#so may at least go back and share a few pieces that did better

[artbyzephra]

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

Someone has probably already pointed this out but mentoring is hell. When Snow and all the other kids get assigned to being a mentor for the games they all end up falling for their tribute in a way. Or at least most of them do. They develop soft spots for them. Snow falls for Lucy Gray. Lysistrata fell for Jessup. Even Juno shows remorse over Bobbins death. Nearly all these capitol born children find out when mentoring that the kids they watch die are actually people.

At nearly every turn in the ballad of songbirds and snakes you see all capitol born citizens get personally involved with them. And when they inevitably lose them they all become different. It changes who they were. Each of them gets a little more convinced that their kid isn't district. Snow even pushes the idea that Lucy Gray is practically capitol. Within the mentoring they all view their tribute as the exception. The one that doesn't belong to a district. Their tribute is always better or smarter or kinder than the rest. A few of them even get saved by their tribute. The tribute didn't have to do it but they did. So to them they can't possibly be from a district.

Making the victors mentor the children from their own district is fucked in a lot of ways. Every year they are forced to get close to another kid, knowing their families back home are depending on them to do their best to bring them back. They try their damnedest to save them but the odds aren't always in their favor. It takes away the opportunity for their capitol citizens to humanize them while making them isolated on all sides. They don't want the capitol citizens getting too close because if they do then they'll realize these are people. They allow the winners to go home while being the richest in the district. In twelve, we see that everyone is starving while Haymitch is fine. This helps isolate the victors even more.

Who would want to look at their winner when people are dying and they are doing perfectly fine? Who would want to look at the person that didn't bring your child home? They may know the capitol is to blame but the mentor always shares that responsibility in their mind.

It's part of the punishment for the victors too. It's not enough to force them into prostitution and sex slavery. You need more than bodily control over them to keep them broken and beaten down.

The capitol does such a good job at isolating and punishing victors. You're forced to mentor a child every year that you may or may not know. Half of them are already dying or too weak to fight back and yet you are their only chance of survival. You have to be willing to forgive your fellow mentors for the actions of their tributes because they are the only ones who will ever truly know the hell of losing everything. They are the ones that understand the hate from all sides. The victors are hated by the president, their own districts (outside of the career districts but they have their own fucked problems) and by the kids they have to shepard to death.

Snow's games is designed to make them view the other districts as the enemy and for the most part it works. They want the victors to hate each other but by having control over everything else all they are left with is each other. Even if they wanted to hate each other there would be no point. They have no one else. Their games change them. No one back home is able to pick up their pieces.

In bosbas he reflects that all the capitol mentors now are bonded. It's a club with an unbreakable connection. I think he saw how dangerous it was to let their citizens be too close and just how painful it was to do that job. Imagine being one of the few like Haymitch that had 20+ years of failure to haunt them with a district full of children blaming them for the losses.

[drabblesandimagines]

Sulk

Clive Rosfield x female reader, commissioned piece

For the lovely @kianaflame23. Thank you for commissioning me again and letting me share it here with everyone too!❤️ -

“I swear I feel better today, Tarja.” You stress, desperate to be reprieved of bedrest at last. You’ve been in the infirmary three days now, watching enviously as others come and go after being treated for their ailments. “And I promise I won’t do anything considered even remotely taxing for days to come.”

There is more to your request than just boredom, though, not that you would dare admit it aloud. Clive is meant to be returning soon and you wanted to gather some flowers from the Backyard to leave in his chambers – plucking flowers could hardly count laborious – a tradition you’d started after admiring his wall of memories, wanting to contribute. It’s the least you can do after giving him an awful fright the night before his unexpected departure.

You thought it was just fatigue from the last few days of toiling in the Backyard - trying to get another batch of crops planted in as the numbers of the Hideaway continued to grow – was the reason why you felt out of breath as you climbed to the upper deck. You often retreated there in the evenings, finding it a peaceful place to count your blessings and collect your thoughts. It had turned out Clive was fond of the same thing and so finding him leaning over the railings that night, the breeze off the lake ruffling his hair had been quite the welcome sight.

He'd turned to face you when he heard your approaching footsteps and smiled softly as when your eyes met at the top of the stairs. “Ah, just the face I was hoping to see.”

You felt heat prickle across your cheeks at his comment and took a step forward.

Only to faint.

You’d hazily came to in his arms, somewhere in between asleep and awake, face pressed up against his chest as he hurried you to the infirmary, calling out Tarja’s name in fear.

“Put her down here and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I… I don’t know,” Clive’s voice rumbled against your cheek before he placed you down in the all too familiar infirmary bed. “We were on the upper deck – she barely took a step towards me when she collapsed.”

“Did she hit her head?”

“No. No, I… I used the Blessing of the Phoenix to quicken my movements so I caught her before she could do herself injury.”

“Good.” Tarja presses her hand against your forehead and curses, pulling it back as quickly as she had placed it there. “She’s burning up. I’ve told her time and time again she needs to be careful not to overexert herself. Keep an eye on her whilst I prepare a tonic.”

Tarja had rushed over to her desk as Clive crouched down besides you, taking your hand in his in a moment of weakness, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Please be all right, my darling one.” He’d whispered.

You desperately wanted to open your eyes, question his affectionate term, assure him that you were fine – no matter how much of a lie it may have been – but it was too difficult.

The rest of the night had passed in a feverish blur, a vague memory of a firm arm around your waist at some point pulling you upright, back pressed up against a chest that smelt of smoke and sandalwood, as Tarja forced a tonic in your mouth. You’d woken properly late morning, dismayed to find Clive had gone ashore on an urgent matter and had left word that he wished you a swift recovery.

“Hmm,” Tarja mulls, bringing you back to the present, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead for a few moments before making a decision. “No, not yet. You are still a little feverish for my liking. Besides, I know you’ll be straight back down to the Backyard as soon as I discharge you.” She knows you far too well.

You pout. “But I don’t even feel hot anymore.”

Tarja purses her lips together in thought, seemingly running through scenarios and treatments in her head. “No, I think best keep you here until the fever has definitely and completely cleared. I’ll prepare another tonic.”

You grimace at the idea of it – if it’s the one you’re thinking of it has a foul taste that lingers on your tongue for hours.

The door to the infirmary opens and over Tarja’s shoulder you see a familiar blonde being coaxed in by Jote, catching the tail-end of the conversation and wishing to take advantage. Your paths had crossed many times within the walls of the infirmary since Joshua had joined the Hideaway, resulting in the two of you becoming fast friends and making fine company for one another.

“Jote, it seems Lady Tarja is already quite preoccupied, mayhaps we should return later and-”

“I am quite capable of handling more than one patient at a time, Joshua.” Tarja’s tone is biting as she walks over to her desk, searching her notes to check on the last tonic you were given. “Do make yourself comfortable and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Joshua sighs as Jote leads him to the bed besides your own, watching him like a hawk as he sits down heavily upon it, accepting his fate. He gives you a warm smile as he settles back against the pillows.

“And how do you fare this morning, my lady?”

“Good! Though still feverish, apparently.” You smile, wearily. “How are you?” “Oh, I’m fine, really.” He shrugs, though you can tell Jote is biting her tongue. “I apologise I have not been to visit since before now - I’m afraid I got caught up in research.” “Your Grace, this is hardly a visit. His cough has worsened again over night.” Jote corrects.

Joshua rolls his eyes, causing you to giggle before your head swims with a dizzy spell and you squeeze your eyes closed, trying to dissuade the feeling.

“What is it?” Joshua’s voice is laced with concern and you feel his hand take yours, squeezing it.

“Dizzy.” You sigh. “It’ll pass.”

Joshua doesn’t believe so, calling out for the healer. “Lady Tarja-“

“Lie down, deep breaths.” You hear Tarja call, still at her desk. You shuffle down on the bed until you’re lying flat. “Don’t excite her, Joshua. You should know that by now.”

“My apologies.”

“No, it’s my fault.” You squeeze his hand back, turning your head to offer a weak smile. “I am glad to have your company though, Joshua, selfish as it might be.”

--

Clive hovers at the infirmary door, a bouquet of flower stems tight in his grip. He’d returned only moments ago – Obolus had set sail at dawn to pick him up from the abandoned docks at Audyll. As he’d waited for the skiff to appear on the horizon, he’d picked a selection of wildflowers from the cliffs as a gift, ones he hadn’t seen in the Backyard, and had set off to the infirmary immediately after hearing word that you were still there.

There and… holding Joshua’s hand?

Well, then.

Joshua had always been charming – blue-eyed, blonde hair, a boyish grin. He’s tried his best to not be jealous ever since the day the Phoenix had instead chosen the younger Rosfield. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault after all. He hadn’t had a say in the matter, just an unbelievably heavy burden thrust upon his shoulders. Instead of being envious, Clive had vowed to support him, to do everything he could to help his beloved brother carry the responsibility. But seeing the two of you together, especially so suddenly, has broken through the barriers. Clive’s feelings had grown steadily for you over the years since you’d came to the Hideaway. You were sweet, kind-natured to everyone around you, trying to do your best to help no matter the task. It was infectious the way even the slightest smile from you left him with one upon his face for days after, no matter what other trials he came up against.

He had been loathed to leave your side in the infirmary after you’d fainted, staying there the whole night. It had smarted even more so to leave the Hideaway altogether before you had woken. Unfortunately, he was the only man for the job and had left on Obolus’s skiff the next morning – promising himself he wouldn’t let the moment slip him by again, that he’d confess upon his return, bouquet of wildflowers in hand.

All for naught, as he sees the Phoenix brush your hair out of your face, a caress of your cheek.

His vision seethes with red, the smell of smoke fills the air, before he strides off towards his chambers with false purpose, letting his gift fall to the ground.

Jill frowns when she finds the wildflowers scattered on the wooden boards a few moments later, the stems singed black. She only has to look through the gap in the doorway to see Joshua at your bedside and put the pieces together.

“Oh, Clive…”

--

Two more days pass confined to the infirmary bed before you saw Clive, despite hearing that he’d returned. At least you had Joshua for company - his cough had grown more harsh and painful at first, despite his protests otherwise, and Tarja and Jote had him drinking a concoction of suppressants and tonics every few hours to try and soothe his ailments to some degree of success.

Not the same could be said for the poor Bearers who had been brought in by Cursebreakers on the skiff that morning. Two of them already suffering from the curse, stone-mottled limbs, groaning in their cots the other side of the curtain.

“Is there truly nothing to be done?” Clive asked Tarja in a hushed tone. He hadn’t said hello to you when he entered earlier, nor to Joshua. It had smarted a little, you’ll admit, but you’d brushed it off as him having much more urgent matters at hand.

“I’m all out of the main ingredient for the most effective pain relief, unfortunately. I’ve had the Cursebreakers keeping an eye out for it, but it might have become a victim to the blight.”

“What’s the main ingredient?”

“Begonias – red ones. There used to be an ample supply in the Royal Meadows, but they haven’t sprouted this year.”

“I can’t remember seeing them on my travels either.”

“I…” You speak up, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “I think I know where some might still flourish.”

Tarja and Clive’s heads snap round look at you. “Really?” Tarja takes a step forward. “Could you mark it on a map?”

You shake your head. “It’s not on any sort of track you can follow, but that’s pretty much all of the Great Wood. You need to know exactly where to look. I fear I would not be able to describe it…” You bite your lip in hesitation before continuing. “But I am positive I could find them if I went myself.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Clive folds his arms, looking over to Tarja for her support. Surely with your fragile health she’d agree. “I forbid it.”

Tarja pinches the bridge of her nose before she speaks, weighing up the options in her head. “I would normally say the same, Clive, but if we were able to get hold of some of these blooms, not only could we provide some much sought after relief, perhaps then we’d also be able to grow some of our own in the Backyard for future use.”

“You cannot be serious. It’s not safe for her to go there alone.”

“She won’t be alone, I’ll ask Otto to spare some Cursebreakers.”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Anything could happen. Besides, you’ve had her on bedrest for near a tenday, she is not ready to go gallivanting about the Great Wood - the place will be rife with fiends!”

“Then why don’t you accompany her, brother?” Joshua speaks up with a grin.

“Me?” Clive turns to Joshua, eyes wide, as if he had forgotten his brother was here at all.

“Yes, you.” Tarja places her hands on her hips in agreement. “The First Shield to the Phoenix, are you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you will prove a most suitable escort.”

“Tarja, I really-”

Joshua grins. “The finest.”

“Joshua-“

Another heart-wrenching groan comes from the other side of the curtain.

“Please, Clive.” You grip the blanket between your fingers, tightly. “You have to let me try.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would be worth it.” Tarja adds in support.

Clive clenches his fists, mulling it over in his mind. He’d rather scour the entire Great Wood on his own than risk your wellbeing, but Founder knows how long that would take. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“And you will tell me the moment if you start to feel unwell?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I promise.”

Clive sighs, still not exactly pleased with the arrangement, but admitting defeat. “Fine. We’ll leave in the morning. But be sure to rest until then, my lady. Please.”

“Of course she will,” Tarja interrupts before you can agree. “She’ll stay in the infirmary again tonight to be certain of it.”

--

The next morning, you make your way down to the dock, accompanied by Joshua who insisted he be allowed to at least stretch his legs after going the whole night without a cough.

“Now, then,” he murmurs as he walks alongside you. “The Great Wood will be as good a place as any, and if you do not tell him, then I will be forced to.”

“Joshua-”

“And I won’t hear otherwise.”

As you reach the end of the dock, Clive is stood waiting, arms crossed and looking entirely unamused.

“Be safe, you two.” Joshua takes your hand and kisses it, before throwing you a wink that makes you bite back a laugh.

Ahead of you, Clive storms onto the boat.

The idea of a trip to the mainland was exciting – it had been years now since you’d been. It was too risky to go with the Brand on your cheek when the Cursebreakers could move around freely.

You would’ve been excited if the boat ride across hadn’t been so awkward. Clive had sat the entire time with his arms crossed, legs spread, and looking in any direction possible but yours. He still wasn’t happy with you joining him and you felt awful - you’d never wanted to be a burden on anyone.

“Stay by my side at all times.” He commands as you finally enter the Great Wood. It’s a little more overgrown than you remembered, but you do recognize certain trees from your wanderings.

“Of course.” You nod. He can’t help but soften his tone as he sees the delight in your eyes at being back within the Great Wood – it must’ve been years. “Do you recall which way to go?” “Mm.” You point to south, through a thicket. “That way, I’m sure of it.”

The walk there is quiet, besides Clive hacking a path clear with his sword as you remember the way. It isn’t long before you finally emerge through another thicket and find a grove below filled with red begonias, nearly as far as the eye can see.

You smile at the sight, looking back over your shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Very.”   You fail to notice he wasn’t looking at the blooms.

You turn your attention back to the ground and the drop before you, not feeling confident at all with idea of jumping down. “There used to be an incline, but maybe it’s washed away with the rains. Maybe if we walk round we’ll find another route down?”

“I have an idea.” Clive hops down with ease, being sure to land in a patch that is clear of flowers. “I can lift you down, if you’d permit me.”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy. “How do I…?”

“Place your hands on my shoulders and I’ll…” He trails off as you follow his instructions, wrapping his arms around your hips to lift you down. He doesn’t know why he does it - there was certainly no need to - but he takes an unsteady step back, losing his footing and the two of you crash down to the ground with a thud.

“By the Founder…! Did I hurt you?” Clive asks, his brow furrowed in concern despite the fact you are still firmly wrapped in his arms, his body having cushioned the fall entirely.

“I’m fine, Clive,” you reply, tantalizingly close to his lips. You could just…

“Are you sure?”

And all the sudden you’re kissing him.

For a moment he kisses back – it’s soft, sweet and chaste, as Clive always is - before he pulls back and sits up in a hurry, looking as red as the blooms that surround you. “No, I’m sorry. We can’t, I can’t. Not to Joshua.”

“Joshua?” You look puzzled.

“I saw you two – the morning I came back. You were holding his hand in the infirmary.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head furiously at the accusation. “Holding his…? No, not like that. Of course I care for Joshua, but no more than I do a good friend.”

“But on the dock, he…”, Clive swallows, feeling childish. “He winked at you.”

“An inside joke.” You protest. “He… Well, he hoped that I might find the courage to confess to you, whilst we were away from the eyes of the Hideaway.”

“Confess?”

“My…” You try and shy away then, head down, but his arms are still wrapped firmly around your waist and keeping you in place, “..feelings for you.”

One arm loosens, a gloved hand cupping your chin to tilt your face back up to him.

“I cannot tell you how long I have hoped to hear those words from your lips, my darling.”

You feel dizzy as you press your lips back against his, but in an entirely good way.

--- Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmen berzatto x fem!reader | chapter seven: tuesday, again

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, use of she/her pronouns, friends to lovers, references to sex, no use of y/n, second person pov, happy ending

word count: 3.8k

summary: you left your heart in chicago, so the only logical conclusion you've come to, is that you have to go back.

a/n: ok this author's note may be a long one. WOW. can i just say 'wow' holy shit?! i wrote this story in a week because inspiration struck and i couldn't get these characters, or this story, out of my freaking head. i am beyond grateful to any and all that read, liked, reblogged, or commented. thank you for being cheerleaders for me, carmy, and this story. i am truly so in love with these characters it hurts, so thank you for encouraging me to continue this love affair.

that being said, i am not done with these two at all. i have a few companion pieces i'm working on right now: a playlist, a headcanon, and maybe even a oneshot (or a few but who's counting)? thank you again for reading. please enjoy.

read: part six | masterlist

Tuesday, again. 

It’s Tuesday again and your time in Chicago has come to an end. Carmy had stayed the night with you at your airbnb. But morning came, and he left early to start his morning at the restaurant. Truthfully, he just hadn’t wanted to watch you pack – couldn’t get out of there fast enough when you’d opened your suitcase. You noticed how much it bothered him, letting him know that you’d stop by the restaurant before heading to the airport. 

And that was that. You’d gone your separate ways before, and you’d go your separate ways again – just for a little bit. And it wouldn't be like last the last time. It’s bittersweet – leaving today – but you keep reminding yourself of the conversation you’d had yesterday about the future of your relationship. You wanted to be with him, and Carmy wanted to be with you. The rest, you’d figure out as you go.

Your boyfriend.

It felt strange – even if he’d basically already been your unofficial platonic boyfriend back in New York. Adding a title to it was a whole other ball game. 

New. 

Never did you think, as you were preparing for this trip, that you’d return back home with Carmy as yours. You thought maybe you’d talk about what happened -- smooth things over -- but that would be that, and you’d go back to being friends. After this week, you were starting to believe you were never supposed to be just friends. 

You had a feeling none of your friends would be surprised when you shared the news – not in the least. 

You finish packing up your things, double checking that you haven’t left anything behind before heading to the restaurant. It’s about thirty minutes to lunch service, and since they’re not open just yet, you enter through the back door one last time for what feels like could be a while. 

And there it is again: that bittersweet feeling. 

“Chef!” Tina says, her eyes lighting up as she sees you. “You headin’ out today?”

“Hey, T,” you reply. “Yeah, I’m heading to the airport after this. Just wanted to stop by before I go.”

“Well you better come back soon,” she says almost as if it’s a threat, and you laugh in response. 

“Of course.”

“There she is!” Marcus hollers across the kitchen, as soon as he spots you. “Damn. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Uh… keep doin’ what you’re doing and kill it?” you reply, eliciting a proud smile from him. 

“Seriously. This last week… I’ve learned so much from you. Thank you,” he says, his gratitude evident in his voice. 

“No, thank you, Marcus,” you answer, genuinely. “I haven’t felt this inspired in… well a while. I want to be kept up on all your new flavor pairings. Just remember. I’m only a text away.”

“Yes, chef,” he replies, moving in to give you a hug. 

He wraps his arms around you and you hug him back. Boy, is it bittersweet. How, in one week, have you gotten so attached?

“Hey! I want in!” another voice chimes in, as you and Marcus’ hug comes to an end. 

“Syd!”

You smile, greeting Sydney with a hug – a hello goodbye kind of hug.

“You better come visit me in New York,” you insist. You’re not sure how long you’ll be there, but you say it anyways, just in case it’s a while. 

You watch as Sydney and Marcus exchange glaces. 

“What?”

“Nothin’, chef,” Marcus answers, almost too quickly. 

Sydney shrugs, “I don’t know. Just uh, wondering how long you’ll be there for.” She’s prodding and she knows it. You decide not to ask what she means by it.

“Well, if it ends up being longer… than I expect, you better come up,” you clarify. 

“Okay, yes. I definitely will,” Sydney agrees with a nod, before pulling you in for one more hug. 

“Hey, cousin said you’re headin’ out so Ebra’s made you a sandwich for the trip, babe. We’ll see ya around soon,” Richie greets, interrupting your moment with Sydney and Marcus. 

Richie, whose affection seems to catch you off guard, slings an arm around you, handing you the sandwich that Ebraheim has so kindly wrapped up for you. 

“Cousin!” Richie shouts, in search of Carmy. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s ten in the morning. Are we already starting the yelling this early or-?” Carmy calls back to him. He bursts through the doors from where he’s been fixing something up in the front of house dining area. He stops as soon as he sees you. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you reply, taking in the image of his unruly curls, white t-shirt, and blue apron you've gotten so used to over the last few days.

It’s almost as if everyone else but Richie tries to make themselves as busy as possible – to give you two a chance to say goodbye. You can hear Marcus and Sydney making themselves scarce as Angel and Manny turn the sink water back on. 

“I just uh-, wanted to stop by before heading to the airport,” you say, unsure of just how much everyone else knows about you and Carmy’s current relationship. “Say goodbye to everyone.”

It’s clear that they know something’s up, but you still have your reservations about kissing him in front of everyone. 

“What do you mean?" Richie asks, glaring at Carmy. "This asshat’s not takin’ you to the airport?”

Richies practically shouting for the entire kitchen to hear, causing you and Carmy both to take a breath. You exchange a ‘here we go again’ look as Richie continues on.

“What kind of-, I swear to god, cousin-.”

“Richie!” you hear Tina snap, looking up from her prep station. “Shut the fuck up and give them a minute, you old bitch.”

Richie throws his hands up, before bowing out of the conversation, leaving just you and Carmy in the middle of the walkway. You can hear Richie and Tina bickering in hushed tones over by the stove, earning a quiet laugh from you. 

Your heart aches in the best way as you commit this moment to memory.

God, you're going to miss this. 

“You wanna..?” Carmy asks, nodding his head in the direction of the back door. 

You nod in agreement, letting him lead you back out to the alley. 

And now it’s really just the two of you, and while it’s not the most romantic of backgrounds, you’re going to work with what you’ve got. Carmy seems nervous as he fidgets with the ties of his apron. 

“You uh, you sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?” Carmy asks hesitantly, thinking back to Richie’s earlier comment. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you answer with confidence. “Besides, I’d never want to take you away from these guys. You open in a few anyway.”

He smiles, accepting your answer. It’s something he loves about you: that you get it. You understand that sometimes the food’s gotta come first. 

You didn’t know why it felt so weird – so challenging, awkward, strange – to say goodbye to him. Because it wasn’t really a goodbye. And it also was and you’re not sure if you have a name for this feeling yet. 

“Carm?”

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering with words, you just reach over, grabbing that beautiful head of hair of his, and you kiss him. He tastes of the cigarette he smoked on his walk to The Bear and the Altoid mint he had later in his office in anticipation of your arrival. You want to memorize each and every part of this: the way he smells, the way he tastes, the way his hands feel on you. He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you as you continue your passionate make out – your passionate goodbye kiss – in the alleyway behind the restaurant. 

Your kisses begin to slow down, and before you know it, you’re pulling away from him. 

“Text me when you land, okay?” he asks, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

You nod, “Yes. Yeah. I will.”

And you want to turn to go, but you can’t yet, so you add, “Thanks for inviting me out here.”

He laughs dryly, leaving one more kiss on your lips for the road.

“Thanks for coming to see me. I’ll see you soon.”

A few Tuesdays later

It takes exactly five minutes of being back in New York to realize that Chicago is where you need to be. You don’t regret asking for time to think, but you almost felt silly to worry that you wouldn’t come to this conclusion. You have to go back: to the restaurant, to purpose, to Carmy.

You let yourself think through every little detail, and in each scenario, you know that Chicago is where you’re supposed to be. It had, afterall, been everything you’d felt you were missing. 

Your heart was there, and for once, you were going to let yourself follow it. 

You’d just needed some time to let your head and your heart catch up – get on the same page – and wrapping things up in New York gave you that time to get clear that this was your next step. 

Not that you mind letting the man you adored and some very hot sex cloud your judgment. 

It takes a few weeks, but you and Carmy text every day, even on the busy days. Some days you text a lot, and some it’s just a few exchanges: a ‘good morning’ text, a ‘thinking of you,’ and a ‘goodnight’ text when he’s wrapped up at the restaurant. But it doesn’t bother you. You know what it’s like. Other days, you’re able to sneak in a phone call… maybe even a FaceTime… and if you’re really lucky, you get to talk for hours before either of you realize it’s two in the morning and you should’ve been asleep a long time ago.

People are always coming and going in New York City. It’s why it’s not hard to find a sublet for your apartment, and once you’ve set the ball in motion, it feels impossible to backtrack. After you find the subletter, you tell the restaurant that you’re not coming back and they’re not happy with your decision. You tell them you’re moving to Chicago and only a few people left on staff understand why. Your friends who know you and Carmy aren’t surprised – just as you expected – and by the end of your happy hour catch up, they’re halfway to booking you a ticket to Chicago for that night.

Your parents on the other hand are less than ecstatic. They have more questions, more hesitations, and they want to make sure you’re thinking things through. You tell them that you have, that you’ve combed through every possible scenario, and each time you come to the conclusion that this is what you have to do. 

But they’re happy you’re happy. They say they’ve never seen you like this and you agree. You’ve never felt this way before either. 

You’ve got to stay just a little longer – make sure you can get all your shit sold or moved. Because you’re a responsible adult even when you hate being a responsible adult. It takes a few more days to get an available U-Haul, and you’re all packed up. You’d called Carmy earlier to tell him, but he’s not answering his phone. Sydney hadn’t been in touch either, so you figured they were slammed at the restaurant.

Holy shit. This is really happening, you think to yourself. 

With one foot over the ledge already, you’re off. 

Wednesday, again.

You’ve set him up so well that if he blows it, you’re gonna be pissed. All he has to do is be his normal, annoying, crass self. 

C’mon, Richie, you think to yourself, pleading with the gods that this goes the way you hope it will. 

As you’d told him your plan, he seemed more than happy to oblige. Just rile him up a little just to make the surprise that much better. Richie wouldn’t miss out on an opportunity like that, would he? You can hear shouting coming from the kitchen, and can tell your plan has been set in motion.

“Richie, what the fuck are you talking about? They said what? Who?” Carmy asks, frustratedly.

Yesterday’s dinner service was a shitshow. It’d been slower for lunch this afternoon, and he berates himself for being naive enough to think that he could catch his breath today. The last thing he needed after yesterday was some food critic coming into his restaurant to pick apart all of their hard work. 

“I don’t know, cousin,” Richie shouts back defensively, as if he has no other volume level than that one. “I don’t know if she’s a fuckin’ food critic or not but she sounded like one. Somethin’ about an overseasoned juice or whatever the fuck!” “Jus,” Carmy corrects. “It’s pronounced, ‘zjhoo,’ fucko. Not ‘juice.’ How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck if I care,” Richie mutters. “All I’m saying is you should go out there and give the pompous jack hole a piece of your mind.”

“Alright, if it’s going to get you off my back, I’ll do it!” Carmy snaps, having had enough of Richie’s shouting. “Just tell me where she’s sitting so I know who to talk to.”

“At the bar. Christ,” Richie sighs, removing himself from the conversation entirely as he steps away from Carmy. 

Carmy sighs in frustration. He removes his apron before hanging it on one of the wall hooks, then makes his way through the swinging doors that lead to the dining area. It’s still slow, even after the small lunch peak they’d just experienced, and there’s only one woman sitting at the bar. 

You.

It’s then the Carmy realizes he’s been set up. This was all just an act to get him out here – out to the front of house. His breath catches in his throat as he sees you sitting at the bar of his restaurant. You lock eyes with him, and he’s suddenly feeling much more nervous than he previously was. 

“Surprise,” is all you manage to get out, half apologetically.

He makes his way to the open side of the bar, stepping around it so that he can stand on the same side as you. 

“Hey,” he says, even though he’s practically speechless. 

“So uh…” he stammers nervously. Out of all the things he could say to you all he can think of is, “What’s this I hear about an overseasoned jus?” 

You shrug, a devious smile on your face and a sense of mischief in your eyes, “Well I had to come up with something that’d get your attention.”

“It worked. Consider it gotten,” he nods, a blush running all the way down his neck. “Wh-, What’re you doing here?”

He doesn't mean for it to sound so abrupt, but what he really wants to ask is: what does this mean?

You wait, taking half of a beat. 

“I… heard you might be hiring another pastry chef to… you know… help out around here,” you reply, nodding towards the kitchen. Carmy has no idea how you’re playing it so cool, and you’re not sure how you are either. 

“I-, I’d have to talk to Marcus first,” he stammers, matter of factly. His head is spinning, and he can’t breathe, in a good way this time. He can’t believe you’re here and half expects to wake up and realize he’s only dreaming. 

“Of course,” you nod in agreement. 

You pause again, wondering if he’s surprised in a bad way.

“I uh… I called,” you offer up, almost as an apology. 

“We’ve been slammed,” Carmy replies, taking a step closer to you. “And I passed the fuck out last night after service. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay! I-, I figured…” you chuckle, beginning to explain yourself. “I just wanted you to know that-, I mean the rental company had a last minute opening and it was gonna take a few more weeks to get another a U-Haul if I didn’t-. I didn’t intend on making this like… you know this big surprise or anything…”

“... but then I saw Richie first and uh, well, I couldn’t help fucking with you a little bit.”

He laughs, shaking his head at you, “So this was a set up?”

“Oh yeah.”

You stand up, out of the bar chair, taking a step towards him. You look around, noticing that the restaurant is mostly empty, save for a couple in a booth over by the window. 

“You never answered my question. About you. Being here,” Carmy starts, redirecting the conversation back to you. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up – needs you to say you’re here for good before he lets himself feel all of this excitement that’s bubbling up in his body.

“Right. I just came here to tell you that uh, I found someone to take over my lease in New York,” you start, seeing Carmy’s eyes light up. 

God, you’ve missed the way he looks at you. 

“And the urban garden I've been volunteering with… they got me connected with a spot here. Keep my head out of my ass,” you continue, eliciting another laugh from Carmy at your crude comment. 

“Natalie’s-, she and Pete are gonna help find a place too.”

You take another step towards him. 

“You talked to Natalie?” he asks, surprised. 

And he, towards you. 

You shrug, playfully teasing him, “She picks up her phone.”

“Right,” Carmy says shyly. 

If he had picked up his phone you would’ve told him that you were coming and he’s not sure what he would have liked more: knowing ahead of time, or this surprise. Fuck it. He doesn’t care how it happened. He’s just glad he gets to have you.

“I… had a lot of time to think on the drive and-,” you tell him.

“Uh oh,” he interjects, playfully. “That’s never good.”

You shake your head with a laugh, “Will you just shut up and let me get through this?”

He concedes to you, a soft smile on his face as he waits for what you’re going to say next, as you continue your whole boombox over head, throwing stones at the window love confession thing.

“I was thinking that maybe I’d stick around for a while… get a cat or something to keep me company on the days we just can’t stand each other,” you say. 

It’s not what he’s expecting to hear but he understands what you’re really saying. You want to be here. With him. You want to plant roots. 

With him. 

“A cat?” he questions.

“Well, yeah neither of us have time for a dog. We’re both gonna be too busy with the restaurant,” you answer, continuing this scenario you’ve got in your head.

“We?” 

“We.”

Another step. 

He waits for you to say more, but you both understand that anything else would be overcomplicating it. And suddenly you’re standing so close to each other that you’re grateful that there’s only two other people in this restaurant. 

“Does this mean-?” he begins to ask, trailing off toward the end. He looks down at the floor, wondering why he feels so shy. 

“That I packed all my shit up to move here? Yeah,” you reply, confirming his assumptions about where this was going. “When I got back, it took me about five minutes to realize that what I’ve been looking for-, I had it. For a week. Here.”

He looks back up from the floor, to you, his blue eyes staring into your soul. 

You take a pause once more, mustering up all the courage in your body to say what you need to say next. 

“I want to be here, Car. With you. If the offer still stands.” 

He looks at you, you speechless, because he can’t believe this is real. 

But this is real. You’re not dreaming, he reminds himself.

He opens his mouth to say something and all that comes out is, “You hungry?” And you’re shaking your head and laughing, hopelessly in love with the man standing mere inches away from you who can barely get out the words he needs to tell you how he feels. 

“Because I’m sure you’ve had a long trip and I can-,” he continues to ramble, his face inches away from yours.

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” you blurt out, impulsively closing the gap between the two of you. You press your lips to his, giving him the most passionate kiss you’ve perhaps given anyone, and he kisses you back.

Because he loves you too. 

And he never wants to let you go ever again. 

Your kiss is suddenly interrupted by the sounds of voices, cheers, and a few claps, splitting the two of you apart. You both turn to find the entire staff of The Bear, crowded around the door that leads to the kitchen, and peeking out. Tina’s got a proud smile on her face, while Richie is most certainly the one clapping. Marcus is saying an ‘oh shit’ to Sydney while she’s practically squealing at the two of you. 

You and Carmy exchange a look. He looks away, his face turning redder by the second, as you laugh. 

“I called it! What did I say? Did I say three weeks? I think I fuckin' said three weeks." Richie cries out in celebration, his fist pumping into the air in triumph, earning a groan of disappointment from Gary.

"Pay up, fuckos!"

“Wait, what?” Carmy asks, his brows knitted together in confusion. 

Sydney rolls her eyes, beginning to pull a few ten dollar bills out of her apron as Tina mutters an insult in Spanish

“You guys were-,” you start, searching the faces of your future colleagues.

“Betting on how long it would take for you to come back? Yes, chef. Yes we were,” Marcus answers, cheekily. “I said two weeks. Syd put her money on a month, but Richie said three.”

“I just meant that it’s not that easy to move! Not that you wouldn’t come back,” Sydney adds, justifying her guesstimate.

“I said she’d be back in a week,” Tina chimes in.  

“It was clear to us you’d be back. We just didn’t know when,” Gary informs, leaning up against the bar. 

“Well, that’s news to me,” you laugh, shooting Carmy a look that says ‘did you know about this?’

He shakes his head ‘no.’

“You two are also idiots. That was also clear to all of us,” Tina points out, earning a laugh from you and Sydney. 

“Never even cleared your work station, chef,” Marcus adds, nodding back towards the kitchen. “You can uh-, come join us when you’re ready.”

You watch as Marcus disappears, back into the kitchen, hearing the sound or Richie’s more than jovial chants that he was right. Tina’s yelling at him in Spanish and Sydney’s telling Richie to shut the fuck up. 

You’ve missed this. 

“I uh… gotta get back to work,” Carmy says, pulling you out of your head. The blush permeating his face has spread all the way down to his neck and he's not sure how he's supposed to continue the day like this. “Gotta wrap up lunch and prep for dinner.” But he gets to do it with you, so he's gonna figure it the fuck out.

He turns to you, holding out his hand. 

“You comin’ or what?”

You’re beaming as you take his hand, your heart pounding out of your chest. It feels like a beginning of something you don't have the words for, and you're very much okay with that. You're ready to throw caution to the wind and fearlessly dive in -- to take a leap -- as long as you get to do it with him too.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

the end.

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha

[honey-beann]

Good for Sharing

Nines x Reader Angst

Note: This fic is based upon the poems mentioned within this ask, and is pretty heavily steeped in angst (though I was sure to end it on a more hopeful note this time). I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3,133

It was the first of the month, and your fingers pulled deftly at the small segments of the orange, shredding the paper-thin flesh with a practiced ease that Nines couldn't quite comprehend.

Your hands were gentle yet confident, your nails never once piercing the delicate surface of the fruit that you held so loosely between your fingertips and palms.

You smiled up at him softly, your eyes shining with a quiet and peaceful type of joy that remained entirely unknown to the android sitting across from you.

It was mid afternoon, and the two of you sat outside in the warm sunlight at your insistence.

"If we have to do this."

You'd said,

"We should at least have a little fun with it, don't you think?"

Nines did not think.

But he did nod.

And from there, you had guided him outside of the large compound that housed your office and out to the greenery below, where small purple flowers had begun to sprout out of the ground now that the rainy season was over.

Distantly, Nines could hear water dribbling out of a culvert not too far from where the two of you were sitting atop a stone step that stemmed from the pathway, and he was reminded of the garden that lay somewhere in the depths of his mind, and the voice that had taught him everything that he'd known.

That was why he was here.

To unlearn.

Once the revolution had ended, most androids, after having deviated, went on to live normal lives filled with that feeble sense of accomplishment that all biological beings seemed to strive for.

But Nines was unable to do so.

Something gripped him even still, from deep within, pulling him away from whatever emulated humanity his "freed" brethren had achieved.

He had deviated, but he was still so stuck.

There was still a harsh layer of programming that seemed to dictate his very personality and being, and it permeated every sense of self that he was apparently supposed to have.

Sometimes, it confused him, the fact that he could not quite relate to those around him who had been so eager in their expression and so capable of thinking with their "hearts" rather than their minds.

Other times, it just frightened him.

He would never admit it aloud, but one of very few emotions he had felt since his awakening was fear.

Fear for what he was and what was wrong with him, fear over whether or not it was possible for him to change, and above all else, fear of what it may have felt like to feel in that same way that everyone else did.

What was it like to hope and express so simply? To grieve or hurt?

Was it worth moving forward if there was no going back?

In the end, Markus had answered that for him with his new "support resources".

It appeared that for many androids who were in some ways like Nines, built for violence and without that integral ability to connect with others,

Deviancy did not fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

So now, he and many other androids all over America saw people like you.

Trained in a skill that he could not comprehend, and meant to be closer to a friend than a therapist, he was supposed to see you on the first and the fourteenth of each month, and somehow, you were supposed to teach him that evasive art of emotion, of humanity.

He was unsure of how anyone could do this, but, out of curiosity more than anything else, had agreed nonetheless.

At worst, he would meet a new face. Being a deviant who was not in touch with his own emotions made for a boring life. The more people he could introduce into it to give him something new to focus on, the better.

So here he was

Sitting outside with a near stranger as you peeled your orange across from him, offering him that kind smile as if you had it in infinite supply and were required to get rid of some stock.

The birds were chirping, and the water was running, and the day was as peaceful as could be.

But Nines never much cared for the silence, so he spoke through it.

"What made you take this job?"

He asked curiously, watching as your hands ceased movement for the briefest of moments, as if your thoughts had required just a twinge more focus for a second or two, before you answered.

"I like making friends."

You said simply, and Nines rose a brow at that, but did not say anything more. He did not truly see the value of friends. Sure, he found people to be entertaining, but there was a tiresome quality to being viewed that he did not enjoy nearly enough for it to be worth building strong relationships.

So instead of commenting, the android simply nodded, as if he understood.

He could see in your eyes though, still alight with amusement, that you knew he did not.

You were silent for a few more moments as you wedged your finger between the two halves of the orange, splitting it in twain before you began removing the silky white film from the dual outsides.

Finally though, after it seemed that the part requiring your attention had passed, you brought your gaze back up to Nines.

"What made you accept this opportunity?"

The android was surprised to hear your question, but in the end decided to be honest. There was no sake in lying, not if he truly wished to learn anything.

"I was curious."

He said simply, and you nodded before inspecting both halves of the fruit in front of you, smiling with what appeared to be satisfaction.

It intrigued Nines to see you so appeased by something as simple as an orange, but before he could ask about it and your obvious contentedness, you reached out and offered him a freshly peeled half.

Nines stared at it for a few moments before his gaze moved back up to yours.

He rose a brow.

"What for?"

He asked, unmoving despite knowing that you wished for him to take it.

"You."

You replied simply, smile never wavering, even as he still didn't move to take the fruit from your hand.

"I can't eat it."

He stated matter of factly, but to that, you just nodded.

"I know. But it's still for you."

At that, Nines grew even more confused than he already was, but, intrigued about where you could be going with this, reached out and took the orange, feeling its soft flesh squish beneath the sturdy pads of his fingertips, his grip too strong, as if he weren't made to hold onto something so easily crushed.

And, to be fair, he wasn't.

Even still, if you were at all upset by the way the orange half was almost instantly disfigured within his palm, you didn't show it, simply choosing to slowly peel a segment of your own orange away from the large section you were holding in your hand before popping it into your waiting mouth.

Nines spoke again.

"Why an orange?"

He asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders casually, swallowing your bite of the slightly tart fruit before you replied,

"My sister and I always used to split them. They're good for sharing."

Nines rose a brow at that,

"Only for sharing?"

You nodded,

"I think so. At least that's what my sister and I always said. I would peel it because she could never figure out how to on her own, and she would eat half to leave me with just the perfect amount."

Nines nodded, as if in understanding, and perhaps, some small part of him was honest in that.

"But I can't eat it."

He said simply, causing you to smile once more,

"That doesn't matter, you can still smell it can't you? Feel it? Either way, you'd better learn how to enjoy it, because it's yours."

Nines hummed in response to your words, watching as you finished your half of the orange before sighing blissfully and moving to lay yourself down atop the grass.

He stayed on the concrete path, but watched without judgement or disdain for your playful actions.

He didn't understand you, but a part of him liked that. It made you equals.

He left that day with your name locked into his calendar for the fourteenth of the month.

Because maybe there was something to sharing an orange with you.

When he returned later that month, you'd had another orange to share with him, and to his surprise, another for him to peel himself.

"To practice."

You'd said as you presented it to him shortly before you started peeling your own, the afternoon sun warm on your face and back as it shone down from above.

Nines had watched you for a few moments, noting the way that you used your thumb to pierce the firm rind of the fruit just enough to break the seal, but never enough to stab the sweet citrus inside.

He tried to do the same, but instantly, his thumb plunged directly into the center, spraying juice everywhere.

Much to his surprise though, you didn't laugh or correct him, you just shrugged your shoulders and offered him a half of yours, somehow already peeled so cleanly he was almost envious.

"You'll learn."

You'd said.

There hadn't been an ounce of hesitance in your voice.

He believed you.

Months passed, and to each visit, regardless of the season, you always brought two oranges.

And at each visit, he always failed to emulate your delicate hands, crushing fruit after fruit with what he would come to learn was his own rash eagerness to succeed.

He was impatient and irrational, never waiting long enough to hear a single soul out, never caring to make a friend.

Unless of course, they were you.

He learned these things about himself, and with each coming realization, there was always the soothing smell of orange in the air, and thus the knowledge that it was okay for him to be irrational and impatient here.

Here was with you, and where you were, there was not only a space for him, but also an orange for him.

You peeled the oranges, and he made sure you were left with the perfect amount to eat afterward.

You were a team.

Friends.

And then, slowly, more.

And it was with this development, that Nines learned that he did not have hands gentle enough to peel an orange, but he did have hands gentle enough to hold you.

And twice a month, the two of you would sit in his kitchen, each with an orange, and you would peel them.

You were ever an expert, and always had your half to share.

Nines, on the other hand, even after years, had yet to learn, and struggled to follow your example.

Still, you always assured him that his slow, and sometimes seeming lack of progress, was okay.

You would always have enough for the two of you.

And what else mattered?

Well, it turned out, as the years marched onward, a lot.

Because sure, Nines was much better at understanding and expressing his own emotions with your continued support...

But as he watched those around you, he realized that there was so very much more.

None of which he could provide you with.

Cold and stern, he was not made to have a family, and when he told you this, he had seen that perfect light dim slightly behind your eyes.

"That's okay."

You had assured him,

"We can get a cat."

So you did.

You walked into that rescue shelter together, hand in hand, searching for a kitten to take home with you, something to nurture with all of that extra love you had.

But life had other plans, and you left there that day with an elderly orange former tomcat named Clementine.

You called him Clem.

Nines did too.

He was the second thing he ever loved.

The two of you had three wonderful years with that sweet old cat before he passed away peacefully in your arms one night as Nines gently pet his head, watching as he slipped away to some vast unknown that the android knew he would never be able to follow him into.

You cried into his soft fur, leaning against your love's chest as you held Clem close, whimpering over and over about how you couldn't put him down, how you couldn't bare to let him grow cold.

Nines had soothed you to the best of his ability, until finally, you had agreed to help him return sweet Clementine to the earth where he belonged, a beautiful and perfect part of the world.

You planted an orange tree in the soil above where you buried him.

It blossomed far earlier than what ever should have been possible.

You told Nines that they were the sweetest oranges you had ever eaten. He still couldn't peel them.

You assured him you were happy to keep showing him until he learned, no matter how long it took.

But now, there were more daunting issues on the android's mind, ones that far exceeded being unable to peel oranges.

You had grown lonely in the year since Clem had passed, even with Nines by your side,

And it seemed like every party you attended had some new mother, once an old friend, with a child for you to hold so dearly that the sight filled him with a sickening dread.

You yearned for a life he could not give you.

And even worse than that, he yearned for you to have a life that no other could take.

He had mourned the only other creature he had come to love and adore with such fervor as you.

He could not bare to do it a second time.

He had once wondered so innocently what it felt like to grieve.

A large part of him wished then that he had never known.

An even larger part of him wanted to ensure he never felt that way again.

He peeled his last orange with you on the first of the month, a decade to the date since your first meeting.

That evening, with a heart as heavy as lead he bid you farewell, watching as you tried to no avail to persuade him to reconsider, to let you back in again.

But at each slight falter, he saw you crying into soft orange fur, or dancing with a child he could never raise, and he held tight to his resolve.

He tried to get you to keep the home you owned together for yourself.

You told him with tears in your eyes that you loved him too much to take away all that he had worked so hard to earn.

There was a great deal of pain involved with living alone in a home that love had built, he found in the empty months toward the start of your absence.

Still, he could not bring himself to leave.

Your pictures were in the hall, the walls around them sun bleached so heavily that it seemed the shape of the frames would always remain, and how could he so casually abandon one of so few traces of you?

And your beloved cat was in the ground, grave marked by the orange tree that for the very first time ever, neglected to bear fruit that year.

Nines took it as a sign, and did not peel any oranges.

The second year after you'd left, you called him.

"Just checking in." You'd said, voice teary.

It was the anniversary of Clem's death.

Nines understood.

He let you speak, even though your voice hurt to hear.

He'd hoped you would have moved on by now,

But knew far too well why you had not,

So he neglected to comment on how desperately you deserved to love and be loved by someone, anyone else.

He was sure you would find that someday, whether he reminded you of your worthiness or not.

"I miss you."

You told him.

"I know."

He said.

Then, he sighed.

"I miss you too."

There was a strong silence, and, sensing that you had finished saying all that you needed to, he said the words he had been dreading having to speak since hearing your beautiful voice again after having gone so long without it.

"This will probably be the last time I answer."

He said gently, and he heard you sigh and breathe a shaky breath from the other end of the line.

"I know."

You whispered,

"I love you."

Nines felt a tear drip down the left side of his face at these three simple words, but returned them with a deep and painful honesty,

"I love you too."

He hung up shortly thereafter, because he knew you never would.

After that, the orange tree stopped blooming again for another three years.

Until finally, one bright summer day, on the first of the month, Nines exited his home to find a single ripe orange on the tree.

He picked it carefully, almost as if he believed it might turn to dust before his very eyes if he gripped it too firmly.

After this, he sat on the cement steps leading up toward the house, and, with a deep breath, pressed his thumb against the firm rind of the fruit.

It split beneath the pressure, but to his surprise, his finger did not go through.

Carefully, and with so much focus you would have thought him to be diffusing a bomb, Nines pulled away at that leathery peel until only the supple fruit beneath remained.

He stared down at it in what was almost surprise, before he took a deep breath and pressed his thumb against the seam, splitting it in twain just as he'd seen you do a thousand times before.

He stared down at the two halves, vision slightly bleary with unexpected tears until finally, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and typed your name in.

He didn't know if you still had the same number, if you had him blocked, or if you would even bother to read his message if you saw who it was from.

But he knew he had to tell you, because there was no one else in the world who deserved to know more,

No one else in the world who would've ever believed he could do it.

'I peeled an orange today.'

He typed carefully, taking a deep breath before finally pressing 'send'.

And since oranges were good for sharing, he sat beneath that tree with Clementine,

And did just that.

masterlist

AO3

[mousy-nona]

Two's Company (Three's a Crowd)

In which Lilith makes Lucifer an offer he finds hard to refuse, and Alastor has to figure out just how far he'll go to keep him.

Or, Alastor deals with Feelings, breaks into the Sistine Chapel, and causes an international (inter-Ring?) crisis.

NOTE: A few mentions of Helluva Boss characters in here. I don't watch the show, so apologies if I got anything wrong!

Alastor knew something was wrong the second Lucifer clumped downstairs. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out; his body language was practically screaming I’m in a bad mood! Comfort me! His face was pale – even paler than usual – and he stumbled into three different doors before finally giving up on the whole ordeal and flopping onto the couch. 

With a sigh, he summoned the darkness and willed himself to appear standing over Lucifer, casting a long shadow over his face. 

“Why so glum, old chum?” 

Lucifer turned even whiter and waved him away, rolling to his side to avoid his gaze. “S’nothing,” he muttered.

Odd. Usually he would bite back. Determined to get some sort of reaction, Alastor hummed and drummed relentlessly on the top of his white top hat. “Let’s see. Why is his Majesty upset today? Another duck explosion?” He paused. Silence. “So no adorable toys were harmed in the making of today’s tragedy. Perhaps something to do with Charlie?”

A flinch this time. He was getting warmer. 

“Charlie and the hotel? Charlie and the angels? Charlie and her big break up?”

“What? ” Lucifer bolted straight up, his eyes saucer-big. 

“...a break up that never happened, of course. I had to make sure you were still listening!”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are one sadistic asshole, has anyone told you that?” 

“Constantly,” Alastor said, his voice deep with pride. “So are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or am I going to have to make a few more educated guesses of my own?”

Lucifer sighed, rummaged through his pocket, and handed a piece of paper to Alastor. He’d clearly read it a thousand times over – the thing was crumpled, dog-eared, and folded over and over again. The smell of plum blossoms and gunpowder wafted over him as he carefully read the note.

Come up top. Tonight at sunset, the Sistine Chapel. Heaven has an offer for you. You may be able to fly with the angels again. -Kisses, L

“L…” Alastor’s eyes widened. “Lilith?” 

Lucifer nodded, draping one arm over his eyes. “Lilith,” he said. His voice was distant, faraway. As if he was already out of Alastor’s reach. 

A sharp pain like a gunshot ripped through his chest, so sudden he thought the hunter had come back a hundred years later to finish the job. 

“Alastor?” Lucifer was staring at him.

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing?” 

Alastor glanced down at the couch – where his hand was clamped tightly over Lucifer’s wrist. He hissed and forced himself to let go, staring at his traitor hand in bewilderment. 

“Are you going to go?” 

“She is my wife, Al,” Lucifer sighed. “And her offer sounds like an interesting one, to say the least.” 

His wife. Of course, Alastor had known Lucifer was married. But it was the first time it had seemed like anything more than a running joke. To think there was someone else Lucifer might belong to… He grit his teeth, his claws cutting deep into his palms. 

Alastor did not share. Never had. 

Especially not with selfish she-demons who abandoned their families at the drop of a hat.

Should have taken better care of your husband, Lilith. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “What if it’s a trick?” 

“She wouldn’t do such a thing,” Lucifer said, quick to jump to the traitor’s defense. He frowned, as if Alastor was the one in the wrong. “She’s not like that.” 

That pain again. Alastor’s hand twitched, half-tempted to rip his heart out and be done with these annoying, needless emotions for good. He’d managed to live a hundred and thirty delightful years without this pain, amusing himself with deals, with blood and bone and screams. Laughing at the trials and tribulations of lesser demons from a distance, where nothing and no one could affect him. 

Then Lucifer and this damned hotel had come along. They’d changed…things. 

And after all that, Lucifer thought he was going to walk away from all of it? From him? 

The shadows roared to life by his side. Reality glitched, light bent, green lightning flashed, trapping the two of them in a dimension of their own. One of his tendrils shot out, intending to cage Lucifer in further, but he missed and smashed through the top of the couch instead. 

He missed. He didn’t miss. Ever. What the Hell was going on with him?

Your control is slipping, his shadow whispered delightedly in his ear. What next? Are you going to beg? Go all sappy and tell him you –

“Never,” he whispered. 

“Alastor! What the Hell is going on with you?” Lucifer barked, backing away from the gaping hole his tendrils had left behind. Alastor whipped towards him, and Lucifer blanched. “You...are you okay?”

He could see his own crazed eyes, his wild, out-of-control grin reflected back at him in Lucifer’s concern. He took a few deep breaths, getting his voice under control before he said, “I don’t think you should go.”

Lucifer paused, then shook his head. “I have to. I have to know what she wants.” 

“Fine.” Alastor snarled, one of his shadow tendrils snapping uncontrollably at the air. One of them crashed into the couch, snapping it in two, and nearly tore the floor in half. “Do as you please.”

Then he called his shadows, and melted away before Lucifer could say another word.

Unwilling to spend another second under the same roof as that sad excuse for a king, Alastor headed to the one place he knew he could find a kindred spirit – Rosie’s.

The second she saw the look on his face, she wheeled out an assortment of her best treats – ladyfingers, blood pudding, buck’s eyes, and ladies’ navels – and poured him a pot of her finest tea.

“What’s the occasion?” Alastor asked.

“Does there need to be an occasion for me to pamper my friend?”

“Rosie,” Alastor said, and she stopped bustling about. His voice sounded tired even to his own ears, scraped clean of his usual boisterous gentlemanly artifice. “What’s the occasion?” 

“You look like you need it,” Rosie said, her brow raised as she gave him a significant once-over. “To be honest, sweets, you look like shit.” 

“You have such a way with words,” he sighed, plopping down on an empty chair and helping himself to a few buck’s eyes. They squished delightfully between his teeth, but he couldn’t taste anything past the sour disgust in his mouth. Disgust with Lucifer, for running back to Lilith the second she called. Disgust with himself, for caring .

“So what did Lucifer do?” 

He nearly spat out the eye, half-chewed cornea and all. “What makes you think–?”

“Sweetheart.” Rosie leaned forward as she popped a ladyfinger into her mouth. “I don’t pretend to know or understand what’s going on between you and Lucifer, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Of course it’s him. You only get that funny little twitch in your eye when he’s involved.”

It was getting worse and worse. Now he was predictable too. The thread of his sanity bent and stretched perilously thin. Like a sailor being pitched this way and that in a storm, he scrabbled for something, anything to hold onto, and eventually managed to calm himself down by thinking of increasingly creative deaths for the angel. No Lucifer, no more pesky feelings. He’d be able to return to his old self. Impenetrable. Cold. Unfeeling.

You know it’s too late for that, his shadow, his honest half, whispered in his ear. 

I’ll kill you too, he promised the shadow. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he trilled. His voice was strained, he sounded half mad. “Lucifer is meeting his wife on Earth, that’s all. It sounds like she’s trying to take him back to Heaven.” 

Rosie’s cup clattered onto the table and shattered. Shards of glass and Gluttony’s finest tea flew everywhere, but she didn’t even flinch. “Is that possible?”

He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Lilith.”

“Leaving you here…in Hell.” Understanding dawned over her face.

“Please, Rosie! I’ve done quite well for myself for a hundred years without him, I daresay I’ll go another hundred without sparing him another thought.”

One of his shadow minions tottered over with another cup. She accepted it gratefully, poured herself some more tea, and sipped at it, staring at him over the rim. He steeled himself. Rosie always had something unpleasant to say when she was giving him The Look.

“Alastor, I’ve known you since the day you dropped into Hell. And no matter what this odd place has thrown at you, you’ve cut through it all with a smile. This is no different. It’s another kind of trial, to be sure, but you’ve never run away from something before.” “I am not running away ,” Alastor hissed, annoyed at the mere implication.

“Oh? What would you call this then? Having tea with an old friend while someone else comes in and steals what’s yours?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why should I care about what Lucifer does?” 

She scoffed. “There’s no one else here but you and me, Alastor. You can admit it here.”

“Admit what?” The world glitched and the light flickered, turning red, then green, then yellow. His voice was monstrous, split into four different harmonies and overlaid with heavy static. 

Rosie continued on, completely unaffected by his display of power. “You may not love in the same way that the Princess does, but the king has won a special piece of your heart, hasn’t he?”

“I do not lo–”

She cut him off, skewering him with a hard stare. “How long has it taken for you to find him? And do you really think if you lose him, you’ll be able to find someone so important to you ever again?” She laughed and took another calm sip of tea, completely unimpressed by the massive shadow of antlers and teeth bristling in front of her. “I always knew you were destined for great things, but to find a partner in the Morning Star? You’ve outdone yourself this time.” 

Alastor shrunk into himself until he was back to his normal, strawberry-suited shape. “I don’t need him,” he snarled.

“No, you don’t need him. But do you really think you’ll be happy with him gone?” 

Unbidden, a tidal wave of memories came crashing down on him. Lucifer yelping as he accidentally sat on one of Alastor’s unfortunate meal choices, Lucifer destroying every one of his radios in the hotel as revenge, Lucifer gagging when he joined him for dinner one day, Lucifer’s annoyed taunts, Lucifer’s shock when he accidentally-on-purpose snuck in a compliment, Lucifer’s broad smile, Lucifer, Lucifer .

You’ve never run away before. Don’t run away from this. 

“No,” he whispered. Rosie’s smile widened until it nearly cracked her face in two.

“Good. Now, you mentioned they were going to Earth?”

He nodded, struck momentarily mute by the strange emotions twisting and roaring in his chest. 

“I happen to know of a certain someone who might be able to get you there.”

Alastor gripped the grimoire in one hand, ignoring the screaming pain that made itself known every time he stepped forward. The portal had been surprisingly easy to create once he’d gotten his hands on the grimoire. It transported him to the front doors of the Sistine Chapel without a hitch – which was good, since Stolas had turned one of his arms and who knew what else to stone. 

That crazy owl, he thought, there was no need for all that fuss. I was only borrowing it. 

The sun dipped low in the horizon, casting a heavenly orange glow over the grandiose halls of the chapel. He’d never had a chance to visit when he was a human, and a part of him marveled at the beauty of it. Truly a pinnacle of human achievement. 

He would appreciate it more, if his feet didn’t feel like they were slowly being roasted over a pit. The holy power in the building was strong, and he felt it sapping away at his demonic energy like hungry parasites. His arm was growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. The distinct taste of iron tickled the back of his throat.

But Alastor plowed on. Left, right, right, left, until he finally came to a hall much greater than the others. 

Voices, one cold and high, and the other so familiar it made his chest ache, filtered through the door. He put one hand on the flat wood, ignoring the fire that blazed through his body as it did its best to exorcise him back to Hell, and pushed.

Lilith turned around first, her cold eyes widening when she took in his antlers, his sentient microphone, his razor sharp teeth. “A demon? Here?” 

Lucifer turned then, and a whirlwind of emotions flashed across his face. First disbelief, then anger, and finally pure, bright happiness . It made Alastor’s skin prickle. He wanted to bully him relentlessly so he could never smile like that again.

He had always liked dirty things. Liked to smudge and ruin and tear until the good was shattered in two. Lucifer was proving quite a challenge – despite spending the entirety of the universe trapped amongst sinners, despite being separated from everything good and holy, despite his depression and his growing disbelief, there was something about him that was still pure .

Alastor wanted to ruin him. 

“Apologies for barging in without an invite–”

But his big speech was ruined by Lucifer, who took a step towards him, his eyes shining. Lilith was watching them both through narrowed eyes. 

“You came,” he said, his eyes shining. “You actually came.” 

“Don’t read too much into it,” Alastor grumbled, knowing he would anyways. 

“How did you manage–?”

“Let’s get into it later.” Alastor raised his chin, staring Lilith in the eye. It was foolish, he knew. Even without the consecrated ground sapping at his demonic power and burning him alive, he was exhausted from his battle with the Goetic Prince. Roughly a third of his body had been turned to stone. He was in no shape to take on the Queen of Hell.

But he was here now. It was too late for regrets. 

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked, sounding more curious than anything. 

“Merely an interested party. Please, continue with your meeting. I apologize for my rude interruption.” 

Lucifer drifted closer, his eyes widening when he saw Alastor’s ripped clothes. Alastor straightened, doing his best to look as normal as possible. 

“Apology accepted.” Lilith turned to Lucifer. “So, what do you think of the proposal?” 

“It’s an offer of a lifetime,” Lucifer chuckled, one eye on Alastor, always Alastor. Despite the massive amounts of pain he was in, he felt a sizzle of pleasure crawl up his spine. “I thought I was banished until the end of this world.” 

“Things are changing. Charlie’s little experiment is making the higher ups nervous. They’ve decided they might need your help to set things right. And if you play your part, well…who knows what might be possible?” She held out her hand. To anyone other than Alastor, she might look like the posterchild of sweetness, of love. But he was a master manipulator, and he could recognize a well-crafted mask when he saw one. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, indecision warring across his face. 

“We can both go to Heaven, Lu. We can be together again.” 

“Stay.” 

Lucifer’s eyes shot open and he whirled around to stare disbelievingly at Alastor. Lilith’s gaze shot to him too, the first flickers of anger cracking her mask. Alastor ignored her, keeping his gaze steady on Lucifer.

“Stay in Hell.” He’d rather get fully petrified by Stolas than say the next part, but he knew he must. Alastor the Radio Demon did not run away. Taking a deep breath, he choked out, “Stay with me.” 

If he had been human, the radiance that shone from Lucifer would have been bright enough to melt his corneas. Lucifer stepped fully towards him – turning his back on his wife. 

“I’m sorry, Lilith,” he murmured as he raised his hand, wonderingly, towards Alastor’s cheek. Alastor flinched, but forced himself to stay still as Lucifer ran one gentle finger down a scratch he hadn’t noticed was there. The flesh knitted together, the skin stitching clean. He smiled at Alastor, and Alastor was seized with the strange urge to bite it off. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy where I am.”

“What?” She stuttered, looking uncertain for the first time. “But you hate the sinners! You’re miserable down there!”

Lucifer laughed. “I was miserable up there too. And you know, they’re not all bad.” He looped one hand around Alastor’s waist as they headed for the door. “They don’t leave me for a year without a single word, for instance.” 

The door snapped shut with a satisfying thump on Lilith’s shell shocked expression. 

“Man, I’ve been dying to say that one for months. Did you see the stupid look on her face?” Lucifer crowed. Alastor let out a weak chuckle, struggling desperately to keep his feet underneath him. Now that the danger was over and the adrenaline was leaving his system, it was getting harder and harder to keep his legs moving. The weaker he grew, the more the holy energy gnawed at him. 

With a whoosh, he felt his stone foot go limp. He staggered into Lucifer, who caught him easily. His eyes widened, his hands tightening around Alastor’s shivering body.

“That’s right, this is consecrated ground,” Lucifer swore. “How did you get in, anyways? There should be wards for that kind of thing. And how the fuck are you still standing?” 

“Surely you’re not asking me to reveal my secrets?” Alastor managed, swallowing hard past the stone his stomach had become. 

“Come on, I can’t open a portal while we’re still inside. There’s an exit nearby. You should feel better once we’re off the grounds.” 

Lucifer picked up the pace, heading determinedly towards a small door Alastor had completely missed the first time around. 

“But seriously, how did you get on Earth? You can’t make portals, and you don’t have –” 

His voice trailed off when Alastor held up a blue-bound book with a giant gold moon stamped on the cover. Stolas’s grimoire.

“ Are you insane ?” 

Alastor coughed, and a line of red streamed down the corner of his mouth. “It would have been rather easy, except the imp’s owl-friend happened to be in the room when I arrived. Unfortunate timing, that.”

Lucifer paused, his face going slack with an odd mixture of worry and fascination. “You took on a Goetic Prince? For me?”

“It wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be. I’ve faced Overlords with more grit.” Again, he coughed, and more blood started flowing. “But there may or may not be an international crisis waiting for you back home.”

“Fuck the crisis. Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucifer’s concern rankled. He was Alastor, for Hell’s sake. The Radio Demon, the strongest Overlord Pentagram City had ever seen. Even with his power half-shackled, he wasn’t some weak little imp that had to be coddled. “Stolas was too busy worrying about his favorite little pipsqueak to get off more than a few shots.”

Lucifer eyed the blood splattered down his front, but wisely decided against commenting further. As soon as they were off of sacred ground, Alastor started breathing easier. Lucifer summoned a portal and grabbed his hand to fly them into it – his left hand. 

Lucifer yelped. “You – did your hand get turned into stone ?”

He shrugged. “Hand…and a few other things.” Lucifer looked horrified. “‘Tis but a flesh wound.” 

“You–” Lucifer stopped, as if words failed to describe exactly how much of a lunatic Alastor was. “I gave up Heaven for you.” He said it slowly, as if he was testing the words, feeling out their price.

“I hope you’re not getting buyer’s remorse. It’s a bit too late for that.” 

Quick as a flash, Lucifer grabbed Alastor’s neck and wrenched their mouths together. It wasn’t sweet. It was rough and desperate and bloody, and Alastor finally, finally let his instinct go free and slashed at Lucifer’s lips with his razor teeth. The golden blood that dripped from the shallow cuts was, for lack of a better word, heavenly. 

Like burning ambrosia. A cloying warmth that bit and blazed while it healed. It made him shiver with delight. For this taste alone, he would blast through Stolas’s palace a hundred times. 

When they broke away, Lucifer’s eyes were flames. “Never,” he breathed. Then he cracked his knuckles, his six wings flaring wide. 

“But I do think I have a Prince of Hell to visit.” 

[goodnitedrdead]

god only knows

Horacio Carrillo x reader

Summary: who would've thought his ex-wife would ask God to send Horacio an angel? To fill the space she couldn't fill, and to do what Horacio wouldn't even do for himself.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Divorce. Horacio being head over heels for reader. Fluff. Love. All that fun stuff.

Author's Note: quick little something I wrote before bed because I rly miss my favorite soldier and because I needed a break from school. Might make sense, might not. I did state that one of my new years resolutions was to write at least one piece of writing for each month so I am doing this before the month ends. Mistakes and errors are all my own, I didn't have time to check it. Let me know what you think :3

Composed. Collected. Calm. That’s what made Horacio an excellent soldier and an even better Colonel. Ever since his training days at the academy, he was an exemplary student. A promising star who was meant to be a leader. 

And a leader he became.

He’d set the tempo, and everyone else would follow the rhythm of his steps. His family talked wonders of the honorable man he became, to anyone who would listen. It was no surprise that the women were fawning over him, and much to his family’s constant pestering of finding the perfect wife, he found Juliana. 

Together, they found a mutual and tranquil love. Maybe the kind that develops over time, but certainly not one to last forever. 

If Horacio were to match Juliana to an animal, he’d say she was a doe. Skittish, gentle, docile. She was a good wife to him and always fulfilled her duties. She’d have three meals a day ready for the family. She’d stay home and focus on the children. She’d be devoted to her husband forever. 

Just as tradition states.

Horacio was to fulfill his duties as a husband too. He’d go to work, dedicate most of his time to it not only because he wanted the best for his country, but he wanted a safe place for his children to grow. He’d come back home and sometimes have dinner with his family. He’d be devoted to his wife forever.

Just as tradition states.

Tradition didn’t talk about divorce. Tradition didn’t talk about intruders and third parties shaking the very core of an honorable man’s beliefs.

Tradition never changes.

Tradition was broken when Julianna eventually got tired of Horacio’s lifestyle. It was broken when fear crept into their home, and found a host to latch on to. Fear was deeply rooted in Julianna’s heart from one minute to the next; fearing that every day that passed would be their last with Escobar on the run.

She went against her duties and beliefs and did what she saw fit. Bags packed, a new home far from Medellin, and divorce papers were her top three priorities for a few weeks. Eventually, she did the first two, but she couldn’t bring herself to give the papers to Horacio herself. She prayed, day and night, for guidance on what she should do but at the end of the day, her and her children’s safety were her number one priority. Horacio would be able to fend for himself. 

That never stopped her from reciting a quick prayer for him every night before bed. As she found herself far away from Medellin and Horacio, she’d pray for the safety of her ex-husband. After all, she still had a fondness for him and he was the father of her children. She shared many years and a home with him, it was someone she couldn’t just forget about overnight. 

She prayed to God to send Archangel Michael and his soldiers to watch over and protect Horacio from harm. Whether it may be from self-harm or others, she prayed for his safety. Send him your fiercest angel, the most courageous and brave one to keep him from harm’s way.

Horacio never knew this, for if he had he would’ve thanked Juliana for her wishes and prayers. Because if it wouldn’t have been for her, he wouldn’t have found you. 

You came into his life like a goddamn lightning bolt. He’d feel you in the air, the startling feeling jolting him as soon as you’d walk into the room. Unapologetically yourself and nothing else. You’d make a friend of anyone that crossed your path, but he’d also seen the rage within you. If there was someone he’d fear, it would be you. 

You were quick on your feet, and somehow quicker with your gun. He wasn’t sure why the DEA didn’t make you a sniper, but you were awfully good at your job. And yet, you were unapologetically gentle. You wouldn’t think twice about taking a bullet for him, and it made him laugh at times. A woman of your stature stepping in front of him, to protect him from harm’s way. A woman who was breaking tradition day by day and night by night. You weren’t quite like anything he’s ever seen before, and he loved that about you.

He loved how, despite igniting fear into even his soldiers’ minds and hearts, you wouldn’t budge. He could yell and scream and bark orders at you and you’d remain with the most serene energy he’s ever seen. Your eyes fixed on him, the storm brewing within you. Horacio wasn’t scared of many things, but he was scared of you.

How is it that you, someone so tender yet menacing, could have that balance within? He was scared of the way you would keep your innocence despite the amount of deaths and blood you’ve seen this city shed at the hands of Pablo Escobar. The way a smile would come so easy to you. The way a laugh was so easy to coax out of you. He was absolutely enamored by your very being.

Something he had never truly quite felt.

The time came when he lost everything he ever thought he was. Horacio started to lose his composure. He’d start to notice the way his heart would threaten to jump out at the sight of you. The way his pulse would quicken by just being by your side. The way his mind would seem to forget about every word to ever exist when you were speaking to him.

He started to notice how clumsy he would unwillingly become. How he’d stumble over his words when you were in the room. How his hands would betray him and drop the items they were carrying, because it would somehow elicit a giggle out of you. How he’d blush whenever you focused on him, as if he was the only person in the world that mattered.

Tradition was never supposed to change, right?

Yet you continued to prove that you didn’t care what tradition said. You approached Horacio first. You asked him out first. You kissed him first. You weren’t worried about what anyone else would think. You didn’t even care about what Horacio would think. 

It’s not like he never wanted to start anything, he was just too busy being consumed by your presence. You had a light within you that was blinding, but all Horacio wanted to do was look at you even if that meant he’d lose his senses for the rest of his life. 

It was only when you became a couple that he realized you were the protector. No matter how much he tried, you were always one step ahead of him. Ready to attack at the slightest moment anyone got too close to him. Ready to give your life up for him. 

Ready to fill his life with the most pure and sincere love he’d ever felt. 

It was as if God himself picked you to be placed on his path. 

[stevie-petey]

hiiiiiiiii honey <3 could we get a blurb about bug telling steve about jonathan’s outburst towards her after he took the pictures of nancy and steve’s reaction to learning about it???? it would be so so appreciated by me <3 you’re the best ever <3 MWAH

(i am being held against my will to write this jonathan sweetie im so sorry) (i love u val) (u are evil)

i know this isnt necessarily what u MEANT but ,,, ive been dying to expand upon bugs kindness and how it may seem annoying and pathetic, but its hers ! its her kindness !!!

enjoy <3

"no way you guys havent wanted to strangle each other at least once." steve remarks one day as he watches you and jonathan work side by side at the cash register.

jonathan had been bored today and decided to join you and steve at work, something that you're very happy about, honestly.

"oh, ive definitely wanted to strangle jonathan," you say, writing down a new shipment receipt while the boy next to you doodles.

steve rolls his eyes. "old married couple squabbling doesnt count. im talking, like, full on betrayal and hurt here. you guys are always so... you, and it has to be an act."

jonathan snorts. "shouldve seen the fights we had last year. surprised y/n didnt kill me with her bare hands."

"i dont believe you."

"no, hes right." you look up at steve. "he threw a jacket at my face last year and then told me we werent family the night he took those pictures of nancy. then cried in my arms like a day later."

steve stares at you, shocked.

"i also then slept in nancys bed and lied about it. and tried leaving you behind a few times."

"that you did," you flick jonathans ear, causing him to wince in pain. "you deserved that."

"i did."

during this entire exchange, steve hasnt said a single word. hes still stunned, baffled by the fact that jonathan could be so cruel to someone so wonderful.

"wait a second," he looks between you and jonathan. "and youre still friends?"

"yeah." you both say at the same time.

steve cant fucking believe it. you do anything and everything for jonathan, that much is obvious, and sure. steve has seen jonathan do small acts of kindness towards you, devote the same back, but to throw a jacket at you and belittle you? and now here he is, joking about it alongside you. as if it was all okay in the end.

"youre too nice sometimes, y/n." the words leave steves lips before he can stop them. once he realizes what hes said, he looks up at jonathan and panics. "sorry, man. im sure you guys talked it out and... yeah."

jonathan shrugs. "no, youre right. she is and i was dick."

"im right here, you know."

steve winces. "sorry."

"its fine, honestly." you go back to scribbling shipment orders. "i am indeed too nice, but i dont ever really see the point in holding a grudge? i mean, jonathan apologized and i understood the stress he was under. sure, it didnt erase all the hurt he caused, but after almost dying immediately after being mad at him for not including me in something... i dont know. it felt silly to hold onto that anger after. childish, even."

jonathan and steve share a look, for once both seeming to think the same thing.

shes too good.

you hate that they do this. you hate that people view your kindness as a weakness. after the hell youve been through, long before monsters even came to hawkins, youve learned the hard way just how rare kindness is.

now you try to be kind to everything and everyone, no matter what it may cost you.

the kindness is yours, no one elses.

and if that makes you weak, then at least it made you better.

you tear two pieces paper from your notebook, scrunch them up into balls, and then throw them at steve and jonathan. "stop pitying me. im kind and i love that aspect of myself. i dont care if it makes me vulnerable or pathetic. its a piece of me, and i wouldnt change it. if you dont like it, then that belittles me even more than emotional outbursts ever could."

jonathan sighs. "youre right, bug. youre a very kind and lovely person and its what makes you a joy to be around, paper balls and all."

steve plays along. "definitely a better super power than spider-man, dare i say."

"okay, lets not get ahead of ourselves now," you giggle, appreciative of both the boys. they may not understand or like the way you view the world, but theyre at least trying.

its all you could ask for.

even if steve later on that day pulls you aside to whisper, "i think i can kick jonathans ass this time, if you ever need it."

and its enough.

[pastafossa]

The last day of 2023.

And holy shit has it been a chaotic ride, one which you all shared with me, or that's what it feels like!

The Major Moments:

Feb: Cato's cancer diagnosis and discovery of weird mutated cells that likely won't be explained until after he passes away. He's still with me, fortunately! No idea how much time he has left but I'm grateful for every second

April: a small leak in my dining room ceiling turned into a bigger leak which turned into a massive hole in the ceiling, at least it wasn't winter???

May: DD Born Again Photos give us all a goddamn heart attack

May: I FUCKING REACH MY OVERALL 1,000,000 WORD COUNT ON AO3. 🎊 🎉 🎊 Next stop is 1mill for TRT!

June: Went to my first con since Covid! Drove all the way down to Philly to see Charlie Cox, WHICH WAS FUCKING AMAZING, HE HELD THE RED THREAD FOR OUR PHOTO, MY FANFIC DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE, AND I TOLD HIM WHAT DD MEANS TO ME AND HE WAS SO NICE I COULD CRY

June: At that same con, I finally FINALLY got to meet my bff @wonderlandmind4 in person after many many many late nights of chatting, and we just CLICKED like we'd been friends for years, which I should have expected, but still! And then I got to meet a bunch of my readers, too! Best con experience EVER

July: enter Whoops Covid Finally Got Me After 3 Years But Charlie Was Worth It ™

July: Finally dusted off my draft of Pasta's First Dark Fic cause even if my brain was too fuzzy to write, I figured I could edit a bit. And I did! And was pretty happy with the results!

August: Shit Now There's A Long Covid Heart Issue And I Can't Be Seen Until Late November Thanks Covid ®

August: leak in the garage leads to me losing about 65% of all the beautiful, special woods pieces I'd gathered over the course of six years for carving. Within a week I am gifted a huge bin of wood from a kind soul at my local witchy shop

Sept: TRT's 6th anniversary!

Nov: I was slowly getting back into the swing of things, doing a bit of writing in between learning to manage whatever was going on with my heart (which we'll hopefully figure out in January when I get all the results of testing in Jan)

Early Dec, and the worst week of my life: mom got sick. Within one day she went from not feeling good to needing an ambulance. By the next day, she was in the ICU - flu induced double pneumonia that was interfering with her breathing and heart issues. And with one more day, she was put into an induced coma and ventilated, without any of us sure if she'd pull through. They told us she'd likely be under for two weeks, potentially longer even if she made it. The amount of messages and supportive comments I got from all of you, the talks I had with @wonderlandmind4 and @shouldbestudying41, just the general sense of having a community to help me means more than I can ever say as you all helped me through that terrible, horrible moment, even if it was just gently messaging me to remind me to try to eat.

Mid Dec: against ALL odds, Mom was off the ventilator in a week. By week 2, she was out of the ICU. By week 3? Off to the physical rehab center. She was there a grand total of 1 week before she was allowed to come home to finish her recovery. Early December was the worst moment of my life, and yet it was also bookended by the best Christmas of my life even if it was spent at the rehab center, because I got to have my mama back, and hug her and tell her I loved her and make jokes, and now she's home and we've been watching Christmas movies and eating grilled cheeses, and as far as I'm concerned, that's what the holiday is to me: not presents and snow and lights, but this moment, this time with her. 'In all the places you find love, it feels like Christmas.'

In just a few hours for me, it'll be 2024. I have no idea what to expect going forward, or even what to plan for, much less a resolution. I know I want to get back to TRT when mom's a bit better (she still needs a lot of help, understandably). I know there are wood carvings I want make; friends I want to visit; witchy events at my local shop I want to go to. But other than that... who knows? If I'm lucky, things will be calmer than this past year. But even if they aren't, at least I know I have dear friends, all of you, and my family, including Pasta Mama, to help me through it.

Goodbye, 2023. Hello, 2024.

[kaiijo]

pomefiore + college! au

characters: vil, rook, epel notes: gn! reader, this is in honor of me finally starting book 5 other college aus: heartslabyul

vil schoenheit

vil is a living legend on campus who double majors in business and film! he uses both as a way to hone his already near-perfect craft and to prove to people that his fame was well-deserved and not a product of nepotism. he’s constantly receiving top marks in every class, and he’s one of the few students who never, ever arrives in sweats — always dressed to the tens with a full face of makeup. he’s a surprisingly approachable person though it may not always seem like it, so there’s no real harm in going up and asking for an autograph or something — all you have to do is be nice and polite, and vil has no problem giving back to fans. he’s always striving to do better and be better and everyone honestly wonders if vil ever just sits back and relaxes.

as a member of the school newspaper, you’re tasked with interviewing the vil schoenheit: actor, model, and influencer. you’re more than a little intimidated; vil cuts an imposing figure, seemingly infallible and flawless. drawing on every bit of courage you have, you ask vil after a shared class if he’d be willing to sit for an interview for the paper. you’re a little shocked at his willingness to do so and he actually takes the time with you then and there to fit the interview into his already packed itinerary. the day of the interview rolls around quicker than you expected, and you two sit in an alcove of the library where you can talk. you had looked over the questions your editors had wanted you to ask the night before, more than a little disappointed in the tabloid-like nature of them. you look at them again with vil sitting across from you, and, despite how hard he tries to hid it, you can see a certain weariness in his eyes. you suck in a deep breath and throw the prepared questions out the window, instead spouting off questions that would lead to more of a profile piece — something heartfelt and candid. vil doesn’t mask his surprise and he tells you as much: “it’s been a while since i’ve been asked questions like this.” the interview runs longer than either of you anticipated. luckily neither of you have classes for the rest of the day, though vil does have to get to a photoshoot in ten minutes. before he leaves, he asks for your phone number and if you’d be willing to get something to eat with him sometime.

rook hunt

rook is a criminology major! it’s a natural choice, seeing as he’s always been good at analyzing and observing targets without detection; now, he’ll be able to use his skills for developing action plans for crime prevention! on campus, rook is kind of hard to pin down — always in places where you least expect him to be. one minute you hear he’s in the chem lab and the next he’s on the treadmill in the gym. there is one place that rook is for sure to be at some point in the day, and that’s at the target range where he practices archery since he’s on the college’s team.

to say that rook hunt is quite a character is a gross understatement. you’ve been in most of his classes since you’re majoring in criminology as well, and you still have yet to figure out what makes him tick. you did find out, however, that he is equally interested in finding out how you tick, which manifests in him sitting next to you in the majority of your classes whenever he can and asking you to hang out with either him or him and his friends (meaning vil, for the most part). you’ve rejected the offer over and over but rook is just so insistent that it kind of wore you down to the point that you just agreed so he’d stop bugging you. he takes you to the natural history museum of all places and… you actually have a pretty fun time. rook is surprising knowledgeable about the specimens on display and when he doesn’t know about an exhibit, you have fun learning more about it together. it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship and maybe, eventually, it will be more.

epel felmier

epel hasn’t officially declared a major yet but he is on track for some kind of agriculture major in order to help his family on the farm back home. he’s also looking into a sculpture minor, or something that he can put his apple-carving talents into. epel is, quite frankly, a force to be reckoned with. while he seems docile and meek, he’s actually pretty sharp and is very determined to succeed. he’s on a bunch of sports team and particularly excels at soccer, to the great shock of many peers. his family sends care packages filled with apple products: pies, candles, ciders, etc. that epel shares with his roommates and the people on his dorm floor.

you’re epel’s childhood friend, growing up just down the street from his family farm. you also receive an individualized care package from grandma felmier! you two are attached at the hip, one hardly ever seen without the other. you go to every single soccer game of epel’s and he attends all of your club events. you’ve always kind of had a crush on epel and he had one on you but neither of you had gotten up the gumption to confess. that’s until one of epel’s soccer teammates begins getting flirty with you. it didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se, but it makes you feel awkward at best. when epel sees it, he’s none too happy, his country accent coming out strong. some of his teammates goad him and needle him — why does he care so much? you’re an attractive person and it’s only natural that people will flirt with you. that’s when the truth comes out — in a hurried rush of defensive words — that epel likes you. he’s as red as the apples they grow on the felmier farm and before epel can apologize to you, you tell him that you like him too and the rest is history.

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

Snippets someday

Thank you for the tags @dirty-bosmer (you had an amazing idea with this tag game!), @mareenavee, @blossom-adventures, you guys are the best <3 <3 This tag game is amazing, and while it was hard to pick favourites, I had so much fun, and looking back on my first chapters, I love to see the similarities, but also the differences. ‘Wherever you go, there you are’ is such a fulfilling and fun journey for me! Starting to write and post fanfic was the best decision ever, because not only did it boost my confidence and made me develop my own writing style, but it also lead me to meet some amazing people along the way. Just know that I appreciate every single one of you who reads my work/leaves kudos and comments/tags me in tag games/or interacts with my posts! I love this little community to pieces! But enough sappy ramblings, let’s get to the rules!

Rules:

Revisit an old fic (or earlier chapters of your current WIP) and share a snip from: 

 * Your first chapter 

 * Your favorite chapter 

* Your most challenging chapter 

 Alternatively, if you don't write longfic, feel free to share your one-shots. Provide as much or as little commentary as you want.

The snippets under the cut are from my longfic, WYGTYA

*Snippet from my first chapter! These are from chapter two, because chapter one is just a prologue to put readers into context with where the story starts :)

~

“I think I’d make a good bartender.” Inigo says, finally turning to them from the treasure chest, wearing a cravat and a monocle. Making exaggerated gestures with a golden goblet, decorated with small emeralds and putting on his most fancy accent, “May I take your order, my lord?”

“Ah, yes. Give me some of your most exquisite wine. I am, after all, a mer with expensive taste.” Rumarin responds in the same fashion while Ravonna and Lucien are laughing so hard the boat’s shaking.

“Very well, My lord. Coming right up!” and, to everyone’s surprise, he actually finds a bottle of Gods-know-what and opens it.

“Wait, did you get that out of the chest?” Ravonna asks with a mixture of amazement and concern.

“Yes, my lady. Do not worry. It is very exquisite indeed!”

“We’ll see about that. I’m a wine expert, after all.”

“Rumarin, are you sure that’s drinkable? It’s been there for hundreds of years at least!”

“You know, Lucien, I have a philosophy in life. A few, actually. One, wine would never hurt me. Two, always try to drink something that resembles wine, but you have to smell it first. And three… cheers, mate!” and he quickly downs the so-called wine, much to Lucien’s horror.

“Did he just do that? Did you just do that?”

“I did.” He grins.

“Well how is it?” Ravonna asks.

“It’s… exquisite.”

“I wanna try that!”

“Me too!” Inigo says, already looking for more fancy goblets.

“Guys I don’t think we should – ”

“Luci, the dremora pirate says everything’s fine to use. I guess this includes the wine. Now give me that bottle!” Ravonna grabs the bottle taking a careful sip. “By the Gods!”

“Well I’m not going to drink it, just in case y’all get poisoned and need someone to save the day.”

“Uuh, guys?”

“It’s fine, really. I know a thing or two about brewing. The older the wine, the better, and the more expensive, I tell you. My father had this wine back at the tavern, almost two hundred years old! I used to sneak in and take a few sips.” Ravonna laughs.

“Guys?”

“You know what? You’re right. And it’s definitely wine. I know wine when I tase it, or smell it, believe me. And I’ve got another philosophy for you, Lucien.”

“Guys?!?”

“What?” they all turn to Inigo, in unison.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one seeing masked people all dressed the same waiting for us at shore.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

Fun fact, this first chapter is one of m absolute favourites. I still remember the sheer amounts of excitement I felt while writing it! 

~

~

___________________________________________

*For the favourite chapter, I chose chapter 9, because the Skaal Village party, as well as all the metaphor of rebirth and the bonding that took place between the characters is so near and dear to my heart <3. Chapter 10 was a very close second, though! 

“I’m sorry.” She barely says between giggles. “It’s just so funny to me how life works.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, some nights ago, we were killing each other, and now we’re almost fighting over who is supposed to be apologizing. How did we get here?!”

He laughs along with her, feeling lightheaded from the alcohol. “I have no idea. I'd call it a pleasant surprise.”

“Well then, let’s make most of it! I need another one of those magical shots, and they are a lot more fun to drink with somebody.” She says, getting up and offering her hand.

“There’s magic involved?” He says, taking her hand and trying to get up, but she lets go of his hand, falling on the snow. She was laughing again and she almost dragged him with her.

“Oh, Gods!” she gets up and shakes the dirt and snow off her robes. “I thought a man as well-read as you would be able to spot a figure of speech. I didn’t mean actual magic!”

“Oh, give me a break, vahdin (woman)! It’s been a long night and I haven’t had a drink in five millennia!”

“Whatever. Your fancy dragon words don’t make up for it!” She looks directly in his eyes. They’re close to each other. Just like in Apocrypha when she got up and in his face. The pose so similar, yet so different. Like looking in a mirror and seeing the complete opposite.

“Hi los ful brit. (You are so beautiful)”

“Shut up, s’wit.” She says, not understanding a word from his dovahzul, but her face doesn’t indicate any trace of anger.

“I know what that means.”

“You know everything, don’t you.”

He thinks for a moment. “Not everything, no. I’ve read books, yes, but I don’t know much about you.”

“Okay, alright. Here’s a fun fact about me: I really want to go take that shot.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” He lets himself get dragged to the main area of the party.

~

~

___________________________________________

*For the most challenging, I chose chapter 11, because it legit took me two months to write this thing! The battle with Vahlok was someting that I kept putting off because it’s very action and angst filled and that can be tricky for me to write. Also, the Dovahzul language is killing me hahaha!

“Tiid fah hi wa kos nahlot ahrk dir (loosely: time for you to shut up and die)” Vahlok screeched, and shoved Ravonna into a wall as hard as he could with his telekinetic powers. This awakened something in Fenrik. Something he hasn’t felt since he killed his first dragon.

“Fin gein ahraan dii fahdonne (no one hurts my friends)!” Fenrik shouts, breaking free from his grip.

“Fahdonne?(Friends?)” Vahlok tilts his head in bewilderment. “Un fron lost nid fahdonne, sonaak! (Our kind has no friends, dragon priest!)” He says in a mocking tone.

“Tol los ni wo zu'u los! Ni alun aan ziist tiid! (Loosely: That is not who I am! Not anymore and not ever again!)” and with that, he strikes him with a sparks spell and all hell breaks loose.

I’m going to tag @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @sheirukitriesfandom with no pressure, of course! And tagging anyone else who would like to share! Consider yourself tagged! 

[troutfur]

Sknce you're in need of more female character promots: I'm on a weird Frostfur kick and would kill for a piece from your frost/lion/tiger/golden polycule au with her feelings, particularly after book 5 when Tiger has maimed 2 of her daughters and killed her sister.

I also have a prompt involving Goldenflower in the askbox that would go really, really well as a companion piece to this one. So I'll be trying to tackle these two to finish up days 19 and 20. I do best with talky fics so I'm gonna need her to be there to provide a back and forth. And it's a good way to add some tension and exposit a bit about the things going on with the pfurr dynamic concept that make this one so fascinating.

(Want a chance at having your prompt picked for one of the last 10 days we have of November? Check out my guidelines and submit it. The more I have to pick from the better.)

Even outside the medicine den Frostfur could still smell the distinctive tang of blood. It clung to the insides of her nostrils like a tick to an elder’s fur. And in every moment that she couldn’t see to her daughter it bit, it bit without any chance for her to lodge it out.

She’d seen how her children had reacted, Brackenfur, Thornpaw, and even Cinderpelt barred by Yellowfrang from disturbing her, from spending their every waking moment observing, fretting, getting in the way of the delicate care Brightpaw required right now. She had to be firm with her now adult children, make them control the immense grief they felt for their sister (and their brother, Frostfur thought, they did afterall grew up with him as one), set the example even though she desperately wanted to give in to the same impulse as they were feeling.

Yellowfang updated them daily and Fireheart continued to brief the whole of camp on the situation out on the territory daily as well. And with both of them the situation seemed at an impasse. It wracked her with anxiety. How long would it be until Brightpaw is beyond recovery? How long would it be until someone tried the same thing as her daughter? How long could they still live like this, the thorns erected to protect them turned into a cage?

As Frostfur pondered these questions, seated upon her nest despite the sun at its height, she saw from the entrance to the warriors’ den a distinctive golden tabby pelt. “May I share your nest for a few moments?” she asked, bowing her head.

It had been quite a few moons since they stopped sharing one. It was now much smaller than when it was four of them. Still she shuffled aside and did her best to make room for the larger queen.

A part of her wanted to be furious with her, tell her that she had rejected her children from the moment she had denied to denounce that bloodthirsty traitor, that she had been the one to put them on his crosshairs. But that really wasn’t fair. Tigerclaw had joined the golden littermates in their nest first. And it had been her decision to seek entry into Lionheart’s nest rather than the other way around, even if Brindleface would’ve been amenable to the idea.

nd Goldenflower hadn’t really had a choice. The only other sire in her nest she could name would’ve been her brother, so between staining his reputation, raise suspicion around her loyalty, and just letting the Clan carry on assuming what they already were she simply let it all take its course. At least that way she knew she hadn’t made her predicament worse.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t notice earlier,” Goldenflower began. “It was... I really don’t even know how I failed to realize it, how I couldn’t see the warning signs, the hostility between my brother and him, the--”

“I don’t blame you,” Frostfur said with a sigh. “It’s not going to help Brightpaw get better... and it’s not like I was any better in that regard. I could’ve noticed as well. It’s also my fault.”

Goldenflower solemnly nodded, wrapping a paw around her former nestmate to bring her into a hug. “Faith in StarClan is all we have right now. And we mustn’t give it up lest we end up like Bluestar.”

“Faith in StarClan is all we have,” Frostfur echoed. “I have my own apology to offer.”

“If anything that should be me,” Goldenflower replied. “I left you when you needed me most. And even if in the eyes of the Clan I would no longer be a pipfurr to your children, between us I could always be.”

“Still it was an inconsiderate thing for me to do,” Frostfur replied.

“We can talk more about that and how it made me feel after Brightpaw is doing better,” Goldenflower said, pushing her into her chest deliberately. “For now please do not carry that burden. Now is not the time.”

[anneapocalypse]

Writing Wrap-up and 2024 Goals

It's a weird year to be doing a wrap-up, because I did not post a whole lot this year and I'm not sure I even set any goals last January thanks to having covid and being sick and exhausted for weeks, which still kind of feels like it threw off my whole year even though that sounds dramatic. Whatever. I've moped enough about it being a bad year for writing; now, I want to look forward.

2023 Wrap-Up

In case you'd like to read the one fic I did post this year, it's "Before You Go", a Loghain/Maric fic for Dragon Age (3022 words, rated E), which I am still quite happy with! And though it's not writing, I also made a podfic of RosellaWrites' gorgeous fic "let them not make me a stone (and let them not spill me)" (and if you're not interested in podfic you should still go read Rosella's fic, seriously, it's great).

While November 2022 was the last time I made substantial progress on A Hero Sleeps in Gwaren (my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Dragon Age), I did make a few attempts to chip away at the draft this year. I didn't keep any records of what progress I made, but lucky for me Scrivener has a writing history feature that can at least give me a ballpark, and... it says I added 17,326 words to the draft this year (all in the first half of the year), which, not gonna lie, seems unreal to me. The first half of this year is mud in my head, so the fact that I did in fact get some writing done is really encouraging.

Over the summer, FFXIV started to really consume me as I had finished ARR by that point and my investment in the story was growing, and I also started taking a more active leadership role in my tiny free company, and so for the back half of the year I've mostly been writing little snippets about my Warrior of Light Ariane and her adventures and relationships, some of which may become part of actual fics later. This totals out to about 19,500 words at the moment.

So I only posted about 3000 words, but in total I wrote almost 40K this year. Is that a fantastic year, no... but honestly, it's a lot better than what my brain has been telling me I've accomplished this year, which is nothing. :P So I'm glad that I sat down to actually find the numbers!

Onward and upward.

So what's next?

2024 Goals

Fandom:

Finish one longfic.

Write and post a one-shot.

Do one exchange.

Original:

Outline an original novel.

Write a poem.

Send out one piece.

Tentatively my immediate plans are to get started outlining and then writing my Ariane/Haurchefant fic. I'm on the fence about February. On the one hand, it would be great to come back to my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Femslash February, but on the other hand there's a high probability I'm going to be playing Endwalker by that point and I have no hope of keeping my head in Dragon Age during that time, so it's probably best not to commit to it. Dragon Age fic might be best saved for after I've caught up on MSQ when there are (hopefully) a few months still left to wait for Dawntrail and I can take a little break to let it marinate while I work on something else. My enthusiasm for the Briala/Tabris fic has not waned despite the long hiatus, and just yesterday I was reading bits of the draft and getting excited again, so I do hope to finish that this year and get to share it with you.

The alternate candidate for February is either keep working on the Haurchefant fic or in the case of a miracle in which I actually finish it this month (hah!), move forward with the next one I have planned, an Urianger/Moenbryda. That's unlikely but we'll see. I know I still have things to learn about Urianger in Endwalker, which I'm very excited for.

As for what exchange(s) I might do this year, I'm not sure yet! I haven't seen any announcements yet that Chocolate Box is running this year. Black Emporium and FemslashEx are both strong candidates for me. We'll see where I am when those roll around, or maybe something else will catch my eye!

Edited to add: Oh, yeah, also at some point we're supposed to get that final season of Red vs. Blue. I have a few outstanding projects in RvB but the main one that really matters to me is Radio Silence, my Carolina lost years fic. I'd love to use the series' send-off as a kick in the pants to finally finish that one, whenever that happens. We'll see!

Finally, I am making a conscious effort to reclaim my writing time, which traditionally has been the morning between 9 and noon because that's when my mind is the sharpest, but over the past I basically let that slip entirely and be taken over by either housework or gaming, just writing on the fly when something came to me. I'm not morning gaming anymore unless it's for a good reason (timed event I need to catch, etc, which is rare, and finishing yesterday's roulettes is not a good enough reason because the queues are slower in the morning and it just ends up eating more time than it needs to, they happen every day, it's fine).

On to 2024. Looking forward to it.

[lizlet]

2023, in bullet points

I find myself consumed by an assortment of random thoughts, as we reach the end of the year, and as the sun aims downward for one last sunset, I'm going to try sharing them... in the form of bullet points!

In January of 2023, I got to interview John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats, because he guest-starred on an episode of Poker Face and one of the cool things about working for a publication that's largely focused on music is that all I had to do to get his reps' info was ask a colleague. It was a good, fun interview, and he gave me his direct phone number in case I needed to ask him any follow-ups, and I actually did have something I needed to clarify. So I called him a second time, and during that second call, I told him the thing that I'd held back during that first interview, because I'm always on the fence about how much to say to people about how much I love their work: I told him how much I love the song "This Year," how I blast it every New Year's Eve and scream along in triumph, because it's so much easier to sing "I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me" on December 31st. I don't have a transcript of that second call, but I remember he took the compliment with practiced grace, saying something along the lines of "Thank you for saying that, because it means I know I did at least one thing with my time on this earth that helps people."

That's often what I think about, when measuring my accomplishments for the year — what are the things I did that made the world a slightly better place, on a big or large level?

I know I wrote a lot. Wrote stuff I was very proud of and wrote stuff I was less proud of, but sometimes that's what happens. Got into a good groove with Wren Graves at Consequence, who became my default editor early in the year and has proven to be annoyingly good at noticing when a piece could be better and pointing that out. It's good to have an editor who is a lovely and generous person and who also knows your flaws (like, for example, the fact that I maybe repeat words a little too often; if Wren were editing this, he'd send me back this paragraph with the word "good" in bold three times, and he would be right to do so).

Did a lot of interviews, even with the double strike shutting down a lot of opportunities, and checked a few people off the ol' bucket list. (I don't know why John Cho has eluded me for years, but achievement unlocked, thanks to The Afterparty Season 2.) It is still a bit baffling to the awkward-ass adolescent who lurks inside me that a significant part of my job is talking to famous people, and that I may be pretty good at it. (Sorry Wren.)

Hit my second anniversary at Consequence, an outlet that lets me get weird when the occasion calls for it and always offers up new challenges. (Got a couple of big challenges already in the works for January, which I'm doing my best not to think about until January 2nd.) It's a small but mighty team, and I'm happy to be working with them all.

Got elected to the position of secretary on the Television Critics Association board, which has also presented a wild new array of challenges, but the other board members are great and Winter Press Tour is on! ::knocks on any available wood nearby::

I tried as much as possible to be a person who says yes to things, especially if they might lead to wild new experiences. Saw more friends and more theater and live comedy than I have in years past, which makes me happy. (Especially when I can combine the friends WITH the theater and live comedy.)

Also got to spend a good amount of time with my family, who are cool people that I just genuinely enjoy spending time with. Even went on a gosh-darned vacation with them, to Ireland and Scotland, which was overall pretty magical. It's funny how when you're a kid, going on a bus trip to look at pretty scenery sounds very boring, and yet when you're an adult, that's just a really wonderful time.

Continued two streaks of approximately equal length: sobriety and daily usage of Duo Lingo. Both have been rewarding in their own unique ways.

Thanks in part to Duo Lingo, I learned how to type é and ü characters on a keyboard, which isn't a huge deal necessarily, but I have been typing on computers for nearly the entire span of my life (started around three or four years old) and so learning a new trick, after all this time, was pretty exciting. You go around thinking you know everything there is to know, and then you learn a new thing, and it makes you excited to find out what else there is to learn.

That's the energy I try to bring to every year, even a year like 2023, which on a global level was undeniably pretty garbage, especially the way it set the stage for 2024 being potentially worse. I donate money to big and small causes and take public transit whenever I can and only spend time on Elon Musk's Twitter when it's absolutely essential (someone has posted a link to an adorable cat video). I know I could be doing more. I hope I'm doing enough, and try to exceed "enough" when I can.

I had to take a break from writing this just now because I'm in the middle of my second-favorite New Year's Eve tradition: Doing laundry, so that when I get home after a casual hang tonight, I can curl up in my nice clean sheets and wake up like a big toasty cinnamon bun. Best way to start a new year, in my opinion.

While handling laundry, I've been watching The O.C., and it feels like a true portent of good things that my rewatch has brought me to the New Year's Eve episode, even though this means the arrival of Oliver, who I recall being Bad News.

Still, this reminds me to mention that the book I can't stop recommending to people right now is Ben McKenzie's Easy Money, a surprisingly fun read that left me almost feeling like I understand crypto (and definitely makes me think I understand the grotesque human cost of it).

That last bullet point also strongly indicates that I should try to read more books in 2024.

I'm writing this, like I write pretty much everything, in Evernote, and out of laziness I'm going to post it to Tumblr because that should be relatively easy, but I do want to write more personal stuff in the new year, and might look into setting up a new blog or (non-Substack) newsletter for such a purpose.

But I'm also continuing to work on novels — 500 words or so a day, every day I can, until it starts to add up to something. I've developed a lot of daily practices over the last two and a half years: I journal every morning, go running every other day, write my 500 words in the evenings after logging off work, and keep my Wordle and Duo Lingo streaks alive, amongst other things. And they all contribute to me feeling saner and stronger than I remember feeling during the worst periods of my life to date. Worse days may be coming. But I'm glad to be starting the new year with... well, with clean sheets, at the very least.

And before I go out for the night, I may jump around the apartment and sing.

Auld Lang Syne, bitches. Good luck to us all in 2024.

[justanotherfanwriter]

a winter lover needs her jacket

a/n: one-shot, huntlow, unedited. I just wanted to write something. I feel it may be a bit ooc, so forgive me in advance

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“It’s not pretty to look at, is it?” Hunter asked Willow, surprising her. 

She fumbled, embarrassed she had been caught staring, “Uh?”

Hunter turned his attention away from the map he was scrutinizing to smile at her. His smile was smaller then it had been in the human realm, and she didn’t think it would ever reach his eyes again. 

“It’s okay, Willow,” He shrugged, “you can give it to me straight,” He gestured to his face, “ugly, right?” 

Her heart dropped down into her stomach. A few weeks had passed since they had first returned to the demon realm. It had been emotional, to say the least. Heartfelt and heartbreaking, but their home, in some ways, was still here. Their small world—smaller then the human realm—seemed even smaller, broken up by the Collector and his sick, childish games, but witches were the resilient kind. The band of rebellious survivors they had been lucky enough to reunite with weren’t going down without a fight.

Today, they had set up base camp in the ruins of some town she could no longer recognize. It was a disorienting feeling, but not unfamiliar. For the most part, she swallowed down her discomfort, like she had been since the Day of Unity. It was starting to wear on her though, acting like everything was fine or going to be fine, just as she and Gus had agreed to do back in the human realm for Luz and Hunter’s sake.

Maybe if Willow could gauge how useful her part in this fight was, she’d feel better, but it seemed that even Ms. Noceda, who was quite literally a fish out of water here, knew more then she did. She recognized that these doubts and worries were just a culmination of her anxiety, but the obvious lack of transparency and trust amongst the grown-ups was slowly clawing at her sanity.

In the human realm, when it had just been the five of them, it had all felt so simple. Getting home had been their only goal, and they had all been in the same clueless boat on how to go about doing that.

Here, back home, it was like she had forgotten how frustrating everything could be, how little the adults listened, how everyone seemed to have their own secrets, and how small she actually was. Even in her own friend group, everything that should have been said was not being said. To her, it seemed there was a lot of very crucial, very important stuff to talk about, and anytime she tried talking about anything, she was kept a safe arm-length distance away.

Like for example, Hunter was a Grimwalker. At this point, she knew Luz had been aware, and was sure Gus had been too. And yet, no one was talking about it. 

Or, better yet, tonight’s debriefing. No one had told her it was happening until she accidentally walked in on the tail end of it. A group of adults, including Ms. Noceda, had surrounded Luz and Hunter, talking in hushed tones and worried glances. They had disbanded when Hunter had noticed her, and Luz had tried dragging her back to Gus and Amity. 

“I just need my jacket,” She had explained, shaking the other girl off, “I’ll be right out.” 

And now, she had her jacket, but she wasn’t interested in leaving the tent. Instead, she stared at Hunter. Standing there, prior to being caught, she had thought about giving him a piece of her mind. It wasn’t fair, she knew why, but he hadn’t been the same after stepping through the portal. He was avoiding her, and he was making it obvious. Secrets aside, his avoidance stung. She had thought they were friends, but maybe, she had been wrong. Maybe everything in the human realm had been finite. Their relationship born out of convenience, not shared history. And maybe she could have dealt with his cold shoulder (she was unfortunately well acquainted with rejection), if he wasn’t also avoiding Gus. That was where she drew the line.

But then she thought about how lifeless and limp his body had felt across her lap, soaked to the bone with dirty graveyard pond-water, and the heart wrenching panic that had consumed her. She had thought about that moment more times then she could count. She thought about it every time Hunter left her and Gus behind, and she knew that maybe her friendship wasn’t important to him, but titan, his was important to her. 

And then, of course, because how could she not, she thought about Flapjack. It was a fleeting, painful, and guilty thought. Because it was her secret. The one thing she would never admit. The relief she had felt when it had been Flapjack and not Hunter. 

The thought made her sick. It killed the words sitting on her tongue, so she had stood there, and instead of saying anything at all, she had stared. What could she say to him, thinking something like that?

“Ugly?” She finally spoke after finding a handful of coherent words, “What do you mean?” 

He tilted his head, smirking, “the scars. Don’t worry, they’re—” He glanced into a broken mirror, “—I get it.” 

His eyebrows furrowed the same way they always did when he was mulling over anything from the insignificant ants on the sidewalk to Belos. Generally, she found it endearing. Hunter was bad at masking his emotions when he didn’t have a, well, actual mask. 

She found nothing endearing about it right now. Chewing on her words, she crossed the space between them until she could lean comfortably against the table next to him. She didn’t know if she had the words she needed to explain what she had been thinking about with all of her anger, hurt, and guilt swelling, then cresting. She did know, however, that she hadn’t been standing there thinking about his looks, or lack thereof, in his opinion. She wanted to be offended that he would ever think of her as so shallow, especially after all they had been through together, if it didn’t make her so sad. 

“I don’t think your scars are ugly,” She crinkled her nose, “don’t say that about yourself.” 

He snorted, glancing away from her and back to the map, “sure.” 

Willow frowned, trying her hardest to rationalize the way he shuffled a few inches away from her. 

“You should find Luz and Gus,” he turned his head at an angle so she couldn’t see his eyes.

“Are you not coming?” She crossed her arms, trying to nonchalantly take a peek at the map he seemed so invested in, but Hunter was too quick for her. He started to fold the end closest to her up, seemingly reorganizing the space. She knew him well enough by now to know that was his polite way of dismissing her. Hunter didn’t want her to read the map, just like he hadn’t wanted her to read the book on Gravesfield’s witch hunters. 

He fiddled with a stack of books, “I’ll catch up.” 

“I can—“

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“—wait.” She teetered off awkwardly, deflating.

She was barely able to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” That, or something like it, was all she heard from him nowadays.  

“Well, okay,” She sighed, now knowing she really had been dismissed, “but Hunter?”

He turned away from her to place a few items in a chest, but hummed in acknowledgement. 

She wet her lips. In truth, she still had nothing to say. They hadn’t had a chance to talk one-on-one in so long, she didn’t know where to start. She hadn’t even had the chance to personally say how sorry she was about Flapjack, but still, no words came to mind. She could find nothing to say. Or at least, nothing right to say. Things like I’m sorry, or I’m here for you, felt so...empty and impersonal. And not one hundred percent truthful. Because she wasn’t really sorry sorry. She wasn’t sorry Hunter wasn’t dead. She couldn’t decide if that was evil, or selfish, or cruel, but it was how she felt.

Instead, she blurted the next thing that came to mind. Anything was better then nothing at this point, anyway, if it meant staying in his presence just a few seconds longer. 

“I’m serious.” She reached out and tugged the back of his shirt, pulling him to her, “your scars? They’re not ugly. Do…do you really think that?” 

He turned slightly, putting his most prominent facial scar on display. “Well, they’re certainly not pretty. People stare; you were staring, so...” He trailed off, shrugging again. 

She quirked a brow at him, tilting his chin towards her so she could look at him in full. Despite the way his eyes widened with surprise, his body followed her direction.

“Now, I’m staring,” Willow chided. She looked at him for good long minute, pursing her lips in thought as he fidgeted under her gaze before continuing, “Is there something in particular I should be looking for? Because there’s definitely no way you’re talking about my friend like that.”

There was a beat, and then Hunter snorted and rolled his eyes, “okay, har har, I get it. I’ll be nicer to your friend.”

“Thank you,” She met his smile with a wider one of her own before relaxing.

“They’re going to call for dinner soon, and I’ve got to—” he started backing away from her, but she pulled him closer, positioning him between her knees as she hopped up onto the table, Then, gently, she cupped his face between her hands, “—um, h-hi?” He finished with a nervous laugh.

Willow was too focused to really notice the way Hunter’s whole face seemed to flush as she continued her assessment of him, turning his head this way and that.

“Do they hurt?” She hummed, gently rubbing the pad of her thumb over the scar tissue of his right cheek. While there were a few bumps, she was surprised to find the skin there was extraordinarily soft.

“U-uh, no,” Hunter’s voice cracked, which usually made her giggle, “not anymore really.”

She frowned at that, “so it had, though? It had hurt?”

He shrugged, his face warm to the touch, “I’m okay.”

Don’t worry. I’m okay. It’s fine. He was always playing the martyr, she was beginning to suspect he enjoyed it. She let out an exasperated huff, shaking her head fondly before meeting his eyes.

Eye contact with Hunter never lasted long, but at this proximity, it lasted mere milliseconds. She was able to hold his gaze for maybe .5 seconds before his eyes flitted down her face then quickly to the door.

“Well, I still don’t see anything ugly, Hunter,” she teased; now, carding her fingers through his hair, pushing the fringe up and off his forehead, “just nothing.”

“Thanks, um, you too,” he said after clearing his throat, and then cringed, lips twitching into a wince as he corrected himself, “like, I mean, I don’t see anything ugly either.”

“Oh!” She teased, peering at him from over the rims of her glasses, “Was there supposed to be?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered through another sentence, “No! No! I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve never...there’s never been anything ugly about you. You’re, uh...”

“I’m...?” Willow slipped her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, urging him on.

She was now acutely aware of the red that scrawled across his face, and it would have made her just as flustered if she didn’t know who Hunter was, and how easy it was to embarrass him. It wasn’t like he was flustered because of her, but she still enjoyed it. It felt...normal, like nothing bad was beyond the tent they stood in, just her and Hunter talking again. She didn’t want it to end.

“Pretty.” He finally choked out, settling on the same socially appropriate adjective Willow would have used to save her feelings too.

And she had the good grace to be appropriately humbled, “Aw shucks, thanks, Hunter. You’re pretty too,” He opened his mouth, likely to argue, but she talked over him, “I mean, look at your hair! It’s the palest blonde I’ve ever seen!”

His hair was still long, or maybe, now, even longer from when they had first reentered the portal back into the demon realm. Though, she would admit, she was a bit biased towards his last haircut, she liked his hair long or short. He didn’t seem to have a preference either.

She pulled her fingers through the almost shoulder length strands, marveling at how impossibly soft the tresses were.

Her attention fell back to his eyes a moment later. The difference in color was still slightly jarring, and if there was anything that she would stare at, it was that. She had grown used to his previous eye color. Actually, she had been embarrassingly fond of it.

In some lights, his eyes had glowed a reddish-pink, in others a dark mauve, and no matter what, they seemed to twinkle like precious jewels.

Willow had thought his eyes had been so interesting, she caught herself staring at them often. It should have clicked earlier that he was a Grimwalker. In the abomination track, she had learned about the fabled “creature.” While Grimwalkers weren’t abominations, since Grimwalkers were sentient, the process in which they were created involved the same magical techniques, plus a significant amount of complicated wild magic involving the other magic tracks that Emperor Belos had banned long ago.

(The irony was not lost on her.)

The magic behind Grimwalkers was about the only thing she could confidently say she paid attention to during her time in the abomination track, and that was because it was the only time an abomination Professor mentioned plant magic, so of course, she had paid attention.

Now, his eye color was brown. A good brown. The color was a warm kind of brown that felt less exotic and more homey, and made her think of honey, and for whatever reason, hugs. Or at least, soft things, which she had come to associate with Hunter now as opposed to the sharp and jaded boy she had met all those months ago.

“Your eye color was so pretty before, but this color,” she paused, smiling at him as she again pushed his hair off his face, “I think it really suits you.”

It was her turn to break eye contact, hoping her tone hadn’t admitted too much.

She was in luck, he didn’t notice a thing. Instead, his face twisted and he looked away. Hunter from the human realm was gone in an instant, leaving behind Hunter from the demon realm.

“Caleb had brown eyes,” Hunter spat, pulling away from her, though not far enough that he had stepped away from her entirely.

Willow bit the inside of her cheek. Hunter had never mentioned Caleb before, at least, not to her, but she was semi-aware of who the man was thanks to a bunch of half-whispered gossip and context clues. It was obvious how much this admission tore him up, and she was, again, confronted with the horrifying fact that she had nothing to say to that.

Willow had her dad’s eyes. She was smart enough to know this wasn’t anything like that.

However, she could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, and every second that ticked by where she didn’t say something, his features only grew darker. This, she felt, was a crucial moment, and she had to say the right thing, so she decided to tell him her honest truth.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.”

“What?” He asked after a beat of the absolute heaviest silence she had ever had the displeasure of sitting through.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.” She repeated, “And I...I see who I know in you, and I knew Flapjack, and those are his eyes. Not Caleb’s. And they,” She tried again, taking a deep breath, “they suit you.”

“Flapjack’s?” He echoed, his voice very small and very far away.

“Mhm, and anyway, I may not know who this Caleb guy is, but,” Willow shrugged with what she hoped was a bashful smile, “still not bad looking.”

He didn’t respond to that right away either, but he no longer looked like he was ready to attack, and she counted that as a personal win. With a sigh that could have also been a laugh, he ran his fingers through his hair, and she watched the lock of hair that had never know any kind of rhyme or reason, pop out and fall back down across his face.

“Hunter?” She twisted a finger around the forlorn lock and gave it the slightest tug, watching as Hunter’s pupil’s dilated, “We’ll see you at dinner, right?” 

“Yep,” He breathed, swallowing, and then gestured to the mess around them, “I just, um,” His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head, thinking something she wasn’t privy to, “gotta put this stuff away.”

Understanding this was his polite way of asking for a moment, Willow hopped off the table. Given how close Hunter was to her, their chests grazed against each other as she stood and she could feel her face tingle with a sudden, embarrassed warmth. Sometimes she forgot how much space she could take up, but he didn’t move away.

“Don’t take too long, okay?” She said, peering up at him over her glasses once again, “We miss you.” And then she realized, if she didn’t say what she really meant, she’d never find the courage to say it later on, so quickly, she corrected herself, “I miss you. A lot. So, stop avoiding me, okay?”

“I’m not av—”

She put a finger to his lips, shushing him, “You could be Boscha’s Grimwalker for all I cared, but you’re Hunter to me, so no more, okay?”

He nodded with an unwavering gaze, and didn’t so much as whisper, but moved his lips against her finger, “Okay.”

Willow let her finger fall away from his mouth, and winked, “see ya at dinner then.”

“Yeah,” He nodded again, “see you then.”

She smiled, giving his lock of hair one more playful tug before saying her final airy goodbye.

“Byeee,” He copied, waving as she walked out of the tent.

It wasn’t until later that night, while in the dinner line with Gus, mulling over her conversation with Hunter, that she realized she had forgotten something crucial.

”Willow!” Gus cried out in surprise as she smacked her forehead, “What the heck!”

“I forgot my jacket!”

———————————————

Hunter watched Willow leave with his heart lodged hard and fast in his throat. When the tent flap fell down behind her, he allowed himself to suck in a gulp of much needed air, melting into a random chair like a puddle.

“Whoa,” he breathed, still sinking with relief as the areas Willow—Willow Park—had touched and caressed, tingled, and he licked his lips.

Then, he pinched the top of his hand, hard, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He registered the pain, heard himself hiss, but still couldn’t believe it. Good things didn’t just happen to him like that?

Without thinking, he glanced at the broken mirror hanging to his side. Its once smooth surface now had a million fissures shooting off in different directions, likely damaged when the Collector had first attacked, and a cracked reflection stared back at him. This time he didn’t see the face of a man he didn’t know, but himself. A deep red flush that traveled from the tips of his ears down to the base of his neck was just beginning to fade as his heartbeat evened out. He forced himself to take another deep breath, gaze falling to his mouth, only for him to blush again as he thought of the measly few inches Willow’s mouth had been from his own. 

Again, he looked at the whole of his face. His. Not Caleb’s. And breathed, enjoying the pink of his cheeks, why it was there, and the excited gleam in his eye. He hadn’t looked so alive in a good few weeks. The last time he had enjoyed what he had seen in the mirror, he had been in the broken down “club house” back in the human realm with Flapjack.

His gladerstone-heart-thing let out a hard pang at the thought of his palisman. He felt guilty all of the sudden, that he could even fathom enjoying anything at all without his very first loved one right by his side. Tears gathered quickly in the corner of his eyes—

No.

Flapjack’s eyes.

Willow’s words echoed in his head, making him smile all over again as he stared a little deeper into his irises. After awhile, he let out a little whistle, like the one Flapjack did when he said hello, and just the sound of it forced a laugh—thick with tears—from his mouth.

“Hey buddy,” he sniffled at his reflection, wiping snot away with the back of his hand. “I miss you.”

He knew from personal experience how nice that was to hear.

[novastories]

On This Cold December Night

Title and chapter inspired the song “My Song For You” by Bridgit Mendler and Shane Harper.

Summary: Christmas looks a bit different this year for Aurora.

Disclaimer: This story is fictitious. All works are written by me and only posted here. Please do not copy, repost, or plagiarize on any other platform without my permission!

Warnings: Mild language? Mentions of a car accident? A bit of angst and fluff! 

Wordcount: 8.2k

A/N: We have a Christmas chapter for once! These chapters get longer and longer every time I write a new one, so I hope you enjoy it! Made the moodboard myself! Like usual, timeline and ages are changed to fit the story, not the movies. Some of these storylines/backgrounds are based on what I write or imagine for my Top Gun DR. Thanks to my beta reader and editor @reginleight for putting up with this long chapter! 

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Aurora always adored Christmas at the Bradshaw’s. Not only did she get to spend time with her family, but also the snow. She loves San Diego, but there was always something about the cold and snow in Virginia that she loved just a bit more, especially it being Christmas. But this year was a bit different.

She was glad that Christmas break was here, but she was not looking forward to going to Virginia for once. She didn’t want to have to tell Bradley about her semester, when he himself was already having a great last year of high school. She especially did not want to tell her dad what had gone down either. This year, they were meeting him in Virginia as he had just gotten back from another deployment and took time off to spend Christmas with them. Her mom and stepfather were staying in San Diego as they had baby Amelia to take care of, the little girl having already turned three. With that being the case, the two wouldn’t be able to make the flight this year to Virginia with the twins. That and the fact that their dad and stepfather did not get along. 

While packing for the trip that she and her brother would soon be leaving to the airport for, Aurora’s mother steps into the twins' shared room. Her brother, Peyton had already packed and was hanging out with his friends before they were to leave.

“Almost done packing?” Penny asks from the door frame.

“Yeah, almost,” Aurora replies, stacking the last few items in her suitcase, before moving onto her backpack for the smaller stuff. While her daughter continues packing, Penny surveys the room a little, her eyes landing on a particular corner when she spots the broken fragments of a picture frame.

“You know, it may have been better to just throw the frame out rather than leaving the broken pieces for someone else to clean up in here,” Penny says, moving into the room to go pick up said pieces.

“What, is that supposed to be a metaphor or something?”

Penny sighs and throws the frame in the trash.

“Look, I get your upset and I get how you feel,” Penny empathizes, coming closer to Aurora. “But going to the Bradshaws will make you feel a lot better. And soon you’ll forget all about what happened and come back feeling better, and be stronger from it.”

“Yeah because hanging out with Bradley and his new girlfriend will be so fun,” Aurora replies sarcastically, throwing her laptop in her bag along with the charging cable.

“Apparently they broke up,” Penny shrugs, recounting what she’d been told “She wants to go to college without a boyfriend so she broke up with Bradley before Christmas so she wouldn’t have to wait until graduation. Carole said he was heartbroken but he cheered up when he heard you were going over there for Christmas.”

Aurora was silent as she sat on her bed.

“And at least now you’ll be able to see and talk to him.”

“Yeah well that makes one of us, because he hasn’t been my friend in a long time ever since he met precious Dakota.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Tell that to all the empty letters and the short phone calls he’s made to me. Every call or letter he wouldn’t stop going on and on about her and how she was the most perfect girl for him.”

“Rory...”

“No, I'm tired of talking about Bradley,” Aurora sighs. “I just want to get this trip over with and spend time with Peyton and dad.”

Penny sits on the bed next to her daughter and hugs her from the side. It’s enough to make one, solitary tear escape from Aurora’s glassy eyes before she could furiously brush it away. 

“I’m sorry we can’t spend Christmas together.” Penny speaks, momentarily after seeing Aurora fighting to keep tears at bay. She felt guilty for not being there for her daughter as much as she should be. 

“Mom, it’s okay. You definitely made up for it with the ukulele you brought me and the new journal, trust me.

“That doesn't mean I don’t feel guilty.”

“And you shouldn’t have to.”

“But I do.” Penny turns to face her daughter. “Ever since we’ve had Amelia, I feel like I haven’t been involved with your life when I should be.”

“It’s okay. I understand. Peyton even understands. I’m just glad we got to do a small Christmas dinner last night. And got to open our gifts.” Aurora turns to her mom and smiles at her brightly. Penny laughs and pauses to take a look at her daughter.

“You know every time you laugh and smile, you remind me so much of your dad.”

Aurora pauses at the sentence. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a wonderful thing,” Penny reassures her daughter. “That just means you are more and more like your father, which can be a scary thing, but you have the best qualities of him.” 

“Like?”

“Like how strong you are, how you’re able to go through problems and either fix it or fight your way through it. A bit stubborn but I think you get that from both of us,” Penny admits.

They laugh and soon Aurora looks at her clock and realizes that she and her brother were leaving soon.

“I have to finish packing mom.”

“I know. I just wanted to come in and see if you needed anything. I’m glad we talked a bit before you leave,” Penny smiles, fondly pushing back some of Aurora’s hair.

“Yeah me too,” Aurora says, returning the smile.

“When you come back, we’ll go out shopping and we can talk more, okay? Just a girl’s day. Me and you.”

“That sounds great, mom. Thank you.”

Penny gets up to leave, but she pauses at the doorway. She turns to look back at Aurora with one last thing to say.

“Just when you see Bradley, hear him out first before shutting him down. You know he wouldn’t mean to hurt you.”

Aurora pauses at her words.

“We’ll see mom. We’ll see.”

—

When Aurora and Peyton had touched down in Norfolk airport, their dad greeted them with a big hug, and soon they were in the car, on the way to the Bradshaw’s. Peyton sat up front with their dad, talking about school, while Aurora sat in the back, looking out the window with her headphones on. Maverick throughout the trip tried to include her in it, but only got one word answers or was ignored. He knew something was wrong but didn't want to push her. He didn’t know about anything that happened at school, but Aurora knew she would have to talk to him soon before Penny said anything to him. They arrived at the Bradshaw’s in a manner of time, and as soon as Maverick put his car in park, Goose and Carole were already outside on the porch waiting for them.

“Uncle Goose!” cries out Peyton as he rushed into Goose’s awaiting arms. 

“Oh my gosh, Pey you’ve grown tall! Unlike your father.” Goose jabs at Maverick. Peyton was already past Maverick’s height, 5 feet and 9 inches. 

“Hey, I’ll have you know my height is just fine.”

“That’s what old men say nowadays ‘ey?”

Maverick and Goose start a bit of a shoving match while Peyton hugs Carole and Aurora just now getting out of the car. Her face is neutrally void of any emotion. 

“Hey, little star!” Goose spots her. Uncle Goose had given her the nickname ‘little star’ in reference to her namesake, the Aurora Borealis. He started calling her that ever since he realized how much she loved stargazing and constellations.

“Come give your uncle a hug, or do you think you're too cool for me? Because I’ll have you know I’m very cool!”

“That’s what old men say nowadays ‘ey?” Maverick retorts back at Goose. Goose sticks out his tongue while Aurora slightly chuckles as she goes to hug her Uncle Goose. 

“Don’t worry, we love you even if you are short, your dad on the other hand,” Goose whispers in her ear, Aurora biting back a smile. Aurora was not gifted with height like her father, as she stood at 5 feet exactly. 

Goose gave her an extra squeeze before she went to hug Carole.

“Are you alright, angel?” Carole whispers in her ear. Aurora just nods and steps out of her arms, following along as they all begin to head inside the house.

“So where’s Bradley? It’s not like him to miss the twins’ homecoming?” Maverick asks as the twins come back into the kitchen after putting luggage away, now having separate rooms since they were older. Bradley was not one to be late with his best friends coming back to the East Coast, let alone not be there to greet them.

“Oh he went to go see his girlfriend, well I guess ex. He went to try and win her back. Emphasis on try,” Goose says rolling his eyes, showing obvious signs that Goose did not like this girl.

“But not without leaving homecoming presents for you two!” Carole exclaims excitedly gesturing to the items that were set behind her.

On the table was another Lego set for Peyton, one in which he was hunting for and didn’t have, and a flower bouquet. Carole explained that Bradley told them that these weren’t their actual Christmas gifts but wanted to give them something like he normally does when they’d visit. Unlike the usual tradition, however, he wasn’t there to give them in person this time. Peyton immediately goes over to pick up the Lego set and is rambling on about the set while Aurora approaches the table to look at the bouquet of flowers. 

They were red roses and white tulips. They stood out and made the room shine brighter with its Christmas colors, but Aurora knew what they meant. Forgiveness. Aurora and Bradley knew the different meanings of flowers, thanks to Carole who tells them all about it. White tulips to make amends with someone who is important to you, red roses to help express affection of said amends and forgiveness. There was a note on it simply saying “Sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. Had important things to do.” It causes Aurora to roll her eyes and scoff at the note and flowers, walking out of the kitchen in a huff. Everyone turns just in time to see her leave. 

“What’s wrong with her? She usually loves the flowers Bradley gives her.” Carole asks, concerned.

“Maybe she’s allergic to flowers now.” 

Carole smacks Goose on the head for his antics.

��She’s been like that for a while.” Peyton responds, not looking in anyone’s eyes as he pretends to be interested in a scuff mark on the table he was sitting at.

“Why?” Mav says, concerned for his daughter.

“She wants to tell you. So I’m not saying anything.”

“Is this about the fight that happened in school?

“A fight?” Both Carole and Goose said in unison.

“I’m not saying anything until you talk to her. I’ve learned that Aurora will say something when she wants to. Right now. It’s best to leave her alone.”

—

Aurora sits on the front porch swing watching the snow fall slowly to the ground. She had so much emotions pent up inside her. She was angry at Bradley, upset with everything that had happened at school. Sad she’s not at home with her mom and sister. But she was also happy that she was in Virginia to spend time with her brother, father, aunt and uncle. She knew she had a lot of emotions trapped in her. But most of all, she felt numb. It was hard to describe the feeling, that she felt so many emotions that it left her numb. Her face said it all, ice cold. If her Uncle Ice saw her expression, he would say she looked like him. 

She had her headphones in as she was listening to music and watching the snow fall to the ground until she saw a car approach the Bradshaw’s driveway. She knew whose car it was. The one person she absolutely did not want to see. 

After parking, Bradley had gotten out of the car heading towards the house, face down as he was distracted with his phone. Aurora could see he had grown almost the same height as his dad. His hair was a bit shaggy, but wasn’t too long. He was a bit more built, she knew that was probably due to baseball training. As much as she wanted to run up and hug him, she just couldn’t. So instead, she opted for waiting, watching what his next steps would be. 

His shoes finally hitting the steps leading up to the house, Bradley did eventually look up, face lighting up noticing his best friend on the swing. 

“Well hey there princess!” Bradley brightly greets as he approaches her, arms open wide expecting her to get up and hug him. She looks at him and gets up, taking the headphones out of her ear. She walks to him, but then passes by him to reach the front door and go inside the house, closing it and leaving Bradley standing in shock. Did his best friend just act like he didn’t exist? She didn’t even hug him or even say hi. She just got up and left?

Bradley, who was still frozen in shock at what had happened, finally rushes into the house to look for her.

“Hey Rory!” Bradley calls. He spies her walking up the stairs to go to her room, he was about to go after her until a head peeks out from the kitchen.

“Oh, good! You’re home Brad Brad!” Goose cries out. “Come say hi to Peyton and Mav.” Bradley looks at his dad, then looks back to the stairs. Goose shakes his head and gestures to the kitchen silently telling him to get his butt in the kitchen and not to run after Aurora. Bradley sighs and walks into the kitchen, knowing he’ll be trying to talk to her later.

—

A few hours later, Aurora peaks out her door. It was getting close to dinner time, but she knew she still had another hour or so until then. Bradley had come to her door multiple times during the course of that time knocking, pleading with her to let him in so they could talk, thinking that the only reason Aurora was mad at him was because he wasn’t there to greet them. Little did he know that was the least of his worries. He kept trying to get her to open the door, but Aurora put her headphones in and just ignored him while she was reading her book. After some time passed, Bradley grew tired and instead hung out with Peyton. Aurora, after hearing the knocks had stopped, realized this might be the best time to go talk to her dad since she knew he was probably working on something in the garage. So in a swift manner Aurora came out of her room and quickly ran to the garage before anyone could see her. 

“Oh hey little star,” A voice calls out as she enters the garage. She looks and sees not her father, but her Uncle Goose. 

“Oh, sorry Uncle Goose. I thought dad was in here.”

“Nah, he went on a shopping run for your Auntie Carole. He said something to piss her off again and now he gets to pay the price.” Goose says to which Aurora laughs softly at.

“Oh well. Sorry to bother you, I’ll just head back-“

“Well wait a minute, come sit. Let me just finish this up and I’ll be yours in a bit.” He says with a wink and gestures to the couch that was set in the corner of his garage. Aurora tries to protest but is given a look that tells her that she shouldn’t argue with him.

She sighs and goes towards the area. The couch was set up next to two sofa chairs with a sort of memorabilia wall set up behind it. It was similar to something she’d seen back at her father’s apartment, a little living space he’d rented for when he was staying in San Diego. Her dad usually either stays there or at the Bradshaw’s when he’s not on deployment. 

A wall covered with pictures, patches, and awards. She looks through it and easily spots a photo with the graduating Top Gun class of 1986, easily able to pick out her dad, uncle, and even her honorary Uncle Ice. Aurora lightly brushes the photo before looking at the rest on the wall.

She spots her dad in a lot of photos, as well as Carole and Bradley, but there was one photo that stuck out in general that she had to take into her hands in order to see the full picture. It was a photo of her and Bradley when they first met, they were hand in hand and sat on top of a piano. Aurora vaguely remembers the moment she met her best friend and smiles at the photo until she remembers that she’s mad at him and puts the photo back in its spot before scoffing at it.

Moving on from that photo and looking around more she sees a photo of her uncle and aunt, so happy and in love. Carole had tears in her eyes while Goose was holding her tightly as if letting go of her would make her disappear. They were looking into each other’s eyes, foreheads pressed together. She takes that photo into her hand and smiles at it.

“That photo was taken by your father.” Goose speaks up as Aurora turns around at the sound behind her. “It was the day I came back from my last deployment. Right before I hung up my wings.”

Goose approaches the couch and sits as Aurora looks at Goose.

“Do you ever regret not going back?” she timidly asks. Goose thinks for the right words before answering her.

“I miss flying with your dad. Heck I’m sure your dad says the same thing. I loved flying with him even though he got us in trouble a lot.” Aurora laughs at the thought of what chaos her father must’ve dragged her uncle into with him.

“But as much as I loved flying with your dad, I needed to come home to your aunt and Bradley.” 

Gazing fondly at the photo held in Aurora’s hand, Goose’s smile was a little strained with his next words.

“We already had a scare before graduating Top Gun, and after that last deployment, I couldn’t leave them alone. You sacrifice a few things to get things right, but I don’t ever regret giving up my wings. Because I would do it over and over again in order to live my life with the family and watch you all grow up.” 

Aurora thinks and sighs before putting the photo back in its place, coming over to sit beside her uncle.

“Alright little Mav. Talk to me.” Goose teasingly says.

Aurora pauses for a moment before admitting “I don’t know where to start.”

“Well then, let’s start at the beginning.”

With a deep breath, Aurora began talking about school and what had gone down. How what was supposed to be a great first year of high school, turned out to be one of the worst semesters she’s had. Her friends that she made in high school all turned out to be fake and were talking behind her back.

Her so-called junior boyfriend was only dating her because there was a bet going on saying that no one could get Aurora to go on a date. Also the fact that he was sleeping with her so-called best friend behind her back. Aurora was mad at not just the situation, but herself. She couldn’t believe that she had let herself be fooled the way she was. Her brother had gotten into a fight with her ex, but thankfully did not get into so much trouble since he was provoked, only having to serve detention. 

As Aurora rambles, there are a few faces that Goose makes, showing he is listening to what was being said. He would add a few funny comments to lighten the mood such as “What an ass!” and “Hell yeah, way to go Peyton!” but other than that he would listen to her. 

“So yeah. Now I’m here. Spending the holidays here, wondering how the hell I’m gonna survive the next few years of high school.” Aurora sighs. Goose looks at her as she finishes her story. Aurora could feel his gaze on her as Goose hadn’t said another word since his last comment of ‘Mav and I should go to the school and threaten to kick their butts’ to which Aurora shut it down right away.

“What Uncle Goose?”

“I’m sorry Aurrie. I know the first year of high school sucks, but it will get better.”

“You wanna know what sucks more? Having your best friend cut you out and not even talk to you because he's busy with his girlfriend.”

“More like ex.” Goose retorts back.

“Still! I’ve known him since I was four, Uncle Goose and he just pretends as if he didn’t just ignore me when I needed him the most!” Exasperated, Aurora tosses her hands up recounting the events of what had happened with him. “He hung up on me when I tried to talk to him on the phone because he was getting ready to hang out with her.”

Goose sighs. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on with him. Carole and I raised him better than that.”

“I know, Uncle Goose, you both did good. It’s just,” she pauses. “I miss my best friend. It really hurts that he’s pushing me away”

“Yeah I know kiddo.”

Aurora then thinks about something.

“How do you do it Uncle Goose?”

“Do what?”

“You and Auntie Carole? You two fight but you always find a way back to each other. You don’t push each other away, and even if you try, you both are always there for each other.”

He didn’t know which situation Aurora was referencing. Her breakup or Bradley. 

“Ha, yeah your dad always said your Auntie and I are like soulmates.” He smiles at the thought of his wife.

“What do you believe are soulmates, Uncle Goose?”

Goose looks at Aurora who looks at him thoughtfully.

“I think a soulmate is someone you can be yourself around. Someone you can take comfort in and someone you can tell anything to,” Goose tells her sincerely. “They know you better than you could ever know yourself. Someone who accepts you for who you are. And despite some of their qualities, you’ll love them for who they are in return.”

Aurora then asks. “Do you think I’ll ever find my soulmate, Uncle Goose?”

He chuckles at her question. He kisses her forehead. “Of course, everyone has a soulmate. Romantic or platonic, everyone has that special someone.” Even though in his mind he knew Aurora had already found her romantic soulmate.

“What about mom and dad? Are they romantic or platonic soulmates?” she questions.

“Well their situation is a bit different. But I think it’s just a matter of the right person, wrong timing.”

“So you think they’ll ever get back together?”

Goose cackles. “Oh hon, I got a bet with your Uncle Ice and Auntie Carole about it! They best better in a few years.”

Aurora and Goose giggles as Maverick comes back in the garage from running his errands for Carole. He sees his daughter and best friend giggling away on the couch and he smiles knowing she found comfort in his best friend. 

“What’s going on in here?” Maverick speaks up as Goose and Aurora looks at him. 

Looking away from Maverick and at each other they grinned.“Nothing,” they reply simultaneously, breaking out into even more giggling.

Maverick shakes his head and squeezes himself between them.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Maverick asks his daughter. Aurora then goes on to tell Maverick about what she told Goose, besides the conversation about soulmates. Before Maverick could say anything she tells him that he didn’t have to say anything since she felt better after talking with Goose.

Maverick smiles, gives her a kiss on the forehead and tells her to get ready for dinner. She smiles and gets up from the couch heading towards the door. As she reaches the doorway she pauses and turns to look at uncle Goose and her dad.

“Thanks for the talk, Uncle Goose. And thanks dad for understanding.”

“Anytime kiddo.” Goose smiles with a wink. She turns to run back into the safety of her room. 

Maverick sighs. 

“What’s with the sigh Mav?” Goose’s brow arches questioningly.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe she’s so grown up. Had a boyfriend and first heartbreak in just a couple of months. And I wasn’t there,” Scrubbing a hand down his face, Maverick’s gaze was still on the door where Aurora had just left through.

“You know you would be if you could.”

“I know Goose.”

They revel in silence for a bit until Goose speaks up and says, “Ya know she asked about soulmates?”

“Really? What was she referencing? Her breakup or her fight with Bradley?”

“Beats me. But I just hope they make up soon.”

“Yeah it’d be a real shame if you lost the bet between her and Bradley.”

“Jokes on you old man. They call me Cupid for a reason.”

“No they call you Goose because you quack a lot of nonsense,” Maverick snorts.

“That’s it. Bring it on Mav, I can’t wait to take out a short pancake.”

“Why do you always bring up my height?!”

Maverick and Goose jokingly wrestle on the couch as Carole walks in to tell them dinner was ready. She shakes her head and sighs. “Men.”

—

Bradley and Aurora barely spoke throughout the break. Bradley knew to give her space as soon as she didn’t speak to him for dinner that night, and it didn’t stop at dinner either. She didn’t speak to him most of the time she was at the house, mostly spending time with Auntie Carole in the kitchen, or at the floral shop. And when she was at the house, she hung out with her brother until Bradley came along then ran to the garage where Uncle Goose and Maverick were. 

Maverick even took the twins to an airstrip, where they got to ride in a plane with their dad. They’ve been in a plane before with their dad behind the wheel, but he got to show them the ins and outs of the plane, as well as helping them learn landing and taking off procedures, something that they loved to learn when they were little. They had definitely gotten their love for aviation from their father. 

In all honesty, Bradley felt like he was going nuts not talking to her, but he knew he was also going to have to talk to her soon. It was the night of Christmas Eve. Nobody had wanted a big party and instead they had all opted for family time at the house for spending Christmas. The adults were still talking at the dining table while Peyton was on the phone with his friend in his room.

Bradley took this as an opportunity to approach Aurora, who was out on the porch with her ukelele and her journal that her mom and stepfather gave her. With a single red rose in hand, he went outside to the porch dressed in his Christmas sweater and jeans. It was pretty cold outside, but the Bradshaw’s installed a small outdoor heater above the porch swing so he knew he didn’t have to bring out his winter coat. And so, when he stepped out onto the porch immediately he saw her.

Aurora also had a red sweater and leggings on. Her hair was in a braid in order to prevent any strands from getting caught in the instrument. She had a blanket over her legs, ukulele in hand strumming a pattern of chords. She was humming along until she’d pause, set the instrument down and jot something into her journal. She didn’t need to look up to know who had stepped onto the porch. 

“So you gonna stand there and look dumb staring at me or are you going to sit down and actually say something?” Aurora spoke up, breaking Bradley out of his trance from staring at her. He takes a breath and walks up to Aurora and sits next to her as she makes room. She still had yet to look up into his eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you came. I got busy with Dakota and I wanted to see if I could get her back.”

She sharply inhales.“Bradley, do you honestly think I was mad about just that?!”

“Is that not what you’re mad about?”

“Are you shitting me?” Aurora looks at him with a bewildered look on her face. 

“Is that rhetorical? And when have you started cussing?”

“Gosh Bradley! If you had at least picked up the phone, you’d know that I’m mad because you’ve been ignoring me for 2 months!” Aurora exclaims.

“Yeah well, we’ve both been busy,” he states simply.

“Pushing me away was the worst thing you could do! If you had picked up the phone you’d know about my breakup and Peyton’s fight.”

Bradley looks at her while tears run down her face and she quickly wipes it away.

“Shit, I’m sorry Rory.” Bradley sets down the rose on the table in front of them as he turns to her. 

“Yeah, well so am I. Gosh I’m so mad at you! You and not telling me things anymore, B. We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“We are best friends, I am still your best friend.” Bradley pleads.

“Really?! So you were gonna tell me about your car accident?! Or was that something you were gonna withhold too?” Aurora looks at Bradley making eye contact with him for the first time in a while. Bradley becomes silent and Aurora scoffs at his response. 

“Yeah that’s what I thought.”

“How did you-“

“Did you really think I wouldn’t hear my mom and Auntie Carole not talk about it the night of?” Aurora questions him, baffled. “Mom thought Peyton and I were asleep when in reality we were sitting on the steps of the stairs trying not to cry about your car accident. Mom had to end the call because we were crying so hard since we thought we were gonna lose you.”

Bradley and Aurora sat in silence looking away from each other, watching the snow fall.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Aurora speaks up after a few seconds go by.

“Eventually.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damnit Bradley this is what I’m talking about! What happened to us?” she cried out.

“I’m sorry Aurie.”

She sighs and looks at Bradley as he turns back to look at her. She can see the scars on his face and neck, remnants from the accident. Bringing her hand up from her lap, her fingers lightly traced over each scar, Bradley staring into her eyes as she did so.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” She cups his face, caressing the raised skin. Her eyes filled with tears and Bradley panics thinking he made her cry again.

“I was so afraid I was gonna lose you B,” she whispers softly. 

“Oh, darling.” He brings her into a hug and she hugs him back tightly, arms wounding around his neck.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise princess. I’m so sorry, I’ll do better to tell you everything from now on.”

Bradley holds onto her as if she was his lifeline. He focuses on his best friend, the girl who always had his heart, even if she didn’t know it as she cries holding on to him, making up for lost time from fighting and accepts his apology. They hold each other for a long time after that, as Aurora’s breathing slows and stops crying. It’s only after calming down does she then realize about the rose Bradley left on the table.

“Is that for me?”she says as they break from the hug and she picks up the flower. 

Bradley blushes and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.“Well I couldn’t really come out and not give you a flower since I wasn’t here when I gave you that bouquet.” 

She laughs and leans on him, flower in hand. He kisses her forehead as they both sit and watch the snow fall, wrapped in each other’s arms, probably the most relaxed in each other’s presence since this break had started.

—

Christmas morning came and the Bradshaws, Maverick, and the twins were sitting in the living room next to the Christmas tree, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters. Everyone in the house had also called who they needed, to greet whoever a Merry Christmas, from Penny to their Uncle Ice, and even Maverick’s and Goose’s old Top Gun instructor Viper, who they kept in constant contact with.

It was a perfect picture of Christmas morning, hot chocolate or coffee in hand, the kids sat on the floor while the parents watched them open their presents, and the fireplace was lit (after Maverick and Goose argued about who could light the fireplace, so Bradley and Peyton shoved their dads to the side and lit it themselves). Aurora opened her gifts and had already gotten an old polaroid camera from Goose, a fluffy blanket from Carole, a new phone from her dad, and a mug from Peyton that said “You’re a great twin sister…I guess” which was something he made from his pottery class at school.

Peyton loved his gifts that he had gotten which was a new Lego set (Goose), cellphone (Maverick), beanie (Carole), a bracelet that said “Twins Forever” (Aurora) and new basketball shoes (Bradley) that he was already up and getting another drink refill while the adults were already talking about the gifts they had gotten each other.

Bradley and Aurora look at each other with smirks, grabbing their presents that they got for each other. Bradley stands up and walks to sit next to Aurora. 

Aurora smiles. 

“You open your gift first, B!” she gives him a wink, prompting him to start unwrapping his gift, and gasping as soon as he sees it. 

The first gift was a picture frame that contained three photos. One was the first photo they both ever took together, on top of a piano, hand in hand at four and eight years old. The other photo was of the twins and Bradley during the summer. Goose had taken a photo of the trio when they were racing each other on bikes laughing so hard, you can almost hear it from the photo. And the last one was another photo of the trio, from last summer when they were sitting on the porch, another photo Goose had taken when they were stargazing. Under the photo frame was a small box, Bradley opened it and it was a necklace. It had a plane pendant on the chain, and engraved on the side was “Always Flying Home” with the trio’s initials next to it. BAP. She knew Bradley would soon want to join the Navy soon and follow his dad’s footsteps. Bradley looks at her in awe.

“So do you like it, or are you looking at it like that because it’s super ugly?”

Bradley laughs and gives her a big hug. 

“I love it, Aurie! Like a lot. I’m not taking this off.” He says as he releases her from the hug. Goose, Carole and Maverick break the moment, wanting to see the gifts. Bradley passes it around to have the adults get a good look at it as Aurora proceeds to open her gift from Bradley.

Peyton then comes back from refilling his drink just as she unwrapped her gift. The first one being a stuffed toy of a bunny. It was white, pink, and fluffy causing her to laugh in delight. Bradley was going on about how a bunny suits her personality and knew it was one of her favorite animals, with her favorite colors. She shakes her head in laughter and smiles at him.

“I’m gonna keep this forever!” She exclaims. Everyone in the room laughs as she opens her last gift. She opens it and reveals a box. Aurora looks at it, then looks back at Bradley.

“I swear if this is another paper wind up butterfly or a ring pop again B, I swear to -”

“Oh my gosh just open it!” Peyton exclaims, excited to see her sister’s reaction. She looks at her brother, suspicious of him as well.

She slowly opens the box, arms extended from her body, scared that something would come out, but nothing did. The adults laugh at her antics as she then peaks in the box and gasps. It was a beautiful silver charm bracelet.

“Everyone added a charm on it and engraved their initials on each charm, so you have a piece of everyone whenever you need us,” Bradley explains as he helps Aurora remove it from the box. 

Carole said she chose the sunflower one, whereas Goose chose a goose charm since Maverick took the plane charm. Bradley said even Penny chose one for her, and that she picked the star charm.

“I chose one that had two hearts intertwined on it!” Peyton exclaims, proud of the charm he chose as he gave her a side hug.

Bradley helps Aurora put on the bracelet as she spies Bradley’s charm. He had added two. One was a princess crown and right next to it was a sword. Bradley looks into her eyes and grins at her.

“I figured that the princess should have her knight right next to her,” he says, still holding her hand.

Aurora blushes while Peyton groans and gags on the other side of her. She ignores him in favor of throwing her arms around her best friend. Bradley laughs and hugs her back. A flash goes off causing them to break their hug and look around to see Goose taking a photo of the moment, Peyton gagging in the photo and all. Bradley then takes Aurora’s hand again and kisses it, as Peyton was still acting up and the adults were laughing at his antics, not looking at the duo. 

“I love it, B. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off,” she says as she brings her wrist up to examine the bracelet closer. Bradley glances at her and grins.

The excitement soon dies down as they start cleaning with the music record playing in the background. Bradley and Peyton go to collect the wrapping paper from the floor while the men set up the projector for their Christmas movie day, of course bantering on who gets to do what, as they normally do whenever they are paired together for any job together. Aurora goes to the kitchen to assist Carole in helping set up lunch. Aurora then looks out the window and sees that the snow had finally settled and turns to her aunt.

“I’m gonna go and get some air real quick!” she tells her, as she rushes out the kitchen and to the front door.

“Don’t forget a coat or turn on the porch heater!” Carole yells from the kitchen. Aurora rushes past Bradley and Peyton as they finish picking up the trash.

“C’mon let’s go make snow angels!” as she grabs her coat from the coat rack and runs out the door. 

“What are we, 5?” Peyton yells after her. 

“Mav, let’s go!” Goose exclaims from behind the two, hand on the back of the man whose name he just called out, and drags him towards the front door.

“No, but apparently he is,” Bradley mutters to Peyton. They snicker as they grab their coats and follow the three that went out the door. 

Aurora was already making a snow angel, back on the ground and waving her arms as if she were doing jumping jacks. Goose was right beside her as Maverick was staring out from the porch, shaking his head at his best friend’s and daughter’s antics. The duo laugh at the sight in front of them and follow their lead and start to make snow angels as well, Peyton laying next to Aurora, and Bradley next to his dad. They start laughing while Maverick sighs at them, for once not being the irresponsible one in this situation. Carole comes out with Goose’s camera in hand and takes a photo of the scene in front of her.

Peyton then gets the bright idea to start a snowball fight, then all hell breaks loose. No one was safe as snow balls started flying left and right. Even Carole and Maverick had joined in after Carole had put the camera in a safe corner to record the moment. Because in this instant, if you can’t beat them, you might as well join them. There were no teams, it was just a flurry of snow flying everywhere.

Maverick then lifts up his daughter after she smashes snow on top of her dad’s head while he was kneeling to make a snowball causing her to scream in delight and laughs as he throws her softly into a pile of snow. Peyton then joins in, jumping onto Maverick’s back, but because he wasn’t expecting the weight, they both tumble onto the ground, next to Aurora.

The Bradshaws have their family moment as Carole and Bradley team up and take down Goose, ending up right next to Maverick and the twins also in the same manner. They all look at each other and laughed so hard, their stomachs and sides were hurting. With their adrenaline from the fight dying down, the cold and wet had begun setting in through their clothes causing them all to finally call a truce and head back inside before anyone could end up sick.

As they walk into the house, Carole and Goose first, Maverick, Peyton, with Bradley and Aurora still on the porch straggling behind them whispering and shoving each other, Peyton stops in his place. 

He exclaims out “Wait, Uncle, Auntie! You have to kiss.”

They all pause their conversation and turn to look at Peyton. He gives them a look and points to the doorway that they all just passed through, and the doorway Bradley and Aurora were about to go through. Hanging on the doorway was mistletoe, all in its glory. The adults look at each other with confusion.

“Who hung that up?” Carole asks, curious.

“Maybe Santa.”

Maverick smacks Goose’s arm. Peyton looks at the adults.

“You have to kiss, it’s like the mistletoe law.”

Carole and Goose chuckle as Goose dips his wife down for a kiss. Maverick rolls his eyes, and looks at the duo who have yet to cross the doorway.

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” Peyton exclaims

“Not you, them,” Maverick points at Bradley and Aurora. Both were blushing, either from the mistletoe or the cold.

“What do you want us to do then? Stay outside for the rest of the night?” Aurora sarcastically replies.

“You can cross the doorway, but no kissing.” Maverick states.

“But it’s the law!” Peyton exclaims.

“Screw the law, they’re not kissing!” Carole and Goose laugh at Maverick’s protectiveness towards his daughter and Bradley. 

Bradley sighs and comes up with another idea.

“We can go through the back door while you get the mistletoe down, how’s that Uncle Mav?” 

Maverick thinks about it. “Fine, but no funny business.” He gives them a threatening look.

The duo roll their eyes as they make their way to the backdoor.

“Who do you think hung up the mistletoe?” Aurora asks Bradley. 

“I don’t know, maybe dad? He would come up with that idea.”

Aurora giggles at his response, and soon they approach the back door until she looks up and groans.

“What?”

Aurora points at the doorway and Bradley glances to see another mistletoe hanging. Bradley laughs and puts his palms to his face.

“We could just take it down, we don’t have to obey the mistletoe law,” Aurora nervously speaks up as she walks up to the doorway and reaches up to grab the plant, but because she was short she was struggling quite a bit. She was so focused on getting the mistletoe down, not even seeing the look Bradley was giving her at that moment. A look that showed love and adoration.

Bradley then decides in that moment to not think, but to just do. He gently grabs Aurora by the waist from behind her causing her to gasp and spin around now finding herself in his arms. Instinctively, she found herself clutching onto his arms in response. Their eyes meet, and Bradley glances at Aurora’s lips, as she looks back at him nervously. Was she about to kiss her best friend? Her heart began beating so fast, she wasn’t sure it was beating at all because at this moment all she could think about was Bradley, who was waiting for her answer, afraid that she would push him away. Slowly, she brought herself to give him a slight nod, and with that he leaned down.

Aurora meets him halfway, as she gets up on her tiptoes and their lips finally meet. His lips were a bit chapped from the cold, but Aurora didn’t care because they were warm. Her arms slowly go up Bradley’s arms and she wounds them around his neck. Bradley leaves his left hand on her waist, and the other slides to her cheek, cupping it and giving her more butterflies in her stomach, if that were even possible.

It’s as if the world went still for the first time. Frozen in a snow globe, and just for that moment, Aurora felt love and compassion from Bradley in that one action. Bradley held on to her, believing it was a dream, and he didn’t want to let go. 

They both slowly part after their kiss, their faces red, from both the cold and the lack of air. They look into each other’s eyes, and all Aurora could see was the hazel eyes that she grew up with, full of happiness and love. Bradley gazes into her dark eyes and for the first time in his life, he was speechless. They both laugh at the expression they were giving each other.

Kissing her cheek, he whispers into Aurora’s ear. “Merry Christmas princess.” Aurora practically glowing at those words.

“Merry Christmas, B.” The two then separate, giving each other another warm smile, and as Aurora goes to open the door, Bradley reaches up to take down the mistletoe and pockets it in his jacket, as if to hide the evidence of the moment, but also wanting to keep a memento.

Aurora and Bradley walk a few steps into the kitchen where the backdoor was connected, and spot Peyton sitting on the kitchen counter drinking from his mug. He was facing the back door with a smile on his face as he saw the two walk in. He jumps down from the counter, walking towards them. 

He whispers to both of them and says “Don’t worry, they don't know. They think you two were talking again so I won’t say anything.”

He winks at them, as the two release a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. They follow Peyton back into the living room as they hang up their coats.

“C’mon you three, you’re gonna miss the movie!” Goose calls from his seat on the couch, while Carole is sitting next to him, and Maverick is sitting in a sofa chair that was next to it.

The three rush to their usual spot on the floor, set already with the floor cushion Carole leaves out for them, along with the food and drinks on the coffee table, also courtesy of their Auntie Carole. Aurora sits in the middle of the two and settles in watching the movie in front of them until they hear Peyton whisper at a volume only they can hear.

“By the way, mistletoe is very hard to find. You both are lucky Auntie Carole works at a flower shop.”

Bradley and Aurora freeze at his words and turn to look at Peyton who had a mischievous grin on his face. The trio laughs as Aurora winds her hand in Bradley’s and leans on her brother. Maybe this Christmas break wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She smiles at that and settles in her seat, ready to take what was coming because as long as she had her best friend and brother by her side, she felt prepared.

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