colour more dull than brown?” James asked.

“Beige.” Lily said and James pointed a finger at her, indicating that she had made a valid point. “Okay, that’s very fair. Beige is boring as fuck.”

“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re having.” Sirius mused and Remus looked at him incredulously. “You’re the one who started it!”

“I asked for favourite colours, not the opposite. It was you who set us on this dull - coloured path.” Sirius counted, his eyes playful. Tonks looked between the two of them for a moment before checking her watch.

“I hate to be the one to break up the band but, it’s time for us to get back to it.”

“Ah, the woes of the working life.” Sirius lamented and Remus snorted. 

“Oh hush, you have like, the best job ever.”

Sirius threw his arm around James’ shoulders. “That’s very true. Come on then Jamie, let’s get back to it.”

“Our next challenge, is of course our technical.” James announced as the cameras began rolling. “This week, our judges have asked you to make bagels.”

“You should have five identical bagels at the end. Your instructions are on your bench.”

“Ready?”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus lifted the cloth that was covering the ingredients and recipe McGonagall and Dumbledore had written for them. He both loved and hated the technical, possibly for the same reasons. The steps were vague and needed a lot of thought which was pretty annoying but it challenged him and pushed him to see what kind of baker he was. 

“You ever made these?” Lily asked and Remus shook his head. “No, never. You?”

“Nope.” She said, popping the ‘p’. “This should be interesting.”

Remus chuckled as he began reading the instructions. make a dough, it read.

“Don’t you love how specific these instructions are?” Remus said to Tonks sarcastically and some of her hair fell out of her comically short ponytail as she laughed.

“This dough is meant to be stretchy I think.” Lily commented and Remus nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too.”

Remus set to work, covering his dough in cellophane once more and popping it into the proving drawer. 

“You know I could really get used to this proving business,” he commented, “It gives me the chance to make a cup of tea.”

“Glad to see you have your priorities.” Sirius joked as he appeared. “Any chance I can have one too?” Remus just nodded to the bench in response, where he had already taken out a mug for Sirius. 

Sirius finished making the tea as Remus took out a pot, filled it with water and put it on the hob to boil. Just then a panicked wail sounded through the tent. 

“Oh lord, I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I dropped my dough.”

James was immediately at his side to help him figure it out. They chatted intensely for a minute, the cameras circling like vultures as Peter forlornly tossed the ruined dough in the bin, but began to make a new one. Remus let out a shaking breath on his friends behalf, Peter would really be racing against the clock. 

“It’s make it or break it time.” Remus said, turning back to his own work , decking to focus on that for now. His thoughts wouldn’t help Peter and all Remus could do right now was work on his own project. Having divided his dough and rolled it into shape, he boiled them one by one, praying he was doing the right thing. “And now you fuckers are going in the oven.”

“Oh my god Remus.” Marlene said. “We had great footage of you there and you totally just ruined it.”

“Sorry sorry, I’ll do it again.” Remus smirked and slid the tray into the oven. “And now you little shits are going in the oven.”

Marlene just turned around and left as Sirius’ laugh filled the tent. 

Remus walked up to the table to present his baking to be judged. As per the rules, he placed the plate down behind his picture and sat in one of the stools lined up, facing the table. McGonagall and Dumbledore arrived, looking much to chipper for Remus liking, not when he was struggling not to start biting his nails. He chose instead to pick at the hem of his jumper until Lily took his hand in hers. He was grateful - he really liked this jumper.

Peter was disappointed but not at all surprised when his bagels hadn’t risen enough. How could they have when making a second batch had essentially cut out the proving process. Tonks’ were a bit too small. Lily’s were a bit too chewy. Remus  bit his lip to stop himself from beaming when his were the best of the bunch. Still not perfect, not by a long shot, but he had won the technical challenge and his relief sent him out of the tent, unable to lessen the grin on his face as Marlene questioned him.

“How are you feeling, after today?”

“I’m feeling pretty good! I got off to a bit of a rocky start today, but I think I recovered well so I’m looking forward to sinking my teeth into the challenge tomorrow.”

Marlene gave him a thumbs up and wandered away to find some of the others.

“Well done Mr Technical Challenge!” Lily cried, slinging her arm around his waist as they began to walk back to the hotel. 

“Why thank you, Ms Star Baker.”

“We make quite the pair.” Lily observed.

“That, my dear Lily, we most certainly do.”

Remus woke up in Lily’s room.

“Ugh, that alarm is so loud.” Remus groaned and ignored Lily giggling at him.

“I can’t believe how much you’re not a morning person, you seem like you’re hungover or something.”

“I am hungover as a result of life, Lily.” He muttered. “Existing is exhausting.”

“By god, you really are dramatic in the morning.” She gathered up a towel and some toiletries. “I’m going for a shower and to get ready. Meet you for breakfast in twenty?”

Remus nodded in agreement, shoved on his shoes and started gathering the one or two belongings he had. He hadn’t meant to sleep in Lily’s room, but they had stayed up so late talking the pair had just drifted off. It had been the best night Remus had spent her so far - he and Lily curled up under a pile of blankets, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate as they gossiped like school girls.

Remus stepped out the door and very closely avoided a collision with Sirius.

“I’m getting a freaky sense of deja vu right now.” Remus said, grinning.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “This… isn’t your room.”

Remus shook his head as they began walking down the corridor. “Nah, it’s Lily’s, I’m heading back to mine now.”

“You and… Lily?”

Remus choked as he realized what Sirius was thinking. “No, no, God no. I mean, Lily’s fantastic but no. We’re just friends, we fell asleep talking.”

Sirius’ shoulders almost seemed to visibly lighten. “Oh right, yeah.”

Remus grinned and nudged Sirius’ shoulder with his own playfully. “Lily’s not really my type.”

“Oh yeah? What is your type then?”

“Oh you know… not women.”

Sirius smirked and looked at Remus sideways. “Now that, sounds like something I quite relate to.”

Remus slowed to a stop as they reached his door. “I suppose I’ll see you in the tent?”

“That seems pretty unavoidable, doesn’t it?” Sirius threw him a cheeky wink and turned on his heel, continuing down the hall. Remus would be lying if he said he didn’t watch him walk away.

“Welcome back for our showstopper challenge!” Sirius said, smiling at all the contestants. 

“This will be your second showstopper, so get ready.”

“That’s right,” James continued, “This week's challenge will be to bake pull apart rolls.”

“Jamie, are you sure you have the right challenge? That doesn’t sound very showstopper like.”

“Why thank you Sirius, you’d be right. I did forget to mention that your rolls should make the shape of your favourite animal.”

Remus rolled his eyes at the obviously pre prepared banter and yet he found himself smiling anyways. 

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus immediately set to work, knowing exactly what he wanted to do and how to do it, however he had been cutting it quite close on time every time he had practised, so he wanted to work as quickly as possible to allow for all and any mishaps that tended to happen under pressure. 

He made, proved and rolled out his dough in record time and was now assembling the little rolls into the shape he wanted. He was shading the top with poppy and sesame seeds and stepped back for a moment to admire his handy work. He was in no way close to an artist, except for when it came to baking. If his canvas was starch and glucose, he might as well be Michelangelo. 

He made one or two more adjustments before putting it in the oven for thirty minutes. That still gave him twenty minutes to spare, making this the fastest he had ever completed his challenge. Maybe the pressure had its benefits after all

“Oh fuck.” He heard Lily say from behind him. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” She cried, her time getting more and more panicked. 

“Lily?” Remus asked, whirling around in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to turn the oven on.” She whispered, her face pale. 

“You… What?”

“I forgot to turn the oven on! Remus I’m screwed this won't heat up for at least ten minutes and I have fifty minutes of work left at least!

Remus wasn’t sure what overcame him in that moment, maybe some panicked curled hormones but suddenly he was in full disaster mode. 

“Okay,” he muttered, opening his own oven and adding another wire rack. “Okay Lily, put yours in here with mine while your oven heats up. It’s not ideal, I know but it’ll get you started.”

“Remus Lupin.” Lily declared as she collected her tray and walked around her own bench to reach him. “You are my literal hero.”

She lifted herself up on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek swiftly before putting her doe - shaped dough in the oven and racing back to her own workspace to turn hers on. 

Remus let out a shaky breath as he sat down for a moment. It was such a simple mistake that could happen to any of them.  Remus vowed to himself to be extra vigilant from now on and to never assume he did anything on muscle memory. Here everything was strange and new and it could quite throw off your routine, especially if you’re used to working consistently in one particular venue. 

“That, Mr Lupin, was quite the save.” Sirius commented, swooping in like he always did. Remus smiled weakly and ran his fingers through his hair. Just then Lily appeared again and took her bread out of the oven. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried as she dashed back to work, putting her bread in her own oven with a deafening clang. 

“Thirty five minutes left!” Sirius called and Remus stood up cracking his knuckles. He could chat to Sirius later, right now? He still had a little work to do. He grabbed the little bit of extra dough he had set aside in the fridge and set to work. 

“Mr Lupin, if you would please bring your challenge up to the table.” McGonagall called and even in his mild panic, Remus could still take a moment to appreciate the lovely lilt in her words. 

He set his baking down on the table and stepped back to look at his work - a wolf, howling at a full moon.

“The moon detailing is quite clever Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said and Remus sighed in relief. It had been the little bit of dough he had set aside - put in the oven later to account for it’s smaller size.

“It certainly looks excellent, but the question stands; how does it taste.

“Remus winced as they pulled apart his, frankly, perfect design and each took a bite. Dumbledore gave him a broad smile and Remus bit his lip, grinning.

“I think you’ll find we’re very pleased Mr Lupin. These truly are very good.”

Remus could actually pay attention to the rest of the assessments after that thrilling review. He watched Peter present his rat bread (side note - what in the world had possessed him to make food in the shape of a rat?), Lily displayed her doe which had turned out very well in the end and some guy even made an alpaca. Remus didn’t know that dude too well yet, but he thought his name was Benji.

They all sat once more on the stools lined up at the front of the tent while the judges made their decisions. James and Sirius regaled them all with stories from their childhood while they waited,

“And then what do you know?” James cried, his hands flying everywhere as he told the story. “I look up, and there’s Sirius, hanging out the second floor window with his trousers down around his ankles.”

The entire room burst out laughing, Remus was pretty sure there were tears streaming down his face.

“But what made you think that would be a good idea?” Remus wheezed, still unable to breathe properly for all his laughing, but desperate to get a look into teenage Sirius’ state of mind.

Sirius just shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He admitted sheepishly and that set everyone off into another round of deafening laughter, when the judges walked in and they all sobered quite quickly.

James and Sirius conferred with them quietly in the corner a moment before walking back over to the contestants.

“Today, I have the absolute pleasure of announcing our star baker.” Sirius said, looking around the room with a small smile. “Our star baker this week is…” Sirius scanned the crowd for a moment before his eyes landed on Remus. “Remus.”

Remus didn’t even move. He wasn’t even sure he could if he had wanted to. He had won star baker.

“Which leaves me with the awful job of announcing who’s leaving us today.” James said in a flat tone but Remus didn’t even hear or register that some guy Fabien was leaving. He was just another baker Remus didn’t even know that well. But he was star baker. Lily pulled him into a hug and held him tight. The room around him was filled with pats on the back and congratulations and Sirius looked him right in the eye and mouthed well done.

Remus was pretty sure he wanted to live in this moment forever.

“Remus, would you be alright calling your family on camera? We’d just like to capture their reaction.”

Remus nodded and rang his mom. She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Ma?” Guess what?”

“What is it love, how did your day go?”

“I won star baker.”

Marlene giggled behind the camera as Hope let out a series of delighted yells. Remus laughed along with her for a moment. “Okay mam, I’ve got to go finish my interview, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

He said his goodbyes, hung up the phone and turned back to the camera. “So Remus, what were you thinking throughout the challenges?”

“Well after the first one, I kept thinking I’m going home for sure. But obviously I recovered a bit.”

“A bit? Marlene chuckled. “From going home to star baker. I’d say you recovered quite a lot.”

Remus chatted with Marlene for a few more minutes before she sent him away, claiming she had taken up enough of his time. Just as he was beginning to leave, Sirius sidled up to him.

“Well, if it isn’t the brightest star.” Remus teased.

“I think that today,” Sirius countered, “That would be you.”

Remus blushed and looked down at his feet. “Want to walk back to the hotel?

Sirius smiled. “That sounds like a plan.”

[rheisa-midnightfury]

Where the beans at?

@vlanderzine had a great idea of “What if they had to hide the coffee from Kai.” And I felt called out to write it. So... here goes nothing.

Drip. Drip. Black drops dripped slowly into a dark concentration of liquid into a transparent jar. Maroon eyes starred at the beverage across the glass. Arms on the table, Kai rested his head on them, looking at the coffee with dreamy eyes. Almost the same look he gives to his own reflection. The kitchen was empty, the master of fire tried to be here before the others get out of the bed. Quietly stomping his feet impatiently he leaned closer to the coffee jar.

”Why does this take so long?” He looked behind himself, making sure he didn’t wake up any of the ninjas. ”Come on you!” As the words left his mouth, the coffee had been ready to drink. ”YES! Finally!” Yelled in joy, but he realized in time that he shouldn’t have. Reaching for a red mug on the shelf, he looked around once again, quicker this time and grabbed the jar. One drop of coffee almost hit the bottom of the mug, when a raspy clearing of throats sounded from behind.

”Kaiii! You know what caffeine does to you.” The water ninja stepped next to her brother and took the mug from his hands. ”Do you wanna drive us crazy?”

”C’mon sis! Like when did I ever drive you guys crazy?” and he gripped back his mug from Nya’s hold.

” Er... Every time you drink coffee? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

”Bah! Why do you have to bring it up?! I said a MILLION times I’m sorry.” Replied with a high pitched voice.

”We still have some bruises left from when you were so eager to hug all of us and burned our arms since you had no control of your power.”

”Gee! I was just extremely happy for you guys letting me drink coffee. Is that a bad thing?”

”Being happy is not, hurting us is!”

”Come on! One sip won’t hurt anyone.” Taking the red mug away, he aimed for the whole coffee jar to drink from.

”No! More! Coffee! For you, Kai!” And just in time, Nya took the coffee jar from Kai, spilling some on the floor. ”Wanna have coffee? Drink decaf ones.”

”You can’t be serious.” Eyes widened, jaw dropped in disbelief. ”I won’t drink decaff. It’s like, eating veggies for the tase and not for the vitamins.”

” What!? Some vegetables are actually tast… Argh! No Kai. It’s for the best.” 

Embracing his lose, Kai collapsed into one of the chairs around the dinner table, resting his jaw in his fist, like a child. In the meantime, Nya placed the jar on the counter alongside with free mugs. Green, black and gray. Milk was poured into all of the mugs, such as coffee.

Slowly, the rest of the team had also made their way into the kitchen. Some were in pajama and some in… sort of pajama. Kai wore tight underwear with socks and tank tops on. Nya had shorts with a spaghetti strap shirt. The green ninja had gray gym shorts on and a tight white t-shirt. Jay had long black pajama pants on, blue tank top and fluffy slippers. Black, tight tank top was on Cole with matching long workout pants. Zane went with the classic pajama, with some snowflakes patterns on it.

Loud yawning and whispers of ’Good mornings!’ filled the room. Lloyd sat next to Kai, already drinking his own coffee and sprinkling some cinnamon on top. He was too tired this morning to get anything else for breakfast. He’ll have something to eat if there will be any leftover toast or eggs. Jay almost dropped his cinnamon bun from his plate as he slowly walked to the table and took a seat, in front of Lloyd. Gently stroking his boyfriend’s back, Nya also took place in the dinner table with a ham sandwich and his cappuccino. For Lloyd’s luck, Zane prepared some toast for everyone. Cole stayed beside him, looking for some milk for his cereal. As the last slice of bread had popped up from the toaster and a mountain of whipped cream was placed on Cole’s mug of coffee, both the earth and ice ninja had joined the rest of the team. Kai and Lloyd reached for the toasts, as soon as the plate’s bottom hit the table. Everyone was quiet. Only silent chewing filled the otherwise silent kitchen. Cranching on his cereal, Cole looked at his mug and opened his mouth to speak, breaking the almost comforting silence.

”Man, I can’t believe we ran out of chocolate sprinkles.” 

Tired eyes faced the earth ninja, as Lloyd tossed the cinnamon shaker to him. ”Here, use this.”

”Thanks, man!” Relaxed smile sat on Cole’s face as he sprinkled the spice into his drink. But not everyone was this relaxed and calmed. 

”What a disaster you can’t place sprinkles on your coffee. Well, guess what! I can’t even have a SIP of coffee.” Fists slammed on the table, chair pushed backward with a loud squeak as Kai jumped up from his seat.

”Whoa! Easy there!” Confidant pair of eyes faced Kai’s angerful ones. ”No need for this just because caffeine has a bad effect on you.” 

”Yeah. Look! I’m not drinking coffee either. Am I angry about it? No.” Spoke Jay with mouth covered with cinnamon and frosting. 

”You don’t even like it.” Kai found his usual annoyed tone switching from the previous furious one. He calmed down. At least he tried. He had to. He didn’t want to start his morning with a fight, especially not with Cole who always had extreme strength no matter the time of the day. 

”Just enjoy your breakfast. After all, we’re just talking about a drink.” The rested and calm voice eased the fire ninja. Grabbing his friend by his arm, Lloyd smiled at Kai and pushed his mug away. ”If it makes you happy, I won’t finish mine.”

A sour smile sat on the red ninja’s face, he sat back to his chair and remained silent for the rest of the time. He crossed his arms and waited for everyone to finish their food and leave. 

Last bites were taken, dishes had been cleaned and one by one, everyone left the kitchen. Everyone, but Kai and the mug that Lloyd had put aside was still on the table. Kai swallowed, as he already felt the taste of coffee in his mouth. He reached for the mug and…

”No, Kai!” Nya stepped back to the scene just in time. ”I won’t argue about it. You can’t have any and that’s IT!” 

And the coffee was poured into the sink. Grumpy huff left Kai as he leaned back on his chair and watched his sister leaving the room once again. As Nya left, the fire ninja jumped up from his chair and rushed to the jar, only to find it empty. He searched through the whole kitchen, but he couldn’t find the beans, nor the instant powder. However, there was only one cabinet he hasn’t checked. He wide opened the wings, and there it was. A whole bag of unopened powder of coffee. He grabbed it and rushed back to the coffee machine. He almost opened the bag, when his eyes caught on the wrapping of the powder. ’Decaff’.

”Argh! COME! ON!” He didn’t even fancy putting the bag back to its place. Instead, he just left it on the counter and returned to his own room to finally get dressed.  Thought his usual morning routine will drag his attention from the fact that Nya had hidden the beans somewhere. He laid down in his bed, to his back, looking at the ceiling, juggling with a small ball of fire. Thinking. Taking a big breath, the fireball vanished in his palm, got up from the bed and walked to the mirror. Starring at his own reflection he squinted and leaned forward.

“I’m sure she hid them somewhere.” He shrugged and grabbed a bottle of hair gel, from a drawer next to him. Making his hair as spikey as possible, he winked at himself with a satisfied smirk. But the smirk slowly faded and his features became more annoyed-looking. “But where can those coffee beans be?!”

The door opened, Kai stuck his head out to get a better look at the hallway. Cole’s room was just on the other side of the hall. The usual loud music, which was coming from the black ninja’s room had suddenly muted, which only meant one thing. He switched to headphones. Kai knew the only reason Cole would place headphones on. It’s a sing he either started working out or doodling. Perfect. The fire ninja sneaked out from his room and carefully opened Cole’s door. Just as Kai expected. The black ninja had started lifting weights. No way he’s gonna turn around. At least, that’s what Kai hoped. He now entered the room and started searching. Nya knows how much he hates dueling with Cole, so she expects Kai not to enter the earth ninja’s room. But the coffee was at stake. His coffee, which he deserved.

The room looked surprisingly neat. His bed was nicely embedded, all the CDs were in a nice order next to his stereo. There wasn’t much stuff there, and everything had its own place.

Tossing away piles of sketchbooks, cd covers, and deodorants he gave up. It must be somewhere else. Kai tried to place back everything to its place, or at least he tried. Thinking he made a good job cleaning and removing his traces, he left. Carefully closed the door and leaned back to the wall. The next place to check was Lloyd’s room, but the green ninja hardly ever leaves his place and he’s always on a high alert, hears every little sound. No way he can go searching in his room. Sighing he slow-walked to the one door next to his own. Worried smile rested on his face, as he placed his ear on the door, listening if the lightning ninja was in his room. Jay hardly ever stayed in, as a social junkie he was. He usually hangs out at Cole’s place and annoyed the earth ninja with his endless talking. Luckily Cole got used to his friend’s behavior and learned how to lock out his dinginess. If not there, he would also lay on the couth outside, playing video games and waiting for someone to approach and have a conversation with. 

The room seemed empty. Door opened, Kai entered. It was empty indeed, but the sight wasn’t pleasant for the fire ninja. Laundry clothes were all over the floor, bags of chips and cans of drinks were at the table. Stacks of old games and broken controllers at one corner, rusty and oily spare parts in the other. 

“Yikes! Looks like someone needs a big clean-up.” Grabbing a half-eaten pizza slice he gave a pitty full smirk and throw the food under the bed. “How could my sister fall for you? HOW CAN WE BE RELATED?” Between several of annoyed groans, huffs, and grunts he dug up the whole place wich looked in better condition now, than when Kai entered. 

“This is hopeless. If the beans were here, there would be no way to find them in such a huge mess.” Slammed closed the door and buried his head to his own palms. Two more rooms left to check: Nya’s and Zane’s. With all the cameras and security systems placed at the nindroid’s place, there was no way on Earth he’ll attempt to enter. Even if he’s able to play out the system, all the hidden cameras would record his every move. ‘Why does Zane need such a defense in his room. Huh, that dude always has been weird.’

No other choice left, he needed to look at Nya’s room now. Same thing he did to Jay’s place. First, observe if his sister was inside, or not. Nothing, but silence. There is always a chance she’s not staying in her room, with Nya it’s always a mystery. Slowly, carefully, the door opened and the eyes of the fire ninja caught on one thing right away. Blushing in embarrassment, he half-closed the door, so he could hear everything clearly, but not see.

“KAI! DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO KNOCK?!” Burst out his sister in such a high pitched voice, that Kai had never heard.

“Yeah, dude! Not cool!” Yelled Jay too, who was holding Nya at his arms with several of smooch marks on his face. 

“I… er…” Kai froze in a second. He wanted to slap Jay in the face so badly, he still couldn’t get used to him making out with his sister. All sorts of emotions sat on his face just in a minute to finally decide to leave. Leave before Nya asks him what he wanted and finds out he’s seeking the coffee beans. He took one step back only to find himself bumping into a muscly chest.

“Do you mind giving us some privacy?” 

Kai turned around, finding Cole standing behind him. He still had some pearls of sweat on his forehead and biceps from working out. “What were you doing in my room, pretty-hair?” Holding a small mirror in his arms for proof. It must have had fallen out from Kai’s pocket while he was staying at the earth ninja’s room. Nervous laughs left the fire ninja as he carefully reached for the small mirror, already making up a dumb excuse.

“D-don’t you remember? You b-borrowed it, to fix your eyebrows.” Smiled sassily.

“Since when would I ask for your tiny mirror when I have a big one in my room. And when did I ever wanted to pull my eyebrows?”

“Maybe you should try it, a small makeover would make those bushes look better.” 

A growl left Cole, making Kai back of a little. Searching for a small gap between the black ninja and the doorway he almost escaped to his room when Zane stopped him. He was holding a tablet right into Kai’s face.

“Was there a reason why you lurked around my door? You know you have the permission to enter any time for help.” 

 Even more nervous laughs, another dumb excuse. 

“I just… dropped my… hairt…tie?” He swallowed. “I had to pick it up.” It’s now or never, leave them to think and return to his own room. That was the plan. He almost got away, when Jay jumped up from the bed and hurried to the ice ninja to take a better look at the footage. 

“Ey! You weren’t just lurking in the hallway. You entered my room!” Yelled in his usual whiny voice.

“Hey! Guys! Let’s just all calm down… and b-be reasonable.” He gently took of Cole’s grip from his shoulder, but the earth ninja quickly grabbed him again, not letting him escape. For his own defense, he put on the typical of a charming smile, but it did not work… as usual. 

“Kai! What is the meaning of this?” Nya walked next to her brother, releasing him from Cole’s strong hold. “You broke into Cole’s room, but you also did to Jay’s. I repeat, to Jay’s.”

Looking around the whole group, Kai had no other choice, but to admit his loss. He took a big breath, looked everyone in the eye and shrugged.

“I just really wanted to find the coffee beans you hid from me…” 

Nya shook her head in disbelief. “Hide the beans? No. Kai…” She smiled at her brother, trying to make him feel better. “We just ran out of coffee beans. I was about to get some this afternoon. No one is hiding anything from you.” 

“Really?” Kai looked rather surprised and relieved at the same time. “Sorry for messing with you guys.”

“Yeah, you’d better.” Added Cole. “Now I have to reorganize the CDs to be in genre order.” And without further ado, he returned to his room, beckoning for Zane to do the same.

“Maybe I overreacted a little…” Kai rubbed his neck before turning around, leaving the couple alone. Jay raised his eyebrows on the fire ninja and then turned his head towards to Nya.

“Did we really ran out of coffee beans?” 

The water ninja didn’t reply, not immediately. She first closed the room's door and started giggling, taking a bag of coffee beans out from her purse. 

“No, we didn’t”

[royalcordelia]

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: Hope you all are staying safe and healthy out there. As always, tag list is down at the bottom. ♥

---*---

Chapter 7 ~ Oh My Heart, How Can I Face You Now?

Anne fit in so well at the Sunset House that it was easy to forget she’d only been there less than a day. With a keen intuition, she knew exactly where to find things in the odd drawers and shelves around the kitchen as Ron held out his non-cooking hand. 

“Three eggs! The milk jug! A serving spoon!” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Anne replied each time, dutifully helping her new friend prepare their first breakfast together. “I still wish you would’ve let me make breakfast. It’s the least I can do after I showed up entirely unannounced. Besides, Gilbert has had my cooking before, but I’ve never cooked for him.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” shot Ron. “If anything, Gil should be the one cooking for you . After all, it’s only polite to make a woman a meal after she’s spent a night in your bed. Especially when he snores.” 

“Ron! I didn’t-...He doesn’t snore! ”

“But alas, Gilbert’s breakfast skills leave so much to be desired, even if they are improving. Poor man makes the same recipes over and over again - his sister-in-law’s from this tiny notebook he’s copied them down in. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be eating bland vegetables and overcooked pork.”

 Even Anne’s laughter sounded familiar bouncing off the cream walls and brightening the quiet Saturday morning. Above their heads, the running water of Gilbert’s bath kept the room from becoming completely silent. 

Ron found that it wasn’t a lack of things to say that caused his own stillness, but rather, a strange desire to open his entire heart to her. He supposed that was the danger with people who were so easy to like, so easy to talk to. The words fizzed in his throat, and if he moved even an inch, they’d pour out. This is silly, he thought. What’s there to lose?

“Anne,” he began out of the blue. She snapped the gaze away from the autumn-crowned tree outside the window she’d been daydreaming with, joining reality once more and smiling her encouragement. “I’m absolutely, without a doubt one to make assumptions.” 

Having read as much, and more, in Gilbert’s letters, she replied, “I’m not sure that’s always a bad thing. Your assumptions have to be correct some of the time.” 

Ron shifted in his seat, making sure he could hear Gilbert still in the bath upstairs. 

“And if I were to assume you’re a nonjudgmental sort of person, would I be correct then?” 

“I very much try to be,” she offered. 

Ron’s gaze fell to the wall where a small sized portrait of him and Christine was hung across the room. Why would it be easier to say this Anne than it ever would be to say to Chris?  

“There’s this tradition,” he began slowly. “Whenever the science department hosts its autumn banquet at the Meryton Hotel, it empties the basement of all its ornate tables and chairs, leaving it completely empty. That’s not the tradition part - what I mean is, the students who aren’t smart or rich enough to go to the banquet ultimately end up working the event, but then they sneak away to host their own party in the basement. Their own dancing, their own music, their own drinks.” 

“That sounds like fun,” Anne responded honestly.

“The only reason I know about it is because, um, Adam told me about it.” 

“Who’s Adam?” 

Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. Either that, or he couldn’t find the words to articulate everything it meant. Every ounce of shame and every speechless moment of awe that being with Adam brought was caught in his throat waiting to be spoken. His eyes had glazed over, focused on a patch of flour spilled on the counter, though his mind was miles away. Nudging his arm with hers, she leaned over and drew a smile face into the flour. 

“It’s always been women and men for me. I don’t know why,” he admitted aloud. The words loved the air they took, and Anne didn’t reject them. Instead, she only smiled. 

“A secret for a secret, Ron Stuart,” she replied just as quietly. “I’m the same way.” 

Anne was much shorter than him, and when she met his gaze head on, he saw the gold of her eyelashes. 

“Does Gilbert know?” 

She shrugged. “He might, but I’ve never said it. I don’t suppose it would make much of a difference to him. I can tell there isn’t a bit of me he doesn’t love, even the parts of me that he doesn’t know yet.” Wiping a bit of flour off of his sleeve, she added, “And he’s not the only one out there who loves unconditionally.”

“You think there’s hope for me yet?” Ron said, half teasing. 

“Ron, I have every hope for you,” Anne said seriously. The man’s protective smile fell and his eyes turned glassy.

Gilbert chose this moment to come leaping down the stairs two at a time in a way that was so distinctly Gilbert, that a warm smile lifted on Anne’s cheeks. He heaved a blissful sigh upon entering the kitchen, carrying with him the smell of freshness and soap. The tips of his hair were still damp, but it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Anne’s waist from behind and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

“Good morning, Anne-girl.” 

“Good morning to you too...again.” He smiled against her cheek. “That soap smells familiar,” she commented off handedly, laughing when he kissed her blush. 

“That’s because Marilla sent it.” 

“Marilla?”

“Along with fresh socks, a ream of paper, and some of her preserves.” 

“She never sends me anything!” 

“Sweetheart, you live less than an hour away from Avonlea! You probably live right next door to the post office she mailed the parcel from!” 

He was right, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“Besides, it was only once,” he added. Then, taking in the atmosphere of the room, he released Anne and sat down at the table. “Did I miss something important?” 

Ron schooled his features, looking for something useful to say but coming up flat. 

“A very important, very serious debate on adequate breakfast food,” Anne filled in. “Gilbert, you’re a medical student. Tell Ron that plain toast is not nearly adequate enough sustenance for breakfast. Omelets aren’t just for when guests are around.” 

“I could tell him that, but then I’d be a hypocrite.” 

“Toast is one of the only breakfast foods he can make, poor lad,” Ron interjected. “And even then, he burns it half of the time.” 

“Hmm, kind of like that?” Gilbert said slyly, pointing down to the pan where a piece of brown bread was burnt black and smoking against the skillet. Ron rolled his eyes, sticking his spatula under the bread and flinging it at his roommate. Gilbert caught the bread and hissed at how hot it was, flinging it onto the counter where it promptly slid into the sink. 

“I’m starting to get a sense of what daily life is like with you two,” Anne laughed. “Ron, something tells me you’d get along swimmingly with Bash.” 

*

Toronto had more wonders than Anne could count. In one short afternoon, Gilbert had taken her to roam the histories of the art museum and smell the sweetness of the botanical garden, but not excluded from these marvels was the Stuart Estate. Ron led the way as dirt streets became pristine brick, and small houses turned into domineering manors of stateliness. The working class of Toronto was but a mile away, but Anne felt like she’d stepped into another country - a wealthier, more outstanding country.

“His parents live here? Have you ever been to his their home before?” Anne whispered to Gilbert as Roy said a passing hello to someone on the street. Gilbert shook his head, just as awed by the grandeur around them. 

“I knew he was wealthy, but not this wealthy.” 

“My apologies,” Ron said, returning to the group. “You were saying, Anne?”

“Oh! Well, the conservatory botanist was actually watching the child tear off the flowers from the corner of the room, and when he came roaring over, I thought the mother would perish on the spot.” 

“So Anne, being Anne, rushes over to them,” Gilbert added. 

“And I picked up all the flowers from the ground while the man was getting ready to whip the poor child. A few moments later, I was placing a flower crown atop his head. All I said to him was, ‘Forgive this imaginative child, oh king of the gardens’, and his anger died away.”

“You’ve an odd way with people, Anne. I doubt you’ve ever had a single enemy in all your days," Ron decided, shaking his head.

Anne’s mind flashed all the unpleasant faces she’d encountered over her short lifetime, each bringing a sour taste to her mouth. Her gaze fell to her dress, a bit plain on this side of town, and she remembered the enemy she might be meeting at her destination. 

Oh, Gilbert didn’t know Christine despised Anne, much less the reasons why, and Anne had done her best to stay optimistic inwardly and outwardly. She hoped Christine wouldn’t think her cruel, that she was only borrowing a dress to rub it in that she was the one Gilbert loved. In fact, a person Gilbert held in such high esteem had to have redeeming qualities. Were it not for the barrier between them, Anne suspected her and Christine could be kindred spirits. 

“Home sweet home,” Ron muttered, swinging open an iron gate. 

The Stuart estate was built three stories tall of sand colored stones and sun-thirsty windows. Some of the gabled windows had their own balcony where a person could gaze out over the city for miles. Rounded hedges and a thousand blooms framed the home, though the flowers had started to brown in the autumn chill. As the group crossed onto the terrace, Ron’s mood dropped further and further into the dirt. He knocked on the front door, only to be greeted by a small, mousy servant girl. She eyed Ron first, then Anne, both with disapproval. Her gaze crossed over Gilbert with interest, so she spoke directly to him.

“How can I help you?” she said in a saccharine. Ron frowned.

“Are you new?” he asked. The young woman blinked and her brows furrowed as she decided whether to answer truthfully or scold him for his rudeness. “Nevermind that. Please tell Mr. Stuart that Ron is home.” 

The maid was unsure, but she did what she was told, making way so that the guests could file in behind her. 

“Why don’t you live here?” Anne asked quietly. 

“Remember that thing we talked about this morning?” 

Anne nodded.

“That ,” Ron answered, just as a man a mere inch taller than Ron appeared from the side room. 

“Ronald, I’m surprised to see you.” The man’s voice bore a deep timbre, one only men of class seemed to possess. 

“Well, father, I do favor a visit every now and again.” 

Mr. Stuart’s hard brow softened, but only by a fraction. His hard stare fell on Anne and the kind smile on her lips.

“I’ve brought my friends with me. This is my roommate Gilbert Blythe, and his young lady, Anne Shirley Cuthbert. Anne surprised Gilbert with a visit all the way from Prince Edward Island, but she needs a dress to wear for tonight’s banquet.” 

“And you’ve come to ask for money?” Mr. Stuart deadpanned.

“Oh, not at all, sir!” Anne interjected. “Christine was ever so kind as to say that she might let me borrow one of her dresses. Personally I’d be comfortable in anything, but good appearances help maintain Gilbert’s reputation, and I’m only here for the weekend. If it suits you, I can wash and press the dress before I leave on the morning train.” Mr. Stuart was speechless, so Anne charged. “Your home is magnificent! I’ve only ever dreamed up such places, but being here now, please allow me to compliment your exquisite taste. Did much of the furniture come from overseas or is it purely Canadian?” 

Mr. Stuart cleared his throat when she was finished speaking and turned to Gilbert. 

“Mr. Blythe, are you quite sure about this one?” 

The smile which had arisen on Gilbert’s face listening to Anne be so unashamedly herself fell almost an imperceptible amount.

“Quite certain,” Gilbert assured, perhaps a bit harder than he intended. “Anne is PEI’s treasure.” 

Christine appeared at that moment, descending the stairs with the elegance of a fairy tale heroine. 

“I can entertain our company from here, father. You needn’t trouble yourself.” 

Anne steadied her face, desperately fighting off a bad feeling in her gut. She fell back at Gilbert’s side, sliding her arm through his and relaxing only a little when his other hand reached over to take the one on his arm. 

“Nonsense. I’d like an opportunity to catch up with my son and meet his friend. You may take the young lady up to your room and find her something adequate to wear,” declared Mr. Stuart. Gilbert and Anne exchanged a look that only they could decipher, but Anne bravely let go of Gilbert’s arm and followed Christine up the stairs. 

Out of the autumn wind that blew when she first met Christine, Anne was able to smell the lilac perfume Christine had sprayed about her neck and hair. She vaguely wondered if she should invest in some of her own, if Gilbert might like the sweetness of it.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help. I’m all but a stranger to you, and yet you’ve been so gracious,” Anne began. Christine did not turn around. “Um, if there’s anything I could do to repay you, don’t hesitate to name it. Truly, anything.” 

Christine tossed a bitter glance over her shoulder. 

“Your silence will be payment enough,” Christine hissed so sharply that Anne nearly spun on her heels to fly down the stairs, yank Gilbert by the collar, and make for the Sunset house. But instead, she nodded politely and complied. 

When Christine opened the door to her room, Anne decided that if Christine was Cordelia, then this was the perfect bed chambers befitting her childhood ideal. A four post bed was pressed against the wall, silken pillows resting atop its lush quilts. A tall wardrobe was nearby, in addition to a walnut desk and a loveseat for reading. 

Christine threw open the doors of her wardrobe, eyeing the various gowns hanging within. Each one she pulled out made Anne’s heart soar with excitement. They were the most glorious dresses she’d ever seen, each just as breathtaking as the last. 

“I won’t look nearly as lovely as you do in any of those dresses,” Anne offered quietly.  

“No, you won’t,” Christine agreed. Anne’s lips snapped shut. She paused a moment before venturing out again.

“You know, Miss Stuart-” 

She didn’t have a chance to finish because Christine had yanked a dress off the rack and spun around, holding it out to Anne. It was a gown of raven black velvet with a modest bit of beaded detail around the high collar. 

“It’s positively lovely, just as lovely as the others,” Anne began slowly. “But I think I’d much rather wear what I’ve brought.” 

Christine still held out the dress, and Anne wondered if she ought to accept out of politeness.

“It’s just that I would hate to wear a mourning gown and disrespect the person it was meant to honor. If people asked who I lost, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have an answer. I’m blessed enough to have no one to mourn," Anne continued.

“But you do have something to mourn,” Christine said. 

“I do?” 

What Christine said next, she stated with such a matter-of-fact air that Anne was frozen in place: “Gilbert’s good prospects.” 

Anne had lived through a thousand different types of ridicules, and even more harsher verbal attacks. But this...This was so calculated, and petty that Anne’s surprise drowned out the growing flame of anger at being ridiculed. In fact, the silence in which a triumphant Christine was smirking was broken by Anne’s roar of laughter. 

Christine doubled back, but Anne laughed on. 

“Because of… me? ...Gilbert’s prospe-” Anne tried to speak through her hilarity, but another wave would come on. Christine was positively horrified. Of all the ways she had expected Anne to react, this was not one of them. But Anne feared if she stopped, there’d be no preventing whatever real reaction she was holding back to such viciousness.

Anne was still laughing when Ron poked his head through the door. His eyes moved from the black dress in Christine’s hand to Anne wiping tears from her eyes. Be it the connection between siblings or Ron’s own cleverness, but horror dawned on his face. He looked over his shoulder before coming in and closing the door behind him.

“Christine!” Ron scolded on a sharp hiss. “Of all your dresses, why is this is the one you-”

“Oh, Ron, it’s alright,” Anne interrupted, her voice finally even. “She’s not serious.”

“I am!” Christine spat venomously. She spun around to face Anne, whose smile drained away at Christine’s brutal loathing. The inky haired woman continued, stepping closer to Anne. “What did you expect? You’re a child from the blemish of society pretending to be a high society woman and you want me to help you?” 

Anne stuttered, helplessly looking for a way to stop her, but finding no words. Christine trudged on. 

“You’re going to make a country hick out of Gilbert. You’ll take the person who could be the best doctor in Canada and bring him back with you to tumble around in the mud for sport. What’s worse is he doesn’t even realize it because he’s such a bumbling fool, happily shoveling every bit of his promise into a grave, and it’s entirely you’re doing. You’ve made him a simpleton.”

Anne’s mind broke away from all its restraints. Christine had doused gasoline on her rage, and if she wanted to see Anne burn, so be it. Ron watched in horror as Anne took another step into Christine’s space.

“I won’t stop you, Christine. Say what you want to me. Give me every insult you can sneer between your teeth, and make every petty move under the guise of propriety you want. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, believe me.” Anne clenched her jaw and her stormy gray eyes flashed lightning, making Christine stiffen her back. “But don’t you dare speak of Gilbert that way again.”

“Come on, Anne, let’s just go,” Ron called from the doorway. She ignored him, and eventually, he turned around and closed the door behind him. Alone with Christine, Anne liberated hersel to speak her mind.

“Miss Stuart, I know you’re in love with Gilbert and that fact in and of itself didn’t make me jealous or worried. I know unrequited love well and I wouldn’t wish that type of heartache on my worst enemy, much less you.” Losing her control, she snagged the black dress from Christine’s hands and tossed it on the bed. “But I know a thing or two more about the world than you think. This viciousness is going to get you nowhere fast. You think Gilbert is going nowhere in life, but he’s going everywhere. And I intend to go with him, wherever that is.”

“You say you’re not worried, but you should be,” Christine replied. “You really should be. He’s here in Toronto and you’re on another island. Even if it’s not me, someone is bound to steal him away eventually.” 

“If you think that’s how love works, then you’re the simpleton.” Anne hummed low and serious. “But I don’t think you are, and I’m not either. I may look like I’m worth nothing in your eyes, but I know my mind is rich and my heart is kind and strong. And it loves Gilbert. So you can give it all you’ve got and waste your time, Christine. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anne’s gaze fell to the mourning dress she’d thrown onto the bed. “The fact that you even needed one of these makes my heart hurt for you,” Anne commented. “It’s so finely made. I’m sure it honored whomever it was made for. But you, Miss Stuart...this behavior? It doesn’t even honor yourself.” 

Christine was red and quiet. 

“I’m not...” she began finally, but then shook her head. The crease between Anne softened as she watched a battle rage in Christine - the same one she’d once watched in Josie Pye.

“No, please, go ahead,” Anne encouraged softly. Christine ran her fingers down an emerald green gown, avoiding Anne’s gaze. Whatever she was about to say had been locked up deep in the catacombs of her truth, and Anne wondered if she’d ever manage to unlock it, if it was even worth trying. 

Then, as if she’d said nothing at all, Christine spun back to the wardrobe and  grabbed one of the gowns that Anne had been drawn to from the moment she’d seen it. Christine saw Anne’s uneasiness and said, “You should wear this tonight.” 

“Are you sure? I really wouldn’t want to-” 

“Wear it. I’ll do your hair and embellishments, as well.” 

“Embellishments…? One minute ago we were fighting and now you want to do my embellishments? I don’t even know what that means.” 

Christine didn’t elaborate. She only pulled a gold colored gown from the wardrobe and began to undo the laces of her day dress. Anne looked down at her own ensemble, its silky emerald fabric and what seemed like a million shimmering jewels embroidered on. The neckline was modest by usual standards but lower than anything Anne had worn before,  and the sleeves billowed at her shoulders in an attractive fashion. She stepped into the dress, surprised when Christine came up behind her and began to clasp the buttons at the back. When she was finished, she turned her own back to Anne, where the redhead quietly returned the favor. 

Anne turned to the mirror, her reflection causing a short gasp to escape her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time her own appearance had left her speechless. Not even in her best daydreams could she imagine herself this way.

“I’m not usually a cruel person,” Christine murmured, eyes still locked on her reflection. 

“I believe that,” Anne replied truthfully. “When I was in the depths of despair, so heartbroken that I thought I would never breathe easily again, I was horribly hateful to Gilbert.”

“But the things I’ve said to you, even thought about you...Ron probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“Is that an apology?” They met eyes in the mirror reflection.

“I suppose in a way it is.” 

“Then consider us even.” Christine didn’t look convinced, so Anne shrugged. “Historically, I hold dreadful drudges, but I’m working on that.”

Uncomfortable under Anne’s increasingly compassionate expression, Christine turned to her vanity, where she finished adding the final pearl pins to her dark hair. 

“It’s hard to imagine you heartbroken,” she confessed.

A wound on the surface of Anne’s heart tugged, like the scar was trying to break open, but the dull pain was nothing to her trust in Gilbert. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that just six months ago, Gilbert was courting someone else? Not just that - he was planning to propose to Winifred, move with her to France, and achieve his greatest dream by attend the Sorbonne in Paris?” 

Christine’s frown deepened in disbelief. 

“What happened?” 

“He realized he loved me too much to be with anyone else.” Anne sighed, sitting beside Christine, close enough that her genuineness was palpable, but not so close as to snuff out the fragile understanding between them. “I’m not telling you this to rub salt in what I know is a painful wound. I’m telling you because it would be unfair of me not to tell you that your time is better invested finding someone who would turn down the Sorbonne if it meant being with you. And you’re very beautiful, Christine. You won’t have to look hard.” 

They sat in silence for another few moments as Christine began to run a brush through Anne’s loosened hair. Finally, she wondered, “What was Winifred like?” 

“Astoundingly beautiful - easily just as lovely as you are - and so sweet and refined,” “There was nothing I could fault her for. She just wouldn’t give me reason to dislike her, much to my frustration. I almost hated her for being so perfect.” 

“I know the feeling,” Christine murmured. Then, a bit lighter, “How did you meet Gilbert?” 

“Oh, I saw him galloping on a chestnut steed between our two houses and I knew immediately that I must marry him, and if I didn’t, I would certainly perish of consumption within the year.” 

Christine stopped brushing. “...Really?” 

“No, of course not, though can you imagine? ” Anne laughed. “Gilbert saw me getting picked on in the woods shortly after I arrived in Avonlea and diffused the situation. After that, I refused to speak with him and eventually broke my slate over his head.”

“Now you’re just playing around.” 

“It’s the truth! Ask him, he’ll tell you. I did leave out the part when he tugged my braid and called me carrots, but it’s so unpleasant to think about. Truly, little boys have the most barbaric behavior.” 

“Then how did you fall in love? When? ”

Anne shrugged. “I think the whole time, something in the depths of my soul - the part that knows the way of things - had been nudging me for years saying ‘Anne! What are you hiding from? Let him see you! Open your eyes and see him!’ One day it yelled and I listened. I began to see how kind and admirable he is. He was all I wanted to watch and learn about.” She paused. “I’m sorry, this is probably incredibly unpleasant.” 

“Only a little,” was Christine’s answer. “I want to know...in case it ever happens to me, that is.” 

Meeting Christine’s eyes through the reflection in the vanity mirror, Anne smiled. 

“It will,” she promised. “Besides, I’ve learned that nice young men have equally nice friends. Have you considered Fred Wright?” 

“Fred’s not nearly as handsome as Gilbert,” chuckled Christine. 

Anne let out an overly dramatic sigh of resignation. “Alas, no one is.” 

Somehow, strangely and unbelievably Anne’s mind corrected, they managed to pass the next bit of time in easy company with one another. Anne could still see the lingering traces of heartache in Christine’s eyes whenever they met hers, but the icy wall between them had melted enough that they could speak like friendly acquaintances. Their bitter fight, which had raged like a wildfire and scalded the wallpaper, seemed like ages ago. Much to Anne’s relief, Christine had Ron’s sense of humor - a bit dry, but quick to wit. The interaction was a peace offering - Christine offering Anne a bit of rouging on her cheeks and lips (“These are embellishments, Anne” Christine had informed her, darkening her auburn lashes), Anne offering embarrassing stories she’d known about Gilbert.

“His brother says his singing was so earsplitting that they made him clean the latrines!” 

Christine bit back an amused smile, spraying some perfume over Anne’s hair. 

“He likes to sing on his way to class, did you know?” 

“No! I have to tell Bash immediately. Where’s the nearest telegram office?” The laughter on her lips died out as Christine finished her handiwork and stood back so Anne could see her reflection. 

“How’s that for your Princess Veronica?” Christine said, a hesitant, but pleased smile on her lips. 

“Cordelia,” Anne corrected on a murmur. “I think there’s a very unloved, very homely eleven-year-old orphan out there who will be so happy she lived to today.” She turned to Christine, unable to help a toothy grin from brightening her face. “Thank you, truly.”

It seemed that was the final piece for Christine - the part of the story that she hadn’t asked for, but the part that made her able to look upon Anne’s face without feeling sick with bitterness. All at once, Christine realized she’d been dreadfully wrong in her initial judgements of Anne. She wondered that she hadn’t seen the truth of it right away.

“I didn’t mean those things I said,” she said softly. “Well, I did, but I don’t anymore.”

Anne wanted to say something , to apologize for appearing out of the blue and for being the source of Christine’s failed hopes, but she struggled for the right way to articulate it. Before she could, Christine had taken off, leaving Anne alone to wonder how much time had passed - an hour, a day? 

As she made her way down the stairs, she heard Gilbert debating with Ron about something - the philosophical meaning of healing - to pass the time near the front door. Ron saw her first, giving Gilbert a knowing glance and a nod towards the steps. 

For all her imaginings about Princess Cordelia, Anne decided the moment Gilbert settled his molten gaze on her that she didn’t mind being the Anne Shirley-Cuthbert to his Gilbert Blythe. His gaze held multitudes - dreams, submissions, prayers. Each of them were wordless and inexpressible, each only for her. As if by instinct, he reached out a hand to help her off the last stair, though they both knew she didn’t need it, and used the opportunity to pull her close enough that he could smell her perfume.

“If you’re all ready to go, Chris and I ought to go say goodbye to our father,” Ron said. 

Gilbert didn’t watch them go, he couldn’t look anywhere except on Anne’s freckled neckline and rosy cheeks, but he knew the second they’d disappeared into the other room. 

Before she could tease him for his speechlessness, he tangled their fingers together and said in a soft tone, “You’re beautiful, Anne.” It made her want to drag his face into the nape of her throat so that he could compliment how sweet she smelled, how soft her skin was. Though she suspected Gilbert wouldn’t object in the least, they were far from romance heroes who had no sense of decorum, and if she wanted to engage in chancy embraces with him, she’d have to wait until after the banquet. 

For now, she settled on a small kiss against his lips and a wink. 

“What can I say, Christine works miracles.” 

Soon, Ron and Christine had joined them in the front entryway. Much to Anne’s surprise, she found herself being shuffled alongside Gilbert to the family carriage. Ron and Christine sat across from them as if they’d done it a hundred times over. Peering out the curtained window, Anne watched the neighbor pass along. 

“You know, Gil,” Anne began, letting her thumb graze over his knuckles. “I doubt we’ll ever be terribly rich in wealth, and I don’t mind a mite. But to be sincere, I also haven’t minded trying it out for a day.”

*****

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[aslightstep]

some other ending begins

(This is trash but it's my trash. Post endgame fic crash. Messy, nothing makes sense, but behold my catharsis.)

He sees Rhodey, smiling but wrong, tears in his eyes. Peter is saying “we won,” he says it again and again but each time his voice shakes more. He is splitting apart at the seams and Tony wants to hold him together, can’t lose him again, but he can’t move.

His arm is so heavy.

Pepper is there. Pepper is there and she is smiling and oh, Tony has seen this smile before.

Oh, Tony is dying.

Morgan.

“We’ll be okay,” Pepper promises. His love, honey, all his darlings here together, everyone but Morgan, and she’ll be safe. She’ll be okay. Pepper promises.

“You can rest.”

There is Steve in the distance, Thor at his shoulder. There is Bruce, bounding through the air, closer every second. There is Clint, and T'Challa, and Scott, shaking the dust off. There is Nebula, and she isn’t alone.

There are the Avengers, and they are alive, and Tony has won.

Tony rests.

***

He does not die.

His body does, dies and calcifies where the gauntlet reached, withers before they can get him into a coffin. He watches, from green eyes and yellow, purple, blue, orange, red.

He never wished for this, but the stones take him anyway.

He drifts and he watches. Mostly Morgan and Pepper, sometimes Peter.

Steve leaves, and Tony follows for a time. He drops off one stone, then another, scattering Tony across time and space. He leaves the tesseract for last, and Tony knows before Steve does what’s going to happen.

“Live your life, Steve,” he whispers, and Steve shudders. Sighs. Hunches over and something inhuman wrenches out of his throat.

“None of that,” Tony chides. He takes a chance, reaches through the tesseract to nudge at Steve’s hand til it lands on his opposite wrist. “Be happy.”

09-02-1945, Steve presses in, and then he is gone.

Tony waits until Steve knocks on Peggy’s door, and then he lets go, drifting back to his daughter.

***

He is not always with Morgan. She’s strong like her mother and twice as clever as her father ever was. She’ll always need him, Tony knows that. He always needed Howard, too, even when he hated him. And he is there, in the smile on her face in the morning after a good dream, in the moments she wants to live in forever, in the perfect words that come to her mouth when the school bully gets a bit too mean.

She needs him, but she is strong without him, too. He trusts her, and he trusts Pepper’s promise. He drifts away sometimes, to the places Steve scattered him and further. Time ripples outward, branches begetting branches. He sees so much.

He tilts the Winter Soldier’s head in 1967 so he notices the Northern Lights so bright above him. He lives in the lights above Sam Wilsons bunk in 2011 so he and Riley can play one more round of cards. He whispers to Loki take a left, take a left and watches the god as he’s swallowed in his father and brother’s hugs as they return from their travels. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are starving in 2007, and it is nothing to make then piece of bread they share fill them as much as an entire loaf.

He cannot do much. He doesn’t want to, either. But this is how he rests: he fixes.

***

Gamora is made of sterner stuff, and does not die immediately when she hits the ground on Vormir in 2018. Natasha is human, and does.

He holds their hands and pushes back their hair, and thinks of the two little girls he can hear sometimes, playing in the water. Thinks of Natasha’s soul brushing his.

Shellhead.

“You did it, you know,” he tells her body, their bodies. “You saved us.”

***

He goes back to check on Steve and his perfect world.

But Steve is not there.

***

Steve would take lifetimes to find, in this ever spreading tree their timeline has grown. Tiny changes upon tiny changes, too many to count, the farthest tips nigh unrecognizable from what he knew.

Back there, Morgan is grown. Peter is married. Harley is Iron Man, at Carol Danvers right hand, and the world moves on. Tony is gone, from legend to memory, at rest.

He wraps the covers a little tighter around Pepper and Morgan that night as they watch a movie on the couch, and then he lets go.

He will take lifetimes if it means Steve is alright.

It is not his Steve in the world where he never goes into the ice. His Steve is not the several happily, madly in love with Sharon Carter. He is not in the first reality that Tony encounters where he and Janet van Dyne are somehow contemporaries, nor the thirty third, by which point Hank Pym has been added to their numbers.

There are blue eyed Tonys, Tonys who are brothers, Tonys who are not really Starks at all. There is a Tony, young and bright eyed, on the edge of a time vortex he not dare approach. A Tony dying of cancer with a stone inside his head. A Tony standing tall in black and gold armor.

Steve is at his side. Steve is at every Tony’s side. But none are his.

***

(It is on his thirtieth world that Gamora slips away. At first he panics, wonders if he’s gone too far, until he looks down at the Gamora of this time, who had sacrificed her essence so her team may live. She takes a harsh breath in, color returning to her cheeks, and she is not quite the Gamora they lost, but…that Gamora is no longer lost, either.

On another, Wanda Maximoff cries out in loneliness to a world that won’t listen, and Tony feels as a piece of the mind stone breaks free, and Vision returns to his love.

He is cautious in the next world, and many after. Scared to lose Natasha. But when they encounter a world where Natasha Romanoff lives but isn’t whole, the red room gone terrifyingly wrong, he knows what she must do.

Don’t work too hard, Tony, she tells him, clearer than ever, a bell across the cosmos.

I’m resting, didn’t you hear, Romanoff?

Yeah, she says, and he can see her smile so clearly. You’re rested.

And then she’s gone from him. The Natasha of this timeline stands, stiff and ungainly, and the guards are screaming, but she’s already escaping. Heading to find her family.

Tony moves on.)

***

I’m not half as good as anything as when I’m doing it next to you, a Tony tells his Steve.

Every Tony needs a Steve.

***

You gave me a home, that same Steve chokes out.

You lead, I’ll follow, another tells his Tony.

Every Steve, apparently, needs a Tony, too.

***

Every Steve – oh.

***

He traces back, close to the roots. There is a reality, too similar to their own for his initial search. Steve, in the ice, then awakened 70 years later. Tony, vain and selfish until his own missile blows him up. Steve would never come here. There was nothing here he was missing.

But this world’s Steve goes down with the helicarriers. He is not the Steve that swims to the surface.

“Oh god Steve,” Tony whispers as he watches. A Tony – who looks like him, moves like him, jokes like him, is him – smiles as he sets down his tools, accepting the sandwich Steve has brought down to the workshop and the kiss that follows.

He never said-

He never did-

But he’s happy, Tony can see. They both are.

He traces their time forward. The civil war that never happens. The snap that never comes. There is a rather large blow up when Tony Stark meddles with his own DNA to stay a little longer, but a wedding soon follows. There are battles and anniversaries and celebrations and funerals. There is Tony’s funeral. Then there is Steve, opening an old drawer and making one last jump.

Their timeline in 2023 is a sharp shock. He feels Morgan and Pepper and Rhodey and Peter, but he isn’t sad. Pepper was right, as she always is. They’re okay, and Tony can rest.

Tony has rested.

Steve gives the shield to Sam and sits back. He rubs at his wedding ring. He’s dying very soon, Tony knows.

“Don’t you worry, Cap,” Tony says. “I’ll take it from here. You. You made me proud.”

Steve smiles.

***

There is a world, a reality at the far reaches, where Tony Stark is stillborn.

Tony watches as the doctors work over him, as Maria cries, as Howard paces in the hall.

This Tony Stark slips away, and for a moment he almost envies him. It was hard work. It had broken him more times than he could count, in more realities than he could count.

But no Tony Stark would have it any other way.

And there is a Steve here, resting in the ice. A Natasha, her soul as vibrant as before. Bruce and Thor. Clint, not born yet here. Pepper and Rhodey. And he’s not so arrogant to believe this reality needs him.

But the Avengers do.

(Steve does.)

He snags at Anthony Stark's fading soul. He wraps time and power and space and reality around him, holds on tight, and pushes. In the room, a baby breathes.

***

Tony Stark wakes up.

[mxtantrights]

✹ 　 PART THREE (DAMSEL)

HAWKINS, INDIANA

OCTOBER 31, 1983

It's not just regular Thursday afternoon. No, this is no mere mortal Thursday. It's Halloween! One of the few times of the year where I feel a twinge of happiness. I mean, Christmas is cool and all but when will you ever hear a scream and think good things?

On halloween you will.

However-

This is halloween in Hawkins. It's never been done before and I have to set the bar. Well at least for myself. I wanna dress up for tonight and scare some kids. As I am growing older I have grown to realize that scaring the shit out of little kids can be funny on the one day that it's mandated.

"Jessie!" The teacher calls out.

I'm a bit startled but I remain still, and just glance her way. "Sorry."

"Jessie would you mind telling the class what has your attention besides the trail of tears?"

Yes. I really would mind. I really really would mind. I am so not into being called out. What kind of shit is that? So I'm dozing off in class, it's U.S. history, it's not being told correctly anyways. But I won't get mad. I don't like confrontation with- adults.

I'll just have to answer her.

"Uh.." I trail off and blow raspberries with my lips until I can think of something on the spot. "Halloween."

There are fits of chuckles in the back of the classroom. But that doesn't mean it was funny to my teacher, Ms.Sean. She dares to flash a fake smile at me and circle her desk for something. I see her reach for something- a paper, most likely. She picks up one and then walks it over to me, placing it on my desk.

"I don't think Halloween was on our latest quiz."

Uh-oh.

I look down to see the bright red F. Great. Just great. Well I can't bring this home. If my dad or my mom finds out about this they will tear my ass in two. I will not hear the end of it from them. They'll probably punish me.

I say nothing and just place the quiz under my folder.

Ms.Sean takes this as her cue to walk away.

"Maybe if she took more time studying than doing her hair she'd keep up." A scrawny voice from the back said.

The classroom erupted in 'ohs' and whispers. I turned around in my seat to look through the back to find out who said it. And sure enough, a girl with a turtle neck and the farrah fawcet hair to match is holding a particularly evil smirk.

And here we fucking go.

I wasn't gonna be mad. I really was just going to swallow any snarky comments, any comments at all. I was going to sit here like an amazing behaved teenager and take my punishment or public school call out.

But now, oh boy.

If I don't nip this in the butt now, it'll roll. Roll right into a snowball that follows me until I'm graduating senior year. Or at one of these dances, or the next class. I'm not gonna let this spiral. Dayton taught me better than that.

"I really like your costume Trina, but you might give someone a heart attack."

The class really loses it after that. Ms.Sean has to calm them down as I turn back in my seat. I don't need to see her dumb-struck face. That comment didn't rub me the right way, I've got to keep my eye on that one.

As the class chills out, I can see that Ms.Sean is trying to hide a smile on her lips. She clears her throat in another effort to hide it and it works.

"No more disruptions. Back to the lesson...."

-

I set my lunch bag down in front of Jonathan as he mumbles a quiet 'Hi'

"Hey, whats up?" I ask him

But he just shakes his head and shrugs. He bites into his sandwich.

It must be one of his moods.

For the two months and change that I've known him, Jonathan Byers has these days where he just shuts down. I don't know if anything is causing it or if it's just because he's like that. And I don't even know him well enough to pry into his business.

I just know enough to leave him alone.

"So I know you do this thing where you like to keep quiet or minimal, do you mind if I just talk a little bit?" It's very- blunt to say the least to ask him this, but he's like my only friend here. Besides Nancy but I don't talk with her much.

I watch him carefully as he nods his head.

"Okay so I was in history today and this girl made a snarky comment about my hair and my grades. And I wouldn't say anything back home, because you know back home I knew everyone and we were all on good terms. But I had to say something back." I rant a bit. Then I realize that he's actually becoming interested in what I'm talking about, so I hold off a bit.

"Well what did you say?" His mouth is still a bit full with food.

I smile and shrug, since I have brothers I'm used to the piggish behavior. "I told her that her costume might give someone a heart attack."

He goes back to nodding. Oh did he not get-

"She wasn't wearing a costume Jonathan."

He looks at me with wide eyes. And then he begins to laugh. And then I join in. Then we're both laughing. And it hits me that I don't see him laugh like this in this school. He doesn't do much here besides go to class, sulk, avert his gaze from others.

I've seen him laugh the few times I go to pick up my brother from one of the boy's houses.

I push off the thought when he holds his hand up to his chest to stop laughing.

"Ah man, what'd she say to that?"

"Nothing, Ms.Sean decided to resume class. Thankfully."

He nods, but this time he seems a little brighter. I guess thats what friends are for.

My hand digs into my lunch bag and takes out the sandwich I made myself this morning. There was no way I was letting either roof my parents make me something. They'd call a slice of cheese between two slices of bread a meal.

Dayton was the one who looked out for me in cases like this. We went to he same high school together. Sometimes he'd just pop up at my lunch table and swing his lunch over. Or he'd pack another sandwich for me.

I miss my brother.

Not surprising, but it's something.

I take another look at my friend to see if he's dozed off again, but he's not. He's looking dead ahead at something behind me. And the face he has on his face means that it can't be good. Slowly I turn in my seat to steal a glance.

It's the girl I replied to in class.

I watch her take a seat with her friends. And they are joined by Nancy. Nancy Wheeler.

I must've been staring too long because she- Nancy- looks over at me. I don't 'know what to do, to smile or to wave or to do nothing, to just turn back around. I do none and keep watching. In a few seconds the girl- my new nemesis? maybe- looks in my direction too.

And she does something alright.

She gives me the finger.

-

The doorbell rings and I run to get it.

I'm on door duty this year. Mickey is at Will's house. Him and the rest of the boys are playing D&D like usual. It feels like that's all he does nowadays. Not to take it away from him though, I'm glad he's got friends.

But with him gone so much, my parents are surely gonna be on me a bit more. Not with my grades though. I made sure to rip that up as soon as school ended and throw it away in a trashcan that wasn't mine. Kind of paranoid about it, yeah I know.

Anyways, tonights dinner was an indication of my parent's peek interest.

They asked me how I was doing, if I was making new friends, how my grades were doing. Then my mom asked about how the job was going. It wasn't really going though. Yes I went and got an application but I didn't submit it.

It's been sitting in my drawer for a few nights now.

If I take that job then I'm really not gonna have time for my music. There is no way I can get away with blasting the radio in my room and try gin to strum along to the songs after nine pm. I barely get away with it now.

And if I don't make time for my music, then I'm really just a nothing. I'm not doing too good in school because I want to make something out of myself with music. And If I don't practice that then I just won't be doing too good all around.

You know what's also not too good? Whoever's kid is at my door.

I look at the young boy who seems on the verge of crying. "Are you okay little man?"

He looks to me with those wide cartoon eyes. And it ties in with his costume, the kid from E.T. The kid's got the basket in his hands and I really do want to take a peek inside and made sure E.T. isn't actually in there.

"My alien needs candy to survive." He quips.

Laughing I grab the bucket from the table beside me and give him like five different kinds of chocolates. He deserved it.

The boy smiles, thanks me and begins running away.

I thought I was gonna scare kids this year. But my parents told me they don't want to be 'the bad house' on the block. I guess even adults deal with peer pressure and social hierarchies. What was I gonna do, disobey them?

To their face? No.

I'm already doing that with my grades.

I shut the door and head back to the dinning room. My parents are watching some old people movie on tv which leaves me all by my lonesome. Which I would like if it weren't Halloween. I thought my night would be more entertaining than this.

The phone from the kitchen starts ringing. And I'm running again.

I pick it up after the second ring. "Hello?"

"Jess? it's me."

"Dayton? isn't it like early there in Stanford?"

"Yeah-just, don't alert mom and dad alright. I didn't even mean to call-"

"Okay I won't, but why are you calling?" As soon as I ask him it's like the line foes dead. I sure thought it did because I begin beating on the receiver. "Hello?!"

"Keep your voice down alright!"

"The reason for your call brother o'mine?"

More silence from him, but I can hear him moving around. "I'm- no just forget it. I didn't mean to call."

"Well you did anyways, so that must mean something..." I trail off thinking he might just say what's on his mind but he doesn't. Which is weird since he's always talking, that's why he's going to law school. "I miss you."

He sighs on the other end.

"I miss you too dude."

"Okay, so then let's leave it at that. You miss me, that's why you called."

I can hear him a bit of movement and a short laugh. "Thanks."

"Goodnight, or early night or whatever."

"Goodnight Jessie."

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

 Part 1 - Chapter 3

Soso wakes up in her bed, and for one blissful moment it’s as though all of it were only a dream brought on by too much chocolate before bed. Sunlight is shining through her window and, other than a dry mouth and a mildly upset stomach, she feels refreshed and content. Today has the makings of a perfect lazy day, she decides. She sits up, stretches, relishing the feeling of life coming back into her stiff muscles, opens her eyes, and squeaks.

The living gargoyle is staring at her from the foot of her bed. He’s eating a candy bar, pausing to pick flecks of caramel out of a rather impressive set of pointed teeth, framed on either side by a pair of tusks. Next to him on the floor is an empty bread bag, empty milk carton, two boxes of cereal- yes, empty- and a jar of peanut butter that has, as of yet, been spared from the rampage.

“You ate all my food,” Soso comments dumbly. All things considered, it shouldn’t be the biggest issue, but that milk was supposed to be communal and her housemates are going to kill her.

The beast bows his head. “I’ll replace it.” Before she can question just how he plans to do that, he hands her the peanut butter like a peace offering and— what the hell, she takes it and starts eating with her fingers. It calms her down, marginally.

“You were a statue,” she says with, if she does say so herself, remarkable evenness.

“I was. Rather, I was cursed into a prison of stone.”

“A curse, okay, sure. And now you’re… uncursed?”

He nods.

“But you still look like…” She coughs awkwardly. “I mean, you know, you don’t look human.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he explains. “I am Adamantius the unbreakable, son of man.”

“That’s a hell of a name.”

“I am the fire that burns in the west,” he says, as if that explains everything. “What may I call you?”

“I’m… Soso,” she replies. “Soso Willoughby. I don’t have any fancy titles, sorry.”

“Lady Willoughby,” he says, and his eyes sparkle. “I owe you a great debt.” He drops his head so low his horns brush the floor.

“Hey, I’m not mad about the food, don’t worry about it. You must’ve been hungry.”

“I was. I have been. For countless years I’ve been imprisoned, waiting until the fated night you would free me from my endless purgatory.”

“I did what?” she gawks. “No, you’ve got me confused with someone else. I didn’t free anyone from anything.”

He sits up and presents her with a slightly squished snickers bar. “A single selfless gift,” he says, sounding overcome. “Even when the world forgot about me, even after the stories of my triumphs were lost to time, you still came and spoke to me with such kindness. Truly I can never repay you, but I will stay by your side and serve you faithfully ‘til the end of my days in gratitude.”

“Whoa, wait, what?” she chokes. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything! And you can’t… how am I supposed to explain you to my roommates? How am I supposed to-“ A thought occurs to her. “Oh god, how am I supposd to explain to Mr Surehouser that I stole his gargoyle? We need to get you back to the library before anyone notices you’re missing.”

The reverence falls from his face, replaced by a baring of teeth. “I will not go back there.”

Soso puts up her hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s… put a pin in that discussion. I need to think.”

“I apologize,” Adamantius rasps. “I didn’t mean to frighten you again. I swear to you, I will not cause you any harm. But I do not wish to return there, ever.”

“Well, what do you wish- want?” She leans tentatively closer, studying him. He’s less frightening in the light of day, but not by much. The color of skin still makes him appear as if made of stone, except now she can see his chest rise and fall with his breathing. A thin crack near the junction of one of his horns glows a faint red, the same flame-light that flickers behind his eyes, an inferno contained in a shell of granite.

“I want only to serve you, and to bring to account those who have wronged us.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

A flicker of something almost devious enters his expression. He gestures towards the bedroom window. Soso gets up to have a look. She pales.

Outside, the town is in chaos. Windows are smashed in, cars are tipped over, heavy claws marks carve a path down the entire street. It looks like the aftermath of a horror movie. A young man wearing a rubber mask is cowering in a tree on Summer Street as police and concerned neighbors try to coax him down.

“I thought it was just a really good costume,” another boy says, shaking like a lead as he gives his statement to a local news reporter.

Soso stands on the porch barefoot in yesterday’s clothes and tries not to panic. Adamantius comes up behind her in the doorway and she shoves him back inside. Remembering she’s not alone in the house, she keeps shoving until they’re standing in the narrow fenced-in area behind the back of the house, well out of sight.

“What did you do?” she demands.

“I thought the fates of the enemy should be left to your discretion, but I wanted to ensure they got the message.”

“Yeah, I think they got it!” She puts her head in her hands. “Dear god, you didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“As I said, I was awaiting your orders.”

“Okay, my orders are ‘don’t kill anybody’.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not ever?”

“Not ever! No killing, Ada- Adam- Why is your name so complicated!” she asks in frustration. “Don’t you have nickname or something I can call you?”

He lowers his head, looking pensive. After a moment he says, “There was someone once very close to me called me ‘Adami’.”

This information mellows Soso’s temper somewhat. Despite his appearance and somewhat murderous tendencies, there had been someone who cared for him, and whom it seemed he cared for in return, and now if his story was to be believed, crazy as it all sounded, they are likely long gone. Soso tries to imagine being imprisoned like he was, asleep and awake at once in a frozen form while the days, months, years went by. It sounds terrible.

“How long exactly were you… doing time?”

“I couldn’t say. After the first few decades or so time begins to lose its meaning. I didn’t so much feel the passage of time, only watched the rising and falling of the sun, the turning of the seasons. For much of that time, I wished only for vengeance, then for death, and then I wished for nothing at all. There didn’t seem a point. I had lost all hope of rescue long ago.” His gaze falls on her again. “Then you came. You spoke to me, and reminded me that I was still alive.”

Soso feels her face heat. How was she supposed to tell him that she’d only started talking to him because she thought he was an inanimate object?

“Adami,” she says gently. “We need to go back there. I need to figure out what happened, and the only other person I can think of who might know something is the librarian. I can’t- I don’t have enough room to hide you here without someone finding out, and once they do… I don’t know, they’ll probably want to put you in prison or dissect you for science or something!”

She reaches up and places her hands on his shoulders, privately marveling at the sheer size of him. She has to stand on her toes.

“I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, but you need to trust me.”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I will follow where you lead.”

Soso exhales an anxious breath and releases him. “I’ll need my bike.”

 --

 Surehouser doesn’t wake up in his bed, and rather than the morning light he is woken by a persistent thumping sound. At first, he thinks it’s simply the pounding in his own head. He’s had a bottle of dandelion wine- a gift from some cousin or other- stowed away since the equinox, saved for the express purpose of drowning out the Halloween festivities with his own.

In the time it takes him to recognize the knocking for what it is, he’s become aware of three things. One: he is wildly hung over. Two: today is the first of the month. Three: following that logic, he is well overdue to submit his annual report, which was due at the first of last month. He should get to it, he supposes, adjusting his glamour to better disguise the air of malaise he carries with him. Then again he doubts anyone is going to come breaking his door down about it. If not for the occasional paperwork and the letters and packages from his relations he’d think the whole of faerie society had long forgotten about him. It’s not as if anything happens here anyway.

He trudges to the front door of the library, wondering who could be so desperate to get his attention, and finds standing there the young lady who’s been dropping by the past couple weeks, accompanied by an eight foot abomination.

“So,” says the girl. “Don’t freak out.”

Surehouser runs to his desk and retrieves the enchanted blade he keeps below the stationary drawer. He’s not as spry as he used to be though and the monster has him pinned to the cherry wood before he can so much as unsheathe it. It gnashes its teeth and twists his arm until he’s forced to drop the weapon with a cry. Without any other option, he drops the human farce and the light it forces outward stuns the creature just long enough for him to slip from its grasp. From there, escaping would be easy, just take the form of a jackrabbit or a will o’ wisp and be gone. He almost does just that, but it seems somewhere along the years he’s picked up a conscience. Damn it.

“Soso, get back, I’ll hold it off.” He places himself between her and it, forming a barrier. Between the throbbing headache and the fear he hardly notices her grabbing onto his arm.

“Hold on a second, both of you stop it!”

Adamantius readies to charge and Soso steps between them.

“I said STOP!”

It stops. “As per your instructions,” it growls, startling Surehouser almost more than the attack itself. “I will not kill him.”

“I don’t want you to do anything to him, understand?”

The creature- he looks torn. “Not even-“

“No, whatever it is, no!” she says, flustered. She chides the rampaging goliath like one would a misbehaving dog. It’s honestly impressive. “Mr Surehouser’s a friend.”

Another snarl tears from him. “He’s a faerie.”

It takes a moment to sink in, but once she realizes he knows there’s no way to deny it. Soso steps back and for the first time really takes him in, the truth of him. Under his human disguise, the librarian is summer court through and through; his body all mist and golden light. The base human features are still there, but unlike some of his more passable fellows, one look at him without the aid of a glamour is enough to know he’s not of their world. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he veils himself with the familiar mask of the old unassuming librarian. It’s a magic specifically designed to make him easy to overlook, though the exact details of his appearance still depend largely on the viewer’s perception. It’s why he does his best to stay away from crowds. Too many conflicting accounts of the same man create a very real risk of his cover being blown.

It’s been a long time since he willingly dropped the act around another person, even among his own kind, however infrequently he sees them. Certainly he hadn’t planned to destroy his entire carefully-crafted persona when he woke up seven minutes ago. Yet here they were.

“That’s, wow,” the girl says.

He forces a chuckle. “Not the worst reaction I could’ve gotten, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting to a point where being shocked at every new thing is just taking up too much energy.”

Her eyes are winged and weary. Surehouser looks from her to Adamantius, an ancient warrior whom last he saw was petrified on his front lawn, a being even older than his great-grandfather, and significantly more sapient than he’d been led to believe from the wartime tales. He casts one last, longing look at his dagger laying on the floor and declares,

“It seems that we have a lot to talk about and frankly I don’t want to have this conversation standing up.”

He takes them out of the main library to a sitting area. There are two arm chairs and a small sofa loosely fitted into a circle around a low table in front of a fireplace, now dormant. Soso flops gratefully into the nearest chair. Adamantius isn’t so eager.

“I don’t like faeries,” he says. “And I don’t like your rings.”

“It’s a semi-circle if anything.” He sits. The monster stays standing, hovering at Soso’s side, tense and wary.

“So,” Surehouser begins after a moment. “You’ve, er, woken Adamantius.”

She nods slowly. “If it counts for anything, I didn’t exactly mean to.”

“It’s alright, Soso. I understand many humans in your age group go through an arcane phase, performing your little rituals and whatnot. Although how you stumbled upon something powerful enough to undo a curse like that is far beyond me.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know anything about magic or curses or whatever! It was an accident.”

He looks into her eyes; she seems earnest, though it can be hard to tell with humans.

“I gave him a snickers,” she says. “Adamantius says it was a gesture of pure kindness that broke the curse, or something.”

She looks to him for confirmation. He doesn’t take his eyes off the faerie, but nods his confirmation. She goes on to tell the full story, punctuated with various exaggerated hand motions.

“-And you don’t seem that surprised by all this,” she notes as it comes to a close. Or rather, catches up with the present. “And also, you’re a faerie? Is Surehouser even your name?”

“You could say so. It’s a name, and it’s mine.”

She makes a face. “Right. So like, what now?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Now, I need a drink.” He stands up and, obliged by the laws of hospitality, adds, “Do you want anything?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink. Also, it’s like 2:30.” When it becomes clear that that is not the deterrent she thinks it is, she turns to the creature. “What about you?”

“If you’re not having anything, neither will I.”

She purses her lips. “Actually, Mr Surehouser, if I could bug you for some water or something to eat… all I’ve really had today is, like, half a jar of peanut butter, and this guy was a rock for like a thousand years I guess so he’s always hungry.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Though food is not his indulgence of choice, he’s pretty sure he remembers where the kitchen is supposed to be. The fruit there doesn’t go rotten and the water he runs into a pitcher is cold and clean. For himself, two painkillers. As much as he’d rather not, he’s starting to think this is indeed a conversation he should be sober for.

Once he’s made up a tray he returns to the sitting room where the odd pair are exchanging muttered words and serious glances. Soso stands up to help him set everything out but as she reaches for the fruit, her monster stops her.

“For pity’s sake, Adamantius, they won’t harm her. This place is neutral territory. That’s the whole point.”

While he’s distracted she pops a handful of grapes into her mouth. “You two know each other?”

“Not personally,” says Surehouser. “Though at the same time you could say we’ve been neighbors for years.” He chuckles to himself. “For more than a century, now that I think about it. I’m a watcher. Not the first, though maybe the last.” He loses some of his good humor. The reality of the situation is setting in, unbelievable though it is. “It’s been my job to… well to prevent what is happening right now.”

“He is my jailor,” Adamantius clarifies.

“More or less. Soso, do you even know who it is you’ve been sitting so comfortably beside?”

“Does she know who you are?” he snaps in retaliation. “Have you ever taken a moment to explain the depths of your fraudulence, you oversized pixie?”

His eyes narrow. “Name calling isn’t necessary. But you have a point.” He turns to the girl. “I haven’t lied to you, but neither have I been truthful. Look around you. You see an old library, and me, its keeper. Although on the surface that is true, it’s such a small fraction of what it is. It’s only a name, only some books on some shelves.”

“Then what is the truth? The full truth.” She stares at him intently.

“Long ago,” he begins. As a start to a story, it’s as good as any. Soso’s told him her story, now he owes her one in return. “There was a terrible war between humankind and the fae people. You might know them as faeries, the hidden folk, the good neighbors. Again, that’s only the barest sliver of it. The fae consist of all magical beings, united against humanity. Once, our worlds were one, with the faerie lords, whose magic was strongest and purest, ruling over all.”

“While the humans,” Adamantius interjects. “Struggled at the bottom of the food chain. Although they were greater in numbers and more widespread than almost any other species, they were preyed on by the faefolk because of their lack of natural magic. When their science and scholarly learning grew strong enough to threaten even the faeries’ regime, war broke out. In the process, countless human lives and achievements were lost.”

“I would’ve gotten to that,” Surehouser says haughtily. “As I was saying, after years of fighting the humans finally made a breakthrough. Through study and spiritualism their brightest scholars developed a power that was enough to rival fae magic. They called it alchemy, and with it they created a killing machine powerful enough to turn the tide of the war. Adamantius, the man-made monster.

“Though it was magic, albeit humans’ version of magic, that created him, he became the ultimate soldier against the fae forces. Because of this, many came to consider his existence the ultimate insult, a betrayal of our ways.”

The monster in question lunges forward. Soso seizes his arm, nearly falling out of her chair.

“Your ways and your magic have nothing to do with me. I am the son of man.”

Surehouser takes a sip of water, smiling against the rim of his glass. All this drama for a beast who was unable to act without his human’s approval.

“Personally I’m neutral on the subject. War is a terribly ugly thing. The humans’ precious pet soldier did a lot of damage, but so did we. The only reason the humans won the war in the end was because the lords at the time feared their new alchemy. This single creation of theirs had dealt more damage in a few years, a blink of an eye to them, than all their previous efforts combined. If the humans managed to reproduce their experiment… well, the risk was too great.

“The fae forces surrendered and treaty negotiations began. One of the main conditions of the treaty was that each nation’s greatest tools of war be retired and sealed away somewhere on neutral ground, never to be used again. You see where I’m going with this?”

Soso looks offended. “Adami’s alive. A living person isn’t a weapon.”

He shrugs. “When I say tools of war I’m not speaking of just blades and bombs. Lots of things can be a weapon that you wouldn’t expect. Wealth, knowledge, even a bowl of fruit.”

Adamantius picks up an armchair.

“Kidding, kidding! No need to go throwing furniture.” He stands up, hands raised. “You are much more hair-trigger than the stories suggested. Come, I’ll show you what I mean.”

He takes them behind the front desk and pushes aside a shelf of “staff picks”, revealing a hidden doorway that opens onto the basement. Anyone who knew what to look for would be able to pick out a concealment charm easily. Sometimes it paid to do things the old-fashioned way, so to speak.

The entrance is short and narrow and Adamantius struggles to squeeze through for a minute before it becomes clear that it’s wasted effort.

“What a pity,” Surehouser chirps. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me with your human for a while.”

He growls his disapproval, but once again Soso manages to talk him down. “I’ll be fine. I promised, right? Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

The creature doesn’t look entirely at ease with the idea, but he relents. As they descend the steps, he stands stalwart at the doorway, his eyes following them down until they disappear into the darkness completely.

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Misery Loves Company part 1

                                         Chapter Three:

                     The One Where Violet’s Invention Works

Lemony Snicket could not believe his ears. There was no way that Arthur Poe was taking those children to Olaf’s. That was never the plan. When Beatrice was pregnant with Violet, she and Lemony always agreed that Violet would be sent off to Montgomery Montgomery if anything were to happen to both of them or Bertrand. Olaf was never a part of that plan. Even when everything in VFD was perfect and fine. Olaf never struck either of them as a parental type. He’d be as good of a father as Esme Squalor would be a good mother, which was very unlikely. Both of these characters from Snicket’s past were narcissistic and only truly cared about themselves when it came down to it. So Lemony knew this was a huge mistake. A mistake he had to fix. But how? He was on the lam after all and anyone who knew of his innocence believed him to be dead.

When he finally made it back home, Violet looked at him questioningly. “Why are you covered in ashes?” she asked looking at his suit.

“Oh, just some on the side investigating,” He half-lied. “Have to pay the bills somehow.”

Violet looked at her father in utter confusion. “What are you investigating?”

“Oh, honey. That’s not important. I’m home I really don’t want to talk about work,” He said trying to desperately change the subject. “So how have you been,”

He hadn’t noticed when he walked in, but Violet’s hair was tied up in her classic red ribbon. “I’ve been working on an invention.”

“Of course and what has my brilliant inventive daughter come up with this time?” he asked smiling. He was always happy to hear about Violet’s inventions.

“Well you see,” she said untying her ribbon allowing her brown locks to fall passed her shoulders. “I’ve combined this old toaster with our grandfather clock...I am trying to get the clock to control the toaster but you see…” Violet knelt down next to the invention and Lemony took a seat on the other side of it. “I’m having a problem with the grandfather clock,”

“Can you show me what the specific issues are?” Lemony asked, “Maybe your old man can help.”

“Of course, Mr. Lemons,” Violet said with a small giggle. She, of course, being fourteen had outgrown her nickname she had given her father when she was just a young girl but she knew how much it made her father happy to hear that his little girl was still his little girl. Violet started up her invention and to the untrained eye, it seemed as though it worked flawlessly like all of her other inventions had. “See? It toasts the bread but the minute hand keeps falling behind five minutes.”

Lemony merely nodded. He was someone with an untrained eye because he hadn’t noticed that. “It...could be a problem with the gears?” he replied, trying his best to be of some assistance to her.

“Well, that would be disappointing. I made them myself,” she replied sighing.

Lemony stood up, “Well maybe you should come back to this one. I know you’ll figure it out kiddo, you always do.”

Violet nodded her head but didn’t look back up at him. She had the stubbornness of her damn mother. She tied up her hair again and went to work trying to determine the issue with her invention. Lemony smiled as he walked to his small desk.

At least she was distracted with an invention, that gave him time to figure out where to start in his quest to figure out what happened to Beatrice and what he could do to help her children. There was no way he was going to sit back and allow Count Olaf to take custody of those kids. Especially when he knew that Olaf hated Beatrice and Bertrand, and him for that matter. Those kids were not safe. He looked over his shoulders and made sure Violet wasn’t watching him as he unfolded the newspaper article and began to cut out the picture of the two kids and the picture of the burnt remains of the Baudelaire home. He made sure to cut out any mention of the word ‘Baudelaire’. He couldn’t let Violet know what had happened to her birth mother. Not yet, at least. He had no idea how to go about telling her that all of his research and investigating had failed them both. He was never able to locate Beatrice and she was living in the same city for who knows how long. He also didn’t want her to learn about the fact that she had two half-siblings, whom she couldn’t help. It was his fault, that they couldn’t help in the best, most sensible way possible. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he had to protect her. There were too many secrets in his past that were better left unsaid. He would one day explain everything just not today. Not any time soon. She was still a child, he wanted her to keep her childhood for as long as she could. Heaven knows, he didn’t get that chance. He remembers being thirteen when he had started his apprenticeship and he remembers his siblings being even younger than that. It was somewhat of a blessing, as well as a curse for everyone he knew to think that he was dead because that meant none of them knew about Violet’s existence, which ultimately meant that at least right now, she was safe.

He tacked the two black and white pictures on the wall in front of his desk and began to jot down notes. He needed intel. He thought about who he could call. Who he could trust with the knowledge that he was alive and well. He refused to mention anything about his daughter. There was no one he trusted with that information, not even his siblings. They were still too involved with VFD. They always had been. Lemony feared they always will be. He, too, at one point in his life was very much into VFD and their rhetoric but so many horrible events in his life changed that. Did he still follow them? Yes. Loosely though. He had to. That way he would know the phrases or codes that would help him detect if someone was VFD or not. Like the storekeeper. The storekeeper had commented that they ‘didn’t realize this was a sad occasion’, Lemony knew, just like any VFD member knew, that the correct response to that statement is ‘the world is quiet here’. But Lemony bolted out of there with Violet before the storekeeper could recognize him.

He thought long and hard. Mr. Poe worked at Mulctuary Money Management...Lemony was sure that there was someone there from VFD in charge of making sure things go according to plan. There had to be. This organization wouldn’t leave their precious future recruits solely in the hands of one of the most incompetent bankers that Lemony had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Lemony took the chance and looked up the number to the bank in the phonebook he found in the drawer of the motel room’s nightstand.

“Mulctuary Money Management. Mr. Poe’s office.” a woman answered.

Lemony didn’t recognize the voice but he hadn’t been in the loop with this organization in nearly fourteen years. He sighed and turned again to Violet to make sure she was tinkering with her invention and not eavesdropping on his conversation. “I didn’t realize this was a sad occasion.” He whispered into the phone.

He could hear the woman gasp and he thought he heard her drop a pen on the floor and scurry under her desk but he could be mistaken. “The world is quiet here,” she replied in a whisper. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Lemony closed his eyes. “Snicket.”

“Jacques?”

“No.”

“Well, Kit...you sure have mastered the art of sounding like a man. I couldn’t tell it was you at all,” the woman replied.

“No...I am not Kit, either,” he replied still glancing over at Violet.

“Well. You can’t be Lemony. He’s dead.”

“Not as dead as Beatrice,” he replied in a low whisper.

“L-lemony? Is it really you. The Daily Punctilio…” the woman began.

“ The Daily Punctilio is lucky I haven’t decided to sue them for defamation and the only reason I haven’t sued them is that I am on the run.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

Lemony looked again to his daughter. “I’ve been in hiding. But that doesn’t matter right now. That’s not why I called. I called regarding the Baudelaire case.”

“Oh.” the woman replied. Lemony could hear in the background that a man, he assumed to be Mr. Poe since Lemony could hear this same person in a fit of coughing yelling at the woman.

“Jacquelyn! Jacquelyn!” he could hear Mr. Poe call out.

“Now isn’t a very good time, Snicket,” Jacquelyn replied. “Why don’t we meet somewhere and we can have a chit chat about that .”

“Fine with me. Although, you will have to meet on my terms. I am on the run and I can’t afford to get caught. I have...I have too much to lose.” Lemony replied.

“Where will we meet?” Jacquelyn replied as she rolled her eyes when Mr. Poe called out her name again.

“Meet me at the building where this all began.” He said simply. “Tonight. 9 o’clock. Come alone.”

“Got it,” Jacquelyn replied hanging up.

Lemony hung up the phone and was startled to see Violet was now right behind him. “Dear God, sweetie. Are you trying to give your old man a heart attack?”

Violet smiled, “Maybe…”

“Did you get the grandfather clock to work?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s next on the agenda of Miss Violet Snicket?”

Violet shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I was hoping to work on my invention that would help me retrieve a rock that I’ve skipped into the ocean but to do that...we’d have to go to Briny Beach.”

Lemony thought about it. He hated going out in public, especially to places that would be more likely to be crowded. He glanced out the window. It was a dark, cloudy day. Briny Beach was usually desolate on days like this. He looked at Violet who was wearing her famous puppy dog face.

“Please Mr. Lemons,” she asked keeping her puppy dog face in full view. Lemony sighed.

“I can be ready in ten minutes…” He said.

The trip to Briny Beach was a quick one. Lemony was lucky enough to have a taxi cab as a car from his days in VFD. He used this on rare occasions and after the stint in the store, he didn’t want to risk being recognized anywhere else. He also was simply not in the mood for interactions of any sort.

Violet glanced out the car window. “It’s so weird that we have a taxi,”

“I told you, Violet. Your uncle gave it to me a long time ago.”

“I know. I know. After he helped you escape the authorities. So when will I be old enough to know what really happened that day?”

“Hmmm...how old are you now?” Lemony joked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that.

“Fourteen.”

“Maybe when you’re fifteen.” He watched her smile fade. He knew she hated secrets, she hated not knowing things especially things about her parents. “Why do you want to know such a dreadful story anyway? It’s not like it ends happily…”

“Well, if you think about it, it hasn’t ended yet. It can still end happily.”

“Spoken like a true optimist.”

“I’m not an optimist, I’m a realist. Besides, you’re the one who told me that stories don’t truly have a beginning or end. They all interject into each other, new stories begin in other stories and life is just a bunch of stories sewn into one.” Violet stated matter of factly, “and all endings are not real endings just new beginnings to different stories.”

“Trust me. This story doesn’t end happily, Vi.”

“I want to believe it still can. We can find her one day. We can be a happy family.”

Lemony frowned at this. He knew he had to tell her, it just didn’t seem right. She was happy, she was excited about her newest invention and he knew this news would kill her. He just gave her a small smile. “Well, I will say...the story did get happier after a while.”

“Why?” she asked glancing out at the window again.

“I may have lost her...and everything else but I gained the whole world.” He said simply looking at her and not paying attention to the road. Violet smiled at him. “I gained my daughter and sure, it wasn’t due to circumstances that either of us liked but in a way, I do have everything I ever wanted.”

“Except for her,” Violet stated.

“But I have you.” He reiterated. “You know, you remind me so much of her every day, Vi.”

Violet looked down at her locket and opened it up to look at the picture of her birth mother that Lemony had put in the locket for her. The picture was one of Beatrice from one of her stints at the opera house. She wore a gorgeous dragonfly costume and she was smiling holding a bouquet of violets in her hand.

“She named you after her favorite flower and color, you know.”

Violet nodded but kept looking at the picture. “How’s your investigation going? Have you found any new leads?” she asked hopefully not looking up from her locket.

Lemony sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, “Nothing yet. But I am sure some news will come up.”

“I hope so, I wish nothing more to meet her.”

“I know. I wish you could meet her, too.”

“Do you know what I would tell her if I ever have the pleasure of meeting her?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me…” Lemony began.

“I would tell her that I understand...I understand why she had to give me away. I would tell her that I don’t hate her, even if she continued living her life and got married to another man and had other children; I would tell her that I understand...the timing was off.”

Lemony was taken back by what his daughter just said. He had always believed most kids with the upbringing that his daughter had would show some resentment towards the absent parent. It’s not like he wanted her to hate Beatrice, he much rather she is understanding and respectful...it was just quite odd to him. He glanced at his daughter as he began to park the taxi alongside the beach’s entrance. Maybe he didn’t completely fail Violet. Maybe he was doing a good job being a father to her. For her to be this mature at such a young age, he wondered. “That’s...very mature of you, Violet.”

Violet smiled. “Honestly, it would do me no good to hate her. How would we ever have any kind of relationship if I don’t at least meet her halfway.”

As Violet got out of the car and raced down the desolate beach, Lemony trudged slowly behind her. He wanted to cry. He wanted to just break down right then and there in the hot sands of this beach. Violet was so optimistic about meeting her birth mother and unknowing to her, she would never get that opportunity now. It made him feel only a bit better that Violet doesn’t hate Beatrice. But what if she knew the truth? What if she knew about VFD and what he and Beatrice did to fuck up their lives so much? Would her opinion on Beatrice change? Would her opinion on him change? He couldn’t afford that. When it came down to it, Violet was his only family. Unfortunately, for Violet, that sentiment worked both ways. He was her only family...that she knew of. He quickly thought about Beatrice’s other children. He hoped Count Olaf wasn’t harming them in any way. Tonight, he would talk to Jacquelyn and figure this all out. Maybe he would be able to get everything on track...maybe...just maybe.

When he finally reached Violet she was already setting up her picnic basket in the sand and looking around for a rock. He watched as she began to tie up her hair to keep it out of her eyes. “Need any help, hun?”

“No...not yet. Do you know the angle of the prevailing currents?” she asked not looking up at him as she was too busy looking for the right projectile. Lemony merely shrugged. “It’s fine...it’s more important if I can find the right projectile.”

She reached down and grabbed a regular looking grey rock. “Do you think this would work?”

“Hmmm...maybe we should find a rock that’s not sandstone?” Lemony replied.

“Ah-Ha!” Violet cried out as she picked up a smooth disc-shaped rock. She studied it with a puzzled look on her face. “Are these teeth marks?”

Lemony rushed to her and examined the rock himself, he had never seen a rock so smooth and disc-shaped before in his life. He could see what Violet was talking about. The rock did look like it had teeth marks on it but Lemony couldn’t think of what kind of animal or marine life could have made such teeth marks.

“They look human-like,” Violet said still studying the rock, forgetting about her invention.

“Violet...there’s no way a human-made those marks. What kind of human would bite a rock?” Lemony replied laughing.

“I don’t know. A baby with piranha teeth? Maybe?”

“Now, Violet. Doesn’t that seem silly to you? A baby... a human baby with piranha teeth? Honestly, with an imagination like this, you should dabble in writing.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “When I was a baby, I had sharp teeth.”

“Not sharp enough to bite a rock,” Lemony replied laughing.

“I’m still going to say it was a baby with piranha teeth.” She said laughing. “Whoever or whatever it was...I wish I could thank. This is the best projectile for this invention.”

Violet pulled out a small piece of white chalk from her pocket marking the rock with an X. She placed it into her left hand.

“Violet? Why are you using your left hand?”

“I’m curious to see if I can skip the rock further with my left hand than my right.”

“Now, you know I don’t mean to criticize but standard scientific method calls for stable systematics. You should use your right hand.”

Violet laughed but smiled at her father. He was right. She hated when he was right but he had to give him credit. He was paying attention to her attentively as he always had. The attention made her feel special. She knew she was his entire world and he was her entire world but it made her feel special to have a father who not only believed everything she created was the work of a mechanical genius but she had a father who paid very close attention to her and her inventions so much that he even noticed her trying to change which hand she would use to skip the rock. She placed the rock into her right hand, “That does seem sensible,” she replied as she skipped the rock using her right hand. The rock went far into the ocean, skipping about eight times.

“Dad, what was that thing Einstein said?” she asked smiling.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.”

“Now, what’s that thing James Brown said?”

He chuckled, “I got something that makes me want to shout. I’ve got something that tells me what it’s all about.”

Violet smiled turning a small knob on her invention and Lemony couldn’t believe his eyes, a mechanical arm rushed out of the picnic basket and extended itself to the far depths of the sea. After a moment, it stopped and the mechanical hand went into the ocean and in mere moments, the hand reappeared above the water holding the same rock that Violet had marked with an X. The mechanical arm reeled itself in after dropping the rock into Violet’s hand. Lemony was purely amazed. Sure he had seen many of Violet’s wonderful inventions throughout the years but she still could surprise and wow him with every new one she showed him.

Violet stood up, her face lit up with a smile. Her father hugged her as they both exclaimed, “I’m super bad!” Violet started laughing.

“It worked!” Violet squealed happily.

“I never expected otherwise, dear,” Lemony replied still hugging his daughter.

Yes. Violet’s invention worked. This would be a perfect time to leave. You can pretend that the rest of the story of Violet Snicket was as happy and wholesome as this day on the beach was. You can pretend that Lemony does get every opportunity to tell her all about his past when she turns fifteen or you can continue reading on and with each turn of the page, with every new chapter, you can weep and wish that you had taken my advice. For you don’t want to know what happens on Violet’s fifteenth birthday. You don’t want to know how she spends the rest of this story as bitter as her father drank his tea. You don’t want to know all the dark secrets that she uncovers and the questions that she never gets answered. You can leave right now. No one will blame you. I wish I would’ve seen this coming and maybe I wouldn’t be as haunted as I am these days. Although this chapter ended happily for Violet Snicket, I reiterate my promise that very few happy things happen in the lives of these three children. Indeed, Violet Snicket doesn’t start to suffer the hardships of her siblings until later on in this tale but that does not mean that her story is filled with happiness. Her story is full of secrets, betrayals, and dark discoveries that I promise you will change her life for the worst. So look away before it is too late.

[kayann9]

Distance Part 2

Sorry it has been a while! Hope everyone had a great holiday season. More Parker fluff - the conclusion and make up to part 1. I won’t post now before New Year so I hope everyone has a lovely start to 2019 :) Characters are choices and not mine

Parker X Mc

Tags: @mind-reader1 @mistersinclaire @krish58100

Words: 1,781       Rating: T

“So, you’re just not getting dressed. Ever?”

Elliot clucks at me whilst rummaging for his second favourite shirt. Apparently, it’s my fault that the one with the blue has shrunk even though he definitely pressed the ‘on’ button for that load of laundry. I roll my eyes as he throws piles of similar looking t-shirts onto the bed; all crumpled and wrinkled from not being unpacked when I’d told him to. Although, I suppose, in my current state, I can’t judge him too much. I smooth out my grey joggers, a size too big now thanks to my lack of appetite over the last month, and scrape my hair up again still damp from the shower.

“I am wearing clothes thus dressed.” I give his shoulder a shove out of the way and open the bottom drawer of his dresser. Quickly, I throw the black shirt at him.

“How did you-”

Because you look for things with your eyes closed. That had been mom’s favourite thing to say to Elliot when he lost his shoes, or his bag, or his everything. “I have my ways.” He screws up his nose as he throws it over his t-shirt. “You are going to be late.”

Panic floods his wide eyes as he looks at the clock. “Shit.”

“Elliot!” I snap.

“You curse all the time. I heard you calling the tv an asshole yesterday for not having Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on at scheduled timing.” As if that’s an argument. I’m a grown woman. I glare at him, unwavering and it doesn’t take long for him to break the eye contact. “Fine. Some of us are more equal than others.” He mutters.

“Don’t George Orwell me. When you’re eighteen curse all you like. Now get going Scooter.”

Grabbing his hat, he rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “Fine. But – why don’t you go and-” I cut him off with another glare. I don’t want to go anywhere. “I’ll be home before dark.”

Meeting Robbie hadn’t been the first thing I’d have liked him to do, not after the whole scenario in his basement but, I suppose, he made Elliot happy and at least one of us should have that opportunity. I grab a bagel because bread is my friend. I’d be singing from a different hymn sheet when I couldn’t fit in my dress for Imogen’s creepy initiation ceremony I’d, for some reason, agreed to partake in.

The door goes as I’m about to take my first bite of starchy goodness. Scooter. Probably forgotten to make a snarky comment about something else or perhaps he’s short a few dollars. “Just so you know, I’m not giving you a ride. It’s your fault you’re late.” I call into the kitchen with my mouthful of processed starch.

“Yeah it is kind of my fault.” I almost choke, caught somewhere between panic and the realisation that this had to have been some kind of twisted dream. There is no way Parker Shaw is here; not after our last conversation. After we’d both silently reached the conclusion that we were quietly hoping for different outcomes to this already bad situation. I look up. He’s here. His hair still a mess, face creased, and eyes rimmed in red from tiredness. He shrugs. “Elliot told me to come in. I was going to knock but then-”

I shoot up from the couch, my plate clattering to the floor. “No, no it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting -”

I look like shit. I look worse than shit. My joggers have a hole in the knee. My shirt is Care Bears. I’m not even wearing a bra. Wonderful. Way to win him back.

With a little smile, he cups my jaw with his hand and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. God, I want him o kiss me. His thumb gently runs over the skin and he chuckles gently. “You have a little-” Crumbs. I have a face covered in crumbs.

“Oh. Sorry. I was having-” I don’t even know what meal I’m meant to be eating right now. Three in the afternoon so perhaps a late afternoon snack?

“No.” Parker states firmly. “I mean no. I’m sorry Harper. I’m sorry for the other night.”

Since it happened, since he’d left that night, I’ve played out in my head what I wanted. There are times he apologises and promises he’ll never leave and there are times I’ve sought him out, in my brave imaginary state, to let him know how valid his pain is. None of them included me covered in half-eaten bagel. None of them happened in this living room with M.A.S.H reruns in the background. But, I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s here, and with him, my shred of sanity.

I motion for him to sit.

“Parker, you have nothing to apologise for. You were right. I have no right to assume that-”

“Yes, you do. You have every right. You have every conceivable right to question this considering what you’ve lost.” He sighs, and his hands grip his knees. “I don’t want Arthur to be guilty. I don’t want Abe to be either but if he is, I’ll be ok. I think.”

No, he won’t.

How did we get here?

I can’t stand seeing him like this. His eyes are shiny when he looks at me and I wipe my face, my own tears starting to burn again. But, he looks so hurt and broken. A man who’s resigned himself to the misery that is to come. I don’t even know what I want now other than for all this to go away. For me and Elliot to be fine and for me and Parker to be fine and everyone living happily ever after with songs and talking animals – preferably ones that don’t have several heads.

I squash onto the arm chair where he’s sitting. I don’t have much space but, I don’t need much space. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder. The second his arms go around my waist, tight and firm, I kiss his cheek.

“I don’t want you to lose things either.”

Slowly, he leans back in the chair and I rest on him. “I know you don’t. It was stupid of me to even think that.”

“You’re not stupid.” I growl at him. I need him to stop saying that; to stop believing it. “This is a stupid situation. This whole thing is stupid. We are not. We’re doing our best with what information we have and-”

His lips press against mine, slowly but decisively. When he pulls away, my heart beat is thundering in my ears. “I’m sorry.” Oh god. Does he regret it? Is he apologising for our near-death making out session? Couldn’t he stand to even look at me now? Sickness gnaws at my stomach. “I shouldn’t have left. We promised that when it got bad, we’d not do that, and I broke that promise.”

I’d not even thought about that. I run my fingers through his hair and shuffle to sit on his thigh. “Nobody broke anything. We’re talking. You, Parker Shaw, are a man of your word.”

The smile on his face makes me feel lighter than I have in days.

“I am indeed a man of my word.” He rubs his hand over his stubble and winks. “I just want you to know something. This whole thing is terrible – worse than that – it’s shit. Just utter bullshit. I hate that you’ve lost your family. I hate that this town is a mess. I hate all these lies and secrets. I especially hate ghosts and zombies.” Parker grabs my hand and wraps his fingers in mine. “But one thing I could never hate, is you Harper. You are the only thing making some sense to me and I want you to know, whatever happens, that I truly believe that.”

For the first time, maybe even since I got here, genuine warmth spreads in my chest.

Softly, he presses a kiss to my forehead and I let my eyes close. Thank god. Thank god he’s back.

“I know. You’re important to me too.”

The laugh he releases is warm and makes my spine tingle. “You know, I might even treat you to a romantic dinner when we put all this behind us.”

“I quite enjoyed the cramped supply closet whilst being chased by murderous crazy people.” His head shakes at me and I press my lips to the corner of his mouth. “Fine, I suppose I can let you wine and dine me.”

Even though it had been days, I’d missed this. Like I said, my only shred of normality. The only time I don’t have to be on or responsible.

“I quite enjoyed the supply closet too. In fact, I seem to remember something about carrying it on when sound wasn’t an issue?” His eyebrows raise. I had said that, hadn’t I? “You, Harper Vance, are a woman of your word.” I swat him in the arm.

“One make out session and you’re a regular Don Juan but, you are in fact correct. I have an empty house and a promise to make good on.” As Parker’s mouth brushes against the skin on my neck, my spine shudders. Bliss. Probably more bliss than I deserve. “I mean it is improper to get to third base without at least popcorn and terrible movie -”

When he laughs, his breath tickles my flesh. “I swear, I will keep this between us. Your reputation is safe with me.”

I doubt that.

Slowly, his mouth moves to mine and I lose myself in it; safe and warm and everything.

“Shit! God, my eyes!”

We both fall out the chair, trying to untangle our limbs faster than a human possibly could. As Elliot and Robbie stand above us wide-eyed and pale, I glare at Parker. Didn’t even lock the door; a cop, that didn’t lock the door.

“Elliot! Hi Robbie – Parker and I were-”

“This is most gross thing I have ever seen.” As Elliot speaks, Robbie bites back a smirk. “And please, spare me the ‘he stopped breathing and I was giving him mouth-to-mouth’ yarn; it didn’t work when I caught you with Brendan Gibson and it won’t work now.” With a snort and a head shake, Elliot hops up the stairs leaving Robbie awkwardly shrugging in our direction.

Silence befalls us as we sit on the floor; my ass bone probably bruised from the landing.

Parker, despite the redness on his face, is the first to laugh. “So, Brendan Gib-”

“Don’t you dare Parker. Don’t you dare.”

[ladyoftheshrimp]

Percival & Newt get hit by a spell that shrinks them (bowtruckle or ant size?) In the ensuing chaos, the aurors lose their director and his boyfriend. Panic! President Picquery is going to kill them! Director Scamander will behead them! Meanwhile director and boyfriend are just trying escape Tina's messy drawer full of late reports and trash. How did they get in there anyway?

The beauty of young love was thestolen kisses when nobody was around. Or rather when it was assumed that nobodywas around and frankly the aurors were a little sick and tired of walking in onPercival and Newt springing apart with flushed cheeks whenever they entered aroom. So a prank was in order to perhaps let them know that the work place andsomeone else’s desk was no place to suddenly start making out no matter thefact they were alone and very much in love.

“You sure it won’t do any long term damage?”Fontaine asked with a slightly worried look.

“Relax, it’s a jinx my little cousin taught me overa firecall, they use it in Ilvermorny all the time. Even the first years. Allit will do is shrink their junk for 12 hours,” the reassurance from Delgadoeased the group a little. They sneaked closer to the bullpen which was emptysave for Newt and Percival thanks to it being lunch hour. The aurors were notdisappointed when they cracked the door open a touch. Their boss had Newtpushed against Goldstein’s desk and it was impossible whose tongue was shoveddown whose throat but it was more than anyone wanted to see. Delgado pushed hiswand through the gap and whispered the spell. A light blue light sped towardsthe unaware couple. There was a weak pop and the aurors began to laugh as theypoured into the bullpen. They pulled up short. Delgado began to sweat. Newt andPercival were gone. With a panicked cry they rushed to the desk and began topush papers aside in the hopes of finding a clue as to where the two haddisappeared to.

“They didn’t apparate!” O’Brien cried.

“It was safe. Jimmy told me it was an easy andsimple trick,” Delgado moaned as he pushed things aside in a frantic search.

“Boss is going to kill us.”

“Boss needs to be here to kill us first. It’s boss’boss I’m worried about,” White joined in the fray.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Delgado collapsed onto the deskalmost in tears and buried his face in his hands, “Director Scamander iscoming for a meeting. What are we going to say to him?”

“Say to who?” Tina asked from the doorway, puzzledwhy a group of her colleagues had made such a mess of her desk and were all butcrying over it. They stared at her in mute horror.

“Nothing. Nothing. Nobody must know. Everything isfine. Everyone. Let’s go see boss in his office,” Delgado marched intoPercival’s office and the other followed. Tina frowned at their backs as shebegan to tidy up her desk and pushed the drawer closed with her hip.

Inside the office the aurors rounded on Delgado asone.

“What are we doing here?” Fontaine hissed.

“We can’t let anyone know we accidentally made theboss vanish. We’ll have to figure out a way to head people off, cancel hismeetings until we have him back.”

“And if we never get him back?” someone from theback asked.

“Hush. That kind of negative thinking will nothelp. He’d not dead. We haven’t killed him or Newt. They’re simply on…aholiday. Yes. They decided they needed time together away from work. If anyoneasks they’re madly in love and on holiday together.”

People around Delgado nodded until O’Brien pointedout the protocol for taking holidays. There was nothing for it. They were goingto have to act like Percival was very busy. The aurors were going to pretend tobe him when it came to paperwork while heading off meetings and anyone whowanted to see him or Newt. Easy.

———-

While their panic was ongoing and they werehatching plans to deceive MACUSA, Percival was blinking spots from his visionas he sat up. It was half dark, smelt of wood, ink and some other things hedidn’t want to name. Part of him panicked he was back in the cell Grindelwaldhad held him in but a quick glance around settled those fears in favour ofanother. Newt was sprawled a little way away in a haphazard pile.

Percival rushed over to him and gently rolled himonto his back. Soft huffs of breath and a light moan reassured him that Newtwas very much in the world of the living and he sighed in relief. By the timehe remembered what to do with an unconscious person Newt was stirring and allthat was left was to gently hold him through it.

“This is novel,” Newt’s words were a little thickwith disorientation but his eyes quickly cleared. “Where are we?”

“Not a clue. I woke up a few minutes ago. It smellsvile though,” Percival rumbled, his voice pitched low in fear of threats unseenfinding them.

“Tell me about it.” Newt sniffed and sat upgingerly as he rubbed the side of his head. “I am not impressed with youraurors right now I must admit.”

“They’re not mine. I simply try to corral them intoan organised mess,” the replied was huffed out and defensive. It made Newtlaugh and he rubbed Percival’s arm in apology.

“Just joking. You up for some exploring?”

Together they picked their way through the gloomyworld they had found themselves in. The ground was slippery white of a textureneither of them had encountered before and Percival spelled their shoes to be alittle sticky. They walked for a few minutes before Newt stopped and stared atthe ground.

“Look,” he pointed, “it’s a largeletter “a” but it’s upside down.”

They walked around so it faced the correct way.Indeed it was an “a” much like one a typewriter would leave. It wasfollowed by more letters.

“-a loaf of bread,” Newt read out loud and lookedat Percival who walked along to keep reading.

“The damage was minimal as the spell was absorbedby the baked goods. Oh no,” Percival sat down and stared at Newt with mildhorror. “This is Goldstein’s report on the robbery that I sent back forher to rewrite. Look, it’s even got the typo circled in red like I tend to do.What hellhole is this?”

Any answer Newt could have given was cut off byPercival’s eyes going wide and he pointed in fright behind him. An inaudiblesilent scream left his lips and he shuffled backwards. Slightly worried Newtturned to see what he was pointing at and faced eight eyes blinking at him.

————-

“Where is Director Graves?” Seraphina’s voice heldas much patience as an erumpent in heat.

“He’s taken a late lunch,” Timmins said smoothly.She cursed the fact that it was her allocated hour of “boss protection”during which all the difficulties arose. A bead of sweat trickled down her backbut she didn’t move.

“A late lunch?”

“Yes ma’am, Delgado’s report took longer thanexpected to go through with him so Director Graves has taken a late lunch withMr. Scamander,” it sounded like a plausible excuse. Mostly.

“In all the time I’ve known Director Graves he hasnever taken a late lunch. If he worked through his lunch hour then he wouldplough on through until the end of the day.”

Timmins gulped and tried to send the President asmall smile full of unsaid things as she muttered “it’s the wonders ofyoung love”. It seemed to do the trick, Seraphina’s face softened and shenodded.

“About time too,” she agreed, “when he getsback please have him send up the monthly figures.”

Timmins sighed a breath of relief as the presidentswept out of the bullpen. Immediately the others swarmed around her.

“Why did you have to say it was my report that madehim late?” Delgado demanded.

“You got us into this mess so you take all theblame. Now what figures could Picquery possibly want?” They all bundled intoPercival’s office to try and figure out just what they needed to buy themselvesmore time.

———-

“Hello there,” Newt greeted the spider thatadvanced towards them menacingly. “We’re just a little lost, sorry to bein your territory, we’ll be out only in a minute.”

The giant spider either didn’t understand or didn’tcare. Its eyes fixed on Newt and Percival who had stood up and was pointing hiswand at the creature. The mandibles clicked, they were big enough to easilywrap around either of their waists and crush them into a tasty snack.

“We mean no harm,” Newt’s hands were up, trying toplacate what was rapidly turning from creature to monster and they slowlybacked away. Percival fired a spell that fizzled against the creature butseemingly had no impact. It lunged and Newt turned to push Percival.

“Run!” he cried and they took off at a mad dash,the sound of eight legs galloping after them sent chills down their spines.

“That way!” Percival veered to the left suddenlyand dragged Newt with him. They skidded to a stop behind a hairy lump andleaned against it to catch their breath. Upon closer examination their hideoutwas a dead fly, its wing crunched under their shoes like fresh snow.

“Back away slowly, hopefully it will opt for aneasy meal,” Newt whispered and together they took slow steps away from the deadfly they had been leaning against. The swish-slap-thunk of the spiderapproaching slowed and they listened to the mandibles click a few times beforethey squelched into the fly. Neither of them wanted to hang around to watchthat and they moved further away from the scene as quietly as possible.

————-

The day drew to a close and the aurors heaved asigh of relief. While they’d had no luck locating Percival and Newt, not evenhidden in the man’s office to cast locating spell after revealing charm, atleast they’d survived the day with nobody realising that they were gone. Thenext day was going to be more difficult. Word was that Director Scamander wasarriving.

———–

The darkness grew thicker around them and theambient noises that Newt and Percival had at first ignored died down too. Itwas their absence that made them realise they existed in the first place.

“Where do you think we are?” Newt asked. Allafternoon they’d been moving through the landscape. It never got any brighter,there was no sign of other humans. Aside from Goldstein’s report as theircarpet, the spider and its fly they’d reached the end of their prison. A woodenwall which they followed until they hit a corner with a few crumbs in it.Nothing appealing and water was more important than food but it was better thannothing. As the silence ate away at them they returned to the pile of whatmight have been napkins. A few had mustard like stains on them but there were afew clean ones that they wrapped up in for warmth.

“Given all we’ve seen, I would guess we’re inGoldstein’s desk drawer. We were leaning against it before we woke up here.Question is how did this all happen?”

Newt sighed and tapped his wand. It let out alittle fizzle of sparks but neither of their magic seemed to want to workproperly. In their twilight world they huddled together and tried to sleep.

———

It was Delgado who took the early shifton “boss protection”. He was in slightly before Percival would normally beand sorted through the day’s schedule. The meetings he could he sent apologiesfor but there was one the seemed inevitable. Director Scamander was scheduledfor a lunch hour meeting with both Percival and Newt. He cursed the lack offoresight in not keeping strands of their hair and a pre-brewed polyjuicepotion. Perhaps when it was all over he would make the suggestion and oversee theimplementation of the policy.

People trickled in, those in the know shot himglances and when it was possible word was spread about the imminent disaster.It struck sooner than expected. Shortly after 10am the door to the bullpenopened and in strode Newt’s brother. The guilty group froze and looked at eachother in a panic. There was no denying that Newt wasn’t there. To make mattersworse Picquery stood behind him.

“At ease,” she said and people went back to whatthey were meant to be doing. Or tried to. They watched in horror as the two newarrivals made a beeline for Percival’s room, knocked on the door and opened it.They stood and stared into the room before turning as one.

“Where is Director Graves?”

There was no denying it. No early lunch, no younglove with Newt, no claims of being on holiday. Silence reigned.

“I will ask again. Where is your director?”Picquery’s tone brooked.

“He’s not here,” Delgado finally croaked out.

“I can see that,” Picquery’s anger wasrising, “hence I asked where he is.”

“I don’t know Madam President. I’ve not seen himsince yesterday lunchtime. In fact I don’t think anyone has,” Tina piped up.The aurors stared at her with abject hate. They were definitely done for now.

“You see, what had happened,” Timmins began.

“There was a little accident,” O’Brien cut in.

“What we mean is that everything is under control,”Delgado tried to add. It was a cacophonous mess and Picquery clapped to shutthem all up.

“You mean to tell me that Director Graves has notbeen seen since yesterday lunch time? Where is Newt Scamander?”

Nobody dared look her in the eye.

“After last year, don’t you know any better?” shechastised.

“What have you done to my brother?” Theseusgrowled, low and threatening.

“It was an accident!” Fontaine cried. “And itwas all Delgado’s fault. He was the spell.”

All eyes fell on Delgado who stammered and tried toshrink in on himself.

“Care to explain?” Seraphina asked in a dangerouslysoft tone. Delgado nodded and began to stumble through what had happened the daybefore. When he got to the bit about Tina’s desk she looked up sharply.

“Is that why you all were going through my desk?”

Heads nodded shamefully red faced. Despite herselfTina let out a scoff and threw some papers on her desk. They knocked her coffeeover and it began to spill everywhere. She tried not to curse in front of thepresident and esteemed guest but it was a close call. Instead she yanked openher draw and grabbed the napkins she’d put in there from the time’s she’dwandered back from lunch with a hotdog in her hand.

There was a crack and a blue light. Followed by acreak, another larger crack and the sound of something heavy falling. Peopleblinked at the desk which was in pieces on the floor. On top of it Newt andPercival were huddled up and blinked blindly into the brightness of the room.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Newtcommented before levering himself up from the floor and pulling Percival uptoo.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter two

Chapter Two: Basil

 He always comes and bothers her when she’s trying to get some work done.

Penn deliberately tip-toes around Ashton when he’s deeply in the throes of studying, placing little juice glasses at his elbow and sliding a plate of homemade garlic bread when he lets out a particularly frustrated fuck this shit goddamn out into the crisp air.

(She learned early on that small gestures like that were the best way to deal, considering that asking him how things were going was greeted with either glares and discontented mumbles or an hour-long lecture on how absurd higher education is that she really didn’t have the time to listen to.)

But, no. He can’t return the favor.

Always poking his fucking head in the small greenhouse on the terrace – an attachment that Penn had to beg the landlord to fund, with the promises of fresh fruits and veg year-round – when she’s trying to keep to her watering schedule.

He’ll sneak up on her and stick his cold nose on her neck, causing her to slosh the watering can’s contents all down her front, or tell her that she’s got something on her face when she’s pulling weeds, smearing dirt on her cheek when she turns to look at him.

And she’ll go to try to wipe it off and only make it worse, because her hands are already covered with soil, and he just stands there and sniggers at her.

Five years old in a grown man’s body.

So, Penn really shouldn’t be surprised when she’s yanked backwards by the suspenders on her gardening overalls, then, but she stumbles anyway, a yelp escaping her lips as her trowel goes flying off into the bed beside her.

“Fuck, Penn, get a hold of yourself!”

He says it with a smile tracing the words, the bastard.

She turns around, whacking him in the chest – which admittedly hurts her hand more than it should have – and relishing in his wince of pain, even though Penn knows it’s been faked.

Ashton’s hair’s a bit more mussed than usual, which is saying something, but it’s also a bit, well, different.

She steps closer to him, straddling the rows of soil, and squints. “Did you get a haircut?”

Reflexively, his hand goes up to shuffle through it, and there’s a touch of uncertainty on his face, too, which Penn finds quite strange.

“Well, not just one hair. Quite a few, I think.”

She turns back around, ignoring that poor excuse for a dad joke, and starts to pick up the beets she’s been unearthing and tosses them into the colander sitting on the gravel path.

“It looks good. What’s up? You never bother me unless it’s something importan - oh, wait.”

She lets the end of the sentence drawl off lazily, stretching the kinks out of her spine.

Hearing his bark of laughter behind her, Penn smiles to herself - a secret little grin that only tilts up the corners of her mouth – but she makes sure not to let him see. It would go straight to his head.

Excitement laces his voice as he says, “It’s autumn now. First day and all, and it’s getting nice and brisk outside, and I thought we could maybe go out and get coffee and such.”

He ends the thought firmly, much more of a statement than a question, because he and Penn both know she’s definitely going to say yes.

It’s autumn. The season of pumpkin-spice and cinnamon and chai and anise and rich, earthy flavors that send Penn’s head spinning in the best possible way.

The way the sunlight filters through the panes of glass forming the walls of the greenhouse hides the truth of the colder winds, Penn soon finds out, as she and Ashton step over the threshold and back out onto the terrace, making their way towards Penn’s flat.

They hunch towards each other instinctively, elbows brushing, and Penn’s regretting the thin long-sleeve she’s got on now. Ashton kicks the back of her foot accidentally, muttering, “oops,” and Penn just nudges her elbow into his ribs.

The colander of beets is dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter, to be washed later, and Cardy opens one bleary eye from where she and Clove are lying on the day’s mail.

Penn clucks her tongue at them after letting herself relish in the warmer atmosphere, and Clove’s tongue lolls out.

She decides right then and there to take them along, so she opens a drawer in the kitchen and throws two leads in Ashton’s general direction.

He catches them in the face.

“I’m assuming we’re taking the scamps with us today, then?”

She mumbles out a yes around the scarf she’s got gripped between her teeth, caught up in searching for her mittens and hat, and Ashton huffs, getting down on his knees to complete the task. Found, mittens, hat, and scarf get tossed onto the counter beside the beets as Penn exchanges her gardening clogs for proper boots, lacing them up as fast as she can.

“Okay, ready,” she says, slipping hands through the sleeves of her coat, flipping her hair out from where it’s caught under her collar, and pulling on the necessary woolen accessories.

“Jesus, it’s just a walk, not a march to death-row!”

Ashton’s practically lying on the floor, wrestling with Clove in vain to clip the lead onto his collar. Penn shares a look with Cardy, who’s already prepped and perked up considerably, considering that the word walk generally means a treat of some sort.

Finally, what seems like ages later, a sudden click and an exclamation of victory lets Penn know that Ashton’s caught himself a pup.

Of course, Clove soon catches on to the concept of treats himself and practically drags all of them down the five flights of stairs leading to the outside world.

The Shelties trot along happily in front of Ashton and Penn, pausing every so often to snuffle along an interesting piece of pavement, giving them a good leisurely pace at which to wander along to their favorite bakery.

When they go out together – which isn’t often, considering that Ashton’s classes and her work schedule aren’t really cohesive – he’s an idiot.

And by an idiot, Penn, of course, means that he’s an absolute child. Always grabbing at her hand and pointing at something shiny and colourful that catches his attention, or hunching over to whisper more terrible dad jokes in her ear, eyebright and full of laughter. So much, that they get stopped on the streets and asked where they met and how long they’ve been together.

He usually butts in before Penn can answer, twining their fingers together and inventing a convoluted story on the spot about how he rescued her from a burning building or something like that.

(She doesn’t actually know what he says. She usually tunes out his tales and instead concentrates on how his hand flexes in her own and how his eyebrows smush together after she pinches his side.)

There’s a lot of ridiculous pet names, too, normally. Things like sweetums, honeycakes, and muffin, to name a few. Generally gag-inducing and sugary enough to rot some molars.

And when she wrinkles her nose at his blatant overacting, he just smiles back at his, dimples poking into his cheeks as he prods her nose with a finger. Which she, of course, bites.

(He always fakes a grimace and ruffles her hair, much to the amusement of the inquirer.)

Eventually, when some nice young girls a few years younger than them ask the inevitable question – after they had entered the shop and Ashton had plucked off Penn’s beanie and shoved it crookedly on his own head, mirroring his slanted smile - Penn takes a stand.

Ashton’s momentarily distracts by the display of scones in the bakery’s shelves, so she jumps in immediately, rattling off their usual order and then turning back to the girls.

“I saved him from drowning,” she says, entirely serious, fingers curled around her customary to-go cardboard cup of cocoa.

And, it’s true, too.

Well, sort of.

They gasp and begin to press her for more information, but she holds up a hand to her mouth and tells them that he sometimes gets flashbacks, so she can’t really say much more while he’s around. They’re out of the door long before he straightens up again, and Penn’s sure that he’s left a few more fingerprints on the glass cases.

The current worker in the shop – Lord’s Oven, as the locals know it – already has their order memorized and boxes it up within minutes. She thanks Michael, complimenting him on the stripe of blue he’s recently added into his hair, and picks up the simple white box, carrying it over to a table situated right on the edge of the outdoor patio area that the shop recently opened.

The scent of lemon-poppyseed muffins and pumpkin ginger-snap biscuits wafts up from the opened box, and Penn smiles when she sees that Michael’s thrown in a few slices of the spiced upside-down apple bundt cake for free.

He’s a sweet kid, really, for his slightly daunting exterior.

Ashton’s already reaching one large paw in, not a hint of manners about him as he practically tears through the pretty packaging ribbon still trapped around the edges, and Penn smacks his hand away. She shushes him as he begins to protest, and then he frowns down at the top of her head, grumbles,  and steals a sip of her peppermint hot chocolate.

Prat.

  Ironically enough, it was the first day of autumn, two years prior, that they’d met. Not the autumn that it always says on the calendars, the date that comes and goes with little mention. No, the real first day of autumn that steals the breath from your lungs and hands it up for the brisk wind to waltz around the burning trees.

It was a day that caught Penn by surprise, as many of the season-changes do. She’s out on the terrace, sweeping up and trying to keep the new space clean.

Looking at the little dial on the watch that she’ll eventually lose in a month, she sees that it’s her one-week anniversary of moving into this rooftop flat, and her brush-work gets a bit more chipper.

It’s exhilarating, being out on her own for the first time in what feels like ages, getting a proper job and a proper start at a new life.

Penn’s shuffling about with her broom, clearing away the cobwebs and dead leaves left from the lack of inhabitants, trying to scope things out up here. She hasn’t had time to explore the outdoor space all week, considering the long hours she’s been working at the restaurant. The terrace itself can’t be very large. It spans a small gap in between the neighboring flat and hers, but, as she puts up her thumb to judge the distance, she thinks that there might be room for a small greenhouse.

Maybe only big enough for two benches or raised beds, but that’s definitely enough to grow her own herbs and maybe start a small veg patch, something that Gran would definitely approve of.

“Fresh is best,” she would say, puttering about her own blocks of tilled soil in her back lot, warden of the tiny gravel-bed streets that wound their way around her city of plants. The bean trellises were skyscrapers to Penn’s young eyes, leafy towers that sprung out of the ground like green magic, and the tomato cages exotic, with the circles of metal modern art.

Penn’s knack lies in more of the preparation of the food rather than its cultivation, really, but Gran’s taught her enough that she’s reasonably sure she could handle a rooftop garden of her own.              

If she can wield a boning knife, a trowel shouldn’t be much harder. Right?

There’s another small pile of last season’s leaves resting just where the bend in the building occurs, an architectural addendum that gives her at least a modicum of privacy from the person residing in the flat across the way.

She’s yet to meet them – whoever they may be, she doesn’t have a fucking clue except a pair of black wellies abandoned by their slider door – but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Penn’s more of a loner to be quite frank. She’s a singular in a world of plurals.

Peas and carrots.

Cookies and cream.

Prosciutto and melon.

Thinly sliced duck liver and braised sweet onions.

And then there’s Penn.

And she is quite alright with that. After all, she’s got her own little plural to look after, a gift from Gran, although she doesn’t even know where the idea of getting two small dogs for a nineteen year-old grandchild would ever come from.

But, yes, sadly on some days and happily on others, Penn’s the mother of a pair of Shetland sheepdog pups, a brother and sister named Clove and Cardamom respectively.

(Right now, they’re just settling into their middle teens – in human years – so Penn’s got to keep a sharp eye out for any mischief.)

She can see Clove through the sliding glass doorway, slouching about on their shared rug by the kitchen counter, his impression of a dead log spot-on. But Cardy, who had been trotting around outside with her, exploring her new domain, is nowhere in sight. Quickly gathering up the last of the leaves, Penn puts away the broom just as the first few trickles of rain start to come out of the sky.

“Fuck.”

And that pretty much sums up her feelings on the downpour that drenches anything and everything still stupid enough to be outside in the seconds that follow.

But, even after much calling and wheedling and shaking the treat bag, Penn’s forced to return outside into the deluge to physically locate her wayward dog.

The terrace itself is shaped in a sort of ‘L,’ the only difference from the letter being that the angle of the actual space is quite a bit greater, more of an obtuse shape. Penn can see most of the patio and a good expanse of the neighboring flat from her spot at the kitchen door, but there’s still a blind spot right where the corner occurs.

With a deeply heaved sigh that’s got Clove staring up at her worriedly, Penn tugs on her own pair of wellies – brown with bears speckled all over them - and pulls on a mac, striding out into the torrent.

It’s the kind of rain that intends on getting its victim as drenched as possible, throwing all sorts of tricks about so it can slide under a hood, glue long strands of hair to the back of a neck, freeze the tips of fingers. Penn digs her heels in, gritting her teeth, as the wind gives a particularly violent gust, pushing her into the wall.

Grabbing the corner for support, Penn goes to round it, intending on finding Cardy if it’s the last thing she’ll do. And it might be, considering the storm seems to have ricocheted up the scale from heavy downpour to raging sea squall.

However, something’s blocking the path that her legs had intended to take, and Penn falls forward, eye clenched shut and palms out. She’s fully prepared for the stinging grit coating her hands, imprinting into her skin in angry patterns.

Instead, her hands hit something – remarkably – warm and very much animate, judging by the whoosh of breath that’s let out, catching her left ear.

Her fingers flex in with shock, nails digging into skin, and a hand curls its way around her wrist.

“Ouch.”

It’s a person.

Her neighbor, she can only assume.

Her neighbor, lying half-naked on a plastic lawn chair, apparently deciding that the middle of the rainstorm is the perfect time to go sunbathing.

“Hello. ‘M Ashton. I live just across the way.”

The voice, a mid-baritone, comes from the area above her head, and she nods, carefully extricating herself from where she’s laying on top of him and trying not to stare. Which she fails at tremendously.

(But it’s really not her fault.)

Hazel eyes blink up at her, rainwater coating the lashes and turning them a dark honey colour, just two or three shades darker than his hair, which, though being plastered against his forehead, appears to be wavy and unruly in the best of circumstances.

A dimple pops out of his cheek, drawing her attention to his mouth and a crooked grin.

Fuck.

“And you are…?”

“Penn, I’m Penn Bunting. Have you seen my dog?”

Surprisingly, Ashton nods, reaching one long – tanned, muscular, God – arm underneath the chair and drawing out a damp Cardamom, who looks more like a rat than a dog at this point.

She gives Penn a pitiful, apologetic look, but Penn’s having none of that, thank you, and frowns back down at her, already preparing a scolding in her head.

But the neighbor’s talking again, and she vaguely registers that he’s got an Australian accent.

“Are you cold? You should get your dog back inside. The weather’s absolutely dreadful.”

There’s a horribly long moment where she just stares at him in shock, completely baffled, and then her mouth starts moving before she can stop it because it’s either talking or uncontrollable laughter.

“I mean, I’m at least wearing a mac and boots! You need to get inside, before you catch pneumonia and die or something. What are you even doing out here anyway?”

He shrugs, sitting up from his prone position, skin obviously paler than normal due to the extended exposure to the elements. Already, Penn knows that he’ll be much taller than her once he stands, given how close his head is to her shoulders right now. “Just, uh, hanging out, I guess. I like the rain. It’s rejuvenating. And, anyway, I’ve got a hot bath drawn, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

She’s almost tempted to ask if he’s got little floral-scented soaps and floating tea candles too, but Penn doesn’t know him nearly well enough yet for that sort of teasing, which is why she surprises herself when she blurts out, “I make omelets most mornings. For breakfast. And tea, too. You’re welcome to come over sometime, if you’d like.”

Apparently, she surprises him, too, because he trips over the leg of the chair as he’s turning back to his flat. His hand flies up to ruffle the back of his head, and Ashton begins to nod cautiously, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good…definitely sometime.”

He waves at her, a manly shake of the wrist, and Penn tries to smile back, inwardly cringing at her lack of social etiquette – who invites a half-naked man to breakfast after falling on top of him? – and the feeling of Cardy wriggling and dripping water down the front of her mac.

(When she gets back to the flat, however, stripping down to her knickers – the rain’s soaked through practically everything, so she’s doing this for warmth – and grabbing a blanket to wrap herself in and a towel to rub Cardy down with, she doesn’t expect to see a porch light on across the other side of the terrace and a dark head peering through a window.)

(And she certainly doesn’t expect Ashton to pop by in three days’ time, bringing a carton of orange juice and a blush in his cheeks, because – didn’t she mention? – Penn’s casually flipping the eggs in her bra and a pair of men’s boxer shorts.)

  She gets knocked out of the daze of memories quite literally. Clove’s tangled himself around one of the legs of her chair and spotted a flock of doves. Her chair shakes violently, tilts onto two legs, and Penn has to pinwheel her arms furiously to stabilize herself.

Ashton chuckles, collecting their napkins and waste, settling the leftovers back into the box neatly, and tying the ribbon back up in a reasonable approximation of a bow.

The joke’s on him though, because he’s got a nice little froth’stache sitting on his upper lip, and she’s definitely going to let him walk around with that for a bit. Maybe she won’t even tell him at all.

They keep walking down the sidewalk, taking a few turns here and there until the dogs begin to recognize the area and tug on the leashes. Here there are tree-cages lining the streets, providing a red-gold overhanging archway of foliage. The door they stop in front of – for all that it and the rest of the facade looks like any other building on the well-maintained street – gives Penn a buzz of excitement that travels under her skin, a mild electric shock.

The bay window, full to bursting with leafy ferns and looking like a veritable hothouse in the middle of the city, gives no other indication as to what might lie in wait inside the flat. Penn shifts the bakery box underneath her left arm, passing over Cardy’s lead to Ashton, who accepts it gamely.

He’s as full of eagerness as the dogs, just as bright-eyed and enthusiastic. The moustache is gone now, evaporated, and that’s probably for the best, considering who they’re visiting.

She reaches forward and grasps the patina-coated knocker, rapping it firmly against the wood of the door twice, before leaning back on her heels and waiting.

A solid three minutes pass before it slowly creaks open to admit them, and Penn feels like she’s four years-old all over again, staring at the entranceway with unwarranted anticipation.

“Well, are you just going to stand there like a pair bloody loons, or are you going to come inside?”