#see her partner the following weekend and ask 'did she like the soup?'

[mypartoftown]

.

[holdupjack]

Sick

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

WARNING: None

——————

Hermione's P.O.V:

7th Year

I wasn't surprised when my girlfriend didn't show up for breakfast, it happens many times due to her very bad sleeping habits.

So, I didn't think much of it as I studied for the test in an upcoming class and ate my toast.

After breakfast, my Friday morning went on normally as I zipped from class to class.

When lunch rolled around, I did find it immediately strange that Y/n was nowhere in sight when I entered the Great Hall.

"Hermione! There you are!" I hear, and I see Y/n's dorm mate walk up to me.

"I've been looking for you all morning! Y/n wanted me to tell you that she's not going to classes today" they say and I furrow my brows in confusion.

"The poor thing has caught that nasty chest flu that's been going around! She moved herself into the spare dorm so no one else would get sick" they say as their eyes seem to catch someone behind me.

"Tell Y/n I hope she feels better, bye!" They say as they disappear into the sea of students coming and going.

I bite my lip and walk over to the space between Harry and Ginny.

"You look anxious," Ginny says as I take a bowl and fill it with the daily soup that is made as a lunch option.

"I'm not anxious, it's just Y/n is sick with that dreaded chest flu," I say and Ron snickers like a little kid.

"You two have been dating for two years, yet you still get nervous about a simple cold" he laughs out and I roll my eyes as I grasp a small plate for myself.

"Pardon me, for caring about my partner," I say and he just continues to chuckle.

"That chest flu is rough though, Neville has it," Harry says and I hum sadly.

I know it's just a cold, but I can't help but feel bad for my Y/n.

"It should only last for a couple of days," Ginny says and I sigh softly.

"That's good, I'll see you guys next week then," I say and Ron furrows his eyebrows.

"What? Aren't you coming to our Quidditch match Sunday?" He asks and I roll my eyes again as I use a quick flick of my wand to have the dishes float and follow me.

"If Y/n feels better, then maybe," I say and he groans.

"She's seventeen Hermione, she's not a little kid that needs to be taken care of" he grumbles and I glare at him.

Ron quickly shuts down and pushes his food around with his fork.

I hum and bid the other two farewell as I walk out of the Great Hall, the food following me close behind.

It didn't take me long to get to the empty dormitory that Y/n was using. I could sadly hear her when I walked into the common room.

As I got closer to the room, a loud coughing fit erupts from behind the door, I wait patiently until she was done.

I can't help but grimace from how hard and airy her cough is.

When she was finally done, all I hear is a soft:

"ow"

I knock on the door and hear Y/n clear her throat.

"Come in"

I open the door and peek inside to find my Y/n laying on one of the beds and I frown.

"Hello my love," I say as the food floats past me and onto the side table next to her.

"You didn't have to bring me food," she says as her voice cracks and disappears throughout the sentence.

"Shush," I say as I close the door behind me and take a seat on the desk chair next to the bed.

"I don't want you to get sick" she mumbles, her eyes small and glossy as I lean down and peck her forehead.

Fever.

"I have a much better immune system than you, my lovely" I whisper back as I sit back up.

"No, you don't! I hate when you get sick, you get pinchy and bitey" she mumbles and I laugh.

"Bitey?" I ask as I hold the soup out for her to take, she sits up with a small groan.

"Yes, bitey! You kept chomping on my open skin when I was taking care of you during your strep throat episode! It was like fighting off a feral cat" she grumbles and I can't help but laugh.

"I'm sorry my lovely" I mumble as she takes the food from my hands.

"You know I love you, even with your sick-biting antics" she mumbles back and I chuckle.

"You can bite me back this weekend," I say without thinking, and Y/n smirks as she takes a spoonful of the soup.

"Don't threaten me with a good time" she sniffles out and I roll my eyes playfully.

"How are you feeling?" I ask as I place my bag, filled with my work and books, onto her desk.

"Like I got punched in the lungs and smacked with a steel pan on my head" Y/n coughs out as she covers her mouth and looks away from me.

I lean over and run a hand through her hair as I scoot the chair closer to the bed.

"I'm sorry you feel so crummy my dove" I mumble as she puts down her soup on the desk.

"You should eat," I say and she just hums, laying back down and letting my hand wander through her hair.

"Later" she whispers as her eyes shut immediately.

I smile as I lean down and kiss the top of her dozing head, letting it linger for a moment before sitting back up.

Time seemed to go by fast, as a few minutes turn into an hour, of me running my fingers against her scalp.

But, a part of me needed to do something. I can't just sit and stare at my girlfriend all day.

Even if it is my favorite activity.

After another moment of staring at her chest, to make sure she's still breathing, I stand up and begin to clean up around the bed.

Picking up tissues and a bottle of water she had probably dropped, I throw it all into the bin.

Taking a seat back on the desk chair, I take out some of my books and tried to work on something to pass the time.

Yet my eyes kept shifting over to Y/n's sleeping form as I eat a grape from the plate of food I grabbed for myself.

I flip through the pages I marked and scan the material.

Another hour must have gone by with my failed attempt at studying and my eyes continuously flicker back to Y/n.

Eventually, I did get sucked into the chapter.

Until I feel fingertips land on my thigh, which caused me to smile.

"Watch those hands Ms.Y/l/n" I chuckle out and she groans unhappily.

I laugh and slip my hand into hers, she immediately pulls it towards her face and rests her cheek on the back of my hand.

Trapping me in an uncomfortable sideways leaning position.

"My love?" I laugh and she just groans again as her other hand comes out from the blanket.

She grabs the bottom of the chair and pulls it right up against the bed, which at least saved me from begin hunched over any longer.

As I look over at my, now far away, studying material; I feel a sudden pain that causes me to hiss.

"Ow! Y/n! Did you just bite my hand?!" I ask in surprise and she laughs, into a hard cough obviously, and she turns away from me quickly.

I pull my hand away and rub the small bite mark on the side of my hand.

"You said I could!" She wheezes out between coughs and I roll my eyes.

"Not like a hungry carnivore," I say and she turns back to me with a grin.

"All have you know, you taste like hand sanitizer and that coco butter you put on your skin...which no carnivore is trying to eat" she mumbles and I laugh softly.

She lays back down and holds out her hand for me again, which I ignore.

"I'm not getting bit again, it hurt"

"How do you think I feel?"

"In my defense, I don't remember biting you," I say and Y/n rolls her eyes.

"Hermione, stop fighting the sick." She says and I hum softly, stupidity taking her hand.

"If you bite me again, I'm punching the sick," I say and she just laughs.

"Yada, Yada, Yada" she mumbles as my hand goes back to being trapped between her head and hand.

Y/n was quick to fall asleep again as I was figuring out how to use my one hand to move everything to the edge of the desk.

I sigh and mindlessly let my fingers rub the side of her head, as I try to study again.

Luckily, by the time dinner rolled around, I had somehow gotten free and was trying to wake her.

"Y/n? Dove? Are you hungry?" I ask as I stand up and grab my plate and the old cold soup from lunch.

She gives me a quiet 'no' and I frown.

"What if I got some of the elf's handmade crackers? And some juice? Then will you eat?" I ask and she just hums.

"I'll take that as a maybe" I whisper as I walk over to the door and look back at my girlfriend.

My heart squeezes lightly as I look at her poor body shaking under the mountain of blankets.

"I'll be back my lovely," I say, and I just get a small snore in return.

I quickly make my way out of the dorm.

——————

Y/n's P.O.V:

When I awoke, it was pitch black in the room.

"I've gone blind" I whisper in a panic, until I see a soft glow of the night sky shine as the curtains flap open for a moment.

"Never mind, I've gone even more stupid" I whisper as I sit up with a groan.

I rest my back on the headboard and sigh softly, my adjusting eyes scanning the room.

It's freezing in here.

Freezing like a winter snowstorm.

Snow turns into water.

Water goes back into the clouds.

Then it rains.

...

Now I have to pee.

"Damn my thought process"

With another groan, I swing my legs onto the side, and let my feet hit the cold floors.

"Here we go" I whisper as I push myself up into a standing position.

Only to fall back onto to bed just as quickly.

"I've aged sixty years" I sigh as I try again.

This time I find success!

My hand lands on the bedpost as I slowly make my way toward this dormitory bathroom.

Thank Merlin I thought about toiletries before moving myself in here.

As I make my way to the center of the room, my head gets lightheaded and my legs feel weak.

"Ope, going down" I whisper as I slowly lay my body on the ground.

I sigh as the cold floor feels nice against my burning skin.

Still cold though.

"Guess I'll lay here" I mumble as my eyes shut.

——————

When my consciousness awakes to the sound of a door opening.

"Bloody hell, Y/n? Love! Are you alright?!" I hear fast footsteps approach me and a hand checks my pulse.

"Not dead, dizzy" I mumble and a sigh of relief hits the back of my head as they lean down and kiss the top of my head multiple times.

"You're Hermione, right?" I question, the ringing in my ears causing me to be unsure.

"No, McGonagall"

Definitely Hermione.

I laugh softly as she presses one last kiss to my head as she rubs my back.

"Are you ready to get up?" She asks and I shake my head.

"Then, may I join you?" She asks, and I nod.

My throat hurts too much to talk.

It's like I deep-throated a pineapple.

Now that would be an impressive party trick.

I hear Hermione stand up and walk around the room for a minute or two.

A blanket is draped over me, soon she sneaks under the blanket and rests her head between my shoulder blades.

It's quiet as Hermione's fingertips trace the spot in front of her face. I almost fall asleep, until her voice rings in my ears.

"Get better, quicker" she mumbles and I chuckle.

"Getting tired of me already?" I whisper back.

"I like taking care of you my dear, I just don't like that you're not okay," she says as I hum.

"I love you" she whispers so quietly, that it almost seems like she was afraid that her words will make me worse.

"I love you too" I whisper back as her arm wraps over my back, and squeezes me.

"You know I'm not going to sleep, right?" She asks and I hum again.

"You know that I'm not going to stop breathing, randomly in my sleep?" I ask, and she just sighs.

"In my brain, I know that, but my heart and gut say otherwise" Hermione whispers as her lips reach up and kiss my neck, before going back to their original position.

"Thank you for caring," I say as my hand reaches down and rubs her back slowly.

"I'll always take care of you, my love," she says and I chuckle as I trace shapes softly on her back.

"Even if you are Minister of Magic?" I ask and a soft laugh comes from her lips.

"Do you think I'm just going to stop loving you if I ever get that position?" She asks and I laugh as well.

"Well I don't know, maybe you'll get it on with your secretary," I say and she snorts as her body vibrates against mine.

She laughs out a little and I could feel her smile form against me as she nuzzles her face against my back.

"Thank you for the laugh," she says and I hum.

"Will you promise to sleep?" I ask as my head pounds from the laughter.

"I'll try" she mumbles.

——————

No one's P.O.V:

She didn't.

Instead, Hermione counted how many breaths Y/n took and how many seconds were in between each one.

5,873 breaths (give or take some missed)

6-7 seconds in between.

Why did Hermione do this?

Who knows, all she knew is that it made her feel better.

Even though her girlfriend was just sick with a simple cold, it still calmed her to know Y/n was still breathing.

I guess it's just a common thing to do though, right?

When you love someone, you can't help but worry when they're sick.

People even go as far as watching, or hearing, to make sure the person they love is still breathing.

Hermione has done this multiple times also.

Her parents.

Harry and Ron.

Hell, even Crookshanks at one point.

But, she's NEVER stayed up and counted breaths.

Then again...

This is her girlfriend.

Her other half.

Her soulmate.

...

Even years later, still at each other's side, after fighting every kind of cold imaginable.

Hermione still counted breaths.

And Y/n still told her to go to bed and stop putting her death into the universe.

Hermione would just laugh and go about her night, taking care of her lover the best she could.

Y/n eventually caught on to her counting habits, and would just stay up with her.

As you can imagine, this didn't help with the cold.

And sleeping during the day, when Hermione was at work, freaked her out more than Y/n imagined it would.

So, Y/n didn't stay up again.

Instead, she let her wife take care of her the way she always had.

With nothing but love and care.

And a little bit of anxiety.

Even after all those years, Hermione loved her more than anything.

And Y/n couldn't help but smile when a cough or sniffle came from her body.

It meant that her wife would show her so much care, even though she was never awake to witness it.

[write-orflight]

Settle Down: Prologue

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader (kinda enemies to lovers) 

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: None, will be smut in eventual chapters

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N and Spencer don’t get along but turn to each other for the one thing you need someone else for... A baby. You can plantonically start a family, right?

A.N: this is a bad bio but idk how else to put it. it’s a baby fic! I wouldn’t say this is enemies to lovers but they certainly don’t like each other at first so it kinda is. comment on this chap or message to be on the taglist. much love, Cia

                Prologue:  A Powerpoint, Really? 

If you had told 16 year old Y/N that she’d be working at the FBI, she would’ve called you batshit. 

Not only, did you not have any respect for authority or any inclination for rules in that matter, working for the FBI was never in the forefront of your mind. But when given the option of Jail or a full time job with benefits, it was fairly easy to make a choice. You remember the first day when you met your work partner and now best friend Penelope Garcia or specifically the day she caught you. 

You were waiting tables like you did every weekend to stay afloat. Today was unreasonably slow so you were just finding small things to do. That’s when she came in, an extremely brightly dressed woman, sat at the bar of the diner. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” You smile at the woman who looks up at you and smiles. 

“Yes, I’m looking for the Emerald City.” She says, smirking at you. Your face drops, you knew what she was talking about. 

When you started hacking it was only supposed to be a one time thing. You grew up poor, spent most of your life poor so when you saw your childhood home was set to be demolished to build a fancy new headquarters for Scotty Realins, an upcoming asshole tech CEO, without a cent going to your parents.  Something in you snapped. You had already been pretty decent at code and you flirted with a couple of guys in your STEM classes to learn how to hack so you would say you were pretty good at this point. So you hacked into the website and made sure all the Revenue for that day actually was wired to lower-income housing. At the end of the day, it was only a couple hundred thousand dollars but what was pennies to Scotty Realins changed some people's lives. 

So you started doing it more, to different companies under the pseudonym OZ. The money always went to different places that needed it whether it was paying the rent for a bunch of families or anonymous large donations to food banks or soup kitchens. You gained a bit of fame in the hacker community as a modern day Robin Hood. 

All good things come to an end though. And the end was standing in front of you in clunky, rainbow colored jewelry. 

“You don’t look like a cop.” you say, crossing your arms. 

“I’ll do you one better.” She says, pulling her FBI badge out, showing it to you briefly. You curse under your breath. “I’ve been following you for a while, OZ. Though I wasn’t expecting the man behind the curtain to be a woman. I will say, having my computers route back to a loop of “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” everytime I tried to track your IP was impressive. I couldn’t even be mad about it.” 

“Clearly not that impressive because you found me.” 

“Still took me longer than usual, which is saying a lot.” 

“This is a really long winded conversation if you’re just here to arrest me.” You say, taking off your apron. No use in keeping it on if you were going to be in handcuffs soon. 

“That’s because I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to offer you a job, to work under me as a Tech Analyst in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” Penelope says. 

“And if I don’t want to?” 

“Then you’re going to want a lawyer and my very good handsome friend outside is going to arrest you. You’re smart and you have a chance to help people which is why you started hacking in the first place, right? Please don’t make me do that.” She looked at you pleadingly like she really cared and didn’t want you to go to prison. You didn’t say anything but something told you she’d been in the same boat as you before. 

“Hmmm…. I’m tired of waiting tables anyway.” 

So you uprooted your life and moved from Philadelphia to Quantico. Garcia took you under her wing and pretty soon the two of you functioned in her batcave like a well oiled machine. You could do without the constant gore that filled your screens but at the end of the day, you loved what you were doing and you wouldn’t change that for the world. 

The team was an added bonus, it was nice to have your own little found family. Garcia, of course, taking on the role as best friend mere days after your first meeting. You met Derek Morgan right after you agreed to take the job, he’d been there to arrest you and was very glad he wouldn’t have to do that. He told you often about how you reminded him of his sister and he regarded you in the role of younger sister from that day on. The next person you met had been Aaron Hotchner, your new boss. It took him a couple of weeks to warm up to you, you guessed he had a difficulty trusting new people and when he would call you guys for information he would always ask for Garcia instantly instead of you, not very trusting in your skills yet. Though that changed when you had been the one to track down the Unsub once. 

Rossi was easily won over when you told him about your Italian side of the family, specifically your grandmother who loved to cook and left you a lot of recipes. You and him often went back and forth in sharing dishes. Emily and JJ had also been easily won over with one bottle of tequila and a regrettable girls night. 

Then there was Dr. Spencer Reid.     

You had a lot of opinions on Dr. Reid, most of them weren’t good. It wasn’t like you hated him in fact, you’d consider him a friend but the two of you seemed to butt heads on well, everything. Both of you needing to be the smartest in the room and neither of you wanting to admit when you’re wrong will do that though. You still respected Spencer though, he was an extreme asset to the team and he was your best friend’s other best friend so you couldn’t really hate the guy. 

You also didn’t have to like him. 

So you had a good job, good friends, a nice house to live in. You were finally happy, content even. So why did it feel like something was missing? 

The something missing came in a stroller pushed by JJ the next week. 

The last case had been rough. Really rough. So while the team was on their way back you and Garcia hatched a plan for JJ to come visit from maternity leave and surprise everyone with the baby. While you guys were waiting for them to land, Garcia wanted to show JJ something she had gotten her godson so JJ asked if you could watch him and feed him until she got back, which you obviously agreed to. As you were feeding the child his bottle, and his ravioli sized fist wrapped around your finger you realized what had been missing. 

Fuck, you wanted a kid. 

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

You told Garcia first, it slipped when she noticed how off you were being. You wanted to have a kid bad now and you knew you didn’t want to wait. Penny tried to convince you that you’d “find the right person” but let’s face it, with this job, long term relationships were few and far inbetween. Plus you didn’t need a man, you had a good job and insurance, you knew you could provide a child with a life full of love it deserved. So you made an appointment at a fertility clinic. As the doctor was talking to you about your options, you felt yourself feeling more and more down about your decision and that only increased as you looked in the book of sperm donors in front of you. You looked at too many serial killers daily that it made you uneasy, carrying a stranger's baby. Maybe Garcia was right and your best bet was to wait for ‘the right guy.’ Even though you really didn’t want to. 

You walked into work later, a little sullen. Heading immediately towards the coffee machine. Penelope, who had been at Derek’s desk, makes a beeline towards you.  

“So how’d it go?” She says, smiling. “Did you make an appointment to be baby-fied?” 

You sigh. “I couldn’t do it, Pen.” You say, frowning. “I just-- We see so much here that I don’t want to accidentally end up with a sociopath’s baby because I couldn’t wait.” 

“But you don’t want to wait, do you?” She says softly, empathizing with you. 

“No, I don’t.” You sigh again, finishing making your cup before walking back out into the bullpen. JJ had brought Henry again for the others to see on the slow paperwork day. You tried not to look bitter but it was like she was flaunting the one thing you couldn’t have, even if it was unintentional. You watched as she handed the baby to Spencer, who instantly smiled and made faces at the laughing baby. 

“Spencer is actually a surprisingly good godfather.” Garcia says, smiling at the exchange in front of you. “Kinda makes you wonder what he’d be like with his own baby geniuses.” She says before walking over to the group and scooping her godson out of Spencer’s arms, Spencer still held on to his fist with his pinky, smiling down at the child. 

“Yea…” You say, to no one in particular. 

You had an idea. A probably bad one. 

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

You were sitting in the coffee shop, nervously fiddling on your laptop while waiting for Spencer. You were surprised he even agreed to meet with you for coffee though you were sure he was just doing it out of curiosity because you told him you had something important to talk about. You weren’t even sure if you were going about this the right way. Hey Spencer, I know we’re not even friends but how would you feel about fathering my child? God, this was going to be terrible. 

You looked up when you heard the tell-tale bell on the door indicating someone walking in. Spencer gave you a small wave before going to the counter to get a coffee. You took that time to nervously sip yours. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, it was now or never. 

“Hey.” Spencer says, when he finally gets to the table, coffee in hand. “Why are you all the way in the corner?” 

“This isn’t really a conversation I want overheard.” 

Spencer tilts his head confused at that. “So what is the conversation we’re supposed to be having. I asked Garcia but she seemed to also have no idea.” 

“Yea, I didn’t tell her on account of this maybe going extremely bad.” You say, before sighing and turning your laptop around so Spencer could see the Powerpoint screen you have on it. When he reads it,  he chokes on his coffee.

“A Powerpoint, really?” He chokes, still coughing around the coffee. “Y/N, what is this?” 

“This is Reasons Why You Should Make a Baby With me.” 

“Yea, I got that from the title, Y/N.” He says, still shocked. “Is this a joke?!” 

“I wish it was, Reid.”

“Can I at least ask why you thought a Powerpoint was the best way to ask?”   

“Because I felt you’d be more inclined to consider it if you knew I spent time on a presentation.” 

“That’s true.” He leans back, taking a sip of his coffee, gesturing for you to continue. You hit the next slide. 

“Ok, reason number one is we both want kids.” You say, looking at him. “Garcia told me the other day that you were talking about how much you wanted a kid and I also want a kid.”  

“I did tell Garcia that.” He muses. 

“Reason two, an offspring between us would probably result in another genius. As you know, you are smart.” 

“Yes.” 

“And I am smarter.” You say, Spencer opens his mouth to protest but you keep talking. “A child between us could probably be the next Einstein.” 

Spencer nods and you continue. “Reason three, I’d be a great mom.” 

“That’s a debatable fact.” 

“No, it’s not. You’ve seen me around kids, have I ever given an inclination that I wouldn’t be?” You ask, he shakes his head. “Plus, I happen to think you’d be a great father. Which brings me to Reason 4.” You say clicking through the next slide. “If you don’t want to be involved in raising that’s fine. I’m perfectly fine raising the child myself an--” 

“What?! No!” Spencer says, sitting up. “If I do agree to have this baby, which I’m not completely doing yet. I want to be involved, I want them to know I’m their father and that I didn’t abandon them because I know what that’s like.” He says, seriously. You nod, already knowing this about Spencer. 

“Reason 5: I’d be the perfect platonic co-parent, I won’t ask you for anything unless it’s pertaining to the child and if you decide that later down the road you want your own family, I’d be supportive and help you along the way.”

Spencer nods. “We’re never home enough for a baby.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong because I’ll be here. I mainly stay here anyway and if there’s ever a case where you need a tech analyst to fly out, Garcia’s already agreed to have it already be her when I floated the baby idea around last month.”  

Spencer hummed, silent for a second. “You really want a kid, huh?” 

“Yes.” You say. 

“So much so you’re asking me?” Spencer says, matter-of-factly. “A Coworker you barely speak to?”

Well, when he says it like that. 

“Yes. I’m asking because while we don’t get along the best you are still one of the most compassionate, understanding men I know. And I know that if I have to raise this kid with somebody, you would love them just as much as I would.” You say, Spencer nods at that. “So, please?” 

Spencer sighs. “When’s your next appointment? At the fertility clinic?” 

You didn’t even want to ask how he knew about that. “Next tuesday.” 

He nods. “I’m going with you.” He says, standing, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. “This isn’t a yes.” 

“It’s not a no, either.” You point out. 

“No, it’s not.” He says, leaving you behind in the coffee shop with a huge grin on your face.

Taglist: @moonshinerbynight​ @crimeshowtrash​

Message/reply to be tagged!!

[sweetestlamb]

Touch My Heart Part 2

Summary: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. Or how to get your man back using bath soaps. 

She has to cry silently, let her heart crack and splinter in silence because she doesn't want to explain her tears to Hong Yeon or Court Lady Choi. She should have expected nothing, should have known the King would want the one he truly fell in love with. But she'd still hoped, wished, dreamed selfishly that he would accept her and her feelings.

That he would beg and plead with her to stay, would declare that he loved her too. She knew that wasn't the case but still her useless heart had been holding out, only to be shredded apart when his eyes revealed how much he missed Jang Bong Hwan. It wasn't fair for either of them, she couldn't be a replacement and he would be forever longing. They would live eternally in limbo, that was no life worth living.

It was a fool's dream, she'd thrown away her chance when she jumped into the lake drowning both her desires and ambitions. She thought filling his shoes would be doable, some of his quirks and behaviors had left a lasting impact on her soul and they had many hobbies in common. But they weren't the same, maybe cut from a similar quilt but the patchwork was too intricate to be replicated.

So she cries, gasping sobs that rattle her bones and wreck her lungs; for the life she couldn't have and for the pain she knows the chef must be going through. If she was this heartbroken at the thought of being without the King, he must be crushed; soul and spirit pulverized to dusty remains.

Sleep comes to her painstakingly, her eyes so raw and red that even the act of closing them hurts and she twists and turns all night until the sandman pulls her under.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

"Hong Yeon-ah, you have been loyal to me since the day I was brought here." The young court maid looks at her with a puzzled smile at her sudden reminiscing, but nods as if she's used to her oddities by now, barely pausing her actions.

"Yes, you're highness. You are always most important to me. I will be loyal to you until the end. And when your child is born, I shall be loyal to them as well." Hong Yeon smiles sweetly at her whilst gently brushing her hair, putting fragrant powder on the roots as she twists her hair into braids.

"I will always cherish you."

"Your highness?" The court maid stops braiding her thick hair, peering into her eyes inquisitively through the mirror. "Why are you speaking as if you will not be here with me?"

She forces a content smile, having now accepted what she just do for herself, the King and most importantly Jang Bong Hwan, the one who saved them all.

"I might be going on a faraway trip, don't look for me. Just care for my baby and take care of the King." She can tell that the younger woman has many questions on her mind but mostly she seems...saudade; she understands more than she wants to and she's sad but she knows the Queen well enough to know why she must do this.

"I too, will always cherish you. I hope we meet again and I can be by your side once more, it was my greatest achievement."

She hugs the court maid, no her close friend probably one of her best friends. Remembering how eagerly she would follow her around, becoming her confidant and supporter as she found her footing in the palace.

"I hope I meet you in another life." She whispers into Hong Yeon's trembling head, embracing tighter because this is her last time.

The others are not as perceptive as Hong Yeon, but she does notice tears lingering in Court Lady Choi's eyes before she blinks them away.

"Thank you for always nagging me, it made me feel like I finally had a mother. I hope you can find your own happiness now." She knowingly looks over at the royal kitchen, making the older woman blush and turn away.

"Are you going to be okay?" She thinks about the question, and she smiles as she answers, "Yes. I'm going to be happy, I will make sure of it this time." She now knows that she has the power to do so, nothing can control her life besides her.

She sends for her father, hugging him tightly despite his apparent confusion. He's been all she's had for so long, it's her hardest goodbye of all. He will never know she's gone but she will mourn his loss until she takes her last breath.

"Father, I love you. I know everything you did was for my future, I know you made mistakes along the way but I couldn't have asked for a better father. In another life I want to be your daughter again." She cries into his shoulder, childishly gripping the bottom of his robe like she did when she was young and had a nightmare.

He looks at her with wet eyes and a huge grin, chuckling before rubbing her belly and showing her all the new gifts he's brought for his grandchild. She smiles and listens, soaking up all his love and warmth to keep her warm on those lonely days.

Later that night, she presses her palm to her stretched skin she's barely showing now only a minor bump under her clothes. But she can feel the life inside of her, her sweet baby.

"My baby, know that I loved you. That I would do anything to protect you. Please be good to them and have a happy life. I hope we too will meet in another life, you are blessed to have two mothers who adore you. Never want for anything." When she feels light taps at her belly, she grips her belly tighter.

She has no regrets, it's time.

The next day, she goes through her day as expected. Letting her servants serve her and enjoying the breeze from the lake, she takes in the majesty of her life and smiles at the sky.

When night falls, she stealthily rises from her bed donning only socks on her feet to make her steps undetectable, she's already said her goodbyes so there is nothing keeping her back now. Only her fears but she's stronger than she was before, there's no turning back now.

The lake glistens remarkably under the mystical glow of the moon, calling to her like a siren. The water sloshes as she steps into it, hissing at the cold that prickles at her skin before her body adjusts. She keeps walking until the water buoys her off her feet and licks at her collarbone, taking a deep gulp of the night air she plunges her head under the watery sheet. Water burns her lungs as she loses the ability to breathe, resisting her bodies urge to escape.

This time is different, this time she's here to live.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

He goes through the motions of life, but everything feels like a chore. He quits his job, deciding to open a a small restaurant with his savings. His restaurant instantly becomes a fan favorite because of his delicious flavors and affordable prices, he also takes to cooking at a soup kitchen on the weekends. There's a young girl whose innocent smile reminds him of Dam Hyang, he always gives her extra meat with a wink.

That's the only thing brings him joy these days, he had so desperately wanted to be back and now, now he was miserable.

What had he been missing so much? His body? His job? Technology? All of it meant nothing now, it couldn't fill the void in his heart. Nights are the hardest, sleep is elusive and his thoughts race thinking about them- how were they living without him? Was his Cheoljongie able to fall asleep? Did Court Lady Choi and the head chef make it official? Was Hong Yeon doing well? Did they even notice that he was no longer in the body of the Queen or was he already forgotten?

Did he mean anything to them or was he easily replaced by Soyong? Those thoughts haunt him daily and he starts drinking, blacking out every night in a stupor just trying to turn off his brain. But that does nothing to soothe the ache.

He tries to find comfort in others.

Finding willing partners is easy, women throw themselves at him but he's more thoughtful now, no longer seeing them as conquests. He remembers their names and cooks them breakfast in the morning, but he still feels hollow like all of his innards have been scrapped out with a jagged spoon.

So he sleeps with men, gets fucked hard into his bed stifling his moans into pillows trying to feel something, anything. But being taken does nothing, he's still empty even while stuffed full. Nothing compares to him, everyone else falls short and it makes him crazy; he has to move on. One night stand after one stand does nothing to abate the emptiness he feels.

Spending time with his mother brings him solace, she's older so he has to care for her but it's not a chore, he's happy to.

"You seem different these days." He hums as he bathes her, swiping a soapy loofah across her shoulders and wetting her short thin hair.

"How so?" He hasn't mentioned anything to her or anyone, there's no way anyone would believe his story. Sometimes he wonders if it was all a vivid dream that he created to deal with his coma but the proof is in the history book, the one he keeps on his bed side table. A reminder that it was real, that he's not crazy. It's both grounding and soul crushing.

"You're waiting for something." She answers mysteriously, eyes sliding shut as he tips her head back to wash out the shampoo.

He doesn't reply. He's not waiting for anything, there's nothing coming. This is his life now. He's just waiting for the end.

After putting his mother to sleep, he travels back home his body aching, tight from lifting another human. Mentally fatigued from suppressing his feelings all day.

He watches idly as the water fills up the tub, his fingers dancing across the surface before he stops the flow squirting a honey scented bubble bath until the water is foamy. He undresses dropping his clothes carelessly on the ground before dipping one toe into the bath, he groans at the welcoming heat letting the water envelop him fully.

The bubbles tickle his nose as he sits in the tub, his muscles slowly relaxing under the luscious heat. It feels nice. He should be content, he's able to take a warm bath in his lavish apartment that should be enough to raise his spirits.

Tears start pouring from his eyes, he hadn't let himself cry that day that feels like a lifetime ago. Had sucked up all his sadness and loneliness and pushed them in a corner of his mind, but now the corner is exploding and he can't control his emotions. All his walls are crumbling in his mind.

He sobs, choking on air and wiping at the moisture on his face but they are falling too quick for him to catch and he starts to hiccup.

"I'll never see them again. Hong Yeon, Court Lady Choi, head chef, Cheoljong, my baby! It's like I never existed, why did this happen to me? I never asked for any of this!" He screams at his ceiling, he's never been a religious person not wanting to put that much trust in an intangible being in the sky, but if there is some omnipresent being, he curses them for punishing him.

"Why me?" He pounds at the water, shouting when soap splashes back hitting him in the eye. Flailing and attempting to rub it out, he's unaware of how close he is to his shower caddy until his hand hits the metal contraption, causing the suction cup adhering it to the wall to lift and the caddy precariously dangles before loosening and crashing down. Pain explodes in his temple before he slides into the water, excess leaking over the edge and onto the floor. Soapy water fills his lungs until he loses consciousness, everything fading to darkness.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

"Jang Bong Hwan! Wake up! Open your eyes."

A familiar voice penetrates the foggy cloud in his brain, as he struggles to clear mind.

"Please! Wake up. This may be our only chance!"

The voice pleads with him, he feels wispy threads weaving around his mind and finally he starts to force his eyes open, willing his body to follow his commands.

Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!!

Bursting free of his prison, he jolts awake looking around wildly shocked to see himself submerged in water far deeper than his tub is capable of holding, everything feels familiar. Eerily so.

Then he glances in front of him and a face he's grown so used to seeing is peering back at him.

"Kim Soyong?" He barely whispers, certain he's having a ridiculously vivid dream.

"This isn't a dream. I've been waiting for you."

He stares at her in shock, in complete disbelief about the situation. What the fuck was going on??

"What the fuck is going on?" He voices his thought, watching as she smiles and swims closer to him.

"I'm bringing you back. I'm giving you back this body." She states confidently, taking his world and knocking it upside down.

"What are you talking about? Everything is back to the way it should be, the King loves you. History changed. Everything is as it should be." He squashes the desperate hope that blooms at her words, nothing was that simple. It simply wasn't their fate to be together.

"Is that how you truly feel? Is everything as it should be? Are you happy?"

Happy. That feeling is foreign to him now. But he has accepted his fate, he was able to help his King that was enough.

"I helped him. That's enough. I can't ask for anything more." He answers honestly, resolve melting as he thinks of his King and his smile.

"He loves you. I thought what I felt for him was love but I know the difference now, love is earned. You earned his love."

The tears start again, he looks at her lost. He doesn't know what to do.

"But you deserve to be happy too. I know everything you went through, I felt it too. I can't let you die because of me, I want you to live Soyong." He cries heart aching for the woman in front of him, she only ever did what she thought she had to. If someone had truly been there for her without any motives, this could have been different.

"I do deserve happiness too." She agrees and his heart jumps because this is it, he'll truly never see Cheoljong again.

"But I won't get it in this universe." Blinking through his tears he stares at her, a sad accepting smile on her face.

"I will always live in your shadows. That is not a true life, I want a fresh start. I deserve a live of my own without any regrets." She swims closer until they are face to face, nose barely grazing as she carresses his cheeks. It's clear what she intends to do, her lips moving closer until only millimeters separate them.

"Take care of him and our baby." She whispers before closing the gap, warm lips pressing against his and then he feels a sharp tug from the center of his stomach lurching him forward and then suddenly backwards.

He's only able to get out two words, "Thank you." Before he's plunged into darkness again.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

He swirls in a sea of nothing for what feels like eternity, locked somewhere he can't escape. He wanders and wanders trying to remember who he is and where he is? The darkness is unchanging and he feels smothered by it, running only to end up back at the same spot. But then he hears a sound, something soft and sweet. A voice, a voice he recognizes but he doesn't know how.

Who is that?

Where am I?

Those questions spin around and around in his head, vicious cycle that leaves him feeling no closer to the truth or the end.

Then he hears another voice, louder and deeper. It's pleading and pained, his heart aches for the agony he can feel and then he feels a sensation, a distant touch and suddenly a door opens in the darkness, light pours into the once desolate room and he rushes to the door, chasing the light. Needing to be closer to that voice and that touch.

His head is throbbing, opening his eyes feels like a splitting headache but he pushes through the pain desperate to see where is he. His eyes are burning but he forces his heavy lids up and sunlight floods his vision, making him wince and shut them once more.

"My Queen?"

It can't be. No. He's dreaming.

He feels a hand wrap around his own, completely cocooning it.

"My Queen! You're finally awake!" The King cries, relief emitting off his body as he clutches him to his chest. His hot tears landing on the thin material covering his shoulder.

Throat scratchy and aching he licks his lips before speaking, "Cheoljongie?"

Immediately the King freezes in his arms, it's so quiet he can hear the crickets outside chirping loudly. The King slowly leans back, his eyes darting all over his face with something that looks like nervous wonder.

"What did you call me?" He whispers, his eyes wide.

"Cheoljongie!" He screams suddenly throwing himself into his King's arms, which are loose at first but then they become rib straining tight but he doesn't care, he needs this hug more than he needs air.

The King breaks them apart grabbing his face ardently, "Is it really you? Jang Bong Hwan?" His name sounds foreign on his tongue and now it's his turn to be speechless.

"You kn-kn-know my name? You know who I am?" He stutters incredulously, feeling the tears streaming from his eyes but this time doing nothing to stop them.

"I know everything. I know you're a man from the future, you were telling the truth. You always told me the truth."

He feels steamrolled, pressed out and flattened by this discovery. He knew that and he was still here hugging him? It didn't make sense.

"How do you feel? About the truth?" It's not an easy question to ask but he needs to know the answer, there are in a different time now. Cheoljong hadn't said such when he had explained to him that sexuality was more fluid in the future, people were allowed to express themselves in many ways. There was no right or wrong way to love.

It was a nice sentiment, but this was a Joseon period. Everything was different here.

"I love you."

He's not expecting that answer and he stares with his mouth open, feeling himself being drawn into a tighter hug his small body slotting perfectly into Cheoljong's. It's unnerving and familiar being this much smaller than him again.

"I love you so much. I don't care what form you take, I'll love you every single time." He growls the last words, rumbling between their bodies.

He's never said these words out loud to anyone but his mother, but he knows that he means it. He's never wanted to say them to anyone before but now he can't wait, he's bursting with it.

"I love you too. Life was empty without you, I was walking in an endless desert. You are my oasis." They stare at each other passionately, the King's fingers warm on his cheeks as he clutches at his royal robes. They gravitate towards each other as their lips meet and the universe rights itself. He moans at the sensation of having his King's lips back on his, the kiss tethers into frantic in mere seconds. All of their longing and heartache colluding as they slam into each other.

Their tongue slide and twist around each other, he nibbles at the King's lip letting him lick at his open mouth gasping as a hand grips the nape of his neck.

He grabs the King's hair pulling him closer so he can plunge his tongue deeper, swallowing his hardy groans and letting some breathy moans escape from his bruised lips. It's going to take some getting used to, being so slight once more, whimpering as the King easily manhandles him pushing him back onto the bedding and bracketing him in his powerful arms.

The move knocks his head into the floor, momentarily dazing him as a soft "Oof," falls from his lips.

The King reacts immediately, drawing away with concern pouring from his face.

"I apologize my Que...en I was too eager, you've just woken from a vegetative state. Now is not the appropriate time for such.... activities. I will control myself." He notices the King's hesitation as he pauses while saying the title which has become something more for them.

"It's okay. You can still call me that it means too much to me now and I don't want you to be careful. I've spent all this time feeling alone and empty, trying to find other," now he hesitates and the King's eyes widen and then scowl in comprehension, "Means to feel alive. It was all futile, nothing compared to you."

The declaration does little to douse the jealousy he can feel surging off his King, he almost purrs in response. Excited. Electrified.

"I will make you forget about all others. My name is the only that will fall from these lips," Cheoljong rubs a large thumb across the his full bottom lip, seductively. "I missed you so much and I'll show you just how much."

"I spent so much time hoping to get back to my dragon, only to miss yours too much to enjoy my own. It's sad isn't it?" He pouts reaching out boldly to grab the King's thick cock peeking through his layers.

The King smirks, crawling over him before lifting up his dress easily and lowering his undergarments with a swift tug.

"My dragon missed you immensely, it's time to get reacquainted. " Cheoljong warns before slipping into his body without preamble, he shouts and tightens at the intrusion.

Every cell in his body feels alive and buzzing.

They get acquainted all night, into the wee hours of the morning hoarse shouts filling Daejajoen hall as all the court ladies blush and cover their faces bashfully. Hong Yeon smiles knowingly at Court Lady Choi, both with matching 'earmuffs' the Queen had gifted them long ago.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

"Mr. Jang, can you hear me? Mr. Jang?" She struggles to regain conscious as a light is shined into both of her eyes, blinking wildly she turns her head away trying to escape the bright glare.

"I apologize. I had to check your pupils. How are you feeling? You've been in a coma for three days. We were very worried since you had been comatose just a month prior. It's not good for the human brain to be in that state several times." She listens absently to the doctor(?) too fascinated by all the unfamiliar things surrounding her.

There's a strange machine beeping away next to her and something attached to her arm, her eyes bulge at her arm, it is larger thick with muscles she's never had before. She flexes and watches entranced as her arm gets even bigger.

"Mr.Jang, are you okay?" Finally she glances over at the feminine voice, clipped and professional but a tinge of genuine concern.

She's gorgeous, a round face and wide almond eyes that are scanning something in her hands, she has thick hair that is held up in a topknot with tendrils framing her face and her lips are succulent and rosy red, she feels blood rushing to her nether regions. When the doctor notices her staring she puts down the thing in her hands, to meet her gaze head on.

"Mr. Jang?" She finally realizes that's her name, Jang Bong Hwan.

"What's your name?" She feels compelled to ask as if this is the most important question she'll ever utter, something tugs in her stomach as they stare at each other.

"Dr. Won Beom."

She smiles.

Author's note: This will be my canon moving forward in my future untouchable updates, I'll also be incorporating a love story behind Director Hong and Kim Hwan because they are the sweetest beans and I feel like they can get great advice on their relationship from our King and Queen. 🥴😉 I was very selfish with this fix-it I don't want to let go of my Joseon family, so we're staying here instead. 

[waywardodysseys]

Mi Vida - Oneshot

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings: fluff, sweetness

Requested?: Yes by @murdermewithbooks for the 1k followers celebration

~   ~   ~

Javi stretched back in his chair. His body was tired, bones achy. He was getting older by the day. When he returned his focus to his desk, he smiled at the picture staring back at him, thoughts of hoping the clock hits five sooner than later. He needed to see the people in that picture.

Once the clock hit five, Javi grabbed his jacket and said prompt goodbyes to the rest of his coworkers. He didn’t have time for chitchat, he didn’t want to stay around and talk about the long day or the harrowing paperwork piling up on everyone’s desk. He needed to get home.

After stopping by the local market, which was only a few blocks away from his house, he walked through the small garden park, letting the stress of the day go before making his way home. Children laughing and playing greeted his ears, while the light traffic of people coming home from their jobs filled the streets of the small neighborhood, he now lived in. He couldn’t wait to see the front door, open it, and be greeted by who was inside.

Javi unlocks the front door, opens it wide and steps inside, “honey, I’m home.”

The door closes shut behind Javi as he shakes his head. He’ll never get tired of saying those words. It did take him a while to get used to saying those words, but he kept repeating them daily when he returned home from work, and it became habitual.

The pitter-patter of little feet scurry down the steps of the two-story home.

“Papa!” “Daddy!” Two voices sing in unison as they latch onto Javi’s legs.

Javi laughs wholeheartedly as he nearly gets knocked over. He then tries to take gigantic steps, with his son of his left leg and his daughter on his right leg, towards the kitchen.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s upstairs,” pipes Xiomara.

“Mommy’s not feeling well,” Mateo whispers.

Javi places the couple of bags he has on the counter then reaches down to grab his son and sets him on the counter. He then reaches down and grabs his daughter, the little girl a splitting image of her mother, and holds her close.

“And what have you two been doing while your mother has not been feeling well?” Javi inquires as he grabs a pot and some cooking utensils.

“Good.” “Nothing.” The two voices sing in unison again.

Javi sighs heavily. He wishes his wife would’ve called him at work to inform him she was feeling under the weather. It would’ve been a perfect excuse to leave work early and come home to take of her and their four-year-old twins.

After everything in Colombia, Javier moved back to Texas – thankful to be back home. He had spent a month helping his father around the ranch then headed back to the office. One weekend the guys from the office invited him out for some beers and card games. The future missus Peña was a friend of one of his coworkers’ wives who had stopped by unexpectedly because she had just been dumped. Javi couldn’t keep his eyes off her all night, he even thought about getting her underneath him and helping her forget the bastard who broke her heart. He had wanted to find the man and punch him for causing her so much heartache.

But Javi had stopped himself from letting you become just another notch on his bedpost. You had been kind towards him and had refused him down outright when he said he could take you home.

“No thanks Javier,” your soft voice was music to his ears, “I’m fine.”

“I can make you forget all about him,” Javi had declared pridefully with a slight slur. He was drunk.

You had blushed, “I’m sure you can but I’m not interested,” you had paused for several beats, “not tonight at least. You are drunk.”

Not tonight, Javi had thought, at least I have a chance.

He had waited a couple of days, gotten your phone number from his coworker with some coercing, and called you. You had been reluctant to go on a date so soon, but you couldn’t resist him.

Now five years later, Javi and you are married, have your own home, and two lovely children. Javi wouldn’t trade you for anyone else in this world, he wouldn’t trade what he has to rejoin the drug war in another country. He prefers the domestic life; he loves the domestic life. Javi finally understands what Murphy meant when he told him ‘going home to Connie is the best part of my day; having her in my life is the best part of my life.’

Javi kisses his daughter’s forehead and sets her down on the floor, “why don’t you two keep your momma some company while I make her some soup?”

“I want to help you daddy!” Xiomara nearly shouts.

Javi smiles, “of course mi hermosa flor,” Javi looks at his son, “Mateo why don’t you go check on your mom?”

Mateo nods his head as Javi picks him up and sets him on the floor.

Javi ruffles his son’s mop of brown hair. Mateo was the splitting image of Javi but he had gotten his wife’s quiet and soft spoken personality. Xiomara had gotten his take charge attitude. He sometimes wondered what kind of trouble she would get into when she got older.

Javi gathers the ingredients for the homemade soup his mother taught him ages ago as he recalls taking you home to meet his father and family. The Peña family was a wild bunch. You had been anxious and quiet yet once you warmed up to them, you had become the firecracker Javier knew you to be once you came out of your shell.

You two had been dating for eight months when he knew you were the one. He was afraid to commit, he hadn’t committed to much in his life besides his job but when the thought of losing you to another man played heavily in his mind for days, he had to claim you as his own.

“I love you Y/N,” Javier had blurted out one night.

You had stood frozen, looking at him with bewilderment. It had taken him eight months to say those three words to you, but he had felt it within weeks of being with you. You had shown him there was more to his broken self, that he could be healed and loved. You had given him all of yourself and he had given only a fraction of himself. In that precise moment when he uttered those words to you, he gave all of himself to you – heart and soul.

Javi recalls you cupping his cheeks, stroking his skin, and looking deep into his eyes. “I love you Javier Peña,” your voice a sweet melody to his ears then minutes later he had you under him, moaning and whispering his name. He wanted to hear your voice repeating his name and the cries of pleasure he gave you. He wanted you for the rest of his life.

“Marry me,” Javier had offered the following morning as he cradled your body against his and ran his fingers lightly over your skin.

“What if I say no?” You had inquired teasingly with a raised brow.

Javier had given you a raised brow in return then brushed his lips against yours, “I’ll keep asking until you say yes. Y/N, mi amor. You are mi vida, mi todo. The only one for me, the only one I’ll ever need and want for the rest of my days. And if it takes till my last breath to prove it to you then so be it.”

He could see the love shining brightly in your eyes when he poured out his feelings. He was giving you all of him. He knew he wasn’t perfect but when he was with you, he was perfect.

“I will marry you Javier Peña,” you had whispered against his lips, “you’re my life, my everything as well. The only one I want and need for the rest of my days.”

Three months later you and Javier were married in a small ceremony, then four months later you had found out you were pregnant with twins. Javier had scooped you up into his arms when you spilled the news to him in a rush.

“Two babies, our children,” Javier had murmured in your ear as he embraced you tightly. He was dancing with you in the barren living room of the house you two had just bought. “Our family. Our house. It’s perfect mi amor.”

Months later in the middle of a warm spring afternoon in Texas, inside the Laredo Medical Center, the doctor declares, “a boy and a girl!”

“Mi hermosa amor,” Javier had whispered as you clutched his hand tightly as you pushed your children out into the world. He had pressed kisses to your temple as he heard the soft cries of his children. He knew you were the most precious person in the world – to be his, and to be the mother of his children. Javier knew he had made the right choice in picking you to be his one and only. His heart had swelled as he held his baby daughter and baby son.

“Names?” Javier had uttered to you as he handed you the swaddled baby wrapped in a newborn blanket and blue cap.

You had taken your newborn son into your arms and wept. You were with the love of your life and had given birth to two beautiful and healthy children.

“You said something about honoring Murphy?” You had inquired because Javier had talked about his DEA partner in Colombia endlessly. The two men had remained in contact after Escobar had been killed. You had even met agent Steve Murphy when Javier took you to Miami for your honeymoon.

“We could do Mateo Stephen Peña?” Javier questioned.

You had smiled brightly at your baby boy then your husband, “I love it. And our daughter?”

“She’s needs something strong, like her mother,” Javier had replied with a smile.

You had blushed, “she’s going to be wrapped around your finger. Looks like she already is.”

“The three of you will always be wrapped around my finger,” Javier had placed a finger under your chin, making you look into his eyes, “and you know you’ll always be my favorite.”

“Javi,” you had urged, “we need a name for our daughter.”

“You name her. I named our son,” Javi had huffed then he placed the baby girl in your arms comfortably before taking Mateo away.

Javier watched as you had looked down at the baby in your arms. He remembers you tracing the soft cheeks and whispering, “Xiomara Rose Peña.” Javier had fallen in love with the name immediately especially since you had honored his mother by giving your daughter his mother’s name for her middle name.

Now Javier looks at his four-year-old daughter as he helps her carry a tray up to the master bedroom where his wife and son are.

“Careful mi hermosa flor.”

“I am papa,” Xiomara whispers in return.

“Okay,” Javier smiles as they reach the bedroom door.

Xiomara walks in first and towards your form on the bed. You are sitting up against the headboard, reading a book to Mateo but your eyes catch Javier walking in behind your daughter. Your heart quickens at the sight of your husband. He’s yours, all yours. You’ll never tire of seeing him, never tire of having him in your life, never tire of loving him.

“Momma! Papa and I made you some soup!” Xiomara gushes as she approaches the side of the bed you are on.

“You did! Oh my, it has to be delicious then!” You smile in return.

Javier takes a few strides and helps Xiomara hand you the tray.

“Thank you, Xiomara,” you grab the tray from her and place it across your lap. You then look over and brush your lips on your son’s forehead, “you may go now.”

Mateo wraps his small arms around your neck and nods his head. He unwraps himself seconds later and leaves the room.

“You may go as well Xiomara. I need to talk to your father.” You smile at your youngest child as you glance up at Javi, who raises his eyebrows as curiosity covers his features.

“I love you momma!” Xiomara gleefully exclaims before running out of the room, following her brother.

“I love you too,” you laugh as you push aside the tray then reach for your husband.

He leans down and brushes his mouth against yours. His mustache tickling your skin. “Mi amor,” he pauses then looks at you, “what’s going on?”

“Sit with me Javi, please,” you tease.

Javi complies and sits next to you. He wraps his arms around you as you sink into his body. “You could’ve called me. I would’ve run straight home to help you care for the kids if you weren’t feeling well.”

“It was just this morning. The kids have made sure I’ve been resting, taking it easy,” you laugh, “they remember when you were sick and I kept telling you to remain in bed and I would take care of you. Mateo and Xiomara wanted to take care of me, so I indulged them. They’re wrapped around my finger like they are with you.”

Javi kisses your temple, “you’re still my favorite mi amor.”

You burrow further into him, “I know,” you sigh happily, wrapped in Javier’s love and strength, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Javier cups your cheek, pulls your face up so he may look into your gleaming eyes. His thumb strokes your skin, “we’ll be a family of five?”

You hear the question in his voice and reply, “yes,” you pause, “the doctor already confirmed just one this go around. I’m hoping the girls will out beat the boys.”

Javier smiles and laughs, “well I think the boys should outnumber the girls.”

You shrug and brush your lips against Javi’s, “we’ll see in seven months. I want to be surprised.”

“Anything for you, mi amor,” Javi kisses you deeply then pulls back, “anything for you.”

Javier’s heart leaps inside of his chest. His children, his wife. He would never trade them for anyone else in the world. All four of you were his world, his everything, his life.

Translations:

mi vida - my life

mi hermosa flor - my beautiful flower

mi todo - my everything

Tags: @random066, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite, @pascalisthepunkest, @caitlincat-95, @pedrosdoll, @readsalot73, @ezraslittlebirdie, @arrowswithwifi​, @halefirewarrior​, @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​, @longitud-de-onda​, @kaelyn-lobrutto24​, @bonkybaaarnes​, @earl-01​, @knight-of-heart44​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​

[stones-x-bones]

Bare Bones || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Last weekend PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex comes to Morgan’s to see her library collection, but books aren’t the only things that open up. CONTENT: Homophobia mentions, Transphobia mentions, Child/Domestic abuse mentions

Morgan fiddled with the books on the shelf yet again and ran her duster over the spines, the crisp pages, and Squirrely and Possum’s always-friendly faces. “We’ve got this, you guys,” she whispered under her breath. “Bex is going to love you, and the library, and the bones, and maybe we can bullshit some anthropology reasons for her to look at some real magic books, and wait for…” She wasn’t sure what. The weight of the truth to crack her denial open like an egg? For her divine intuition to kick in? Did non pegan spellcasters have divine intuition? She hadn’t met any; she 

The doorbell rang, somehow sounding nervous to Morgan despite knowing it was automated. 

She gave one last look around the room. She had spread some of the books out and accented empty shelves with some displays from the bone room: some framed fossils, a few skulls she had managed to collect on her own, and an articulated raccoon she and Deirdre had assembled over the course of a weekend in the peaceful days of summer. There was a little of everything, including some magic books she had hauled out of her studio just for Bex to see. It wasn’t exactly a neon light saying ‘something witchy this way comes,’ but it was better than indulging too much in her denial, right?

Right. Totally.

Morgan jogged to the storage closet and chucked the duster inside, not caring if it landed in its bucket or not. She half slid, half ran to the door. She checked her ponytail and the amber pendant Deirdre had given her and opened the door. She wasn’t so image conscious at home, but some of Bex’s excitable energy felt contagious. She wanted to do her best, to make this as okay for her as possible. Smiling warmly, she beckoned the girl inside. “Hey, Bex. Thanks for deciding to come by. Come on in and make yourself cozy, okay? There’s plenty of snacks in the kitchen, if you want any, and tea and coffee, if the cold’s gotten to you on the way over.”

Okay, she could do this. Bex flattened out the front of her skirt as if that would help her calm down, but all it did was make her a little more nervous. She was excited to see Professor Beck, er, Morgan and all that her library had to offer. And the fossils Deirdre had! It was supposed to be a relaxing day, but lunch was also supposed to have been relaxing and easy and that had not turned out well. Bex could only hope nothing would explode today, or if it did, it wouldn’t be her fault. Not that she had any control over it, or that it was, you know, her. She still hadn’t let herself accept that, despite what had happened with Mina and what she’d said to Nell. Magic just couldn’t be real. It had to be something else.

Swallowing, she pushed the doorbell.

It took a moment, and Bex was just rocking back on her heels when the door opened. “Hi, Professor!” she chimed, smiling bright. It was such a reflex now, making herself seem happy, excited, okay, that she couldn’t help it. “Yeah, okay. Um--” she stepped inside after Morgan and looked around, arms still pressed tightly to herself in front of her, clutching her small purse, “--I-I’m okay for now, thank you.” She looked around, eyes tracing over the walls and decor, just like she had when she’d gone to meet Nell for the ice cream they’d never gotten. The house was almost just like Nell’s, except the walls were a brighter color, and the hallways much larger. She understood, now, what Morgan meant by hallways full of empty rooms. Her eyes landed back on the older woman. “Thank you for having me,” she said with a small nod, “I’m excited to see your collection. And, of course, the fossils.” Formal, put together, polite-- all things Bex was sure she wouldn’t be if she had the wherewithal to choose. “Is Deirdre home?”

“Oh, please, I’m happy to,” Morgan replied. “Deirdre’s at work right now, but she finishes in a couple of hours, if you want to meet her in person. Go ahead and throw your stuff wherever, and I’ll show you where everything is!” She flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to take the girl's hand to make sure she didn’t get lost, and settled for waiting in the entryway off the foyer. “The kitchen is just off to the right and through here is the great room where we spend most of our time. If you’re cold, I can get the heat or a fire going. Neither of us feel the cold much, so it’s always hard to tell what guests need.” 

Morgan walked a little further, pointing out a series of bathrooms and storage closets and double checking on the snack situation. There was some leftover veggie and bone broth soup and cranberry muffins that had been baked just earlier that day, and were currently in want of a taste tester since Morgan’s tastebuds had stopped working right after ‘an illness.’ “Also, let me know if this is overkill, okay? Besides, we’ve made it to the room you’re actually here to see!” Smiling bright with expectation, Morgan flung open the library doors and stood aside for Bex to enter. It was another white, overcast day, the kind where it was safe to part the many curtains that lined the windows without fear of fading Deirdre’s antique first editions, kept behind glass and lovingly tended to often. “Was there something you wanted to look at first in particular?” She asked.

Bex looked around in wonderment as she followed Morgan through the house. It was almost as big as her own, but somehow it felt so much more...like a home. There were things about the place that made it feel lived in, made it feel like people lived here, and not portraits and ghosts of the past. She reached out idly and ran her fingers along a table that had photos-- mostly of cats-- on it and tried not to look at too many or pry too hard into who they were. “I’m fine,” she said when Morgan offered to heat up the place, though Bex did feel a slight chill in the house she hadn’t felt before. “I have my jacket, anyway,” she said with a nod, trying to do away with the nervous smile. Her last conversation with Morgan had gotten...not fun, but Morgan didn’t know the safe word, so Bex couldn’t really blame her for the things she’d said. But they weren’t things Bex wanted to think about right now-- or ever, really-- and so she hoped they wouldn’t come up again today.

“Your house is so...homey,” she finally said when they came to a stop at the library finally. Her eyes were still wandering the halls and she nearly ran into Morgan, stopping herself just in time as she pointed out the room. “Oh! No, this is fine, really! My parents’ house is a little bigger than this, so I’m used to places with lots of rooms and stuff.” She blinked and let her gaze fall to the room in question, eyes lighting up instantly when she saw the shelves lined with books, old, probably valuable ones tucked behind glass in special cases. It was so colorful, compared to the dull greys and blues of the law library her parents kept. And so much larger than the bookshelf in Bex’s room that was lined with sci-fi and fantasy novels, tucked behind textbooks and history books. She took a moment to graze the spines of some nearby botanical looking texts before turning back to Morgan. “Oh, um--�� pondered a moment-- “not to be predictable but-- anything about history? Whatever you’ve got!”

Morgan couldn’t help but beam with pride at Bex’s assessment of her place. “You really think so? It’s come a long way since I first visited, I think. I made most of the re-decorating choices, but some of the artwork prints are Deirdre’s work and um--” She gestured to a painting on the wall and beckoned Bex to follow. If Deirdre hadn’t told Morgan it was meant to be her, she wouldn’t have known. Only one large vaguely eye-looking shape indicated that the figure was meant to be a person at all. But there was affection in the brush strokes, in the time spent working at the little craft store canvas. Morgan touched the elaborate frame tenderly. “Some original work. Doesn’t happen everyday, as you might be able to guess, but that’s just what makes it special.” She laughed, full of warmth and fondness. She didn’t have to think it was pretty to love it.

“Anyways, this shelf is where the history stuff is.” She tapped her fingers down the shelf next to the painting. “Ireland, England, Norway and Germany up there. Then Mexico, Honduras, Venezuela, and Cuba in the middle. Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome. And my local, personal treasures are at the bottom. Texas, at the bottom. Maine, second to bottom. There’s only a couple of proper books, and then folders of many, many print outs and scans. And--” she pointed to one of the glass cases next to them. “A few old books, from back then. Ledgers, journals, a uh...grimoire. Family recipes, notes, old 19th century solutions to ailments, and some rituals and so one.” She flitted her gaze back to Bex. She didn’t seem so uptight as she had in the doorway, but after one of their recent conversations, Morgan couldn’t help but worry. “You can look at anything you want, okay?” And then, because she couldn’t help it. “How are you doing anyways?”

Bex was immediately intrigued by the books, ready to shovel a few of them off the shelf and pry them open. But she figured she ought to listen to Morgan first, it was the least she could do as thanks for letting her come over and explore her library. Her eyes fell to the paintings Morgan was gesturing to, and she was surprised to find out some of them were made by Deirdre herself. “Oh? She-- she made those?” she asked, then realized that she knew very little about Deirdre, except that she was Morgan’s partner and that she was incredibly pushy about people finding her attractive. Oh, and that she somehow understood Bex’s struggle better than anyone she’d ever talked to before, but she wasn’t about to think too hard about that one. “That’s incredible,” she said, once she’d had a chance to fully take in what she was looking at. Art was as much a part of history as wars and hunting, and those were, technically, very small parts of history. 

Her attention, however, was lost when Morgan started listing off all the records and books and ledgers they had in their collection. Her eyes lit up with a renewed sense of wonder as she followed Morgan over to the shelves with her desired sources on it, and reached out for her first pick-- Egypt, of course-- when the question came. Her hand froze, midway through pulling a book out, but she didn’t move and she didn’t dare look at Morgan. Online, it was so easy to delete something you didn’t mean to type. Or to take your time in replying, to really think about what you were saying. To lie. But in person, the scrutiny of the other person, standing right near by, made it so much more difficult to do any of those things. And once they were said, you couldn’t take them back. There was no delete key for spoken words. 

And so, Bex would have to choose her words carefully. She was studying to be a lawyer, after all, it should’ve been easy. “I’m doing okay,” she finally answered, finishing plucking the book out, albeit much slower than previous. “No more weird bird attacks or bloodied clothes since we last talked.” Interjecting jokes usually helped diffuse a situation, right? She pulled out another book before turning to look at Morgan. Maybe she could just change the subject. “You know, most history books were actually written using old records and ledgers. A lot of history actually comes from personally written accounts, and family records. So, really, be keeping your family’s, your helping history.”

“She made this one; I made that one.” Morgan pointed behind her at the messy painting on the wall. She couldn’t stand to look at it for very long. The memory of painting it at Lydia’s was too vivid; if Deirdre didn’t like it so much, Morgan would have taken it down already. “It’s an ‘in the eye of the beholder’ thing,” she said, waving the subject away. 

She laughed alongside Bex as she quipped about her cockatrice run in and went over to the long coffee table to pick up the book she’d last been working on. “That isn’t what I meant, though.” she said. “I’m not asking for details, I just want to know…” If you’re okay. If you need help. Urgent, non-magical help because you were afraid of what would happen if you came home with bloody clothes and you keep talking about your family with the same kind of beholden fear Deirdre used to speak about hers with. I want to know that. But Morgan couldn’t say any of that if she wanted the girl to stay. “...how you’re really doing. I know when you’re applying yourself really hard in a lot of stressful environments or in stuff that feels high stakes, it can sometimes feel like you need to be fine all the time. But that’s just not the case. But, we don’t have to get into it, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Or more uncomfortable than she was all the time, at least.

“They’re pretty,” Bex said, looking over at Morgan’s as well. She could appreciate most art as well, even the kind that you had to squint at to see anything from it. But like most other things in history, art had its place, and therefore it held a place in Bex’s heart as well. “I think all art is in the eye of the beholder, that’s sort of what makes it art, right? I took an art history class once, I think that was the lesson. That, and that white men rule that world, too,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. 

Bex adjusted the books in her arms and shuffled in her spot. She didn’t want to answer any of those questions, because the answers weren’t good ones. And because there was nothing anyone could do about them. She bit her lip. “When I talked to Deirdre online, she kept asking me some pretty heavy things. I tried to tell her I wasn’t comfortable with a lot of it, and she suggested we come up with a safe word, for when things get too hard or confusing. So I suggested the word ‘tomato’, because I don’t like tomatoes so I never really talk about them. But-- that’s not the important thing. The important thing is-- I don’t want to answer your question, but if I tell you that, you’ll already know an answer anyway, because it’s usually pretty telling when people say they don’t wanna talk about how they are. So, instead, I’m just gonna say tomato and ask that maybe we just...don’t talk about that yet. Okay?”

Morgan’s features softened. She’d known Deirdre would be kind, and that with enough time, it would even be for Bex’s own sake and not just because she’d asked. But the conversational safeword hit with a particular kind of compassion, one that understood Bex’s fear more than Morgan, because it was closer to her own. Morgan smiled softly. “Okay. Tomato. I can remember that,” she said. She took her book and went to her usual spot on the couch and curled up and put in a single earbud and began to read. There was more, much more, that she wanted to show the girl today, but after how badly their coffee outing had gone after she’d pushed too hard and too fast it made more sense to let her come down from whatever stress had just spiked.

Morgan read and turned the page and tried to read some more. She was half tempted to show Bex the guest rooms in detail and throw in a free decoration job, or offer to just put up a bed in the library, if that would make the idea more appealing. ‘Tomato’ was almost as telling as the words Bex didn’t want to say and Morgan couldn’t help but weave through the silence in her mind, searching in vain for some clue that would tell her just how worried she should be.

After a while, Morgan paused her playlist and took out her earbud. She got up and passed by Bex on her way to the door. “I’m going to heat up some water for coffee. Holler if you want anything, okay? I’ll be right back.” She pressed the girl’s shoulder, unthinking, too used to being at ease in her home to think of how her skin felt to others, and drifted away without thinking anything of it.

“Thank you.” The relief felt large and consuming when Morgan agreed to tomato. Bex was grateful, and she shifted her books once more before going over to sit on the couch opposite Morgan, propping open her first book and perusing the table of contents. She couldn’t help the excitement that rose back up in her chest as she flipped through and started reading, already half forgetting that there was someone else in the room with her. She could always so easily fall into a good book, especially a good history book. And these ones were new to her! She hadn’t read them before, and even through that excitement, she was eager to get to the books on the town’s history-- and to forget the things Morgan said to her and asked about her.

She was enraptured in her book when Morgan got up. So much so that she didn’t even notice until the older woman was next to her, patting her on the shoulder. Bex jumped slightly, closing the book on reflex. Hands splayed over the title as if trying to hide it before she remembered where she was and that she didn’t need to do that here. She nodded stiffly. “Right, thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. Her eyes drifted to her shoulder where Morgan had touched her and the ice cold sensation that had come from her hand. Strange. Gripping the books tightly, Bex leaned out of her couch as if to follow Morgan with her gaze, before slipping from the chair and going back over to the cabinets full of books. Her eyes scanned the titles of the ones behind glass, and she wanted so bad to touch, to look-- but didn’t. She was sure with time and trust, one day she would be able to see them. Instead, she put back the two books she’d found and slipped out the Bachman ledger. Sat on the floor in front of the shelf, folding it open tenderly and exploring the pages with her own eyes. Curious, perhaps, beyond reason when she didn’t believe in the things that were written in the texts. 

Morgan froze in front of the door, watching Bex. “S-sorry,” she muttered, cradling her hand to her chest. “I forgot. I should probably wear gloves or something, honestly. It’s um, a chronic thing…” But Bex had done more than just flinch. Morgan took in her closed book, her clenched posture, and catalogued the away for later.

She took her time in the kitchen, making a rich cup of espresso that filled her with a nice tingle of earthy flavor and coming back after she’d made another cup and run to her bedroom to borrow a pair of Deirdre’s gloves. When she returned, she froze in the entrance again, taking in Bex looking over her family’s old books. “Hey,” she called softly. “Find anything good? I know some of that stuff can be uh...a little confusing. If you have any questions, um…” She approached slowly, trying to get a peek at what she was looking at. There were lots of ways to explain witchcraft in a cultural context, dimly, Morgan even wondered if she could sneak in a lesson under the pretense of historical recreation or anthropology exploration. But one thing at a time. “Well, I’m sure you’re gonna have questions, but just let me know, okay? I’m an open book too.” At least as much as she could be without scaring the girl.

Bex devoured most of the ledger by the time Morgan had come back. Speed reading was a necessary skill when you had to memorize tomes that were thousands of pages long full of legal jargon and so on and such forth. She startled slightly, blinking as she looked up at Morgan, a little embarrassed she was still on the floor, dress splayed out around her. Cheeks flushing, she ran her hands over the pages of the parchment and bit her lip. Her curiosity was easily spotted in her eyes, as she stared down the words. “Oh, lots of good stuff, that’s for sure,” she answered, giving a smile. She glanced up to Morgan. “Lots of questions, too, like--” she looked around, then back-- “did your family really think they were cursed? Is that what you were talking about, too, when you said you thought you’d cursed your family because you were--” the word stuck in her throat. She hadn’t said it outloud in so long. It almost felt wrong, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew she didn’t have to be afraid here. And yet, the fear remained. She folded back into herself, fingers pressing gently against the edges of the book.

“What’s it like being back here?” she asked, moving on, and hoping Morgan wouldn’t stick on it, either. “Knowing your family has history here? Did you expect that? Did you know that when you came here? Do you have more stuff about your family history? I only saw this one--” gestured to the ledger-- “and I wasn’t sure what else I could, um....look at.”

Morgan sipped her coffee and came down to sit next to Bex, peering over the pages. She’d never known how to feel about most of her ancestors. The pieces of them preserved on paper were so distant and impersonal. She couldn’t tell if they were sarcastic, or moody, or sweet, or boisterous. Everything was so restrained, or fragmented, they were less than ghosts. And then there were the secrets they’d kept, the lies they’d told themselves. They hadn’t deserved to suffer so badly, but stars above… 

“Yes,” Morgan said carefully. “The curse is real. Or, I mean…” She took another sip of coffee, fingers tapping and fidgeting around the mug as she tried to figure out how to thread this needle. “It was certainly real to them, all of them, right up to my mother. And there really was a girl who used to work for the Bachmans, and she was a self-proclaimed witch. The family cast her out when she was nineteen and she died horribly and alone and when they finally found her body, she was bent over a cauldron, surrounded by rune stones and crystal stones and other stuff you’d expect of a witch. And then, there were the things that happened to the family. Those were real too.” She got up and took out her pink plastic file folder to offer to the girl. “There’s prescriptions, doctor notes, death certificates, shopping lists for medical supplies, and so on, that corroborate the stories of the terrible things that happened to the family. Every three years, there uh, just so happened to be a spike in these rather unfortunate, often tragic events. And while the family was by no means protected from the world’s chaos before, the severity and frequency of peril was at least somewhat noteworthy on these ‘cursed’ years.” Morgan could barely keep the edge out of her voice. She felt ill and hollow playing pretend, throwing questions over these people who knew only too well what was happening to them. She cleared her throat and smiled bravely. “You can see why they would maintain a belief like that. Obviously. But that’s not why I thought I was a curse for being a lesbian. My mother chose not to pass on that particular lore until I came out to her. That was definitely just some really awful timing with the AIDS epidemic and the Satanic Panic and living in Suburban Texas. I’m not really sure how much of a chance I stood at having a healthy relationship with my sexuality straight out the gate.” She laughed, rueful with the safety of distance and better days. 

“But it’s fine. I did come up here for the history. I wanted to get the truth about all those awful scary stories and try to make sense of my life through that. And there’s more things in the glass cabinets and there’s...well, I guess they’re antiques now. There’s a chest upstairs of things Agnes…” she sighed sadly, thinking of the woman, of her pain. “...My great-great grandmother Agnes buried before she emigrated to Texas.” She looked sidelong at the girl, her fear and anxiety coiling her like a spring just as much as her excitement. She hated lying to her, dressing up the truth in cute little rational outfits. It felt patronizing, even morbid in some odd, diminishing way she couldn’t articulate. Patting the girl’s fingers with her now gloved hand, she said, “I would be astonished if you didn’t see everything in my collection at least once eventually. But you can go through that folder and…” She shrugged haplessly. “Anything else you’re curious about. I don’t see much point in keeping knowledge locked up.” She normally didn’t see much point in keeping secrets either, and she let out a long sigh in a vain effort to relieve the tension holding so many caused her.

Bex watched Morgan closely as she came to sit next to her, and she scooped up the books she’d had propped around her to set them aside. She was never the best at reading people’s faces, except for when they were mad or angry or irritated-- those looks she knew well, and she knew well how to calm them. But Morgan’s face showed none of those, only a sort of quiet contemplation and perhaps a weariness Bex didn’t quite understand yet. 

When Morgan began to speak, she listened as intently as possible. Bad luck was often a curse people talked about-- she’d read books about people cursed with bad luck or families cursed with it, too. Somehow, the way Morgan described it seemed different from those, seemed...harder. Bex tried to get herself to understand, how an entire family lineage, written and recorded, could be cursed, believe they were all cursed. And it didn’t entirely fall short on her-- her inherent curiosity let her believe in many things. Ghosts, monsters, spirits-- the concept of energy and feeling it through the Earth and its elements. But witchcraft, curses, spellcasting-- the way her parents had talked to her about it, about what people in this town might say-- felt wrong. It felt almost...dirty. She took the folder Morgan handed her and glanced at it, closing up the ledger and flitting through the records. And after everything Morgan said and all the information that was now stuffed in her head, Bex really only had one question.

She turned to look at Morgan, eyes full of curiosity, and understanding, for the sorrow she obviously held for her family and the torture they’d been through. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Morgan sat further back in her seat, her gaze drifting out to the window, where she could see the pool and the shed where she had spent so many weeks in grief. She had found out the truth, and she’d tracked down the witch who had cursed her, she had made her suffer, and she had escaped the perpetual grip of suffering that had ground her existence down to little more than fear and avoidance. She sipped her coffee slowly, thinking still. Nothing she had explicitly set out to accomplish had done her any good, and yet she wouldn’t have her good if she hadn’t bothered trying at all. How did you weigh that against everything else?

“I just came here looking for a way to find out what really happened to my family. To make all the pieces fit and get out from under thirty-nine years plus four generations of trauma. That first part was relatively easy, and I don’t, strictly speaking, regret it, even if that search came with some really, really high costs I’m still figuring out how to reckon with.” She swallowed thickly. “Before I came here, the wildest, most painfully impossible dream I had for my life--and I mean so painful I tried to think about it as little as possible--was to live in a house big enough to have people over in at a moment’s notice, with a fancy bathroom, and a room just for books, and another one just for cats. A woman to come home to, who would hold me at night, who would love me, even after knowing all of my mess and my past.” She gestured around them and looked about the room herself, trying to take in the place like it was new. “Even if I’ll never get to appreciate all of this in exactly the way I used to, wanted to, it’s still here. And it’s mine. And I wouldn’t have any of it if I’d given up or stayed home. And it’s uh...I don’t know if anything ‘worth’ some of the stuff I have to carry with me for the rest of my life, but if it was always going to be a package deal, if it would always mean a little suffering and struggle, so I could have all this, I’d do everything the same. To know what it feels like to be home, the way home is supposed to be, I’d do it.” Finally, she turned her gaze to Bex, her smile turning watery. “So I guess I did, but I found something better too.”

The contemplative silence that fell over Morgan after Bex’s question gave her enough of an answer to know what might be coming once she spoke. It wasn’t exactly a common story, but it was close enough to one that Bex understood what Morgan meant, how going through all of the pain, slogging through the hard part, was worth it in the end because she got to find a place that was better and happy and worth more. She hadn’t noticed herself tearing up while she listened until she looked up at Morgan and found a watery smile wavering back at her. She wiped them away quickly and turned her head away, fiddling with the folder she’d been handed. “So it was worth it? Coming here? Going through-- all of that?” Fighting for something she wanted and something she needed. Bex didn’t know if she had that much fight in her, she didn’t know if what Morgan was talking about was something she’d ever get to have, to try. She sniffled a little and leaned back against one of the shelves. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Morgan wiped at her own eyes and nodded. “I guess if I’d do it twice or three times over the same way, it must be.” She laughed softly, swallowing back the rest of her tears. “Uh, don’t really recommend doing everything that I did on the way to get..this. Or whatever it is you really want for yourself, Bex. It is worth it, even if it’s hard, and I do know hard, but I hope for something to be easy for you. Easy and right. Not many things are, and I feel like...I just have a feeling that you’ve already had a bit of hard.” She met the girl’s eyes, trying to gauge how close she was to the truth, how much deeper Bex would let her look. “Thank you, for saying that,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t always. Glad to be here, I mean. But I am now. I hope you’re glad to be here too. Because you really are something special, Bex…” 

At that, Bex felt her heart squeeze. Morgan was always so honest and open with her, she’d let her ask crazy questions that got way more than personal. She let her sit in the back of the class and didn’t call on her unless she wanted. She let her go through her family’s entire library of books-- and all Bex had given back to her was the word tomato and an inkling of what she might want out of life. Her body drooped and she plucked at a seam on her dress. “I haven’t seen as many hard times as you,” she murmured, “that’s for sure…” Even those words said enough about the truth. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m happy I have a home, and I’m happy there’s so many people here that seem to care about me being happy,” she started out slowly, “but...I don’t know if I’m happy to be here, you know, at the moment.” She sighed and leaned back. “I was happy to be out. I was happy to have found a place where I might fit in better. I-- it was strange, but I liked Penn State. Even after the incident, I--” she clicked her jaw, “--don’t know. It was just nice, to have my own place…”

“Out?” It took Morgan a second to catch up to Bex’s train of thought. But there were only so many things a kid could come out as, and with the way Bex felt she owed her parents for ‘letting her’ be herself, the pieces finally clicked into place. Oh, Bexley. “Hey. It’s not a contest. And you don’t have to be happy to be here right now. Sometimes it’s better to say that, than to pretend. Pretending can be exhausting, right?” She leaned back against the pillows, curling herself up as she angled toward Bex. “I have two questions, and you can answer both, or just one, or neither, but… What happened in the um, ‘incident’? And, also, if you could have your own place, an apartment or even just a few rooms to yourself, what would it be like? What would you put in it?”

Bex gave a little snort as she suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- I didn’t mean-- it’s just that-- all I do is pretend.” She shook her head. “At least it feels that way.” She sniffled a little, tried not to play all of her hand at once. She knew Morgan could see straight through her, though, so what was the point? “It um--” Bex sat back against the books, pulling her knees up to her chest, “rumors spread so quickly around campuses, you know? It’s crazy. I’d never expected anything like that. I went to private boarding school and any rumors there were just about who’s dad made more money or whatever. Anything with substance was hushed quickly.” She breathed in deep, biting her lip. “But public school is a whole other playing field, isn’t it? In private school, if you had shit to say, you said it to their face, consequences be damned because mommy and daddy would just pay it off. Anyway…someone um-- started a rumor about me and I guess this uh-- this girl, wanted to know for herself. So she asked me out and then afterwards we went back to her room and things got--” Hesitating, Bex felt her hands begin to shake. She smoothed her palms down her legs. “The point is that, she posted photos of us online and my parents found out and they really didn’t like it because you know what you can’t pay off? Teenagers with Facebook and Twitter.”

Morgan’s hand twitched, itching to reach out for Bex. “No, it’s okay, you can laugh,” she said, smiling wryly. “If you’re gonna be miserable, you may as well appreciate whatever humor you can. Even if that’s no way to live your life, especially not all the time.” She listened, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral. In the end, she stopped trying. “Bex…” she whispered. “Is it okay if I get closer to you?” She held up her hands, showing off the thin leather gloves. “I won’t feel so...cold. But…” Some traumatized kids don’t like to be touched. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, if you don’t like being touched.” She scanned her face, searching for an answer in her expression. “I’m so sorry, Bex. That anyone would treat you so cruel. You do know it wasn’t your fault, right? The horrible things people do aren’t a value or a judgement on you. You should get to be loved, Bex.”

“Who says I’m miserable!?” Bex said loudly, but it echoed in the library between them and she realized how stupid that sounded. She wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them even closer. Blinked away some hot tears building in her eyes and drew in a breath, holding it a moment. Logically, she had no real reason to dislike the touch of others so intimately-- but she knew why she did. “Um-- a little closer is fine,” she said with a short nod. Eyes couldn’t be found anymore, staring hard at her tights covered knees. “I mean-- I should’ve known, though!” she argued, “I should’ve known. No one would just like me. And I wasn’t even sure--” well, that was a blatant lie. Bex had been sure about it since she was in elementary school, and she’d only questioned herself once her parents had found out-- “that I liked-- that I was--” and she couldn’t even say the words anymore. “I should’ve known, because all people have done, all my life, is use me to get what they want. And I…” started, stopped. She didn’t know what to say anymore. “I guess that’s just my life.”

Morgan inched closer. Slowly, she feathered one finger along the girl’s temple, brushing away her tears. “There’s nothing you should’ve known. There’s no reason why you should think that anyone who says they like you isn’t being honest. There’s no good reason anyone has to be cruel like that. Whatever you’re used to, whatever people have done, that’s not your worth, or the meaning of what you can have, Bex.” She dropped her voice even softer and hovered her hand above the girl’s, which dug deep into her body. “You are such a gift, Bex. Just the way you are. You don’t have to be afraid of liking girls, or anything else about yourself. There’s nothing about who you are that isn’t wonderful, even though it doesn’t feel that way right now. Even though it feels easier to pretend to be different. You’re okay just like this.” Slower still, her hand settled on Bex’s. “Do you want me to come closer?” She asked.

Bex listened to Morgan talk but none of the words stuck. They slammed against her, pressing against old wounds that had never closed, and made her hurt. Reminded her of why they hurt. She screwed her eyes shut and put her head on her knees. She wanted to believe her, she wanted so bad to let herself believe Morgan-- but giving herself that hope would just hurt more in the end. If she let herself believe that maybe she was okay like this, her parents would just rip it away again. All she had was her ability to pretend. She’d accepted that long ago. “Tomato,” was all she said, not moving when Morgan rested a hand on hers. She was quiet for a long moment before she lifted her head again, eyes unable to meet Morgan’s. “Can we go see the bone room now?” 

Morgan’s heart sank. She couldn’t stop trying any more than Bex could stop from hiding herself. It was too important. And with every opportunity she got, she thought, maybe this time, or maybe this time, or this time, or this time, or this time...it would stick. And everything would be okay. But not today.

Morgan gave the girl’s fingers a light squeeze. “Okay. Of course we can,” she said. “Come here with me, honey, I’ll show you.” She released her fingers reluctantly and stood, trying not to watch Bex too closely as she led the way out the room and down the hall. The girl would want to compose herself, or decide how she wanted to shield herself. They had that much in common, much as it pained Morgan to recognize. 

The bone room was down at the end, mostly gallery, with tall display cases that housed articulated minks, foxes, squirrels, chipmunks, rats, and the like. Rows of skulls looked down from the topmost shelves, delighted in their grim, lifeless way. To the right was a case of fossils of all sorts, mostly in little chunks of ammonite and sandstone, with a few precious pieces of amber that made Morgan touch the one that hung around her neck with affection. At the end was an antique worktable with a stool, currently draped with canvas, but usually spotted with dust and tools for Deirdre to work with. Nearby, two armchairs and an end table were crammed together, Morgan’s attempt at extending quality time. She went to her spot now and sat, cozying up again. 

“This one’s mine,” she said, tapping gently on the display shelf next to her. “Most are from since Deirdre came here, but I think there’s a few favorites she brought with her. She told me you could take one of the fossils with you, if you like. Just let me know which.”

Bex understood that Morgan just wanted to help, she really did-- but how was she supposed to when Bex didn’t even understand what she needed help with? The situation with her parents was difficult, she knew it wasn’t the best place for her, but she had nowhere else to go. No guarantee that she would have anything if she acted out. No guarantee that they would let her go. Her obedience stemmed from fear and she understood that, on some level, but she also just wanted her parents to tell her they loved her. Tell her they were proud of her. That was an achievable goal, she knew it, she just needed to tough it out for a little bit, be the daughter they wanted. She could do that, really, she could. 

Still, she felt the disappointment in Morgan’s words when she closed up, and Bex couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor. Even the small squeeze of her fingers made her muscles tighten. She wasn’t used to affectionate touches, to those small, reassuring ones that were meant to comfort, not hurt. Swallowing, she stood up with her and shuffled behind her towards the bone room. It was as wonderful and amazing as she thought it might be, old fossils and bones lining the wall, history written forever in the DNA of living beings-- but she couldn’t find the words to voice her feelings. Silently, she walked over to the work table and ran her fingers over the cloth, wondering what it looked like underneath. Imagining what it might feel like to sit in the stool herself and work away at restoring some old fossil or artifact she’d found while exploring. 

At Morgan’s words, she turned back to look at her. “It’s-- that’s okay,” she said, turning her attention to the display case Morgan had motioned to as hers. “I don’t have a spot for it yet.” A spot to hide it, as it were. She paused in front of the case. “You made all of these?”

Morgan turned around in her seat and peered over at the shelf Bex was standing by. She didn’t try to stifle the fondness at seeing her handiwork: articulated squirrels and birds, the bone crown that had won first place at the town craft fair, some jewelry she had gifted or made just for practice, and lots of partial limbs, paws, wings, and skulls carefully cleaned and polished. “We articulated the skeletons together, and that doe, hanging up there,” she pointed to the wall. “I brought the pieces to her as a birthday present. I really don’t know enough about anatomy in order to be able to tell what goes where on my own. But I like them. And the things I get to make, obviously. I like how, even if their old selves aren’t really here, something is still left behind. Something even beautiful. Death doesn’t always have to be grotesque. There can still be change, and beauty. And that’s just...something that is really important for me to remember right now.” She laughed, self-deprecating, at some of her rougher practice pieces. “I’m getting better, by the way. Not great, but, uh.” She shrugged.

Bex could understand that. A skeleton of what they used to be, still here, just different. Even after death, something remained. Maybe there was more than one kind of death. Her eyes traveled the skeletons, the articulated squirrel, the birds, with their fragile, delicate wing bones; the bone crown, decorated with moss and flowers and jewels. There was a deep sense of longing Bex felt looking at them. It wasn’t the same, the thing she craved, but it was close enough to make her feel a deep envy for what Morgan had. A loving girlfriend, a home that felt real, a hobby that satisfied her, and confidence to be herself. Bex’s hands wrung together and she stole a small glance over at Morgan in her chair. “I think it’s incredible,” she said quietly, “and so beautiful.” Suddenly, she turned to fully face Morgan, eyes more steady than they had been most of the afternoon. “Can you teach me how to do it?”

Morgan didn’t say anything at first. She was hoping to get Bex to take a piece, something discreet, to remind her that she wasn’t alone, as close to an enchantment as a mundane object could get. She hadn’t expected Bex (or anyone besides Erin and Gabe, really) to care about the work she did with her hands. But she couldn’t deny how it had helped her, and she did want Bex to come by more often. At this point, her magic barely factored into the picture at all. It was this cage she carried around herself, this thing her parents had built. Morgan’s features softened and she climbed out of the chair, coming as close to the girl as she dared. “If that’s what you want, Bex, I’d like nothing more.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Bex said, “to learn how to do something with my hands. To...make and not break.” LIke the pot, like the sidewalk, like the windows. Like everything. She idled, hands wringing together again. “I’ve watched videos of people doing this kind of work, like um-- cleaning bones, and fossils and putting them back together. Making something new out of something most people would think is lifeless. I guess I don’t really seem like the type of person to like this kind of thing, right?” But that was just it, wasn’t it? She was the kind of person that liked those things. The persona she played wasn’t real. Her hands begged to build and touch and feel and create. Discover. Her demeanor changed quickly and her body tightened again. “Just don’t...you can’t tell anyone.” 

“Oh, and I look like someone who does?” Morgan balked, laughing. She gestured to her rose-pink skirt, her periwinkle blue sweater. Maybe the skull on her pendant was a little bit of a hint, or the bone ring on her middle finger, but a lot of people couldn’t tell it apart from plastic, they’d seen so little of it before. However much she’d changed, Morgan still clung to life, and sometimes she even let it show. “The last thing I would ever presume, Bex, is a limit on what you’re capable of. But I won’t tell anyone. Except for Deirdre. Because I tell her everything, and she’s going to be so excited, but other than that: no one outside this home needs to know. And!” She left the room and beckoned for Bex to follow her. “It just so happens that I do my work in my own little hidey-hole. We’ll be working there when you come to visit. Or we can set up a temporary workstation in the kitchen, if you prefer.” She stopped short of the back door, which led onto the patio, the garden, the pool, and Morgan’s little gray studio. “And you can turn up whenever you want for a lesson, though I won’t lie, it’d be nice to see you once a week. You’re pretty great to be around, and it’s not an easy thing to get the hang of.”

Bex gave a tiny smile at that. It was true, Morgan didn’t seem like the kind of person to like working with dead things or bones, but Bex couldn’t be too surprised, since she liked those things, too. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe there was hope for Bex to have something like Morgan did. She blinked, following Morgan through the house towards the back door. “That’s okay, you can tell her,” she said with a small nod, “I trust her, too.” And maybe there were only a few of those people around, but Bex’s group of people she trusted was slowly expanding. Now, she’d just have to come up with a way to explain to her parents where she was going so often. She could probably get away with a half lie-- they’d be thrilled if they knew she was working extra with a professor from the school. They just didn’t need to know which professor and what they were doing. She could have this one thing. “Is that the shed you told me about? The one in the backyard?” she asked, curious. “I think that’d be fine. I wouldn’t mind working there.” Her eyes came up to look at Morgan finally, a bit of hope twinkling in them. “I think I can do that. Once a week…” It was a wild concept, to have something to look forward to each week-- but she was sure she’d get used to it. “I can do that.” 

Morgan beamed. “You can just tell your parents you’re taking on an independent study, or a research assistantship! I don’t actually have those at my pay grade, but--” She shrugged, signaling shh. It wouldn’t matter, in the end. As long as Bex could get here without invoking their ire, as long as she could find a space to grow a little piece of happiness, the details didn’t matter. Morgan led the way out the back and through the freshly paved path that lead to her studio. She opened the door for them and switched on the lights, then the overhead for the table she worked at. Schoolwork mingled with glue and thread and wire and half a dozen animal vertebrae scattered before and armature that needed to be assembled and deer horns in need of cutting, skulls that only been freshly skinned and still had to be polished. Her tool cabinet hung half open from when she’d abandoned work in the morning. It was a whole world of knowledge waiting to be understood. Morgan grinned and gestured for Bex to join her. “What do you say we get started now?”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #12: Candles and Blankets

words: ca. 4,500 setting: mAU, candle shop AU lemon: not really cw: (SPOILER) fire, depression

Have you ever fallen in love with the gorgeous fiber artist across the street but she’s a really kind person and you aren’t sure if she’s into you or just being courteous, so you invite her to a romantic candlelit dinner for your own birthday in the back of your own candle shop?

Hey there.

My name is Anna, and …my life? Is pretty crazy.

I guess you could say the stars aligned for Elsa and I to meet.

It was a Tuesday.

New moon, new beginnings.

The sky was brightening with the dawn as I twisted my key around in the tricky lock. I really needed to call a locksmith soon, but I wasn’t sure if my business insurance covered new locks. Fires and floods, come at me; but an inconvenient lock… I probably wasn’t so lucky.

After a minute I finally heard the heavy click as my ears also noticed the sound of a car pulling up behind me. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but instead of turning right around, I cautiously used the glass store windows to take a peek.

My shoulders relaxed. A blonde woman my age was behind the wheel.

I pretended to struggle even more with my key until I heard her get out of her vehicle. Then, I spun around with a smile on my face too bright for the hour.

“Good morning!” I greeted her. As she stepped into view to pay the meter, I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. You would’ve done the same if the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen just parked in front of your candle shop at 6:30 AM in the middle of October.

“Hi,” she smiled gently. I’d never seen eyes such an icy blue give off so much warmth on a chilly fall morning. She glanced up at my sign, ‘Anna’s Awesome Aromas,’ and her smile brightened. “Oh! Do you sell candles here?”

A little confused how she parked right in front of a shop she didn’t know sold candles, but not one to judge, I answered, “Yes! I make them and sell them. In fact, I’m Anna herself.” I offered my hand out to shake.

She leaned forward to shake with a cold hand and then gestured across the street at the vacant shop building. “I’m here to look at the building for lease. Nice to meet you! My name is Elsa.”

“Elsa! Wow!” This woman was flawless right down to the name. “Wait, you’re looking into Kristoff’s old place? Sweet, what’s your business?”

“Oh,” she nervously reached a hand behind her neck. “I just make blankets.”

“Just? That’s amazing! Do you knit?” I wasn’t about to let this stranger downplay her talents.

“I, um, knit, crochet, quilt, design fleece patterns, and mess with a few other styles every once in a while.”

“Wow, so you can do everything! That is so cool, Elsa. Seriously.”

Her cheeks were turning magenta. “I still have a lot to learn. I’d love to see your candle shop!” She said, deflecting the attention from herself. “Maybe after the realtor and I do our walkthrough I could take a look inside?”

“Absolutely!” I nodded. “In fact, if you’re done around lunch time, come on in and I’ll share my lasagna with you in the back. I brought enough for a small army.”

The way she smiled at me, crinkling her eyes, before she turned and walked across the street had my insides feeling… cozy. Comfortable.

Safe.

——————————

That Christmas was the best I’d had in a long time. Elsa had set up her blanket shop in early November, and we became fast friends. I never ate another lunch alone - we alternated between her office and mine, always able to keep an eye on whichever shop was unattended across the street.

December was a busy sales month for us both, with lots of customers needing candles and blankets to warm themselves and their loved ones in the cold holiday season. For that reason, I cherished our lunches as the only time we had to get to know each other as new friends. We both worked long days keeping our shops running smoothly and churning out new products in our evenings, often late into the night.

Neither of us had any employees, even a business partner, let alone a life partner; so sharing lunch with a like-minded and equally hardworking woman was honestly life changing.

The week leading up to Christmas was so busy with last-minute-gift shoppers, we called off our lunches to keep our shops open every precious minute. In a stroke of luck, Christmas fell on a Sunday, so we both closed up shop for the whole weekend, giving ourselves a true holiday.

Naturally, we spent it together. After convincing her she wouldn’t be intruding, Elsa came over to my apartment on Christmas Eve and we relaxed all day with no talk of businesses. She spent the night on my couch and our Christmas Day was filled with lazy cooking and laughter.

She gifted me a beautiful tree skirt that she knit especially for me with stripes featuring all my favorite blankets she’d made. For Elsa, I made a candle with ten different layers, because she was always saying her favorite scent was my whole shop, with all my aromas melding together.

“I can’t believe we gave each other the same thing!” She had laughed.

“It’s perfect,” I was grinning wider than I had in years. “We’re perfect,” I wanted to add.

—————————————

It’s amazing how something as simple as having a friend can make time fly by. As winter melted into spring, both Elsa and I were entering our “off season,” as people no longer craved the warmth our products provided. Even so, the days didn’t drag on.

I still lunched with Elsa every day and we never ran out of things to talk about, from crazy customer stories, to new products we’ve tried to create, to old childhood memories. There was always more to learn about each other, even after I thought Elsa might know me better than I knew myself.

But then there was the concern: did she know me well enough to figure out I had an enormous, ever-growing crush on her? And did I know her well enough to figure out if she might feel the same?

That was my main source of anguish as the weather turned as warm as my three wick candles.

Every day I sat with Elsa as she ate her chicken caesar salads or Taco Bell (there was no in between), and I ate my peanut butter sandwiches, or Campbell’s soup. And every day I’d stare at her light shining hair and blushed cheeks, as she smiled sweetly and laughed at all my jokes with a sound more gorgeous than fucking wind chimes. And every day I could feel myself falling further.

I used to live and breathe for my candle shop; I woke up with a purpose to create new scents and gorgeous colors, experimenting with different types of wax. It was usually what I dreamed about.

Now… I was dreaming about Elsa. I was waking up excited, not about how many candles I might sell that day, but how many times I might make Elsa laugh during lunch. Will she flash me that look, the one where her eyes sparkle and the corner of her mouth smiles, making it look just for a second that she had glimpsed my soul - and liked what she saw?

I just didn’t know what to make of it, because Elsa was too nice. She seemed to interact with everyone the way she interacted with me. Granted, nobody else got to spend lunch with her everyday, or talk about our small businesses together, or drop by to visit on our rare days off. But how was I supposed to find out if she was romantically into me without risking everything good that had come into both of our lives?

It was June when I had the idea. My birthday was coming up the following month, so why not plan something special? Something …romantic? Then if there was anything to blossom between us, it would have the perfect environment to happen without forcing anything or asking potentially devastating questions.

Perfect!

It wasn’t hard to plan out once I had the idea. I chose the restaurant I’d be ordering out from, and easily convinced Elsa to come over to my shop after we both closed.

I was wearing my favorite green summer dress - the flowy one with pockets - and kept my hair down for a change. At the stroke of 7 I closed up and headed out to pick up the dinner and suddenly it hit me. Was it weird to plan and host my own birthday dinner? A birthday dinner for only me and the girl I was in love with?

Well, it was too fucking late, if so. I came back with the food and spent the next half hour setting up a table with nice place settings and lighting my sexiest scented candles all around my office and store. As the sun set, eight o’clock rolled around and Elsa closed up her shop, too.

As I watched her delicately make her way to my side of the street, I chewed my lip. Here goes… everything.

I came to my shop door to let her in as she approached my dimly lit building, and was stunned by how beautiful she looked. She was wearing a shiny blue sleeveless top and tight white capris, with heels to match her blouse and the kicker - a white bow tie hanging untied around her neck. Her wavy hair was gently bouncing around her shoulders with each step. I opened the door for her and the bell above jingled loudly.

She beamed when she saw me, stepping inside to set down her leather backpack purse and white gift bag to give me a big hug. “Happy birthday, Anna,” she said softly into my shoulder.

“Thanks, Els,” I squeezed back, breathing in her perfume. It was my favorite scent, one I’d never quite been able to replicate at home - something between the ocean breeze and a floral woodland meadow.

As we pulled apart I glanced down her outfit one more time, “You look incredible.”

“So do you! And well, you said to dress nice, so… that’s what I’ve got,” Elsa laughed nervously.

“It’s perfect. So!” I clapped my hands together, “Shall we head to the back?”

“After you, lovely,” Elsa grinned and picked up her two bags again. As we walked she began to notice the candlelit atmosphere. “This is really something, Anna. You went through all this trouble just for the two of us?”

I winced. This was a weird thing to do… Play it cool. “Oh, it wasn’t much trouble at all! I thought we deserved something nice. Something special.”

“We do! Especially you, Anna. You work so hard.”

“Not as hard as you,” I countered, as we stepped into my cozy office. My desk was in the corner by the window-wall facing out to the street, and in the front area by the couch we usually ate our lunches on, I had set up our small dining experience.

The only light was from all the candles I had placed around the room; a few were on the little table itself, which also held our take out dinner that I already plated up.

“Wow!” Elsa was standing wide-eyed behind me, a huge smile creeping onto her face. “This is — it’s incredible. Did you get Romeo’s?” She recognized the food from the local fancy Italian restaurant.

“Bone apple teeth!” I grinned. “Shall we eat, before it gets any colder?” I said, gesturing to a chair.

As we settled in to eat, my racing heart calmed a little. This felt right, it felt like us, sharing a meal like we did every day. Just… fancy.

“I’m thankful you got me Alfredo,” Elsa said a few minutes into our meal. “Or my white pants may never be the same.”

“Oh man!” I said with spaghetti hanging out my mouth, “That was a lucky guess. Imagine if I made you get tomato sauce on your pants!”

Elsa laughed. “I imagine I’ll be taking them off.”

“What?”

“Um, I said I imagine I would be taking them off. If I stained them.” A blush was forming on Elsa’s cheeks.

I felt my face warming too, wondering if Elsa had meant what she had first implied. Then, Elsa set her fork down and took a deep breath.

“No, you know what,” she said, looking me intensely in the eye. “You went out on a limb here with this dinner, and so will I. Anna, I really like you.”

Was I supposed to hear the blood rushing past my eardrums?

“Everything has been better since you came into my life - or since I came into yours, whichever way you want to think of it.” Elsa smiled sincerely, “I didn’t realize what was happening right away, but I’ve known for a while now that I’m just - just helplessly in love with you.” Her gaze shifted down to the table as she kept talking, “It’s hard to pretend that I can keep my cool around you when all I feel is the warmth of friendship, of …love. Of something deeper. Something I’ve never felt before, and I’d never want to feel with anyone who isn’t you.”

She cleared her throat and looked me in the eye once more, “So, if this dinner was your way of saying you might share some of those feelings for me too… first of all, at this point I fuckin hope it was; and secondly… that was it, I can’t remember…”

By the time Elsa had trailed off her words, I was next to her chair, cupping her face with my hands. “Can I kiss you?”

She touched one of my hands, holding it to her cheek as she stood up. Taking a step away from the table, Elsa slid her other hand behind my waist. There was a moment we just looked into each other’s eyes as the pull between us became stronger. “Please,” was all she whispered before our lips came together like the pages of a closing book.

I had never kissed anyone - I had… no idea it could be like this. Her lips were so soft as they moved with mine, and it felt like they were asking permission with each caress. A small tear escaped one of my closed eyes.

I felt so emotional as she ran her fingers through my hair, stroking my scalp. She - Elsa, she wanted me, too. She loved me, too. And I realized I hadn’t actually said that yet — I pulled away suddenly and watched her open her eyes in surprise.

“I love you, Elsa.”

She smiled in relief.

I rested my forehead against hers, standing on my tiptoes to reach. “I just wanted to make that clear.”

***

We did not finish our meal.

The folding chairs sat forgotten as I laid Elsa down on the nearby couch and straddled her hips as we both reached for clothes we no longer wished to wear. I took a second to be grateful for the partial wall that blocked the couch from the view of anyone passing by the shop’s windows.

Elsa tugged on one end of her bow tie and it slipped out from behind her neck in one fluid motion - probably the sexiest move I’ve ever seen.

As I lifted my dress above my head, Elsa was gazing up at me, hypnotized. I let the dress fall to the floor beside us. “You’re falling a bit behind, love.” All she had taken off was her tie, and I already sat in my under garments.

She reached for the bottom of her blouse. “One advantage to dresses I suppose,” Elsa said. “If you’re into that.” She sat up a little to whip the shirt off, exposing a black sports bra.

“God, how are you so hot?” I didn’t let Elsa answer before leaning down to kiss her again. I reverently felt her soft skin as I ran my palms over her sides and found the small of her back. “I’ve, er, never done this before.”

Elsa gave a slight squeeze to my hips. “Me neither. It’s ok. We can figure it out together, but I’m probably gonna need to take my pants off first.”

I laughed, “Alright, I’ll get up.” When I planted a foot on the floor and stood up, I paused. I took another breath through my nose. “What’s that smell…?”

Elsa looked at me. She sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

I turned to the doorway leading into the hallway to the store. An orange glow far too bright made my heart drop and my stomach fill with dread.

“On second thought, keep your pants on.” I grabbed Elsa’s top, threw it at her, and grabbed my dress, pulling it on haphazardly. I ran to the doorway and stopped when I saw how big the fire was in my shop. It looked like everything was engulfed in flames. Nothing could be saved from there. Oh my god.

Pop!

Pop pop!

Candles on my shelves were exploding. Oh god oh god oh god.

“We gotta get outta here!” I slammed the office door shut to hold off the blazing heat of the main store’s fire, trapping us in my office. I ran to the wall of windows by my desk, grateful there was no second floor.

Elsa met me at the wall with her bags. “Can we send this through the windows?” She pointed at my filing cabinet.

Together we pushed the metal cabinet to the window wall and then heaved our combined body weight into it, sending it crashing through the panes. Shards of glass rained down on us, but only a few pieces were sharp enough to cut. The cabinet toppled over onto the pavement outside.

I pushed out a few extra pieces of glass to make way for us to squeeze through. After I got out I helped Elsa climb in her heels, over the filing cabinet out onto the sidewalk. Together we pulled it farther away from the building.

“You call 911 and stay back from here,” I yelled as I ran back to the broken glass. “I have to get a few more things.”

Elsa looked terrified as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and took more steps backward into the deserted street. Turning toward my shop, my hand shook as I reached forward, crouching through my broken window, back into my smoldering office.

The room was starting to fill with smoke and almost constant candle explosions could be heard through the wall. I decided the most important things to get out first were my computers. I grabbed my laptop and quickly unplugged everything from the desktop computer tower. I didn’t need the keyboard or monitor.

Stifling a cough, I crouched through the glass and carried the computers to the curb. As soon as they were down safely, I turned and ran back in.

I couldn’t help but cough this time. Soon the door holding back the inferno would bust - or maybe the shared wall would be engulfed first. Either way, I was running out of time. The air was so, so hot.

One of the candles across the room burst. A searing hot glass shard lodged itself in my arm, near my elbow. I screamed, brushing it away, and the scream turned quickly to more coughing and sputtering.

Through the attack on my lungs, I grabbed everything I could hold off my desk - my purse included, and made my way out as fast as I could.

As I climbed out onto the sidewalk, I felt the office door behind me blow out. In the split second I had, I hurled everything I was carrying as far out as I could and then threw myself to the side in an attempted barrel roll just as the fireball rolled out and licked at my heels.

I sputtered and coughed on the ground as Elsa sprinted over to me. She grabbed a flat piece of debris and swatted at the edge of my dress that had caught fire. Once it was out, she lifted me over her shoulder and took me over to her building where she had been taking the items I rescued from my office.

Setting me down gently, she kept my hand in hers. “They’re on their way.”

My coughing still wouldn’t let up but I couldn’t actually feel my aching lungs anymore, or even the searing gash in my arm, as I sat on the concrete, numbly watching my store go down in flames.

Watching everything I worked for burn away.

———————————————

I didn’t notice August.

They held me at the hospital for two days for the smoke inhalation, my burn wound, and other minor cuts. Then I was released and I sat in my apartment.

I didn’t have a job to go to. My work was gone.

The insurance claim was going to take 90-120 days to go through but they assured me I would be covered for the total loss. So I wouldn’t go into massive debt, but I still mourned. I had no business, no product, no motivation.

So I sat.

I threw out all the candles in my home.

Maybe it was anger, maybe it was guilt, but it most definitely was fear. I never wanted to see another candle again in my life. The destruction they caused - my own creations did this to me. My own negligence. My own lust.

I had also shut Elsa out.

I knew it wasn’t fair to her but I couldn’t even think about her without reliving the terror of the fire. I just couldn’t handle seeing her… so I said I needed space, I needed time to recover alone.

It’s been over a month though, and while the pain still hasn’t gone away, now loneliness has joined it in my torment.

I missed Elsa so much it hurt. And not even in the we-didn’t-even-get-to-have-sex way; I missed my friend.

A week into September, Elsa begged me to come to her apartment. She said she just needed to see I was ok, just needed to talk.

It wasn’t a hard decision with the way I felt like I was dying without her in my life. But I needed her to initiate it or my guilt never would’ve allowed me the opportunity. So I went.

I couldn’t bring myself to change out of the sweats I’d been wearing for at least a week, but I managed to put on deodorant. My hair was pulled into the cleanest messy bun I could muster. It would probably be the bags under my eyes that she would comment on first. The two main subjects of my dreams were now either nightmare fuel or guilt trips, so I had barely been sleeping.

The biggest surprise to me when I met her outside were the matching bags under Elsa’s eyes.

As I walked to her she met me halfway with a warm hug. I saw the look of mixed relief and concern on her face as she took in my appearance.

“Anna,” she whispered as she held me close.

I drew in a shaky breath. “Els,” my reply was like a reflex and I melted into her embrace. With a little sadness I noticed she wasn’t wearing her perfume, but everything else about the hug was all that I had been craving.

“Come on,” she led me into her apartment.

It wasn’t hard to tell I wasn’t doing ok, and neither was she for that matter, so the question was never brought up. Instead she made me tea and held me on the couch, murmuring soft things like, “I’ll keep you warm.”

When I was calm from the tea, Elsa went to get something from another room. She returned with the white gift bag from my birthday, though it might have been replaced with a new gift bag, given how pristine it still looked.

“I still want you to have this, Anna,” she said softly. “But first let me tell you about an idea I’ve had. I just want you to listen to it, no need to respond right away.”

I nodded.

She sat back down with me. Her voice never raised above a light trickling of a fountain as she spoke, “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been going through. But I do know what trauma feels like. So I have a clue about what you may be feeling toward what you used to do; what you used to love doing now feels painful. Maybe even terrifying…”

Elsa took my hand in hers. “I got this idea a couple weeks ago when I accidentally dropped my bottle of perfume into your gift bag.” She chuckled grimly. “It all spilled out and your present soaked it up.”

She reached down into the bag and turned her head to me, “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

I closed them.

With a soft whoosh, a thin, but nicely heavy blanket settled onto me. As I breathed through my nose, suddenly a wave of familiar comfort washed over me. Her perfume was scenting the whole blanket. I wanted to cry. “Elsa,” I whispered, my hands shaking.

She rubbed my leg through the fabric. “I know, sweetheart,” Elsa sat back into the couch, cuddled close to me and I kept my eyes closed as she continued to talk. “After that happened, I thought… nobody really does this. Creating scented oils just for the purpose of dripping onto fabric like blankets for an extra comforting experience. Like I know essential oils exist, but that’s just the beginning of the potential you would have if you, say… wanted to become my business partner, to create scent drops for my blankets…”

She trailed off and let that sit there with me to think about. I felt the same revelation she probably experienced coming up with the plan. “Elsa,” I said with my eyes still closed. “That’s brilliant. When I’m ready… I would love that.”

I felt her sigh with relief. “Can I see the blanket now?” I asked.

She sat upright, “Here let me hold it up for you to see. It might bring up some emotion. I swear I had no idea what was going to happen when I was making it…”

The blanket was lifted off of me. I slowly opened my eyes to see… a perfect image of my shop in all her glory, hand stitched and glowing softly yellow through the windows. Around the edges of the blanket were the words, “Anna’s Awesome Aromas,” repeated in a pattern. I sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa said, gathering up the blanket. “It’s too soon, I shouldn’t hav—“

“Stop,” I said while tears dripped down my face. “It’s perfect,” I stood up and flung myself into her arms, making the blanket fall to the floor at our feet.

“You’re not upset?” she asked.

“I’m only upset that I shut you out for so long. I’m sorry,” I held her tight. “You are everything I need, how could I not see that?”

“It’s ok,” Elsa kissed my forehead. “Some things aren’t meant to be seen; they have to be felt, or smelled, maybe tasted.”

With a gentle kiss, she began my healing.

[mldrgrl]

How Many Tropes Can One Story Hold?

by: mldrgrl Rated:PG Paring: Mulder and Scully Summary: You want one bedfic?  You want snowed in?  You want sick!fic?  You want drunken confessions?  You want a plot twist?  You got it.

He thought he could stay ahead of the storm.  At least, that’s what he told his partner when they set out on the drive from Pittsfield to home.  What should take five hours, tops, had verged on six and they weren’t even halfway there.  Unforeseen road closures and detours had set them back and the winter storm swiftly swooped in to cause chaos on the highways.

Scully had fallen asleep almost out of the gate.  She’d been quiet that morning at the police station, yawning frequently and stretching her neck muscles.  Mulder assumed she hadn’t slept well, but didn’t ask.  

Visibility had gotten steadily worse throughout the drive.  Snow was falling so rapidly the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up and the wind wasn’t helping.  Mulder knew he had to stop, but he’d promised Scully he’d have her home for the weekend.

“Where are we?” she murmured, stretching and blinking out of slumber.  He glanced over in time to see her wince and run her hand down the front of her throat.

“Not far from Culpeper,” he answered.  “It’s been...a challenging drive.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”  Her voice was raspy.  She rubbed her brow.

He shrugged.  “Not much you could do about it.”  He paused as the steering wheel pulled to the left under his hands and took his foot off the accelerator to avoid fishtailing.  “Uh, I think it might be a good idea to find a motel for the night though.”

“You probably should’ve stopped ages ago.”

“I really thought I could get you home.”

She nodded and then winced again and gripped her neck with one hand.  He couldn’t take his focus off the road, but he gave her a few concerned glances.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“My throat hurts,” she stated.  “Glands are swollen.  I was lethargic this morning, muscles aching.”  She put the back of her hand up to her forehead and then turned it down and pressed it to her cheek.  “I believe I have a fever.”

Mulder risked taking one hand off the steering wheel to reach over and put the flat of his hand against Scully’s forehead.  Her eyes closed and she made a soft humming noise.  He took his hand back.

“Next place I see, I’ll stop,” he said.

Ten minutes later, approaching white-out conditions, Mulder was able to turn the car off the highway towards a red neon arrow that flashed like a beacon of salvation.  The short road was treacherous and dark, but he managed to follow the grooves of snowed-over tire tracks and creep along to a small, clapboard house.  He parked alongside a row of pine trees, frosty branches trembling in the wind.

“Is it a bed and breakfast?” Scully asked.

“Stay in here and keep warm,” Mulder said, pulling his gloves on.  “I’ll find out what the situation is.”

He took a moment to brace himself, and then he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car.  Immediately, he was pelted in the face with snow, but the wind was so fierce it felt like sand.  He hunched his shoulders and turned the collar of his jacket up as he hustled towards the stairs of a wraparound porch.  His loafers were useless and within a few steps, his feet were cold and wet.  He stomped the snow away at the door and knocked just below a brass plate that read MANAGER.  While he waited for an answer, he tucked his hands under his armpits and hugged his arms against his sides.

The door swung open and a stout, grey-haired lady clamped her hand on Mulder’s forearm and tugged him forward.  He stumbled across the threshold and the door slammed shut behind him.  The room was small and dimly lit, just a square closed-off space with a countertop and barely enough room to fit two people.

“What in tarnation are you doing out on a night like this?” the lady asked.  She stared up at him with her thick, white eyebrows furrowed.

“Hoping for a vacancy,” he answered.  “Are you the motel or did we miss it?”

“You found us.  Lucky for you, got one cabin left.”

“Cabin?”

“Six of them around back.  Can’t see ‘em on account of the trees and the snow.”

“Okay, well we’ll take it.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and my partner.”

The woman squinted at him and crossed her arms.  “You all married?”

“Well, we work together.”

“Cuz I don’t rent out to unwed couples.  It ain’t decent or respectable.”

“And we are also married,” he quickly said.

“Alright then.”  The woman finally stepped away from Mulder and walked back behind the counter.  She placed a guestbook on the countertop and slid it towards Mulder.  “Sign there, I’ll get you a key.  It’ll be $40 for the night, cash or check.  I don’t take no American Express.”

“Um.”  Mulder took the glove off his right hand and dipped into his breast pocket for his wallet.  Luckily, he had cash on him, which he pulled out and slid across the counter.

“You want a receipt?”

“Sure.”  He already knew there’d be no way he could expense a single cabin to their last case, but he’d take the receipt as a memento for the unusual place and occasion.  He signed the guest book Mr. & Mrs. Mulder, almost chuckling to himself at the strangeness of it.

“That’s for you.”  The woman gave Mulder a handwritten receipt and a key on a brown plastic holder shaped like a diamond with the number 4 etched into it.  “Pull the car on up a bit and make a left past the lamppost. Number four.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a pull-out couch or rollaway bed available, is there?”

“Why would you need that?”

“Well we’re technically on the job right now and fraternization is...frowned upon.”

“Don’t got one.”

“Okay, no problem.  Um, one last question.  Is there a...drug store or diner nearby?”

“You mad as a hatter or what?”

“Well, Sc...my wife is feeling a little under the weather.  I just wanted to...since I can’t get her home tonight, I thought I’d at least try to find something to make her more comfortable.”

“Aw, you’re a good fella.  I tell you what, you all get yourself settled in and I’ll be around in ten minutes to bring you some soup.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”

“Not at all, not at all.  Go on then.”

“Thank you…I don’t know your name.”

“Myrtle.”

“Thank you, Myrtle.”  

Bracing himself again, Mulder headed back to the car, keeping his head ducked down against the wind.  He was shivering by the time he made it back to the car and welcomed the blast of heat when he got in.  His feet were thoroughly soaked, as was the bottom of his pants.

“You want the good news or the bad news?” he asked Scully.

“No room at the inn?”

“One room.  One cabin, actually.  Whatever that entails.”

“Oh.”

“If that’s not okay, we can try to-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I don’t know.  Oh, uh...if anyone asks, we’re married.”

Scully’s left eyebrow inched up into a pointed arc.  “Is that the bad news?”

“That was the good news, actually.  Myrtle is running a respectable operation and doesn’t rent to the unwed.”

“Seriously?  Mulder, that’s archaic, not to mention blatant discrimination.  You need to go back and tell her-”

“That we’re not married and to please refund my $40 and we’ll just be on our merry way out into the blizzard?”

Scully put a hand up in surrender and closed her eyes.  “Alright,” she said, and reached up to her throat.  “Just please don’t tell me you told her we were Rob and Laura Petrie.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder,” he answered, finally starting the car.  “Personally, I know you’d probably keep your name if we were married.  I was just trying to get a room key in hand with as little explanation as possible.”

“You think I’d keep my name?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, to be honest.”

“Huh.”

Mulder pulled the car forward slowly, searching for the lamppost he was supposed to turn at.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the glow of the light and sure enough, a row of cabins appeared in silhouette straight ahead, all miniature clapboard versions of the house in front.  Number four was the only one without a snow-covered lump of a vehicle in front.  He pulled up to it carefully and parked as close as he could manage.

“Key,” he said, passing the room key over to Scully.  “I’ll grab the bags.”

“As much as I want to get inside, I’m not looking forward to what it’ll take to get there.”

“Count of three?”

“Three,” she answered, opening her door.

Mulder got out of the car and ran to the trunk.  He grabbed his duffel bag and Scully’s rolling suitcase and squinted against the wind harsh wind blowing snow into his face as he lugged both to the door.  She’d left it cracked for him and he pushed inside, dropping the bags at his feet before kicking it closed.

The cabin was just a small room with a queen-sized bed and faux wood paneling.  There was no TV, but there was a squat bookcase against one wall stuffed with an assortment of books, puzzles, and games.  Next to that was a wardrobe.  Beneath the window was a round table and two folding chairs.  Opposite the bed was a stone hearth with a wood burning stove and a basket of wood next to it.

“Think that works?” Mulder asked, nodding to the stove.

“I hope so.  I’m not sure that thermostat over there is working.”

“I’ll take a look at it.  Which side do you want?”

“Oh.  Um.  Left?”

“Great.”

They both stood staring at the bed for a few moments.  Mulder put his hand down onto the quilted comforter and pressed into the corner of the bed.  Thankfully, it was not a boxspring mattress.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Scully asked.  “I’d like to...shower, I think.”

“No, go ahead.  Uh, Myrtle said she’d be by with some soup soon.”

“She what?”

“I told her my wife was feeling under the weather.  She offered.”

“Oh.”

“You want me to take the opportunity to come clean about our marital status?”

“Sure,” she answered, pulling her suitcase across the floor with her to the bathroom.  “But, you’ll be the one that has to sleep in the car when she kicks us out.”

As soon as Scully shut herself in the bathroom, Mulder tossed his duffel onto the bed and rifled through it for new socks and a pair of sweats.  He needed to get out of his wet shoes and pants as soon as possible.  He didn’t even bother to remove his overcoat before toeing off his loafers and peeling his socks off.  His feet felt like blocks of ice they were so cold and his toes were red.  He’d just unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants when the door to the bathroom opened and Scully popped her head around the corner.

“Mulder do you think...oh uh…sorry, sorry...”  Her head disappeared just as quickly as it had popped out.

The only real embarrassment Mulder felt was not that Scully had caught him undressing, but that he looked rather ridiculous in his overcoat, dress shirt, and boxer shorts with his pants around his ankles.  He chuckled to himself and sat down to put on fresh socks and sweatpants.  After he traded his dress shirt for a tee and sweatshirt, and draped his overcoat, wet pants and socks over the chair under the window, he went and tapped on the bathroom door.  He could hear the water running.

“DId you need something?” he asked.

“No, it’s...nevermind.”

“You sure?”

The door opened a crack and Scully eyeballed Mulder through the thin gap of space.  “Do you have an extra sweatshirt I can borrow?”

“Just this one,” he answered, plucking the sweatshirt at his chest.

“Okay, nevermind.”

“Wait.”  He put his hand on the door to stop her from closing it completely and then he reached back to the collar of his shirt to pull it off.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’ve got a thermal I can wear.  You take it.”

The door opened a little wider and Scully reached out for the sweatshirt.  She was wrapped in a towel, clutching it closed at her chest.  “Thank you,” she said, and then her arm quickly retreated back into the sanctum of the bathroom and the door snicked softly shut.  With a smile, Mulder went back to his duffel bag and found his thermal shirt.

He was inspecting the wood burning stove when there was a knock on the door.  Myrtle bustled in carrying a cardboard box which she placed on the round table.  She wore a heavy, fur coat and a pink shower cap over her hair.

“That green thermos there is chicken soup,” she said.  “The red is some special tea.”

“Candles?” Mulder asked, inspecting the contents of the box.  There were four candles and candlesticks tucked down .

“Power’s likely to go out if the storm gets any worse.  You need help with that stove?”  Before waiting for an answer, she pushed past Mulder and set about to filling and lighting the stove while he stood by.

“Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing to the stove and then the box.  

“You need anything you come knock,” she answered, clapping wood dust from her hands and then she poked Mulder in the chest with her finger.  “Don’t you go haring off in this nastiness just ‘cause the little Missus makes a sneeze.  You look like the type that just might do such foolishness.  You’re no good to anyone if you’re getting up to foolishness.”

Mulder put his hands up in surrender and suppressed a grin.  “I won’t.”

“Good.  Extra blankets are in the wardrobe.  You all just stay put and have a restful evenin’.”  

“We will, thank you.”

The heat from the stove warmed the cabin surprisingly quickly.  Without a TV, Mulder didn’t have much to do, so he inspected the bookcase and found a book of Virginia ghost stories to read to pass the time.  When Scully finally emerged from the bathroom, in flannel pants and his sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, he was propped up against the headboard on the right side of the bed, engrossed in a tale of the haunted Elbow Road and didn’t look up right away.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

He looked up and plucked at his bottom lip to hide his smile.  Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up, cheeks rosy from the shower, and her hair was pulled into a short pony-tail, even though it wasn’t quite long enough to hold.

“Ghost stories,” he answered and her face scrunched a little.  “There’s soup and tea in that box over there.  You should get to it while it’s hot.”

“Looks like there’s enough for two, if you’d like to join me.”

Mulder folded the page down in the book he was reading and got off the bed.  Scully had the lid of the red thermos off and was pouring soup into the cap.  The sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirt kept slipping over her wrists.

“You feeling any better?” he asked.

“The steam from the shower helped,” she answered, sliding the thermos across the table towards Mulder.  “But, not really.”

“Here.”  He caught her hand before she picked up the cap of soup and rolled the cuffs of the sweatshirt up for her.

“Thanks.”

“What’re the candles for?” Scully asked, opening up the sleeve of crackers.

“Myrtle says the power is unreliable.”

Scully sighed and then blew across the top of her soup.  She looked around the small room for a few moments and then turned her gaze to Mulder.  “No TV?” she asked.

“Nope.  There’s Yahtzee.  Or Parcheesi.”

She yawned and rolled her head back and forth.  “Or, taking a Tylenol PM and going to bed.”

“Or that.”

“It’s good soup.”

Mulder took a swig of the soup from the thermos and nodded in agreement.  They sipped quietly together, taking turns stealing crackers from the open sleeve until they were nearly gone.  He’d finished the soup in the thermos, but Scully still had some left when she’d pushed it away.

While Scully cleaned up the makeshift dinner, Mulder peeked outside for any signs the storm might be letting up.  It was still coming down swift and steady.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to Scully.

“For what?”

“I promised I’d have you home.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but…”

“Don’t worry about it.”  She smiled up at him for a moment and touched his arm.  And then her smiled faded and she dropped her eyes.  

“Scully?”

“I’m just glad we’re off the road.”

There was something unsaid that hung in the air, but Mulder didn’t know what it was.  He rubbed the back of his head and watched her walk away to poke through her toiletries bag.  It prompted him into retrieving his own from his duffel to prepare for bed.

“This is tea?” Scully asked, sniffing at the green thermos while holding two white pills cupped in her hand.

“Special tea, according to Myrtle.”

She sniffed it again and then popped the pills in her mouth and took a drink.  She cocked her head a little and took another sip and then coughed.  “I uh...I think this might be...spiked.”

“Drugged?”  Mulder immediately dropped his toiletry bag on the bed and went over to Scully.

“No.  I think there’s rum in this.”

He put his hand over Scully’s and pulled the thermos up towards his nose to give it a sniff.  He could smell lemon in the steam that filtered up and tickled his nose.  Risking  flu germs, he took his own sip and sure enough, the warmth that spread through his chest wasn’t just hot tea.

“Myrtle’s special tea is hot toddy,” he said.  

“And I just washed down a sleeping pill with alcohol.”

“Good thing you’re not operating heavy machinery any time soon.”

“It is rather soothing though.”  She shrugged a little and then took another sip before closing the thermos back up.

“I’m gonna hit the shower.”

“And I’m gonna lay down.”

“Keep my side warm for me?  Just kidding.”  He winked at her and then retrieved his toiletries bag.

Mulder was in the shower for no more than five minutes when the power went out.  The lights flickered as he was soaping his chest and then blinked out.  Before the water could turn cold, he hastily finished up and had to blindly towel dry and then feel his way to the door.

The room was dark when he poked his head out of the door with the fire from the stove providing only a dim glow.  He could make out the shape of Scully under the quilt on the bed, but it was too shadowed to tell if she was facing him or away.  With his towel secured around his waist and tucked in place at his hip, he scurried across the floor to grab a candle from the box.

“Mulder?” Scully asked, propping up on her elbow.

“Power’s out,” he answered, holding fast to his towel while lifting the candlestick in the air.

“Oh.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she answered through a yawn and lay back down.  “Yet.”

“Go back to half asleep.”

Mulder had to get the matchbook that was by the stove to light his candle.  He got the flame started and then walked slowly with it across the room so that it wouldn’t blow out.  He could see Scully watching him with a drowsy gaze, but she closed her eyes as soon as he caught her.  Back in the bathroom, he got back into his pajamas and brushed his teeth.

Quietly, he went back into the main room and added a log to the stove.  He took his candle with him to bed and grabbed the book he’d abandoned earlier.  With no bedside table to leave the candlestick on he had to hold it with one hand to continue reading.  Soon, the low light made him drowsy and he finally had to blow the candle out and lean over to place it on the floor.

Making great efforts to be quiet and non-obtrusive, he eased himself down and took great pains not to shift more than he had to or pull at the quilt.  Beside him, Scully breathed deep and even.  The longer he lay still, the more her presence so close seemed to quell his usual nighttime restlessness.  Instead of feeling the need to toss and turn and adjust his pillow and kick at the blankets, he found it was easy to just listen to her, feel her nearby, and just be still and silent.  Even the storm, which he knew was raging outside, seemed peaceful.

He was jostled awake sometime later by Scully, nudging at him like she was searching for something.  The room was dark and cold, the fire mere embers.  He turned to sit up, but she made a noise of protest and clutched at his shirt.

“It’s cold,” she murmured, her voice slurred and sleepy.  “You’re warm.”

“Let me get the fire started again.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his shirt and he hopped out of bed, cupping his hands to his mouth to blow into them.  He bent down to find the candlestick and then shivered and stumbled his way to the table.  He found the matches, lit the candle, and made his way to the dying fire.  He grabbed a few logs, fed them into the stove, and used a gold poker to stoke the embers.  

When he was sure the logs were well-positioned, he shuffled towards the wardrobe to grab the extra blanket.  It was soft and heavy and he kicked himself for not thinking of pulling it out before they went to bed.  He had to put the candle back on the table to be able to drape it over the bed.  Scully pulled it up further and adjusted it to her liking.

After blowing out the candle again and before getting back into bed, Mulder took a look out the window.

“I think the storm’s stopped,” he whispered, sliding into the sheets and the heavy warmth the extra blanket brought.

Scully hummed.  She cuddled up against his side and put her head on his chest before he’d even settled.  He covered her hand at his chest and made sure the quilt covered the both of them.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” she mumbled, even as she burrowed closer.

“We’ve shared our share of colds.  All part and parcel of a partnership.”

She made a gravelly noise in the back of her throat that he couldn’t interpret.  He shifted to find a more comfortable position and was able to bring his arm around her.  The fire began to spark and crackle as it picked up again.  The heat slowly ate away at the chill.

“This is nice,” she mumbled.  “You smell nice.”

“I do?”

“Mm.  Always.”

He smiled up at the dark ceiling and rubbed her arm.  She shifted and her leg moved up over his thigh.  His heart skipped a beat.  She squeezed him softly like she was hugging a teddy bear, and then she sighed.

“This is nice,” she said again.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I knew it would be.”

He chuckled lightly.  “Something you’ve thought about, Scully?  Getting caught up in a snowstorm?  Snuggling for warmth?”

“Mmhm.  Definitely.”  She sighed again and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

He went still and his smile faded.  He’d thought she might be joking in the placating way she sometimes did when he said something outlandish.  But, it sounded truthful, like she was just sleepy and relaxed enough to be unabashedly honest.

“Really?” he asked, his voice growing deeper and serious.

“Mm.”

He would admit, it was something he’d been thinking a lot about too, metaphorically.  He’d been questioning the possibilities of another life for himself; a life that was more than just a quest for the truth.  He’d come to realize that the more effort he put into taking time outside of work, the happier he felt.  And part of that happiness, he could attribute to his partner.  He was happier, always, when he was with her.  When he’d kissed her on New Year’s Eve a few weeks ago, he’d been testing the waters to see if she might reciprocate a fraction of what he felt for her.  She’d seemed open to something more when she’d smiled at him, but he’d chickened out at the last second and instead of asking if she could see the potential for something more, he’d clammed up, and neither of them had mentioned it since.

But, maybe, just maybe, she did see the potential.  He’d like to think it was more than just sleepy, medicated ramblings.

“Scully?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond.  She was asleep again, warm and slack against his side.  He petted her hand a few times and then craned his neck to kiss the top of her head.

The next time he woke, the fire had died down again and Scully was still asleep against him.  Morning light filtered in through the closed drapes at the window.  As much as Mulder wanted to get up and see what conditions were outside, he didn’t want to disturb the warmth and serenity he’d found in that bed.  It had to end sometime though.  At least he’d been able to soak up the contentment he was feeling for the next ten minutes before she stretched and stirred.

Quite suddenly, Scully pushed herself up from Mulder’s chest, her eyes wide with shock.  Her hair was mussed, sticking to her cheek on one side and bunched wildly on the other.  He chuckled and reached up to brush the hair away from her face and tuck it back over her ear.

“Morning,” he said.  Though he was able to keep his voice steady and a cool appearance, deep down he was worried she’d retreat into her shell if she was feeling too embarrassed and awkward.

“Um…”  She shook her head and blinked rapidly.  “I, um…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh.  Better?  Better, thanks.”

“Good.  Sleep well?”  He grinned and couldn’t help but tease her just a little.

Her cheeks darkened and she struggled with the blankets to sit up.  “Sorry if…”

“You can use me as a pillow anytime, Scully.”

She looked back at him and then lowered her eyes.  “Thank you.”

“Should we see what the damage is outside?”

“I’d almost forgotten about it.”

Mulder pushed the covers away and got out of bed.  It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either.  He rubbed his arms on his way to the window and then pulled a corner of the drapes back to get a glimpse of the outside world.

“Wow,” he said.

“What?”  Scully got out of bed and padded over to him.  He pulled one side of the drapes open so she could see.  The sky was blue and the sun was shining.  Melting snow dripped from the trees and the car was clear.  Except for the slush that covered the ground, it was almost like there’d never been a storm.

“Guess we can head out anytime,” he said.  “You want to stop for breakfast on the way?”

“You buying?”

“I think I gave all my cash to Myrtle for the room.  Spot me?”  He held his hand out to her  and she gave it a soft slap.

“I call dibs in the bathroom.”

“Go ahead.”

While Scully got ready for the day, Mulder cleaned up the cabin a little.  He folded the extra blanket and put it back in the wardrobe.  He put the two thermoses and candles back in the box to take to Myrtle and he folded his dry pants and socks into his duffel.  He was just about ready to get dressed for the day himself when Scully finished in the bathroom and they switched places.  She had on a pair of dark pants and a blue sweater, what he came to realize over the years was her version of casual weekend attire.

In the bathroom, Mulder ran a hand over his face and decided he could get away with not shaving for the morning.  He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and ran a wet comb through his hair to tame his bedhead a little.  He changed into jeans, a t-shirt and a v-neck and was done.  When he came out, the sweatshirt he’d loaned to Scully the night before was neatly folded and placed on top of his duffel bag on the bed.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his pjs onto the bed and taking up the sweatshirt.  He brought it around to where Scully was packing up her suitcase and held it out to her.  “Keep it.  For emergencies.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and then took the sweatshirt from him.  She held it between both hands and looked up at him and nodded once.  He smiled and turned back to pack his bag.  He caught her surreptitiously bringing the collar of the sweatshirt to her nose and breathing deep before she packed it away.  Aha, he thought.  It’s the aftershave.  He almost went back to the bathroom to slap some on, but he thought that might be a little too obvious.

“I want to bring that box back to Myrtle before we go,” he said.  “Thank her for last night.”

“I’ll go with you.  I’d like to meet her.”

When they went outside, one of the first things Mulder noticed was that all the cars were gone and the other cabins seemed abandoned.  He didn’t say anything as they carefully trudged across the slushy path from the cabins to the main house, but he found it unusual.  Perhaps, he thought, they were all stranded travelers who’d just happened to get up and out earlier than he and Scully did.

Scully knocked on the door since Mulder had his arms full of the box.  No one answered.  She knocked again and then tried the handle, but it was locked.

“You think everything’s alright?” Scully asked.

“She seemed like she might be the type to get up and plow the roads herself if no one else did.”

“Okay.”

They trudged back to the cabin and left the box and the key on the table.  At the last minute, Mulder grabbed the book of ghost stories he’d been reading to keep for another time.  When they got in the car, Scully raised her brow at Mulder when he went to put it in the glove compartment and she took it out of his hands.

“You’re stealing a book?” she asked.

“Did you see how many books were on that shelf?  No one will miss it.”

Scully snorted softly and thumbed through it while Mulder drove slowly through the slush and tree-lined road back to the highway.  Fortunately, the plows and the sanders had been by overnight and the roads were clear.  They hadn’t driven for more than ten miles before Scully suddenly started fiddling with the book like she was about to tear the pages out.

“What’re you doing?” Mulder asked.

“Mulder, did you...how far into this book did you get?”

“Wherever the page was folded.  The Lightfoot mansion haunting, I think.”

“And you didn’t read past that?”

“No, why?”

“There’s a chapter in here...let me read it.  ‘Though poltergeists and spirits with unfinished business seem to dominate in the realm of ghost stories, it should be noted that not all apparitions are in anguish or malevolent.  In some cases, like that of Myrtle the Friendly Ghost, most people walk away never having realized something was amiss or that they’d met a ghost at all.’”

“Myrtle the Friendly Ghost?”

“The full title of the chapter is Myrtle the Friendly Ghost Will Change Your Life.  ‘‘No one knows who the benevolent woman was in life, but those that meet her in death recall a gregarious, middle-aged lady with grey hair and a no-nonsense demeanor.  Somewhere off US-15 outside of Brandy Station, Myrtle has been welcoming lost travelers to her cabin-in-the-woods since the early 1940’s.’”

“Are you making this up?”

“‘Though no one knows for sure who the friendly innkeeper was in life, if you find yourself on the deserted highway on a cold, dark night, you just might find out who she is in the afterlife.’”

Mulder slowed the car as they rolled into Brandy Station and stopped next to a red brick building before a railroad crossing.  “Let me see this.”

Scully passed him the book and he found the place she’d left off and continued.  “‘Out of gas?  Took a wrong turn out of Culpeper?  Need shelter from a storm?  Suddenly, shelter appears out of nowhere and Myrtle is there to welcome you.  Descriptions have varied over the years, but those who’ve encountered Miss Myrtle have agreed that they’d gotten themselves into a roadside pickle and if it weren’t for the older lady, they don’t know how they’d have fared.’”

“That’s rather vague,” Scully said.

“‘For half a century, tales have been told of the of this generous woman and her charming cabins in the woods.  The most significant detail of note is that every stranded traveler that’s shared their story have emphatically referred to the experience as life-changing in some way.”

“Life-changing?”

“We have to go back.”

“Mulder…”

“Here,” he gave Scully the book back and put the car back into drive to make a u-turn.  “Ten, fifteen minutes tops, Scully.  We have a chance to interview a ghost.”

“Mulder, that’s ridiculous.”

“All we need to do is just get back to the cabin and look for evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll know it when I see it.”

Scully tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Whatever we find or don’t find,” he said, “I’ll buy you one of everything on the menu when we stop for breakfast.”

“Except I’ll be the one paying.”

Mulder peered anxiously out his window they longer they drove, but all he could see was trees.  He knew they’d gone to far when he hit a sign directing him to an intersecting highway and he had to make another u-turn.  They came down the highway again, slower this time, but he couldn’t locate the turnout they’d come from not more than half an hour before.

“It’s gone,” he said.  “Scully, there’s not even a road here.”

“There has to be.  We just missed it.”

“How can we find a turnout in a blizzard, but miss one on a clear, sunny day?”

“I don’t know, but we obviously made that turn last night.”

“Unless…”

“Don’t say it,” she protested, holding her hand up to him like a stop sign.  “Don’t even think it.”

“Scully, we met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost!”

“First of all, you were the only one that even talked to her.  Second of all, this is just some silly story in a book.”

“Well, that story had to come from somewhere.”

“Mulder, a ghost didn’t put us up in a cabin overnight.  A ghost didn’t bring us soup and crackers and a hot toddy.  A ghost didn’t give us candles.”

“That ghost also took my money.”

“And how has that changed your life?”

Mulder pulled the car over and put it in park.  He got out, leaving his door open, and as he crossed the front of the car, Scully opened her door and stepped out too.  The alarm signaling the keys were in the ignition pinged loudly behind her.

“What’re you?” she said, and he stifled the rest of her question with a kiss.

This one wasn’t like New Year’s.  He pressed her against the rear passenger door, snaked one arm around her hips and buried his free hand in her hair and kissed her like it might be the last time he’d ever kiss her.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered softly.

When they broke apart, Scully took hold of the lapels of his jacket and he moved both hands to her face.  She blinked up at him, rubbing her lips together.

“It was the best night of my life,” he said.  “And not because I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost.”

She cleared her throat a little and swallowed.  “Allegedly.”

He grinned at her and gave her another peck on the lips before he stepped back.  She let go of his jacket and softly patted his chest.

“I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost,” he said.

Scully rolled her eyes.  “Maybe you should’ve gotten her autograph”

“Wait a minute.”  He perked up a little and reached into his breast pocket for his wallet.  He flipped it open and pulled the billfold open.  “Look at that,” he said, pulling out two crisp $20 bills instead of the handwritten receipt he’d expected to find.

She stared at the money for a few moments and then she plucked it out of his hand, folded it, and put it in her pocket.  He cocked his head at her and she slid back into the car.  “You’re buying breakfast,” she said.

“Think of all the money we’d save if we could stay in a ghost hotel every time we’re out of town.”

“Run that one by Skinner,” she answered, pulling her door shut.

He chuckled and stowed his wallet before shoving his hands in his pockets and headed back to his door.  He started humming the theme to Casper the Friendly Ghost, and then singing softly.  “Myrtle the friendly ghost, the most life-changingest ghost there ever was.”

The End

[fire-the-headcanons]

 "I, uh, got pretty good at carving too." He stood and crossed back to the closet, opening it just wide enough to fish something out of the bag on the floor. Unrolling the rags, he passed her an action figure that fit comfortably in her palm.

 "Wait. You made this?" Summer gasped, lifting the little wooden Grimm to her eye. "It's so cute!"

 He chuckled. "Only you would call a Beowolf cute."

 "But he is! Look at his little teeth!" she said, turning it in her hands. How did he cut such tiny details? "...Is this real bone?"

Follow the Beacon Summer—A Moment’s Peace

[Link to Masterpost]

[I had a bad weekend so I'm posting two chapters. I want to post a nice chapter and leave everyone on a high note this week but the one that was scheduled isn’t fluffy, this one is. Anyway make sure you've read Taiyang—Dannit]

Summer hissed at her scroll in frustration. Of course farmers in rural Anima wouldn't post job listings online—Qrow and Raven barely knew how to use a scroll the first week. But a typical contract would have to include room and board, though, right? It's what made sense.

But then what was going on?

The door clicked, and Summer opened her mouth to ask Tai what had happened—but it was Qrow who stepped through. "Oh! Are you feeling better?"

He stared miserably at his desk before walking to the closet and pulling it open a crack. He shoved his things to the side and hung his dripping clothes over the bar. "Yeah. ...Where's Raven?"

"She went to get food. Where's Tai?"

"...With Dan," he muttered. 

Oh, no. He must have heard Dan yelling—the whole building probably heard it. "I— I don't think he meant that, he was freaking out and—" she cut off as Qrow stared at her, bewildered. "...Never mind."

He half-shrugged before slumping back into his chair, picking up his pen like it was carved from gravity Dust and starting to shuffle through the book.

"Qrow, you should rest!"

"I just wanna get it over with," he said again.

And how is making yourself sicker going to help with that? "Fine. Then I'll help you. It's for history, right? What's it about?"

"...No, you're right, I should do this later." Qrow shut the book on his notes and dropped it in a desk drawer before setting his head down.

Summer scowled at her scroll, considering. It couldn't hurt to do a bit of gentle prying… "Huang—Tai's dad—would always make us oatmeal or chicken noodle soup when we were sick, growing up. Do you and Raven have something like that?"

"We ate whatever the farm's cooks gave us."

Not very helpful for cheering either of them up, but it did answer the room and board question. "...Well, what did you do for fun, then?"

"Reading."

Oh, right, she could give him the Grimm Reaper scans! That'd cheer him up. ...Right after they were done talking. "Just comics?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he mumbled. "They're—they don't take up much space." 

Interesting. 

"I, uh, got pretty good at carving too." He stood and crossed back to the closet, opening it just wide enough to fish something out of the bag on the floor. Unrolling the rags, he passed her an action figure that fit comfortably in her palm.

"Wait. You made this?" Summer gasped, lifting the little wooden Grimm to her eye. "It's so cute!"

He chuckled. "Only you would call a Beowolf cute."

"But he is! Look at his little teeth! " she said, turning it in her hands. How did he cut such tiny details? "...Is this real bone?"

"Cow, deer, whatever was lying around," he shrugged. "I stained the fur with coffee and vinegar. Paint wasn't, uh, easy to get."

"We should get some! You could do the markings and eyes!"

He scratched his neck, looking at the rags in his hand. "I dunno… I've never even held a brush before –"

"Aww, come on. This little guy deserves a face," she mocked a pout, holding it up next to her cheek. "I wonder what kind would work best…"

"Bone's fairly porous, I don't think it'd be hard to find something that sticks."

"Are there more?" she asked, with a pointed glance at his hand.

"Y-yeah." He dragged his chair closer, setting two more bundles on her desk. Gently, she unwound the first to reveal an absurdly detailed Nevermore. Individual feathers were etched into the wood, some even carved to look like they were blowing in the wind as it flew. The second—

"Look at her tiny scythes!" Summer squealed, setting the Nevermore down and snatching the Grimm Reaper up instead. She wasn't stained dark like the others, though her mask and blades were bone. "And her mask! This is amazing! Qrow, we have to get you some paint."

"There's no way I could paint that one! Everything would be too small."

Summer set the figure on the desk next to the other two and crossed to her own closet. "Well, I have no idea how to carve, but I did learn to paint figures when Tai and I started playing Grottoes and Grimm…" She pushed aside some of her clothes, taking out a small box from the shelf behind. "I didn't bring all my stuff, but I've got our player characters. Here!"

She drew a couple pieces from the box and headed back over to him, dropping them into his hands. "The figures are just molded plastic, but I did the color."

"They're amazing," Qrow said, peering at the little spear-wielding Huntress with a small smile. "Why don't you paint them?" he asked, looking back at his own figures.

She blinked. "I—I couldn't! They're yours, and –"

"You should! You're really good."

"O-okay." She fought back a huge smile. Keep it cool. "I'll bring my paints back after winter break. It'd be fun to try playing Grottoes and Grimm, but Zaff was our GM…"

"Zaff?"

"Oh, that was Dan's old partner. The one at Atlas."

"...Did Dan play?"

Summer rolled her eyes. "Never had the patience. …Actually, I'm not sure Raven would either…" 

He glanced at the little Grimm Reaper before staring at his knees. When he spoke, it was barely audible. "What's Dan like?" 

Summer's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry… he's not usually so rude. I mean, he's rude a lot, but not like he's been with you and Raven." The jokes had ranged from mean-spirited to downright crude until she and Tai finally got him to stop. "I mean, we weren't… trying to be mean with the skirt thing…" 

Qrow laughed. "No, that was pretty funny. And I've been getting compliments on my legs all semester, so…"

Summer snorted, covering her mouth and nose with a fist. 

"But, he's never… scared you or Tai, or…"

What the hell? "What happened?"

"N-nothing!" he shrugged, shoulders too tense, avoiding her eye. "I... just get a weird feeling from the guy sometimes."

"...Why are you lying? He's said some awful things to you."

Qrow stared silently at his knees for a few seconds before answering. "He—he's your friend, I… I don't want to cause problems."

Summer grabbed his hand and stood, pulling him to his feet and into a hug. "You're our friend too."

“I—it just—" he stammered, rigid with surprise. 

"He's the one being an ass." She sighed. "Okay. I get not wanting to fight with Tai's boyfriend. If he's weirding you out just… come find us. Or a teacher. He won't bother you if there's other people around." 

Slowly, his tension flowed away. "Thanks."

"...You can hug back, you know," she teased, and he quickly wound his arms around her back in return. “Wanna read the Grimm Reaper comics? We could put the scans up on the obscura, it’s kind of hard to see on a scroll—”

“Hell yes.”

[Finally... a much-needed hug.

The obscura is the television. It feels weird to use the word television in a world that calls phones "scrolls"]

Next Chapter: Taiyang—Off Track

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (14)

CHAPTER 14: Even The Devil Has A Heart 

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: I said there will be everything in this series, didn’t I

Warnings: yeah...brace yourselves. Just don’t curse me ‘cause I’m already a little cursed on the inside

Word count: My brothers and sister have been keeping me busy these past few days. So it has been nice as well as exhausting. I have changed my office for a few days. It’s...cool. Yeah, I mean for now, yeah. And I really need a drink. Hopefully this weekend.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Ygritte has laid out the table for dinner. Loki's favourites wait for him. All things light. Soups and salads fit for a king. A bowl of glass noodles rests in the centre of the table. That one has been made specifically for Kira. It hasn't been often that she has told Ygritte what she prefers but when she did not stop complimenting the ramen Ygritte had made for her once, she made sure to keep something pan-Asian for her favourite kid on the table. To go with the food, fresh beer and iced tea in three flavours wait in glass jugs, making the woman proud of her arrangements. Content with the table, she goes to Loki and Kira's rooms to ready them before they arrive, turning on the geysers and lighting up a scented candle to help them ease them into sleep after the long journey. Of course, it wouldn't be easy ever since the incident with Robert, but she has to do everything in her power to make sure they rest well and have enough energy the next day to go to war with that cursed creature that did this to her fine boy.

With every last bit done and dusted in both rooms, she finally moves out to the hall to hear the same scratching noise echo through that she heard two hours ago. All she can do is sigh and walk towards the front door to find Fenrir whining and carving new patterns in the wood of the door.

"Fenrir! Stop ruining the door. They'll be here when they're here."

Fenrir outrightly ignores every word Ygritte says, carrying on with his mission of wood destruction.

"Do you really want your father to put you in time out?"

Now that seems to catch the wolf's ears as he puts his paws down, looks at the door, looks up at Ygritte, looks back at the door, scoffs and walks towards the back to go to the lounge, stops midway as his ears catch a moment, comes back in two huge steps and skids to a halt just as the lights from the SUV light up the walls in the entrance.

The door barely opens when Fenrir is lunging towards Loki, catching him in his own style of hug, licking him clean.

"Yes, yes! I missed you too. Now get off before I throw you out," Loki declares, hugging his wolf and petting him.

"Welcome back, Master Loki."

"Thank you, Ygritte."

Ygritte looks behind him to watch Heimdall standing and judging the wolf, who clearly isn't happy to see the Watcher either.

"Master Loki, where's Miss Kira?"

"She's coming home with Kol."

Ygritte smiles in acknowledgement, stepping aside to let the men in, looking at the night outside. The skies have gathered thunder clouds in a matter of minutes and the wind chimes around the estate are going off at every strong gust teasing them, alerting the grounds of the storm that is about to come. Even though she trusts what Loki says, her heart seems to be feeling a nauseating feeling, forcing her to close the door till about three inches are left, letting the soft lights from the driveway form a straight beam into the entrance hall. Doing that, she walks away to carry on with her work.

Heimdall notices this. When their ancestors had gone through the biblical famines in old history, a group of men had sought to find anything their families could live on. The women and children were left in protected shelters, where the women took to intricate- and impressive- measures to protect them and their children from the cold and the predators. But in order to let their men know they were alive and it was safe to enter the shelter, they would keep the entrance open with the fire on- the fire having to be fed after considerate intervals. And so began a tradition. Later on in the wars, the men and women would leave at least one door open when their partner was out and it was truly unknown if they would return. Heimdall can feel the same patience and anxiousness in Ygritte's actions. When he watches her leave, he turns on the porch light and walks away to his observatory.

.

Too loud.

Your heartbeat is too loud for you to make out anything that is going on around you.

Breathe.

Breathe, Kira, breathe.

Deep long breaths help a little, calming those thumping beats enough to make sense of the sounds around you. The sounds outside the walls where you've been kept sound thin. Heavy vehicles seem to hum around the huge hollow building. The walls and floor are cold and it smells like the outskirts of the city- the pungent smell of sulphur in the air too familiar to be breathed in this long; the only relief being the periodic wind forcing its way through whatever hole that you cannot see, bringing with it four seconds of freshness and the smell of rain.

Where the fuck am I?

From what you can recall, after being literally clad in darkness, you were forced up into a vehicle and brought to the outskirts on quite the bumpy road. The henchmen surrounding you had been hard at work, ignoring your anxious muffled cries yet keeping you in place whenever you tried to struggle with the zip ties keeping your hands tied in front.

There had been too much commotion wherever the vehicle had stopped. Sounds of heavy metal being thrown on thick concrete, wooden crates being opened, cries of moving the 'packages' away in local languages. The black fabric was no help in letting you make out the figures under the orange lights walking around the premise. You, amongst all the noise, were forced by your arm inside a building, the door- or whatever ominous frame closes with a metallic clang- shut behind you.

So, here you are, after taking careful steps towards the wall in God-knows-what direction, sitting on the cold floor, your hands limp inside your lap, your body realising the tiredness after the rush, your brain going into a shutdown.

What did I do to deserve this? Your sore muscles and bleeding scratches ask you.

You fell for the wrong man, a voice inside your head whispers. You try not to ignore it but it's like a demon attached to your back whose presence is heavy even though it's invisible.

The solitary confinement does give you a minute to gather yourself, mentally. How long have I gone missing? Someone ought to look for me, right?

You feel your body slide down the wall a little more, the cold touch of the wall on your neck dissipating the hotness gathering there. And before you know it, the basic instincts take over, instantly putting you to sleep.

You don't know how long it's been when you jerk at the clang of the door opening- five minutes, ten, an hour, the concept of time is not even a question anymore- and the sounds of multiple footsteps proceeding towards you.

You think it's bad to not know who these people are that are approaching you while keeping you in complete darkness till the footsteps stop a few feet away and no amount of concentration can help you concur what exactly is going on in this situation. And the accelerated thumping of your veins does not help.

You do not notice when your knees came up and close to your chest to wrap you in an invisible protective shield against the strangers in the room. But just as that happens, a lone pair of footsteps walk towards you, their echo a prick inside your just woken up brain. A low grunt follows the touch of strong arms grasping onto yours and picking you up without much effort before nearly dragging you away from the corner to stop dead somewhere; not before you find yourself bumping into what seems like a table. The same set of hands that brought you here undo the complex clasp at the back to take away the black fabric from over your head to reveal the gentle hollow eyes of Billy Russo smiling at you three feet away.

.

"I owe you my sincerest apologies for the way over the top charades to get you here. Though I'm not really sure if you'd have come with me if I'd asked you to."

You rub the bruises on your wrists where the ties were a minute ago, flashing a judgmental look at Billy for the comment he makes.

"You shot Robert."

"Well, I wasn't planning to," Billy states with a simple shrug and tilts his head at you with the look of sympathy in his eyes that is inciting all the wrong emotions inside you.

"Oh, so, you wanted me dead." The sharpness of your voice seems to add weight to the betrayal you're feeling right now.

Billy narrows his eyes in contemplation. "No, not really. No. I just wanted to-" he takes one step closer to you, visibly surprised when you don't flinch even a bit- "let the fact graze past your boss that I could've taken your life if I wanted to. Really simple strategy. Don't blame me for Robert tryna' be a hero, sweetheart."

The disgust your belly feels at his addressal leaves a sour taste in your mouth. "His security is tighter than before. I really don't get how you plan on getting past that and for what reason. Just because he didn't a business deal with you, Russo?"

"Aw, we'd just started on the first name basis!" He exclaims, taking another step towards you- forcing you to move back and away from him and his deceiving face. "And come on! You're smarter than you show the world, Kira. You know how a sturdy castle can crumble with the right blow at the right spot. It just so happens that you are the right spot when it comes to Loki Odinson, the Messiah of the third world countries!"

The distance is closed again. You do not hesitate to step back. "I'm just his assis-"

"Enough." His voice is low but the tremble it sends through the hollow building makes you second guess that slight smear of courage inside your heart. "I'm tired of hearing it. How aren't you? Have you seen the way that orphan looks at you? Like someone looks at their precious pet. Admiring them, showcasing them to the world and feeling proud when others stand in awe of their cute little slave-"

"You're going too far-"

"Glaring at the people with the stare of most violent death to anyone who looks at their pet with an intention they deem inappropriate. I mean-" he steps towards you, forcing you into the wall at the back- "I know he's killed me at least ten times in his mind since I've met you."

The perfect white smile is ominous at best, chilling your insides. His dark eyes gazing you with a haunted lust add to the dread.

"He does not-" you graze away his fingers trying to play with your stray hair- "like me. If that's what you're implying."

"Mm-hmm," Billy hums, not at all fazed by your hands trying to keep his away from you, "then how do you explain him not signing the deal with me? Hmm? Last I heard he and Solaris were this close to closing it on my name. Why does. A man. With such a powerful sway. Let his assistant make decisions for him?"

"Wha-"

"I know it was you who stopped him from closing on Anvil Corp, Kira."

The words should not hit as hard as they do in your gut but the shade of malice swimming in Billy's eyes seems to take control, wanting to reduce you to nothing. "I know you were the one who swung the deal from the Adachis in your favour."

"I had nothing t-"

"You had everything to do with this, Kira!" He shouts, failing his hands as he does a frustrated three-sixty. "Everything!"

"You had to go and be all sweet to their daughter, be the nicest person on the planet with them. The bonus? You and Loki being all heart-eyes in each other's presence. Ugh!"

He comes back to put his arms on the wall around you, trapping you in without so much as a window for a thought to escape. "You ruined our entire plan."

You want to be diffused into the wall for it sounds better than feeling the microscopic jolts of uneasiness from his stare lingering over your skin and hot breaths trying to tease your existence into withering away.

"And to think I nearly started questioning my motives in seducing you." His thumb grazes your jaw. His fingers plant themselves on your neck before you feel the force in his hand mercilessly turning your face to look at him while he presses himself against you. "I nearly started to think of you, Kira. I started to dream what it would be like to take you home. To wonder what it would be like to tie your hands and bend you on my table, ripping off your clothes one by one and fucking you till I made you cry. Ohhh...to force my cock in your mouth till you licked my orgasm clean. You really did a number on me, Kira."

The restraints are crumbling to the last bits when you feel his erection grinding against you. That's it. You cannot take it anymore.

"I'd rather die than let you fuck me," you hiss through your teeth.

Billy's eyes go wide. His face blank. Laughter roars through the room followed by his hand slapping the wall.

"Oh you never cease to amaze me, do you?"

Billy bites his lips through the smile still lingering on them. One hand goes away from the wall to gesture at the two men clad in black camo to walk away. And they do. Leaving you alone with this scum.

"You'd rather die than fuck me, hmm?" He whispers into your ear, inhaling the scent of fear coming out from you before kissing your forehead tenderly.

Your fists try to drive his chest away but his hand takes your wrists in them, letting his perfectly manicured nails dig into your skin to remind you of the dormant pain still lingering in there. The other hand has found its way into your trousers, fingers entering your folds to watching you grit your teeth and feel your muscles clench in rebellion at his touch.

"Ah!" He whispers, "let's see how you call upon death to get you out of this."

It is a split-second decision through the pain to find your knee making an impact with his balls, bringing him down groaning and pushing him back as his grip loosens on you. "You are a psychopath! No wonder your own mother hates you so much," your lungs shout.

The mention of his mother breaks something inside him; like a vial of toxins crushed under pressure to let them mingle in with the rest of the solution.

Even as you try in vain to run towards the door, he is catching you by the waist to throw you at the table.

All you can see is red in his eyes when you get up. All you see is the face of a mad man before his fist makes an impact with the side of your face.

.

"Aaah! It's so good to be back home!"

"Tell me about it."

"Friday! Put on something soothing, please. And get the fire started."

The hall livens up with soft jazz music as Pepper cocks her brow at the crackle of a fire in her fireplace before turning to Tony.

"Wow," she mentions, wetting her lips, "for someone who hosted a freaking convention, you seem not tired at all."

"No, you hosted the convention," Tony asserts as he fills two glass with champagne, "I just popped by to say hi to all the people I invited."

"Right," Pepper nods smirks, taking her glass from Tony and waiting for him to settle down next to her. Tony scooches as close to her as possible before putting his arm around the headrest of the couch and clinking his glass with hers.

"To Miss Potts and her work in making this expo the most successful thing yet." Tony smiles with his eyes.

"Why thank you, Mr Stark," Pepper mentions before raising her glass a little, "to Stark Industries. For having the most generous man running the company with the happiest employees."

Pepper rests her head on Tony's arm, making him smile his softest smile. He lets his arm embrace her, his fingers making patterns on her sleeve.

"So, Miss Potts," Tony coos into Pepper's ears, "are you dead tired or do you have enough energy for an entertaining shower?"

Pepper bites her lips to restrain the giggle. "Oh, I don't know Mr Stark. Are you really up for a round or do you plan on passing out midway to the bathroom like last time?"

"Ooh! Cocky much! You do have the energy."

Pepper giggles, giving Tony a long kiss on his lips.

"How about you turn on your favourite playlist while I warm up the water for you, Miss Potts."

"I'd like that very much, Mr Stark."

Giving another peck on his cheek, Pepper gets up to go towards the music system, undoing her hair bun on the way while Tony collects the champagne glasses to get up and walk towards the bathroom. 

"Fri-"

The words leave Pepper midway as she watches the screen in front of her, her eyes squinting in the gesture of finding out what exactly she was seeing. Two seconds later the very same blue eyes are going wide with a low gasp escaping her lungs.

"Oh, my G-TONY!"

.

The hot pressured water eases the muscles in Loki's back, lightly scarring the already decorated skin. Everything except his head gets this torture. The heat is turned off to be followed by the cold current that numbs his skull before disappearing at the turn of the handle. Towel wrapped around his waist, Loki walks out to the ring of his phone on the bed, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of watching your name on the screen, only to be disappointed to find the exact opposite energy calling him.

Loki accepts the call and puts it on the speaker at the very same moment Heimdall opens the door to his room.

"Stark," Loki greets the man, making Heimdall pause midway, preventing him from speaking.

"Where is she?"

Loki's heard Tony enough time to let his ears know which emotion Tony is pouring at that moment. And the amount of poisonous rage bubbling on speakerphone has been heard only once before- a time neither of them talks about. The voice carries rage and frustration. Not to mention a hidden pain that would drown thousands at any moment if Loki does not answer it correctly. The question, by this time, can only meant to be directed towards you. But how does Tony know about you so quickly? Has the news already been informed?

"Kira's fine. She's on her way home from her examina-"

"She is NOT fine, Loki!"

"Tony she's f-"

"Her heart rates' high, Loki! Her vitals are worse and her blood pressure is all kinds of abnormal!"

The confusion hits before the surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"YOU SON OF A-"

Loki can hear Pepper's voice trying to calm Tony down to retain an ounce of common sense to talk to him in a language that makes sense.

"Loki," Tony comes back, this time one breath cooler, "Kira is not fine right now. I just got an alert about her being in an emergency. So, tell me where she is."

The restraint in his voice is loud and clear. Loud enough to tell anyone listening that he would come out of the speakerphone and strangle someone right this very moment.

"Her phone's off. I can't locate her."

Loki turns around to find Heimdall looking down at his golden crystal balls and phone in either hand, suddenly clicking a switch inside Loki.

"The pendant I gave her," Tony calls out from the phone, "it has a beacon. But it'll take me two minutes to activate it. You guys better hurry because her vitals are not looking good."

"I'm on it," Heimdall states before turning to Loki, "you stay here in case-Loki? Loki?!"

All sounds feel like one streak of white noise being drowned out by shallow breaths increasing with every passing moment. The legs are on the edge of giving way any second while the neck burns like a firepit from hell, sweating and steaming away the stray water on the skin.

"Ygritte!" Heimdall shouts out for the woman before coming back to Loki, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. You're okay. She'll be fine. Hey. Hey! Look at me! Look. At. Me. Kira will be fine. I'll bring her back. Okay?"

Loki, breathless on the floor by this moment nods halfway, pushing away Heimdall's hands from his arms, gesturing him to be out of the room.

"Loki..."

Tony calls out for the man- no poison this time.

This voice, Loki doesn't like.

"Stark," Loki's trying to breathe through his airless aching lungs, "Stark lis-listen-"

"I'm not going anywhere till you find yourself. Breathe before you speak. I can't hear you through your wheezing anyway."

Loki hates the voice that reminds of the father he did not have.

.

The handkerchief cleans up the blood sticking over the lean fingers in multiple strokes, having to make a little extra effort to get the fabric to wipe away the piece of skin caught under the nails; not to mention the dried blood resting in between the foreskin and those recently manicured pieces of french art. It really is a task. How did he ever make it through those old army days without caring for the perfection that was him is really surprising for Billy. The handkerchief is folded to bring the clean side over and wipe off the blood dripping from wounds made down his throat. A curse leaves his lips to having found his flawless skin marred by a lowely woman.

"The car is ready, sir."

Billy looks up at the soldier he has hired for a few green bucks, scoffing and smirking at him before throwing the handkerchief. "Clear the area. Leave that trash."

The soldier walks away along with five other men, leaving Billy to turn to the unconscious figure lying on the ground in its own blood.

He sits down next to it, takes out a little wildflower from his jacket pocket and puts it beside the hand that flinches a little at the closeness of the man.

"It’s a shame really. You choosing death, I mean. We really could’ve had it all if you wanted, Kira."

He tilts his head and sighs before giving a farewell smile.

"Because death was still going to knock on your door later."

Getting up with one long look, etching his artwork in his mind, he walks away with a giddy tune being whistled on his lips, leaving you on the edge of eternal unconsciousness, the violent pain waiting to tip you over any moment.

.

Second-last chapter of Kira

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 7

AO3 link here

One thing Steve lost fairly quickly from his days of military and later Avenging service: he doesn’t feel the need to be up as soon as morning comes. Most days he has to anyway - there are squabbles to be adjudicated or classes to attend or school drop offs to take care of - and he doesn’t technically need a lot of sleep, but on a weekend, he likes to take the opportunity to just stay in bed.

It’s 5:24 on Sunday morning and he is up and at the bedroom door before he realizes exactly why. When the crashing sound from the kitchen below does register fully, he stops with a hand on the doorknob, sighs, and climbs back under the light summer blanket he switched to last week.

“I thought you had made it clear that you were looking for a very simple celebration of Father’s Day,” Peggy says, rolling to face him. He forgets, sometimes, how lucky he is to get to see her with her hair mussed, to hear her voice with the hoarseness of waking, and the forgetting is lucky in its own way too.

Steve says, “I guess maybe they thought I was joking,” already imagining the collection of dreadful ties and the half completed washing of his car that he is surely going to be faced with later.

(He can’t wait for the cards, though. The kids make them by hand for birthdays and holidays, and he’s kept every one he’s ever received.)

Peggy yawns and shuts her eyes again, even as there’s a sound from downstairs that is most likely one of their plates being clapped between two hands before it falls to the kitchen linoleum. (There’s a reason that their china is locked away in the dining room hutch.) “At least it’s Emma who’s put herself in charge of your surprise breakfast.”

He makes an affirming noise. “Nice of the rest of them not to make me smile through another year of oversalted eggs and burned toast.” All of the kids can cook, or at least have age-appropriate kitchen skills, but some of them are better at it than others.

“More likely they didn’t want to get up this early,” Peggy points out, eyes still closed although she's clearly not going back to sleep. Steve pokes her with his toes, despite the fact that she’s right.

"Should we go down and supervise if there’s cooking going on?" he asks as the scent of cinnamon and melting butter starts to waft upstairs a few minutes later.

"It's meant to be a surprise for you."

"Okay, so I can't go down, but someone can."

"I certainly hope you aren't suggesting that I do it."

"I supervised Mother's Day breakfast preparation."

"Yes, well, we all make our own choices, Steve," she says frankly. "You have the nose of a bloodhound for burning, and you know how capable Emma is in the kitchen. She'll be fine. And you needn’t be so nervous about it: you spent your youth dodging streetcars by a hairsbreadth and getting into alley fights, and you survived."

"I don't know that I want any of them taking my example."

She slides over toward him. The sheets, still fresh from yesterday, make crisp sounds around her as she nestles on her side against his body. "It's too late for that," she says. "They've inherited something by osmosis, I'm afraid. Though you're a fairly good example now."

"Yeah?" and even he is surprised to hear the vulnerability in his voice.

Peggy shifts back enough to look him squarely in the face. "I'm certainly proud to have you as the father of my children," she says. "And I couldn't ask for a better partner."

The sun is just brightening the curtains. Despite the bare sunlight and the still cool morning, the fan is turning above their bed. Steve lies on his back watching it as he says, “It’s harder than I thought it would be. I wonder if I’m doing or saying the right thing. I wonder if we’re making the right decisions.”

She doesn’t force him to look at her, instead pressing her lips to his shoulder, resting silently against the white cotton undershirt he wears (he has no patience for button-up pajama tops). Finally she says, “I suspect you will always wonder. Unlike so very much in your life, there is no way to tell how things will turn out with them, no informed prediction you can make about your choices. In this, you are working just as directionlessly as everyone else.”

“Any advice?” he asks, a bit plaintively, although he knows that they have precisely the same amount of parenting experience. She laughs.

“Keep on, my darling,” she says, eyes crinkled in sleepy fondness and with the lines that no longer entirely go away. He turns over toward her, cupping her cheek in one hand and kissing her mouth gently as the sunlight continues to brighten their bedroom. He doesn’t pull away until they hear the sound of small footsteps, slower and more burdened than usual, making their way up the stairs.

“You’re still terrible at undercover work,” Peggy says from the corner of her mouth, the footsteps growing closer as they feign sleep.

“I’m only trying to fool a ten-year-old,” he says indignantly.

“Best of luck,” she mutters, eye closing fully as their door opens and Emma bounds in as much as she can while weighed down.

“What’s this?” Steve asks, realizing belatedly that with his sky-high eyebrows exaggerating his surprised question, he’s forgotten to appear sleepy. Emma doesn’t seem to notice, indicating with excited bobs of her chin that he should sit up against the headboard. Once he’s obeyed, she rests the tray (the one Steve usually uses to carry soup when someone’s sick in bed) on his lap.

She settles herself at the foot of the bed and sings out, “Happy Father’s Day!” Her fingers fly over the words, a grin apparent on her face.

“Thanks, Em.” He takes a bite of the omelette - impressively turned over and cooked through, although overstuffed with practically the entire contents of a vegetable garden, as Steve’s well-known for eating nearly anything - still chewing as he sets down his fork and asks, “Did you make all this yourself?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding her head vigorously along with her hand. “Everyone else - I tried to wake them up, but they were all too tired.” She pouts as she adds, “Rosie promised she would get up - then she was asleep again!”

“You did a wonderful job - and all alone,” Peggy praises, levering herself up and breaking off a bit of the fresh cinnamon scone that rests on its own little plate. “Delicious,” she declares, then, moving her eyebrows teasingly, “but where are the c-u-r-r-a-n-t-s?” (They’ve never found an exact sign for the word, and Peggy likes being precise.)

Emma sticks out her tongue. She and Steve have an excellent oatmeal cookie recipe that she refuses to add raisins to, and she’s long declined to care about what her mother declares the “proper” preparation of scones.

“Dad likes good food,” she says primly, and Steve’s shoulder shake with laughter.

“Don’t encourage her!” Peggy says, the broadness of her gestures belying the words. “This campaign against dried fruit - it must stop.”

“Where did the flower come from?” Steve asks quickly. At the corner of the tray, their smallest and most narrow vase holds a single yellow-centered daffodil, its white petals fluttering a bit in the breeze from the fan.

“I picked it from the garden.” She points to the bottom. “Look - I put in water to take care of it, like you taught me.”

“Just like you taught her,” Peggy says aloud, and Steve ducks his head.

When he is able to look up again, he says, “This is amazing, Emma,” the words wide and effusive. He motions for her to lean forward, and adds with furtive movements close to his body, hands like a secret, “I think this might be my best present this year.”

“Wait,” she says, her hands whispering too. “You haven’t seen the tie Drea and Nate got for you.” She breaks into laughter, and Steve, helpless, follows her.

More chapters here

[aurmgoldau]

Partner

“Are you going to introduce your teammates to me sometime later?”

That request made Anya paused for a moment.

Anya could—somehow—understand the reason behind her mother’s request: she wanted to know her daughter’s friends. Anya’s mother was once a huntress too, a team leader to no less. It was almost a nature for a leader to know a person who was working with him or her or who was working with their family members.

On the other hand, Anya knew her mother had the strangest mood in a few occasion. When it stroke, she could suddenly woke up with intense fear and sadness in the morning, hugging Anya really close (if she was there) and wouldn’t let her go for another fifteen to thirty minutes. Another time, she was her usual self: a caring mother with a heavy tendency to tease her daughter and mildly sarcastic when it comes to a certain topic.

“My teammates or just my partner?” Anya replied.

“Hmm? Your partner? Why does it sound like you’re favoring her more than the rest of your team?”

“I’m not treating her any more special than the others.”

“Really?”

Perhaps, Anya did treat her partner more special. Anya spent more time with Mei than with Rhodo or Ulm, making them close. Despite of having a lot of disagreement, Mei understood how Anya led the team and would adjust herself. She was also okay with Anya treating her like a younger sister she would never have. That much could be considered as “more special”.

“Really.” Anya grinned. Her mother was in her delightful mood and it was good. “I’ll ask them about it, alright?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The older woman outstretched her hand, trying to pat her daughter’s head. Her direction was right, but not the range. Anya stood up, walked toward her mother, and took her hand, placing it on her cheek instead.

“Oh.” Anya’s mother blinked and smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t concentrate. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

Anya stared at the blind woman sitting in front of her.

Sakura told me I have Mom’s eyes, Anya thought. Bitterness crept inside her throat. But her eyes are all grey and white now.

***

Someone tapped on Anya’s shoulder, waking her up.

“Huh?” Still groggy, Anya raised her head. The hardcover book she put on the table in order to cover her sleep from the teacher, fell down. Professor Oobleck—the tall man with green hair and a pair of glasses—looked to Anya’s direction. Other students shuffled from their seats and walked toward the class exit.

“Miss Lyre,” Professor Oobleck talked with his hi-speed speech, “I would like to see your essay on my table before Wednesday lunchtime or I would give you a detention during weekend. Five pages on the topic of ‘Early History of Vale’ and its relation with the current Vale now. And remember to work your assignment for the next class too!”

“Wait—” Now fully wired with her situation, Anya turned around to her teammates. “Did I sleep through the class???”

“Yes, you did.” Mei answered, totally unamused—maybe even irked—with Anya.

“Why you didn’t wake me up?!”

“Well, you looked pretty tired, so we let you sleep.” Rhodo said. The wide grin plastered on his face told Anya that he lied and didn’t bother to hide it.

“Miss Lyre.” Professor Oobleck repeated. “Five pages essay before Wednesday lunchtime.”

Anya groaned. “Yes, Professor.”

“Serves you well,” Mei mumbled. She stood up and left, not waiting for her own partner.

Rhodo walked behind Anya and patted her back. “It’s not that bad, yeah?”

Ulm, who was following Rhodo, looked at Anya with sympathy and whispered something about “will help”.

“Geez … you guys ….” Anya collected her book and notes and then left the class, catching up with her teammates.

Sleeping in class, especially the History class, was one of Anya’s bad habit. She found that class was the most boring of all and had hard times to stay awake during one. Now in their third year, her teammates sometime deliberately not waking her up or helping her when Professor Oobleck threw a piece of chalk to wake her and surprise her with a question. Mei thought Anya deserves to be punished once or twice in a semester. Rhodo just found it funny to let Anya had extra work. Ulm never agreed to the other two, but didn’t have enough courage nor reason to oppose them.

It was difficult to get angry at your teammates for “betraying” you, if they immediately decided to talk about what should be written in the essay and reviewed the last class they had. Anya used this opportunity to catch up with what she missed in the class and started a rough planning for her essay.

“‘Early History of Vale’ isn’t that difficult,” Mei started the conversation. She sat in front of Anya. “Vale’s land isn’t the most resourceful, but it wasn’t the harshest.”

“Being resourceful led into many conflicts between Faunus and humans,” Ulm added. “Humans wanted to secure the resource in Vale for themselves and tried to minimize the number of Faunus residents in Vale.”

“Which ended by sending Faunus to Menagerie?” Anya asked.

“Not directly, but ….” Ulm hesitated. “Yes …. We can even say the discrimination against Faunus was actually started here, in Vale. The idea spread to other regions too: Mantle and Mistral. Vacuo wasn’t really affected because they could use as many help as they can get with their harsh environment.”

“But ain’t Mantle in the same situation?” Rhodo—unexpectedly—butted in the conversation. “They have ice and snow everywhere. They’ll need more manpower to overcome that.”

“True.” Mei frowned. “Humans and Faunus worked hand by hand to build Mantle Kingdom, but then the situation changed and we started using Faunus as 'assets’ because of their higher endurance in extreme condition.”

“Can I just stick to Vale early civilization?” Anya interrupted, still munching on her noodle. “Faunus conflict is good and all, but Professor might be more interested in ancient civilization in Vale.”

Mei squinted her eyes in disapproval. “No talking with food in your mouth. Where’s your manner?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Rhodo remarked. “Schnee is way younger than you. No need to listen to her everytime.”

“I see now that for such a blockhead like you, manner has no importance at all.”

“What do you call yourself if you talk like that to the older ones, then?”

Mei and Rhodo started glaring at each other. Ulm whimpered something inaudible, shifting his worried gaze to the conflicting parties.

“Being childish doesn’t need any manner, you know?” Anya shrugged, smirking at both Mei and Rhodo. “Anyway. Do you guys have anything to do this weekend? Or next weekend?”

“Nope.” Rhodo answered first. “I’m free.”

“I have no plan for weekend.“

“I don’t have either.” Ulm tugged the bandana covering his right eye. “Is something the matter?”

“My mother wants to meet you.”

There was a sudden uneasy silence among them, making Anya questioned herself whether she said the right things or not.

“May I ask you … why?” Mei looked nervous. “Why does she want to meet us?”

Anya slurped her noodle, deliberately making noise just to annoy her partner. She snickered when seeing Mei frowned.

“She’s curious.” Anya shrugged again. “That’s all I can say for now. I don’t always understand what she’s thinking, but most likely she’s curious and wanna know you better. I spend my days with you, anyway, it’s normal for her to wanna know all of you.”

“Rrightt~?” Rhodo scratched his head. “You never send her any picture of us?”

There was another silence again. Mei glared at Rhodo who didn’t realize that he made a little mistake. Ulm fidgeted on his seat.

“Rho,” Anya drink her noodle soup, “my mom’s blind, remember? It’s useless to send her pictures.”

Rhodo’s eyes widened in pure shock. “I—I’m sorry!” He quickly added. “I’m sorry! I forgot! I totally forgot about it!”

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Anya said. “That’s another reason she wants to meet you. If you don’t mind, though.”

“Well, yeah ….” Rhodo nodded. “Sure. I can go this weekend.”

“Me too.”

“I can go.”

Despite of their answer, Anya still caught a slight hesitation from them.

***

The hardest thing in writing an essay limited to ancient civilization of Vale wasn’t the limited resource, but how to separate myths and real histories.

Anya took another deep breath. It was late and the common room in the dorm had started to feel cold, but she still has one page left out of five. Would Professor let her off if she just put a paragraph for the last page? Probably not—

“Why don’t you work in the room?” Mei approached her and put a mug on the table.

“Oh, thanks.” Anya could smell chocolate scent from the mug. “Just wanna have some changes. Besides, seeing me working until late is kinda bugging Rhodo, right? I wonder if he’s appointed as a security or such in the orphanage.”

“Well, honestly, I guess I couldn’t sleep too, thinking that working until late might make you sleeping in class again.” Mei pulled a chair and sat. “How’s it going?”

“Almost done.” Anya started to think about putting some unnecessary and a bit misleading sentence before she got into the conclusion. “Just a little bit longer …”

“Want me to help?”

“No, thank you. Really.”

Allowing Mei to help meant she would take a look at what had Anya written and there was high chance she would do a lot of revision and omitted a paragraph or two or three, making Anya’s essay shorter rather than longer.

“You guys don’t seem too eager to see my mom, huh?” Before Mei insisted on helping again, Anya quickly pulled a conversation. She had been wanting to talk about this too, so it was the right time. “I know it’s an odd request. You don’t need to force yourself to.”

“Your mother would be disappointed if we don’t fulfill her request.” Mei frowned. “I don’t mind meeting her, really.”

“But?”

“There’s no ‘but’ ….” Mei paused. She twirled her odd-colored hair. “Well, there is ….”

“I’m listening.” Anya started putting more words in her essay. Having someone to talk seemed to make her thoughts flowed again.

“I always think you have a … complicated family,” Mei said. “I’m not sure what to say and what not to say when I meet your mother.”

“Oh … so that’s what bothered you.”

Mei nodded. “I’m used to have a conversation with people. Important people. I’ve met a lot of them in those parties I attended to. I know how to speak with them and what topic should I bring, but … when I think about talking with your mother … It’s different.”

“Yep. She isn’t an important people.”

“She is important.” Mei sounded irritated. “In a different way, she is important. Don’t take me wrong for this. I just don’t know how to fit myself if I were to have a conversation with her.”

Anya put down her pen, quite pleased with her work. She managed to get five pages—four and half a quarter to be exact. Her blabbering near the end of the essay was convincing enough (at least when Anya re-read them).

“You’re good as it is,” Anya said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just be yourself when you meet Mom.” Anya read her work for the last time, looking for typo or other minor mistakes. “She can’t see you, but her hearing is really good. She can sense it if someone’s lying or nervous. Most of the time. She might mistake you for being a fake or something if you get too nervous.”

“That’s not helping at all. I’m getting more nervous.”

Anya chuckled. “Yeah, sorry. But, seriously, if you don’t want to meet her, that’s totally okay.”

“I understand.” Mei frowned. “I’m still going. But I don’t know about Rhodo and Ulm.”

“It’s up to them. I won't urge them,” Anya said, taking a sip from the mug. Mei’s chocolate was a bit too bland for Anya’s taste, but overall it was warm and okay.

“May I ask you something?” Mei said in a low voice, almost whispering.

“Go ahead.”

“Why doesn’t your mom wear prosthetic eyes?” From her voice, Mei was fully realized that her question touched a sensitive topic. “It would allow her to see again.”

“That’s …” Anya tried not to look bitter in front of her partner. “Her injury was really bad back then. I don’t know the detail, but prosthetic could only help as long as there are several nerves or muscle still functioning, right? She was beyond that. Even if we insist on wearing one, all she could see is blurry images. A really blurry one until you can only see blotch of colors here and there. It’s that bad. It’s … useless. Her eyesight is beyond repair.”

For a moment, Mei looked regretting her question. “I’m sorry to hear that …”

“No problem.” Anya paused, biting her lower lip, but then she nudged Mei, smiling at her. “I’m done, by the way. Let’s go back to the room?”

“Sure.” Mei shivered. “It’s getting cold here.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t some sort of ghost passed by just now?”

“ANYA!” Mei slapped her partner’s back. Her silver eyes widened in a funny mix of fear and annoyance. Anya laughed. “That’s not funny!”

***

Anya’s mother, Iris, was staying in the second floor of their house. It wasn’t the best choice, especially with Iris’ condition, to let her spend most of her time in a place that was only accessible using the stairs. But she kept telling Anya she liked it since there were less noise compared to the first floor where most of the resident of the house spent their time.

“Mom, you’re not bringing your cane again.”

“I’ve been living in this house forever. I know—” The blind woman stopped and carefully trailed her hand on the stairs railing. “I know how to navigate myself inside my own place.”

“I know.” Anya held her mother’s hand firmly. “Since I’m here, just let me help you, okay?”

“You don’t need to.”

Of course, Anya still helped her reaching the living room downstairs.

Mei was the first one to see them coming. She raised from her seat, intending to help, but Anya shook her head and let her mother found her own way. She did it like she had no problem with her eyesight, getting into the chair reserved for her.

“I’m sorry for making you nervous with my request,” Iris Lyre opened the conversation. “And thank you for taking care of Anya all this time.”

“It’s more like she’s the one who’s always taking care of us.” Rhodo grinned.

Rhodo was the first one who looked relaxed. Anya’s best guess was Rhodo recognized Iris’ Mistralian accent. Despite of growing up in Vacuo, Rhodo had no Vacuan accent and had a Mistralian one. Hearing Iris’ accent probably set him at ease, knowing both of them had something in common.

Ulm was the second one who got to engage in the conversation. Iris picked a topic about the outskirt of Vale, which Ulm was familiar with. She later told Ulm about it was good for him to take the free-running course in the academy, because it would add a huge advantage to his already good skill in hunting and tracking.

Anya had a hunch that her mother purposely left Mei for the last.

“Miss Schnee,” when she finally spoke to Mei, her voice was full of respect, “it was an honor to have you as my daughter’s partner.”

“I—” Mei was startled. “The honor is mine, Ma’am!”

Their conversation started more awkward than with Rhodo and Ulm. It was later when they talked about Anya that their conversation turned smooth.

“You remember I’m still here, right?” Anya teased her mother.

“I do. And isn’t it better if we talk about someone when the people is around to hear it?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“You can immediately correct things that way.”

Anya sighed, but grinned. “Mom, you know that’s not how things work.”

“Since you don’t want to hear me embarrassing you in front of your teammates, go ask Vi if she has something we can get for our guests.”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

“And get my cane upstairs.”

“Okay.”

The cane raised Anya’s suspicion. Her mother—as she claimed many times—didn’t need her cane that much to move around the house. It helped her avoiding obstacles lied closer on the floor, but nothing more.

She wants me to stay away from the room? Anya thought. I wonder what she wanted to talk about with the others.

Vi didn’t cook anything, but, instead, she told Anya that Iris had asked her to buy some cake.

“Glad your friends could make it,” Vi said. “Your mom is expecting them, even though she doesn’t say so.”

“Now I feel like I’m actually being evaluated.” Anya took out the cake from the fridge.

Vi chuckled. “I don’t think you need to worry about anything. You’re a good girl.”

“Am I?” Anya smirked. “It depends, y’know? Depends on who you asked about it.”

When Anya returned to the living room with, the four of them were still talking.

“If there’s one thing I regret in my life, it’s that I have to depend on other people to truly know how’s my own daughter doing.”

Anya stopped right before she reached the living room doorway.

“If you would tell me, what do you think of her?”

Rhodo was the first one to speak up. “I don’t think I’m gonna pick someone else as my team leader. I won’t say she’s wise and all—sometimes she gets herself in danger—but she always come up with a way out.”

“Even though the so called ‘way out’ is often questionable and a bit … destructive,” Mei added.

“Speak to yourself, Schnee. You’re way more destructive when it comes to that.”

“Well, I—no, I am not! It’s because of the circumstances!”

“Don’t listen to her, Ma’am. Schnee wasn’t getting along with Anya since the beginning.”

“That is not true! We did have a few disagreements, but it’s already settled and we’re getting along just fine now!” There was short pause before Mei continued. Her voice was a little too low. “She is the best partner after all ….”

“That’s kind of unexpected,” Rhodo commented.

Yes, it’s totally unexpected, Anya thought, surprised. I always think we both try to keep up with one another, never fully understand each other’s approach and I keep pissing her off.

“At least,” Mei spoke again, “she is way more better than a certain blockhead.”

Rhodo groaned, “Whatever.”

“If I may say … it’s because Miss Schnee and Anya adapting themselves to each other.” This time it was Ulm who spoke up.

“Ah, does she?” Iris sounded curious.

“Yes. And since Anya wields two weapons a short-ranged one and a long-ranged one, she can adjust accordingly with the situation.”

“Two weapons?”

Uh-oh.

Now that they came into this, Anya realized she never told her mother about her main weapon, the cane. What Iris knew was Anya already had her weapon and that was it. She never asked her about it further, trusting Anya with her own choice for that matter.

“She never told you?” Rhodo asked.

“Maybe she told me and it slipped from my mind.” Iris chuckled. “My memory isn’t as good as in the past.”

Because of all those medications. Anya clenched her fist. Mom shouldn’t have said it like it was a joke ….

Anya stepped in the room. Nobody seemed to notice she had been standing for a while and listening to them.

“You seem to get along really well.” Anya set down the cakes on the table before returned to the side of her mother’s chair. “They were nervous like they were going to meet in-laws-to-be or such.”

“Marriage between teammates isn’t something that uncommon.”

“Mom … please …” Anya sighed.

“I bet you forget about my cane, hm?” Iris whispered.

“I’ll go get it. Or, do you change your mind?”

“I change my mind. I don’t need it.”

“Okay.”

“You already overheard a thing or two, right? Telling you to get the cane has lost its purpose.”

Sometimes, Anya wondered how in Remnant her mother knew without seeing? What about the saying “seeing is believing”?

***

Mei was relieved this meeting with Anya’s mother went without any trouble. None of them touched any sensitive topic—even though Mei and the others were surprised when they first saw her. Anya was vague about the cause of her mother blindness, but judging from the scar on her face and neck, it was probably from a close range explosion. Mei knew it was impolite to show that she was uneasy with the looks of the person she was talking to, but it was difficult to maintain her gaze with all those scars. There had been a few times when Mei almost failed to contain her curiosity. Fortunately, the conversation went without Mei slipped her tongue and asked any question regarding the scars.

“I’m going to make sure Mom return to her room,” Anya said to her teammates. They were already in the front door. “Do you mind waiting?”

“We don’t mind. Go ahead.”

“I can go back to my room by myself,” Anya’s mother replied from inside the house. “Don’t make your friends waiting.”

“Be right back,” Anya said, ignoring her mother’s insistence.

When it seemed both Anya and her mother were out of range, Rhodo spoke softly, “Well, glad that went well. Now I know why Anya is really concerned about her mom ….”

“Did you see the photo in the living room?” Mei asked. “The one with her teammates?”

“Yeah.” Rhodo rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t help not feeling sad when seeing it.”

“She used to be so beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not just the blindness that makes Anya concerned so much about her mother,” Ulm suddenly interrupted. He looked both worried and afraid. “I went to the bathroom, remember? I saw … medicines. So many of them … They’re for depression treatment.”

“Depression?” Rhodo repeated. “Who—oh—! No way ….”

“But she looks really normal when talking to us,” Mei said.

“It isn’t working like that, Miss Schnee.” Ulm fiddled with his fingers. “One of my relatives was diagnosed with depression. I’ve known him as one of my funniest uncle. He never appeared sad or such. It isn’t like that …. His family cut his medication, thinking he was fine, but then ….” Ulm shook his head.

“Then …?” Rhodo asked.

“We lost him.” Ulm bit his lips. “What I know is one day he went somewhere and the only thing his family could find was his shoes, on top of a cliff next to the sea.”

“Oh my God ….” Mei clasped her hand on her mouth. “You don’t mean ….”

“Possibly a suicide, yes.”

“You mean—” Rhodo paused, assembling the correct words in his head “—Anya’s mother could ….” He couldn’t finish his sentence, but Mei understood what he was about to say.

“Yes,” Ulm squeaked. “It makes me both worried and afraid ….”

“Anyway,” Mei tried to change the topic, “I’m not satisfied that I didn’t get to tell her that she doesn’t need to worry about Anya. That Anya is one of the finest person I’ve ever met. And that she doesn’t fall too behind in terms of physical appearance standard.”

“Aww, really? I should’ve recorded that.”

One mistake Mei made was she stood with the front door behind her back, so she didn’t see who was coming from there.

Mei could feel her face went warm of embarrassment. She couldn’t turn around and face her partner at this rate. Her face must be all red now.

“You really planned to tell them to my mom?” Anya asked.

“Shut up!” Mei turned around, stomping the floor. Seeing Anya grinning made her even more embarrassed. “Now I don’t want to say it anymore! Wipe that silly grin from your face!”

“I’m glad I’m not the one partnered with Schnee,” Rhodo snorted. “I feel you, Anya.”

“Nah,” Anya closed the front door and wrapped her arm around Mei’s shoulder, “I’m good. I’ve got myself the best partner after all.”

It wasn’t less embarrassing. Mei pouted and glared at her leader. Anya smirked and winked an eye to Mei.

Mei gave up.

She looked away while her face got redder and redder.

Author’s Note: Because there are a few request for Anya x Mei, I decided to release this fic.

This is old writing, actually, done 1-2 years ago. I showed it to Ookaminoki and she drew this after reading it.

IMHO, Anya’s mother, Iris Lyre, is an interesting character to be explored. As you might remember, I wrote a bit about Anya’s family in this Christmas side-story. One of my writer friend suggested me to flesh her family further, especially Anya’s mother and their relationship. From then on, I built a more detailed story about them and Iris’ former teammates.

Team AURM and Team GOLD Main Index

[thewritewolf]

Fictober Day 18 - You Should Have Seen It

Chat Noir goes to brag about his latest success to Marinette, who he finds sick in bed. Some fluffy Marichat goodness.

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“You should have seen it, Princess!” Chat Noir said as he entered her room from the balcony. “Not to brag or anything, but-” They both made a strangled screeching noise as Chat twisted in midair to avoid landing directly on top of her. While he did manage to avoid doing that, the extra shaking and bouncing from his landing did nothing for her headache and general pain.

I must be quite the sight, Marinette thought as she took several long, deep breaths and put a hand over her forehead. She’d been sweating a lot from the fever, her tangled hair formed a messy halo on the pillow around her head, and she hadn’t changed out of the pajamas she went to bed in yesterday. Mustering all the energy she could, she lifted her head to check the time then promptly fell back onto her pillow. Fourteen hundred hours. No wonder Chat had expected her bed to be empty.

Speaking of, he gently pushed her hand off her forehead to replace it with his own. She sighed in relief since the material of his suit was cool.

She heard the concern in his voice as he quietly asked, “Princess, you’re burning up! How are you feeling?”

“Awful.” There was no point in trying to brush it off, or downplay it, and if she couldn’t tell Chat, her friend both in and out of the spots, who could she tell? “Figures. Got sick just after mom and papa left.”

“Left? They aren’t here to take care of you?”

Her attempt to shake her head ended in failure, so she croaked out, “No. Gone. Catering a wedding.”

“Someone needs to take care of you,” he muttered to himself. Addressing her now, he asked, “Are you hungry? Can you eat?”

Pouring all her Ladybug authority into her voice, she said, “Chat, you don’t need to-”

“I’m not letting you suffer alone, Marinette. I’ve got the day free - let me help you.” After a pause, he added timidly, “Please?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tikki hidden from view. The kwami had been doing her best, but she couldn’t do much beyond keep her company and bring some things within Marinette’s reach. She let out a sigh that turned into a cough.

“Okay, okay. You can help. Can you make me some soup, please?”

“Of course! It will be the finest, freshest soup possible. Only the best for you, Princess.”

“Regular canned soup is fine, Chat.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, too caught up envisioning a feast worthy of royalty.”

“Chaaaat…!” She groaned, but it was too late. He was already down the ladder and slipping out of her room.

Tikki emerged from hiding. “It’s pretty lucky that Chat Noir arrived! I can’t do much to help, after all. And your parents will be gone for the whole weekend.”

Running her thumb over Tikki’s head, Marinette said, “I appreciated the effort all the same.”

“He doesn’t usually come over after a battle, especially one where he used Cataclysm. Why do you think he came over?”

“He beat the akuma by himself. Of course he’d want to brag and since Ladybug hadn’t shown up...” She felt terrible about leaving Chat to fight alone, but even transforming hadn’t been able to help her do much more than stand. Even her stubborn tenacity wasn’t enough to get her out of her room, let alone fight an akuma. Thankfully, at least the miraculous cure worked when lying down.

Tikki seemed about to say something, but her antennae twitched and she instead flitted away into a hiding spot. The trapdoor to her room opened, causing Marinette to frown in confusion. Unless her sense of time had been completely shot, that had been nowhere near enough time for Chat Noir to make soup, even from a can. He crested the ladder with one hand holding a glass of water.

“I thought you might want something to drink while waiting.” He passed her the glass and she drank from it as if it were heavenly ambrosia. While she was occupied, he rubbed the back of his neck and asked, “I don’t suppose your family has a cookbook lying around somewhere…?”

Giggling despite the pain, she said, “Cabinet above the sink. Page 27, please.” It was a recipe she’d done with her mom ever since she was little. Hopefully, it was easy enough for her goofy partner to pull off on his own.

Nodding in thanks, he left the way he’d came. Tikki was only back out for a couple minutes before he had returned.

“Sorry to bother you again, but I found some medicine while I was trying to find everything. I thought it might help.” He filled the tablespoon he’d brought with the foul smelling liquid medicine, which he then held in front of her. He must have expected her to take the spoon, but Marinette was too exhausted for such unnecessary work like holding things and simply leaned forward and put the spoon in her mouth.

“R-right. Back to the soup.”

Once again, Marinette was alone in her room. Very, very briefly. She wondered if Chat Noir had even reached the bottom of the stairs before turning back around. It certainly hadn’t been enough time for her to get comfortable again after moving. Tikki didn’t even have time to get out of her hiding spot.

“Do you want me to close the curtains? It might help with your headache and it’d be easier to sleep.” She made a noise that might, to some ears, be heard as a ‘yes.’ Thankfully, he seemed to get the message and her room was plunged into cool, soothing darkness.

True to his word, the headache became less of an angry throbbing and more of an irritating pulsing. Much more tolerable. So tolerable, in fact, that she forgot the pain she was in and drifted in and out of sleep. What ultimately drew her out of tittering on the knife’s edge between dreaming and waking was a the scent of the soup wafting up from the kitchen, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. The stomach pain that had taken backseat to everything else was now back in full force.

Light briefly banished the darkness as the door to her room opened once again, the scent of broth and cooked vegetables filling the room. She felt a weight settle on her bed before her lamp turned on. After blinking away the stars from the sudden change, she saw Chat seated cross-legged in front of her, a full bowl of soup placed in his lap.

With a smile in his eyes if not on his face, he asked, “Can you eat this yourself, or do you need me to feed it to you?”

She sat up to the best of her ability as she shook her head. “No that’s alright. Let’s see how good your cooking is.” He passed the bowl to her and she brought a spoonful to her mouth. “Not bad, Chat.” She ate a few more spoonfuls. “So what brought you over today?”

His eyes lit up as he began regaling her with his solo battle against the akuma victim of the day. She nodded at the right times and did her best to look the part of an awed civilian, despite having followed the entire thing on the Ladyblog. By the time he was done talking, she was done eating.

“Well… I guess I better head out. You’ll need to get some sleep if you’re going to get any better. I’ll stop by later to check on you, okay?”

She smiled gratefully and laid back down as Chat turned off her lamp. Her bed shook ever so slightly as Chat pulled himself out of her skylight. She continued to smile as she fell into a deep sleep, already feeling much better.

[veridium]

sweet talk 101

PHEW. OKAY. 

Part ten? HOLY SHIT? We are in part 10 of this thing. I am so delighted. So, here, have some fluff with a light touch of melodrama (as is my specialty). @bitchesofostwick and I love torturing our kids with sweetness followed by sourness, apparently. 

ON THIS EPISODE: Cass and Liv are doing the whole friendship.com thing, though Liv can’t help but still wonder what her new pal’s plans are. One thing she knows for sure is that all her assumptions are quickly flying out the window. A text from her Mom reminds her of the fragility of her privacy and her expectations. Meanwhile, sweet bb Ellinor prepares for a totally casual and not at all scintillating project meeting with her blonde, handsome partner. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Episode title brought to you by my falling back down the rabbit hole of Cute is What We Aim For’s music, especially this particular song. 

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 

-- 

A week after Ellinor and Cullen are assigned their project --

2:57pm. Dammit, it’s 2:57pm. Call it already, Professor Lucas.

“Alright, that will be all.”

That is all she hears before her mind goes exclusively to packing up her lecture notebook, pencil bag, and canteen into her backpack. It’s get the hell out of dodge time. Up out of her seat and out the door as the Professor warns about the midterm study sessions coming up. Yes, yes, fine, she’ll ace the practice exam as usual. That doesn’t matter.

It’s Tuesday, and she’s got plans.

Jogging down the steps in her calf-high boots, she searches through the crowds of foot traffic and sees the pixie-cut she’s been waiting to see, against a lamp post. Blue skinny jeans and a t-shirt underneath a leather fitted jacket. A resting bitch face that turns to cordial stoicism, and melts her into smiling. Olivia has a type and she can’t even deny it anymore: women who look like they’d be just as ready to step on you as make you laugh.

“Hey!” she says as she walks up, a perk in her step that makes her ponytail bounce.

Cassandra grins and stands tall, holding her phone. “Hey!”

“You said wear pants.”

“That I did.”

Olivia eyes her, fending off the urge to giggle nervously like a beguiled school girl. “Do I get to find out why? I don’t usually cater to people’s whims, case you couldn’t tell.”

Cassandra’s grin grows. “Really? Last I checked, I am now 5-0 with requests on your time and company.”

OH. Ohoho. OHO. Olivia’s hands go balmy, a visceral response to being hung out to dry with just a simple sentence. She’s right, though. After their meet up at the Church, texting had recommenced at their expedient frequency. That had led to a redemption coffee outing on the following Wednesday, where Olivia sat down in place long enough to actually finish her chai. That would have been bad enough, if not for the wandering into a used bookstore afterward, where Olivia couldn’t resist mock reading from old social science journals to really drive their asinine, outdated theories home. That was the first time she heard Cassandra laugh. Honest to goodness laugh. It made her break character.

But ego does not pay any mind to sentimentality in the moment of injury.

She swats Cassandra on the back of her upper arm before folding hers against her tightened chest. “You got a punch card going or something, asshole?” 

Cassandra chuckles low. A cocky chuckle. The confidence looks good on her, when it overpowers her steady and thoughtful exterior. “Come on, I only got a few minutes loaded on the parking meter.”

She’s unceremonious but charming as they walk down the sidewalk bordering front quad. It had been an odd text to wake up to, a request that she wear close-fitting shirt and pants, and bring something to tie back her hair. It reminds her of when adults would chide her and her friends in high school for letting people tell them how to dress. No one was allowed to do that! Unless, of course, they were your parents, your elders, the federal government…

A few minutes walk to a back parking lot, and they come to the front line of spots. Just down the line, passed the handicap spots, there’s a shiny black and purple bike cocked to the side, and two helmets resting on the seat.

She stops in her tracks. Cassandra walks a few feet ahead, before she turns and faces her.

“No fucking way,” Olivia’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. “You’re shitting me.”

“Yes, because I definitely am a prankster,” Cassandra shakes her head. “Come on, you said you spend your weekends on bikes. Or was that you, shitting me?”

Olivia is getting sick of this woman being perfect. It’s nauseating, almost -- and by that, she means increasingly irresistible and that is becoming a problem. In all actuality it would make sense; kids who grew up in families like the Pentaghasts rarely had an interest that wasn’t generously indulged just because they could afford to do so. She probably had a inkling to ride a bike when she was nine, and they groomed her all the way up to being a licensed rider who competed in tournaments or something berserk like that. Just casual. 

She slings her backpack straps onto both shoulders. “Well, shit.”

“What?” Cassandra asks as they resume walking.

“Nothing, I am just rarely rendered speechless.”

“Now that, I believe,” she smiles, a skip in her step as she bounces off the sidewalk onto the asphalt, grabbing both helmets and handing one to her. “Be honest, have you ridden on a bike before?”

Oh, sweetheart. Olivia laughs and takes the helmet, pulling her hair ponytail down to rest at the nape of her neck. “No, never. Absolutely not. I am a good girl.”

Cassandra sits up, back straight as she zips up the jacket she’s wearing. Now it makes sense why it reminds her of a moto jacket in a magazine. “I’m serious, Liv. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Ugh, I have, many times in fact.” Olivia sticks her tongue out before slipping her head into the helmet. It’s a bit snug, but that’s not a bad thing when it comes to helmets. “Just sit still and look pretty while I do my backflips on the freeway.”

“And people say I am relentless.” Cassandra smirks before putting her helmet on and standing up, swinging a leg onto the front seat. Olivia is way too besotted by the simple act of her straddling a bike for it to be healthy. A 20-something’s blood pressure is not supposed to spike like that. “Well, let’s go then.”

Olivia’s heart races. It’s a simple request. She’s done it more than a dozen times. Get on the bike, hold the person by the sides of their waist, and enjoy the ride. Holding her breath, she approaches and does as Cassandra did, bringing a leg over -- God, the bike is tall -- and perches herself on the back seat.

Cassandra takes hold of her steering, and Olivia takes hold of her. Leaving room for Jesus, to be sure. Out the corner of her eye she spots a small group of onlooking people outside the doors to the building in front of the lot. They look like a bunch of east coast preps lost on their way to the nearest Hollister, and their faces are anything but pleased. One girl with french braids and a binder to her chest, brow furrowing. A guy, hands on his hips, wearing a knit Ralph Lauren-looking sweater even though it’s a 70 degrees out at least. A couple others, but it’s those two faces that stink the most. 

What’s good, bro? Got milk with fat in your latte this morning, Chadworth? she sneers in her head. Her temper has two gears: territorial pomeranian, and pomeranian gone off the rails. 

Cassandra kicks up the stand and revs the engine. “Ready?” she yells over her shoulder.

Olivia’s hands press harder against her waist, and she refocuses. “Negative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full.” She then leans against her back, as close as her mouth can get to her ear. “Hell yeah I am.”

They reverse and then blow the popsicle stand. Cassandra rides well, and she doesn’t speed or try things. Corners are careful, speed limits respected. When they merge onto the freeway Olivia leans against her straight rather than do what she likes to do -- tricks like tossing her arms into the air, arching back, feeling the adrenaline race in her veins. Instead, she holds on, and takes in the scene racing on either side of them. No backflips.

Eventually they get off several exits down and pull into uptown where the pho shop is. It’s small, and tucked away a bit, but it’s a favorite among “the students” as the locals would say. They find a table by the window, small and built for two, and go ham on two bowls of soup.

“Oh yeah, toss those babies in,” Olivia teases, sliding her bowl across so Cassandra can drop in the peppers she doesn’t want. “Ah, yes, glorious. Thank you.”

Cassandra grins, throwing in the last piece and then grabbing for more bean sprouts. “Your table manners are compelling.”

“Good, it took me five years of debutante training to get me to stop hanging off the chandeliers.”

“Only five?”

“Five...and a half,” she wags her finger in the air, her other hand stirring her noodles around. Cassandra is spooning some broth to her lips, not a single sound of slurping or crass inhaling. It’s textbook table etiquette.

“So, how was your day?” she asks after she swallows.

“Good. Class was good...a lecture on the Peloponnesian war. I should have known better than take an Antiquated history class without bothering with the prereq.”

“What, is it difficult?”

“Not...exactly,” Liv shrugs, tossing a piece of beef into her mouth. “It’s just involved. Like, everyone there wants to be the next great archeologist or history authority. I just want to know how we got this point in our society, get an A, and move on.”

Cassandra wipes the side of her lip with her napkin, before placing it to the table and picking up another bundle of noodles between her chopsticks. “I can understand that. Some people really get bizarre in those classes. I once got into it with a guy who insisted on his hair-brained reddit factoids being true even though they stipulated that Stalin was like, this nice guy who loved kids and lattes.”

“Agh! What the fuck?”

“I know. I nearly asked him to throw hands on the quad afterward. Tell him where he could put his soviet apologia. I hate it when I’m made to feel like reduced to capitalist swine just for telling Craig whoever-the-hell that all his heroes died despotic cowards, and it’s not an ‘ironic’ fascination if he has a giant U.S.S.R flag hanging in his dorm room.”

Olivia snorts as she’s mid-gulp of broth, her hand going to her mouth and cupping against her lips and wet nose. She turns away briefly to wipe off her mess, while Cassandra looks on with a smile. A habitual concern is smearing her lipstick, but as she’s pressing, she remembers she didn't put on any that morning. In fact, she hardly bothered with anything more than concealer and eyeliner. She could rub her face in a thick towel, and it would be fine.

“I hope that was meant to be a laugh. You okay?” she comments, taking in another mouthful of noodles.

“You know,” Olivia remarks as she presses her napkin to her face, hopefully not smearing her contour or highlight, “you comment a lot on my quirks. You got a problem, Pentaghast?”

“Not at all, Sinclair. Why would I?” she tilts her chin, her hand stilling.

“Uh, I don’t know. You bothered, or whatever.” Maybe you’re trying to tell me to stop doing it by commenting, like my parents do. Darling, you’re mouth breathing. Sweetie, you talk when you can’t improve the silence.

“Nah,” Cassandra chews small, “Just teasing. If anything, your concern should be that I find you too fascinating to be real.”

Butterflies. She’s been causing them more lately ever since they agreed to this ‘friendship.’ Because that was totally what was supposed to happen when you’re good pals.

“Hm,” Olivia nods, preparing another bite in her bowl. “I’ll take that answer.”

“Lofty affirmation.”

“Yep.”

They settle into eating for a minute or two. Her phone had sat untouched on the corner of the table, on silent, too. Texts and calls don’t matter in the moment. It’s her getaway for more reasons than she’d like to admit.

“Speaking of bothered. Cullen’s still trying to pretend he doesn’t care that Ellinor wants to be friends. There’s no living with him,” Cassandra says, breaking the contented silence. “It’s been, what, a week since they got that group project assignment?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Olivia watches her broth as she stirs around the floating veggies. “Ellinor won’t stop not talking about it. But they’re finally meeting up soon, right? They have to. It’s like, the rule of group projects.”

“...Does she like him?”

“Does he like her?”

Their eyes meet, and smiles grow on both their faces. Olivia laughs to off-set her nerves from it. “Shit, obvious answers are obvious.” 

She shakes some more of the hoisin sauce into her bowl, before tossing it up in the air towards Cassandra’s side. Cassandra, in her athletic prowess, catches it without so much as looking up.

“You’re keeping me on my toes. What’s next, another ‘trust’ fall?”

Olivia shakes her head mockingly and upturns her nose. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“You got the wrong girl if you’re looking for lack of protestation,” Cassandra counters, mixing.

“Maybe you’d find better company with those people watching us get on your bike. They looked full of ideas to protest. Women’s reproductive choice, suffrage, poor people having rights…”

“You mean Daniel and everyone?”

Great. Of course, she knows them. “...Uh, sure?”

“Hah,” Cassandra shakes her head. “They’re opinionated, alright. Just not very good, or original, at it. They go to Church. Our families know each other. All fun friends at the ski lodge and mission trips,” she mocks, eyes rolling a bit.

Church, church, church. It all went back to Church. That was perhaps the most religious thought she had ever had on her own volition.

“So, I take it they’re not very cool?”

“That’s one way of putting it. Insufferable is another.”

“Does that mean they don’t like you being around me?”

Cassandra holds her noodles mid-air hanging on the chopsticks as she pauses to give her a look. “Liv, they dislike a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but, they were giving me shitty glares of death in the parking lot. And I’m not a thing.”

“I didn’t say you where. I just meant that--”

“It’d make sense, I mean...promiscuous witch straddling your bike with her blasphemous thighs, you riding off on the highway to hell,” she starts to choke on her laugh, unable to keep a straight face.

Cassandra smiles smartly. There’s a glimmer in her eye that wasn’t there before. “I try not to worry what other people think. It gets ridiculous after a while, if you let it under your skin. My family brings enough attention to my life as it is. I don’t need to treat everything like tabloid fodder in my free time. But if I did, I’d want it to be written using your flare for vivid imagery.”

She’s eloquent, even when she’s hanging out with no audience. A bit awkward on the delivery at times, but sincere. It’s adorable.

“Right,” Olivia crinkles her nose, “heh, you’re right. I shouldn’t have picked. It’s pointless. I am who I am, anyways.”

“Yes, you are.” She looks up and sees Cassandra admiring her with that quiet, confident stare. A straight mouth, but softened eyes. It’s all in the eyes.

They finish more than an hour later, way passed the amount of time it objectively takes to down a small order of pho. They also take their time walking back to her bike. It’s a partly cloudy day, but warm -- worth the dallying. Olivia will probably get sunburnt, but there’s no reason to care. She does that thing where she pretends she’s walking on a tightrope, and even hops on a couple side-by-side benches to do so. Cassandra keeps to herself, but matches her pace at every slow-down and quickening of steps.

Then, she does one of those things that surprises Olivia just as she thinks she has the situation settled: as she approaches the end of the last bench, Cassandra offers her hand to her. She stops and stares at it, probably longer than she should if the goal is to play it all cool and nonchalant. 

Her eyes flicker to Cassandra’s. She’s looking at her with civil kindness, impossible to read. Olivia tucks her chin a bit, grins, and glides her palm ever-so-quickly against hers. She hops down and feels the bracing strength in her handhold -- it was not needed, but it was something else. Something humbling. With her feet back on the ground, she is the first to remove her hand, so that she doesn’t have to survive the sensation of Cassandra being the first to break away. 

Eventually it’s back on the bike and to campus where they belong. On the way, Olivia leans against her back, inch for inch, but it’s no big deal. Jesus still has room, somewhere, right? At one point, though, when they are rounding onto a neighborhood street -- one she recognizes as being a couple blocks from Rylen’s house of horrors -- she lets her hand go out to the side, fingers spindling through the air. Cassandra looks over, but due to the helmet, she can’t tell whether she’s mad or not. She doesn’t say anything, and Cassandra is the kind of person to say something -- so she takes it as approval.

When they pull into the fire lane behind her dorm and stop, Olivia would rather stick a hair pin in her eye and dismount. But, she makes it look easy as best she can, hopping down and sliding the helmet off her head. She hands it back to her while shaking her hair loose. Cassandra remains on her seat, but sits up. It gives Olivia leave to stand close, for the sake of the engine noise.

“Thanks for the ride. It was a perfect first bike trip,” she teases, thumbs hooking onto her backpack straps.

“No problem,” Cassandra projects through the rim of her helmet.

Olivia rolls her lip. “I’ll...uh, I’ll text you.”

“Please do.”

Dammit with that poker face. What gives? What’s in it for her? What’s got her so smug?

“Okay, well…” she rocks her weight between her toes and her heels, “get home safe!”

“I will. Have a good night, Olivia.”

This is where she is supposed to walk away. Again. She nods and turns for the door to the ground floor. Although, Cassandra does not turn tail and leave until Olivia is fully inside, safe and sound -- as if that were a concern to have, logically.

Oh, she can do that, but she can’t push be back on the bike seat and...

Once inside, she exhales her pent up breath and shoulders the wall, groaning. Everything is great, but yields no decisive result. Cassandra makes being straight look like a corkscrew roller-coaster ride, and feel like it, too. Olivia is signing up for every go-around she can, only to be dropped off and told to collect her bag and loose jewelry from the cubby hole.

Her thoughts go quiet as she gets up the stairs, and onto her and Ellinor’s floor. And who does she meet coming her way but the grunge queen herself, who’s face flushes in the instant they see each other. Ellinor is dressed for public, and carrying her bag. Her book bag. It’s gotta be no later than 5pm. She tries to pivot and go the other way, but Olivia is hep to her antics.

“No no, no you don’t missy!” she calls after her, walking faster to catch up, “get back here!”

“I don’t...I cant...I can’t hear you!” Ellinor mouths while she stuffs her other headphone back in her ear.

“Ellinor Trevelyan!”

She freezes, shoulders bunch against her ears.

“That’s right. Turn around and meet your maker. Where are you going at this temperate evening hour?”

“Uh…” Ellinor side-steps, “I got...homework…”

“What kind of homework? Would that be...Lit homework?”

“No!”

Olivia stops in front of her, and with a swift fist she punches her best friend’s bookbag. It feels like a sack of cinderblocks. “Right. That’s Lit class heaviness. Try again.”

Ellinor sucks on her cheek, folding her arms that are wrapped in hoodie sleeves. “I’ve got Lit homework. Sue me.”

“Oh, you bet your ass you do. A project’s worth. You going to meet with someone?”

“Maybe. I got friends, you know.”

Olivia narrows her eyes. “Bullshit. Who?”

“No one in the vicinity…”

“Hah! You’re meeting up with him! Fucking finally!”

Ellinor slumps and bends her knees, tossing her head back. “Shit, yes okay, fine. I am. We have a meet-up. I’m doing what I’m supposed to. Got it? Had your fun?”

Olivia dances from foot to foot, smiling and giggling with triumph. “Ohoho, don’t stay out too late, child. Curfew it at 9:30pm! Make good choices! Don’t let him get all in your petticoats!”

Ellinor looks ready to astral project out of this dimension and call it a day. But, as Olivia passes her and backwards steps so that she can continue mocking her with giggles and singing words, she surprisingly stays grounded in this plane of existence.

“Stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies!” Olivia chants, scooting her boots back towards her door down the hall.

“Yeah, right! Better than noodle buddies! Get enough slurping?!” Ellinor barks back.

Olivia blushes and bites her lip, before turning her but toward her and perking it up. “Never enough!”

“Ugh, son of a--”

“Buh-bye, friend! Have fun! Kiss kiss fall in love!”

Ellinor makes her escape, drawing the line at old anime haunts of their freshman year depression pit. That leaves Olivia at her door, keys rustling in her backpack side pocket. She gets out her phone and makes quick for her messages, typing in Cassandra’s name.

-- I think Ellinor is coming over to your place for their project. Look alive and be prepared to evacuate the premises if necessary, lol. 

Olivia shoves her key in her lock and feels another buzzing sensation. Thinking -- hoping -- it’s Cassandra, she looks quick.  

To her disappointment, it’s Mom:

-- Do not forget the gala coming up! You HAVE to come home before! Mom-daughter time at the spa, LOL! Love ya! XO

Right. God dammit. She lets her arms fall and rocks her forehead into her door, groaning with the bane of a thousand tempers. Right around midterms, no less. Cassandra was right -- it was fatiguing to care about what other people thought. But it was different to overcome that when your entire life was groomed for social climbing, instead of you being born already at the top like she had. It’s easier not to care when you’re looking down at all your critics.

But, Mommy-Daughter spa time! ‘LOL’ was not the sentiment she would have used to describe it. “Fate worse than death she must relive for all time” -- now that, that was an apt descriptor. She gets in through her door, drops her stuff on her desk, and hops into the shower soon after. Once that’s done and she returns wrapped in a towel, her thoughts have spun once or twice around the planet’s equator. Turning the lamp on as its getting dark outside, she unplugs her phone from the charger by her desk, and pulls up Ellinor’s name in her texts.

-- My Mom isn’t dropping the museum trustee gala nightmare she wants to drag me to. I want to walk the plank. Hope your not-study date is going well! Tell Cullen hey for me, and be niceee!!!! 

She’ll probably invite Ellinor to come along so that her Mom doesn’t get to push her onto the arm of one of her girlfriends’ sons, or even worse, one of Olivia’s beefcake cousins. It’s more than annoying, it’s excruciating, and she hates that it is. 

Collapsing back on her bed, she exhales with the daydream of Cassandra by the lamp post wearing that jacket. She wants it all to herself, safe and sound. Fuck.

[braincoins]

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know...”

“Please?”

“Okay, but... in costume? You’re sure?”

“Trust me.”

Technically, Lance was here to cover it for the site. 

I love my job so much.

He was getting paid to attend the first Starlight Con, where the geeks of the city could pay honor and homage to their superhero. And he had a press pass to get him into basically any and every event he could want to attend! 

Cosplayers were everywhere, most as Starlight, but he caught a few Paladins wandering around. The dealer’s room was packed with superhero-related RPGs, CCGs, video games, and comics. 

Lance spent a good chunk of time in the artist’s alley, which was full to bursting with fanartists, fanfic writers, and a slew of fancomics. These were the hardcore fans (aside from the cosplayers), and he interviewed a few (and let them promo their stuff in return).

“Starlight does so much for this city, and she really captures the imagination!”

“I think it’s important for my daughters to see a strong black woman hero. She’s their idol - and mine, too.”

“I just think she’s super hot.” Because of course the fanboy contingent was out in spades. Lance drummed up some controversy asking their opinions on Paladin, and there was almost a literal fistfight between two fans when one said he thought Paladin and Starlight should hook up and the other said that Starlight didn’t need a man. Convention Center security was right on that, thankfully. Lance quietly decided not to publish the video he got of the fight; it’d just be embarrassing for them both, and “nerds fight over their opinions” wasn’t exactly newsworthy.

He was taking a lunch break when he saw two people stroll in wearing the best costumes he’d seen yet. They were Starlight and Paladin, of course, and they were almost immediately thronged by con-goers eager for pictures. 

The Starlight cosplayer seemed a little anxious, but her partner whispered something in her ear, then grinned and posed for the cameras. She copied him somewhat uncertainly and everyone snapped away and thanked them. Huh, first time cosplaying, maybe? Well, hers, for sure. He snapped a couple pics as they walked by and went back to eating his overpriced hot dog. Lunchtime was sacred. Hopefully he could catch up with them later.

There was a panel starting at 1 PM about the need for superheroes in this day and age. Lance got there early for some good crowd shots, recorded the whole thing, and got some interviews with the panelists afterwards. There was a police representative who gave the standard “vigilante” line, of course. One of the panelists said she was a cop but stressed that her opinions were her own and not representative of the city PD before saying that she loved Starlight and was glad she was out there, but that she didn’t want normal civilians trying to do what Starlight - and this new one, Paladin - were out there doing. “They’re... unique. Let them do the dangerous stuff. There are so many other ways of being a hero: adopting a pet from the shelter, or adopting a child from foster care! Donating time and money to a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. Taking a moment out of your day to do something nice for someone else.” Lance got every word she said... but didn’t get her number sadly. Oh well; can’t blame a guy for trying.

Coming out of the panel, he ran into the super-good cosplayers again, but they were thronged by other cosplayers asking about how they made their outfits. “Starlight” was uncomfortable with all the attention and questions; “Paladin” seemed to be enjoying himself, saying it was a “trade secret” and he could tell them but then he’d have to kill them and making everyone laugh. Lance let them be for now.

He prowled around the dealer’s room some more. There were some modern day snake oil salesmen here, of course, claiming that their smoothies or drink powders or “super foods” would make you healthy and strong just like Starlight! Lance tucked his press ID into his shirt; they’d pounce on him if they saw a chance for free advertising. He did take free samples though; most of them tasted kind of chemical-y, but there was some sort of granola crunchie thing that was actually pretty good. Might not make me a superhero, but at least it doesn’t taste like cardboard dipped in paint thinner. 

The con organizers seemed to have segregated the wackos into one area. Most of them were obvious nutjobs, but there was one, run by what looked like a high school girl, that made a pretty compelling case for Starlight being an extra-terrestrial. “It explains her gadgets!” the girl declared. “Super advanced tech, like nothing anyone’s ever seen!” She leaned close to Lance to confide, “And I think her ears are actually pointed. I mean, what point in making them look like that otherwise? It’s not like pointed ears are a necessary part of a ‘starlight’ themed aesthetic, y’know?”

“You think Starlight’s a space elf?” he asked skeptically.

She frowned as she straightened up and folded her arms. “That’s reductive. I think she’s an alien who happens to have pointed ears. ‘Space elf’ is just silly.”

“Oh, sorry, of course. Thanks for the food for thought, though.” But, it was a good point: why did Starlight want her ears to look like they were pointed?

Most people weren’t interested in looking too deep into the gift horse’s mouth. They were just happy Starlight existed and was willing to help out. There was another panel at 3 of people who had been saved by Starlight. Lance had to run and it took a flash of his press pass to get in since they’d just closed the doors.

Heh, I wonder if Shiro’ll be here. Everyone at the paper knew that Shiro’d been saved by Starlight hundreds of times, probably. He was probably her #1 Most Rescued or something.

But, alas, no sign of his colleague. Some of the “panelists” were mundane - “Starlight helped me carry my groceries” - but there were some more exciting ones. One guy had been part of a small crowd evacuated from a Planned Parenthood when a wackjob had threatened to blow it up.

“I tripped and fell and I could feel my ankle give. Probably wasn’t broken, I thought - and I was right, as it turned out - but I didn’t think I was going to hobble out of there in time. But then Starlight showed up, picked me up, and ran out of the building.

“You all probably know the rest of the story: the bomb did blow, but it didn’t have enough force to do more than knock out some windows. Made a mess of the waiting room, though. And that was where I tripped. It might have killed me, or at least injured me a lot more.”

A woman saved from her abusive partner. A group of kids who’d not only been saved in the moment from a drive-by shooting but who had thereafter dedicated themselves to making their neighborhood safer, following Starlight’s example. A teenager who said he’d never met Starlight or seen her in person, but that following her crime-fighting career gave him a reason to keep going every day despite the bullying he endured for being trans. “She’s black, like me. When she’s not wearing the mask, I bet she has to put up with bullshit all the time. But she doesn’t let it beat her down. She keeps going out there and saving people. Knowing she’s out there lets me know the world’s not as bad a place as it seems sometimes.”

Lance interviewed every single one of them afterwards, even the little old lady with the groceries. No task too small for our hero, he thought with a satisfied smile.

He was about to leave for the day - the con went all weekend, and he wanted to file the report soon so maybe more people would come tomorrow - when he came across the couple with the awesome costumes again. Last chance! He called out, “Hey, Starlight! Paladin!” and jogged up to them.

They turned towards him; Paladin smiled widely but Starlight just groaned, “Oh my god.”

“Fantastic costumes! Can I get a picture? I work for the online version of The Daily World, and you’d be a great cover image for the story!”

“Anything for one of the citizens of our fair city,” Paladin said in a deep voice. I love it when they’re in character, Lance thought. 

“This is too much,” Starlight protested, doing a spot on impression of that weird, British-y accent of hers. “In the paper? Are you kidding me?”

“Really, you’re a knockout, both of you!” Lance assured her. “Best costumes I’ve seen!”

“It’s important to have only the very best equipment when you’re fighting crime,” Paladin agreed.

“You’re loving this,” she accused him.

“I absolutely am,” he replied with a wide grin. “Come on, Starlight. It’s for the paper.”

She sighed. “Oh, very well. I suppose it will look nice.”

“You gotta pose,” he told her, striking his own ‘Valiant Defender of the City’ pose in demonstration.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” But she did her own pose anyway.

Lance snapped a few pics. “Perfect! Fantastic! I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were really them!”

Paladin started laughing, but then Starlight grabbed his arm. “Okay, that’s it, we’re leaving.”

“Aww! We’ve only been here a few hours!”

“That’s more than enough. Besides, if we’re too tired, we won’t be having any fun tonight.”

“Fun or fun?” he asked her.

“Either.”

“Okay, we’re leaving.” He waved at Lance. “Take care, citizen!”

“You too!” Lance said with a laugh as Starlight hauled him towards the exit. He checked his photos of them, which were all excellent, of course, chuckled, and headed out as well. He had a story to write.

{The Adventures of Starlight & Paladin}

[blackwatchladies]

Can I get some Mercykill for the character/character please. I’m fine with SFW and NSFW :D

Of course, you can! I gave you a bit of both with fluffy SFW goodness at the start and ending with some NSFW fun at the ending. I hope you enjoy! The story was inspired by some of the MercyKill Headcannons found here.

Also this is kind of long and if you don’t want to read it on Tumblr you can find it here on AO3. Enjoy!

- Mod Raven

Reader Insert MasterlistCharacter x Character Masterlist

Warning: NSFW towards the end of the fic

It had been a long hard week for Gabe, truthfully it had been a long hard month. Between training new recruits, daily meetings with Ana and Jack, and mission reports he was spent. He left the office late almost every night and was in early almost every morning. He was tired. “Athena,” he called out, “Do I have anything scheduled for lunch today?”

“No Sir, it appears that your lunch hour and the time after remains completely open.” Replied the AI.

A rare smile appeared on Gabe’s face, “If anyone is looking for me tell them it’ll have to wait until after lunch. I’ve been neglecting my girl and I have a plan to rectify that.” Grabbing his jacket, he made his way out of his office, pass reception when the door opened. There in front of him stood the very angle he was thinking about.

Mercy knew that it has been a trying month for Gabe. He had a lot on his plate and she didn’t envy him, nor did she hold it against him that he hasn’t been around as much. She understood that this was an important time in reforming Overwatch and tried her best to be supportive. That’s why this morning before coming into work she made chocolate chip cookies, his favourite and planned to surprise him on what should be his lunch break. Truthfully it was more of an inhaling of half a sandwich before his next conference call or meeting. She walked into the reception area that housed offices for Jack, Gabe and, Ana, “Hi Faye, is he and have a minute?” she asked, nodding her head towards the door when a smoky voice answered her question.

“For you mi Cielito I always have a minute, maybe even two.” He joked, stepping forward to pull her into an embrace, “I was just coming to look for you. Turns out I have this lunch hour free and was wondering if my favourite scientist wanted to go get some lunch.”

“Well that’s a coincidence, I was just on my way to see my favourite commander.” Before she could finish a distant cry was heard in the background.

“Hey!” Called Jack loudly from his office.

“Sorry Jack,” replied Mercy in a singsong voice, turning her attention back to Gabe, “Anyways, as I was saying I was coming to bring you some cookies. I know how hard you’ve been working lately thought a snack would be nice.”

Gabe watched as she pulled out this giant container from her purse, “Is there anything you don’t have in there Angela? It must weigh a thousand pounds.” He joked, trying to pick it up and acting like he couldn’t, “Just let me go hide these, so there will actually be some left when I get back and we can go.”

“Don’t worry Gabe, I made enough that you could share and still have some left over.”

“Doesn’t mean that I want to,” he chuckled walking back out of his office and offer Mercy his arm, “Shall we Cariña?”

Fifteen minutes later the couple found themselves standing in front of an old brick building, “Good afternoon, table for two?” Gabe nodded his head, “Perfect, you two can sit where ever you’d like and the server will be right over.”

The couple made their way to one of the free tables with an umbrella and chatted idly until a voice interrupted them “If it isn’t Gabe and our own resident doctor!” Cried the server in surprise walking up to the table, “I haven’t seen you guys around here awhile, things keeping you busy at the office?”

“It’s nice to see you too Gabi,” replied Mercy, “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Work has kept me pretty swamped, but I managed to sneak away to treat his lovely lady to some lunch. Can we have the usual please?”

“I think we both can agree this lovely lady deserves some lunch,” she said in a cheeky voice. “So that’ll be the nachos to split, chicken quesadilla, pulled pork, and a side order of gorditas?”

Mercy nodded her head, “Could we also get an order of tortilla soup to go?” Gabi nodded and went on her way. Gabe looked at you with an eyebrow raised, “What? I assume you’re going to stay late at the office tonight and I’d like you to have something to eat besides cookies.”

Gabe laughed a full belly laugh, “You’re always looking out for mi Cielito. Sorry, I’ll probably have to miss supper again, it’s only for a few more weeks and then life slows down a bit. At which point I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s okay Gabe, we have demanding jobs, and this is a fairly large batch of recruits. I should know, I had to do their physicals.” she giggled, reaching her hand out across the table of him to hold, “Besides babe, it’s giving me time to deep clean the apartment. Although I would like your help moving some of the furniture around when you get a chance.”

“Of course, I’ll make some time to help you this weekend.” The pair passed the time pleasantly engaged in conversation until it was time to head back to the office. Gabe pulled out his phone to check the time and see what his afternoon was like, “We have some before I need to be back, want to take the long way back?”

Looping her arm around his she said, “Let’s go!”

The couple walked in amicable silence, each enjoying the beautiful weather and the chance to be outside of the office stretching their legs. They were about five minutes away from the base when Gabe suddenly stopped in front of an animal shelter, “The reason I wanted to take the long way back to base was that I had a surprise for you.” Pointing to the shelter. He knew for a while now that she wanted a dog, it’s come up in conversation several times.

“Gabriel Reyes, I swear if you are messing with me it’s not even funny.”

“I would never joke about something like this, let’s go find out new fur baby!” He took her hand and they walked into the shelter. Five minutes later they were being shown the different dogs around the shelter. Five minutes later Gabe finished filling out some paperwork and rejoined his partner in the yard where she was playing with a brown dog. “Is this the one?”

Mercy gracefully made her way over to him, the fog followed along behind her, “Gabe this is Kinsley, Kinsley this is Gabe. She’s an American Staffordshire Bull Terrier mix and is 1 year and one 1 month old. She is super affectionate, sociable, and loves to cuddle, she’s still young and has lots of energy. So, you finally have a girl that will go for runs with you.”

“Cariña, breathe. She’s perfect.” He declares, crouching down to give her a scratch between the ears before picking her up, “While I was signing the paperwork out front I picked up a portable carrier to give her a home base at the office. Shall we get going?”

Snaking one arm around his waist, she holds her phone up with the other one, placing the dog between them, “Smile Gabe, this is one for photo albums!”

The rest of the day was spent between doing paperwork and video chatting with Angela and Kinsley. She seems to have settled into life at the office rather well, everyone loved her. Everyone wanted to pet her, and a lot of the senior members spoiled her. Jack immediately dropped down dropped down and gave her belly loves, speaking to her like a baby. Ana and Reinhart immediately set up a playdate with their dog Penny. Winston brought her some peanut butter treats he made and Tracer played fetch with her in the courtyard.

At the end of the day, the couple made a trip to the pet shop before heading back to their apartment. They got all kinds of toys, bones, and treats for Kinsley. Gabe smiled to himself watching Angela pick out a bed and putting it in the cart before pointing to another one. “I think this would work.”

“Angie, hunny, we don’t need two beds, the apartment isn’t that big.”

“I know,” she replied throwing it into the cart anyway, “That one is for your office, we should probably pick up a couple toys and a treat holder for your desk.” She said it was the most obvious thing in the world, going about her shopping.

Long after the sun had set over Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Gabe poured two glasses of wine and set them on the table in the living room. “Cariña,” he called out, “Can you come here for a minute?” Look down at the dog he spoke softly, “Okay, girl show time. Are you ready to play your part, Kinsley?”

Almost as if on cue Mercy walked into the room. His eyes were drawn to her, she looked beautiful. Even if she was just wearing leggings and one of his Blackwatch shirts, like she is right now, she was still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Kinsley excitedly made her way up to Mercy who immediately moved to pet her affectionate. Gabe took this as his cue to get down on one knee.

“Gabe, what is this?” She questioned, pointing to the dog’s collar. It was a strand of blue ribbon, tied perfectly into a bow, with a simple ring dangling from it. “Gabe?”

He untied the ring while he spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion, “Lord knows I’m not the easiest person to live with and I work a lot, but I promise to love you for the rest of my days if you’ll have me.  You’re my better half and I would be completely lost without you. Angela Ziegler, will you marry me?”

“Of course, I’ll marry you! Nothing would make me happier!” She held out her hand and felt him slide the ring on. Bring her hand up closer she admired the ring. It was a simple white gold band with a diamond in the middle and a garnet gemstone on each side, “Oh Gabe it’s beautiful!”

“I’m glad you like it mi cielito,” he handed her one of the glasses of wine from the table, “I’d like to propose a toast to us. May we have a long happy marriage!”

“I have to call Ana! She’s going to be so excited!” Mercy started to walk towards the kitchen, when Gabe grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards him until her back was flush against his, “I have to tell the other girls to! Gabe, I’m so happy!”

“I’m glad you’re happy, but do you really need to do that right now?” He asked, peppering her neck with kisses, “I thought that maybe we could have our own private celebration tonight.” As if to prove his point he spun her around and claimed his lips with his own. He could feel her go boneless, her mouth responding to his in that oh so familiar way. Wrapping his arms around her he started to undo her bra through the shirt, pushing her towards the bedroom.

Mercy felt her knees hit the back of the bed and her shirt be thrown to the ground somewhere, shortly followed by her bra. Before toppling back down on to the bed with Gabe’s body on top of hers. She shivered not from the cold, but from the anticipation but from what was coming next. His eyes were dark and lustful, she could see the need burning behind them. She was sure that the same look was mirrored in her own eyes. He brought his head back down and played a kiss on her lips, nibbling on her bottom lip before pulling away. His lips moved down to her neck, pressing a kiss against her collarbone before moving on to her breasts. Using one hand to cup her left breast his mouth found it’s way to the right boob, rolling the hardening bud between his fingers. Kissing it all over before taking her nipple into his mouth; biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. Her moans could be heard filling the room, and at that moment, Gabe swore to himself that there was nothing better than the sound of her silvery voice moaning and groaning because of him. Releasing the hard bud from his mouth, he kissed his way over to her left boob to give it the same treatment, his hand playing with right boob.

Satisfied with his work he continued his journey kissing down her body. Pausing only when he reached the waistline of her pants. He made quick work of hooking a finger into each side and slid them off her easily once she raised her hips for him. Gabe let out a low whistle of approval before bringing his head down to kiss along the top of her thong. He loved how she kept everything shaved, except for that little strip of hair on her pubic mound. Moving down she groaned in anticipation, only to let out a whimper of disappointment when she felt his lips contact the skin of her inner thighs. Kissing up one side and down the other side, “Gabbbbbbe,” she whined, her voice filled with longing, “Please”.

“Please what Cariña?” he smirked, placing a feather light kiss overtop of the lace of her thong.

“I need you,” she wailed, squirming around on the bed, her pussy throbbing for attention.

Gabe felt her plea go straight to his hard cock, making him harder than he thought possible. Not wasting any time, he hooked a finger under her though and gave it a sharp pull, ripping the fabric. He slid a finger inside of her, drawing out a long moan before he slid it back out and repeated the process, bringing her just to the edge of what she wanted. He withdrew his finger and listened to her whimper at the lost of contact. Smirking to himself he leaned up to kiss her lips, then moved them to where she really wanted them. He ran his tongue up and down her slit a few times then licked up to her clit, tracing slow circles around it. Capturing the bud with his lips he started to suck, bringing a finger up to slide into her pussy. Listening to her moan and raise her hips up to grind against his face. He added a second finger and fucked her pussy until she was right on the edge but stopped before she toppled over. He wanted them to do that together. “Pleaseeeee” she moaned breathlessly, he wondered if she even knew what she wanted from him.

“God that’s so hot,” he thought to himself, placing his finger in front of her lips to quickly be engulfed in her mouth. He groaned feeling her tongue swirl around his finger, imagining it was his hard cock in her mouth. Using his other hand to undo his pants letting them fall to the floor, stepping out of them.

Mercy watched from her spot on the bed as he withdrew his finger and used both his hands to free his throbbing erection. She watched is bob in place, admiring how it looked in the moonlight. He was uncut and a solid nine inches, she measured it once, that leaned slightly to the right and decently girthy. She could feel her pussy throb at the thought of him sliding inside of her. Gabe grabbed hold of his cock and lined it up with her entrance, stroking it up and down her slit, getting it nice and wet with her juices, “Gabe, please!”

He couldn’t resist anymore, he slowly slid inside of her, “Fuck,” he said under his breath, “You’re so tight for me baby.” Once fully inside he paused to let her get used to the feeling of being so full. He felt her start to move under him and took that as his cue to start moving again. He pulled all the way out, before slowly sliding all the way back inside of her. Increasing the speed and force of each thrust until he was ramming his hard cock deep inside of her with each hard thrust. He didn’t think he could last much longer, her walls were gripping him like a vice, “I’m so close baby, cum with me” he begged, reaching a hand down to rub her clit. With a few more thrust he heard her start to come undone for him. She screamed his name and string of unintelligible words and pussy clenched around his hard cock. One last thrust was all it took for him to shoot his cum deep inside of her, before he collapsed on top of her. Both panting for breath.

After a minute he rolled of her and she cuddled up to his side, “I love you” she mumbled drifting off to sleep.

“I love you to baby,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss against her forehand, “More than you know.”

- Mod Raven