#so its always been the opposite case here where store bought things were FAR MORE expensive than homegrown or local

[ears-like-eyes]

You wanna know what is a far better option than being vegan to help out animal welfare and being environmentally friendly?

Buy local.

[writing-in-april]

Origins

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my eighth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- I’m very nervous for this one to be honest- idk if it’s going to be a lot of peoples cup of tea- this one had me researching a lot lol since I have no clue about boats at all lol- I hope I did the request at least a bit of justice (sorry in advance if I fuck up any terms or anything) but I think I did pretty well with my research (I think). I originally got the request from @imagining-in-the-margins when she handed it over to me also thanks for some help on the folklore parts too! Here it is-

I always want to hear from you guys so feel free to drop me an ask here- and hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: ~disclaimer lol I know nothing about boating~ Anyway into the other warnings- Takes place directly after season 3 episode 8 (Lucky with Floyd Feylinn) Spencer gets really fucking sea sick- poor baby, Reader is from overseas (originally Cornwall in the request but I made it a bit more vague) and Reader’s father is a fisherman

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

The air that floated around whenever I was out on the water, salty sea water or fresh salt water always seemed to breath life back into my lungs. The river that we were boating on was quite salty near its widest point, tides brought the saltwater in to mix with the fresh making the water quite brackish.

I was lucky to still live somewhat near water after I had moved over to America. I hadn’t had the luxury of picking exactly where I was going to live and work when I transferred to the FBI, I just happened to draw all the right cards. With my schedule I didn’t go out on the water as much as I used to, definitely not as often as I had as a child. I yearned often to feel the specific type of air people only felt when on the water, especially when my job got particularly gruesome.

Gruesome was a way to define the last case my team and I had been brought in to investigate. My stomach churned at the thought of our last unsub, his name couldn’t leave my mind and the images of his heinous acts certainly didn’t leave either. Floyd Feylinn Ferell had been his name, though I wished I could forever scrub it from my memory. His crimes were too vile that everything seemed to trigger a memory, specifically of the frozen corpses.

The team had even noticed how affected I was by the case, often sending me worrying looks whenever it looked like blood drained from my face over sheer shock- just like the corpses. Cases had been gruesome before, sure, but there was something about this one made me feel frozen by fear.

I needed air, and not just any old air.

Homesickness was another factor that was making me feel so ill. I hadn’t been back to my home in so long, the only time I spoke with my father was over the phone, no video chats at all. He was just as technophobic as Spencer, maybe even more so to be honest. My father’s life as a fisherman hadn’t made him exceptionally tech savvy. He did know how to work a phone now thanks to you, which was another similarity to him and Spencer. I had helped Spencer learn how to work his new smartphone just last week.

Spencer, my lovely boyfriend of a few months, wanted to help quell my dark thoughts as best as he could with all of his knowledge. His first solution was to always revert to books, which I didn’t mind, it only made him more special to me. He tried to find books that would remind me of home- and get my mind off of gruesome cases that were closed and shut cases.

Hotch had then suggested the team take a day off, just one. After weeks of back to back cases with little to no reprieve we’d finally get some time alone, even if it was only for a day. All I needed was one day to get on the water and cleanse myself of the negative thoughts I had been feeling lately.

It was actually Spencer that had first suggested this excursion. He had come to one of our dates with his arms full of pamphlets all about renting a boat for the day. He also had definitely read up about boats, I’d expect nothing less of Spencer. I had learned it was his way of subtly showing affection, researching anything that I even was passively interested in.

Spencer packed even more than I did when we set off on the day long date, packing to the brim at least one too many bags- to be honest he packed two too many bags.

Once we had gotten the boat out into the water, the relief was almost instant. It was like my body knew I was home. I wasn’t actually at home of course, but it somehow knew I was near the water again. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t been far off when he called me a mermaid on one of our first dates, I had gone on a ramble about my love for it.

The water wasn’t nearly as clear as where I had grown up, much more dull in my opinion. But, the breeze that danced across my skin as well as the water made me feel more at home then I had been in a long time. After letting the mist spray onto my cheeks for a while I looked over to check on Spencer, who was not doing well by the looks of it.

Spencer’s face was twisted up in a grimace, not used to being in a boat. Until I had asked him a few weeks ago, to make sure it would be safe to go out on the water with him, I hadn’t even been sure he could swim. I also wasn’t that surprised that he had this reaction, it would have been less of a problem if it was a boat that I had picked out and bought. But, I’d take what I’d get if only to be by the water.

He pretended to hide his urge to dry heave over the side of the small boat that I had rented for the weekend. He looked almost green at this point, I knew he was only staying for my benefit at this point making me a tad bit sad. Water definitely seemed to have the opposite effect on Spencer compared to me, being on the water always felt like instant relaxation to me.

I still, however, didn’t want him to feel any major discomfort like he was obviously feeling so I decided to pipe up since he wouldn’t tell me himself, “Are you sure you’re ok enough to stay, Spencer?”

He pulled his life vest around himself as tight as he could while crossing his arms around his stomach. It took him a second to answer and in that time I almost started to turn the boat around back to the bay.

“I’m fine!” He squeaked out and I could see a shiver run through him. If I had offered to turn the boat around he’d most definitely have given me a glare, not wanting me to turn it around for his own sake. I squinted my eyes in suspicion, he was not completely fine obviously, but if he was insistent on staying maybe I could find something to distract him from it.

“Do you want to hear a sea shanty or do you want me to tell a regular story?” I asked out into the wind, thinking that might distract him from his nausea.

“A story, but you can’t call them regular stories.” He teased back as well as he could with the urge to dry heave, as if he didn’t know what I had meant. I scooted a little closer to him before I prepared myself to tell my story.

Selkies were always the ones I started out with whenever I told the stories I had grown up with. Despite its dark undertones I had latched onto the story as a child, finding it similar to the mainstream perception of what mermaids were. Though I’m reality seals that could transform into humans were a far cry from mainstream ideas of mermaids, a Merrow would have been a better comparison.

I always gave Spencer the origins of the story, he liked to know exactly where they had come from and how I had heard about the story in the first place, “As you know by now the folklore about Selkie’s originates from Scotland. Well- let me think about what I haven’t told you about Selkies before…” I pondered for a moment before remembering an aspect of the Selkies powers I hadn’t educated Spencer on yet. There was no doubt in my mind that he probably had all this information stored away in his brain somewhere, it was nice to know that someone genuinely cared about the stories I liked to tell. “Selkies are immortal, but they can be killed by other creatures. And I know I’ve told you that part, but I haven’t told you that they are generally killed by sharks when they are in seal form.”

I then went into the whole lore surrounding Selkie’s immortality. My hands were waving around animatedly as I talked, just like how the small waves were rocking our boat. They had definitely calmed down by now, hopefully Spencer would feel better soon.

Once I finished my tale I beamed over at him, my mood had brightened significantly over this trip, even though I could sense that Spencer’s had not. Though the story might have helped, he seemed a little less sickly now. He then managed to ask again without puking, “Could you tell another story? Maybe about the Kelpies? Or the Pixies of Cornwall? You can pick anything though really, I love listening to your stories.”

My heart swelled enough from his words that I thought it might burst. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Spencer, he always hunted for more knowledge about things he was maybe more ignorant about compared to other topics.

I opted to then tell him about the Kelpies, who were also water dwelling creatures, before moving onto the pixies. He even seemed to be getting attached to the same stories that you favored as a child, and even as an adult.

I looked over at him as I finished my last little bit of information that I felt I could muster up today. A smile filled with fondness crept onto my face, his fluffy hair strewn about. It was cute despite his lingering sea sickness.

His face was remarkably less green now, my stories must have soothed him which made me feel heat run to my cheeks. Each time Spencer took interest in my origins I felt deeper feelings bubbling up, that were more than what we had expressed yet. Instead of voicing my full feelings just yet, I leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead. He may have not looked green anymore, but I’d wait to give him a kiss on the lips until after we got back to shore, just in case something was to happen.

“Can you sing now?” I knew that he was not requesting me to sing any silly old song. He wanted me to sing the sea shantys that my father had taught me as a child. Not that I minded his request, I’d do anything to make him happier and I loved singing them anyway.

I smiled brightly as I guided the boat back to shore while I sang, already feeling lighter. It had not just been the water this time that made me feel better, it was also because of Spencer. He had taken so much care to help me feel more connected with home, loving to learn about your origins.

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith I’m sorry 😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

[unbridgeabledistances]

soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

--

Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 8

••••

Marty Deeks has been patient his entire life, whether that be waiting until Christmas morning to open presents or until a new Donnie & Marie album was released, but when it comes to one Kensi Marie Blye becoming his fiancé, he’s anything but. So he’s not at all deterred when he steps into the small antique shop in search of a ring. Her ring, without getting a yes first.

No, she hasn’t said yes to his proposal yet, but she did confess that she wanted everything with him. So even if it’s not a yes right now, it will be eventually and he wants to be ready. 

Now here he is at the fourth store today, considering how large Los Angeles is and the amount of people, he thought it’d be easier than this. As he examines the display of unique and elegant jewelry, he begins to lose hope once again, nothing catching his eye. 

The shaggy blonde’s attention is suddenly pulled away from his perusal when he looks over to the man behind the counter and the older lady that’s holding out something to him. He’s only a few feet away but the delicate features of the solitaire diamond ring scream out to him. 

The older black woman feels the shaggy blonde’s stare, she turns, studying his face as his focus continues to stay on the ring in her hand. There’s one thing she’s learned in her 70 years of life and that’s the look of a man in love, but not just any love, a love that’s all consuming. 

He’s pulled out of his trance, realizing that the two have stopped their conversation completely and the woman’s gaze is now on him. “I don’t mean to stare its just...”

“No need to apologize, I recognize that look on your face. Reminds me of my Henry.”

He flashes her sad smile, knowing just by the reverence in her voice that she’s talking about him in the past tense. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was my first love...my only love. Some people don’t get that in life, we were lucky.”

“I know what you mean.”

Something in the way he drifts off for a minute with a dreamy gaze makes her consider her ring and the love she hopes it will be a part of again. “Tell me your story.”

Never missing the chance to talk about his girl, Deeks feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. “I met Kensi when I was 11 years old. My mom and I were in a bad situation at home and her family took us in. That first night we were there I had a flashback of sorts, as I was sitting there paralyzed in fear, she wrapped her arms around me and some part of me knew that I was finally home.” Shaking his head, he thinks about how easy it is for him to tell this woman with deep brown eyes full of understanding how much his best friend means to him. “I know its crazy, she was 8 years old, I was 11, but it made sense in my mind. Growing up we were inseparable, still are. We experienced so many life changing moments together and apart, but no matter what we were there for the other. She’s my person...the person I go to for everything, no matter how big or small it may be. I’ve always felt like I’m my most true and authentic self around her and she around me. We’re just synced. A few weeks ago we finally realized what everyone else around us saw from the start, we’re in love. It’s been 20 years and she still makes me feel like that safe little 11 year old boy. I didn’t see any point in waiting any longer, so I proposed to her a few days ago.”

The older woman takes a look around the store, expecting to see the young woman since he’s already proposed, she’d imagine they’d want to pick out the ring together. “Where is she?”

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, a little embarrassed. “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet. My Kensi’s a thinker, she likes to look at a situation from all views.”

“But you’re still looking for a ring?”

“Yeah, because I know that she’ll be ready one day and when that day comes I want to give her something special with meaning behind it. I’ve been looking everywhere for the perfect ring and I was losing all hope until-“

“You saw mine.”

He smiles hopefully as she finishes his sentence. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without hesitation, she extends the delicate piece of jewelry towards him.

He hesitantly reaches for it, looking to her for confirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. This ring deserves to continue being a representation of our kind of love. It represented mine and Henry’s for 50 years and now its for you and Kensi.”

“It’s so beautiful, I’m sure you could get so much more for it than what I have.”

“How much do you have, son?”

“Four thousand.”

It’s not about the money for her really and that’s when the idea strikes her. “I think we can make that work, but on one condition.”

It takes everything in him not to wrap the woman up in a bear hug. “Anything.”

“You let me meet this woman of yours.”

Nodding his head, he can’t agree fast enough. He thinks about his love and how sentimental she is, especially when it comes to their relationship. She’ll definitely want to meet that’s given them something so special. “I’d like that...we both would.”

••••

The next day at work its as if the universe is helping him out when the death of a marine who had suddenly come into a lot of money lands on their front door step. Of course its tragic but the shaggy blonde can’t help smile at the opportunity this case is bringing him. 

Once the two pair of partners return from their respective assignments they gather in the bullpen, trying to figure out the different angels that could’ve resulted in the marine’s untimely demise. 

“Maybe he was here to spend it.” Kensi speaks up, snowballing off of Callen’s statement about leaving behind a paper trail. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise, nodding his head at the strong possibility that she may be right. “Corporal Peterson said he was thinking about getting married.”

“An engagement ring from Tiffany’s?” Deeks questions, knowing Corporal Porter had a serious girlfriend and it would be logical he’d be hunting for a spectacular ring now that money wasn’t really an issue. 

The brunette locks eyes with her partner, flashing him a small grin. “You have no idea what that little blue box means to a girl.”

He smirks, thinking about the small delicate ring that’s in the black satin bag tucked in his wallet between a photo of them and Marg’s information. One of the main reasons he went in search at an antique shop is because he remembers the gaudy diamond ring Jack had proposed to her with and how it screamed the opposite of what his best friend was. That should’ve set off warning bells from the get go, because if there’s one thing Kensi Blye is not, its flashy. His girl isn’t one for bling and he knows the story behind the ring he bought will mean more to her than any content of a little blue box could. “Oh, but I do.”

••••

She’s been feeling him stare at her on and off all day...well more than usual. It’s when they’re walking towards the home goods store to question Porter’s girlfriend that she’s finally it. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His brow furrows at her accusatory tone, shrugging his shoulders. “What, a guy can’t look at his fiancée?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Didn’t you?” He smirks, knowing good and well that they’re as good as engaged. 

She shakes her head. He’s right, but there’s no reason for her to voice that, not that there’s really time to before they’re already at the front of the store.

As her partner goes off to distract Diane’s manager, Kensi’s able to question the blonde without interruption. It’s when the young woman talks about she and Porter picking out rings that she suddenly feels a strange kinship with her. 

When Jack had proposed to her all those years ago she hadn’t really thought about how gaudy and so unlike her that the ring truly was. It wasn’t until he was off in Afghanistan that she would catch herself staring at the large diamond thinking that it didn’t belong there. Everything was different with him, she realizes that now that her rose colored glasses are off. 

She’s been having these moments ever since Marty proposed, finding herself imagining what kind of ring he’d give her. He loves her like no other, he knows she’s not into blingy things. It makes her smile when she remembers all the times he’s seen women with large diamond rings and spouting off something about someone overcompensating. She’d laugh and that would make him laugh, and in turn they’d get stares from strangers making them laugh even harder. Never in her life has someone made her laugh the way Marty Deeks has. 

Kensi’s focus goes back to the woman standing in front of her, against her own will the image of their roles reversed comes to the forefront of her mind. What if it was Marty that had been killed? The answer brings a gut wrenching ache over her. 

••••

The jewelry store op had been a bust. As soon as the man behind the counter got a glimpse of Kensi’s bracelet the air shifted and they were immediately asked to leave. It may have not turned out like they planned but Deeks can’t help but love the fact he and his partner got to deceive their coworkers once again by “posing” as a couple. Kensi didn’t seem too keen on showing affection however, especially when Sam and Callen were just outside. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the sharp point of her heel lands directly into the top of his foot.

So now here they sit in the bullpen, in silence, trying to figure out the team’s next move. He took over Callen’s chair so they could work more closely but neither have come up with any links to their victim in the myriad of old case files piled on each desk. 

The shaggy blonde takes a look next to him, smiling at the pout that’s displayed on his girlfriend’s face. She hasn’t spoken a word in the past 30 minutes which is kind of worrisome. Afraid that he pushed to far by calling her his fiancée, he speaks up in hopes that she’ll respond. “Are you mad at me?”

“Dogs go mad. People...people get angry.”

The spark in her mismatched orbs makes him want to forget this nonsense and kiss her right then and there, but he quickly remembers the terms of their bet and knowing Callen isn’t anywhere around, he continues this little charade...for now. “Is this about the jewelry store? Listen, I was just trying to sell the fact that we were a couple.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like anybody would believe that we’re a couple.”

He has to hold back a laugh at her words because ever since middle school that’s all people thought they were. “You’re right. You are so not my type.”

••••

It takes longer than any of them anticipated but eventually Porter’s killer is caught. As Hetty congratulates them on a job well done, she hands Kensi a small ring box. The contents of said box are a delicate simple ring much like Diane had described. 

She thinks back to the woman and her heart aches for the loss that she’ll never get over. The life that she’ll never get to experience with the man who she loved. She’s drawn out of her thoughts at the distinct laughter of her love filling the room. Looking across to Hetty’s office she watches as he exchanges some verbiage with Sam making Callen laugh and she could swear there’s a hint of a smile on the Operation Manager’s face. It’s then she realizes that she wants to accept Marty’s proposal. Who the hell cares that they’ve only been dating for a few weeks. They’ve known each other their whole lives and she doesn’t ever want to live without him. There’s just one thing she has to do first.

Taking out her phone, she presses call on the newly added number “Diane, hey, Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS. I was wondering if I could drop by. I have something that Tom left for you.”

••••

Deeks watched from the passenger seat of the SRX as his partner handed over the small box to Diane. As she pried it open, tears immediately sprang to the woman’s eyes and before either knew it her arms were wrapped around the junior agent in a giant bear hug. It suddenly made him think about what if he were the one that died, leaving Kensi all alone. The thought alone breaks his heart in two.

A few minutes later the pair bid their farewells and part ways. He’s surprised a little at the look in her eyes, its not one of sadness but there’s something else, something he’s not sure how to describe. 

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago. 

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

[mashtonasfuck]

there’s a ghost in the back of this room

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Calum Hood (and also a bonus side of muke that happened accidentally)

Prompt:

Person B is a ghost in Person A’s house and they would be really freaked out but Person B always leaves really good advice using the kitchen magnets, so Person A is not really bothered

Warnings: mention of a missing person who reader knows is dead/a ghost

Word Count: 3K

A note from Lucy: This is part of the halloween writers collab organised by @maluminspace​ and @h0tsos. The masterlist can be found here. See the end of the post for more notes. Hey look, I managed to write cashton fic without it turning into smut! Thanks to @loveroflrh and @kindahoping4forever for reading this over for me 💙

If you’d like to be added to my tag list then please fill in this form

You can find my masterlist here

This work must not be reposted anywhere - I do not give my permission for it to appear anywhere other than on my blog, or on my ao3 page.

——————————————————————————

“Ashton, why does your fridge say ‘stop being an idiot’?” Ashton glanced over to where Luke was staring at the fridge door in mild amusement. 

“Oh, that’s just Calum - ignore him. I usually do” Ashton rolled his eyes as a picture fell off the wall as he finished speaking, the thud causing Luke to spin around, eyes wide.

“What was that?” 

“I just brushed past the picture and knocked it off, that’s all.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at Ashton, the older man chuckling as he hung the picture back up. 

“Come on, let’s watch this damn movie you don’t shut up about.”

–

Why did you tell Luke to ignore me

The question was on Ashton’s fridge the next morning, the letters a mishmash of colours and cases. Ashton pinched the bridge of his nose as he read it - only he would get a self conscious ghost living in his house. 

“Calum, are you here?”

A cupboard door opened and a mug floated down onto the counter a few feet away from him - Ashton took that as a yes and shoved a pod into his coffee machine before grabbing the mug and pushing the button. 

“I was only messing with you, Cal. Besides, you’re my ghost, it has nothing to do with Luke.”

Ashton watched as the letters on the fridge rearranged themselves, sipping on his coffee and humming at the bitterness dancing on his tongue. 

Do you not want your friends to know about me

Ashton groaned internally, how could he explain this to his house ghost without offending him? 

“I think they’d be pretty freaked out if they knew I lived with a ghost. You saw Luke’s reaction to you knocking that picture off the wall. Besides, I like keeping you a secret, you’re mine.”

It’s pretty hard for me to be yours when you’ve never even seen me

Ashton had in fact seen Calum. Or at least a photo of Calum. 

– 

He hadn’t been in the house more than a month when he started to realise that things kept happening. A photo moved slightly, the couch not being quite as tidy as he’d left it. The day Ashton had realised he actually had a ghost, he’d come home to find a new photo of him and Luke floating in midair. 

“Um, hello?”

The photograph was dropped hastily, as though Ashton had scared the ghost he evidently had living in his house. After that, Ashton started talking to the ghost, even though he never got a reply aside from the odd knock on a table or a wall. It was while he was at a store grabbing something for dinner that he saw the fridge magnets. He grabbed all of the packets they had and drove home with a grin on his face.

“So, I bought you these today,” Ashton held out the magnets towards where he hoped his ghost was, “I thought maybe you could try talking back to me?”

Ashton felt a small whoosh of air as the ghost moved around the kitchen and he tore open the first packet, dumping the contents into a drawer he never used. Almost immediately the letters started floating from the drawer towards his fridge and Ashton watched as the ghost arranged the letters into a sentence.

Hello Ashton

“Hello, ghost. Oh - what’s your name? It feels weird calling you ‘ghost’.”

The letters arranged themselves once again.

My name is Calum

“Nice to finally know your name, Calum. How was your day?”

I’m a ghost Ashton

The brunette snorted as he watched the letters form another sentence.

Boring thank u for asking

Ashton laughed before spending the next few hours conversing with his ghost - with Calum - via fridge magnets. Calum had told him his full name after Ashton insisted upon knowing it.

“If you ever piss me off, I need to know what to call you.”

Calum Hood

It lingered there for a few seconds before ‘Hood’ was moved over.

Calum Thomas Hood

Ashton turned it over in his mind. Why did that name sound so familiar to him? He thought nothing more of it until he was at work a few days later.

STILL NO SIGN OF MISSING MAN 

Police are still searching for Calum Thomas Hood, 24, who disappeared from his home 6 months ago. They’re urging anyone who may know anything about his disappearance to come forward. 

Attached to the article had been a photo of the missing man, and Ashton knew it was his Calum. (He’d later cut the photograph out of the newspaper and taped it to the bottom of his desk drawer where no one would find it.) When he’d got home from work that day, Ashton had asked Calum how he’d died. 

Not sure don’t remember

Ashton had debated telling the police that he knew exactly where Calum Thomas Hood - or at least his soul - was. He’d told Calum this one evening and a single word had appeared on his fridge.

Crazy

– 

Calum was bored. 

Sure, being a ghost meant that he could walk through walls and move things with his mind, but being bound to one place had its drawbacks. There were only so many times you could move things around waiting to see how long it took Ashton to find them before you’d moved everything. 

(He’d even tried to swap all the furniture in Ashton’s bedroom with all the furniture in his living room, but Ashton had come home earlier than Calum had anticipated and made him put it all back to normal without any help. Moving things with your mind was tiring. 

“You’re a ghost, Cal, how can you get tired?”

Calum had used all of the ‘i’s and the ‘l’s to make a middle finger on Ashton’s fridge door.)

Calum thought that Ashton could sense how restless he was. Ashton seemed to find new reasons to work from home during the day so Calum wasn’t by himself. Not that they could really interact unless Ashton was in the kitchen. They’d tried using a pen and some paper once, but Calum’s ghostly abilities didn’t seem to extend to pens. He couldn’t seem to get the pressure right to actually leave ink on the paper. Ashton had laughed at him before being met with a cushion to the face. 

Calum missed being alive. He missed being able to go outside. He missed coffee. He missed being able to pet dogs.

Most of all, he was frustrated that he couldn’t remember how he’d even become a ghost. At night while Ashton was asleep, Calum tried to remember what had happened. (There wasn’t much else to do while your best friend was sleeping.) He’d get so far into the memory and then something would tug him back into the present moment. It was disconcerting. Calum could sense that he was close to finding out the truth, but something was stopping him. He’d tried to explain it to Ashton but ran out of letters and gave up. He’d debated asking the other man to buy more, but had resigned himself to the fact that it just wasn’t worth it. Ashton wasn’t going to be able to help him figure out what had happened - it was something he needed to figure out for himself.

– 

“Hey Cal, how do you feel about me throwing a Halloween party this year?”

Although Ashton couldn’t see him, he knew that Calum had raised an eyebrow at his question. 

It’s your house Ashton

“Well excuse me for wanting to make sure my resident ghost wasn’t inconvenienced.” Ashton smirked at his fridge as Calum spelt out a new message.

Appreciate it

Sure, have a party

Ashton cheered aloud and began reeling off his ideas to Calum, barely giving the ghost time to form a sentence. Calum shook his head fondly at the man standing opposite him - if Calum had been alive and met Ashton, he was sure that they’d have been best friends. When Ashton had finished speaking, Calum had one thing to say.

You already have a haunted house Ash

– 

The party had taken Ashton weeks of planning and he’d dragged Luke into the prep early on in the process. 

Calum liked having Luke around - he was fun to mess with. He’d taken to moving Luke’s glass from wherever he’d put it down and putting it on the other side of the room. Watching Luke’s bewilderment was a new favourite activity of Calum’s - Ashton had to keep taking the fall for his antics. 

As Halloween rolled around, Ashton’s house really did look haunted. Every room was shrouded in black and there were cobwebs all over the place. (Calum’s favourite thing was the skeleton hiding behind the downstairs closet door that jumped out whenever you walked past it.) According to Ashton, the outside looked just as scary as the inside, but Calum had to take his word for it. 

As people started arriving, Calum retreated into Ashton’s room. He didn’t usually go anywhere near the other man’s room, but Ashton had told him that it was okay if he needed to get away from all the people. Calum was worried about being walked through. Ashton had done it a few times by accident, and Calum had felt sick every time it had happened. That was something they were both eager to avoid, especially once Calum had explained to Ashton how it felt. 

A knock on Ashton’s bedroom door piqued Calum’s interest and Luke’s head appeared around the door frame.

“Ash, are you - oh. You’re not here.” Luke started to close the door but stopped suddenly, pushing it back open and slipping inside before closing it behind him. He glanced around a few times, gaze running over where Calum was sitting on the end of the bed. 

“This is going to sound crazy, but is there someone else in here?”

Calum cocked his head at Luke’s words; he knew that Ashton wasn’t particularly forthcoming with Luke about his existence. He shifted off the end of the bed, moving across the room to stand about a foot away from Luke. The blonde let out a breath as he felt the temperature in the room drop slightly.

“Calum, right?” Luke’s voice was quiet as he spoke, Calum smiling at the fact that Luke remembered his name. He picked up a pillow from Ashton’s bed in response, tossing it gently towards Luke. The other man caught it easily, eyes growing wide at the pillow that was suddenly in his arms.

“Holy shit, you are actually real.” 

Calum let out a laugh at Luke’s words, amazement etched into the blonde’s face. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”

The blonde left the room, returning a few minutes later with an armful of stuff. He dropped it all on Ashton’s bed before turning around and facing the room. 

“So, um, I bought a small magnetic whiteboard and some of the letters from Ashton’s kitchen drawer and I was wondering if we could talk about something?”

Luke watched in shock as the letters began arranging themselves on the whiteboard.

Hi Luke

What’s up

Luke sucked in a breath before he started talking.

– 

Calum knew this was crazy. 

Luke was crazy.

Just because it was Halloween, it didn’t mean that Ashton would suddenly be able to see him. Calum had always thought the whole ‘veil being thinner on Halloween’ thing was bullshit. Luke was insistent that it wasn’t, telling him that if anyone would be able to see him it would be Ashton.

“He’s in love with you, I think.” 

The way Luke had said it had been so casual, but it sent Calum’s mind reeling. Ashton couldn’t possibly love him. He barely even knew him. Luke had dismissed Calum’s concerns before he’d even completed a sentence on the board. The more Calum thought about it, the more he was sure that he was the one in love with Ashton. He paused rearranging the letters for a moment as he stared at Luke. 

Think I love him too

Luke had lit up with a smile at Calum’s words before slipping out of the room to find Ashton. 

Calum was sure if he had any contents in his stomach, that they would be on their way out by now. He was so nervous. Luke was so sure that this would work, that Calum found himself believing the blonde man wholeheartedly. It felt like an eternity before Luke finally returned dragging Ashton behind him, along with another man that Calum had never seen before. 

“Calum, this is Michael. He’s my boyfriend and he’s also slightly psychic.”

Michael blushed a deep red at Luke’s words, scanning the room before he locked eyes with Calum. 

“Hello, Calum.” 

Calum waved gingerly at the green eyed man staring at him, Michael breaking out into a smile. He glanced at Luke and nodded slightly, the blonde smirking at Ashton. Ashton was standing behind Luke looking bewildered as he watched the exchange between his friends. 

“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on? Luke, how did you find out about Calum?” 

Luke glanced over his shoulder at the brunette man and rolled his eyes. 

“Please, I don’t know why you thought no one would find the picture you’d taped to your desk drawer. Coupled with the fact that you kept blaming ‘Calum’ for things. You weren’t exactly subtle, Ash. I put two and two together and did a google search.”

Ashton’s jaw dropped open as Luke spoke, Calum snickering at his reaction. Michael smiled widely at Calum and turned to face Ashton. 

“You already know what Calum looks like, right?”

Ashton nodded slowly, fearful of where this was going.

“As we all know, the veil is thinner on Halloween, therefore allowing spirits to pass between the realms. I’ve never tried to bring an actual ghost through the veil, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” Michael rolled his shoulders as he spoke, turning back to face Calum. “Provided this goes right, we should all be able to see you. I mean, I already can. But Luke and Ashton too. Worst case scenario is that only I can see you, and this doesn’t work. You only live once though, right?” 

Calum rolled his eyes at Michael’s words, bracing himself for whatever the man was about to do. 

“Oh, wait.” Michael glanced at Ashton before looking back towards Calum, “Say something to me, Calum. I need to know if I can hear you already or not.”

Calum raised an eyebrow at Michael.

“You’re such a know-it-all, Michael.” 

Michael broke out into laughter, Luke and Ashton looking at him in confusion.

“This is gonna be fun, nice to meet you Calum.” Michael smirked at him before cracking his knuckles, “You’re gonna fit right in with us all, I’m sure of that.”

“Michael, what exactly are you going to do?” Ashton’s voice was nervous, he didn’t like the fact that Michael could see Calum when he couldn’t.

“We, my dear friends, are going to summon Calum firmly into the realm of the living.”

– 

Calum felt the air around him grow fuzzy as he watched the three figures sat on the floor in front of him. 

“Now Ashton, I need you to imagine Calum standing right in front of you. Really imagine it. See him in your mind’s eye. You got it? Good.” Michael looked away from Ashton and back towards Calum. “Cal, whenever you’re ready, I need you to come and stand in front of Ashton. I’m 80% sure that this is going to work. It depends how well Ashton is visualising.”

The brunette huffed in Michael’s direction and Calum smirked. 

“Is he always like this when I’m not around?”

Michael grinned at Calum before nodding and gesturing to the spot on the floor in front of Ashton. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Calum.”

– 

Holy shit

“Cal?” Ashton’s voice was barely a whisper as he stared at the man suddenly standing before him.

“Hi, Ash.” Calum blushed under the other man’s gaze, casting a look towards Luke and Michael who were both sat on the floor smirking.

Ashton blinked a few times before slowly standing up and reaching towards Calum. The other man grabbed his arm as he stood, helping to pull him off the floor. 

“How - how are you corporeal right now?” Ashton looked over at Michael who simply shrugged in return.

“You must be really good at visualising. It was only supposed to make Calum visible and hearable. Whether or not he was corporeal was out of my control.” Michael pulled Luke to his feet as he stood up, taking the blonde’s hand, “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go and make out with my boyfriend in Ashton’s spare room. Nice to meet you, Cal. I daresay we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future.” 

Michael dragged Luke from the room, the blonde waving absentmindedly at Ashton and Calum as they retreated, closing the door behind them. 

“It’s really you.” Ashton ran his hand up Calum’s arm. The other man was wearing the same clothes as in the photo Ashton had seen, Calum’s leather jacket feeling smooth against his fingers. 

“It’s really me, Ash.” Calum brought a hand up rest against the back of Ashton’ neck. “It’s so weird to be able to talk to you and for you to actually be able to hear me.”

Ashton laughed quietly at Calum’s words, leaning forwards to rest their foreheads together. 

“I can’t believe you’re really standing here and I can see you. Remind me to get Michael a case of beer or something.” 

“Noted.” Calum grabbed both of Ashton’s hands, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve thought about being able to touch you for so long.”

Ashton hummed quietly at the other man’s words, the realisation finally setting in.

Calum was here. He could see Calum. He could hear him. He could feel him. 

“Ash, I need to tell you something.” Calum nudged Ashton’s head up so they were eye to eye. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” 

Ashton smiled softly at the admission.

“Pretty sure I’m in love with you too, Cal. I mean, it’s kinda complicated because you’re a ghost and all, but I really do love you.”

Calum searched Ashton’s face for any sign of hesitancy before closing the distance between them. 

——————————————————————————

Notes: I deliberately left this open ended so I can come back to it in the future. I hope you like it, I’m really unsure about it 🥺 please let me know what you think here

Taglist: @pxrxmoore, @irwinkitten, @kindahoping4forever, @sadistmichael, @loveroflrh, @adoringlrh, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles, @maluminspace, @malumsmermaid, @lashtonswildflower, @irwindoll, @castaway-cashton, @everyscarisahealingplace, @converse-luke, @zhangyixingxing1, @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25

[castielific]

The list

AO3 Link

Tags: Supernatural, Destiel, Alternate Ending, Canon Compliant (up to 15x10), Human!Castiel, First kiss Summary: 

Once there are no more monsters, the only thing left to fight for is happiness.

Here is my take on our boys’ happy ending. I hope you’ll enjoy it. 

**************************

"I hate you", Dean grumbles into his elbows. His arms are on the table, his head buried into it as he squeezes his hands over his ears. 

"I think he’s getting better," Sam lies, hiding his grimace just in time so that Dean doesn’t see it when he raises his head to glare at him. 

Dean opens his mouth, but is cut off by a particularly shrill note that makes him feel like someone is drilling right into his tympans. Even Sam can't help but squeeze his fists in pain, crumbling the edge of the book he's trying to read. 

"'This would be good for you, Castiel'," Dean says, imitating Sam. "What about us, Sam? This doesn't feel good for us!"

"It's not so bad," Sam offers miserably. 

Yes it is. It's even worse than bad. Dean flinches in pain at every horrible noise that resounds all around the bunker as Cas continues to play - or more like, tries to play - what Dean thinks is supposed to be 'Twinkle twinkle little star' on his newly acquired violin. 

Truth is, it is all Sam's fault. Dean can't ressent him that much though, because the look on Castiel's face when they went to the music store was worth the torture they've been enduring for the last two days. 

Since God has been defeated, they've all been having a serious case of cabin fever. Heaven and Hell have closed up their doors, angels and demons alike running home with their tails between their legs. Even the common monsters have gone into hiding. Apparently the Winchesters killing God has impressed them enough that they've all decided that they better keep quiet. Of course, they're still there, but smart enough not to do anything that might attract the wrath of the hunters. Apparently, they are exceptionally good at hiding when they want to because the only case the brothers have had in the last six months had been a rogue vampire that went on a rampage. He was still young and out of control. It took three hours to take him down, the whole deal was done in less than a day, even counting the drive. 

In short, hunting has become boring. All they've had to keep them busy have been some random salt and burn, nothing exciting. The rest of the time, they've stayed cooped up in the Bunker and it didn't take long for them to go crazy. Each in their own personal way. 

For his part, Sam has gone a little too far on his healthy lifestyle penchant, to the point that it became borderline unhealthy: Running up to three hours a day and eating nothing but vegetable smoothies. It lasted two months before he realized that all it was doing was giving him diarrhea and making his shins look like basketball. So now he's taken to digitizing and translating every book in their library….which sounds as exciting as getting all your teeth pulled out, if you were to ask Dean, but at least it passes the time. 

Dean's way of coping was on the polar opposite as his brother's: he decided it was as good a time as any to learn to cook better. Dean has always loved cooking and has been having a blast since they found the bunker. For the first time of his life, he has a home and a kitchen of his own. Until now, between the Amara, the Men of Letters, and all that crap with God, he never had time to really enjoy it, limiting himself to the few recipes he already knew: burgers, steak, and breakfast food. With the hunting gig slowing down though, he had all the time in the world to try his hand at more ambitious things like roast, chili, lasagna and way too many pies. 

His personal wake up call  came when he tried to put on clothes one morning and couldn't find any pants that fitted him anymore.They hadn't had a case for three weeks, and he had to admit that he became a little too familiar with sweatpants. When confronted with the terrible truth of his every single one of his jeans being suddenly too small, he had no other choice: he spent the whole day dismantling the dryer to find out why it was shrinking all his clothes. Sam had a blast mocking him and Castiel, with his usual discretion, was quite pointedly avoiding looking at Dean's stomach during that conversation. Dean spent a long time in front of the mirror after that. He regrettably had to admit that his stomach resembled more Father Christmas's belly than David Beckham's abs at this point. He started to follow Sam's health routine the very next day. Or, tried to, at least. It didn't last long before he couldn't take the smoothie torture anymore, and decided that limiting his pie intake to two per week and doing some exercise should be enough. 

Sam and him actually came to an agreement on food after that, and while Dean would never ever drink a kale smoothie again, it actually wasn't so bad to add a little more salad to his plate. 

All in all, it was a difficult time for everyone, but especially for Castiel. 

Castiel used to be an angel with a Godly purpose, a mission grander than anything people could even imagine. Then suddenly Chuck was gone, and the angels were gone too, and he just became a puny human with no real purpose, a soldier of God with no God to serve and no war to fight. Easy to say that he quickly joined Dean in his sweatpants' aficionados club. Except where Dean was happy to indulge in a laziness that he never really had a chance to try out before, Cas soon fell into depression. Even the best pies Dean made seemed tasteless to him after a time. He was lost in a human routine that he could find no pleasure in. It came to a point where he didn't even sleep in his own bed anymore, never leaving the couch except to satisfy the most basic needs. Sadly, on most days, showers didn't seem to be considered as one of those needs. 

Once they had their breakthrough about their own miserable situations, the Winchesters decided to tackle their new mission: helping Cas. 

It was Sam who proposed that they should all write a list of things they always wanted to do, but never had time for. 

They took a trip to the Grand Canyon on the very next day, dragging a reticent Castiel along. Their road trip lasted nearly a month, because they kept getting distracted by new destinations. Sam wanted to see the Harold Washington Library, Dean wanted to go to Baltimore to go to the Dangerously Delicious Pies shop he heard about while searching for new pies recipes, and so on. 

Castiel never asked to see anything, pretending gloomily that he used to be able to go anywhere in a flap of his wings, and therefore had seen everything he ever wanted too. Dean dragged him to an amusement park anyway, because he was pretty sure the angel had never been on a rollercoaster before. Dean regretted that pretty fast when Cas became strangely fond of them, saying that it reminded him of flying. They took so many rides that Dean threw up and Sam's nose bled for nearly one hour after. 

Still, it seemed like a wake up call for Cas. He spent the rest of the drive home lost in his thoughts or scribbling a list on the back of a gas station's receipt. He even asked them to stop in Utah on the way back to see the largest bee hives in the US. They ended up buying so many types of honey that they now have a cupboard full of it in the kitchen. 

They had been back to the bunker for two days when Cas declared he wanted to learn how to play an instrument. They went to a music store, where Castiel tried on every instrument from a harmonica to a full drum set. After the obligatory harps jokes, Dean tries to entice him to buy a guitar, and learn all the best Zep songs. Cas was too polite and knew better than to criticize Dean's taste in music, so he chose the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the way his friend kept lingering in front of a black violin though, so he relented and bought that instead.

He's sorely regretting it now. 

It's still totally Sam's fault though, he was the one to come up with the idea of this stupid list in the first place. 

**********************

"I've decided what I want," Castiel declares as soon as the movie's credit starts rolling about a month later. 

Sam snorts, waking up from the doze he'd fallen into. He blinks at them, wiping his eyes tiredly. 

"I said no cat, Cas," Dean reminds. Apparently, one of Cas' item on his stupid list is to get a pet.

"I don't want a cat."

"I'm allergic to animal's hair," Dean reminds him, suspicious. Last night Cas declared he wanted a Camel. A freaking camel. 

"Of course, Dean, your health comes first," Cas concedes amicably. "Although, I do wonder if you're not using this as an excuse, and would not have been amenable to adopt a pet anyway, were it not the case."

Dean scratches under his ear. "What? No. Of course, I'd want one. I love animals. Just, no snakes or anything that eats living food. I know you, and you would just end up saving all the mice or something."

"You know, they do make hairless cats and dogs," Sam pipes up, smirking when Dean sends him a side glare. 

"Those are majestic creatures, indeed, Sam, but I much prefer the softness of fur. Don't you Dean?"

"What." What kind of question is that?

"Wouldn't you like it if you could have a pet with a soft fur that didn't make you sneeze and suffer so much?"

"Huh. I guess?"

"Good," Cas concludes with a jut of his chin. "His name is Honey," Cas announces, raising the kilt that was on his lap to reveal a…

"What the hell is that thing?" Dean shouts, jumping to his feet. 

"Honey is a texel guinea pig," Cas says, cuddling the little beast to his chest. The pet starts emitting a little noise in pleasure as Castiel caresses his fur. It has long curly hair. Its head is black with a white spot on the top while the rest of its body is a mismatch of large black, white and orange spots. 

"It looks like a freaking sheep!" Dean exclaims, sending a betrayed look to his brother that is already kneeling next to Cas and petting at the small animal. 

"See, Sam, we do have a guinea pig now," Cas says proudly, making Sam chuckle at what is obviously a private joke between them. 

"We don't have anything! I'm allergic, Cas, remember? My health…," Dean finishes, faking a cough. Sam rolls his eyes while Cas squints at him. 

"I don't think you are, Dean. Honey has been on my lap all night and you haven't shown any signs of allergy. I've looked at you closely to make sure."

"Do you think he likes kale?" Sam asks, taking the little beast on his own lap as he sits on the ground. 

"I think he might, Sam. The internet says guinea pigs need to eat a lot of vegetables. Do you want us to go and try to feed him some?"

"Yes!" Sam declares, squeezing delicately the pet against his chest as he gets up. 

"But-," Dean tries to protest. 

"I bought him a little hammock that he really likes," Cas tells Sam as he gets up too. 

"But I haven't-"

"That's cute! I want to see it!" Sam says eagerly.

"My allergies…," Dean finishes lamely as he watches the two other men leave the room without a look in his direction. He scowls, staring at the beer he's still holding. He sulks for all of thirty seconds before he grumbles. "Dammit, I want to see the tiny hammock too. Guys, wait for me!"

**********************

"Oh, that's...that's a nice...tree."

"It's supposed to be Sam," Cas says with a pout, looking at his very first painting.

"Yeah no, I mean, behind him? The big woody thing?"

"That's you," Castiel pouts, looking dejected. 

Dean grimaces, inclining his head to try, and identify himself in the glob of paint on the canvas. 

"So you're not Van Gogh," Dean finally declares. "Or Mozart. The important thing is that you wanted to give it a try and you did. If you liked doing it, then that's what matters, no matter the end result," Dean tries to reassure, squeezing his friend's shoulder reassuringly. He learned his lesson when his words about Cas' lack of music skill were not so delicate, and the ex-angel ended up giving him the cold shoulder for a whole week. 

When he looks back at him, Cas has a small smile on his lips and a look so full of...of something, that Dean can feel his cheeks warming a little. Seconds pass and Cas keeps staring until Dean clears his throat, forcing himself to look back at the ugly painting.

"What's next on your list?" 

A hand pulling on his arm makes him turn back toward Castiel. Dean barely has time to react before his friend's lips brush with his. It's so fast and soft that he's left blinking in confusion, wondering if that really happened. 

"This was."

Cas is still smiling, even though Dean recognizes the worried line creased between his brows. The hunter opens his mouth, but doesn't know what to say. To say that he wasn't expecting it would be an understatement. To say that he never thought about it, a lie. To say that he regrets it…

"I liked doing it," Cas declares, nodding his head in satisfaction. "Now I want to ride a horse."

"A- a horse?"

"Unless we can still get a camel?" Cas teases, acting hopeful. He sends Dean a wink - a goddamn wink - before he grabs his painting under one arm and leaves the room. 

"Ride a...Wait. Cas! We're not getting a horse either! Cas!!" 

*************************

When Dean finds him, Castiel is sitting on the bench Dean made from the trunk of one of the trees they had to cut down to make this space into their garden. The sun hasn't set yet, but the end of september's evenings are already colder. The last flowers of the season are blooming, and the vegetables they planted in the spring are starting to wilt, only a few tomatoes popping red among the green and yellowing stems. 

Cas is bending forward, forearms resting on his legs. His eyes are closed and for a minute, Dean is worried that something happened, that he's sad or sick. He's reassured when he hears the low murmur of Cas' words, see the slight smile at the corner of his lips, the one Cas always gets when he's trying to be funny. 

His friend hasn't heard him approaching yet, so Dean waits, trying not to eavesdrop on a conversation he's not supposed to be a part of. 

Dean takes the time to check on the apple trees he planted instead. They're too young yet, too small to give any fruit, but by next year, maybe...He can't wait to bake a pie with his own apples. He rolls his eyes at the thought, that's so domestic. Yet here he is, planning on planting strawberries and raspberries, checking on the squash that is starting to grow and wondering if it'll be ready by Thanksgiving. 

Vegetables are Sam's thing. Flowers and the small hive they've built are Cas'. Dean is in charge of the fruits. 

They planted their garden over the underground garage, hidden by such a large ply of trees that there is no risk of anyone stumbling upon it by accident. They had to cut down trees, dig out every root, and plow the whole area to prepare the soil. They've spent nearly all spring and a good part of summer working to create that little bit of garden on the Bunker's roof. They've bought so many gardening tools that they're already making plans to build a shed here in the spring. 

It's nice. The bunker is feeling more and more like a home, like a place Dean could feel himself growing old in, maybe. 

They've talked about buying a house, especially Sam, but somehow they can't see themselves leaving anywhere else than in the bunker. It's their legacy, the place they were always meant to be, and they've come to love it despite all the horrors that happened there in the past. 

Maybe it will change someday. Maybe Sam will want to marry someone, to buy a more traditional place with a white picket fence where he can raise kids without fearing that they'll choose a cursed object or weapon laying around as their next toy. Dean has noticed more and more of Eileen's clothes in the laundry, more of her things left behind every time she comes to visit. He hopes it's only a matter of time before he's not surprised to see her at breakfast anymore. 

By the time he's checked on the fruit part of the garden, Cas has stopped praying and is observing him. The sun is setting, painting an orange glow behind him, and for a second it nearly looks like Cas has a hallo. 

"You told Jack about the horse riding lesson?" Dean asks as he straddles the bench to sit next to his friend. He rubs his hands against the cold, blowing into them to try and warm them up a little. 

"Maybe," Cas says with a mocking smile that makes Dean balks. 

"Oh, come on, you promise you wouldn't tell anyone about me falling on my ass!"

Cas chuckles at the memory of Dean's horse throwing him into a giant mud puddle. Dean had cursed for a whole ten minutes as he struggled to stand up but kept falling right back on his ass. It made Cas laugh so much that he'd started crying. That's a thing Cas does now, he laughs. He does it more and more, and Dean is amazed by it, every single time. 

"Technically, I didn't tell anyone anything," Cas argues with a smirk. He's not wrong. They have no idea if Jack can even hear their prayers now that he's taken charge of and close up Heaven. That doesn't stop them from regularly praying to him, especially Cas. 

"You tell Sam and I'll bury your damn guinea pig next to the tomatoes," Dean threatens. 

"No you won't," Cas says with a fond smile. 

"No, I won't," Dean admits, pouting half-heartedly. He's actually come to like the damn beast. Which no one would actually know if Honey didn't start screeching every time Dean comes near it, calling for the treat that he knows Dean will give him. It was supposed to be their little secret but Honey blew their cover more than once. Dean is still pretending he hates the little ball of fluff, on principle, even though no one is fooled anymore. 

"You were right about the horse, I hadn't realized the amount of dejection it actually produces," Cas concedes. "Also, my bottom is sore from the ride," he adds, squirming a little in his seat. 

Dean chokes a little on his saliva at the image that brings to mind. Honestly, even without the innuendo, watching Cas ride a horse, hips rising and bending over the saddle, has done quite a number on Dean's libido. If he hadn't been questioning his sexuality before, he would definitely be now. Good thing he already was. Cas kissing him has been the only thing on his mind for days now. They haven't talked about it, and Cas is acting like it didn't even happen, but Dean has barely slept since then, spending his nights thinking about Cas' lips on his, and how he might possibly maybe want to do that again. 

"Did you kiss Sam too?" he blurts out. It's not the most subtle or delicate way to bring up the subject, but apparently that's what his brain has chosen to say. Damn you, brain! 

"Why would I kiss Sam?" Cas asks, looking genuinely astounded by the question. 

"Wasn't that on your list?" Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

Cas squints at him like he's the most idiotic thing he's ever seen and, well, Dean probably is. 

Dean squirms under the stare, rubbing his hands again, as much against the cold as in nervousness. The ex angel gives a long suffering sigh before he grabs Dean's wrists. He pulls on his hands until they're under his own sweater. Dean is so startled that he just looks at the bulge his hands are making over Cas' stomach with wide eyes, not daring to move his fingers. They're nestled between Cas' tee-shirt and his abdominal muscles. It's so warm under there that his skin is tingling from the temperature difference. 

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester," Cas declares. Dean looks up, and Cas is looking at him so fondly that it makes him blush a little. 

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know."

"I must be one too, because I would very much like you to be my idiot for as long as you would have me," Cas confesses, a little shy as he draws patterns on the shape of Dean's fingers over the tissue of his sweater. 

"I'm not sure, Cas," Dean says, making the other man tense up. "Are you sure you want to be stuck with me forever?"

It takes a minute for Cas to get his meaning, brow furrows intensely before they relax in realization. 

"That was my plan all along," Cas says, his smile so wide it's showing his gums. 

And yeah, knowing Cas, it probably was. Cas would have stayed by Dean's side forever whether he was an angel or a human or even a God. Hell, Cas was ready to stay by his side when Dean was turning into a monster bearing the mark of Cain, and when he was a demon. He wanted to stay by Dean's side even when Dean was cruel and screaming at him to go. It was the irony of it all, wasn't it? It always felt like Cas was leaving him, running away for angel business or whatever, but Dean never ever doubted that he would come back. He always knew Cas would come back somehow. After all, even death could never keep Cas away for long. 

Dean slides his hands a little higher, making Cas shiver as they travel over his torso under his shirt. Dean's fingers tightens around the cloth, and pulls Cas closer, close enough that their noses are nearly touching. 

"And now it's mine too," Dean sworns,resting his forehead against the other man's. He cradles Cas' jaw, passing a thumb under one of his eyes. The stubborn angel refuses to close them, even though they're so close that he's going cross eyed. Still, he keeps looking right into Dean's green orbits and hell, that must mean Dean can't keep his eyes off Cas either

When they kiss, it's sappy and tender and sweet and everything Dean always thought he could never have. The relief he feels makes Dean wonders if it isn't everything he's been waiting for all along, without even realizing it. 

Cas is right by his side, as always, and Dean is damn well going to keep him as close as he can for as long as he possibly can. And hey, he knows the guy ruling Heaven now, so that might just be forever. 

The End. 

[heonymilktea]

rendezvous

paring: johnny seo x reader

w.c: 1.4k

genre/warnings: fluff, johnny being your boyfriend, johnny being a dork (but it’s okay cause you love him), members not knowing you’re dating, running down five blocks to avoid bumping them,

A smile played at your lips while you sent him a message that you would get to your meeting place soon, excited that you’d finally get to see your loved one after not seeing him for so long.  Pulling down your cap and triple checking that you had everything before you left (there had been too many times that you forgot your glasses home and had left you looking at the world like you were suspicious of everything), you slipped on your white sneakers and left your apartment. 

Johnny couldn’t help but let a smile tug at his own lips when he saw your name pop up in his notifications, before eyeing the few members that also scattered the living room. There had to be he could get away from the dorm without anyone following him right? Well, most of the members already were probably tired of all the back to back promotions they had done during the week, though there was a certain member that he knew would tag along if the excuse seemed somewhat interesting (he loved him like a younger brother, but as a younger brother Johnny didn’t want to bring him along to the date that was supposed to be just you and him). 

Fortunately, Johnny had managed to slip away without so much as a be careful from Taeyong, watching as the taller male slipped on a cap and took his vlogging camera with him. Hearing the door shut softly behind him, he began making his way to your meeting place with anticipation running through his veins. 

It really wasn’t like either of you were trying to hide your relationship from people, well at first, now it had become a game of which of you would slip up and reveal it or when members on their own ever found out. So far, you had been dating for nearly a year and the only time that you had been almost caught was when you had walked Johnny back to his dorm before going back to your own apartment. 

It had been his fault really, he kept placing kisses on your lips instead of walking inside, when the jiggle of the lock twisting was heard and you kissed him a last time before running down the hall and disappearing around the corner— you had later been told that it was Mark who had stepped out to take the trash out that had almost discovered you two and Mark was one who couldn’t really keep secrets or at least that had been what Johnny told you.

You rolled your eyes as you saw the tall figure of your boyfriend try to sneakily walk into the record shop, before returning to the record that had caught your eye. Two long arms wrapped around your torso as a chin rested against your shoulder, Johnny’s favorite way of engulfing you into a hug. 

“I missed you,” Johnny hummed as you turned in his arms to hug him properly, warmth and his cologne flooding your senses. 

“I missed you too,” you mumbled back, hugging him had only proved to you that you had missed him much more than you thought you had.

Nowadays, it had been rare to even facetime him, dates only becoming even rarer than before, you didn't blame him though, you knew what you had been getting into when you decided to agree to go on a date with him and you knew how packed his schedules could be— it only made the times you did get to see him even more special even if they were only him coming over to your apartment to binge watch some Disney and Tom Hanks movies and cuddle up on the couch.

After browsing the record store for another half hour, you took the ones you had eyed earlier and bought them before heading out hand in hand with Johnny while you talked about how your lives had been since you last saw each other, Johnny retelling all the stupid pranks some members had pulled on each other while adding his own reenactments, giggling along with the stupid voices and faces that he pulled as he tried to portray the other members. 

Johnny never mentioned it, but your laugh was one of his favorite things about you, seeing your smile widen as your eyes creased was something he found adorable, it added on to the fact that you were one of the few people that genuinely laughed at his jokes. He had made a promise that he would try his best to make you laugh at least once every time you saw each other, and so far he had been the reigning champion. 

Hours after your late morning record store encounter, both of you were still wandering around the city, not wanting to split ways just yet. There had been so much to catch up on after all— stories, hugs, cuddles and kisses. One thing you had definitely missed about Johnny was sharing kisses with him, somehow his kisses always made you feel all warm inside while melting away any worries you might've had prior to seeing him. 

"Looks like we might have to turn around," Johnny hummed nonchalantly, the pace at which you had been walking slowing down drastically, “

“Hmm, do you see someone?” You turned around to look at him, making it a little less obvious that you two were about to make a mad dash to hide. 

“Taeyong, Yuta and Mark,” he nodded, then slowly turned around as he slouched his shoulders and hunched his back a bit, the only downside of being tall had been that he was easy to spot.

“Let’s go, I think I saw somewhere we could hide where they won’t come inside,” you huddled close to him as you both walked back around the corner before booking it completely, directing Johnny to the trinket store you had seen earlier. Laughs had escaped both of yours’ lips, feeling like you two had been running away from enemies like spies undercover. 

“Do you think they saw us?” You had asked out of breath once you reached the storefront, you had just ran down about five blocks without really being prepared for it.

“Mmm I don’t think so, they were talking to each other. I didn’t see them look our way,” Johnny huffed slightly, trying to mask that he was also out of breath. 

“Let’s just wait here for a bit, if we see them again, we can book it to my apartment,” you hummed as a book on a shelf caught your eye, the worn leather cover engraved with gold letters almost calling your name.

Johnny nodded before going on to explore the different things the store had to offer. It wasn’t like the store had been a specialty store, you never really crossed paths with something twice, as if the one of a kind items had been the store’s specialty. Different goods from different countries were all on different shelves throughout the store, the thing that had caught Johnny’s eyes was a small wooden jewelry box that was painted a light blue, small flowers adorning the box, while the inside held two matching silver bands one engraved with the moon while its opposite was engraved with the sun. 

Seeing that you had been towards the back of the store, he quietly made the purchase up front before pocketing the small box and wandering back to you, humming along with the song that was playing through the shop. You both loitered around the shop for a few minutes more before deeming the coast to be clear, you were left oblivious of what Johnny had done while you had been looking at all the small ceramic figurines in the glass case at the back of the shop.  

After your near encounter and the almost end to your little game, neither of you saw any of your friends for the rest of the day— which had been a relief really, you could already imagine all the questions they would bombard both of you with once even just one of them found out, the headache and teasing that would come afterwards.

You felt yourself shiver at the mention of it, at least you didn’t have to deal with any of them just yet, you were allowed to live in a bubble with your boyfriend at least a little longer.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.2 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch isn’t running away, not really.

He took the bus.

Only to end up in a little town in the middle of nowhere, meeting unusual people, dealing with unexpected happenings, what the hell is going on in this place?

Content:  Spicyhoney, Midwest Gothic

Note:  Just as a heads up, I'd give this story a warning for mild horror and mild gore. None of our boys, but better to let y'all know!

~~*~~

Read Chapter Two ‘Meet and Greet’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For the next week Stretch spent most of his time trying to figure out the method in the madness to Red’s store management. His first day of ‘training’ pretty much consisted of Red showing up long enough to demo the cash register and then shuffling off to the apartment at the back where he lived. Not that pushing a couple of numbered buttons was that complicated, but that wasn’t the only issue cropping up around here along with the local corn.

First of all, nothing in the shop was priced. All the items were recorded in a ragged notebook with coffee ring stains on the cover, where Stretch got to figure out if an item fell under the category of ‘toilet paper’, ‘paper, toilet’, ‘ass wipers’, or ‘shitty ass wipers’, all written in Red’s sloppy handwriting. The sheer number of items that fell under ‘ass’ and ‘shitty’ were staggering.

Turned out, the little store actually did a fair amount of business. Plenty of Humans stopped in to pick up one or two things rather than drive to the nearest Wally World which according to Granny Collemore, who Stretch was guessing was the unofficial town gossip, was better than a thirty-minute drive away.

“Don’t need to be driving an hour for a little bum tissue,” she bellowed happily, “shopping day is Sunday, we’ll stock up then!”

Stretch nodded as he rang her up, wincing away from her volume. He’d figured out pretty quickly that the old woman was stone deaf, but she didn’t seem to care if all she got was a smile and plenty of nods, so that was fine.

She handed over a wad of cash pulled from a little embroidered change purse that let out a puff of lavender so strong when she opened it that it overshadowed the store’s normal musty smell, hollering the whole time. By the time she left, Stretch knew enough about the local weather patterns to make a rain prediction and that the way someone named Pritchard was hamming on a pretty young’un Eloise meant they’d best they be married soon ‘fore it turned into a shotgun wedding. He nodded along with every proclamation, hurrying around the counter to open the door for her and ended up spending five minutes waiting for her to shuffle her way out, her bunny slippers leading the way.

But as she was leaving, she reached up and gave him a gentle pat on the cheekbone, her wrinkled hand barely able to reach. “You’re a nice boy,” she told him, too loud and with a pink, gummy smile.

Stretch was too startled to flinch away and only managed to mumble a thank you as she headed off into the growing heat of the morning, a hunched figure in a flowery dress and pink slippers, her bag of emergency tp bumping against her hip as she trundled along.

That was another thing. He’d thought that the Humans around here would be distrustful, even malicious, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. Aside from a little surprise when they first saw him, all the customers so far were small-town kindly. Kids came into the shop to raid the nickel-candy rack, their bikes left in piles outside as excited groups came roaring in. Mothers came in with babies wearing only their diapers, fanning themselves and laughing out their, ‘my, isn’t it a hot one today?’ as they bought a half-gallon of milk and some fresh apples to put in the bottom of their strollers.

No one in town seemed to care that he was a Monster past asking his name and maybe it was just ‘cause of Red being a skeleton, too. Could be that Granny Collemore was out there somewhere bellowing that the local shopkeeper had family visiting, who knew? It was sure different than he was used to. The general sentiment in Ebott about Monsters was resentment; over them taking jobs, enrolling in the schools, whatever it was, they didn’t want Monsters doing it.

It was…nice, he decided, to not have someone dislike him on sight.

That was how he spent his mornings. He worked in the shop, idly dusting, putting away the deliveries that a guy in the pickup truck and overalls brought in daily, and borrowing Red’s wifi to listen to soft music on his phone. The calls had trickled to only once a day and the glaring red alert number of his messages kept climbing.

Stretch didn’t look at them, only skipped right over to Spotify and the 'The Wedding Singer Divorce Special pt 2' playlist.

Red came in every day to relieve him at around two. He grunted out something that resembled a hello as he heaved himself up on the stool, leaning his cane against it as he pulled out a battered romance novel from beneath the counter. The creased covered did not in the slightest hide the young, scantily-clad woman caught up in a fiery embrace with her highland Lord.

“be back later,” Stretch said as he hung up his apron. Not that it mattered, wasn’t like Red was his dad or even a friend, not really, and he didn’t care when Stretch came home. A couple times they’d eaten together, takeout from the local diner that was imaginatively called ‘Mama’s’, not ‘Eats’, watched a little but that was it. His lack of idle chitchat was the complete opposite of Blue’s constant stream of chatter and after years of that, the silence was kinda disconcerting, but maybe not in a bad way.

Red didn’t even look up from his book, only pulled a crumpled bill out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter, “pick up some beer at the station, wouldja?”

“sure,” Stretch said, almost grateful for something else to do. It was miles better than sitting the rest of the day in his little room with its faded, floral wallpaper where the air conditioning wasn’t quite able to combat the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. He’d done that once, the first day, and after that made a point of staying out of his room until sundown to give it chance to cool off.

The town itself wasn’t much more than a bunch of ramshackle houses. To the west were fields, the leafy tops of what Stretch was now certain was corn rustling in the wind. Off to the east, the landscape slowly went from flat plains to trees, their wilting leaves yellowing in the heat and ending in a wooded area that surrounded maybe half the town. Shame it was too far away provide much shade unless you went walking right into it. Main street consisted of a few other public buildings; a tractor store right up next to the thrift shop, a little one-room schoolhouse with an attached shed that served as the town library, the Sheriff’s office, and the movie theater.

On the outskirts of town there was also a bar, The Whistling Cow, its glowing neon sign a single point of orange light on dark nights. As much as Stretch wanted a drink, he stuck with filching beer from the cooler Red kept under the counter. Hanging around with strange, drunk humans usually didn't end well for him.

The movie theater was where he’d taken to heading after work. Someone with a sense of humor must’ve named the place, since ‘The Grandeur’ literally only had one theater and maybe thirty seats, if that. The proprietor ran the ticket booth and the concession stand, and in his threadbare uniform with its yellowing shirt, he looked a lot like Lurch's second cousin, once removed.

But he was a nice enough fella and it was a good way to waste some time. Even if the only movies showing were old black and whites, the popcorn was fresh, with real butter, and the added bonus of air conditioning. Besides, the Three Stooges were funny as shit any old day.

That was where Stretch was headed today; the afternoon showing only cost two bucks, then another for popcorn and he was set for a few hours. It was better than trying to get anything to tune in on the television in his overboiled room. With a lot of coaxing, he might manage to get a PBS channel, but there was only so much time a person could spend sweating their way through a staticky version of Sesame Street.

Stretch got to his seat just as the lights were going down, settling in with his popcorn. Before the movie there were a few cartoons, and it was kinda wild to get to see Steamboat Willy chugging along on the big screen again.

Today’s flick was an honest to bitsy silent movie and Stretch watched with a wide grin as Charlie Chaplin slap-schticked his way across the stage. There were a few other people in the seats, at least one of them snoring; probably only came to get out of the summertime heat.

But it wasn’t really the movie he was here for. Not today.

He’d seen her the first time he came. Sitting in the far back row, not that uncommon, some people liked to sit far away. No one else seemed to notice her and that wasn’t strange either. Normally even he didn’t pay much attention to anyone else in the theater, who did? So long as a person was quiet, made no ripples in the pond, no one saw them. Movies were for escapism, not to make new friends.

But this lady. To begin with, her clothes were about a century out of date, with her pink suit and matching pillbox hat, her white gloves, and whenever the house lights came up while they switch the reel, she vanished without even a shimmer of dust motes, only returning once the darkness did.

He’d been back three times so far and she’d been in the theater for every showing. Sitting on her own watching the flick, always in the same seat. This time, Stretch was sitting in the seat next to it. He munched his buttery popcorn and watched as Charlie Chaplin-ed his way through the movie. He didn’t have to wait long.

None of the Humans noticed. The black-and-white light coming from the screen was dim enough that anyone sitting in the audience was nothing but a shadow. Humans tended towards the unobservant side, anyway, none of them had to be as aware of their surroundings as a Monster did, especially one like Stretch with only 5 HP between him and dust.

Besides, there wasn’t any fanfare about it. One minute the chair next to him was empty and the next, a young woman was sitting there, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she looked up at the movie with rapt attention.

“like the movies, huh?” Stretch said, very softly. “always wanted to be an actor myself, but i don’t have the guts for it.”

Waste of a good pun, he didn’t even think the woman had a chance to notice he was a skeleton. She startled, one faintly translucent hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Stretch only munched on another piece of popcorn and let her gather her wits or ectoplasm or whatever ghosts had. Wasn’t like he had room to talk, the inside of his skull was as hollow as a drunken apology.

She settled quick enough and asked in a wispy little voice, “you can see me?”

Stretch slouched back and propped his sneakers up on the seat in front of him. “sure. it’s a monster thing. we see things that humans don’t, sometimes.” Or didn’t bother to see, Stretch wasn’t sure which.

“Sometimes they see me,” she admitted. “but they always run away.”

Yeah, Stretch couldn’t really blame them for that one. Humans weren’t used to ghosts, not the way Monsters were, and now that he was sitting up close, he could see the way she flickered a little, that pretty face sometimes flashing onto something else, half still pretty as a picture from an old magazine and the other a bloody ruin. There was a gaping hole on one side of her head, her blonde hair matted into dark clumps, and one blue eye stared out, unseeing. There were flecks scattered on the shoulder of her pink suit, chips of ivory, and Stretch knew enough about bones to recognize skull fragments. Another flicker and it was gone, only a pretty young Human woman looking back at him. The effect was a little off-putting, true, but it wasn’t like she could help it.

Besides, Stretch didn’t have to look. He was watching the movie.

“what’s your name?” he asked, softly.

She hesitated and he wondered if she didn’t want to tell him or if she didn’t know. Her eyes were large, absurdly long lashes sweeping against her cheeks as she considered. When she spoke again her voice was a little stronger, surer, “Doris.”

“doris, my name is stretch,” he told her, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

They sat together in silence for a little while. The music coming brightly from the speakers was as cheerful as a carousel, offering happiness and humor when she spoke again abruptly. “I know this is very forward. But. Could you do something for me?”

“maybe,” Stretch said, a little wary. Better not to make promises to unknown ghosts, they could get tetchy.

She smiled, a wry curve of lips as if she could hear his thoughts. “Your popcorn.”

He looked down at the paper cup in his hand, still half-full of buttery kernels. “you want some?” he asked, bemused.

She let out a whispery laugh, like a wind rustling through summer cattails. “No, but. Can I smell it?”

Oh. “sure.” He held the cup out and she leaned over it, inhaling deeply, or, well, looked like she did, he didn’t think ghosts actually breathed, but who knew? When she bent down twin ribbons of blood ran from both her nostrils, dark and slick. It didn’t drip into the popcorn, couldn’t, it wasn’t present in the same way the little carton was, but he felt his appetite fade. He still politely pretended not to notice.

She leaned back with a happy sigh and all signs of the blood were gone. “Thank you. I go behind the counter sometimes to smell it, but it’s not the same.”

“i bet. gotta be in a paper bucket or it ain’t right.” If she could go out to the concession stand, that meant at least she wasn’t stuck sitting in this one seat. Maybe it was just her favorite. “you get out much?” He jerked his head towards the door, “outside, i mean.”

“No,” She shook her head sadly, and her hair brushed her shoulders. “I have to stay in the theater.”

He nodded sympathetically. That was gonna make this a little harder, but not too much. He liked the movies, anyway. “yeah, it works that way sometimes. but hey, i’ll stop back in and see you again. if that’s okay?”

She brightened visibly, coming sharply into focus like a lens turned on a camera, until the chair behind her only barely showing through. “Would you?”

Now that was a vow he could make and Stretch sketched a cross over his chest with a finger and said solemnly, “i promise.”

Their chat must’ve been getting a little loud. Someone was turning around in the front seats. The room was too dark to see, but he didn’t have to witness a glare to feel it. Stretch slouched down in his seat and took the hint.

Hey, he’d made a friend. Well, most of one and it was the important part. A soul without a body was a lot nicer than a body without a soul, hands down.

Which made him wonder about the gas station attendant, because Mitch made Red seem like a warm, outgoing person.

The ancient artwork on the front window of the gas station showed a shiny, smiling attendant in a tidy uniform, his neatly cut hair almost hidden beneath his cap as he held up a dripping gas nozzle in offering. That guy must’ve gotten promoted out of state, because the only dress code Mitch followed was ‘fuck it, looks clean.’ Long, straggly hair poked out from his dirty baseball cap and, of all things, he was reading the New York Times, the business section.

His saving grace was that his disinterest in all customers was universal. Mitch was an equal opportunity kind of guy; he didn’t give a shit about anyone.

Stretch opened the door carefully so that the cowbell only gave a muted clang. He hesitated inside the door and decided to brave a question. Hey, he’d made one friend today, may as well push his luck. “you got any coffee on?”

It was a pretty safe bet, even as hot as it was. Coffee wouldn’t help with the sweat that was already dampening his shirt from walking over from the theater, but Stretch felt a little unsteady from meeting Doris. He could use a dose of caffeine to shore him up.

Mitch didn’t look up from his paper, but he jerked his chin towards the back wall. “Yep, but the only coffee I got is hot. Ain’t no ‘spressos around here, Slick.”

“Hot is fine.” He didn’t bother correcting him on the name. Started with an S, close enough, they’d be best pals in no time. The carafe of coffee smelled surprisingly fresh, considering that Mitch looked like he’d been holding that chair down for a few hours. There was a plastic basket next to the carafe filled with little coffee mate creamer cups. He added four French vanilla, carrying his murky coffee up to the counter with Red’s six-pack. Beer was one thing they didn’t sell at the store, no alcohol at all, something to do with the liquor laws in this county and Red not paying those skinflint jackholes for a license, not on his ass, thanks much.

He paid for both, picked up his change from where Mitch tossed it unhelpfully on the counter and went outside, fumbling out his smokes on the way.

Stretch sat down on the crumbling curb, drinking his coffee and smoking, letting the caffeine and nicotine wash over him in a twin, soothing rush. He’d been trying to cut down with his funds being on the uncertain side, cigarettes were a pricy vice, and he couldn’t bum any from Red the way he did the beers.

The sun was still high overhead pouring down the heat, coming up off the pavement in shimmery waves. Sweat was rising up on his bones, his t-shirt clinging damply to his ribs and spine. Somewhere nearby, he could hear children playing, the hollow thud of a basketball and their laughter carrying on in the still air. He didn’t have anywhere he needed to be, no one’s expectations to live up to.

When his cigarette was done and pinched out, Stretch climbed back to his feet and headed for the grocery to drop off the beers before they got warm. Again, he went easy on the door, keeping the bell to a faint rattle rather than a clang. It was only when he turned around that he saw the front counter was empty, Red’s book bent open on the counter but no skeleton around to pick it back up.

He set the beers on the counter, calling, “red?”

No reply and that was strangely ominous in a little store where even a short skeleton would be hard pressed to hide.

There was a long hallway in the back that led past a couple storerooms to the apartment Red lived in. He gave the storerooms a glance, just in case Red had a sudden urge to restock the sanitary napkin display, and wasn’t very surprised to find them unoccupied. He saw the door to Red’s apartment was open a crack like it never was and that cranked ominous up to sinister. The lingering sweat on his bones was chilling in the air conditioning, but that wasn’t the only reason a sudden shiver rattled him.

“red?” Stretch called weakly as he pushed open the door.

The living room was small with a ratty plaid sofa and a coffee table littered with beer cans and balled up chip bags, and standing in the center of it was a person who was not Red, not unless he got one hell of a growth spurt while Stretch was gone.

Once, Stretch would’ve just taken a shortcut out, right the hell to the Sheriff station down the road and never had he missed the skill more than when the guy-who-was-definitely-not-Red started to turn around. The instinct to teleport was still there even if the ability wasn’t, fizzling out with an aching pain right in the middle of his chest.

It was only a minor distraction and Stretch blundered over to grab a lamp from a side table, yanking the cord right out of the wall as he brandished it over his head like a club, yelling shrilly, “what the fuck are you doing in here?”

The guy turned around, looking back at him with deep crimson eye lights that flicked briefly up to the lamp before meeting his wild gaze. His voice was as smooth and dark as deep water as he stated coolly, “I believe that’s my question.”

Stretch could stare and the only coherent thought amongst the many tangled ones scrambling through his mind was only two words. Simple. Descriptive.

Oh, shit.

-tbc-

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression Ep 16 - UFO expert's recommendation as the Japan Air Self Defense Force sets up Space Operations Squadron.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this week's installment of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome.

J: You looked at us the opposite way then.

K: I did (laughs)

J: I don't mind though.

K: Hahaha.

J: Im sorry to be so pedantic.

K: No, i thought the same myself.

J: I just wondered whether you'd forgotten our names, or whether you were a bit tired.

T: He's probably tired.

J: I was a bit concerned *laughs*

K: You got me.

J: I just noticed it, so..

K: How have you been recently?

J: Well, how? hmm, well..

K: Its still around the middle of April now, as we record this, right? The shops are starting to open again. We are still in...what was it, a state  of emergency..

J: It hasn't been lifted in Tokyo.

K: But the stores are slowly starting to operate again if you look around. Ramen places are really busy and such. But, how has it been for you guys?

J: Well, ive been cooking for myself as much as possible. Buying stuff from the grocers, and making salad and stuff every day. I don't have a frying pan though.

T: You don't have a frying pan??

J: No.

K: Do you have a microwave?

J: I do have a microwave. But a frying pan...well, recently, i bought some eggs, and tried to make fried eggs, but i had to cook them in a steel pan.*T laughing a lot* And when I tried to scrape them out, the yolk got destroyed. *K laughs* It was chaos.

T: How have you survived this far in life?

J: No, I mean I usually eat out, so this is a first for me at 52 years old, this self catering lifestyle.

T: I have a special pan for cooking eggs, its designed especially for eggs (tamagoyaki).

J: Really?

K: Oh, that square type?

T: Yeah, yeah.

K: Ehh!

J: Really?

T: I keep it really clean, and make sure I don't use it for anything other than eggs.

K: Oh, so do you cook a lot?

T: I do, yeah.

J: Kaoru, can you cook?

K: Do I look like I can? *laughs*

J: You don't, you don't. *everyone laughs loudly* You don't at all, sorry.

K: I can manage fried vegetables and stuff like that.

J: Oh, well, you are probably better than me then.

K: But honestly, I havn't cooked anything in years.

T: *To J* If you say he's better than you, that puts you at a super low level! *K laughs*

J: Well, now you mention it, maybe we are about the same level.

K: A long time ago, when I first came to Tokyo, I made curry once.

J, T: Oohh?!

K: Yeah..And with curry, if you let it sit for one night, its supposed to taste better the next day.

J: Yeah, the flavour deepens.

K: When I checked on it the next day, it had grown mould. *the others laugh a lot*

T: How?

K: I don't know.

J: What did you put in it?

K: Just the normal stuff...curry cubes and stuff.

T: It grew mould after a day...?

K: It did, yeah.

J: Ehhh? By the way, did you eat any of it on the day you made it?

K: No, because I thought it would taste better after leaving it for a day. Also, it was actually kind of watery. Maybe I got the measurements wrong. So I thought if I leave it for a day, it would thicken up, but it grew mould.

J: *laughing* Wow. If you cooked it properly, it wouldn't grow mould unless there was something wrong with it though, would it?

T: Yeah, exactly.

J: Thats incredible.

T: Yeah, were you living somewhere funny?

K: Haha, the place?

J: Lets do this sometime. Lets have a curry party with Kaoru making the curry. 

T: Oh, yeah.

K: Um, in my blog magazine TheTheDay, I appealed for ideas of what people want me to do, and people said they want me to cook.

J, T: Ehhh.

J: Will you do it? Get your revenge?

K: Revenge? *laughs*

J: Curry revenge. We'd have to have a doctor on stand-by though. *K laughs* We'd end up with curry poisoning. Everyone who ate it would collapse one by one.

K: It would be dangerous.

J: It would, it would.

K: Okay, so today...Tasai san.

T: Yes, so..uh..finally we've reached this era! Finally!

J: What is it? What happened?

T: Well, uh, on May 18th, for the first time, the Japan Air Self Defense Force (JASDF) started a specialist division to monitor regions in space, the Space Operations Squadron.

J: At last!

T: Its like Space Battleship Yamato, its as if that kind of old sci-fi is finally becoming real in this current Reiwa era. Well, actually, its not really like Yamato. What they are really doing is keeping an eye on space junk, and watching for any suspicious looking man-made satellites. To begin with they will ????*1, and by 2026, they say they want to put thier own satellites into orbit too. Its true that America, Russia, and China are leaders in this field, but its like Japan has also started to think about self defence in terms of space too.

J: I see. This is quite serious news then, isn't it.

T: Well, Tokyo sports always has a different take.

J, K: *laugh*

J: Of course.

T: So, in response to the inauguration of this devision, a UFO expert had one thing he wanted to say, which was...well, there is the 'scramble', yes? A kind of emergency take-off, if for example, missles are heading towards domestic land, or if mysterious sightings*2 happen, there is stuff like this. And in 2018, the JASDF actually had 999 scrambles, where they saw something they thought was dangerous, and had to take off immediately. So, of those, 638 cases involved Chinese vessels, 340 cases involved Russian, and 18 cases were classed as 'other'. This UFO expert thinks these might be UFOs, so with the creation of this new devision, he says they could check to see if they actually are UFOs.

J: By the way, what is the Japanese government's stance on the existence of UFOs? It seems like America already thinks they exist, and are taking some action, right?

K: There is a lot of???*4

J: Yeh, on the news. I havn't watched it properly, but what do they think again?

T: ????

K:????

J????*5

T: The Japanese government hasn't clearly confimed whether or not they think UFOs are real or not.

J: Hmm, Kaoru what do you think? Do UFOs exist or don't they?

K: Well, I want them to exist. I like reading about them.

J: Well, its fun isn't it?

T: While I've been working at Tokyo Sports, we've had quite a few reports on photos people have taken of UFOs. Um, you know Hyper media creator Takashiro Tsuyoshi..?

J: Ahh, Takashiro san.

T: When he reported...where was it Australia, Byron Bay..or something. He went there for a festival, and he showed me a photo of a UFO that he took while he was there. And there really was a kind of triangle shaped UFO looking thing on it. And when he showed it to an expert, they said after about 2 seconds, 'Ah, yes, this is a UFO', without even checking properly. *the others laugh*.

J: You'd want them to analyze it a bit more

K: It seems too easy, right? Like, ah, yeh yeh.

T: Yeh, thats a UFO..

J: Saying its a UFO that quickly...

T: According to this expert, if you see a UFO, a big change will happen in your life....and then straight after that he ????*6 and stuff like that happened...Also, the former actress, who turned to that religious cult..

J: Oh, the Happy Science cult.

T: Yeh, Sengen Yoshiko. She captured footage of a UFO in Toyama, and showed it to me, so I kind of think they are real.

J: Have either of you ever seen a UFO yourselves?

K: I've seen things where I've thought, what is that?!. Like...*imitates zig zag movement in the sky*

T: There is something isn't there.

J: There are things that move like that, aren't there. They are different from shooting stars, and airplanes couldn't move in that way. I've wondered what they are.

K: And when you try to catch it on your smartphone or something, you can't, can you?

T: I just remembered! I did catch a UFO on my smartphone. I went to Mexico once to do a story.

K: Didn't you mention that before?

T: Oh, maybe I did, on the radio. Well, when i was in Mexico, what is it..when the sun takes a long time..

J: The summer solstice?

T: Yeh, on that day, we climed to the top of a big rock, and held hands with all the local people. At that time we took loads of photos of the sky, and when we checked later, they showed a UFO.

J,K: Ehh?

T: Yeh, and I don't know the first thing about it. Im in the club of people who've photographed a UFO.

J: A UFO was close to you....Isn't this the right time for him to come out? That guy?

Kami:.....

K: He's not coming.

Kami: Um..

J: He's here, he's here.

Kami: We're talking about UFOs right? When I saw that the JASDF had started a space army, I was excited. And when I wondered what they would get up to, it said they would be picking up space junk..

T: *laughs*

Kami: Its like when we lost at the world cup, and picked up all the garbage, then went home. So I was a bit shocked at what was written.

K: But thats just the starting point, right?

T: Yeah, starting with the little things, moving steadily.

J: But, hey, while they say that, they might be carrying out some bigger project behind the scenes.

K: Well, yeah.

T: Thats right.

J: Kami, what do you think about UFOs?

Kami: I've never seen one.

J: Oh, you havn't?

K: But from your perspective, do UFOs exist?

Kami: Do they exist?...Im not sure.

K:.*laughs*

J: He's not very articulate, is he? This is different from when he was talking about mahjong!

K: *laughs*

J: He never stopped when he was talking about mahjong. Losing 30,000 and such. Coming into Tasai san's conversation that much..He's changed completey since last time. A poor response, Kami. Hey, but what is it?...Can't gods transcend space-time?

Kami: Im not sure.

J: Wait, you're not sure?

Kami: Space-time? Well, I can't talk about it, cause I'll get into trouble if I do.

J: Ah, if you tell us?

K: *laughs*

T: Is this a new organisation?

K: An organisation, right?

J: Gods have them too.

K: They probably have unions, right?

Kami: Yes, yes. *K laughs*

T: Someone more powerful than Kami will be onto him.

K: Yeah, he'll be stopped.

Kami: But the gods know this, theres nothing faster than light, right?

J, T: Ahh

Kami: Did you know that?

J: Yes, I did.

Kami: Yeah, thats it. Theres nothing faster than light, yeh. Thats the thing. Do you know who decided that? It was a god.

J: Ohh.

T, K: Eh?

Kami: Not me, one of my distant relatives.

J: Distant relatives? *laughs* One of the gods in the group?

K: It wasn't himself, but..

Kami: Yes, thats it.

J: Hang on, wait a minute, so in terms of what we are talking about, Kami, what did YOU create? Gods make many different things I think.

Kami: I make parts in a factory.  *J, K laugh*.

T: What? The old guy in a backstreet workshop?

K: *laughs* He's the type who can descend to earth very easily, right?

J: He really is one of the commoners.*laughs* Its funny.

Kami: Its because Im an ally of the common people.

K: Well, yeh, it seems like he often goes to Chinese restaurants..

J: Right.

T: And he likes Mahjong

K: Yeh, he likes Mahjong.

J: He's kinda just like my Dad.

K: *laughs*

J: Ah, but UFOs, right?

K: It would be good if they develop this.

T: There might be things like space wars in the future, in reality. With America and such. If they are competing for supremacy in space.

K: Ah, yeh, fighting for supremacy.

T: Right?

J: But Japan is a little late getting started, in relation to that.

K: Oh yeh, its impossible.

J: Right? We wouldn't ever take supremacy.

T: Well Japan can already be seen from anywhere by spy satellites, they'd get all our info.

J: Well, thats it. That kind of thing is going on at the same time.

K: Well, thats just how it is.

J: Thats how it is, right?

T: Thanks for listening.

J: This was a spaced themed chat.

K: Please look forward to next week, thank you very much. Please subscribe.

J,T, Kami: Please do.

*1,3,4,5 Couldn't catch these bits.

*2 mysterious sightings...or something like it.

*6 Sounded like, 'he got divorced', but i couldn't distinguish it clearly enough.

[fridayfirefly]

Lost and Found [Part Three]

Masterlist | Ao3

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to make sure this chapter was perfect, and now I’m super proud to show you all

The evening after Damian made his leap of faith and lost the pen was one of the rare nights where his entire 'family' managed to make it to the dinner table. Grayson and Barbara (Damian used her first name only because she threatened to ram him with her wheelchair if he kept calling her 'Gordon') drove in from their shared apartment in Blüdhaven. They were Soulmates, currently dating and soon to be engaged, if the ring box in Grayson's sock drawer (which Damian found when he broke into their apartment last month) meant anything. Todd came in that morning unannounced, claiming to be "in the mood for Alfred's cooking" (Damian suspected that Todd simply doesn't like eating alone, but said nothing). Drake was free for dinner because he didn't have any evening classes at Gotham University. Stephanie Brown arrived the day prior because Drake asked for her assistance on a case he was working on. Of all the heroes who fought crime in Gotham, Damian was least knowledgeable about Stephanie Brown. In all the time Damian had lived with Father, he had only spoken to Brown a few times and had only patrolled with Spoiler once. However, it seemed that Damian would be patrolling with Spoiler a lot more in the coming weeks. Earlier that day, Brown had offered to remain in Gotham and take Grayson's place on patrols. That way, Grayson could stay in Blüdhaven, instead of driving to Gotham on his nights off at the Blüdhaven police force to patrol.

Selena Kyle showed up for dinner as well, though she made no references to their conversation the night before. Father and Alfred were also at the dinner table, but Damian already knew that they would be there. Damian had lived with Father for almost three months, and he had seen the way that the Manor worked. People came and went; it seemed that the only people who stayed the same were Father and Alfred.

Once dinner started, conversations drifted around Damian. He struggled to find the right words to explain that he made contact with his Soulmate. He felt the need to say it, if only for the purpose of stopping Grayson's constant nagging.

“So when’s Connor coming to visit?" asked Barbara.

Damian turned his attention to Drake, interested in any news about Drake's Soulmate. Damian had yet to meet Connor Kent, but he was certainly interested in meeting one of his brother's Soulmates.

"He's coming over a week from Saturday and then staying for a week until the new semester at Metropolis University starts. Connor's bringing Clark, Lois, and Jon along with him. Jon's still on summer vacation, so Clark and Lois plan on leaving him here with Connor for the week so that he isn't home alone all day while they're at work."

"Jon is Damian's age, right?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah, Jon's turning thirteen next month," Drake answered.

Damian wondered what Jonathan Kent would be like. Hopefully not as immature and imbecilic as his classmates at Gotham Academy.

As the conversation hit a lull, Grayson piped up, "Damian, what's new with you? Are you still ignoring all your problems?" Grayson's tone was far too innocent for the taunt veiled underneath the niceties. Damian shot Grayson a glare, which was matched by Grayson's own stubborn look. Logically, Damian knew his teasing was fueled by well-intentioned concern, but Damian still found it annoying.

"Don't call her a problem," Damian growled. No one at the table looked concerned by their interaction, so Damian assumed that Babs and Stephanie had both been informed of what had happened two weeks ago. "The answer is no, anyways. I'm not ignoring her. I lost something for her last night."

All other conversations halted when Damian revealed his secret. "Good for you, Demon Spawn," Todd said, speech muffled by the mouthful of food he was trying to talk around.

"That's great news!" Grayson's face was lit up. "We should celebrate. I haven't had an opportunity to throw a party at the Manor in ages."

Damian sighed. Any attempts to halt Grayson's party planning would surely fail. There was no stopping Grayson’s unnerving desire to celebrate every little thing.

"Babs and I can set it up. We can do it next Saturday, while the Kents are here. After all, it's been months since the last time the Banquet Hall was used."

Father rolled his eyes at Grayson’s antics, the slight upturn of his lips proved that he was in support of Grayson's idea. It had been less than one minute since told his tell his family that he had lost the pen for his Soulmate to find, and he was already regretting it.

——————————————————————

It had taken Damian six hours and eighteen jewelry stores throughout Gotham to find the perfect gift to give to his Soulmate. It was a bracelet, made of silver and designed to look like feathers wrapping around the wrist. But it still wasn't perfect, which was why Damian was knocking on Drake's bedroom door.

Drake opened his door, looking much better rested than he had at dinner two days prior. The dark circles under his eyes had faded, and Damian could see only one coffee cup on his desk, instead of his usual three to seven. "Do you need anything?"

Damian nodded. "There is something I need assistance with. Given that it is within your area of expertise, I came to you for help."

Drake looked shocked at Damian's request, but also interested. "Come on in."

Damian walked into Drake's room and shut the door behind him. "I understand that you are knowledgeable about nanotechnology." Damian set the bracelet down on Drake's desk. "Would you be able to monitor heart rate and blood pressure through this, without the modifications being obvious to its wearer?"

Drake picked the bracelet up and examined its size and weight. "It'll take me a few days, but I think it can be done..." Drake trailed off, grabbing a spare piece of paper off his desk and jotting notes down. "It's for your Soulmate, right?"

"Yes."

"Cool," said Drake, "Is there anything else you want to be added to it?"

Damian paused for a moment, considering his words. "Could you add a tracker? One that activates only if the heart rate and blood pressure monitors detect that she's in potentially life-threatening conditions?"

Drake nodded. "I can definitely do that. If I connect everything to an app on your phone, then those kinds of settings can be done through the app rather than through the bracelet itself. But you know, I won't judge you if you want the tracker to be available to you now."

Damian shook his head. "I don't want to invade her boundaries. I just want to keep her safe and out of harm's way."

"That's genuinely really cool of you, Damian," Drake said. "I think Connor's going to like you."

"Tt. Everybody likes me."

Drake laughed. "Sure, Demon Spawn."

Damian turned away from his brother, leaving the room before Tim could catch the small smile on his face.

——————————————————————

"No more complaining, Dami. I didn't get to throw you a Welcome to the Manor party or a belated Birthday party, so you're going to suck it up and enjoy this one," Grayson instructed. He and Barbara had already bought refreshments, created a playlist titled "Can Damian Even Dance?", and decorated the Banquet Hall. Though in Damian's opinion, a blind cat would have been better at decorating than Grayson. Instead of buying normal party decorations, He and Barbara had gone to thrift stores, buying up used gender reveal party decorations. They then wrote the word Soulmate overtop of 'boy' or 'girl' so that each banner proclaimed "It's a Soulmate."

"I'm not complaining. I just think that your decorations look terrible."

"Don't call them terrible, they're made with love." Grayson could barely keep a straight face while saying it.

Damian rolled his eyes and walked out of the Banquet Hall, heading towards the foyer. He knew that Grayson was the type to go all-out when it came to showing his emotions (i.e. throwing a party to show that he's proud of Damian and supports him) but Damian wasn't really the type to enjoy a party, especially when he's the guest of honor.

"The Kents are here," Tim called out as he opened up the front door.

Damian watched as Tim greeted the Kent family. Damian had already met Clark Kent, though strictly through his superhero identity and was familiar with both Connor and Jon's time spent as Superboy. And Lois Lane-Kent, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and author of an award-winning novel (which Damian has read), was just as well-known in America as Superman.

“Clark, I know you've already met Damian, but the rest of you should come and meet him. After all, Dick is throwing the party in his honor.”

Damian walked into the foyer to meet Tim’s Soulmate’s family. “Hello,” Damian dipped his head in greeting.

“It’s nice to meet you, Damian,” Lois politely greeted him.

"I've read your book," Damian blurted out. "I found your commentary on the negative ramifications of superheroes on our society to be enlightening."

Lois smiled brightly, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've always been interested in how Superheroes influence modern society, and I think it's important for people to understand that Superheroes aren't always a good thing to have. Because Superheroes exist, citizens allow themselves to become complacent, pushing the burden of stopping crime onto Superheroes, instead of trying to prevent people from becoming criminals in the first place. It's definitely a multifaceted phenomenon, and one that our society needs to be aware of."

"It's a very complex issue," Damian agreed. "I hope we can talk about this further at a later date."

Lois nodded. "Definitely." She glanced towards her husband. "Clark and I should go find Bruce and catch up with him." The pair left the foyer, walking in the direction of Father's office. Damian, Tim, Connor, and Jonathan walked in the opposite direction, towards the Banquet Hall.

"So you're Damian," said Connor. "Tim's told me a lot about you."

"Tt. Knowing Drake, it's likely all lies and slander. Drake's jealousy often gets the best of him."

"Jealous of what? The fact that you're so effortlessly annoying?"

"You're obviously envious of my innate ability to do everything better than you."

Connor, Tim's Soulmate, let out a laugh. "Tim didn't tell me that you're funny."

"He's not funny, Connor. He's annoying. Now come on, you have to see the decorations Dick and Babs put up. They're awful."

"How do you mess up party decorations?" Jonathan Kent asked.

Tim made a face. "Dick likes to challenge himself by putting up the worst possible decorations. Last year he and Babs convinced Alfred to have us all make the Christmas tree decorations ourselves. I still don't think I've gotten all the glitter out of my hair."

“At least these decorations are harmless,” Damian cut in. “Imagine what would have happened had Father not vetoed Grayson's Fourth of July cookout earlier this summer.”

Connor laughed. “That definitely wasn’t Dick’s best idea. I doubt that fireworks and the Wayne family mix well.”

When they got to the door to the Banquet Hall, Grayson's music already playing, Tim turned to Damian. "By the way, Damian, I finished the modifications that you asked for. It's in my room on my desk when you want to go get it."

"Sure. Tell Grayson I'll be a few minutes."

Tim and Connor walked into the room, but Jonathan stayed behind. "Is it for your Soulmate - what Tim was fixing for you?"

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Maybe."

Jonathan's face brightened. "Cool. Are you planning on losing it tonight?"

“I take it Tim told you and his Soulmate about my Soulmate," Damian commented, ignoring Jonathan's question.

"Tim didn't tell me, Tim told Connor. He wanted Connor's advice on how to apologize to you, for what he said about your Soulmate. I couldn't help but overhear; superhuman hearing doesn't exactly have an off switch. Besides, I was mostly just interested in the fact that your Soulmate is French. My Soulmate's French too."

Damian didn't know how to respond to that. Jonathan Kent was like a breath of fresh air.  He was entirely unconcerned about Damian's wealth and status. He understood the sort of responsibility that being a superhero entailed but didn't get weighed down by it. He had just met Damian but already trusted him enough to reveal information about his Soulmate. Jonathan Kent, who seemed so easy to read at first glance, was secretly a conundrum.

The modifications on the bracelet were almost completely imperceptible to Damian's trained eye. Besides a small change in weight, it appeared unchanged. "I like the feathers," said Jonathan, "Definitely more subtle than anything I could come up with. But what was Tim doing with it?”

“Modifying it,” Damian said curtly. “It now measures heart rate and blood pressure.”

Jonathan nodded, “That’s a smart idea. I might have to ask Tim to make me one."

As they left Tim's room, Jonathan continued to fill the silence. "I don't know how you managed to not lose something for so long. I lose stuff all the time. My Soulmate will probably end up figuring out I'm Superboy because I accidentally misplaced my uniform."

"Your Soulmate doesn't yet know that you're Superboy?"

Jonathan shook his head. "We haven't met in person yet, plus the language barrier makes communication through the Soulbond difficult if we aren't both using translators. My Soulmate only speaks a little bit of English, and I'm even worse at French. But I'm getting better. I take classes now."

"I'm fluent in French," Damian added. "If you ever need something translated, I'm sure I could take the time to help you out." Jonathan Kent was one of the few genuinely good people Damian had met. Damian wanted to get to know him better.

"Thanks, Damian."

As Damian passed his bedroom doorway, he noticed something new sitting on his bed. A black book. He changed course, heading straight towards his new Soulmate object. It was a sketchbook. Damian quickly flipped through the crisp, new pages. His Soulmate must be a designer - the first three pages contained clothing designs. The first page was a dress, pink and white striped with a bow around the waist. The second page was a jacket, olive green with gold-colored buttons. The third page was a plain white t-shirt, simple at first glance, but the detailed notes beside the design indicated that she meant to cover the shoulders and shirt sleeves in a detailed embroidery.

"Wow," said Jonathan. "Did you know that your Soulmate was so talented?"

"No," Damian breathed out, taking in every little detail. He had never been so fascinated by fashion designing. Everything about the sketchbook showed talent, dedication, and skill. He could hardly tear his eyes away from the sketches - they were so detailed, with little notes in the margin indicating everything from what store to go to to buy the fabric, to the exact shade she wanted, to whether or not it needed hand stitched. All three pages were dated August 20th - she had planned out all three pieces of clothing that very day. Damian couldn't quite believe that his Soulmate was so perfect.

But pushing towards the front of his mind was the knowledge that he would have to return the book. It was obviously important to her, something she would never want to lose. Damian pulled his phone out and took three pictures, one of each of the sketches, to make sure he didn't forget a single detail. Then he grabbed a sticky note off of his desk and wrote, "I figured you might want this back - D.W."

Damian could feel Jonathan watching him. "I'm glad you're a good person, Damian."

"Thanks," Damian said dryly, but the compliment still stuck with him. He had never cared about being a good person until he lived with his Father. He didn't think he would be good at it, but maybe he was wrong.

Then, it was just a matter of losing the sketchbook so that she could get it back. Damian, not wanting the book to get damaged in any way, decided to just toss it into one of the open doorways on the way back to the Banquet Hall. It worked to lose the book only because the Banquet Hall was in one of the sections of the Manor that was rarely ever used, except during social gatherings. The twisting hallways and odd door placements were designed to keep snooping Gala guests from getting into the main part of the Manor without physically locking doors. According to Grayson, they also made for very intense games of Hide and Seek, which Damian had yet to play (Grayson had promised him a game, though, and had yet to break a promise).

"So what is your Soulmate like, Jonathan?" Damian asked him once they found their way back into the Banquet Hall.

"You know, you can call me Jon." Jon's facial expression switched to something that could only be described as dreamy. "My Soulmate... he's wonderful. He loves music, it's his biggest passion. He sends me music recommendations all the time, usually weekly playlists, unless he's bored or wants me to listen to something special. His favorite color is green and he has a pet turtle named Oliver. He has three best friends beside me, and he says he can't wait to meet me in person, but we're waiting until we're at least fifteen."

The night passed quickly in Jon's company. It was a new experience for Damian, having someone his own age to talk to. Conversation flowed easily from Soulmates to Superheroes to school. It was the first time Damian genuinely felt like he had made a friend.

Once midnight came around the party ended. Lois and Clark left to drive back to Metropolis, and Grayson and Barbara left for Blüdhaven.  Tim took Connor up to his room, and Brown and Todd both left for their own (rarely used) bedrooms. Damian knew that Jon was staying in the guest bedroom three doors down from his own, so he offered to take him there.

The sticky note on his floor was the first thing Damian noticed, once he was finally alone. Written in the same handwriting as the designs from before was the sentence, "Thanks, it's a birthday present from my parents - M.D.C."

Damian knew it was time to give his Soulmate the bracelet. Wrapping it alongside the box of replacement pens he had gotten her, Damian made sure to write in his best handwriting, "Happy Birthday M. From your Soulmate, D.W."

Taglist: @fanboy7794 @mikantsume @hetalia-lover-is-here @howtoshuckatlife @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @redscarlet95  @derpingrainbow @friedchickening @constancetruggle @melicmusicmagic  @beautym3 @kunstner1 @shizukiryuu @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @crazylittlemunchkin @black-streak @darkshadowguardian @mystery-5-5 @trubel43 @fandomfan315 @vincentvangoose

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Storybrooke, Maine

Chapter 3:  Awakened

It was 1992. He'd owned the shop now for so long he couldn't remember how long he'd been doing this same routine. Each morning he woke up, stretched, and got into the shower. He dressed in a suit, adding layer after layer to make any who felt the need to deal with him feel underdressed. That was a trick he'd learned as a lawyer. In the morning, he read the newspaper, cooked himself some breakfast, eggs usually, with spinach if he had it. He drove to town and parked his car in the lot or on the street. He didn't live far from work, but he wasn't about to walk there. With his leg, he'd never manage, and besides, walking might give the impression he cared about something. He walked down the street every morning. Sometimes people lifted their eyes to him in acknowledgment. He never returned the favor. He barely paid any attention to Marco on the ladder as he passed swiftly by him.

As he unlocked the door to his shop, he glanced at the abandoned library on the corner across from him. It always made him feel uneasy, probably because it was becoming an eyesore. One of these days, he would file a complaint with Regina about that, but today there was too much to do.

Inside the shop, he opened the blinds and took a deep breath of the musty smell that came with age. It still felt like home, probably more like home than his pink house, which he still needed to get painted. He turned the sign behind him to "open" in case someone felt like coming in to make a deal but then escaped to the back room just like always. It was his favorite place in his shop. The spinning wheel he'd first seen when he bought the place was back here, along with a fold-away cot for nights he got carried away and just decided to sleep there. There were two tables crowded into the back that he could use to polish or repair or clean or whatever he needed to do. On the table was a child's rocking chair he'd bought that needed just a bit of woodworking before he could put it up for sale. He had many talents, one had to be crafty in this business, but woodworking wasn't one he particularly enjoyed. Still, it would be cheaper to do it himself than wander outside to ask Marco if he would take a chance with it. Besides, it wasn't as though he was doing much today. He may as well fix the thing. It was his task for today.

It was just another day in-

The bell to the front door grabbed his attention before he could really settle in to his work. He was always happy to make money, but some days he much preferred to spend the day in the company of his possessions instead of at the beck and call of whoever wanted him. He was tempted to sit there and ignore the summons, but then he remembered the jewelry he'd cleaned and placed on display yesterday. The last thing he needed was to have a theft because he'd been in a mood. He hobbled out to the front of the shop to meet a man with sandy brown hair who looked about his store confused and perhaps a bit nervous. If he had to guess, he was probably there to buy an engagement ring. He looked to be about the right age. He certainly had that look of being out of breath, which could often be attributed to being nervous.

"Can I help you with something?" he inquired.

The man narrowed his eyes in his direction a look of contempt rose over his features. He looked familiar…why did he look familiar? "I almost didn't recognize you without the scales," the man breathed after a moment.

He felt a twitch in his neck at that comment. Scales…the man remembered him with scales? He had scales he used to weigh objects and precious gems but only in the back of the shop. Very few had ever seen the back of his shop. He'd remember if he'd ever invited him in the back, and he knew he hadn't. Who was he?

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, cut the act. There is no way you would let yourself fall under the power of Regina's curse when she's still awake."

He felt a chill run up his back as he thought through the words the man had said. About the only word that had made sense was "Regina," everything else sounded like gibberish. But gibberish the man was convinced of. He did appear confused. Perhaps he'd hit his head? Or was a patient of Dr. Hopper?

"You don't seem very well. If you're looking for Dr. Hopper, his office is just down the street," he suggested.

"All right. Enough games. I put my daughter through a wardrobe because you told me it would break the curse. Now, where is she?"

Then again, perhaps it was a little bit more than a bump on the head. The man was clearly in a fragile mental state and growing angrier by the second. And here he stood, not another soul around with his cane as his only defense. Where was Sheriff Graham when he needed him?

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't appreciate your tone," he snapped, trying to deescalate the tension. His words had the opposite effect.

His heart raced as the man turned to an old umbrella stand and pulled from it a sword, one that he'd just sharpened not long ago.

"Intimidation won't make me remember something I don't know!" he insisted as the man took a step closer.

The man paused. His mouth was dry. He felt suddenly cold from the burst of adrenaline rushing through his body. A sword and a healthy twenty-something against a cane and a man with a limp. He could take a safe bet on who would win that fight. He needed to call the police and warn them about the man, but he couldn't do that if he died. And so he waited; waited, and watched patiently to see what he would do. Finally, he let out a sigh and squinted his eyes in the low light.

"I guess Snow was wrong," he muttered, turning to go. He didn't hesitate; the second the man turned, he did too, in the direction of his phone so that he could call-

"Looks like we're gonna have to find Emma on our own."

"Emma…"

It was like a dam had burst open. One second he'd been talking to a stranger in a dark and hazy shop; the next, he was listening to David's footsteps and the door in his pawnshop that led out to the Land Without Magic…Bae's home. Baelfire was his son, and Emma was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.

Emma…

"What a lovely name…"

His trigger word. It had worked.

"I put my daughter through a wardrobe because you told me it would break the curse. Now, where is she…" What was gibberish before made perfect sense now. He felt a smirk growing as the bell rang again, indicating that David had closed the door and was looking back at him.

"Perhaps I can help you."

"You are awake."

Awake. Awake finally from the curse that Regina had cast because it would bring him to this world, to Baelfire. The Dark Curse. His Curse, the Curse David's daughter, was bound to break when she returned to them.

"Just needed a proper wake-up call, one that I knew one day would come," he answered as David moved back toward him. He managed to close the distance a few steps, but he was uneasy on his feet, his entire body shaking, and this time it wasn't anything to do with a strange man and a sword threatening him with bodily harm. Instead, it had everything to do with Prince Charming holding his sword in his hand once more. His heart was pounding. With every passing second, it felt more and more like Belle was sweeping the cobwebs free from his mind. Things were growing clearer and brighter, and that included his path forward. Regina, Emma, the Curse, David, Baelfire…

Centuries of planning…all for this moment.

"Right. So where is she? Where's my daughter?" David demanded.

"I know that Emma is destined to break the Curse, but I don't know where she is and how she's meant to get back to us."

"Think harder."

He chuckled even though the Prince's tone made him want to shiver. David was the exact same person he'd been before. It was as though no time had passed at all. It was right, he knew that was how it should feel coming out of the Curse, but he hadn't been prepared for how terribly unnerving it would feel to be the same person he had been before magic again. His leg ached. When he had the full powers of the Dark One, he'd never noticed just how tall the boy was or how broad his shoulders were. He never considered just how terrifying he could be when he was worked up as he was. Being human was no more fun now, even with power, than it had been all those years ago. As much as he wanted to sit and consider what was happening around him, he was keenly aware that he needed to give David information if only to get him out of his shop.

His shop.

He was finally in his shop. The same one he'd envisioned since the Seer. It was making his head spin.

"Tell me, dearie...what was it that woke you from your miserable little life in the first place?"

"It was a flower Snow found. Its magic woke us."

A flower with the ability to wake two ordinary and non-magical individuals from a Curse as powerful as this. He could only think of one thing.

"The Pixie. Dust from that flower has the ability to reunite anyone who shares True Love."

"Like Snow and me."

"And your daughter…"

David was out the door before he could stop him and question him for more information. He tried. His first instinct was to close his eyes, summon his magic, and chase after him…but he stayed put. His legs shook beneath him. It was so bad he nearly collapsed to the floor. Instead, he clutched his cane tight as he could and stayed on his feet as knowledge swept through him in a great flood. The dam was broken. He was awake, but the Curse was still in place, and magic had not yet come. He was still weak.

[sittingoverheredreaming]

This is an ENTIRELY self-indulgent fic I’ve written in between cases at work today, but it’s been awhile since I got a fic out on Michiru’s birthday, so, here’s 1500 words of Rei & Michiru BroTP

_________

Michiru had not said it was her birthday, but Rei knew. And Rei knew that Michiru knew she knew, of course Rei knew, so surely, this was a test. The invitation had been casual— “When should we next have tea together? How does the sixth sound?”— and there the challenge was set. What did you get a woman that had everything, without being so tacky as to ask her what she’d like, or mention her birthday at all?

Rei knew what Michiru thought of the Inners as a whole. That she’d still ask Rei to prove herself more than that was frustrating, but that did not mean Rei would not pass with flying colors. She was Rei Hino after all. She was unstoppable, and nothing so simple as a birthday could change that.

And yet. As she browsed through the third boutique she’d visited that morning, she felt the tiniest sliver of doubt. She was running out of time, and had nothing. It wasn’t that she procrastinated, only that she had been sure the right idea would strike her if she gave it time. She was down to just a few hours now, and it had yet to come.

“Can I help you?” a sales woman with her hair up in a tight bun asked.

Yes, Rei wanted to shout, yes, help me! But instead she said, “I’m looking for a gift.”

“Ah.” The woman gave a knowing nod. “For a lady friend?”

“A friend who is a lady, yes.” It was a shop for women’s accessories, did they really get enough clueless people to need to ask... Rei’s face warmed. “A friend only. Still a lady, but a friend.”

The saleswoman kept nodding. “And you are seeking an expensive gift for this... friend.”

“Well, she’s got a lot of money,” Rei said, her defenses rising. “I can’t just give her some knick knack and a comic book and call it a day.” That had been exactly what she had gotten Usagi for her last birthday. Usagi was simple. She liked things as freely as she liked people. As did Michiru, Rei supposed, just on the opposite side of the spectrum. 

“I see. And your budget is...?”

“Ideally, as cheap as possible, but still something nice. Do you have any sales?”

The saleswoman pressed her lips together. “I thought that might be the case. I can show you a few items, but if she’s worth so much to you, perhaps consider...”

Rei huffed and left. Maybe this was the wrong angle— Michiru could buy herself anything from these shops with no markdowns or clearance. But Michiru could buy herself anything anywhere. Rei peered into another shop window. “Show her you care!” a sign demanded in elegant font next to a glimmering gemstone bracelet. Rei sighed.  Would that she could pick out something so gaudy and generic, and have it matter simply because she cared. She thought again of Usagi, of any of the others. Even Mina, demanding as she was, could be pleased without much deliberation. 

She wandered the streets, meandering towards lower price tags and less nosy shopkeepers as her time ticked down. One shop tried to sell her on a handbag that cost more than a month’s rent, another on a perfume Rei knew Michiru would say smelt cheap. She looked at jewelry and scarves, books and candles, stopped short of entering a pet shop that sold exotic fish. Somehow, that felt like both the best and worst idea.

Finally, with barely an hour left, Rei found herself at the door of a thrift shop. She almost didn’t enter— Michiru would surely chide her for a secondhand gift— but then she turned the handle. If Michiru was going to set Rei a challenge, she had to be prepared for Rei to solve it the Rei way.

The old man at the counter inclined his head at the sound of bell above the door, but did not look up from his crossword. As it should be, in Rei’s opinion. The shop smelled of dust and full of cluttered floor to ceiling shelves positioned haphazardly around furniture for sale. Michiru would be utterly out of place, which made it precisely the right store to find a gift. She could buy herself anything, certainly, but something she wouldn’t buy herself, that was the winning idea. Michiru would never deign to rummage through other people’s cast offs— perhaps her worst flaw, in Rei’s eyes— so she would never find what treasures she could get a great deal on. When Rei found the perfect gift— and she would find it— she would simply buy overpriced wrapping, and Michiru would be none the wiser.

She’d nearly settled on an ornate vase, on the justification Haruka bought Michiru far too many flowers, so she should have something nice to keep them in, and besides, it had a fantastic price, when something else caught her eye. It was less striking than the vase, or anything else she’d considered. It would be a gamble as a gift, and Rei was not sure she wanted to take that chance.

A cacophony erupted through the shop as every clock marked the hour in its own dissonant chime. Rei had to make her decision, and she needed to make it quick.

*****

Michiru eyed the clock as the kettle began to whistle. It was quite unlike Rei to be late. Their tea time was hardly a momentous occasion, but it was one Michiru had come to enjoy, as she’d assumed Rei had. Perhaps, though, it had become a burden to her. Perhaps Michiru was nothing more than an obligation to check off her list between school work and shrine duties, something that must be taken care of before real fun could be had. Michiru should not have been surprised, Rei would not be the first nor the last to be less than genuine in her intentions. The only sting in the matter was that Rei had not seemed the type, but, as Michiru well knew, most everyone was the type, when it came down to it.

She took the kettle off the burner, but did not pour the water into the teapot she’d prepared. It was fatalistic, perhaps, but it was always best to prepare oneself. As her mother had often said, if others are cruel, it is their weakness, but if you respond to their cruelty, it is yours. Little as Michiru liked to agree with her mother, the philosophy had served her well.

The clock had ticked nearly twenty minutes past their arrange time when Rei burst through the door. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair just slightly displaced by the wind. A delicately decorated gift bag was nestled into the crook of her arm. “I’m late,” she said without apology. “But I made it.”

“Indeed you did.” Michiru leaned against the counter to keep from crossing her arms. “And what is that?” She indicated the gift bag.

Rei frowned. “It’s your birthday present.”

“My…” Michiru thought for a moment, and then allowed herself a small laugh. “It is my birthday, isn’t it? I’d quite forgotten.” She had asked Haruka to forgo the fanfare this year, but it seemed without it, she couldn’t mark the day. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I did!” Rei huffed. “Even if you weren’t testing me, I wouldn’t let your birthday just pass by.”

Michiru raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. Testing Rei did sound like something she might do, even if in this circumstance she hadn’t been. The results of such a test, intentional or not, might prove interesting. “What then, did you get me?”

Rei shoved the bag at her unceremoniously. Michiru set it gently on the counter, pulling back the tissue paper to reveal a two person tea set, the tea pot and cups emblazoned with a pattern of simple crows. They were slightly faded with age, and dust had settled in the crease of the handles. Still, Michiru could not help but smile. 

“It’s not entirely your style,” Rei said. “But I thought you might like to have a set just for my visits.”

“And here I’d thought you might be tiring of me.”

Rei snorted. “Oh please, this is the only peace I get some weeks.”

Michiru looked at the cups. They were garish, and cheaply made, but she found she quite like them. She could have this day wiped from memory, and it would take only a look to know where they had come from. “It’s lucky, then, that I haven’t poured our tea yet. Should I give these a quick wash?”

“If you want to,” Rei said. Her voice had the slightest edge, one Michiru had come to recognize meant she was trying to be casual about something that held importance. 

“I would like to very much.” She turned towards the sink, but paused. “Thank you, Rei.”

“It’s nothing. Happy birthday.” Rei cracked a smile, and Michiru smiled back, feeling a warmth spread inside her that had nothing to do with tea.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @1989dreamer!

I really wanted to write a sweet and gentle fic that fulfilled your wishlist. I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

*****

From Love not Lust

Stiles chewed on the top of his pen, inhaling the aroma of books and coffee as he sipped the mocha latte that was more chocolate than coffee, exactly how he liked it. It was half the reason he spent pretty much all his lunch breaks here. The other half was the sour-faced owner whose shadow fell over him at that moment.

Stiles ran a finger around the edge of his cup to scoop up the escaping whipped cream and licked it as he raised his gaze to meet Derek’s. “That’s a sour face for a warm autumn afternoon,” he offered brightly, the soft orange glow of the sun illuminating the store through the full glass frontage. When Derek just continued to glare at him with his dark green Books & Coffee apron that really complimented his stupidly beautiful eyes, Stiles took another swig of his mocha.

“Dude, what’s up?”

“What are you doing?” Derek asked darkly.

Stiles just blinked, because he came in here often enough for Derek not to question him. Sometimes he made a point of annoying Derek and sometimes he kept to himself, but either way Derek had pretty much grown used to his presence. He’d probably considered it a high risk factor when he and Cora had decided to return to Beacon Hills, along with Isaac, to turn the old abandoned book store into Books & Coffee.

It’d been on a whim of Cora’s, Isaac had confided to Stiles on his first visit, when he’d been home from college to visit his dad almost five years ago.

Sitting there now, on his lunch break wearing his deputy uniform, it was hard to imagine a time when it’d all felt shiny and new. It felt like it’d always been here, with its warm buzz of lunchtime business and familiar regulars.

Stiles watched Cora and Isaac showcase their usual workplace romance as they moved in perfect tandem together behind the counter, with Cora working the cash register and Isaac passing over his meticulously prepared pastries and cakes. Apparently it was something Isaac had done with his mom as a kid and had picked back up while he was incommunicado. They were the kind of sickening, cute kind of happy where they ribbed each other with gentle little jibes and glittery damn eyes. It was the kind of love only two people that had lost everything, healed and then found each other could possess.

Even Derek was softer around the edges these days. True he kept to the book side of the shop mostly, stocking and restocking, organizing the titles and on the rare occasion offering recommendations on books. But he was more relaxed, more at peace with himself in the calm quiet that had become Beacon Hills in the last few years. He seemed pretty content, like he’d found an inner strength and tranquility. Even when he was scowling down at Stiles as if he’d just set the store on fire.

“I’m drinking my mocha and reading my book, the same as I do everyday,” Stiles answered wryly.

“What are you doing with the pen?” Derek demanded through gritted teeth.

Stiles twirled the ballpoint absently, before the question registered in his mind. “Oh, I guess…annotating?”

Derek’s nostrils flared, dark brows drawing together in a familiar scowl that had long since lost its effect on Stiles. “You’re writing and doodling all over the books.”

“Only the margins. Mostly. And anyway it’s not like it’s one of yours. Or…well it was. It’s the one I bought a week or so ago. You know, the one you sold me?”

“I know what book it is,” Derek said curtly, gesturing at the copy of Northern Lights open on the table with a look of restrained dismay. “You can’t just…” He set his teeth. “They’re not for writing in like you’re some high school kid.”

A small, fond smile crept across Stiles’s lips. “You’re like…a real little bookworm huh? A guardian of paperbacks.”

Derek’s scowl intensified and Stiles gave a soft laugh. He swore the affection in it made Derek’s cheeks colour, just a bit. Setting down the pen with a self-deprecating little sigh, Stiles dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s just something I used to do when I was a kid. I used to highlight bits I liked, bits I didn’t, noted down my thoughts on things in the margin.” He shrugged. “Sometimes thoughts about the book, sometimes just what I had going on in my head.”

Derek stared at him in that carefully blank way he always did when a million thoughts were flittering through his mind. His lips parted abortively and he gave Stiles a short nod, nostrils flaring again before he turned and headed back into the bookshelves.

“He caught you doodling in a book?” Cora offered with a raised brow when he went to grab a second coffee to-go on his way back to work. “I’m surprised he didn’t rip your throat out. I dog-eared his copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when we were kids instead of using a bookmark and he shifted right in the middle of the living room and tackled me to the ground.”

Stiles’s lips quirked. “Was this really when you were kids? Or was it last week?”

Cora laughed, eyes sparkling in the same way Derek’s did.

*

Stiles finished the book a week or so later. He was parked in his usual spot in the corner by the bookshelves, just killing time until his dad came off shift so they could go to dinner together and he sat back as he finished scrawling his final notes on the back pages.

“How did you get into it?” Derek asked as he took the seat opposite him at the little round table. “Writing in the books.”

Stiles shrugged. “I found it helped me focus on the story if I could jot my thoughts rambling through my head down, keep them to one side as I read, I guess.” He gave a sad little smile. “There are books and books somewhere from just after my mom died where I’d write my feelings down, the ones I couldn’t express out loud, you know? My dad kept them.”

Dark brows drew together. “So…it’s only a sad thing then?”

“It used to be. But lately I just find I enjoy it, I guess.” He chews his lips for a moment, thinking, before asking, “I was wondering why Pullman spelled it ‘daemon’. So I looked it up. Supposedly the way we usually spell it refers to purely an evil spirit, but the way Pullman spells it refers to a benign supernatural creature. And I got to thinking, are werewolves ‘daemons’ in that case?”

His question was mostly rhetorical, but something in Derek seemed to brighten in response. When he responded, they grew locked in a conversation that carried them far into the evening hours.

They sat together for some time, until the shop was nearly empty and close to closing. Derek, Isaac and Cora took turns doing the closing shift and it seemed Derek was the only one manning the floor tonight. He and Stiles talked, or bantered as they usually did but then a question Stiles had always wanted to ask came to his lips unbidden.

“Why did you buy this place if you don’t like people?”

Derek blinked with an odd, surprised little expression that made him look years younger, the look Stiles had only seen there a handful of times before.

“I didn’t care what we did when we came back, only that we did,” Derek replied simply, looking just left of him to avoid looking in his eyes. “But Cora likes to be surrounded by people and Isaac had been studying food when we caught up with him. So when Cora saw the old bookstore was still abandoned she wanted to buy it.”

Stiles offered him a teasing grin. “So Cora wanted pastries for Isaac and books for you?”

Something like a smile flickered at the corners of Derek’s mouth. “Something like that.”

Out the front windows, Stiles saw his dad’s cruiser pull up and he rose to his feet and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow then. I’ll probably have to buy the next one if you have it?” He waved the book in his hand demonstratively.

Derek looked awkward for a moment, but then reached behind the corner and withdrew another paperback. “I thought you might so…” He came to stand in front of Stiles, uncertain and stiff as he offered him the book.

When Stiles took the copy of The Subtle Knife and flicked through it instinctively, he saw neat red writing in the margins. His heart skipped.

Derek had re-read the book and put notes in the margins. His thoughts, his feelings. For him. Stiles was the one to flounder in surprise then, lips moving soundlessly, speechless for one of the first times in his life. Before he could find his words, however, Derek spoke.

“Can I read it? What you wrote?” He tipped his chin toward the copy of Northern Lights tucked under Stiles’s arm.

Stiles hesitated for just a beat. “I show you mine and you show me yours, huh?” He smirked, passing the book over.

Their fingers brushed as Derek took hold of the pages holding Stiles’s personal thoughts and feelings. The highlighted quotes that had stood out to him, the silly little passing thoughts that had occurred to him that were completely irrelevant as he read. He passed them into Derek’s hands and offered him a little quirk of a smile as he stepped through the door and out into the night.

*

It became a thing after that, the book sharing. He and Derek read all kinds of books, made notes in the margins of their thoughts while reading, sometimes in regards to the book, sometimes just thoughts in general. Sometimes Stiles even left little doodles for him.

When Stiles was particularly stressed at work, a lot of his notes in A Feast for Crows were full of nervous ramblings about his fears of never living up to his dad’s reputation or wishing he were stronger, faster, better. They were like letters, he supposed, only better because this way he could be as obscure or as blatant as he liked. Sometimes he circled single words that fit his mood on the page or sometimes he highlighted entire passages that spoke to him.

Sometimes he liked the books Derek picked, sometimes he didn’t. The journey through them was always fascinating though, enhanced by the glimpses into Derek’s private thoughts, the things he related to, the things that he connected with. Their debates on each other’s notes often carried them well beyond the shop’s closing time and he got to see Derek animated and enthusiastic, open and passionate in a way he thought few people had ever seen.

It felt like a precious intimate connection, a bond solidifying between them with every word. And he had bonded with Scott over video games and movies and with Lydia over saving the world but this was different. It was more and sometimes, when Derek had to help serve customers in between their conversations, he would glance up and find those stunning eyes riveted to him.

He’d always found Derek attractive, who wouldn’t? But what he felt when their eyes met wasn’t just an awkward rush of ill-timed physical appreciation. That focus, that connection made something in his stomach quiver blissfully, warm and fluttering, until his breathing came out in little shudders and his face heated with feelings he didn’t quite understand.

*

He realised just how strong that connection had grown over the Fourth of July weekend. Buried in the paperwork of his fellow deputies who had fallen prey to the virus travelling around the station, his head was pounding with stress and fatigue when he glanced up and started at the sight of Derek in front of his desk. He was standing there in just a t-shirt and jeans, a not-quite smile on his face, a cup holder with three tall coffees in one hand and a couple of large paper bags with Books & Coffee printed across them.

Stiles had worked so much overtime in the last few days and his brain was so fried that at that moment he felt he might cry with relief at the sight of him. “Dude, I love you,” he groaned appreciatively, making grabby hands for the reusable coffee cup that had ‘Stiles’ scrawled across it with a Sharpie in Cora’s neat script. His coffee cup she always served him his coffee in - containing his coffee order. He sipped at it greedily and groaned aloud in sweet bliss.

Derek’s expression had that familiar warmth to it, even as he said dryly, “well, we were thinking of expanding into deliveries so we figured we’d make you the test run.”

Stiles frantically cleared a space for Derek to sit at his desk with him with his free hand, without relinquishing his coffee.

“Sandwiches in one, doughnuts in the other,” Derek said as he set the two bags down and sat in the chair opposite Stiles. He placed the book that had been tucked under his arm beside them too and Stiles’s heart skipped.

Derek had brought their ‘book lunch’ to him. And Derek was looking at him curiously so Stiles was sure his burning face and skittering breath were giving him away. Luckily, his growling stomach saved him from having to make any excuses. He set his coffee down reluctantly to reach for a sandwich portion with one hand and a doughnut with the other.

“You are literally my new favourite,” Stiles crooned, devouring the entire sandwich half in a few bites before rounding on the doughnut. “Mmm, talk, talk so I know you’re not staring at me in silent horror at my appalling eating habits.”

Derek laughed softly, ducking his head as he shook it in disbelief and opened up his own sandwich. “I was literally raised by wolves,” he deadpanned. “Our Sunday family dinners were like a free-for-all.”

A snort of laughter burst out of Stiles unbidden. The image of a young Derek fighting his sisters for the last potato or slice of beef had done it, offered so freely by Derek himself and with one of those private little smiles that seemed to be made just for him.

“Did book group come to me today?” Stiles asked, when all his half of the sandwiches were gone and he was more than half way through their coffee. He tilted his chin at the book on the table.

“I’m not sure if you’re up to this reading level, if I need to explain to you the definition of a ‘group’.”

“We can be a book couple then,” Stiles waved him off, delighting in the way Derek fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. “I’ll grab yours out of the Jeep before you go. It’s one of my favourites.”

Derek nodded, passing his book over to Stiles. There was an odd little frisson of tension in him as Stiles pulled it into his lap. Divergent by Veronica Roth. But as Stiles opened the cover and started to flick idly through it as he took another doughnut, Derek rose to his feet.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I brought enough for your dad too,” Derek said, too quickly, as he plucked up one of the now empty sandwich plates and set a couple of doughnuts on it before heading toward the main office. “Don’t eat all the glazed ones.”

Stiles hurriedly stuffed the rest of the one he’d been eating into his mouth and grabbed another as he browsed the pages of Derek’s book choice. He glimpsed a few random notes about people not putting books back in the proper section, as well as actual annotations on what the characters were up to on the page. But when Stiles came to a chapter that seemed quite thin on notes, he spotted a dark scribble in the margin that completely obscured whatever Derek had written there before. Next to it was an asterisk, one that corresponded to a line from the text that was underlined with stark red ink.

‘Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.’

Stiles lifted his head slowly, the world seeming to whirl into slow motion as he watched Derek through the windows in his dad’s office, watched him smile politely at his dad, watched his dad tuck into one of the doughnuts he’d been given.

What had Derek felt when reading that line that had made it stand out? And why had he changed his mind about letting Stiles know his thoughts on it?

In a total contradiction to his character, he didn’t ask.

*

When the air turned cold with the approach of winter, Stiles felt a warmth unrelated to the perfect mocha and the scarf Lydia bought him for Christmas last year when Derek joined him for lunch at Books & Coffee on Stiles’s day off.

Isaac didn’t serve anything more than cakes, pastries or cookies but he always rustled up some sandwiches for the staff lunches. Apparently Stiles counted as staff, since Isaac had set the BLT to end all BLTs in front of him not long after he’d taken his usual seat. Isaac didn’t though and when he disappeared back behind the counter on the far side, Stiles couldn’t help but notice that Derek was a little tense. His brow was furrowed in a frown that Stiles hadn’t seen on his face for months, one that spoke of uncertainty and worry. He had a book in his hand but he didn’t pass it to Stiles right away.

If Stiles had learned anything over the years, however, it was how to deal with sour-wolves.

His mouth ran away with him as it always did. He was on to rambling about the increase in stray cats being related to them finally setting the Nemeton to sleep a few years ago before Derek finally seemed to find his words.

“That scarf. It’s not really your style.”

Stiles blinked at the randomness of the insult. Huh. “You don’t like my scarf?” He wasn’t really a scarf man to be fair, but it was understated, universal and cosy and he hated the cold.

Derek grit his teeth, dragging a hand over the back of his neck as if he were annoyed with himself. “No, I…I didn’t…” He exhaled through his nose. “It’s a nice scarf, I just didn’t think you’d pick something like that, that’s all.”

“Because it’s nice?” Stiles teased with a raises brow.

Derek’s lips twitched, his unease dwindling a little at Stiles’s mischievous tone. “Well it doesn’t have a novelty print on for a start.”

Stiles laughed and he swore Derek averted his gaze at the sound but he couldn’t quite be sure. “Lydia bought it for me last Christmas; she knows I hate the cold. I have a beanie that goes with it but I guess I took it off before you saw.”

Derek’s face became unreadable at that and his fingers wrapped around the book on the table in front of him distractedly, still shielding the title from Stiles’s view.

“She loves you.” It wasn’t a question. It also wasn’t exactly wrong.

“We love each other. She’s…well after all we’ve been through, she was there for me when no one else was. And when I went away to college, she always made an effort, you know?” He grimaced a little. “I mean I love Scott too, you know I do. But, well…” He shrugged. “I’d die for Scotty, and he’d do the same for me, but our friendship changed. So did my relationship with Lydia. Just…I think when Scott became the alpha, his priorities had to change and that’s fine, but Lydia has always made me a priority, even when we both realised we loved each other more like a brother and sister than a girlfriend and boyfriend.”

Scotty was still his best guy, Lydia was just better for him. She knew that perfect balance of how to take care of him and how to give him freedom. Plus she had a tongue sharper than his and the same dry sense of humour.

“That’s life I suppose,” Derek murmured after a thoughtful moment. “Our relationships with people change as we find out who we really are.” His face looked dark all of a sudden.

“Like me and you?” Stiles prodded gently, a whisper of a smile accenting his words to try and banish the heavy atmosphere that had settled between them. “I bet you never thought you’d be spending your Saturdays with me when you first laid eyes on me in those woods all those years ago, huh?”

Derek studied him for a beat, but then something in him relaxed a fraction. He set his elbows on the table and folded his fingers just under his mouth. His eyes were sort of hazel-green. They almost had flecks of burnished gold in, Stiles thought. He’d never noticed before.

“You’re quite welcome to spend your Saturday with someone else if you’ve got a better option.” Derek’s words carried that familiar biting, teasing tone that he often used with Stiles, the one that made Stiles’s insides twitch. But Stiles thought there was something else there too. He wasn’t an idiot but Derek was still holding back. He’d been hurt before and Stiles knew, because he was nosy, that Derek hadn’t been with anyone since his fling with Braeden years ago. So if Derek needed time, he’d be patient. Let him move at his pace. Stiles was in no hurry.

“Nah, I’ll keep my harem as back up if you ever realise what a dork I am.”

Derek laughed, soft and breathy and his cheeks suffused with a barely-there hint of pink. “I know you’re a dork.” With that, he nudged the book in front of him across the clean table and Stiles finally looked at the cover.

The King’s Name by Jo Walton. He’d never heard of it before. He told Derek as much with eager delight, always excited to find something new. The books that Derek picked revealed so much, he thought. About what he liked, what he didn’t. That was the reason he felt a personal rush when he handed over a new book.

Sometimes it meant more than others. Like now, for example, he grinned devilishly as Derek opened his copy of The Wolfman by Jonathan Maberry that Stiles had given him, outright laughing when Derek scowled at the note inside the front page:

Just for the LOLs.

Today his book was just for fun. But he couldn’t guess what Derek would read from Stiles’s notes throughout.

Judging by Derek’s hesitance to hand his book over though, it meant something more profound to him. Something so important he was nervous to share. He kept glancing at it as they talked over coffee and their sandwiches, as if he wanted to snatch it back and change his mind. Stiles subtly tucked his elbow on top. That baby was his.

*

Stiles read the book and Derek didn’t have to spell it out for him in exact words in the margins for him to get why Derek gave it to him.

It’d been a while since he had needed to unleash his ‘Google-Fu’ but by the time the sky had started to thin into pinkish pre-dawn, he’d found his way through most of the reputable websites it had to offer, as well as a few disreputable ones.

By the time the alarm meant to wake him sounded, he’d found himself reading through the forum for Beacon County’s AAA, Aromantic Asexual Alliance. Thankfully it was his day off. One of the few days he and his dad had off at the same time and so the day of the annual Stilinski breakfast. His stomach growled in anticipation of sustenance because he hadn’t moved since he’d sat down in his chair last night, after he’d read enough of the book, enough of Derek’s seemingly inconsequential annotations to understand exactly why he’d chosen it.

He glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen, running his knuckles absently across his lips as he thought.

He bookmarked the forum for reading later and headed out for a shower before his dad got up and realised he hadn’t been to bed.

*

In typical Stiles research mode, he found out everything he could. After breakfast with his dad, he made an excuse abouting trying to Skype Lydia then shut himself away until dinner, soaking up information like a sponge to water.

As predicted the AAA forum for Beacon County was the most helpful, run by real people with real experiences. While it didn’t tell him everything, it told him a lot. He discovered how different people who identified as asexual or aromantic could be. He learned that some people were indifferent to sex, while some were actively repulsed by it, could feel a mixture of the two on any given day.

He wondered what Derek liked, what he didn’t. Then he got caught up in thoughts of Derek’s fling with Braeden, the thrall Jennifer Blake had ensnared him with, the just sixteen year-old Derek and everything Kate had done to him on the back of his innocent high school romance that had been cut fatally short.

His thoughts kept him up well into the night, swirling around and around in his head. He rolled over onto his side at around two in the morning and found himself staring at the shiny hardback copy of Allegiant, the third book in the series Derek had started him on. He hadn’t started it yet, had been intending to make it his next book to share with Derek, a fitting choice, he’d thought. He snatched it up, flicked the light on and dug around in his bedside drawer for his favourite yellow highlighter, Then he snuggled down into his blankets as he started to read.

He sank into the story, jotting down his thoughts of Derek and the thousand questions he wanted to ask him but didn’t know how to phrase respectfully aloud. The things he thought he should ask, thought he shouldn’t ask. They occurred to him at random, often nothing to do with what was on the page. But he still highlighted the lines or passages that spoke to him. That fit them.

‘We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.’

Are you asexual? Aromantic? Somewhere in between?

‘It is the same urge, I realize, that makes me want to kiss her every time I see her, because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.’

Does sex repulse you? Or is it just like meh?

‘Yes, well, I realized that we’ve never been on an actual date.’

Dude, we’ve totally been dating the last few months without realising. And I like that. I think you liked it too?

‘”Why’s he bleeding?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”’

This line gives me dejavu. Multiple dejavus actually.

‘I feel like, if I read this book, I can reach backward through all the generations of humanity to the very first one, wherever it was—that I can participate in something many times larger and older than myself.’

I am so hungry right now. But the kitchen is so far away. I think I have half a packet of Oreos in my bag. They’re probably still good.

‘How many young men fear that there is a monster inside them?’

How long were you internalising all your confusion and fear about this before you figured it out?

‘Her absence stings worst of all.’

I miss you sometimes. Even when I’ve just seen you. That’s weird, isn’t it?

‘How have I never realized before that for all the strong, kind parts of him, there are also hurting, broken parts?’

I’m not afraid of any part of you, you know? Or repulsed by you. I think all parts of you are pretty beautiful actually.

‘“A group of scientists told you that my genes were damaged, that there was something wrong with me–’

You know there’s nothing wrong with you, don’t you?

‘“That you’re whole, that you’re worth loving, that you’re the best person I’ve ever known.”’

I can research until my eyes start bleeding but no internet forum or web article is going to tell me the most important thing, which is what you like and what you don’t. How you feel about me.

*

By Sunday evening he’d finished the book and found himself worrying about his usual lunch with Derek the next day. Worrying about all the ways he could be an insensitive prick with verbal diarrhoea and say something accidentally offensive or ignorant or just plain stupid.

He’d been staring at the closed book for nearly an hour before he made a decision.

His dad was on shift that night, so he took him his dinner via the Tupperware and on his way back, he stopped at Derek’s apartment that he shared with Cora and Isaac. It was a sprawling converted loft apartment above the shop that spanned over two floors.

Of course he wasn’t in. Apparently he was picking up some new books with Cora from the city but Isaac let him in and Stiles left Allegiant on Derek’s bed before ducking out, knowing Isaac would respect Derek’s privacy and not touch it.

It occured to him as he climbed back into his car that Derek might be overthinking things even more than him, second-guessing revealing such a personal part of him to Stiles and so on impulse he sent him a quick breezy text.

Bring me back a present from the big city!

*

He woke the next morning to his reply.

You better not have touched anything when you were in my room.

Stiles continued to grin all the way to the station, his anxiety that he’d written the wrong thing or completely misjudged the situation appeased by the easy teasing he could hear from Derek even in a text.

*

Of course that was the one day all the criminals in Beacon Hills decided to make themselves known. Stiles didn’t stop all day and his lunch break was instead occupied with an aggressive shoplifter as high as a kite. It took three of them to subdue him, because whatever he’d taken had made him not know how to stop, even though he’d nearly given himself a broken nose on the pavement by the time they managed to get him into a cell to cool down.

Stiles did manage to shoot Derek a hasty text before leaping to aid the front desk with aggressive high shoplifter’s even more aggressive mother, who’d stormed the station after he’d been booked.

It’s crazy here today. Can’t do lunch. Meet me after?

By the time he got to go home, his cell battery had died, he was starving and restless from bad station coffee. But all of that fell away when he walked out the front doors and saw Derek leaning up against his Jeep. He was dressed in a dark grey sweater that made him look so soft and cosy that Stiles just wanted to sink into him.

He was stiff, apprehensive as Stiles approached, but there was also that barely there little smile that he reserved just for Stiles.

“Have you been waiting out here for me my entire shift?” Stiles asked apologetically.

Derek shrugged. “I waited here for a bit, then I heard your dad say if you weren’t out of there in twenty he would fire you, so I took my chances and hit the drive-thru down the street.”

It was then that Stiles saw the bag hanging from his hand.

He snatched it from him and unlocked the Jeep, not even protesting when Derek slid into the driver’s side so he could ride shotgun and devour the burger and extra large fries within. “I’m not even going to pretend to be pissed at your supernatural eavesdropping if it means you always know when to bring me food.”

Derek rolled his eyes and took the keys to start the ignition. As he pulled out onto the road though, he seemed on the precipice of speech for some time. It wasn’t until they approached the first junction that he asked, “can we…go somewhere?”

Stiles only hesitated a moment before nodding, his mouth full. Then he flicked the heater on to ward off the biting evening chill. Derek glanced at him, clearly giving him a once over before he took a left at the lights.

When Stiles realised, even in the dark that they weren’t heading for Derek’s place or downtown or even the preserve he paused between bites. “So…did you mean ‘go somewhere’ to bury my body?”

“We’re heading to your house,” Derek replied without looking away from the road, his voice giving nothing away. “You’re not dressed for anything else.”

Stiles snorted. “Is that you refraining from scolding me for forgetting my coat?” When Derek didn’t reply, the next words fall out of Stiles’s mouth, unbidden. “Don’t you like me in my uniform?”

He panicked internally as he thought of how stupid that was to say, especially given the conversation they were likely to have imminently. Especially since he didn’t know where Derek stood on that stuff. Had he just made Derek really uncomfortable? Before he could scramble to apologise, he just caught Derek side-eyeing him in a way that Stiles could only identify as appreciative.

So…not uncomfortable then. A bit embarrassed at being caught out, most likely, but most definitely not uninterested or unaffected.

His dad was back at the station still, so the house was quiet when they stepped inside. Stiles grabbed two sodas from the fridge and offered one to Derek, who took it silently leaving Stiles to dither on the spot for a moment before leading him into the living room.

He was equal parts relieved and reassured when Derek took the seat beside him on the sofa.

They sat there for a while, consumed by silence and the knowledge that what came next would determine their relationship. It didn’t help that neither of them were particularly well-versed in saying the right thing.

In the end, Stiles stared at the place where he was rubbing his palms together, fingers fidgeting with each pass before he managed, “did you…read the book?”

Derek exhaled slowly. “I read what you wrote.”

Stiles stopped, turning his head slightly from where he was leaning forward to meet Derek’s eyes. He still couldn’t make out what was going on behind them. He licked his dry lips. “Do you…? I mean…” He sighed in frustration and sat back to look at Derek fully. “Oh god, are you pissed at me? Did I completely misread the situation? About you? About…me and you?”

Derek seemed to startle a little at the bluntness, floundering for words.

Stiles showed restraint and patience for the first time in his life and waited.

“You didn’t misread anything.” His fingers worried the neck of the unopened bottle in his hands, almost just to anchor himself in that moment. He seemed to study it for a long time, the longest Stiles himself had ever sat still and silent in his life. Then, softly, carefully, Derek’s voice eased into the quiet again. “While Cora and I were in South America, we spent some time with a pack there.”

Stiles nodded, refraining from reminding Derek that he knew this, that he and Derek had even talked about the pack and the way they ran things down there.

“Two of the betas there, the ones that we stayed with while we visited, they were ace.” Derek still didn’t look up but his tone remained even. He wasn’t distressed, wasn’t worried in any way. It was just hard for him to explain, Stiles realised, to put into words something that was so natural, so innate to him that it eluded simple explanation. Because Derek had never had to put it into words for anyone before.

“When I realised what that meant, it felt like the validation I’d been waiting for my whole life.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. “And you…I mean I know all of the things it can mean, but what does it mean for you?”

Derek turned his face to look at him at last, calm and entirely comfortable in his own skin and so different to the scared, uncertain young man Stiles had seen in the woods the day after Peter had attacked Scott. He wasn’t confused about what he felt, he wasn’t lost. He’d spent that time in South America and even the last few years here finding himself.

“I just don’t want sex,” he said. “I don’t think I ever did.”

Stiles didn’t have to ask to understand the unspoken truth in those words, to understand the confusion and inexperience that had driven a more vulnerable, younger Derek to believe sex was the only way to make connections. He wondered about the journey that Derek had taken to this well-adjusted man in front of him. Derek had told him so much already but there was a lot he felt he’d yet to learn.

“So it’s not repulsive to you? You just…don’t want to?”

“I’m not disgusted by the idea of it I’m…Eloa and Lucas, the couple we stayed with–”

“The ace couple?”

Derek’s lips twitched, obviously pleased at the sound of that word coming so easily to Stiles’s lips. Derek knew him well enough to know he had spent every spare moment in the last couple of days researching frantically for every scrap of information he could find. There was a fond appreciation clear on his face as he replied, “yes. They called it being ‘sex positive.’ I’m not disgusted by it, I just don’t want to do it.” His gaze wavered briefly.

“I used to force myself to, when I liked someone, like that was the only way I knew how to feel…” He cleared his throat, shrugging slightly. “So I did it. But it turned things sour and it wasn’t until South America that I started to realise why.” Derek hesitated, searching Stiles’s eyes before he added more softly, more vulnerably. “I don’t want that with you.”

Exhaling shakily, his voice husky with caged emotion, Stiles asked, “and what do you want with me, exactly?” He had to be sure. “I’ve got quite the overactive imagination; you’ll probably have to spell it out for me. Just in case.”

Derek’s gaze turned molten with tenderness, burnished gold-green-brown alight with affection that makes Stiles’s heart flutter. “I can show you?”

Stiles couldn’t breathe.

Derek’s thick lashes fluttered as he leaned in, tentatively cupping the back of Stiles’s neck. He edged in, so slow, as if he were wading into unfamiliar waters until their lips brushed. It was all tenderness, sweet and soft. It made Stiles’s skin prickle all over with warmth, Derek’s thumb brushing his cheek. Derek drew back to look into his eyes, to ask a million silent questions, and to each one the answer was yes.

When Derek leaned back in Stiles exhaled shakily, not from arousal but from the sheer overwhelming intimacy of it as Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles’s. His beard was just long enough to be a soft prickle against Stiles’s cheekbone, his jaw, his neck. It was like scenting, more personal than any French kiss or messy tumble through the sheets. Because this was Derek, holding him close, nuzzling into his hair and kissing the side of his mouth, his cheek, breathing him in like he was the first breath of clean air after a lifetime of living underground.

He wasn’t entirely sure where to put his hands, or how far was too far for Derek, how much would be too sexual. But the hunger he felt wasn’t for sex so much as to hold Derek as close as Derek was holding him. To show him, to make his head spin the same way that Stiles’s did.

“Is this what you like?” he asked breathlessly, kissing Derek’s lips gently, softly dragging his nose along the line of Derek’s. He brought his own hand up to stroke down the back of Derek’s head through his hair, before letting his fingers cup Derek’s nape in a mirror of the hand curled around his own.

Derek melted into him, the strings of apprehension that had been holding him back sagging with relief. “I like that,” he assured Stiles, voice low yet soft with emotion. He’d undoubtedly had experience with relationships more to his taste since South America; with how confident he was in what he liked and what he didn’t. By the way his breath skittered against Stiles’s cheek as their foreheads touched, however, by the way his fingers gripped Stiles’s hair, like he was barely in control, Stiles knew he’d never felt quite like this.

Neither of them had ever felt like this before.

Just like that, Derek showed Stiles how he liked intimacy, physical contact, kisses and the way Stiles nuzzled behind his ear. He liked the way Stiles pressed against his neck and just breathed there, warm and close.

Stiles felt flushed all over, arms finding their way around Derek, gently, hesitantly, looking for any cue that Derek might not be comfortable.

“Can we...lie down?” Stiles asks in a barely there voice. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Derek drew back to study him, “yeah that’s…yeah.”

Grinning at Derek’s inarticulacy, Stiles shimmied down the worn, comfy sofa, fitting into the shape of Derek’s body when he lay down beside him. It was awkward at first, not the least because they were two full-grown men squeezed onto one sofa, but also because at first Stiles wasn’t sure how close to press, or where. He was definitely over thinking this but he couldn’t stop, he wanted to do this right and…

Then Derek’s arm came around him, as much to hold him close as to stop him from falling off the sofa onto the floor. Stiles gave a little huff of laughter into the hollow of his throat and just relaxed against him, one arm trapped between them, the other settling against Derek’s chest, his ever-moving fingers fiddling distractedly with the collar of Derek’s sweater.

They stayed like that for a while, melting together in the cosy quiet of the house. At some point, Stiles let his eyes fall shut to the sound of Derek’s heart thudding close to his ear. He murmured soft questions into the fabric covering Derek’s shoulder and Derek answered every one as easy as breathing.

“So we could do this like…in a bed and that’d be cool?”

“Mmm,” Derek answered the affirmative.

“What if I accidentally touched your butt or something? Or if you saw me naked?”

Derek gave a snort of amusement. “As long as you didn’t expect sex it doesn’t matter to me. I won’t be…offended by it. It’s hard to be uncomfortable about your body or nudity in general when you’re a werewolf. That’s not what it’s about for me. We’re naturally comfortable with all of that.”

“Supernaturally, even.”

Stiles didn’t have to see Derek’s face to know he was rolling his eyes.

“So if I like, stayed over, or you stayed over here or in the far future we lived together like an old married couple – or hypothetically were an old married couple – and I jerked off in the shower and you happened to overhear?”

Derek shrugged, still not seeming too perturbed. “I would give you privacy. It wouldn’t matter as long as you didn’t do it with me next to you or pressure me to join you.”

Frowning, Stiles lifted his head. “I would never pressure you, ever. And if I ever do it by accident I’d want you to tell me, because there are some things even Google doesn’t know, dude. All the research in the world isn’t going to tell me everything I need to know about what’s okay for you and what isn’t.”

Derek pushed up then, the movement forcing Stiles to edge onto his back on the sofa with Derek hovering over him, so that he could look into his eyes when he spoke again. “I just…you’ve got a sexual appetite and I don’t have a problem with it, Stiles. I’m not going to lose my shit any time it surfaces. It’s a part of you. I just need to know…”

For the first time that night, Derek sounded unsure of himself and Stiles could practically read the unspoken ‘is this too much to ask?’ in his voice. “I need to be sure you know what we’re getting into here. What I can offer you, what I can’t. It’s not personal but I’m never going to want to have sex with you. Not because I’m not attracted to you, or that I don’t want you, but because…” He winced as he struggled for words, “because I express closeness in a different way. I don’t need or want sex to validate how I feel about you.”

Stiles wondered if Derek realised he hadn’t actually said how he feels felt him yet. His lips parted to say just that but Derek cut him off.

“I know that…to some people who feel a desire for sex it can feel like…settling. And I didn’t want to ask you to give up something you like. So I didn’t ask. For a long time.”

Stiles exhaled shakily, gently squeezing Derek’s shoulders so that they could roll back up to sit next to each other, still touching, still close, but able to look each other in the eye from the same level which felt important at that moment.

“I’m glad you asked. Because if you think I wouldn’t give up having sex once or twice a week or whatever to do this–” Stiles gestured between them, to their easy proximity, the place where they’d been cuddling moments before, “–with you then I think you’re not clear on how I feel about you either.” He swallowed thickly. “I wouldn’t consider it as ‘giving up’ anything. Not really.”

Derek looked a little flushed, his eyes bright with the soft glow of the lamplight. He was trying to tell Stiles that this was ‘all’ he could ever give him, but Stiles was trying to show him that there was no sacrifice in that. Not to him. It was just something they didn’t feel the same about, a difference in desires in just one aspect of their lives and it was a fairly significant difference, but it wasn’t everything. It didn’t counter all the other ways that they did fit together.

He didn’t feel restrained or awkward or hungry for something Derek couldn’t give. He just wanted to be with him, everyday, as close as Derek would have him.

It would probably take some time for them both to understand each other’s feelings, their likes or dislikes, but that was a part of any relationship, with or without sex.

“I’m not saying it’s not going to be an adjustment,” Stiles said, “that I won’t fuck up sometimes, because yeah I do find you attractive in all ways. Sexually included, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pressure you or resent you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to see where this goes. I want you. What I feel for you, this closeness we have? It comes from love, not lust.”

It wasn’t a passionate inferno that was going to burn out in a few weeks or months, but a warm, glowing heat they could cultivate and sink into, wake up to every morning and fall asleep with every night.

“Am I going to have to go get a book so we can iron out the creases?” Stiles mused.

Derek looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not tonight.” He smirked. “I have to finish the last book first.”

Stiles laughed, and on impulse, leaned in to kiss the corner of Derek’s mouth. Derek looked pleased, if a little giddy when Stiles pulled back. “So for now, you’ll have to help show me the boundaries as we go, right?”

Derek nodded, expression soft, hair all mussed, eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

“So…there’s a hefty portion of cheesecake leftover in the fridge. Would the boundaries be good with it joining us on my bed upstairs for some sort of movie-snuggle-type situation?”

Derek’s smile was subtle and devastating all at once. “The boundaries would be good with that.” And he dipped his head a little with that shy little nod Stiles had only seen a few times before. And even if it wouldn’t always be as easy as this, if he could see Derek look at him like that, he thought they’d do just fine.

“What book were you on when you realised you loved me?” Stiles asked as they sat on his bed a little later, fighting with two forks over the best bits of the leftover Oreo marshmallow cheesecake while the opening of the movie sounded on his bedroom TV.

“Probably somewhere around Casino Royale and The Book Thief,” he answered, a teasing glint in his eye. “Although I started to question how much I really liked you when you gave me The Wolf Man.”

Stiles cackled delightedly and while he was distracted, Derek stole the last piece of cheesecake.

The End.

[typetypetype2]

Chapter 2: Witch Store

“I changed my mind, I’m not going. I thought about it and it doesn’t make sense for me to be around someone I know pisses me off.”

“Are you sure? I already told everybody you were coming.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Me you and Sari can hang some other time, I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone and put it in my back pocket. I put my headphones back in and pressed play.

It wasn’t the first time I had turned down something like this last minute and it won't be the last. Hell, it wasn’t the first time I had been invited to something last minute and I know it won't be the last either. Hopping back on my broom I could hear Wobble’s purrs of praise from my bag. He always hated when I would force myself into these of situations. Before take-off, I take out my phone again and shoot The Boss a quick text telling him that I'm on my way to his place.

Boss’ place is on the opposite side of town but it's always worth the trip. Him and his brother are always up to something interesting. They always seem to enjoy mine and Wobble’s company. Putting my phone into my pocket again, we took off. For once there isn’t much sky traffic in the city. Being this high up is my favorite part about being a witch. It makes me feel big. Like the little things I do in my life matter.

My life hasn’t always been this free. Every moment I can I try to forget where I was before. Flying over the city looking down on the streets below fills me with a sense of strength and dread. I was down there once, barley scraping by on the change I'd been given by random people who I'd perform for. I used my magic to do parlor tricks for anyone I could. It made me feel gross, used, and worthless. Kids would mock me as they passed. Adults with any sense of pride would shy away from my gaze. Even those who would spare their coin looked down on me. 

Then The Boss found me. He pulled me out of it and pushed me to become who I am today. A strong witch who’s working on getting their footing as an adult. It was a struggle getting here and feeling like I belonged. I still don’t feel like I do most days. My friends, my boyfriend, and so many others all believed in me and still do. They got me where I am today. Flying over the city on a broom that I bought myself.  

I shake my head, I’m not going to end up there again. It’s best to just move on and forget it. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Oh, we’re passing the clock tower. Not long left buddy!” I yelled to Wobble.

I felt him shuffle in response. The clock tower stands at the center of town and is the tallest building in the city. From here I can see the western wall clear as day. The cities outer walls make it look more like a fortress instead of a mecca for guilds. The moss covered walls stand to protect people and crops from the harsh elements. At each of the four corners of the walls stands a giant pillar. Each pillar has its own witches and guards who let residents back in or out after raids and missions. The witches also serve to cast spells onto the city in case of emergency. The main job of each pillar personnel is keeping the natural elements at bay.

The Boss lives closer to the walls than anyone else I know. Living as far out as this gives him a gorgeous commute. Every morning he gets to ride his motorcycle past crops and flower fields. This time of year the entire field is being used to grow lilies for the spring festival. The space behind Boss’ house though is my absolute favorite area of the city. It’s the training forest. A deep dense expanse of trees used to teach new witches and guards the ropes. How Boss talked people into selling him his property I will never know but my guess is he’s just rich.

 “I can see the fields now Wobble!” I yelled over the wind. It had picked up much faster than I had expected, surprising me and scaring the poor cat in my backpack. I could feel his claws digging into the back of the bag, trying to stay as sturdy as possible.

"Calm." I gently asked the wind. Ever since training I’ve been shit with the controlling or in my case managing the elements. I let out a sigh, hoping that my plea will be respected. Surprisingly, the wind starts to slow. I calm down and get my bearings.

The flower fields are full of beautiful colors this time of the year. With this wind, the windmills begin to turn, and the flowers below paint a lovely picture of spring in the hills. I can see the Boss's cobblestone cottage from here. Pushing softly downward on my broom I began to lower myself to come in for a landing. The closer I get to the cottage stronger the wind seems to get. I had landed in this yard more times than I could ever count, whether it had been in rain or once even gentle snow, no matter the weather it never gets any easier.

“Slow” I whispered to the broom pushing harder on the hilt. “We don't want to get blown back!” Looking at the ground only a few feet from the doorstep I envisioned myself landing peacefully on my feet and leaning the broom against the cool surface of the building. “Make it so!” I forced, hoping the broom had the same vision that I did.

The wind spiked, pushing me backward toward the bristles of the broom. I pushed down harder realizing too late that once I had been pushed back, I was gripping the wrong part of the broom. Pushing down now in the middle meant that the entire balance of the landing would be straight down and not angled like I wanted. Trying to re-center myself I moved forward, loosening my grip.

“FUCK!”

The wind crashed at my side, throwing me sideways clean off the broom and into the open-air several feet above the ground.

@lesbiusmaximus @the-top-muffin @guardianrosee

[feywildatheart]

Oh Darna. I wish you were here, too. I wish I could have that hug. I don't know about legend, but-- Well. I won't argue with you about that. I may have your stubbornness, but you've had more years to hone it, and I can recognize arguments I won't win.

I don't feel like a legend. Shouldn't legends feel like they have the faintest idea of what they're doing? When does that start?

I am sorry to make you worry. I hated writing you about the balhannoth, because I knew how it would make you both fear for me. I'm trying to be better, and smarter, I am, I just don't know... how.

You will, I think, be glad to know that we've begun the process of increasing our supplies. We've left Haewood and come to the port city of Arstead, which is quite sizeable. We stopped in at a shop for spell components for Elyn, so she'll be able to cast Teleportation Circle, which she's recently learned, and while we were there I bought a potion of climbing, to have should the occasion arise that I find myself in need of climbing swiftly and well, since Elyn and Cloudleaper are both far better at it than I am, and we went to the Pack and Tack where Elyn perused their armor, but ultimately didn't find anything she liked enough to buy, and I bought a set of lockpicks. We spent a few days making our way into and then up through the sorceress's tower when we were down in the ruins, just before returning to Haewood, and within the tower we found a few doors barred to us by locks and with no means at all of circumventing them, so I-- Well, I'm sure you both recall those adventuring novels I took a fancy to after the first time you took me to Cadiz Beta, and wheedled with you until you bought me my LICD and the rest of the series so I wouldn't be left in suspense when we returned home. They were always picking locks in those books, and goodness knows I read and reread them enough to have them practically memorized. And I'm decently good with my hands, a bit steadier in a pinch than either Elyn or Cloudleaper at any rate, and so I thought, well, what was there to lose? And I borrowed a screwdriver from Elyn and, with her tools and her encouragement and those novels buoying me up, I made a go at seeing if I could work the lock open.

And, nenîth, you won't believe it but it worked! There were a few locked doors in the tower, all told, and I was able to get each of them open in turn. It must be because the locks were so very old, I'm sure, they must be simpler technology, less secure. In any case, though, I didn't suppose that using the wrong tool for the job was going to make me any better at it, so I bought the lockpicks while we were at the Pack and Tack, and got a recommendation from them about where I might find a bookstore likely to carry an instruction manual that I can learn from, and with a bit of luck and a great deal of practice, perhaps the next time we encounter a locked door -- ancient or otherwise -- I'll be able to make sure it doesn't stand in our way.

I'm going to try, anyway.

There was a compendium of monsters and beasts at the bookstore, too, that I set my eye on, and when I opened it up to see if it had anything about a balhannoth written there (no one we've spoken to, really, seems to have much more than a vague notion of what it actually is, and I envy them that, but it seemed like a decent litmus test to identify just how thorough and useful the compendium might be), Cloudleaper leaned over quicker than I could snatch the book away and wrote in it, just wrote right in it, something about balhannoths being a nightmare to fight, as though that's news to any of us at this point. I protested, and the store clerks were highly disapproving, and Cloudleaper declared she was going to buy it for me, to make it up to us both I think, so I let her.

After the bookstore, we headed across town to find a tanner whose name Elyn had been given, to see if they could make something of the dragon hide that we found in the balhannoth's lair, and Cloudleaper started wailing in the middle of the street, because -- honestly, I'm still not exactly sure what happened. Elyn and I managed to convince her to collapse onto Squirt's back, rather than there in the middle of the street, so we could get her to a park and try to figure out what was wrong, which seems to be that her friend Stormflight, from the monastery, wrote her and something about the letter made her realize that she's in love with him, which she seems to think is something utterly terrible.

I really don't understand her at all.

There didn't seem to be anything that we could do to try to console her, so Elyn distracted her by taking her off to find trousers and boots to replace the ones that have been a mess ever since we fought the balhannoth, and while they did that I excused myself to go find a decent tech shop.

It occurred to me at some point during the few days we spent in Haewood, after leaving the ruins, when we were all rejoicing in having LICD connection again, that we could almost certainly afford an upgrade there, too, and I thought-- well, Cloudleaper's always so upset when she doesn't have access to the internet and the stories she likes to read, and I thought I could buy her one, as a sort of a gesture, and an attempt to repair some of what's broken between us. And then she was so upset by Stormflight's letter, it seemed the right time to go and get it, and try to make her happy.

It wasn't terribly hard to find a decent tech shop, and the clerk there was very helpful, and in short order I left with three IICDs, one for each of us, and with special access on Cloudleaper's to science databases, and on Elyn's to ones for music and history, and on mine to a beastiary, to hopefully keep us better informed about the things we might be finding ourselves facing.

Elyn and Cloudleaper weren't at the shop where I'd left them when I came back, but I managed to find them, wandering about in search of a tech shop themselves, it turned out. I gave Cloudleaper her IICD, and-- oh, Darna, she's so effusive! I don't think I'm particularly reserved when it comes to affection, but Cloudleaper's is always so overwhelming! Maybe it's only because she's twice my size that I'm so easily overwhelmed.

In any case, she sobbed, which was very concerning and the opposite of what I'd hoped to accomplish, and then she snatched me up in her arms and squeezed all the breath out of me, and when she finally set me down I gave Elyn hers, who looked very startled by it -- as though I'd have bought such a thing for Cloudleaper but left her empty-handed!

Once Cloudleaper had recovered, they mentioned their search for a tech shop, and I was going to show them to mine until Cloudleaper got that look in her eye that she sometimes gets and started being all insistent about how I hadn't paid more than fifty gold for it, had I? And, well, I was perfectly capable of affording what they cost, and I don't in any way feel that the price was unfair, but it was definitely more than fifty gold, and I just had a vision of Cloudleaper storming into the shop and terrorizing that poor clerk who had been so helpful to me, so I changed my mind about that right quick, and then Elyn reminded us about our plans to find the tanner Balla, so we headed off in that direction.

Balla was very kind and helpful, though his eyes about popped out of his head when I pulled the dragon hide out of our bag. He seems to know what he's about, though, and said that he could make a set of armor from it, and that the properties of the hide would likely give its wearer some extra protections against dragons. Elyn and I have both been feeling a need for a little bit more protection than we have, especially after that balhannoth, so it was a little disappointing to learn that there was only enough material for him to fashion one set of armor, but Elyn and I are close enough in size, at least, so we commissioned him to tan the hide and make a set of studded armor from it, in dimension that would fit either of us, and I suppose once it's finished Elyn and I can argue over who it belongs to. I'm inclined to insist that she takes it, since I have my cloak to help protect me and also it's really imperative to all of us that she stays on her feet, since she's the one with the healing magic. I think she's as inclined to shove it at me, though, she's always saying that it's important that I stay on my feet, because I have the wand of healing and can get her back on hers if need be. So, we'll have to see how that goes once it's finished, and perhaps in the meantime as we continue our shopping, she or I will find some other set of armor that we fall in love with, and the debate will be moot.

We decided to find a bank after that, so we could unload some of the considerable amount of loose coins in the bag of holding and put them into our account, but as we were walking Elyn heard music playing somewhere nearby, and so of course we had to make a detour to find its source. We met a pair of dwarven cousins who were busking, one playing the harp while the other sang, and after we'd watched for a while and Elyn struck up a conversation, they invited her to join them, and seemed to appreciate both her own harp and her gloves very much. They played a song from their home planet about the creation of the Ollamh Harp, and it was incredibly lovely.

Eventually Elyn said that we should leave before the bank closed for the day, though it was obvious she'd have stayed longer if she could, and neither Cloudleaper or I were rushing her away. But off we went, and took up some poor teller's time as we dug all nine thousand coins out, one handful at a time.

Cloudleaper and I got into a little bit of an argument then -- well, it wasn't heated, so I suppose it was more of a debate. But she started talking about how we should be investing our money, so that it earns interest and we can have more money, and ... I just can't fathom the purpose of that. We have so much already! What's the point of acquiring it for its own sake? She was talking about investing it in the sorts of places that wouldn't let us have access to it for years, and what if we need it? And when I protested she started demanding, what if I get hurt and I need it for my medical bills, what if I die and it's needed for funeral costs. I pointed out that there are temples dedicated to healing those in need of it, and that our funds would be better used in service to keeping us alive than squirreled away in event of our death, but Cloudleaper didn't much seem to hear me about any of that, and she was just getting more agitated and the conversation was just going in circles, so I said that she could do whatever she liked with her portion of the money, and left it at that.

I don't know, I don't think your or Cylla will agree with me, considering what you said in your letter about managing our money. It's not that I'm opposed to the idea entirely, but I need a better reason for it. Elyn mentioned saving up for a college fund for the kids, and that's a reason I can get behind, but I don't care about acquiring money just for the sake of having it. And we're already doing that, aren't we? If the balance in our party funds is anything to judge by, we're already acquiring money faster than we can spend it.

Anyway. Elyn cut through the argument by suggesting that we all go get dinner and talk about Stormflight's letter, if Cloudleaper felt like talking about it, and to my considerable surprise she did. So off we went, and what followed was a very bewildering conversation, in which Cloudleaper said with one breath that she loves him, and with the next that she'll never say so because she doesn't deserve to be happy, which is such bullshit. Even I, who has spent much of our time together unhappy with her and thinking she disliked me, wouldn't have ever said that she didn't deserve to be happy. We tried to gently encourage her to see that, Elyn and I, and I asked if that was why she'd cried when I'd given her the IICD, because I'd gotten it for her specifically to try to make her happy, and I told her she could give it back if she didn't want it (I didn't really think she'd take me up on that, not considering how delighted she'd been by it when I gave it to her), and she snatched me up again and squeezed me again and started going on about how I was hers now and she would fight to the death for me (I pointed out, with what breath I could manage, that she's already done that, she's killed lots of things for me and Elyn both).

I still don't know what to make of her. I think I've given up on ever knowing what to make of her. She talked in such a matter-of-fact manner about not deserving to be happy, like it was a simple and undisputed fact, like the speed of light or the force of gravity. And then she started talking about leaving like the one thing followed from the other, and only Elyn pointing out that the two of us will definitely die without her stopped that particular line of conversation.

In any case, at least now we all have our IICDs, and magical necromancer towers notwithstanding, should find ourselves much less likely to be out of signal range and out of contact than we so far have, which I hope will be a relief to you both. And we've made a start to better equipping ourselves, at least, and once we decide on where to go next we will hopefully be able to make some further progress on that. I wrote to Marsa, asking if she knew of where might be a good place to go to find magical supplies, and she suggested a few options that we've yet to decide between. She mentioned Sumula Station as one, and I think Elyn and I would both be glad for an excuse to go catch up with Biza, but there are a few others she listed as well, and we're thinking we might reach out to the adventuring guild for guidance on where to start. We've certainly the funds to take teleportation circles from one to the next if we felt the need to shop widely, though.

I'll write you both once I know where we're heading, or if anything exciting happens in the meantime -- though I certainly hope it doesn't, I think we've all three had our fill of excitement for at least a little while. I'd like to at least get our shopping done and the lot of us a little better equipped, before the next excitement finds us.

I love you both, more than my letters can ever convey.

Maliah

[overcastgames]

Super Mario Party: More Mario, Less Party

Super Mario Party recently hit store shelves and Nintendo touted this entry in the series as a return to form for the series, going back to what the series was pre Mario Party 9-10 and some would argue 8. For those wondering if the game lives up to that promise, the answer is complicated. 

Mario Party is a series that I have always admired from afar. I owned 1 and 3 on the N64 when I was a child, and when the GameCube hit, I rented 4 and 5. it is only recently that I have had the chance to play 6, and I borrowed 7 from a friend when I was in high school. By the time the Wii rolled around, I had lost interest in playing the series, as the motion controls shoe-horned into every Wii game made it hard to enjoy playing. 9 and 10 were a departure from the series formula, as the company responsible for the Mario Party series was bought by Konami and subsequently shut down. However anyone who has played those games can tell you that they certainly did not live up to the Mario Party name.

When it was announced that Super Mario Party would be bringing back the original format for the series, their was an air of hesitant anticipation around it. In some aspects it delivers, but in others it fails to execute.

Starting with Super Mario Party’s strongest point, it’s minigames. The Minigames in a Mario Party game are a big part of what makes the game a Mario Party game, and the ones featured here are no exception. The games in Super Mario Party are some of the best they have been in a while. Shout outs to Slaparazzi, a game where players must fight each other to get front and center for a picture, it’s a chaotic mess, and one that I feel like I could continue playing for hours. The way that the series has handled minigame practice has changed as well, in the past, there would be a practice round that players could choose if they were unfamiliar with the game. In Super Mario Party, practice takes place on the instruction menu for each game.

While the minigames are certainly a strong showing, as we learned from the top 100, they are only a part of what makes a good Mario party game.

Another piece of this puzzle is the boards, and honestly, this is where the game really starts to slip. for starters there are only 4 boards, 3 to begin with and 1 unlockable board. In addition to the small number, the boards themselves are also tiny. To compensate for this, the dice rolls allowed are extremely limiting. At the beginning of each players turn they are present with a die numbered 1-6, each character also has their own unique die that has a set of numbers on it that can either be helpful or detrimental. Some dice may have multiples of a number making it more likely to roll if you need it in a pinch, others may have higher numbers, but compensate by also having minus coins on a side or 2. Because of these limited rolls however, in some cases it can be very possible to end up some place you absolutely don’t want to be. One of the boards is a series of islands connected by two bridges, but you can also use warp pipes to move to the opposite island from the one you started on. These pipes are activated by landing on either of the two event spaces in front of them. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be much of a problem, however, I rolled an 11 with one of my items, and made an entire lap around one of the islands. This small space, combined with the lower than normal rolls, means that at any given time you have a 1 in 3 chance of taking a warp pipe to somewhere you didn’t want to be. for me, this was beyond frustrating, as this happened to me 7 times out of our 15 turn game. This means roughly half the time I was playing, I was warping this way and that beyond my control.

Speaking of items, the variety in this game is lacking. the mushroom, golden mushroom, and poison mushroom have all made a return, however the way they work is different than how it used to be. mushrooms and golden mushrooms add +3 and +5 to your rolls respectively. where the poison mushroom is a flat -2 to any opponents roll. Other items exist such as the custom dice block, which allows you to pick any number of spaces to move between 1 and 6, the hidden block card which summons a hidden block, which may hold coins or even a star, the coinnado, which takes 10 coins from a chosen player, and the ally phone, more on that later. The big item in the game though, is the golden pipe, this serves the same purpose that magic lamps did in the previous games, it can take a person directly to a star, or so close to it that it would be impossible for them to not get it. Unlike the magic lamps however, the golden pipe is far too easy to come by, you might be given one from a random item space, or you can by them from item shops for the low price of 10 coins. for perspective, in earlier entries, the magic lamp could cost as much as 30 coins, and the star was an additional 20, making for a total of 50. Super Mario Party has dulled the pain though, as stars only cost 10 coins to obtain now, meaning the total loss is only 20 coins. this makes the stars far easier to get, but at the same time eliminates most of the drive to be good at the game. Minigames now award 2nd and 3rd place prizes, though small, it doesn’t take much to reach the 10 coin goal to obtain a star, or t6he 20 coin goal if done through the pipe. 

In addition to all of this, the game suffers most from a lack of personality. The announcer sounds bored every time they say anything. The minigame roulette is bland, and the navigation leaves much to be desired. One cute thing that was pointed out though is that whenever the map is brought up, the character whose turn it is will actually pull a map out of their pocket and look at it. Attention to detail like that is something that Nintendo is really good at, it just hurts a little bit that the game itself feels lacking because of the way everything else is.

I won’t complain about the characters, there are a lot of them, and if for some reason you’ve ever wanted to play Mario Party as a Monty Mole, then Super Mario Party has you covered. Variety is never bad. Especially in this case, as their is now an ally system in place. through the use of the ally phone, or ally spaces on the board, a secondary character can be summoned and their character block will be added to your inventory. They themselves can also help with dice rolls, but their dice only have 1′s and 2′s on them, so it doesn’t add much. It is possible to summon a second ally to help you as well. in addition to dice rolls, ally’s also take part in special team minigames where they might be of use.

I really want to like Super Mario Party, because despite it’s flaws, I had a lot of fun playing it. Certainly it is a step in the right direction to returning the series to its former self, but it doesn’t reach far enough on most accounts. 

It’s hard to recommend Super Mario Party to most people because while it can be a good time, it will likely get stale fast. However, if you have some friends who don’t mind the same 4 boards, Super Mario Party is available on Nintendo Switch.