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simplee-dreaming · 3 years

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The Great Escape

A/N: So this was requested by an anon and I had so much fun writing it, I think it's the longest fic I've ever written so I hope you enjoy! (Also, reading back over this, I realised I've mentioned Vision and Jarvis in the same story which I know isn't possible but I cba to change it because I love them both...even though they're technically the same...)

Word count: 2458

Summary: The reader tries to sneak out to a party, but Tony, Steve and Bucky are onto her.

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“Are you coming tonight or what?” Your friend asked at the other end of the phone.

“Yes, yes I am. I’m just thinking of ways to escape without being caught.” You replied.

“You’re not in a prison, just walk out of the front door,” they said.

“I wish it were that easy. Tony’s already said no to me going so he’s gonna be on high alert. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way,” You said.

“Okay, meet me outside the party at 9, no later. Good luck, agent Y/L/N” your friend teased.

“Shut up, I’ll see you later.” You hung up the phone. It was half 5 in the evening and it took about 45 minutes to get to the party by walking. You decided you were gonna attempt to leave at quarter to 8, so you would have time to escape without being seen and enjoy a gentle stroll to the party.

“Everyone normally eats dinner about 6, then they tend to go off and do their own thing. This should be a doddle, right?” You thought to yourself.

At 6, everyone sat round the table together to eat.

“So, what’s everyone doing after this?” You asked, trying to work out everyone’s movements.

“I’ll be working on my latest model,” said Tony, shovelling a load of pasta into his mouth.

“I’ll be in the gym, pumping iron,” said Bucky.

“Vis and I have got a date night booked,” said Wanda. Sam made gagging noises next to them.

“Are you gymming too, Steve?” asked Bucky before spilling pasta sauce on his leg.

“Nah I did my workout earlier. I may chill with a film. Fancy joining me, Y/N?” He asked.

Shit. That backfired.

“Oh, uh, thanks but I can’t. I said I’ll phone some friends tonight.” You said, thinking quickly.

“Surely that won’t take long though, would it?”

You paused. Tony looked at you suspiciously.

“You know Y/N, she won’t shut up once she gets talking to her friends.” Peter piped up. You relaxed.

“Yeah, exactly. I’ll be up there for hours.” You said.

“Aren’t they all going to this party you talked about?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, no, not this lot. This is the nerd group I’m part of, they don’t party.” You said quickly. Tony grunted but said nothing more.

Once everyone finished eating, you raced back upstairs to find an outfit. Once you had gotten changed and done your hair and makeup, it was quarter past 7. Half an hour before you were due to leave. You were sat on your bed, scrolling through TikTok until half past 7.

“Sod this,” you thought. Waiting around for any longer would heighten your anxiety so you decided to put your plan into action now.

You left your room and decided to scan all exits of the building to see which one was the best option to use.

“Sir, I don’t mean to alarm you but Y/N seems to be acting pretty suspiciously,” Jarvis informed Tony. Tony was in his lab working on his latest project.

“What do you mean suspicious?” Tony asked.

“She’s wandering back and forth around the compound.” Jarvis replied.

“Maybe she’s just taking a walk.” Tony said.

“Sir, she’s wearing make-up.” Jarvis informed him. Tony stopped what he was doing.

“Makeup? She never wears makeup unless…” Tony stopped in his tracks.

“Jarvis, does Y/N appear to be scanning all the exits?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And does she look dressed up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That little minx.” Tony said. “Jarvis, get Steve and Bucky up here please.”

“Of course, sir.”

A few minutes later, Bucky and Steve appeared in Tony’s lab.

“What’s up?” asked Steve.

“I’ve got a mission for you both. Y/N is trying to sneak out of the compound to get to this party of hers tonight. I’ve got eyes on her through Jarvis but I need your help to stop her leaving.”

“Tony, she’s just going to a party. What’s the big deal?” Bucky asked.

“The big deal is that she’s 16 and she’s going to a big party where there will be loads of people and most likely alcohol...or worse. Plus she’s already asked me if she can go and I’ve already said no so now she’s disobeying me.” Tony said.

“Oh. Right.” Bucky replied.

“Here are some ear pieces, I’ll stay here and tell you where she is and you go and stop her from leaving,”

“Roger that,” Steve said. “Mission: Trap Y/N is go.” He saluted Tony and left the room with Bucky. Tony sighed.

“Alright Tony, where she at?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Jarvis, I need eyes on Y/N.” Tony said.

“Sir, she is currently heading to the north exit.”

“North exit guys,” Tony spoke into their ear pieces.

“I’m closer, I got this.” Steve said. He quietly ran to the north corridor and saw you walking to the exit.

“Hey you, finished your phone call already?” He asked. You jumped and turned.

“Oh, uh, yeah, um, I was just going for a walk.” You said.

“Oh sweet, I’ll join you.” Steve said.

“Oh, um, well I just wanted some alone time,” you said, hinting at him.

“I’ll be quiet, I can do with some fresh air too.”

“Actually, on second thoughts, I really need to pee so um...yeah…” you said, jogging past him and back upstairs.

Shit. Back to square one.

You gave it a minute then decided to head to the east exit.

“Guys, she’s going east.” Tony informed the boys.

“On it,” Bucky responded.

He was closer to the door than you were so he decided to open it and lean against the threshold, as if he was just admiring the garden. You turned the corner to see him stood with his back to you. You froze in your tracks.

“Dammit,” you thought to yourself. You tiptoed backwards and headed for the south exit instead.

“Nice work guys, she’s going south now.” Said Tony.

“My turn,” said Steve. He, once again, appeared the same time you did.

“Oh did you pee? Fancy going for a walk now?” He said behind you. You rolled your eyes and turned around.

“Hey, um, yeah I did, but um I’ve changed my mind I don’t actually wanna walk anywhere now.”

“But you’re heading for the exit?”

“Uh, yeah, um...I...I got lost.” You said, shrugging.

“Lost? You’ve been here for 16 years…”

“Yeah, um, bit forgetful it seems,” you laughed nervously, “alright well back I go.”

You walked past him. Once you knew you were out of sight, you headed for the final exit to the west of the building.

“Alright guys…” Tony began.

“Going west, got it,” Bucky finished. He headed in your direction and deliberately walked straight into you.

“Whoa, watch where you’re going.” He teased.

“Sorry Buck,” you responded.

“Where exactly are you going?”

“Just going to get a drink then back to my room,” you lied.

“....dressed up like that?” He asked. You blushed.

“Um, yeah, we decided to dress nicely for our call earlier. Bit of a treat, you know?” You said.

“So...what are you doing at the exit if you’re getting a drink?”

“Thought I’d go around the outside to get some fresh air before entering the kitchen.” You lied, again.

“Without me?!” Steve said. You jumped.

“Oh uh, hey, um, yeah I changed my mind again.”

“Well can I at least join you this time?”

“Oh, uh..”

“What do you mean this time?” Bucky asked.

“Well I found her at both the north and south exits and she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to go for a walk or not. I offered my company and she said no.” He said.

“Maybe that’s why she said no.” Bucky teased. You giggled a little.

“So how come Steve caught you at the north and south exits and I caught you at this one and the east exit?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, I...um...I...wait, how did you know I was at the east exit?” You asked.

“Because we have eyes everywhere, Y/N.” Tony said, appearing behind Steve. He held up his tablet that contained Jarvis’ map. “I told them to follow you.”

“What? Why?” You asked.

“Because, you’re sneaking out to that party. Don’t think you can outsmart Jarvis now, Y/N.”

“Damn you, Jarvis.” you mumbled under your breath.

“I have been programmed to protect everyone in this compound, especially children.” Jarvis said over the speakers. Bucky, Steve and Tony all laughed.

“Oh very funny. I’m not a child.” You said, sarcastically.

“No you’re not, but you’re also not 18 yet which means you’re still legally under our care. And when I say you can’t go to a party, it means you cannot go to a party.” Tony said, taking a step towards you.

“But Tony, if I miss out I won’t be one of the cool kids.” You said.

“You live with all the cool kids here.” said Bucky, you rolled your eyes at him.

“I can’t believe you disobeyed me and tried to sneak past even Jarvis.” Tony said.

“I’m sorry for disobeying you, I really am. I just...I need to go to this. People are waiting for me.” You pleaded.

“No. Maybe I would have considered it if you didn’t break my trust. But now I want an apology.”

“I just said sorry.”

“No no, I want a proper apology.”

“What do you mean by a proper apology?” You asked.

Tony took a step towards you and you subconsciously backed away.

“Come here.” He said, sternly. You looked to Steve and Bucky for help but they just kept a poker face. You stepped closer to Tony.

“Now, I need to make sure you mean your apology and that you’re not going to break my trust again. Any ideas on how I’ll do that?” Tony asked.

“By putting a Jarvis tracker on me….oh wait,” you said, sarcastically. Bucky chuckled. Tony cleared his throat.

“Keep talking like that and this will be much worse for you.” Tony said.

“What will?” You asked.

“This.” Tony said. In one swift motion he had swooped you up and pinned you to the ground, careful not to hurt you in the process.

“What the hell?!” You complained, now trapped under Tony.

“I’m not going to stop until I know you’ve learned your lesson.” He informed.

“Stop what??” You asked. He pulled your arms up and pinned them above your head. He then took a single finger and wiggled it into your armpit. You instantly started giggling.

“Nononono wahait shit plehease,” you giggled.

“Not until I know your apology is sincere.” He said, wiggling another finger into your armpit.

“Please please please I am sohohorry,”

“No you’re not, not yet.” He said. With that, he let go of your arms and stuck both hands into your armpits. You pulled your arms straight down, trapping his hands in the process.

“WAIT NO PLEASE!” You screamed as he tickled deep into your armpits. Bucky and Steve both awed at your giggling mess.

"Come join, agents. You deserve some down time too.” Tony said to Steve and Bucky. They exchanged a look and smiled before walking over to you.

“NO NO NO NOT YOU!” You screamed, watching them approach. Tony was still tickling your armpits so Steve sat to the side and started kneading your hips. Bucky grabbed your legs and went for the back of your knees. You yelped and screamed and arched your body violently.

“AHAHAHAHA NOHOHO STOHOHOP!” You cried.

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson.” Tony repeated.

“I HAHAHAHAVE!” You cried.

“What do you think guys? Has she?” Tony asked the others. They both said “no” in unison. “Right then,” Tony continued.

He removed his hands from your armpits and started tickling your neck. You hunched up your shoulders and squealed. Steve noticed you were trying to pull Tony’s hands away so he shuffled up next to your head, grabbed your arms, pinned them above your head again and sat on them.

“WHAT THE HEHEHELL?!” You screamed, now unable to protect yourself from Tony. Steve gave an evil laugh then proceeded to drill his fingers into your armpits. You screamed louder than ever and frantically tried to twist away.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEASE!” Tears started forming in your eyes as the boys tortured you. Bucky adjusted himself so he was now sat on your legs. Having just taken your shoes off, he was now tickling the soles of your feet.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE I’M SO SOHOHOHORRY!” You yelled through the laughter. Tony felt your legs trying to move and looked over his shoulder to find Bucky holding your toes and scratching at your soles. You screamed loudly again and fell into silent laughter, your face going bright red.

Tony looked at Steve and they both stopped instantly, but you were still screaming. They looked over and realised Bucky was still going, tickling both of your feet simultaneously.

“Buck, ease up now, don’t kill her.” Steve said.

“Oops,” said Bucky, climbing off your legs. Steve got off of your arms but Tony was still sat on your waist.

“I….I...I really am sorry, Tony.” You breathed out.

“I believe you,” he said. “Will you do it again?”

“Absolutely not,” You giggled softly.

“Good.” He climbed off of you and helped you up.

“What time does this party start?” He asked. You looked at your watch, it was now half 8 .

“In half an hour,” you said.

“Go and fix your hair and makeup. I’ll drive you there.” He said.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes, really. I was too hard on you earlier. But you’re still only 16 so I’ll be collecting you at midnight, okay?”

You stood up and smiled at the three of them. Then you thought for a moment.

“No.” You said.

“Excuse me?” Tony responded.

“I’m not gonna go. I want to spend the night with my family.” You said. Bucky clutched his heart and let out a long “awww”, which made you giggle.

“Movie and snacks?” Tony asked.

“Movie and snacks.” You agreed.

You all walked back down the corridor together.

“So, does this mean you’re definitely not going for a walk?” Steve teased. You laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. He put his arm around you.

“Wait, let me get changed into something more comfy,” you said, running up the stairs. When you came back down, you got your phone out and messaged your friend.

“Sorry, can’t make it, got caught. See you another time.”

You then placed your phone on the side and sat down between Tony and Steve.

One by one, the other avengers slowly joined your little film group. It really was the perfect family night.

#tickle fic #avengers tickle fic #ler!steve rogers #ler!bucky #ler!tony stark #lee!reader

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

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ask-rp-devra · 3 years

Text

The night was short, the pair were able to sleep a good 8 hours before getting ready the next morning to set off towards the train station. The pair decided to come back through to pick up the Pokemon to bring back to the island before heading home, but for now they could stay behind with Devra’s mom, just for a little while longer. The only team members that went with them were coal, the little hybrid houndoomxarcanine pup, and Aliza, who had taken a shine to the ponyta gifted to Peach, they seemed to play well together, even Dreepy liked her. With bags gathered, goodbyes said, and tickets bought, the pair stepped onto the train, waving off Olivia who came to see her daughter go, and off they went, towards the new Galarian island, the Crown Tundra.

Devra settled into her seat, waving goodbye to her mom as Coal jumped up in the seat next to her. He was small enough to be on the train, but Aliza had to stay in her pokeball for the time being. She looked over at her friend and smiled. “I hope you slept alright. I always thought the guest room bed was too hard.”

“‘you saw me right? I was asleep in an aeroplane chair sitting up right, the bed was just fine. Much better than most of the places I sleep while away from the lab.” She recalled a few occasions being able to just about catch an hours rest while being trapped in a tree by aggressive Pokemon. “it was a warm, dry bed, with actual sheets and a roof over me haha. It was great.” She mindlessly petted Val, ordering a good coffee off the trolley that passed by, a sweet little wigglytuff in the train companies uniform asking for payment. She got her wallet out...or so she thought? Her hand reached into her bag, and hit something very cold and very smooth, reeling from the weird texture. Val sniggered to herself, shifting to the empty seat the bag sat on, to peer inside.

“I think we have a stow away.” Peach murmured, carefully opening the bag much wider than needed to get a good look. “‘Dreepy?” Inside was the little ghost type, she swore while waving to Devra’s mother at the station when they left, she had also spotted this Pokemon amongst others that had come to see the trainers off. He was wrapped up in one of Peach’s shirts, and seemed a little nervous about being caught in her stuff.

Devra looked over at Peach from her camera, having been looking th right some pictures. “Dreepy? He’s here? But I saw him with my mom. Here, I took a picture of the group when we left.” She held the camera so they could both look. “Oh....well. I thought he was in the picture.” She looked at the little Pokémon and sighed. “I guess he really wanted to come with you.”

“well, it’s fine with me, if he wants to come then I guess we’ve got a new team member.” She smiled a little at the Pokemon and let him and Val go and pick some snacks off the trolley before paying. She gave eyes at her steadfast fire type while Dreepy’s back was turned, asking without words for her to tone her usual disinterest down by like 20%, and she began chattering to the ghost Pokemon as she selected a strawberry filled dumpling thing in a wrapper. With the stern silence broken between the two, peach could relax a little, perhaps they two would be fine together for the trip.

“You’re right though, I swear I saw him on the platform too.” She glanced at the screen on the camera, seeing no signs of him. “‘how strange. You’re faster than you look hey bud?” Dreepy seemed quite proud of the compliment, and finally chose a chocolate-orange flavoured pastry twist before returning to the open bag to snack. “I’m buying, you and your team want anything?”

Devra nodded to Coal, who bounced over and happily started sniffing around until he found a pumpkin muffin. She then grabbed an apple cake and raspberry pastry for her other two team members before sitting back down. “I don’t need anything. Mom made sure I left full.” She laughed and opened Coal’s treat for him. “Tell Peach thank you young man.” The little pup barked happily as me bounced over to her for pets.

“she’s a good mom that one, I bet she’d enjoy a little holiday in johto, lots to see, I can hook you both up with some fun things to do for sure.” There was plenty of art galleries, heritage sites, and excellent restaurants throughout the region, not to mention live music, public gardens of great beauty, and a butt load of areas to sightsee in. Peach paid up and petted Coal, she was very glad to see him in capable hands, he took to Devra like a Ducklett to water, and she was confident he’d grow fast now he was out exploring with her. The Dreepy seemed to peep its eyes out at the hybrid Pokemon, still nibbling away on its snack.

Coal bounced back up next to Devra and started to munch on his treat. “I’m sure she’ll love the trip.” She looked out the window, watching the countryside roll by. “What’s the first thing you want to do once we get to the tundra?”

The professor sipped her hot drink, also enjoying the windows view. “hm, that’s a good question. I suppose I’d really like to find a place to stay, I’d normally not mind camping but I see the name ‘Crown TUNDRA’ and feel like I wouldn’t want to stay over night outside as much. What about you? You’ll be knees deep in herd Pokemon in no time I bet, anything else you’d want to check out?” The little Dreepy had snuck closer to the window to look out, still nibbling.

“Well, there is this big ruin building with a massive old dead tree that’s I’d love to see. But it’s at the top of one of the mountains here. So it might be tricky getting to.” She mindlessly pet Coal as she slowly started seeing snow. “And I think there’s a small town that we could ask about lodging at. Day trips to the tundra and back by dark?”

“‘oh I do love a tree, that sounds interesting, you could always try to find a Pokemon who could get you up that mountain a bit easier?” Peach had planned to do just that, the cold sneaking in, she could feel her bad knee aching ever so slightly already, and almost exactly after that thought crossed her mind, Val crept over to radiate heat, sitting in her lap, easing the dull pain.

“perhaps we can camp out some of the time, it’d be nice to see what happens at night, what Pokemon come out, just perhaps not in any heavy weather if it can be avoided. I did take a look online, the village there is usually pretty open to travellers, think I noticed a B&B or two with vacancies posted, I’m sure we’ll find somewhere to stay.” By this point, the views had turned pure white, in the fields you could see grazing Pokemon, a herd of wooloo who almost blending in with the surroundings.

Devra spotter the wooloo right away, fawning over one of her favorite Pokémon. Coal picked up on his trainer’s excitement, his tail wagging happily as she told him what snow was like. “Oh I can’t wait to see Aliza’s face when she sees her first snow!”

“thats right, she’s not even seen a December yet, or a snowy route. Good thing you got your camera then isn’t it, I’m sure mom and pop would like to see her first experience with it, you know Cole hasn’t seen snow either before. Bet he’s real excited about now.” The pup must have felt something, seeing all this white for the first time. “‘what about you Dreepy, you seen snow before?” The little ghost type looked back, didn’t turn its body at all, but bent it’s neck fully back to look at the Professor upside down, giving no clear answer, which to her seemed like a big fat no, but perhaps he was a little shy about answering right away. “no matter, we’ll soon be in the thick of it.”

She giggled at the sight of the little dreepy. “He’s seen some light snow before. I caught him in the wild area. The weather there is always so weird. But he hasn’t seen this much before. This is going to be a big busy day.” She snapped a quiet picture of dreepy being cute, then one of Coal barking at the snow through the window.

The train began to turn a final corner, the tannoy alerting passengers to the upcoming station, the only stop on the journey coming up very soon.

“looks like we’re nearly there, ready to get going?” The trip had been only short, but outside it looked like a completely different region, so much snow and ice everywhere, nothing but pine trees. The woman grabbed her bags, not before waiting for the little Dreepy to return to the inside where it wrapped up in the spare clothes to keep warm. Val took to her shoulder as she usually did.

Devra nodded, standing up to gather her things. She then picked up Coal, holding his stout body in her arms to keep him from running of into the snow. “We’re ready. I’m so excited to see this area. I’ve read about it but they took forever to get it safe enough for more visitors.”

Safe enough wasn’t always entirely foolproof, and Peach was quietly happy she packed a first aid kit. She had heard some murmurs it was a little risky here, a lot of tough Pokemon roamed about.

“I hope you’re right, I’m sure the locals wouldn’t put people at risk.” The pair stepped off the train once the doors pinged open, the brisk cold air swept past, pulling them all out onto the platform. People came and went, and before long they became aware of the exits and where to head to next.

Devra took a slight lead of the two, following signs towards the little town. “Well, they did give all of us coming here a safety talk too. I just hope trainers actually listen. You gotta be smart about this place.” She then set Coal down and let the little guy run circles around the two humans. “I think I’ll wait to let Aliza our until we’re settled.”

With the pup thoroughly enjoying the snow, the trainers paused to check their phones, a map was needed for a moment, before they began to hear some loud ruckus just outside to the right of the station, sounded like a man and a young woman, peach didn’t even register it much, turning her back to the noise almost instinctually, trying to figure out which way to go. Val however was being nosey and sat on her shoulder judging the people making all the noise pretty hard from the look on her face.

“I think you’re right, we should find somewhere to stay before we really go out on a wild adventure.”

She nodded, looking at her own map on her Rotom phone, thanking the Pokémon inside for his help. “It looks like we head on that way.” She pointed to the road as it took a slight left turn. “Shouldn’t be more than a 20 minute walk.”

“‘sounds good to me, wonder what Pokemon we might see on the way?” Pocketing the phone and hoisting her bag up a bit, Peach began to take a few steps, noticing the pair who were making such noise earlier, avoiding them entirely, they seemed to be having a dad-daughter tiff that was no ones business. Onward, to the first route of the Crown Tundra!

Devra took a glance at the arguing people and sighed, hoping the wouldn’t bother her or the Professor. Coal bounded ahead as they walked, but kept in his trainer’s sight. “It’s really pretty here. Just look at all the ice on these pine needles!” She crunched her way to a tree and found an angle to catch light in the ice.

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theasstour · 4 years

Photo

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟐.𝟗𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬

A/N: Massive thank you to my dearest @fromyourstrulyh for the help! You’re an angel sent from above 🦑🌊✨

Monday, 22 June

Y/N walked through the doors to the Inn, placing her red heart shaped sunglasses at the top of her head as she started rummaging through her purse for the keys to her room. It had just passed 10am and she’d been strolling about town, popping by Vintage Divine again. Now all she needed was a small reading session and she’d be ready for the beach later. However, her attention was brought to the sound of voices and laughter coming from the back garden. She remembered how Bessie had been seated there the first day Y/N arrived, how tranquil the garden had looked hidden away behind the Inn.

Curiosity got the better of her and Y/N walked over to the open door, peeking her head through it properly for the first time. Vines ran up and down the white cement fence, the small square in the middle littered with different coloured flowers, a few bistro chairs stood around a round table, a few women around Bessie’s age and the woman herself all seated there chattering away. As soon as Bessie noticed Y/N, she put down the knitting in her hand and grinned from ear to ear.

“Well, hello!”

The other women looked at Y/N and she smiled at them all, recognising Camilla and Florence from before. They all exclaimed various greetings, motioning for her to come over to where they were seated.

“You’ve met Florence before, and Camilla I hear.” Bessie gestured at the two women. “And this is Barbara.”

“Just call me Barb,” the woman in question said, grinning at her. “I’ve heard so much about you, Y/N.”

“You have?” Y/N asked, sitting down in the chair beside Bessie, who had been patting it since Y/N entered the back garden. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, all the girls have said you’re just lovely,” Barb reassured Y/N, removing her glasses from the bridge of her nose so she could take a proper look at the knitting in her hands.

“Have you ever tried knitting before, Y/N?” Bessie asked, cocking her head a little to the side as she watched Y/N look around the table at all the four women knitting.

“I tried when I was younger, but I was no good at it,” she said. “My mother used to be a very good knitter. Or, she still is, but… but I never managed to pick it up proper.”

“It’s all about the technique and how you’re taught it.” Bessie moved her chair a little closer to Y/N, bringing a tote bag with her and retrieving some bamboo knitting needles and pink yarn from inside it. Startled by the sudden change of pace, Y/N was left staring at the yarn in her hands, and then back at Bessie, who only continued to look at her. The old lady didn’t wait long, however. She made Y/N look back down at the knitting in her hand again.

“Right,” Bessie started. “Do you know how to cast on, dear?”

“No.”

“Okay, first you need to tie a slip knot, like so.” Bessie took the bamboo needle from Y/N’s hand and showed her how. She did it slowly, letting Y/N really see how she did it before taking the yarn off the needle and doing it again. “Now you do it.”

Dread filled Y/N. She’d fail. She couldn’t do this. She had tried it before and her Mum told her she had no talent for knitting. Why was she letting Bessie teach her this? Sweat started beading at Y/N’s forehead. Bessie gave the yarn back. Y/N took a slow breath, placing her hand and finger as Bessie had.

Y/N swallowed thickly. “I can’t.”

“You can, darling. It’s very easy.”

Y/N shook her head. She was afraid her hands would start shaking. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

Y/N couldn’t just tell Bessie how bad she was at knitting. Bessie would be so disappointed if she did, but at the same time, the innkeeper would be beyond sad if Y/N didn’t at least try. Y/N felt like she was choking for a second, as if she was running straight for a cliff, unable to stop. It would be disastrous. She didn’t want Bessie to hate her.

However, she felt Bessie staring her down. She knew that she had to do it. Bessie had given her a piece of yarn and a needle. She could not disappoint. She just couldn’t. As slowly as Bessie had, Y/N managed to do the knot stitch. Her hands were trembling slightly, and with everything within her, she hoped Bessie couldn’t see it. Y/N’s accomplishment was rewarded by a single clap from Bessie and a huge grin on the old lady’s face.

“Again.”

Y/N felt her mouth fall open. Though this wasn’t knitting, she had a long, long way to go still, she’d managed to do a knot stitch. She remembered this was how you started every single project, but she didn’t think she’d be able to do it again. Y/N looked at Bessie, and the old lady was grinning at her. Bessie placed her hand on Y/N’s back and rubbed her tenderly, a silent encouragement to go on. The touch had come as a surprise, Y/N didn’t know why Bessie did it. The hand on her back did wonders to calm her down and tell her she’d manage to do it again.

Slowly, Y/N repeated what she’d just done, feeling her racing heart calm down just a tad when she managed to do the knot again. Bessie rubbed Y/N’s back again, and this time it startled her enough that she jumped a little. Bessie only laughed at the reaction, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder before gesturing at the needles in front of her.

“Well, you saying you weren’t any good when you were younger, look at you now! That’s a good start, my dear.” Bessie tapped the stitch. “Now, since you deem yourself a beginner, I’ll show you the easiest way to cast on. There are multiple ways of doing it, but this was the one I learned. If you don’t understand what I’m doing, please tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” Y/N gave Bessie the bamboo needle back, turning her body so she could better watch Bessie cast on.

“You see this?” Bessie asked, motioning with her head at the needle she was holding out in front of her. Y/N nodded and Bessie put her glasses back on, getting ready to properly teach Y/N how to cast on as easy as one possibly could. Though Y/N hadn’t envisioned herself spending time trying to knit while she was in Cornwall, here she was. It wasn’t like she was going to start knitting an actual jumper or something nice. For today, she focused on that little square so she’d get into it. It wasn’t the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, she didn’t believe Bessie and her ladies for a second when they told her how nice it looked, but regardless, Y/N brought it up to her room with her and put it in her bag.

Y/N Walking from the Inn now xx

Y/N started walking along the Terrace, leaving the Roaming Crab Inn behind as she typed Porthmeor Beach into her Google Maps. It was a fantastic day. The sun beamed down on St Ives as afternoon approached, a slight ocean breeze cooling Y/N down on her way to meet the Styles-Flores family. The wind wasn’t strong enough to make it uncomfortable to walk in her white and orange tie dye culotte trousers or white transparent beach shirt. In fact, she felt very good in this outfit. Her straw hat sat neatly on her head; she was sure Harry would be able to make her out the second he saw her.

Harry Wicked, walk along the Terrace and I’ll meet you on Fore Street 😊

The little emoji made Y/N soft for some reason. She went back to focusing on the Google Maps on her phone, walking along the streets of St Ives, taking in the people that were on their way home from work. It was a little busier than usual now, but that only meant Porthmeor Beach wouldn’t be as crowded as it normally was. Not that Y/N would know if it was since she hadn’t been there yet, but she imagined people were either on their way home or at home making dinner. It just so happened that the Styles-Flores family were eating their dinner on the beach.

She noticed Harry right away on Fore Street, shining in the yellow afternoon sun. Wearing a revere Aztec striped orange, white, red and blue shirt along with denim shorts that reached his knees.He spotted her through his round dark sunglasses and gave her a close-mouthed smile and a small wave.

“Hiya, you,” Y/N said, giving Harry a beam as they got closer to one another.

“Hi.” He ran a quick hand through his hair as they fell into step, strolling back the way he came. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just been walking around and reading most of today, really. What about you?”

“Helped Jessa get everything ready down at the beach, driven all the food there. I think right about everyone’s there now.”

“Am I late?”

Harry looked at Y/N, shaking his head quickly and making his sunglasses slide down further on the bridge of his nose. He readjusted them hastily. “No, no, no. We wouldn’t have started till you’d arrived anyway. Dinner’s not served till everyone’s there.”

Y/N smiled a bit. “I would hate to have-“

“-No, honestly,” Harry smiled back. “That’s how we are, and we don’t mind waiting.”

“Forgot to tell you the other day, but I really like your family. They’re so nice,” Y/N said truthfully, making Harry glance down at the ground before them before looking back up again.

“We’re a bit loud, and a little rowdy sometimes, but they’re my favourite people on earth.”

Y/N looked away from Harry, blinking rapidly. “Can tell they absolutely adore you.”

There was a slight pause in conversation as they turned to walk up The Digey. Harry walked behind her as the cobbled street narrowed, the stone cottages rising up on both sides making it hard to walk side by side.

“By the way,” Harry said as he came up beside her when they walked past Bumbles Tearoom, the tiny square-like opening providing more space to walk on. “There’s… Uhm, there’s this thing on Thursday.”

“Yeah?”

Harry made sureno cars were coming as he let Y/N take the secure pavement while he walked on the side of the road. “My mates have gotten a whiff of what’s going on.”

“Which is?” Y/N smiled as she saw the ocean straight ahead, past the small stone fencing, seagulls flying and singing overhead.

“That my girlfriend’s in town.” He fell quiet for a second. “Pretend girlfriend. But they don’t know that.”

Y/N chuckled. “Alright.”

“One of them sent me a text asking if they could meet you. His Mum… You met her, Mrs Rose? Florence?”

“Oh! She’s so nice.”

“Yeah, suppose. A proper gossip, though. Anyway,” Harry said, waving his hand as if to dismiss what he’d just said. “Dax has been fed all this information by Florence and he’s now proper fuming I’ve never told him about you.”

“Dax is your best friend?”

“Him and Amir, I’ve been friends with them ever since I moved here.”

Y/N nodded. “So, what’s happening Thursday?”

“Ellie’s coming back from visiting her girlfriend in Ireland, so the lot are going to the pub.”

“You want me to come?”

“Dax asked if I could bring you. Rather, he demanded it. He’s quite offended that I didn’t tell him I had a girl- pretend girlfriend.”

The red that creeped along Harry’s cheeks after the stumble/slip made Y/N smile. “I’ll come. Have told you a couple of times already, haven’t I? I don’t have anything to do this summer anyway.”

Harry looked up at her, biting his bottom lip before looking at the beach before them again. “You really don’t mind?”

“Harry, you could ask me to come shovel cow shit at Jessa’s farm, and I’d be there without hesitation.”

That got him. He laughed and it was such a high-pitched boyish exclamation of joy that it surprised even him. His eyes grew wide and he slapped his hand over his mouth, making Y/N join in and laugh herself.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I sound like a hyena.”

Y/N shook her head while still laughing. “Why are you apologising? You’re laughing, you should laugh.”

Harry smiled at her as they crossed the road to the pavement on the other side by the fence along the beach.

“My Mum always said that you never have to apologise for being happy. You never have to atone for smiling or laughing or feeling content or ecstatic. Happiness isn’t permanent, one shouldn’t apologise or feel bad for experiencing it. It’s there ‘cause it’s there.”

“It’s there for a reason, though, isn’t it?” Harry asked, stopping and hooking his sunglasses to the collar of his shirt.

“Happiness doesn’t need reason, does it? It just is. It exists because without knowing it’s there somewhere and it’s attainable - ‘cause it always, always is, no matter how dark the world gets, happiness will be there to bring light when the going gets hard, - there’s no reason to go on, is there?”

Something about the way Harry watched her the next few seconds made her feel important. It was as if he was digesting her words; truly taking them in and listening to her. His eyes flickered between hers and it was only her that had his attention. She wasn’t sure she’d seen that look on anyone else’s face before when she talked.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

The question took her off guard, but she managed a, “No.” Which was the truth. She didn’t mind heights.

“Sound.” Harry sat down on the stone fencing lining the beach, his feet dangling off the far side. “This way is quicker.”

Y/N looked down the road, the stairs leading down to the beach were a bit away, so she understood why Harry was doing this. But… her hat would go flying. There wasn’t much time to think about it, because when she looked back, Harry jumped off and down into the sand. It wasn’t far down, it definitely didn’t scare her in the least, but she’d never jumped from any height like this before. Maybe from the side of a pool and into it, but never like this. That being said, she didn’t want to keep Harry waiting. So, telling herself to get over it, she sat down on the edge of the fence the way Harry had.

“Would you mind taking care of this?” she asked, taking her purse off her shoulder and holding it out.

He nodded, lifting his arms up as she dropped it.

She took a deep breath, watching as Harry caught her purse, and waiting till he’d taken a few steps back before she held onto her straw hat and mimicked what Harry had done a minute earlier. The sand came toward her at a rapid pace, butterflies appearing in her belly at the rush the jump brought, and before she knew it, the sand was right under her feet. The impact took her by surprise, and she fell to the side, an “oomph” sound leaving her mouth when sand got in her face.

“Oh, shit!” Harry ran over to her, sand spewing up behind him and unintentionally falling to his knees beside her, purse hanging from his shoulder. He held both his hands out, as to help her up, though both of hers were still very much holding onto the hat on her head. “You okay?”

She laughed, moving her hat some to look up at Harry, whose eyes were wide and hands still there at her disposal. “If we wouldn’t have looked like idiots, I would demand we do that again.”

A smile of relief washed over Harry’s face, and at the sound of Y/N laughing some more, it widened and turned into a genuine and elated one. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I was just so focused on not losing my hat.”

“Right,” Harry chuckled, watching as she sat up on her knees. For a short second, his eyes flicked to her thighs, then back up into her eyes. Upon being caught looking, he glanced away, clearing his throat and getting up to his feet again. Y/N couldn’t help a slight giggle as she did the same.

“Never seen you in trousers before,” Harry said, giving her the purse back.

Y/N stared at him for a second before they started walking in the direction of his family. She couldn’t help her smile. “I didn’t know I’d never worn trousers around you.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck. “I, uh… I dunno… I have a good memory, I suppose.”

The two of them walked all the way over to the edge of the beach, right by the green Island that stood lush and majestic above all the houses that lined the beach. Jessa noticed them approaching first, clapping her hands together upon seeing Y/N. Y/N grinned, holding her hand out to Harry’s stepmum. Jessa took Y/N’s hand and Y/N did a tender mano po that got Jessa beaming so brightly it felt like she was singlehandedly lighting up the entire world.

“Y/N!” Grace exclaimed, running over with her arms outstretched. She hugged Y/N around the waist and Y/N quickly hugged her back, taken a bit off guard by the warm welcome. She wasn’t used to hugs, but she wasn’t about to tell Grace that. “You need to sit beside me.”

“Of course, I just need to go and greet your grandpa.”

Jessa put her hand over her heart as she watched Y/N walk over to Harry and Grace’s Lolo. She took her hat off upon approaching, the old man watching her with a look that was neither disapproving nor reassuring. She remembered what Harry said about this being important to him, that he didn’t want the tradition to die completely, so he probably expected her to do the mano po every time she met him as well.

“Mano po?” Y/N asked and he gave her his hand. She brought his knuckles up to her forehead, held them there for a second before pulling away.

Once she did, the old man reached beside him and revealed a hat that looked almost exactly like Y/N’s. He placed it on his head and a tiny smile graced his lips, and the way he looked when he smiled made Y/N see his resemblance to Jessa.

“Would you look at that!” Y/N grinned, putting her own hat on her head. “Great minds.”

“It’s important to keep your head cool when it’s sunny and hot out,” Lolo said and Y/N nodded eagerly, heart beating fast with the possible approval of a highly respected figure in Harry and Grace’s life.

“Y/N is here!” Jessa exclaimed, sitting down on the sand beside her father. “Kain na! Let’s eat!”

That was when Y/N really paid attention to her surroundings. The table they were eating at was low and long, no chairs in sight. The rest of the big family of around twenty , sat down by the table, Jessa and Lolo in the middle. Harry sat down in the sand opposite Jessa, looking over at Y/N and patting the spot next to him. She walked over, sitting down, putting her hat and purse behind her.

“So, this is kamayan,” Y/N said, remembering what Jessa had invited her to that Saturday at Grace’s birthday party.

“Y/N’s first kamayan!” Jessa said, looking so delighted Y/N felt her shoulders relax. She hadn’t known she’d been nervous about this until now. “Harry, where’s your camera?”

“It’s, uhh…” Harry looked at Y/N, the redness in his cheeks showing again as he quickly looked away when meeting her eyes. “In my bag.”

Jessa got up, walked over to Harry’s bag and started to rummage around it.

“Nanay,” Harry said, about to get up and get the camera for Jessa, but his stepmum found the Super 8 Camera and brought it over, waving it in her hand. “Please, be careful.”

“Harry’s quite nostalgic and sentimental, you see. He likes to video everything, especially during the summer when all his family and friends are here.”

“I know,” Y/N smiled, though she really had no idea, telling Jessa and the rest of Harry’s friends and family wouldn’t look good. Especially considering how Y/N was supposed to know everything about Harry.

“Of course you do,” Jessa said, bringing the camera up to her face. “Everybody, don’t mind me, do your thing!”

“Nay, switch the camera to tungsten since you’re using daylight stock,” Harry said and Jessa waved his worries off like she’d already taken care of that, turning her attention back to the camera to focus in on everyone. She started filming down the long table and Y/N looked away from her, first at Harry and then at the table in front of her. It looked unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

“I usually…” Harry started, his voice low so only the two of them would hear. “I usually film when the family and friends are together each summer. Kind of like… i-it’s something we can look back on in a few years and remember, you know? ‘Oh, that happened that summer’ and ‘I’d completely forgotten about that’, and so on.”

Y/N smiled. “I really like that. Keeping memories.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, we have to tell you what it is!” Jessa grinned as she sat back down, Harry’s Super 8 Camera back in Harry’s bag. “Basically, kamayan is a feast where we use no utensils, we eat with our hands.” Jessa wiggled her fingers at Y/N, a small laughter emitting from her. “First – so it’ll be easier to clean up after – we put newspapers on the table, even though we only ever use this table for this exact purpose on this exact day every year. The banana leaves that we put on top always leave a faint white residue behind. Then as you can tell,” Jessa went on pointing to the table, and Y/N looked down to see huge leaves covering the table as well. It wasn’t just the pattern of the table; these were actual leaves. “Then we grill banana leaves and put the ridged side up. The ridged side is the waxy side, it’ll keep the sauces from soaking through.”

“You align the spines of the leaves with the table edge so they won’t hang off the side of the table,” Harry explained, looking over at Jessa for confirmation.

She smiled at him, then at Y/N. “I’ve taught him well.”

Y/N smiled. “So, no plates? We just put our food on the leaves in front of us and eat?”

“For the kamayan, we don’t use any plates, we scoop everything up in lettuce leaves, coconut cups, and so on. First, we put down the rice, then around the rice is the pancit bihon guisado, which is rice sticks noodles with vegetables. All of that should be good for you to eat. Harry forgot-“ Jessa leaned over the table and swatted Harry over the head, though the gesture was more out of love than annoyance as both smiled after. Harry quickly fixed his hair again. “Your useless boyfriend forgot to tell me you are vegetarian. I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”

“Nanay, it just slipped my mind-“

“-Shush!” Jessa turned to Y/N. “If I’d known, I swear I would’ve made more food you could’ve eaten last Saturday as well.”

“That’s completely fine, don’t even worry about it, honestly,” Y/N smiled, glancing over at Harry who was looking at the food in front of him with a smile as he listened to the conversation. “I’m just honoured I was invited to this at all.”

“Of course! You’re Harry’s girlfriend!”

Again, a pang of guilt exploded in Y/N’s chest and swam across her entire body. The joy that was so incredibly transparent in Jessa’s voice would be gone when August came. Y/N felt sick to her stomach at the thought.

“Then there’s fried fish, shrimp, roasted eggplant, pan-fried bok choy, barbecued chicken, lumpia – I made them vegetarian this time around so you can eat them as well -, and a mango and some other fruits, but those are all in front of you.” Jessa gestured at the food in front of her. “Made Harry put it all where you two’d be sitting so it’d be easier for you, that way you won’t have to reach around the table for the vegetarian options.”

Y/N didn’t know when her hand had come to rest above her chest, she didn’t know when her heart had started hammering a million miles an hour, but she supposed this was her reaction to people going out of their way to make her feel welcome and included. A smile spread out across her lips as she looked to Harry, who was actually looking right back at her this time, maybe to make sure she was alright. When Y/N met Jessa’s warm eyes, she felt something in the back of her throat almost start burning. This was all so thoughtful. Though she shouldn’t have been surprised, Harry’s family were the type to go out of their way for one another, she just hadn’t thought they’d do that for her. The only person that had done that had ever done that for her was herself.

“Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank us, this is a feast for everyone.”

Again, Y/N was struck by how beautifully the table was decorated. So many colours, so many different dishes; it looked like a piece of art.

“These are edible orchids, by the way,” Harry gestured at the purple flowers that were strewn across the small mountain of food in the middle of the table. “We’re not trying to kill you.”

“Yet!” Grace grinned from beside Jessa.

“Don’t spoil our plan, Gracie,” Uncle Tim said, giving Y/N a nod as their eyes met.

“You lot are being creepy.” Harry got up, walking over to the portable cooler and bringing out a few beers, strolling over to the far end of the table and giving them to his aunts Rachel and Abby and their husbands. Then he gave one to everyone else over 18, handing the seven children a juice each.

“Cider or beer, Y/N?” Harry asked, meeting her eyes as he bent down to get some more drinks. “Or do you want juice? Water?”

“I’ll have a beer, please.”

Harry got one for her, his Lolo, Jessa, and him, before giving one to Uncle Tim, Jack – a close family friend – and Jack’s husband. Grace got a juice as well, making Harry open and put a straw in it for her before she happily started drinking.

“Gracie,” Jessa said, nudging her daughter. “Everyone!” Jessa brought her beer up, grinning at everyone around her and meeting their eyes before she said, “Mabuhay!”

Harry looked at Y/N, raising his beer, and she quickly got the memo, mimicking his movements.

“Mabuhay,” everyone else repeated, then took a sip of their drink, put it down on the ground beside them and finally started eating.

“Is that a toast of sorts?” she asked Harry, watching as he picked up a few lumpias and put them down on the banana leaf before him.

“A Filipino toast ‘to life and to live.’ We always do it before we dig in,” he explained, giving her a little smile before focusing back on scooping some rice into his hand and putting it down on the leaf in front of him.

Y/N mimicked him, picking up some rice with her hand and placing it right before her, she then reached for some of the vegetables and lumpia. She looked over at Grace who was happily munching on barbecued chicken, listening to Uncle Tim as he talked about something that happened in the fishing boat yesterday. Aunt Rachel and her husband were watching their hoard of kids with a smile on their faces, eating the rice and some roasted eggplant. Everyone around the table seemed so at home and completely at peace. It didn’t matter that their hands were greasy or that the sauce was getting everywhere, it was beyond them. All that mattered was the company around them - their family and the people they loved most.

“What did you think of the lumpia?” Jessa asked, hope in her eyes and some pan-fried bok choy in her hand. “It’s Harry’s favourite.”

“Mine too!” Grace chimed in before looking back at Uncle Tim and then Jack across the table, falling into their conversation again.

“They’re absolutely incredible,” Y/N said. “Did you cook all this yourself?”

“We cook everything together,” Lolo answered. “The family makes the food, it’s a bonding experience. We prepare the food the day before and reheat it before we eat it here.”

“And it’s great being on the beach, ‘cause if we spill something or anything like that, it won’t matter, and then we can just wash off with a bath afterward,” Jessa smiled.

“The weather’s beautiful down south, understand why you’d wanna do it on the beach,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her beer.

“You haven’t been to Porthmeor Beach yet, have you?” Harry asked, just loud enough so everyone chatting around them wouldn’t hear them talking. “This beach, I mean.”

“No, it’s much smaller than Porthminster Beach. It’s right by the Inn.”

“This one isn’t as crowded.” He paused for a bit, shaking his head once. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s crowded when tourists come here, but think most flock to Porthminster.”

“Which one do you like most?”

Harry swallowed a piece of roasted eggplant. “Porthgwidden. It’s the smallest one in St Ives.”

“How far is it?”

“On the other side of the Island. So, Porthmeor is on this side, and Porthgwidden is on the other.”

“You there often?”

“This one’s closer to the lighthouse, but I like Porthgwidden better. Dunno why. It was the first beach my father and I went to when we got here.”

Y/N smiled a bit. “I’ll have to go there at some point.”

“If you like the gang Thursday, they might try and convince you to come to a party there in July.”

“If it came to that, I’d be easy to convince.”

Harry only let out a small chuckle before the both of them turned back to eating. While eating, Y/N realised that while partaking in kamayan, you strip yourself of everything. You sit around a table with people who mean a lot to you, catch up on life, and talk about nothing and everything. Using your hands to eat food was a humbling, intimate experience. One felt vulnerable eating like this; using your hands to eat your own food and also handing food to others around you with those same hands. You connected on a sort of deeper level, eating and talking like this. Throughout the meal, Y/N felt closer to the people around her than when they’d started. She understood why this was a tradition in the Styles-Flores family now. If this was her family, it would undoubtedly be something she’d look forward to when summer rolled around.

“Harry, can you come with me?” Grace asked after a little while, her juice box empty and no food on the leaf in front of her.

“You want to go for a swim?”

She nodded at his question.

“Alright.” Harry turned to Y/N as Grace squealed in delight, getting up to take her summer dress off. “You wanna come?”

“I’d love to.” Y/N got up, smiling as she watched Grace get her arm floats on. Harry drank the last of his beer, saying something to Uncle Tim that Y/N didn’t catch. Aunt Rachel and Abby were already by the shore watching their children, so it seemed an appropriate time for the rest of them to go for a swim as well. Y/N took her stuff and walked around the table to Grace, putting her purse and hat with their things so they were more protected against the wind. Though it wasn’t a strong one, she still didn’t fancy her stuff flying off, never to be seen again. She took her trousers off first, then took her white transparent shirt off over her head.

She really liked the mint green colour of her bikini. A square bandeau top and a leg high waist bottom. She’d never worn it before, but in her haste to get away from Winchester, she’d grabbed it. Grace complimented it, grinning as she took it in and “wished she was as old as Y/N so she could wear nice bikinis like that.” Y/N noticed then that Harry hadn’t gotten up and gotten ready with them.

Looking over at where she knew he was seated, she found him already staring at her. With his chin slightly lowered and eyes glancing through his dark eyelashes, it was as if his intention had been to look away. He met her eyes and quickly looked away, his cheekbones flaring up. He coughed and hastily got up from where he was seated, knee bumping into the table in the process, causing some of the rice to go everywhere.

“Sorry!”

“What’s wrong?” Jessa asked, looking behind her at Y/N, and then back at Harry. “Did she make you flustered-“

“-No! No. No, I was not checking her out.” Harry walked over to Y/N and Grace, unbuttoning his shirt and placing it with Grace’s clothes.

“What’s wrong with that?! She’s your girlfriend, Harry.”

“Nay-“

“-You must’ve done it before if you two are together, surely you-“

“-Nanay!”

Grace took a grip of Y/N’s wrist and the two of them started walking toward the ocean. Grace giggled some beside Y/N as they heard more loud chatter behind them coming from their table.

“What?” Y/N asked, smiling down at the seven-year-old.

“Harry was checking you out.”

Y/N huffed, putting her hand on Grace’s shoulder, choosing not to say anything as doing so might make it all worse. She was sure Harry had just been deep in thought, maybe just waiting for Y/N and Grace to be done getting undressed, so he could do so as well without the bag area getting too crowded. No matter what, she was sure it had just been accidental. Regardless, Jessa was howling with laughter behind them now, so it was all forgotten. The girls quickly found out why Jessa had laughed, though.

Harry zoomed past them, running straight for the ocean in a pair of short yellow swimming shorts. Grace yelped in glee, shouting Harry’s name as she sprinted after him. Y/N watched the two of them, walking at a normal pace to let the siblings have some fun before she joined in. Harry ran into the ocean, water splashing up around him before he dove in. When he resurfaced again he whipped the hair out of his face before running a hand over it to get most of the water away.

He grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Grace following him, her small form not being able to lift her feet high enough to run at any proper speed. He walked over to her, lifting her off the ground, and as Grace knew what he was doing, she shifted her weight so she was on his back. Her arms barely made it around his neck with her floaties on. At the same speed as before, Harry ran back into the water, Grace laughing and squealing and clinging to Harry as water came up around them.

The sight melted Y/N’s heart. The two siblings had such an immense love for one another. They communicated so well, always knowing what the other one needed without needing to voice the actual words, and it was so beautiful to see them together. Especially like this.

“I want to jump from your shoulders,” Grace said, reaching for Harry’s shoulder in the water and trying to push him down.

He went underwater, taking Grace’s hands when she was settled, and then resurfaced. Grace screamed in delight, looking over at Y/N with the biggest beam on her face.

“Y/N! Watch this!” Grace jumped from Harry’s shoulders; chin lifted toward the sky as if that was going to prevent her from getting water all over her face. She giggled once she looked over at Harry again, begging him to let her do it again. He did it without hesitation, ducking underwater and letting Grace settle on his shoulders before he came up for air again. Y/N was nearing them now, water up to her ribs, and though it was a tad cold, it was nice to cool down a bit. The afternoon sun was extra hot today, and it didn’t help when they’d just been eating warm food with their hands and were all full.

“Y/N! Look at me!”

Grace let go of Harry’s hands balancing on his shoulders for a few seconds before she fell into the ocean again, giggling loudly. Y/N gave a short applause which seemed to have been the right response as Grace beamed back at her.

“Now you do it!”

Y/N blinked a few times. “Do what?”

“Get on Harry’s shoulders!”

“Gracie, I don’t think Y/N wants to-“

“-Don’t answer for her!” Grace pointed a warning finger at Harry and the sight made Y/N laugh. “Will you? It’s super fun!”

Y/N looked at Harry, putting her hands on her hips, smiling over at him. He smiled back, running a hand over his face to get most of the water off.

He was very soft. His belly protruded some from his swimming shorts and his love handles looked squishy, though his shoulders were broad and strong looking. It was no wonder why Grace always wanted her older brother to carry her, he looked to be a very good hugger. His biceps were beefy and tanned like the rest of him, muscle and a softness to him Y/N wasn’t sure she’d seen on anyone else before. She hoped he hadn’t caught her taking an extra good look at him.

“You think you can carry all this?” Y/N asked and Harry let out a small chuckle.

“Yes.” There was a slight pause, Harry blinking a few times and shaking his head before gesturing at his shoulders. “Yes. Yes, of course. Do you want me to go underwater?”

“No, I’ll just try and climb on.”

Grace watched as Y/N walked over, Harry walking a bit further out and lowering himself till his head was the only visible part of his body.

“Told you not to lower yourself, didn’t I?” Y/N laughed, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Well, I don’t want you to jump off and hit the bottom!”

Y/N only laughed and she saw a smile on Harry’s face. She did a little jump, putting both feet on his hips before daring to put one on his shoulder. In doing so, Y/N realised how long of a torso this man actually had. Lifting her legs onto his shoulder was a challenge in itself.

“Here.”

Harry put his hands out in case she needed some help. Y/N took them, leaning on them as she lifted her other foot, putting it on his shoulder. She tried to stand, but before she’d even straightened her knees and back out, she felt herself tip backward. She felt Harry’s hands leaving hers and his shoulders disappear from under her feet. A little scream left her mouth before she fell underwater. When she resurfaced again, Grace was laughing and Harry was smiling at Y/N.

“Oh, me falling is funny, is it?” Y/N asked laughter in her voice. “Maybe I should stand on your shoulders next.”

“Nooo!” Grace tried to ward Y/N off, but Y/N walked toward her. Grace tried to run away and Y/N pretended to be running as fast as she could after her. “Harry!” Grace shouted, jumping into the water in front of her brother. He laughed, picking her up and jogging off, then tipping over and underwater, dragging Grace with him. Watching the two of them like that, and being out there, acting silly with them was the happiest Y/N thought she might’ve ever been.

The three of them went back to everyone else a short while after. Y/N and Grace spent a considerable amount of time building an impressive sandcastle, though it collapsed in the end, making Grace so mad she started crying a bit. After that, Y/N chatted some with Uncle Tim and a few other of Harry’s family members, listening to them talking more than anything else. She didn’t mind, though. She quite liked listening to others.

After a little while of Harry playing with his cousins in the sea, he walked up over to everyone else. It wasn’t till he’d dried off a bit and put his shirt back on that he asked if Y/N wanted to take a stroll. She put her loose trousers back on before she joined Harry, the two of them falling into step and walking in silence until all of his family members were out of earshot.

“Been to The West Beach Bakery?” Harry gestured at something that looked to be a restaurant in the distance.

“No, would you recommend?”

“Highly,” he said. “The sourdough pizza with some sangria on the side is ace.”

“Sounds lush.”

“We could’ve gone but-“ Harry patted his stomach and Y/N laughed. “Anyway, whenever you have the time. I would suggest going there.”

Y/N smiled. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled back, giving her a nod before he looked at the sand underneath his feet as they walked.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said as she felt a wave wash over her feet, wetting the bottom of her trousers. As Harry gave a small nod, she went on, “When you eat… your blood sugar levels rise, right? How do you regulate it? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about my diabetes. I did before, but not anymore.” He gave her a little smile before he glanced ahead. “I use insulin therapy. So, for someone who doesn’t have type 1 diabetes, insulin will be produced and regulate your blood sugar levels. After you eat, carbohydrates break down into glucose, a sugar that is the body’s primary source of energy.”

Y/N knew this, but she liked listening to him and wasn’t about to interrupt when he was talking about something that affected his life to such a huge extent.

“Between meals, when insulin levels are low, the liver releases glycogen into the bloodstream in the form of glucose. This keeps the blood sugar levels within a narrow range. But if you have type 1 diabetes, your glucose levels will continue to rise after you eat because there’s not enough insulin to move the glucose into your body’s cells.”

“Ahh.” Y/N nodded.

“People with type 2 diabetes don’t use insulin efficiently and don’t produce enough insulin, while people with type 1 diabetes make little or no insulin. Insulin therapy for me and everyone else with type 1 is therefore vital for replacing the insulin my body doesn’t produce.”

“Gotcha.”

He was quiet for a few moments before he stammered, “I… I-I…” He frowned before he cleared his throat and went on. “I got diabetes when I was 11,” Harry started. “My Dad didn’t know what it meant at the time. He didn’t know that much about it; he went to a seminar at the local hospital to learn more about diabetes. Free for family members living with diabetics.”

Y/N nodded.

“I… I used to be overweight. I know I mentioned it briefly, but… are you comfortable talking about weight and body image, by the way? ‘Cause if not, we won’t-“

“-I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for asking, though,” Y/N smiled, motioning for Harry to continue talking.

“Well…” He readjusted the dark sunglasses on his nose. “I used to be bigger, I had some fat on my body. I knew it, my Dad knew it, and everyone who knew me did. I tried to hide behind baggy clothes and behind my humour, it made it easier for me to find confidence to hang around people.”

Y/N frowned a bit.

“But when I was 11… I started losing weight. It wasn’t intentional, it just sort of happened. I started going to the loo quite a lot, was always thirsty, was very irritable and had a lot of mood changes. That doesn’t happen to me, I’m a pretty nonchalant, calm person. So, my Dad knew something was wrong, especially when he realised how quickly I’d lost weight. We’re talking that I used to have a bit of a stomach and suddenly I didn’t anymore. It was strange for a 11-year-old.”

Y/N nodded. “What happened then?”

“He took me to the doctor, they directed us to the hospital, and they told me I had type 1 diabetes. They said my body had started burning muscle and fat for energy since it didn’t get enough energy from food. I hadn’t changed how I ate at all, not that I ate particularly unhealthy before, but it just happened.”

“How does it just happen?”

“Well, it can be genetic. It’s been running in my Mum’s side of the family, and it skipped her generation but latched onto me,” Harry said. “But basically, what happens is when glucose levels become high, the kidneys work to get rid of unused sugar through urine. This causes weight loss due to dehydration and loss of calories from the sugar that wasn’t used as energy.”

“Ahhh.”

“Kids who develop type 1 diabetes often lose weight even though they have a normal or increased appetite.” They fell quiet for a moment. “Sorry, this is probably very boring.”

“No! I’m studying- Or I’m trying to study for the UCAT, so I find it interesting and necessary to know. Also very honoured you wanted to tell me. Thank you.”

Harry shook his head, as if he was telling her he didn’t mind. He suddenly looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re trying for the UCAT? You taking the piss?”

Y/N laughed and Harry joined in. “No, I’m seriously trying to read for it.”

“I thought you were interested in books. Like, a literature nerd or something.”

“Why, ‘cause I read a lot?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry chuckled, meeting her eyes for a second before looking away.

“Well, that’s more of a hobby, really,” she explained. “I want to become a dentist. Though… I’ve just turned 24, so… don’t know if I’m too old to be following my dreams. Everyone else taking the test is gonna be 17 or 18 or 19, and I’ll literally be the same age as their grandma.”

Harry laughed. “How’s the studying going, then? How are you getting on?”

“Okay. I’ve only read the first two chapters, but… it’s fun.”

He chuckled, buttoning some of his shirt so the wind wouldn’t get it. “Convincing.”

She smiled. “I’m sure I’ll get there. Somehow.”

“So,” he dragged it out, pursing his lips some. “What will you study at uni?”

“Dentistry.”

“Makes sense.”

She laughed. “You asked!”

“It completely slipped my mind that there’s a course dedicated to it.” He smiled at her as she chuckled some more. “Not my fault I didn’t remember it.”

“I’m going to forgive you this once.”

Harry smiled, in the light from the sunset, his skin was a glowing orange and the tips of his hair golden. “Right, as not to trigger anything else uni related,” he said, and Y/N giggled. “What’s your absolute favourite and least favourite book?”

She looked at him. “Ever?”

“Ever.”

Y/N inhaled, bringing her hand to her chin as she narrowed her eyes in thought. “My favourite has got to be Uses of the Erotic by Audre Lorde, and my least favourite is The Alchemist by Pablo Coelho. Though, Uses of the Erotic is an essay, really, but it’s the most profound text I’ve ever read.”

“Right, what’s it about?”

“Audre argues that eroticism, which has been inappropriately relegate to the domain of sex only, should instead be understood as a basic life force of vitality and creative power that guides us truthfully in all interactions. It’s the depth of feeling and engagement with ourselves and others. It relates to sexuality but doesn’t end there. It transcends all domains of life; domains we’ve been instructed to keep in neat, separate boxes.”

“Sounds interesting.”

Y/N smiled, nudging Harry’s arm with her shoulder.

“No! I genuinely mean it. It sounds interesting. I don’t really think of these things, so reading essays about stuff I don’t know much about is fascinating.”

“Exactly!” Y/N said. “As for The Alchemist… might just be that the English translation is bad, but it’s a poorly written book, for starters. It’s too philosophical, it’s full of boring, biased writing which tries to tell you that the world is controlled by destiny. There are also explicit religious themes that are hard for non-Christians to agree with. And the author’s extremely sexist.”

“You don’t believe in destiny?” Harry asked, taking Y/N a bit by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you said he tries to tell the reader the world is controlled by destiny. You don’t think the universe brings you someplace or something or offers you an opportunity ‘cause it’s got this already calculated and wonderful plan for you, and where you’re supposed to end up?”

Y/N thought about that for a second. “I’m more of a believer of energy and balance. If you give the universe goodness, it will return that goodness back to you. So, if you’ve given negative energy out into the universe and the people around you, you’ll get negativity thrown back to you. You won’t get that job offer, or you’ll have relationship problems, or your house might burn down.”

“Oi!” Harry laughed. “From 0 to 100 real quick.”

Y/N giggled. “But you know what I mean, yeah? You decide your own destiny, but opportunities will present themselves to you according to how you treat the universe.”

“Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from.”

She smiled, looking down at her feet as another wave ran lazily over them. “How do you like being a lightkeeper?”

“I love it,” he answered honestly. “I didn’t want to become one at first, but… but then my Dad died, you know. It kind of forced me to take over after him ‘cause I was the next one in line. Before he died, when I was 18, I moved into the lighthouse keeper residence. It was empty, Dad continued to live with Jessa until he died two years ago, I don’t blame him for it, to be fair. It’s very lonely living out here and Jessa loves people, but you know this.”

Y/N smiled.

“I was already living at the lighthouse, already kind of looking after it when my Dad wasn’t there, so it made sense for me to do it. And, after like a month and some of doing it alone, I found out that I didn’t mind at all.” He shrugged. “Not that I had to ‘settle for being a lightkeeper’ or that I felt ‘forced’ to do it, I wanted to. I realised that it was something that suited me well.”

“You don’t need to be there all the time?”

Harry beamed. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She chuckled.

“No, I don’t. I just need to make sure it’s in good condition.”

“What do you do then? You got any hobbies?”

Harry scrunched up his nose.

“What?!”

“You think I’m this boring bloke that just stares off into space when I’m not around people?”

Laughing, Y/N shook her head, making Harry chuckle some in response. “No, of course not! But surely you have hobbies, yeah?”

“Yeah, I play a bit of volleyball with some mates every once in a while, also really like watching volleyball matches on the telly. And I play the piano. I actually wanted to study music at uni before I decided I’d become a lightkeeper, I applied and everything.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, when we were teenagers, Dax, Jo, Amir and I made a band. Dax knows the guitar, and Jo wanted to sing, so Amir said he’d do drums, and I didn’t know what instrument I’d do, so I just chose the keyboard. My Dad had a piano as decoration at home, so I started just playing it, and I didn’t realise how much I enjoyed it till I was in a bookstore looking for piano books with my Dad.”

She smiled. “Do you still have the same piano at your house, or did you buy a new one?”

“My Dad got me a new one when I moved out. The old one’s at the farm.”

“Harry!”

The two of them turned around to see Grace running toward them, waving her arms and jumping up and down. She gestured behind her at their family packing up and Harry turned around, motioning for Y/N to follow him.

“Guess we’re leaving?” Y/N asked, though the sun setting and some of Harry’s younger cousins were asleep, so the family departing made sense.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

Y/N smiled. “A good one.”

Thursday, 25 June

The Kettle and Wink was a three-minute walk from the Inn. With the help of Google Maps on her phone, Y/N found the way very easily. With her green floral wrap dress and a pair of white Vans and some white socks, Y/N thought she looked pretty casual. The frill edge of her dress blew against her thigh as she walked down the Terrace. She hadn’t brought a cardigan as she didn’t think she’d need one, but now she hoped they’d be sitting inside seeing as the dark mixed with the ocean breeze would get a bit chilly as night wore on. She hadn’t expected it to be this nippy, so she’d just have to bite her teeth together and survive tonight.

Y/N wasn’t really sure what to expect from meeting Harry’s mates. She was sure there would be an abnormal amount of questions, both about her and their relationship. She didn’t know how much detail Harry was used to giving his friends and if they expected juicy gossip neither she nor Harry would be able to provide. Judging by the way Harry acted around her, she’d say he most likely didn’t like giving up every single little detail of his life. Some things he seemed to like being hidden, he wasn’t likely to open up about everything and that was okay.

The man himself stood by the entrance to Gabriel Street, his phone in his hand and a concentrated look on his face. He was wearing a pair of tall black Converse with white socks just visible under the cuffs of his light-washed loose denim trousers. He was wearing a wool-knitted carmine jumper, it wasn’t the thickest wool jumper Y/N had seen, but it looked light and perfect for the weather and temperature that day. A white tee shirt was visible under it, probably there in case he got cold later on.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted, smiling at Harry who jumped a little at the sound of her voice.

“Hi,” he said back, putting his phone in his pocket. His eyes travelled down her body automatically, taking in her summer dress and probably thinking to himself how stupid she’d been for wearing something that would undoubtedly have her freezing by the end of the night. “Ready?” He nodded his head up the street, probably in the direction of where the pub was.

“Yeah.”

The two of them started walking up, Harry opening the door for her when they reached The Kettle and Wink. It was fairly busy, but Y/N remembered how her father often went out for drinks with his friends on Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe that was something people did.

Upon entering, the bar was straight ahead, groups of people standing by the counter to order. Tables and booths were littered about the place, dim lighting making it so the dark wooden interior was hard to differentiate between the tables and the floor. There was a pool table that a group stood around, laughing loudly and each a pint in their hands.

“Harry!”

It came from the left side of the room, a table in the middle of a couple of others, a group of five sat there waving their hands and beaming from ear to ear. Harry turned to Y/N, giving her an apologetic smile.

“Listen, I know I keep saying this, but they’re a bit intense. I dunno why I keep befriending people that are,” Harry said, walking in front of Y/N to shield her from the worst of the comments and exclamations from his mates.

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Don’t tell them that, they’ll-“

“-Come here, you bugger!” A blonde bloke came into view, throwing himself at Harry and hugging him. Y/N quickly realised she’d seen him before. “You’re late.”

“It’s called taking our time.”

The blonde pushed away from Harry and turned his attention to Y/N, his brown eyes lighting up. “Good to see you again. Didn’t catch your name the time before.”

Harry’s head whipped around in Y/N’s direction, then back at the blonde, a furrow appearing between his brows. “What’s this?”

“Jo and I watched her stuff when she went for a swim, few weeks back, that,” he explained, smiling at Y/N. “No idea you would be Harry’s new beau.”

“Nice to see you again,” Y/N smiled.

“And you.” He brought his hand out, smiling at her. “I’m Dax.”

She took his hand. “Y/N.”

“Let’s see then, Haz! Move!” someone else shouted and Harry sighed, sitting down in one of the free seats, dragging the other free one closer to him to reserve it for Y/N. Dax motioned for Y/N to sit down and she did, giving him a smile as he took the seat beside her. Taking the purse off her shoulder, she placed it in her lap and looked around the table at Harry’s friends.

“Y/N, these are my friends. Gang, be nice. This is Y/N.”

“What do you mean ‘be nice’?” Dax asked, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, Y/N, you’re very much welcome here and we want you to feel like one of us, alright?”

“Sounds lush,” she smiled.

“So, what pronouns do you use?”

The question was so unexpected and thoughtful that Y/N was left gaping at Dax for a bit, a smile spreading out across her lips finally. “She, her.”

“Wonderful. I use he, him.” Dax gestured to the person sitting beside him to say something next. It was the blue-haired person Y/N had seen along with Dax at the beach. Both were pale, Dax a little broader and taller than his companion beside him, but they were seated close enough to each other so that Y/N knew they must be amazing friends.

“I’m Jordan, but you can call me Jo, I go by they, them.”

“I’m Amir! He, him, please,” the brown bloke beside Jo said, giving Y/N a little wave. He had his curly dark hair in a bun at the top of his head and a pair of round glasses on his nose, looking like the relaxed hipster type.

“I’m Ellie, I go by she, her, as well.” Short blonde hair tucked away behind pale ears, some of it coming loose when she grinned at Y/N. She reminded Y/N of a fairy.

“And I’m Fatima, she, her.” Harry sat back in his seat, revealing a brown-skinned golden princess, giving Y/N a small wink before she sipped her drink. “It’s so nice to meet you. H has kept you a secret.”

“I have not-“

Fatima nudged his leg with her knee under the table, raising her eyebrows at him. “Yes, you have. Dax hasn’t been talking about much else since.”

“What do you do when your best mate lies to ya?” Dax said, sounding very dramatic. “You wallow in sadness and cry yourself to sleep, that’s what you do.”

“Oh, come off it, Dax.”

“What were you doing hiding her from us anyway?” Jordan asked, picking up their pint and taking a sip. “Lovely to see you again, by the way, Y/N.”

“And you, Jo.”

“Right, I’m getting us something to drink.” Harry glanced over at Y/N. “Beer?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry gave her a small smile, and in it she could see a slight apology mixed with a short ‘good luck.’ She assumed he was afraid his friends would tear into her once he was gone, and though she was sure they were only eager to get to know her, she was kind of afraid of the same thing. They all seemed so lovely, but she was terrified she’d answer a question and contradict something Harry had told them or make it hard for them to believe her and Harry were a thing. These were such important people in Harry’s life, she didn’t want to disappoint them or Harry.

“So,” Ellie said, leaning her elbows on the table. “Why aren’t you living with Harry in the lighthouse? Judging by it, he still needs to blow some steam off.”

“El!” Fatima hissed, shaking her head at her in disbelief. “You’ve just met this person.”

“I’m curious!” Ellie turned her attention back on Y/N. “He’s so uptight sometimes, I just think he needs to relax for a bit. Blow a load.”

“Oh, my days.” Amir took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe they haven’t had sex yet.” Jo shrugged their shoulders before looking at Y/N. “Sorry ‘bout this.”

Y/N smiled. “Oh, don’t even worry about it. But we live in separate places ‘cause the both of us need our space, it would overwhelm us to be around each other all the time. Especially when we haven’t really done so before.”

“I get it,” Fatima said, nodding her head. “You don’t want it to be too much too fast. You living with him for the summer would be like skipping five major milestones in your relationship, and you’d just jump to moving in with each other.”

“Exactly.”

“Harry’s also very private,” Dax continued. “No offence, Y/N, but he generally just likes being alone. He can play his piano, and write his songs, and work on his car, and be Harry.”

Y/N’s immediate response was to ask Dax if Harry really wrote songs because she hadn’t heard anything about that before. But asking that would be very suspicious and be a major give away. His girlfriend of all people would know if he writes songs, what kind of songs, and if he sings. He’d only ever mentioned that Amir sang in their band when they were teenagers, but he hadn’t told her if he himself sang some as well. She instantly started thinking about how his singing voice would sound.

“Harry told me you lot were in a band at one point,” Y/N said, causing Jo to howl with laughter and Amir to grin from ear to ear. “Care to elaborate, ‘cause he hasn’t.”

“That wanker, he really doesn’t like fun.” Dax leaned forward in his chair. “Right, so we were all big fans of Muse at one point, yeah? Proper wanted to perform at Wembley and be viewed as sex gods by every single person on Earth, that kinda thing.”

“I heard ‘sex gods’,” Harry said, putting a pint down on the table before Y/N. “And now I’m afraid.”

“Just tellin’ Y/N here how we used to be in a band.”

Harry looked from Y/N to Dax. “Then why were you talking about being sex gods?”

“First of all, shut up. Second,” Dax said, bringing his hands out and raising an eyebrow as he met everyone’s eyes one after one. “I’m right. Tell me I’m right.”

“You’re not right,” Ellie said, sipping her water.

“Astronaut Lions would’ve been immense if Jordan hadn’t decided to fuck off to uni,” Dax continued, sitting back in his seat.

“Amir can’t sing, so we were doomed either way,” Jo said.

“If it hadn’t been for our gig at Porthmeor Beach that summer, Harry wouldn’t have met Emilia.” Dax shrugged his shoulders. “That’s all I’m saying. We did work some wonders, did ‘cause some scenes, did make some magic. Cultural reset.”

“Oh, speaking of Emilia,” Fatima said, tapping the spot on the table close to Harry’s pint. “She’s coming back.”

Harry was quiet for a second. “Coming back?”

“Yeah, from her year abroad in Munich.”

Harry fell silent, then slowly started nodding his head, eyes falling to the pint he’d only taken one single sip of. Y/N tried not to frown as she watched Harry for a few seconds, tried not to get offended. Surely Harry would’ve told her who Emilia was if he felt comfortable doing so, but he hadn’t, so she shouldn’t feel like she was entitled to that information. But… she still felt left out. If someone around that table asked her about Emilia right that second, she wouldn’t know how to react or what to say. Glancing away from Harry, she kept her eyes on her pint for a few seconds till Ellie started talking.

“Is Munich big?” Ellie asked. “I imagine every single city in Germany to either be like, big like Berlin or a small village. That being said, it’s the most beautiful country in Europe, hands down.”

“Depends on what kind of big you’re talking about,” Y/N said, Amir making a ‘ooo’ sound under his breath and a cheeky grin on his face that caused Jo to give him a firm slap at the back of his head. “City population, it’s definitely in the top five. If we’re talking about big by area, it’s in the top three.”

“Had no idea,” Ellie said.

“I might be wrong, though, so don’t take my word for it,” Y/N said, quick to wave her hands around to dismiss the knowledge she’d just served.

Harry shook his head. “Don’t take her seriously when she says she might be wrong or when she tries to discredit herself. She wants to become a dentist.”

Y/N didn’t know where the correlation there was, but she was sure the sentiment was lovely.

“Wicked! Would we get a discount?” Amir grinned, bringing his pint up in a cheers before sipping it.

“Oh, my word, Amir,” Fatima sighed, and Y/N chuckled.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Harry’s friends were so incredibly nice. They asked her questions, but made sure not to be too invasive or make her uncomfortable, something she really liked. They were already pretty tipsy, and as the evening went on, they all got drunk. Y/N and Harry were the only two who couldn’t be arsed to drink that much, so they rather watched over the gang as the volume got louder and the laughter more constant. The focus quickly shifted from Y/N and to everyone in the group, so Y/N sank back in her seat and just watched them interact.

As she zoned in and out of the conversation, she started thinking about Emilia. She hadn’t heard anything about an Emilia before. The thought of Harry maybe having dated before she arrived hadn’t crossed her mind once. She didn’t know if they’d even dated, but by the way Dax and Fatima talked about Emilia in relation to Harry, and the way Harry had reacted, made Y/N immediately draw the conclusion that the two had meant a lot to each other at one point. She tried not to think about it, knowing that it wasn’t really any of her business anyway. If Harry wanted to tell her, he would.

At one point, Dax tapped Y/N on the shoulder and when she looked in his direction, he had a big grin on his face, chin resting in his hand while he leaned his elbow on the table.

“Wonder what an average bloke like Harry did to earn your attention,” Dax said. “Don’t get me wrong, love the bloke, but you’re obviously… way out of anyone from down here’s league.”

She smiled. “In what way?”

“Wealthy.” Dax shrugged, as if it was a given. “Think Harry knows he’s in way over his head.”

Y/N frowned, not able to hold a slight chuckle back. “Pardon?”

“No! Didn’t mean it in a bad way, just that he’s never dated anyone that’s not from Cornwall before. But you probs knew that.”

Y/N hoped Dax didn’t notice the slight pause before she uttered a small, “Yeah.”

“Anyway, don’t wanna talk about that now, I don’t wanna make you feel bad in any way. How are you enjoying Cornwall?”

“It’s nice. Haven’t spent much time here, mostly travelled outside the UK.”

Dax nodded, blinking a few times as if he was confused. “But you… you met Harry in Newquay, yeah? So-“

“-Yes! Yes, I did.” Y/N felt her heart hammering fast in her chest, reaching for her pint and taking a quick sip to calm herself down. She couldn’t reveal actual information about herself, this was not the time. She had to lie. “Met in Newquay last summer.”

Dax nodded again, reaching over and tapping Harry on the arm. “Mate, when did you go to Newquay last summer?”

Harry’s mouth opened, but then quickly closed again. Y/N suddenly realised they’d said Harry’s trip to Newquay was a lads trip. That was the lie they were going with for how they met on the beach there. But Harry’s ‘lads’ were everyone around this table. Again, a spike of hot adrenaline exploded in Y/N’s chest. A sudden sense of horror took over and she racked her brain for what to say.

“Don’t remember you going to Newquay, was it a short trip, then?” Jo joined in, a furrow to their eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat. Y/N sensed the panic in Harry’s demeanour and hoped no one else did. “Yeah, Uncle Tim and I went.”

“Uncle Timmy?” Dax frowned as well, pursing his lips as he thought. “Alright. Yeah. Yeah, you were gone for about a week?”

“Five days,” Harry said. Great detail, Y/N thought. If the two of them were specific and detailed then no one could tell them they weren’t being truthful.

“Maybe it’s just cos you don’t leave your bloody house that we don’t remember,” Amir laughed. “Who knew a five-day holiday in sodding Newquay would leave you with a girlfriend?”

Harry looked at Y/N, the two of them sharing a look she wasn’t able to properly decipher. However, looking back, she was sure she could see some sort of gratitude in there somewhere, mixed with relief that they managed to get out of a situation that could’ve been much stickier hadn’t they kept their heads somewhat cold. The conversation quickly shifted to something else, much to both Harry and Y/N’s satisfaction.

Y/N started yawning at one point, both a reaction to the small amount of alcohol in her system and her early start that morning. It didn’t take long for Harry to join in, though it took about 30 minutes for them to actually look at one another and nod towards the door. Harry announced their departure to boos from his friends, but they were quick to wish them both a goodnight. Fatima made Y/N promise she’d hang out with them again soon; the gang had barely gotten to know her, and they were very eager to. Y/N promised, knowing fully well that because of the intoxicated state of which the lot around the table were in, they would most likely have trouble remembering most of the questions they’d asked her and what they’d been talking about anyway.

Harry held the door open for Y/N, giving his friends a wave before the two of them started walking back down the same way they’d come. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders shaking for a second as she realised how cold it was out. She supposed it was both the wind and how tired she was that made her have this reaction to the evening chill. Once again, she cursed herself for not having brought a cardigan. She composed herself, looking at Harry as he came up beside her.

“You cold?”

“The Inn is just a 3-minute walk from here, I won’t die-“

But Harry didn’t seem to bother listening to her. Instead, he reached for the hem of his jumper and brought it over his head in one swift move. He gave it to her, his hair an absolute mess and lips parted in anticipation of her reaching for his item of clothing. Biting her lip, she took his warm jumper and put it over her dress. Upon dragging it over her face and letting it settle on her, she was hit with an overwhelming smell of mixed cardamom, saffron, sandalwood, and vetiver.

“Better?”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a smile as they took the turn down towards the Terrace. “But you really don’t have to walk me home. The lighthouse is so far off, plus it’s in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll call someone, and they’ll drive me home.” Y/N gave Harry a look at that and Harry only let out a small breathy chuckle, shrugging his shoulders as if the next statement was an obvious indicator enough as to why he was walking her back. “It’s dark out.”

She smiled at that and looked away. They were quiet for a second before the question that had been eating away at Y/N all night finally slipped from between her lips. “Emilia, your ex, right? She’s coming back to stay, then?”

Harry shrugged, a slight redness appearing around his neck and cheeks. “Dunno. Haven’t talked to her since she broke up with me.”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “She broke up with you?”

Harry smiled a little. “You sound shocked.”

“Don’t know… I don’t know how your relationship ended or why, but you seem like a nice lad.”

“Cheers,” Harry chuckled, Y/N couldn’t hold her own back. “Nice lads can be broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose they can.”

Harry fell quiet, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he thought for a few seconds. “She… She broke up with me around the time my Dad died.”

That made the frown in between Y/N’s brows deepen. The blush in Harry’s cheeks got redder and Y/N looked away, not wanting to overwhelm him by staring him down while he was talking.

“Said she couldn’t be with someone who was so depressed, it affected her own mental health. Which is all very valid, so I’ve never been mad at her for it. If me being sad and depressed affected her in any way, then she had every right to walk away. Last thing I ever wanted to do was be a negative factor in her life, you know what I mean?”

Y/N nodded, opening the door of the Inn and walking inside, stepping onto the stairs as Harry closed it after himself. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Harry followed her up the stairs as he spoke. “After Emilia and I broke up, that’s when Jessa and Grace started obsessing over me and how I was always alone in the lighthouse.”

Y/N smiled a little at that, getting her keys from her purse. “At least they care about you, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry leaned against the wall beside Y/N’s door, hands still in his pockets. “At least they do.”

She only shook her head some, unlocking her door. “Thanks for following me all the way back.” She gestured at her room. “Literally.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “No need to thank me, Y/N.”

She bit her bottom lip, stepping into her room as Harry pushed off the wall. “Thanks for tonight.”

“Yeah, it was fun.”

She leaned her head against the door. “Goodnight.”

He nodded in response before turning and walking down the stairs. Y/N closed the door and when she went to take her purse off, she gripped into wool. She was still wearing Harry’s jumper. Standing by the window, she saw Harry on the phone with someone, walking at a nonchalant pace and smiling at something the other person said, his dimples already showing. She turned around, looking at herself in the mirror beside the dresser, an overwhelming scent of cardamom, saffron and sandalwood surrounding her. The carmine was almost completely black in the darkness of her bedroom, the oversized soft jumper hung to just under her bum, nearly covering her entire dress, and for some reason, she liked the sight of the woolen jumper on her better than the green summer dress underneath. It wasn’t knitted and crafted for her, but wearing it felt almost natural.

However, it wasn’t hers. She took it off, folded it, and placed it on her desk. She’d have to pop by Harry’s with it in the morning, but for now, it would have to lay safe and folded neatly in her bedroom.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 30 August, 9PM GMT!

A HUGEE thank you to my amazing and beautiful beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @honeydearly 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @watermelonsuger 🌊 @withallthelove-a 🌊

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #1dff #LETS GOOOO ST NATION 🏄✨#PLS DO COME CHAT ONCE YOU'RE DONE READING ILYSM 💖

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childrenofthesunny · 3 years

Text

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (1/2)

For my spin on @gayforgoodomens‘ Priest AU, for when she wondered off-hand how Crowley and Aziraphale might go about having sex for the first time, whilst simultaneously still pining/pretending they’re not breaking their vows. So, naturally, off I went to write what’s looking like will be a 6-7,000 word fic about it.

Listen, the only thing stopping me from turning this AU into a full-blown multichapter fic is (a) my knowledge of the workings of Catholicism being limited to some brief skimming of Wikipedia and what little of church I remember from when I was 7 and (b) I already have a multichapter WIP being posted, and I know I don't have the attention span to maintain two major WIPs simultaneously.

But I want to

(That being said, this is in two parts; part two should be done in a few days.)

If you prefer, you can also read this on Ao3 @ childrenofthesun.

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

"Ah, Father Crowley, there you are! So, this is where you've been hiding all evening."

"Hardly a shock to find me out here, is it?" Crowley asked with a grin, squinting up at the cherubic middle-aged man now standing beside him. Like Crowley, he was wearing pants and a short-sleeved button-up with a clerical tab, in deference to the balmy summer weather. Unlike Crowley, he was very clean and neat, and not wearing a dirt-streaked garden apron. "I've been spending all of my free time this week working on the gardens, now that Shadwell's retired and can't go berating me for trying to do the job he wasn't even doing himself. Beyond me how he even got the job in the first place."

The other man looked around fretfully, as if expecting the former groundskeeper to leap out from behind a poorly maintained bush and start yelling at him. "Oh, I know, but you mustn't be too hard on the poor fellow. The job was more to make him feel useful than anything. But Gabriel said we couldn't justify the expense anymore."

"You were too soft on him, anyway, Aziraphale," Crowley admonished, smirking at the little huff Aziraphale let out when Crowley didn't address him by his title, as he was supposed to. "Letting him set up all that nonsense meant to ward off witches. It’s certainly never stopped Anathema from coming here to borrow one of your books."

"At least it kept him busy," Aziraphale replied, sounding slightly aggrieved. His hands fluttered briefly by his wrists, as if he wanted to fiddle with the sleeves of the cassock that was his preferred style of dress. "Although it would have been nice if he had directed some of that energy towards the upkeep of the gardens. I did try to explain to him that the grounds are consecrated, and that surely would ward off evil, but in his eyes that wasn't sufficient protection."

"I know, I tried to explain it that way, too," Crowley told him cheerfully. "Apparently, the fact that I wear sunglasses all the time means I must be in league with the Devil, so he didn't think my input was particularly useful."

"Is he not aware of your eye condition?"

"I tried to tell him what photosensitivity is, but seems he's of the school of thought that science and witchcraft are basically the same thing. The tattoos probably didn't help me make my case either."

Aziraphale made a face. "Ah."

"Yup," Crowley confirmed, and Aziraphale shook himself suddenly.

"You've distracted me, you wily old thing!" he chided.

"Younger than you," Crowley pointed out, grinning impishly and making Aziraphale glower at him with impatience.

"I was about to get cross with you," Aziraphale insisted. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him.

"Oh? Whatever for?"

Aziraphale gestured at the gardening tools in Crowley's hands. "That! It's far too late for you to be working out here, still."

"Still light out," Crowley muttered, poking rebelliously at the soil with his trowel.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's summer, of course it's still light out! That doesn't change the fact that it's almost nine thirty." He shifted his weight, arms now folded. The slowly dwindling rays of sunset caught in the white-gold curls crowning Aziraphale's head, making them glow as if from within.

Lord, but did he look like an angel.

Crowley hissed in displeasure as he begrudgingly got to his feet, the taut muscles of his back creaking in protest. Aziraphale gave him a reproving look.

"'S not like it's going to weed itself," Crowley grumbled in a half-hearted final objection, wincing again. Now that he was standing, the ache in his back was really starting to settle in. He tried to straighten to his full height, which would give him a few inches over Aziraphale, but found that his spine would only comfortably let him stand with their eyes level.

All right, maybe he had been overdoing it a bit over the past few days.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Be that as it may, you mustn't work like this to the detriment of your own wellbeing. It will still be here in the morning. This is your home, Crowley, it isn't as if you'll be forced to leave if you don't turn the church grounds into Kew Gardens overnight."

"S'pose I would've been kicked out ages ago, if that were the case," Crowley acquiesced, rubbing some of the dirt on his hands onto his gardening apron. "Y'know, when I first came here, I was really excited to see the gardens," he admitted. "I'd heard how lovely they were, especially for such a small church. Was a bit of shock when I saw the state they were in."

What he didn't add was that, given Shadwell's constant undermining of any covert attempt he made to coax the gardens back to life, Crowley would have long ago gone and grovelled to the diocese to grant him a new assignment elsewhere. That is, had he not had a compelling reason to want to stay in Tadfield.

A middle-aged, cherubic man-shaped reason, to be specific.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to restore them to their former glory, now," Aziraphale said kindly. "There's no need for you to rush anything."

Crowley hummed in agreement, and went to bend down to pick up his tools, unable to stifle a groan as he did so. Aziraphale was quick to forestall the movement with a hand to Crowley's chest, his usual hesitance to so much as brush shoulders with Crowley vanishing under his concern. Allow me, he probably said, but Crowley couldn't hear him over the sudden rush of blood to his ears, pounding through his rapidly beating heart in a way that Aziraphale would surely be able to feel beneath his fingers.

Aziraphale said something else that Crowley's brain refused to parse, too focused on trying to keep the other priest from realising the effect the simple touch was having on him. He managed to nod, not sure what he was agreeing to, but was rather proud of himself for managing not to whimper when Aziraphale's hand pulled away.

"We'll just put these away first," Aziraphale told him, Crowley's brain function apparently restored now that they were no longer touching. Crowley dutifully trailed after him to the shed, putting his tools back in their rightful place. He grunted slightly when he reached to the small of his back to undo the ties of his garden apron, the motion tugging at the aching muscles of his shoulders. The sound alerted Aziraphale, who immediately fussed over him again, lifting the strap holding the apron around his neck for Crowley despite his protests. Crowley scowled as Aziraphale smiled serenely at him and hung the apron on its hook by the door. Secretly, however, he was glad that the dim, fading light meant that Aziraphale wouldn't be able to see that the tips of Crowley's ears had gone a hot, flaming red.

Aziraphale took the lead again as they both headed for the rectory they shared, both toeing off their shoes and leaving them in the rack by the door once they'd crossed the threshold.

"I imagine you'd want to shower before we begin," Aziraphale said as they headed into the living room. He picked up a book he'd left beside the sofa and took a seat, already thumbing it open. "Take your time, I'll be waiting here for you when you're done."

Crowley glanced down at the dirt packed under his nails, felt the sweaty stick of his shirt against his back, and couldn't help but agree. Whatever Aziraphale had had him agree to, it probably would be best if he cleaned himself up first. Not to mention it would give him a little bit of time to collect his thoughts, to slow the still traitorously fast gallop of his heart.

He headed upstairs, grabbed a change of clothes from his room, and did his best not to run to the bathroom, knowing Aziraphale would be able to hear the creak of the floorboards overhead if he did.

Once enshrined in the privacy of the bathroom, shower turned on and old pipes groaning laboriously as they slowly heated, Crowley sagged against the door and let out a long, shaky breath.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself, flicking on the ancient exhaust fan. It rattled slowly to life, letting out the occasional whining protest, as the unbalanced blades scraped against the inside of the casing. "You're acting like… like he's about to lay down rose petals for you and take you to bed, when you know he couldn't find his way out of the closet if you gave him a torch and a map. And even if he could… he wouldn't do anything about it. You've both got your vows." He tore off his clothes and left them in a sullen pile on the floor, opening the shower door. Steam billowed out and he stepped inside quickly before too much could escape. He stood directly under the scalding spray, heedless of how his pale skin went instantly pink. His face was likely beyond sun-kissed, too, given the time he'd spent in the garden.

There wasn't much he could do about that, but at the very least he could wash the sweat from his skin, furiously scrub the dirt out from under his nails. Whatever the evening had in store for him, at least he'd be clean.

He fruitlessly tried again to piece together what Aziraphale had asked him, out in the garden. Now, though, naked and surrounded on all sides by steam, his mind only seemed to want to offer him lewd suggestions, each one more highly improbable than the last. Unbidden, he imagined Aziraphale walking into the bathroom to find out what was taking Crowley so long, then disrobing and entering the shower with Crowley, hot water cascading over them both as Aziraphale pressed him up against the tiles–

With a burst of self-disgust, Crowley realised that certain areas of his body were getting very excited indeed by such thoughts, and were responding in a way that was meant to encourage him to keep thinking those exact thoughts as he took himself in hand. He'd done it a few times in the past, now, even though it invariably left him riddled with guilt and shame. Somehow, it seemed even more egregious than usual to have a self-loathing-fuelled wank over the man he worked with, when said man was patiently awaiting his return downstairs, none the wiser.

With a sigh, he turned off the heat, standing under the cold spray for several seconds to try and keep his body from getting any funny ideas, before cutting off the water completely. Skin still pink in places, but at the very least clean, he towelled himself off, squeezing as much water out of his hair as he could. A glance in the mirror told him that he'd definitely been out in the sun too long. If he was very lucky, the skin wouldn't start peeling off over the next few days, but, given how his pale skin had historically reacted to overexposure to the sun, he wasn't exactly holding out hope. He applied some moisturiser to his face to at least draw out some of the heat, and resolved to stop being so forgetful about putting on sunscreen when he needed to.

He put on his clothes quickly, only realising once he was done that he'd gone on complete autopilot, and dressed himself as if preparing for his clerical duties, collar and all. He felt a little stupid, but knew he'd feel even stupider if he went and changed again, so he decided to leave everything as it was, and headed back downstairs. Hopefully, wearing something symbolic of the Church would help remind his unruly body, mind, and heart how they were all supposed to be behaving.

"Ready, then?" Aziraphale asked when he came back into the living room, glancing quickly at the page number before closing the book and setting it aside.

"Yep," Crowley answered, still having no idea what he'd agreed to.

"We can use my bed," Aziraphale decided. "Now that I've had a moment to think about it, the couch really is far too narrow to give us enough space to work with comfortably."

"What?" Crowley squeaked.

Aziraphale gave him an odd look. "I suppose we could do this here, with you laid out on the floor, if you'd prefer. I know that some people like a more solid surface beneath them for this sort of thing," he said, apparently unaware that he was giving Crowley a heart attack.

"You… you want me on the floor?" he managed.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Personally, I would have thought the bed would be more comfortable, but the choice is yours. This is to your benefit, after all."

"…My benefit?" Crowley asked faintly, apparently unable to do much more than echo Aziraphale's words back at him.

"Honestly, Crowley," Aziraphale replied huffily. Crowley managed to find space amidst his confusion to feel the little thrill he always did whenever Aziraphale dropped the honorific when referring to him by name. "The massage? That we discussed not twenty minutes ago, were you even listening?"

"Massage?" Crowley couldn't help but parrot. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes. Massage. For your back. That I offered to you. Because you've been overworking yourself in the garden all week and can barely stand upright."

"Oh. Right," Crowley managed, nodding like a dashboard bobblehead on an unpaved country road. "That massage. 'Course."

"Honestly," Aziraphale huffed again, but far fonder in tone this time. "So. Out here, or on the bed?" "Bed," Crowley said before he could stop himself.

Aziraphale nodded, standing. "Shall we, then?"

Crowley nodded mutely, and when Aziraphale began to lead them both upstairs, he followed.

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #crowley/aziraphale #priest au #priest aziraphale #priest crowley #sunny writes

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snowdice · 3 years

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 63]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Let’s do some of this tonight.

Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since they’d discussed making menus for him him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil would mark the little box on the card corresponding to his opinion. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day. Yet, putting toppings on it like cinnamon and sugar and different fruits had increased its rating easily.

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though. What do you want to do?”

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught the language to myself in order to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said when they entered. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.”

Virgil could tell just by listening closely for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

Virgil heard Logan’s footsteps approach from down an aisle. “That’s the Pragilium text,” he said.

“It’s pretty,” Virgil said, looking at the design etched into the cover.

“Yes,” Logan agreed. He reached forward to touch it and opened it carefully. The print was small and didn’t look like the letters Logan had taught him so far. There was a small map on the side that Virgil could at least guess at the meaning of.

“You can read that?” Virgil asked.

“I can,” Logan said. “Very few people can though.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a smile. “Now, I found you a book. I apologize as its subject matter is for younger children, but it has many pictures that can help give you context when you don’t know something. You don’t have to read it if you do not wish to, especially as we haven’t gotten very far in our lessons, but I thought you might like the challenge.

He handed him the book and Virgil took it with a smile. “I’ll try to read it,” he said.

“Well, you have free reign of the library. Feel free to continue to explore and to interrupt me if you need to.”

Virgil nodded and took the book before deciding to finish his sweep of the library. It turned out that appearances were not deceiving, and the library truly was empty. Once he was certain about that, he looked around for a comfortable place to settle down and try to read the book Logan had handed him. He found a sturdy looking bookshelf near where Logan was reading at his desk. He scaled it quickly. It was a little bit dusty at the top, but it wasn’t a bad place. It was close to the ceiling and kept him hidden pretty well, but still gave him enough room to pop up onto his elbows. If he looked left, he could see Logan down below with his eyes trained on the book, but if he looked right, he could see the entrance to the library.

He pulled the book in front of him and looked at the cover. It was covered in drawings of different colored flowers. One simple white flower was in the center and there were three words on the cover. He squinted at it and silently tried to sound it out based on what Logan had taught him so far. He could guess that the larger word was ‘flowers’ based on context. So, he was pretty sure it read How Flowers Grow.

He flipped open the book. Logan was right, there were many hand drawn beautiful pictures. He could pretty much understand what was happening just from them even if he couldn’t read all of the words.

It was an interesting book even if he couldn’t read it and it was obviously made for small children. Judging by the pictures, it seemed to be detailing how plants, or at least, flowers grew through some kid planting and caring for a flower over the course of some amount of time.

Virgil had, of course, known flowers grew from seeds, but it was interesting to see things about how the stem would pop out of the seed in the ground and things about the roots growing.

He more looked through the pictures than read it the first time but had flipped back to the front to try to read the words when he heard the library door open.

Virgil perked up in awareness, but then settled when he recognized Patton’s footsteps. Virgil tilted his head to watch as he walked directly to Logan’s hideaway.

“Hi,” he said, gaining Logan’s attention.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied. He glanced at the window and must have seen that time had passed because he closed his book and shuffled his papers.

“The guards said you came here,” Patton said, glancing around. “Where’s Virgil?”

Instead of letting Logan answer that question, Virgil pulled himself forward, with the book in one hand and slid off the bookshelf to land lightly on his feet next to Patton.

Patton screamed briefly before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Logan had placed his hand over his heart. “Where on Earth did you come from?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him and then pointed to the bookshelf he’d been on top of.

“How long were you up there?” Logan asked.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Virgil answered.

“I…” Logan said. “I didn’t even know.”

Virgil squinted at him. “You need to learn to look up.”

Patton giggled.

Virgil turned on him. “You need to learn to case the area.”

“Oh honey, your shirt is all covered in dust,” Patton said instead of responding to his very valid criticism. Virgil frowned. “Let’s get you changed and then go grab some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Yes, sweetie, lunch. Then garden.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “But you do need to learn to be more observant.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Patton said.

Logan just rolled his eyes.

Chapter 30

After lunch, Patton and Logan took Virgil out into the garden to walk around. They let Virgil lead them around wherever he wanted to in the garden. A bunch more flowers had died since the last time they’d been out here, and Patton felt sad despite having never felt very sad about that sort of thing before. But, Virgil seemed to really like the flower he’d found last time, so Patton thought he was probably sad on the boy’s behalf.

Of course, Patton thought, perking up, eventually it would be spring, and Virgil could get to not only see flowers but see all of the flowers grow. Patton couldn’t wait to see him amongst the garden then.

Virgil took them wandering through the orchard for a while, but most of the trees had been stripped of their fruits. They ended up in the food garden after a bit, and Virgil finally seemed to decide on the direction instead of just ambling about.

A few seconds after Patton noticed Virgil seemingly decide on a destination, Patton noticed Mr. Deknis kneeling on the ground a few feet away. Had… had Virgil been looking for him? Patton wondered. That was adorable.

Mr. Deknis looked up as they approached and smiled at them.

“Hello, Mr. Deknis,” Patton said as they came closer.

“Hello you three,” Mr. Deknis said. “Getting into trouble?”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

Mr. Deknis gave him a flash of a smile. “I know, I’m joking,” he said. “Especially since there isn’t much left in my gardens for certain princes to destroy with experiments.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the last of the acorn squash out,” Mr. Deknis replied. “It’s the last crop to get finished. Good thing too, it’s supposed to start snowing soon.”

Virgil looked down curiously at the dark green squash.

“Would you like to help me pick a couple?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, sounding interested. Mr. Deknis patted the ground beside him and Virgil knelt down to watch him.

“They’re not too difficult to harvest,” he said. “You just cut the fruit off the stem. You want to leave about a hand’s width of the stem left over which will help preserve moisture. The earlier harvests, I left in the field to cure in the sun for a couple weeks, but the frost’ll ruin them so we’ll take them inside the green house and let them sit in the sun for a bit there. We also want to keep the leaves. You’ll probably be eating those for dinner tonight since they have to be cooked up within about 24 hours after they’re picked. Patton’s mom makes a good side dish with them and she’ll be making some curry tomorrow, probably. Maybe some stew if there are some leftover.”

“Put the squash in this wheelbarrow and the leaves into this pile, okay?” Virgil nodded and Mr. Deknis handed him the extra pair of gloves and shears he carried with him in case one set broke. “These might be a bit big on your, but they should work for now.”

Mr. Deknis looked up at Patton and Logan. “Would the two of you like to help?” he asked. “I can get some more equipment.”

“I can help out if you want, but you don’t need to stop and get more equipment just for me,” Patton said.

“The same for me,” Logan said.

“Well, if you’d like to help still, you can sort the leave. Give your mother a head start.”

“Sure,” Patton said. He and Logan went to do that while Mr. Deknis and Virgil worked on cutting the squashes from the vine.

“What do you do during the winter?” Virgil asked curiously. “If this is your last crop.”

“Well, at the beginning, I mostly will be working on making sure things are stored correctly along with some of the kitchen staff. There’s some drying to do and some canning. After that’s done, I’ll spend some time organizing and planning. Then, before the spring comes, I’ll start preparing seedlings in the green house.”

“Seedlings?” he asked.

“I let seeds start to grow in the greenhouse that I replant once it gets warm enough.”

“Why don’t you just plant them where they’re going?”

“I do for some,” he said, “but giving some a head start is good for them.”

Patton watched as Virgil continued to ask questions about gardening while working on harvesting the squash. Mr. Deknis continued to answer them in a calm, soft tone that Patton didn’t think he’d ever heard from the often gruff man before.

Patton wasn’t surprised when, after finishing getting most of the squash off of the vine, Mr. Deknis asked if Virgil wanted to help him with canning some pears in a couple of days. Virgil immediately looked over at Logan and Patton as though asking permission.

“Say yes if you want to Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes,” Virgil said as soon as he was given permission. Mr. Deknis smiled at him softly and started loading the last of the squash into the wheelbarrow. Patton offered to run the squash leaves to the kitchen while Logan and Virgil helped Mr. Deknis take the actual squash to the green house.

He dropped the leaves off to a kitchen worker since Mama was busy and headed back out to the garden. By the time he returned, Logan was already back from the green house and sitting by one of the more decorative trees near the castle.

“He’s exploring,” Logan said, nodding at the large patch of bushes.

Patton chuckled. “I see.” He sat next to Logan. Every so often he’d hear the bushes rustle, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually Virgil or an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Patton commented, keeping an ear out.

Logan hummed.

“I’m glad we kept him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Patton.”

Patton rolled his eyes. “I know, but I’m still glad. I’m glad he’s making friends with Mr. Deknis. Once he knows how to read better, we should get him a book about gardening. He seems interested.”

Logan nodded. “Having a hobby would be good for him. Clearly he has a fascination with the garden.” He nodded to the blur of dark hair that could be seen through the bushes. It seemed Virgil had stopped his exploration and was now laying down in the bushes a few feet away.

“I’m going to go see what he’s doing,” Patton said. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan nodded and Patton got to his feet. The bushes were part of a small maze that was filled with flowers during the spring and summer months but were mostly just green and brown bushes for now. Despite the fact that Patton had been able to see him only a few feet away, it took him a while to wind through the path to where he was. When he finally turned the last corner and he came into view, Patton gasped softly.

“Ghost kitty!” he said, making sure to make his voice as quiet as possible.

Despite how soft he made his voice, two pairs of eyes shot over to him. The completely black kitten was perched on Virgil’s lap like she belonged there. Ghost Kitty hissed slightly, but Virgil reached forward to pet her head gently.

“This is Ghost Kitty?” Virgil asked. “I thought you said she was hard to pet.”

“She is,” Patton said. He lowered himself onto the ground from a few feet away from them. “How did you get her to come to you?”

Virgil glanced down at the cat and shrugged, scratching one of her ears. “She just came over to me and let me pet her.”

“Wow,” Patton said softly. He looked at the cat. “Could I pet you sweetie?” he asked, holding out a hand in her direction. She hissed again.

Virgil frowned down at her. “It’s Patton,” he said as though he expected to understand his words and the exasperation in the tone he said them in.

He pet the cat’s head to soothe her and then reached over to grab Patton’s hand. He pulled and Patton carefully leaned a bit closer until his hand was within sniffing distance. Ghost Kitty sniffed his fingers contemplatively and then bumped her head against it. He barely restrained a squeal, knowing that probably wouldn’t be taken well.

He carefully turned his hand over so he could stroke the top of her head. He gently scratched her ear, not daring to go for under her chin yet since she didn’t know him well. “Hi,” he said softly. After a moment, she started to purr softly. Virgil reached over and scratched under her chin and she purred louder. “Oh, you’re a good girl,” Patton breathed, letting a hand trail gently down her back once and then again. Patton settled himself carefully into a seating position continuing to pet her. After a few more moments of soft petting, she hesitantly stepped her front paws onto Patton’s thigh so she was sitting in both of their laps. Patton laughed softly. “Hi sweetie.” He glanced over at Virgil who had a wide smile on his face as he pet the cat. This. This was adorable. They continued to pet the cat for a very long time.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

“You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

“I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

“Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

“Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

“A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

“No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

“Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

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Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

“Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

“Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

This seemed to slightly alleviate Virgil’s suspicion, but Princess Marisol still seemed antsy. Patton really needed to start slowly introducing the both of them to more people.

Logan finished talking with Chester after a few moments and it was time to climb through the hole in the wall. He wished he saw in the tunnel whatever Logan with his excited eyes and bounce to his step obviously saw. Or even that was more comfortable in the dark closed in space as Virgil obviously was. As it was, Patton’s nose scrunched up at the thought off all of the spiders that could be living everywhere in the secret tunnel, but he pushed through.

The entrance to the tunnel had been made only a little bit from the room Virgil had mentioned and Chester had led them through it after only a couple of seconds. As Patton had suspected, the room was already lit up and probably cleaned a little bit by the people who had cut into the wall, not that he was complaining.

Virgil was still clinging a bit to Patton’s shirt, though it seemed to be less out of anxiety at this point and more out of a desire to stick close. He was peering around curiously at the lit-up space. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in the dark when he’d been here before.

Yet, his curiosity was nothing compared to how excited Logan seemed to be. Now Patton may have not been interested in the room itself, but he was entertained by how interested Logan was and was happy to encourage that.

“What do you think this place is?” he asked Logan.

Logan hummed contemplatively, eyes looking around. “Well,” he said. “It’s a bedroom clearly, and old. Considering the location it is in in the castle, the size, the decorations, and it’s likely age, I’d imagine it was a bedroom of a royal family member. This used to be the royal wing three royal lines ago.”

“Bearing that in mind, there are a couple of likely possibilities for the origin of the room as well as the reason it was sealed up, but we will need to investigate more in order to come to an actual conclusion.” He had already placed the bag he’d brought on the ground and was going through it, pulling out things that Patton did not recognize. He also got a piece of paper and sat on the floor to start to sketch.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sketching the floorplan of the room,” Logan said. “I will then put a grid on it so we can investigate while being sure that we aren’t missing anything.”

Virgil seemed uninterested in this part of the adventure, instead electing to go poking around by himself. Princess Marisol squirmed out of Patton’s arms to go follow him. Patton swore that he only looked away from those two for 5 seconds, but the next thing he knew he heard metal clicking against metal.

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide when he saw what Virgil was fiddling with. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t touch…”

The old but fancy looking chest that had been at the end of the remains of the bed creaked open. Virgil sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out of it. “Huh,” he said studying the contents. “There’s a skull in here.”

“Oh, I don’t like this adventure anymore,” Patton commented.

Logan was on his feet within moments. “Let me see,” he said eagerly.

“What if it’s cursed?” Patton pointed out.

“Then I’ll just break the curse,” Logan waved him off. “Oh, it’s just a horse skull,” Logan said, sounding disappointed. “And also what seemed to be potion ingredients. Though they seem very fresh considering the state of the room.”

“Maybe we should get someone else to…”

Logan already had both arms inside the chest and was pulling things out of it. “This chest must have some sort of stasis effect to it.”

He started pulling things out to look at them before setting them on the floor with no caution. “Well,” he said, “that answers the question of what this room is.”

“It does?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, between the horse skull and the potion ingredients, this is obviously the bedroom of Princess Marianne Elicia. She was the third child of King Simon IV and was quite the fan of horses.”

“…So she kept a horse skull in a stasis chest in her bedroom?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Logan said. “Back when her family was in power, magic was outlawed and had quite the stigma against it, but she ended up learning magic and become quite proficient.”

“It’s debated what exactly happened when her father found out about her activities. Some sources say that she was executed silently by her father, but others say she managed to escape with the head of the stables but not before putting a curse on the country of Prijaznia. That is until she or one of her bloodline sits on the throne, every royal line will end in madness and blood by the 5th seated monarch before an heir is born.”

“Isn’t that something you should be worried about?” Virgil asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “Besides I’m 6th in the line, so there really isn’t any concern.”

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“There are a lot of interesting things in here,” Logan said, still focused on the chest. “Not to mention the books. We’ll have to be careful with those though since they don’t appear to be in stasis.”

Logan pulled the horse skull out and set it on the floor making Patton wince.

“Marisol no!” he said as Princess Marisol immediately went to go sniff at it. He swooped her up in his arms. “How long are we staying in this creepy room?” Patton asked.

“Patton, we just got here,” Logan said.

“We just got here and already found a skull!”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Patton groaned into Princess Marisol’s fur even as she tried wiggle away to go back and investigate the skull. This was going to be a long day.

Chapter 35

Logan was surprised when he woke up alone in bed. He’d grown to anticipate waking to a smaller body unrelentingly clinging to his in the past couple of weeks. Confused he sat up and peered around his bedroom. He wouldn’t have seen Virgil with the way he melted into the darkness if it he hadn’t heard the sound of purring coming from near the window. He could just barely make out a dark blob shifting up and down at the cat kneaded at a different blob sitting mostly hidden behind the thick curtain.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned. “What are you doing?”

“It’s snowing,” was the answer.

“That is not an answer,” Logan grumbled at the ceiling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed. It was a bit chilly in here, he thought. The temperature must have dipped suddenly and intensely enough that the runes keeping the castle at a warm enough temperature hadn’t caught up yet. He pulled one of the blankets off of the top of his bed to wrap around his shoulders as he approached the window. There wasn’t much light outside, the stars and moon covered by clouds, but there were some lanterns lit for the night guard who patrolled the outside. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “It’s really snowing.”

It had been colder but not quite cold enough for snow to stick the day before, so it came as a surprise when he saw snow was piling up quite high to the point where familiar paths outside his window had disappeared.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil informed him.

“Why not?” Logan asked.

“It’s cold,” Virgil answered. It was clear in his tone that in Virgil’s opinion ‘cold’ was a horrible insult to the concept of snow. Logan quirked a half smile and his attention was drawn to the fact that it was quite cold right here close to the window.

#proofread stories #not writing

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gloryofluv · 3 years

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Traditionally Obscure Chapter 16

Rosa, you got Moxy girl. It might get muddy, so buckle up buttercup.

Previous Chapter

Though the hours ticked by and entertaining the group wasn’t difficult over the next couple of days. Walks in the garden, sunbathing by the pool. Remarkably, Vyn was more engrossed in some business and had been in his study. Something was going on. Rosa could almost smell it. However, the queen and princesses were her companions and busy ones at that.

Often Rosa was the shoulder to cry on or the person they had to distract from their sorrows. She was at their beck and call, which wasn’t a horrible thing. Just, Vyn had been absent for a bulk of it. Bits and pieces she caught of him speaking on the phone or writing. He even held a video conference with a few of his coworkers back in Stellis.

There was an oddity after being surrounded and escorted by him for so long. However, this is what she was here for… it was easy to forget with his boldness lately. Boldness. Taking a moment in the evening, she managed to gather her thoughts.

Vyn Richter. Their companionship from the beginning was intriguing but had she seen it with eyes open; she might have noted things. The way he always asked her to join him for some event on the weekends. His love for teaching her about plants and wine. Their conversations about music and fine arts. Vyn’s willingness to try everything with her, even if he wasn’t sure about it. Learning how to ride a bicycle just for them to enjoy their trip together… It was mapped out in front of her like a well-written story.

Rosa was happy to be alone in the bath so these thoughts could have space. She had pulled the button from her pocket and stared at the black object sitting on the tiled surface nearby. What did it mean? Was this a Svart tradition? She was positive she had read up on every courting behavior that afternoon.

It had actually bothered her that she didn’t understand the purpose of the button. Maybe it was just acting? It wouldn’t surprise her, but it seemed to bear some significance to the moment.

She exhaled and wiped her face with a damp hand. “Obviously, I have more to work out than I thought,” Rosa grumbled to herself.

Rosa’s phone ringing intruded the silence, and she reached for her towel, drying her fingers enough to answer. “Yes, Artem?”

“Oh, you answered,” he cleared his throat.

Rosa laughed and sighed. “Yes, well, you did call me. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is adequate. I was calling to check in on you. Your text today seemed a bit short,” He declared.

Rosa shifted in the tub and scowled while reclining in the water against the wall of the bathtub. “Well, it was a rough day. Queen Ester was quite sorrowful today. I’m sorry if that bothered you.”

“No need to apologize. I’m relieved you’re having a decent time comforting Vyn’s family,” he voiced.

“Artem, it’s late. Are you upset about something?” Rosa asked.

“When are you planning on flying home?” Artem questioned.

She twitched her nose and breathed. “I don’t know, probably next week? Vyn’s uncle will be placed to rest in the middle of it. I figured after he might need assistance with getting his aunt and cousins situated.”

“Did you need me to come out there for support? I finished up the trial today,” Artem hummed.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Artem. I’ve been doing what I could for them, but it’s such an intimate affair,” Rosa sighed and shifted. “Even Vyn’s been busy with things while I’ve taken care of them.”

“Well, please keep me updated? I want to assist if needed. Celestine was saying how quiet it's been around the firm without you, and I have to agree,” He declared.

“I’ll tell you what I do miss most. That little restaurant down the street from the firm. I miss their lunch special,” Rosa laughed and exhaled. “Are you doing okay otherwise? I know we haven’t spoken much.”

“Yes, I’m fine, Rosa,” Artem paused and then cleared his throat. “I do hope you come back to Stellis soon. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to work alone without someone to bounce evidence off of.”

Rosa smiled. “I’ll be home soon, I promise. Would you go by my apartment and water my plants? I know Luke said he’d try, but when I asked if he would today, he said he was busy with something for the next couple of days.”

“Of course, I’ll do so tomorrow before work. I will call you this weekend,” Artem voiced.

“I’ll set aside some time so you can catch me up on how the trial went. Good night, partner,” Rosa responded.

“Good night,” Artem declared, and the call disconnected.

Rosa set her phone back down and sighed. The window in the bathroom was cracked, and she could see and hear the lovely sounds of the evening evolving. There was something beyond being in a different country and away from work that was on her mind. Had she ever just reflected on life like that?

As she finished up in the bathroom and dried off, there was music that began to play outside. Rosa grew curious after a few minutes and walked over to the window that viewed the garden below. Ester was in the garden and dancing by herself. Her phantom partner was only seen by the widow as she swirled and moved.

Rosa’s heart swelled. As much as she had the weight of life on her shoulders from royalty and duty, she lost her partner. Not soon after Ester had pivoted had another figure stepped into her arms. Vyn. He sweetly stepped in, and Ester let out an audible sigh before murmuring something in her native tongue.

They had a beautiful relationship, and Rosa admired it. She couldn’t see their expressions, but she could hear the timbers of their voices over the music. Ester most certainly viewed him as a son. It could be sensed by anyone.

Rosa watched as the waltz ended, and Vyn bowed. Ester caressed his cheek and said something, but the word love was translated well enough. She pulled away from the window, resolved not to invade their privacy any more than she had. Collecting her items, she left the bathroom and walked to her room.

How did Svart hold such complexity? Rosa reflected on it as she shut her bedroom door. She relaxed her back against the wall next to the window and glanced out at the stars. Maybe Christmas would be a joyous time, even with such sadness. Lights, trees, gingerbread, Vyn in a colorful sweater.

She stopped and blinked as she pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was beating in her chest, and Rosa’s cheeks were flushed. The woman hadn’t dared touch on her own feelings in regards to the last week. What if this was more than just a crush? Yes, she admitted that much, but what if there was more she’d never felt before in her life?

“Now, as an escort to the crown, you will need to hold my scepter while we kneel,” Ester explained while brushing out Rosa’s hair. “You won’t have to repeat anything. You will only kneel with the scepter and pay your respects to the king as he is blessed by his kin.”

Rosa breathed and glanced at her in the mirror. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Of course, my dear. Vyn must read the prayer for us while we kneel. It’s all ceremonial. I have chosen you as my Lady-in-Waiting for the ceremony. We often choose a lady from the court or a relative for ceremonies, but my nephew suggested you would enjoy the tradition of it all,” Ester explained as she braided Rosa’s hair.

They were sitting in the royal quarters that were being packed as they spoke. Only her traveling items would be left as the rest were shipped to their estate in the south. After the ceremony, Vilhelm and his family would be slowly incorporating their household into the estate.

Wednesday would mark the day that Vilhelm would take over complete duties of the crown, and Queen Ester would be the Dowager princess. Her daughters would still hold their titles as princesses and their rank due to their gender. Now making Vyn responsible for their household over Vilhelm or Ruthgar made sense. Any of these women could be married off with just the king’s approval regardless of their feelings without a patriarch.

“What’s it like?” Rosa questioned with a scowl as Ester tucked in black metal ringlets in the braid.

“To lose my husband? Goodness, I suppose that question hasn’t been asked yet,” Ester sighed, and her lips curled slightly as she glanced at Rosa in the mirror. “It’s like a piece of my body is missing without visibility. My heart. He was the sum of all my joy as an equal. Without him, my world is grey and mute. However, we had time to prepare for a decade. His degenerative disease couldn’t be halted.”

“I’m so sorry you had to live with through,” she exhaled.

Ester tilted her head. “I’m not. It was a beautiful life together. Love is never easy, nor is it soft and kind. We are granting a piece of ourselves to someone else in hopes that they cherish it. We were lucky to nearly always do so. I could only wish that for my daughters to experience,” the queen explained.

“And to love like that?” Rosa murmured with her cheeks blazing.

Ester giggled and sighed. “A strong woman like you hardly knows the whims and pulls of love like my daughters. They dream of marriage, but you bite into life. We are similar. I hadn’t wanted to marry Edmar at first because of my need to change my faith. However, when I witnessed the equality in our souls, I knew I couldn’t love another. I converted for him so that he would remain titled as the future and eventual king.”

There was a lapse in words, and then the young woman ran across a sour note. Out of all the stories she has pieced together, she hasn’t asked a vital question. One she wasn’t sure Vyn could tell her about. It was something taboo and hurtful, and Rosa wasn’t going to wound him so severely.

Rosa bit her lip and grimaced. “What happened with Vyn’s mother that she didn’t want to stay and convert for Vilhelm?”

Ester attached the veil in Rosa’s hair, and her lips tightened. “She had no desire to stay and become royalty. Her god was science. Vilhelm took it poorly, and we can only estimate what happened. Vyn ended up on Vilhelm’s doorstep seven years later after the orphanage in the neighboring country tracked down his lineage. His mother hadn’t wanted him, just as his father didn’t. Edmar heard about the boy with beautiful golden eyes and brought him here. We took him in and cared for him like our son, despite the disagreement from our family.”

Rosa tucked her chin to her neck and winced. Poor Vyn. No wonder he viewed himself as the cracked teapot. How horrible to be unwanted and then feel pitied and teased about it in school throughout his life. She certainly would have left it behind when given a chance too.

“Do you think you are fond of him?” Ester asked in a calm tone.

Rosa’s eyes shot up to her in the mirror. “Oh, I, it hasn’t, I’m.”

The queen smiled and bent, planting a kiss on her hair. “It’s alright to be nervous. Affection is a monster that cannot be identified.”

“Isn’t he on the same six-month ban?” Rosa questioned.

Ester smiled and gestured for her to climb up from the stool. “Who is to watch him in Stellis?” Rosa breathed as Ester corrected her necklace and posture. “You look down to no one, Rosa. You are the sun from the East here to brighten our darkest days. My nephew is lucky to have you as a companion,” she murmured and caressed her knuckles under Rosa’s chin.

Rosa beamed and bowed her head. “You will always be the Queen of Svart in my eyes, Your Majesty.”

“How funny. My nephew said the same thing to me the other night,” Ester laughed and placed the veil over her face before reaching for the crown on the vanity. “Now, let’s get ready, my daughters, and we shall begin the mourning for a country at the loss of a true lionheart.”

“I’m with you every step of the way,” Rosa agreed.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfic #tot fanfic #tot #tears of themis vyn #vyn richter #tears of themis mc #tot fluff #tot angst #tot vyn #tot mc #tot romance #royal society #tension #mourning

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Callisto - Part Five - Orientation

Things actually start happening now :D

As always, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight for all their amazing help. We’re deep into the hard slog now, but I am still enjoying this so that is a good sign :D

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this and cheer me on. The hard slog of the middle of a long fic can be as bad as the hard slog in the middle of a painting, so all cheering is always welcome. But ultimately, I’m hoping you are find this enjoyable and not boring :D Nutty is learning here, so big L plate on my forehead.

Let the antics continue.

-o-o-o-

Virgil stared at his father’s broad back as he walked the length of the gantry toward the elevator. Scott paused a moment and Virgil placed a hand on his back in support. Muscle beneath many micro layers of spacesuit rippled as his brother loosened his shoulders. A glance of fiery blue and Scott followed his father.

As was the way of things.

Virgil followed Scott.

As was the way of things.

The cavern was a large one. It had to be to fit Three beneath its airlock doors. His heads up display confirmed pressurisation of the bay to Earth normal and his mind did the calculations on the infrastructure required to pump that much atmosphere into such a large space so quickly. He couldn’t help but be impressed.

The gantry led to an elevator platform and they crowded onto it. Gordon brushed up against him as if to catch his attention and a worried frown was shot in Virgil’s direction.

As the gantry retracted and the platform lowered, Virgil let a hand brush against Gordon’s side. If he did the same to Alan, well, they were his brothers and he may have needed the connections a little himself.

The ride down gave them a great view of the heavy equipment available in the bay. Virgil had accessed all the information he could get his hands on during the trip out, needing to know how he was going to deploy their own equipment.

He had known this was going to be an underground job and had packed accordingly. The problem with underground was initial deployment - how to get the equipment under the ground.

The backup was always to make their own holes. But that could be unnecessarily messy and a last resort. So Virgil was quite happy to see the set up included all the heavy-duty crane and hover support he could ever want.

TI had equipped this expedition exceedingly well.

Walters met them at the bottom of the bay. The rock had been ground smooth down here, filler shone in places where ice had obviously been removed, making the floor a patchwork of white and dark grey, human ingenuity and raw moon.

The Commander nodded to Scott, but it was their father whose hand he grasped solidly before pulling him into a hug. “Space Jockey, it is so good to see you. Thank you for coming.” Walters stepped back and held Jeff at arms’ length. “You’ve gone grey.”

“And you’re bald. Your point?” But their father was grinning through the plasiglass of his helmet.

“We’re both a little crunchy around the edges.” He turned to Lee. “Hey, Scrappy.”

“Graeme, I may be old, but I can still kick your ass over that.” Despite the threat, Uncle Lee grabbed the man’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm.

“These are my boys.” Dad gestured at them in turn. “Scott, Virgil, Gordon and Alan. John is still aboard the Excel and will be liaising from there.”

Walters nodded at each of them in turn, his white-grey spacesuit wrinkling with the movement. He had his helmet on just like the IR crew did. Best chance to avoid contamination or some random bug the Tracys might had inadvertently brought with them.

Of course, Virgil and John had run the decon protocols before departure and it was obvious Callisto had its own methods, but the risk was there. Helmets on unless they had no choice.

Another thing about space that was annoying - listening to your own breathing in a confined container. Okay for short term, total annoyance long term. Especially if your nose got itchy.

It was a sign that Virgil really needed more sleep when he managed to miss a chunk of what Walters was saying simply because he was designing an in-helmet nose scratcher in his head. Well, it could be multifunctional if he gave it enough reach. Head scratcher, chin scratcher-

Gordon nudged him.

Unfortunately, right in his bruises. “Ow.” He glared at his brother only to find the fish gesturing with his eyes.

Commander Walters was looking at Virgil with a question on his face. Both Scott and Dad were frowning at him. Oh shit. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“The Commander asked if we would like to survey the entrance to the caves first or deploy our equipment.” Dad’s voice was very...patient. “Scott said it was your decision.”

Virgil didn’t hesitate, regardless of the embarrassment. “I’ve scoured your maps, Commander, but I would be happier if you could show us the entrance to the cave network. It’s not far?” maps and diagrams were one thing. Reality was another.

Walters eyed him a little curiously. “Sure. Follow me.” And he led them towards a set of massive doors.

For a moment there, Virgil expected some grinding machinery to split the doors wide like some grand movie entrance complete with cinematic music, but no, Walters led them to a small airlock embedded in the left door and ushered them through.

It was kind of disappointing actually.

“We keep the Garden isolated as a precaution and as a way to monitor the function of the ecosystem.

“Garden?” Alan had obviously not had time to fully read up on the Base like the rest of them.

Walters’ eyes lit up despite everything. “You are in for a treat. The Garden is our horticultural team’s ultimate triumph.”

The doors opened and sunlight flooded into the airlock. And it was sunlight enough for Virgil’s jaw to drop. They stepped out into an environment so familiar, they may as well have stepped out the back door of the villa.

Except it wasn’t. The plants were recognisable, yes, but their growth most definitely was not.

This was not in the briefing notes.

“This looks suspiciously familiar.” It was Gordon who stepped to the front of the group.

Walters frowned. “Excuse me.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed in on the man. He pointed at a nearby tree. “Pokey trees don’t get that big in five years, Commander. What’s in the water?”

It was Walters’ turn to frown. “Pokey trees?” A blink. “Oh, pohutukawa. No, they do not. However, with some special treatment and the lack of strong gravity, they can.”

Virgil stared up at the giant tree. It was far too thin at the base for the spread of the massive branches and it seem wrong somehow. Everything was too long and looked as if it was going to fall. What was even more odd was the sound of a honeyeater argument in those branches. A scuffle, a ruckus of squawks and a flash of grey and yellow flew out from amongst the leaves and darted over the rocky hill in front of them.

“You have birds?!” Gordon sounded caught between amazement and outrage.

Walters stared at him a moment longer. “We have much more than that.” He turned away and led them away from the tree and up a winding path. Virgil’s boots crunched gravel that glittered as it moved. He frowned at what was probably nothing more than ground up moon. It was pale and sparkling like some set prop out of an early science fiction show John might have watched.

But he was soon distracted by much more fascinating sights.

The path led up a small hill and soon he realised that they were in a massive cavern, bigger than all the hangars beneath Tracy Island combined.

And it was full of life.

Birds of several different kinds flew about the ‘sky’. A sky dominated by a number of extremely bright lights hanging from a ceiling so high it couldn’t be seen for the brilliance. Oddly growing foliage was everywhere. The lone pokey tree by the door was scarlet in blossom, but it was not alone. Flowers sprouted from wonky stems and too tall grass. The little hill they were standing on was the highest point in the cavern, the ground sloping down into the distance. At the far edge, a lake had ducks swimming in it.

“How the hell?” It was Gordon, but Virgil’s questions were not far behind.

Several physical requirements clicked into place. The cavern was obviously heated and pressurised with an Earth level atmosphere just like the hangar, otherwise those birds wouldn’t be able to fly beyond bouncing in the gravity.

While Gordon’s head seemed ready to explode, Virgil managed one word. “How?”

Walters had a quietly confident smirk on his face. “A combination of research, applied science and a whole pile of luck.” A sigh. “This is Ju’s baby.”

Scott shifted where he stood. “Where is the access to the cave network?” Virgil glanced at his brother. There was an intensity in his eyes that spoke of both mission urgency and further questions that would need asking once that mission was complete.

Walters exhaled and nodded. “This way.” He led them down the other side of the hill to what eventually proved to be another set of massive doors. “The caverns were here when we arrived. We knew of them before we left Earth, but what we did not realise was their extent.” Walters stopped in front of the doors. He gestured at the cavern. “To create all this, we only needed to seal the cavern entrance overhead – which the Base did nicely. We installed a series of atmospheric inducers, the heating and the lighting. The rest we grew from seed or egg.” The man was obviously proud of their achievements.

“Sir, the caves?” Scott was getting rightfully impatient.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” He swallowed and hurried over to yet another small door within a door.

Virgil took another step forward, intending on seeing how the door was unlocked when his world suddenly doubled. His stomach rolled over with that familiar nausea ever so reminiscent of their trip out here.

He swallowed and closed his eyes a second.

“Virg? You okay?” Gordon was whispering on a closed channel.

Virgil cranked his eyes open, lack of sleep suddenly piling on top of him. His fish brother was frowning at him. Scott, their father and Uncle Lee were walking towards Walters and the door.

The sudden vertigo had him fearing an incident inside his helmet.

But then as he took a step towards Gordon, the nausea faded away, a single last cramp dissipating as his little brother approached and put a hand on his arm.

“Virg?”

“I’m okay. Just felt dizzy for a second there.”

“T-drive?”

“Probably.”

“Meds wearing off?”

“Didn’t think I would need them.”

Now Alan had stopped following Scott and was looking back. Any minute now and he would have not only Scott on his ass, but Dad as well. He straightened his spine. “I’m good.” But whatever it was had triggered the beginnings of a headache.

Damn.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d completed a rescue with a headache. He’d throw back some paracetamol when they went back to Three to source their equipment.

“You sure?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Gordon held up his hands. “Just checking, bro. Don’t get your pants in a twist. Hard to unknot them out here.”

But Gordon was still frowning at him.

Alan was turning back...

Move or get smothered.

He flexed his shoulders and strode off to join the rest of this family.

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared after his heavy lifting brother.

Damn that T-drive. His own stomach hadn’t fully recovered either and Virgil was obviously still feeling it.

Gordon pondered whether Virg could knock him out for the voyage home. Maybe knock both of them out.

Alan was frowning and gesturing for him to hurry up. Scott and Dad had already entered what turned out to be yet another airlock.

Space was hard work.

He kicked at the gravel as he trotted after his brother and darted into the huge airlock with his brothers.

Walters was talking again as he sealed the door behind them. “The cavern appears to have been a terminus for this branch of the cave network.” Walters should seek a job as a tour guide. “As I said earlier, we knew about some of the caves before we arrived, but it became increasingly clear that our sensors weren’t telling the full story when we discovered exactly how many tunnels are under the surface here.”

Gordon felt the room depressurise and his HUD declared the atmosphere had become almost nothing. He frowned. It was still something though and he remembered that Callisto was one of those odd places that had the bare minimum of a bunch of gases clinging to it.

He was pretty sure that if he pinged Johnny, he could give him an essay on it, Jupiter luny fan he was.

Walters opened the other side of the airlock and led them through.

Oh, wow.

They were once again in a cavern, a smaller one to the one they had just left and it was obviously more in its natural state. The big doors were sealed into one wall and a lighting system had been deployed running off into the distance.

And there was a lot of distance. The cavern was definitely a tunnel, a good twenty metres wide and high. But that wasn’t all that had his jaw dropping.

The walls were sparkling in the light.

Walters must have seen his reaction or the reaction of his family. “Pretty amazing, huh? The walls are full of a mix of ice and rock. The ice catches the light, but there is also an unusual amount of mineralised crystal as well. We’ve found several types of quartz along with precious metals.”

Gordon was only half listening to him. He wandered over to the nearest wall and examined it. Ice. Water. But in a way it was rarely seen on Earth. Kinda interesting. He ran a hand over the wall and frowned. “You say this is natural?”

“Other than stringing up the lights and installing the doors, from here on, it is pure Callisto.”

“This was made by running water.” Even Gordon knew how impossible that was in the current environment. He looked up to find everyone staring at him. “Hey, I know my element when I see it. This wall has been eroded by running water.”

Walters slumped just a little. “Thank you. Ju has been saying that since we got here. Unfortunately, we can’t work out how that can possibly be a thing, but yeah, all the tunnels, if we were on Earth? Water made. Like limestone caves apparently.” A snort. “Ju has been very adamant about it.”

“Have you reported this?” Dad’s voice startled Gordon a little.

“Reported? Sure. But all her peers are less than accepting. All signs point to Callisto as having had no crustal movement since it formed, minor atmosphere, and certainly no running water at these pressures.”

“But this is a fact.” Gordon frowned again. “What about the reports of an ocean on Callisto under the crust.” Yes, he had checked that out. This wasn’t his first Jovian moon after all. It was why he had brought Four with him.

“Too far down. We can’t reach it. And besides, it is impossible for water to exist as a liquid on the surface, there is not enough atmospheric pressure. We’re barely five hundred metres down here. We haven’t been able to explain it, and until we do, it is considered only one possible and likely doubtful explanation.”

Gordon turned back to the wall. It glittered at him as if daring him to discover its mysteries. “Virg?”

“Hmm?” His brother’s voice was distracted enough to distract Gordon. He flicked over to a private comm. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Gordon. What did you want?”

Gordon grunted. “You got something to test the rocks?”

“If needs be. We have a rescue to complete first.” Virgil killed the private line and turned to Walters. “I’m satisfied. Scott, we need some recon. I recommend we get two dragonflies down here.”

Scott nodded. “Okay, we are go. Alan, you’re with me. Gordon, you’re Virgil’s wingman.”

As it should be.

Besides, Gordon wanted to keep an eye on their resident lumberjack. He was acting weird.

“Dad, you and Uncle Lee are our liaisons with Base.”

Gordon bit his lip.

“Scott-“

The Commander of International Rescue held up his hand, fire in his eyes. “No, arguments.”

Dad’s eyes latched onto Scott and flared, but Uncle Lee grabbed his arm. “Space Jockey...”

Grey eyes flickered to his best friend and got a dose of determined Lee Taylor for the effort.

Their father’s lips thinned as nobody moved for a whole moment, Scott emanating commander vibes all over the cavern. If Dad didn’t obey, all hell was going to let loose.

“Thunderbird Five to Callisto.” John’s voice echoed over multiple comms, a faint and unfamiliar hiss and crackle in the background.

The moment snapped and Scott tapped his comms. “We read you, Thunderbird Five.”

“There is considerable interference on comms, you should be aware. I cannot guarantee service at all times. Source is unknown.”

“Noted.”

Damn, that was going to make this even more difficult. They could get lost down here themselves.

But then this wouldn’t be the first time Gordon had worked without contact with his brothers.

First time in space, though.

“Scott, we have located two life signs.”

“What?!” Walters took a step forward and looked ready to climb into Scott’s commset to get further information.

The commander ignored him. “Details, Thunderbird Five.”

“Eos and I were able to work around the majority of the interference and we have two faint lifesigns registering to the north of Callisto Base, almost directly under Burr crater.”

“Only Two? We have five missing persons, Thunderbird Five.”

“I know, Scott.” John’s voice was calm but sad. “Eos is still working on that interference, but at this point I don’t expect to find more. We’ve been able to map the caverns and tunnels within a thousand-kilometre radius. Sending the data to your comms now. Other than those two, I’m reading nothing. I do not have enough resolution to locate anything more specific.”

Like dead bodies.

All of them shifted where they stood, caught between the positive of a location and the negative of three missing rescuees.

“Keep looking, Thunderbird Five.” Scott’s voice was empty of emotion.

They had a mission and now they had a target.

“FAB.”

The line cut out.

Virgil had already pulled up the map John supplied on his wrist ‘projector, his eyes combing the holographic maze of tunnels. Even from here Gordon could see they were massive. If these had been eroded by water, the rivers had been big.

But their history would have to wait. There were lives at stake and Scott was already moving back to the airlock, Virgil and the rest of the group hurrying to follow.

Gordon hesitated just a second, lured by the thought of water flowing through the rock in such a low-pressure environment that the liquid should be ice.

The walls sparkled at him.

But the mission...

He took a step forward and his foot kicked something tiny that bounced ahead of him. Frowning, he bent to pick it up.

The crystal was no bigger than his fingernail and sparkled pink in the lighting.

“Gordon!” Scott was glaring at him from inside the airlock.

The aquanaut shoved the stone into his kit and hurried to catch up.

Perhaps space was a little more interesting than he thought.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy #lee taylor #callisto

30 notes · View notes

exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 6

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Six: Moonlight Meetings

The contracts were beginning to make sense. Turns out, there weren’t nearly as many for Elain to sort through as she first expected. It seemed that the Band of Exiles had had a pretty stagnant first year whilst staying in the mortal lands, with their biggest success lying in the Declaration of Peace Between Fae and Mortal Realms achieved on the anniversary of the Hybern War.

Elain had gone through each contract and made a note of it in her own diary: the contract between the Spring Court and the human lands to organise trade routes in the future, the agreement of a ceasefire on trespassing fae in favour of imprisonment, etc. There had even been copies of contracts between other humans that had most likely occurred at these weekly meetings: such as the Nolan’s agreeing to 100 shipments of Ashwood Weaponry per month to the Darlingtons, and the reinforcement of internal borders.

Elain had sat with Nuala and a few pots of tea in the library, and by the time she stretched her legs to take a turn around the room, the sun was plummeting towards the horizon. She liked it. She liked the feeling of her hand aching from her meticulous note-taking, she liked that the pages of her new notebook (a gift from Rhysand) had slowly began to fill up, she liked that she now had detailed questions to ask Jurian, Vassa and maybe even Lucien.

If anything, she liked that tonight she would sleep, her eyes tired from reading by the candlelight and her brain fizzing with the numbers of stock, armies and debt.

The library was at the back of the house, with delicate yet large glass windows that looked out onto the Manor’s Garden. So far, Elain had avoided the grounds, mostly because one look of the greenery told her that there was nothing for her to do. Whoever tended to these gardens had a similar mind to hers, it was wild and restless. A garden belonging to a true cottage, her father would say.

“Lord Lucien is home,” Nuala’s velvet voice swam into the air as she spoke without looking up from her book. The shadow wraith’s always had been Elain’s closest friends, and she liked the side she got to see of them, the one she was sure no other had yet had the privilege.

“Oh…good,” Elain said non-committedly, forcing her eyes back to her notes which she’d already preened to perfection. Sighing, Elain looked over her and Nuala’s make-shift joint desk, and without thinking, she reached for a local map.

It was strange, to look over a map of lands which felt both so familiar and so foreign. With her finger, Elain could trace the path from her first childhood home, the Manor down by the lake, up and up to their runt of a cottage so close to the border, and then a little east to their other home. Elain’s hand recoiled from the paper. That home was cursed. That was the home from which she had been stolen from.

“Do you miss it, being human?” Nuala asked. Elain peered at her. She’d always found the term ‘lesser fae’ to be entirely unbefitting. Nuala was perhaps the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen; her skin was a deep grey and her hair a shifting black in which shadows seemed to fall in whisps as it moved. Her eyes were uncannily wide, and her irises were of purest black and filled her entire lids.

“I don’t think so,” Elain answered softly, her finger running back to that first home. The home in which her parents were alive and well. “But I avoided coming here for a long while because of that reason.”

“You wanted to go back?” Elain nodded, a small shift of her head.

“Becoming fae didn’t make sense to me for a long time. I didn’t understand how to be fae, despite the body. When I looked around all I could see were my sister’s, who fit in so well at the Night Court and I just…didn’t.” Elain looked at her friend. “I feel terrible about it. About how I tried to come back to Graysen. It was the first time in my life I’d made a stand and it was for something so, hollow.”

“You’re not a terrible person for feeling as though you don’t belong, and wishing that you did.” Nuala tilted her head, her pin straight hair falling with a trained precision across her bare shoulder.

“No, but I feel terrible because…I still feel that way, to some extent.” Elain sighed, tucking up her legs on the chair and leaning her head back.

“I got into a fight with Jurian today – I slapped him -” Elain peeked a look at Nuala and was pleased to see her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes bright with amusement. “I know. But what he said was true, and I can’t stop thinking about it. He saw me during the war and saw how I was so desperate to be human again, and he thinks I’m here for that reason-” Nuala opened her mouth to protest, “I know, it’s stupid, but…what if I am here for that reason, and I just don’t realise it yet? Because Nuala, if I am, I can’t – I can’t forgive myself for that, I can’t do that to-”

Elain cut herself off by biting her tongue. She’d only spent a day and a night in Lockhart Manor, but Elain was sure she could feel the bond. Often she didn’t, then every couple of months, something would happen, she would feel some emotion that wasn’t hers or have dreams of places she’d never been to, and she’d just know that it was him. But being here, actually being around him, she felt herself turning towards him the way flowers turn to the sun.

“I don’t think it’s strange, if you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, to want to belong somewhere else,” Nuala spoke carefully, slowly, as though every word carried weight, “But just because you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, does not mean your only other option is the human lands.”

“What? I might belong somewhere else in Prythian?” Nuala stretched and leaned back in her own chair.

“Prythian is a large place, and you have an eternity ahead of you. You do not need to rush in finding somewhere you can settle, travel around for a bit, see the world. There is not the same pressure for you to be a wife as you had when you were human, maybe you could try just being Elain for a while?” Nuala yawned after she spoke, a sign that she was well and truly relaxed. Elain just hummed, her mind whirring as she looked back at the map, her finger drifting back to that last home, the one she had been ripped from.

Just then Elain noticed how the sun and well and truly dipped behind the horizon, casting the world in shadow. The night sky looked unbearably dull compared to the thriving chaos of the Night Court’s evenings, but there was something familiar in the mundanity, something that allowed Elain to be the magical thing in the world, not the other way around.

“Vassa and Jurian are preparing to leave,” Nuala said without opening her eyes.

“Ugh, teach me your ways.” Elain joked, and a sly smile pulled at the shadow wraith’s lips.

“No, because then you won’t need me, and I won’t get to come with you to see the world.” Elain paused, and looked at her friend.

“You’d come with me?” It was now Nuala’s turn to peer at her.

“Of course, don’t tell the High Lord but, since being Under the Mountain, I’ve rather missed the world, and I’d very much like to see it.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” Elain shivered. She’d never bene able to truly comprehend what had occurred in those 50 years. The idea of her friend being subject to such atrocities for a time longer than she had been alive, it was unfathomable.

“I remember your mate being there,” Nuala said, tentatively. Every muscle in Elain’s body went rigid. She’d assumed, somewhere along the line, that Lucien must’ve been there with Tamlin when they’d been taken, but Feyre had never confirmed, she’d been surprisingly elusive of the specifics of what had occurred. She couldn’t think about it. Because the instant she considered the torture Lucien must’ve faced, she began to feel herself lose control.

“Speaking of your mate,” Nuala murmured, and Elain didn’t miss the slightly pleased look in her friend’s eye at having gotten a reaction out of her.

Just then a knock came from the door casing Elain to turn in her chair sharply, by the time she turned back, Nuala had already disappeared into the shadows.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“Oh come on Luci, it’ll be fun,” Vassa goaded, looking a bit more like herself than she’d been the past few days. Her hair was iridescent, and her gown was of deepest emerald, with golden gemstones that matched the simple, modest tiara upon her head. Lucien snorted.

“Oh yeah…fun. Well you can have fun for me, but I’m not going.”

“You might as well go for the free whiskey. That’s the only reason I’m interested.” Jurian grinned, throwing a far too casual arm over the queen’s shoulders, who huffed a laugh and shook him off.

“No touching Jurian. This dress is worth more than your head.”

“Ooh – not sure about that love.” Jurian grinned back, and Lucien observed the way the two mental mortals bounced off each other.

“Ugh, I don’t know who I feel worse for, you or the Nolan’s.”

“Oh it’s not just the Nolan’s going,” Jurian grinned, “I have it on good authority that Delilah will be there too.”

“Oh, Delilah,” Vassa hummed, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes.

“Shut up the both of you,” Lucien rolled his eyes.

“Well if it doesn’t work out with the mate, just know you have a small army of humans who wouldn’t mind a piece of you,” Jurian chortled.

“Men and women,” Vassa smiled at Jurian, “I heard that Lord Smith wouldn’t mind warming himself by the fireling.”

“Yeah, yeah, I trust you got her home safe then,” Lucien pointed at Jurian, hoping his easy smile covered the anxiety that had been growing over the day as he became convinced that something terrible had happened to Elain now that she’d been removed from sight.

“Oh, the Archeron is home safe alright,” Jurian said in a tone Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“Good…well then, you two bests be off,” Lucien turned back to the house. “Don’t stay out too late kids.”

“Alright dad,” Vassa scoffed.

“Oh and Luci,” Jurian was halfway down the garden path, “Don’t make us regret leaving you home alone with your mate!” He winked at him that time and then he and Vassa were two colourful blurs in the summer evening, their laughter making music with the chirping of cicadas.

Something cold ran the length of Lucien’s spine. He would be home, alone, with Elain, for an entire night.

Fuck.

***

“Come in?”

Elain already knew it was Lucien before his head of fiery hair, now unbound, peered at her from around the door.

“Good evening, Lady, um…may I come in?”

Elain looked at him over the papers she’d randomly grabbed and was now pretending to read. Nuala certainly could have given her a little more warning.

Lucien looked so shy, half standing behind the door, and Elain found all her anger at him having sent her home evaporating. He was just as confused as she was about this whole bond thing, it was something they’d have to figure out together.

Elain gave a small nod and Lucien seemed to let loose a long breath before he walked into the room, turning around to shut the door and then turning to face her. Lucien glowed in daylight, out there in the woods it looked at though the sun were always reaching for him, as though it, like so many others, adored him. But there was something so alluring about Lucien by candlelight. The shadows and the orange light that moved over him, he seemed darker somehow, more dangerous. More intoxicating.

Lucien cleared his throat, standing with his hands held behind his back, and Elain adverted her eyes.

“I’ve come to apologise, Lady.”

“Apologise?” Elain repeated numbly. She hadn’t been expecting this, to her knowledge, men didn’t apologise.

“For how I spoke to you, earlier today…” Lucien seemed to shift slightly, “It was entirely unreasonably for me to send you home when you wished the know the way. I got spooked with the trap and, and-”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” Elain smiled at him, setting the papers down and leaning forward in her chair. Lucien looked bemused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I, uh…it’s not your fault I got upset, not really. I’m just quite on edge recently,” Elain began to fiddle with the threads of her dress.

“Is something wrong?” Pure concern laced Lucien’s voice as he strode a little further into the room.

“No, just…I think it’s just being around you…” Elain trailed off and Lucien’s eyes widened. Never before had she brought up the mating bond. Not with him.

“Oh, yes, it’s...uh, quite annoying isn’t it.” He grinned easily, and Elain felt something inside her relax.

“Not annoying just…things get to me easier.”

“Yes,” Lucien nodded, “When we’re close to each other the mating bond will be more…demanding. You’ll probably be more aware of it, as I am.”

“You…you feel like this, all the time?” Elain blinked at him, and Lucien shifted awkwardly, he did not want her to pity him.

“You get used to it after a while,” He grinned at her again. Elain quickly became lost in thought and Lucien could practically see her mind working, her eyes becoming distant. He took this moment to look her over, just checking for injuries, of course.

She’d changed her dress; the other one no doubt having being stained with grass and mud. It was a pale yellow, one that he found suited her hair greatly. Layers of skirts and a corset bodice, and with her hair pinned up and away from her face she looked every bit of the goddess he thought her of being.

It was then that his eye caught on the dainty necklace around her throat, a single pearl hanging at its end and…

Mother, that was a low neckline.

A low neckline for Elain of course. But still. The dress allowed him to see the beginning curve of her breasts where that single pearl lay, nestled-

Lucien snapped his eyes away and dug his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into his thighs.

He was sure that by now, Elain could read scents, and he really, really, didn’t want to make this more awkward than it was. Mother, he’d just been talking about how he’d become accustomed to controlling himself. But perhaps the beast within hadn’t been tamed, maybe it was just resting.

As though they’d been called by his arousal, the base mate desires sang through his blood. Touch, smell, taste…The last one was strangely powerful today, but maybe it was because the more time he became familiar with her scent, the more he could imagine what she tasted of. Sweet but in the way fruits are sweet, like his own personal nectar-

“Are you alright?” Elain’s soft voice sung into the air and Lucien realised that he was digging so hard into his thigh that tears had sprung up into his eyes.

“Yes, sorry,” He sniffed before huffing a laugh, “I’m just tired is all.”

“Of…” Elain prompted softly, and for a moment their eyes met and something enigmatic passed between them. “I um,” Elain sprang from her chair and began to gesture, unable to meet his eye. “I was about to go to the kitchen and steal a pot of tea and sit if the garden if you wished to, if you wished to-”

“Yes,” Lucien blinked, and Elain nodded furiously before meeting his eye and giving him a shy smile.

“Lead the way,” Elain said softly, and Lucien felt his heart skip a beat, and from the way Elain’s smile grew, he knew she’d heard it too.

***

Since it was well into the night, Elain and Lucien had to make the tea themselves, Lucien trying not to puff his chest too much when Elain gasped at how he heated the kettle with his fingers.

“It’s about as useful as it gets I’m afraid,” he grinned at her as steam started to pour from the spout.

“Well, being a seer seems far more pointless.” God she looked good in the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t say that…” It seemed that that part of Lucien would always protest at Elain being insulted, even if it were her dishing out the affront. “You knew to find Vassa, your visions before the war were invaluable, we most likely would’ve lost without them.”

Elain poured the tea, her brows furrowed in thought. If they were truly mated, if the union had been accepted, Lucien realised that this was a moment where he’d be able to reach for that bond and feel what she was feeling. He could understand, in a millisecond, what was going on behind those honeyed eyes.

Elain moved to the kitchen’s backdoor, which looked out onto the path leading down to the road which led to town, arching through the gardens. To his surprise she settled in the doorway, tucking her skirts so that they spilled out onto the gravel path.

“What is it?” Lucien prodded, as he settled down next to her, making sure that he was leaning against the left doorframe and that no part of his body was touching hers.

“Compared to the likes of Feyre and Nesta,” Elain began in a dreamy voice, “My powers are pointless; you can’t deny it.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. It was all kinds of wrong. As he thought about how to exactly tell Elain she was quite insane for thinking such a way, he looked out on the moonlit gardens. The sky here was duller than the Night Court, but there was something peaceful in these lands, something innocent. A warm breeze caressed his face, and just as he was about to speak, Elain beat him to it.

“I should’ve been there, tonight, Feyre and Nesta would’ve gone.” Lucien’s hand paused as it carried his tea to his lips. Fury jolted through him.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucien proceeded in sipping his tea, trying to cool the flames within.

“If Feyre could handle seeing Tamlin, then I could’ve handled tonight,” Elain said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Lucien considered what she had said, trying to slow his heartbeat as he thought, especially now that he knew she could hear it.

“Are you so desperate to be like your sisters?” Elain cocked her head at the garden.

“Of course…they’re brave and I…I don’t know, how could I not?” Elain appeared as genuinely confused, and something inside Lucien’s chest ached.

“No offence,” he flashed her an easy grin, one that seemed to tell her that everything was going to be okay, “But I don’t think the world would recover from having another Feyre…and especially not another Nesta.”

“You know what I mean…” Elain huffed, bumping into his shoulder slightly as she flashed him a shy smile, one that made him feel like glowing. “They would’ve gone tonight. They would’ve marched into that manor and sat down in the Nolan’s chair and if Gray so much as looked at them wrong they would’ve burned the house to ashes.”

Lucien ignored Elain’s nickname for her ex-fiancé, and took a moment to cool the raging part of him that sought to seek out the boy and erase him from history. Elain was poking fun at her ex-lover, she was wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. And yet that nickname stood like an island in the stormy ocean, a reminder that at that moment, some unevolved, bastard, human fae-hunter had a firmer place in her heart than he.

“What the hell is the Nolan’s chair?” Lucien asked after a moment, batting the vitriol from his mind.

“Oh,” Elain’s eyes lit up, “It’s some stupid, big Ashwood throne which they have in this weird trophy room, apparently it’s been passed down through generations of fae-hunters. I couldn’t touch it of course because I hadn’t been initiated into the family and that would be sacrilegious or something.” Lucien tipped his head back and huffed a laugh, and Elain felt something inside her sing to answer. She’d noticed Lucien’s beauty more this past day, but that moment right there, had been the loveliest he’d ever been. His eyes shut, his grin wide. He seemed happy. It was beautiful.

“Oh Gods, let me guess, they have it behind some sort of curtain and they do a grand reveal whenever guests come for tea?” Elain blinked at him with those brown saucers.

“Have you visited?!” Both of them titled back and let out genuine laughs, no one to interrupt them but a warm breeze making the plants rustle.

“You know, it’s funny,” Elain sighed, curling her arms around her knees and looking out on the moon-lit shrubbery, “When you stop loving someone, it’s almost like you see them for the first time.” Lucien shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the itching across his skin. He’d never talked so much about the boy before, and it was making his powers sing.

“And what do you see now?”

“I…I can’t say a bad word against him. I don’t know why. I think even if he were standing in front of me right now I would just politely ask him to leave.”

“I think that says more about your character than his.” How could the Cauldron have thought him worthy of this female? In the face of her abuser, she chose pacifism.

“It’s strange because now I guess I see him how everyone else has always seen him. But when I was human…” Elain’s speech faltered and she flashed her eyes to him, “I’m sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this.” Lucien took a deep breath before setting his cup down.

“Elain I…I want to be your friend, and I want to know everything about you. If that includes your weasel of an ex, so be it.”

“Be nice,” Elain half-told him off with a laugh as she reached out and shoved his shoulder. Lucien saw stars.

“When you were human…” Lucien found his voice after a second, and prompted Elain along. She curled her arm back around her knees and her eyes drifted off to some far off place.

“I…I just wanted to be loved, so badly. I wanted a fairy-tale romance and, I don’t know, someone who would want me, you know that kind of romance you only read about in novels where the guy walks into a room and only sees her.” Elain huffed a laugh and Lucien bit his tongue. “I just assumed that it would never happen, not with us falling into poverty, but then, we weren’t in poverty anymore, and Nesta and I were back looking for husbands. Graysen isn’t…special…I know. But I never wanted special, and for a girl who had grown up believing she’d have nothing, what he gave me seemed like the whole world. Things like sneaking out to meet him without a chaperone, or, or, sneaking away from family dinner’s to hide in the gardens. It…it felt like falling in love…”

“When you having nothing,” Lucien began tentatively, “And someone shows you an inch of kindness…well, that becomes invaluable.” Elain hummed softly in agreement.

“I didn’t want much – I’ve never wanted much - but that’s because it always seemed greedy. I just wanted my own garden, and then Graysen promised me 12 acres of land, and he did seem to care for me. Well…at one point he seemed to care.” Elain shivered, and that age-old anger flashed in his eye. He didn’t know what Graysen had said to Elain when she’d come to the Noland Manor during the war, but by the way the entire Inner Circle seemed one bad day away from cleaving the boy’s balls from his body, he got the idea.

“Now that I can see him clearly, and I can see all the terrible things he did and said, to me and…and about me…” Elain turned to look at Lucien and found him already looking at her, his expression soft, but something made of steel in his eyes, “It’s easy to not love someone when you don’t like them, but I am afraid.”

“Of…” Lucien said gently, his voice as soft as the wind in the leaves.

“How can I…” she was looking at him directly now, “How can I do it again,” she whispered in a voice that reminded him of a petal. “I was so blinded by love; how can I trust myself? You know, sometimes it feels like I’ve felt enough heartbreak to fill several lifetimes.”

Lucien surprised himself by huffing a soft laugh.

“I know how you feel. But that’s the thing about being immortal. They say time heals all wounds, and it does. But most of us, and I suppose particularly humans, don’t get the chance to wait out our pain. But being fae, well, you’re convinced you’ll never get over it until one day you wake up and, you just are.”

Elain had never heard him speak for so long before, and she realised she could’ve sat here and listened to him talk all night. There was an aged wisdom behind his words, like a promise that everything was going to be alright. A small silence settled on the two as they both looked up at the moon, glowing like an eye of the Mother, winking with contentment.

“Graysen is a bastard isn’t he.” Lucien laughed, loud and brashly, and even though it was nearly midnight, Elain was sure he’d momentarily lit up the world.

“No comment,” Lucien held his palms up to face her to show his pacifism.

“Oh come on, you must not like him if you’re sitting here with me rather out there at the Nolan’s sipping, oh, coffee liquors.” Lucien wrinkled his nose.

“Gods, they sound awful.”

“Oh. They are,” Elain moaned with a smile. Then she peered at him again, “You’ve really never been.” Lucien shifted slightly, sitting a little straighter.

“Yes I, uh, I hope that wasn’t an intrusion or-”

“No, no!” Elain rushed, before sighing heavily as she bit her lip in thought. Lucien’s eyes, one metal one fae, roved over her. Oh how he wished to know her thoughts.

Then, Elain was reaching out for him, putting her small hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with those dark, sultry eyes.

“Thank you…for having my back,” she practically whispered. But Lucien wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her given that his entire focus had been zeroed onto that single palm pressed against his shoulder, how he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin linen of his shirt.

“I…no problem, Lady…It’s no problem at all.” Elain smiled at him softly, but her hand stayed where it was.

Lucien wondered if she felt it too. The electricity that was flowing through his blood. The bond that seemed to glow from between his ribs, buzzing with contentment at their contact. He wondered if she felt the squeeze in her chest – the possibility that this wasn’t just a bond at all.

Suddenly, voices from the hall erupted into life. Brash singing, and a cackling laugh that startled Elain enough for her hand to lift from his shoulder, before she slowly pulled it back in her lap. Lucien was dangerously close to running into the hall and carrying both his friends back out into the garden and dumping them in the flower beds.

He’d had two stolen moments with Elain today, and the secret seemed to lie in their solidarity from the rest of the world. Sighing Lucien leaned back on his hands.

“It seems that Jurian and Vassa have made it home.”

Tag List:

@ladyelain @chloepereyra @exiledelain @bow-dawn

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lepus-arcticus · 3 years

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48.

Billy Miles has a voice like an echo, or an epilogue.

Mulder remembers a whole generation stolen into the sky, a rain-beaten cemetery, the spice of pine needles crunching underfoot. He senses the parabola of their small, searching lives, the clumsy tautology of their strange and lovesick saga. He recalls the first time he touched her, the giddy exhilaration he felt as he first beheld the white slope of her bare shoulder.

Fate or choice, it hardly matters. There was never a time before her. There is all the time in the world ahead.

One last look into the blaze outside, before they let the blackout curtains fall.

That frightened, bleeding girl from the diner, her fat-cheeked baby on Scully’s knee.

Mulder contemplates the implications—he can’t help but see the child as somehow saturated with starlight, knit through with filaments of the otherworld. An inherited radiance, trauma in the blood, the unsteady aura of the reluctant traveller.

He can’t help but wonder—

The baby sucks noisily on Scully’s knuckle. Her hand is doused in drool. He remembers how she was with Emily; immediately devoted, intensely tender, making a mother of herself without a moment’s hesitation. That secret part of her, unfurling like a corpse flower in its seventh hothouse year.

For too brief a time, Emily knew what he knows: she is the safest place, the truest north, the candle in the window on a moonless night.

She is pale and cold at his motel door.

His spread of old photographs and case notes slips to the carpet and scatters as he pulls back the comforter. He pries off her shoes and briefly squeezes her small, chilly feet between his palms.

She thanks him sheepishly as he tucks her in and folds himself around her. He’s touched that she would even come to him; his proud little stoic, ever loathsome of needing anything or anyone. It is a rare treat to comfort her, and he basks in it, breathing in the clean scent of her hair, holding her close.

Sometimes, when he thinks about it, he really can’t believe his dumb luck. He remembers the unexpected delight of sifting through her senior thesis: it had been snotty and cocksure, playful, audacious, the most intellectually and creatively stimulating thing he’d read in years. Her first handshake was firm, her first kiss soft and hungry. He’d fallen for her all at once, and then again, very slowly, over years and years.

It’s time, he thinks, burying his nose into her shoulder. It’s time.

“It’s not worth it, Scully,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“I want you to go home.”

“Oh, Mulder, I’m going to be fine,” she sniffles, but he senses that she’s only saying it out of habit, only trying to cover for the grievous crime of borrowing a bit of warmth, of craving a bit of comfort.

“No, no, I’ve been thinking about it,” he continues, hurting for her. “Looking at you tonight, holding that baby… knowing everything that’s been taken away from you. A chance for motherhood, and your health—and that baby…,” he swallows back a fresh swell of emotion. “I think that… I dunno, maybe they’re right.”

“Who’s right?”

“The FBI. Maybe what they say is true, though for all the wrong reasons. It’s the personal costs that are too high.”

She should be restoring health and life with her skilled hands and beautiful mind, receiving tearful declarations of gratitude in hospital waiting rooms, write-ups in medical magazines, plaques at conferences.

“There’s so much more you need to do with your life,” he whispers. “There’s so much more than this. There has to be an end, Scully.”

He presses his lips to her cheek. Her hand frets within his. A warm tear slips over one of his knuckles, becoming cold as it travels over his skin. She snuggles closer into him, and he can’t hold himself off any longer—he allows himself that forbidden image, the one he hasn’t indulged since the IVF failed, the one where she’s heavy with his child, well-fed in a way she hasn’t been since her cancer, glowing with the radiant happiness of miracles.

Scully is out sick.

Her dizzy spells are getting worse. He’s been finding her slumped in corridor chairs with her head in her hands, leaning drunkenly on walls, and, to his violent concern, flat on her back on the forest floor. His covert bursts of research assure him that this is normal for some women, but still, he banishes her to bed, moves the TV to her dresser, leaves her with a kiss and a triple latte in decaf incognito.

There is no work, and there’s a chance that there won’t be, not ever again. In the office, he slings his feet up onto the desk and spins a basketball, lazily inspecting the homey disorder of their office: their omnium gatherum of weird tchotchkes and bibelots, outdated med school textbooks, a chunk of raw jade, the rolled maps in their wire basket, his intramural track and field trophies besides her marksmanship commendations. The room is their story, written in airport gift-shop magnets and grisly polaroids, redacted reports, the walls fire-scarred, the green chair stained with semen. He’ll have to set up a home office, he thinks, unwilling to imagine a world without their lovingly-curated clutter.

He’s pulled out of his preoccupation by a knock on the doorframe. Skinner wanders in, and Mulder feels a smack of affection for the old guy—hell, at this point, he’s almost a friend.

There is no forthcoming letter of termination or notice of reassignment, not even a signature AD verbal ass-whooping.

There is, however, a twist.

Krycek, that one-armed bastard, all comely, belligerent grit; behind him, an undead Marita Covarrubias, retaining all of her glacial film noir self-possession. Their intrusion feels like an astonishing violation of his endangered sacred space.

A flame of rage licks him deep, but it quickly withers to embers. Once the fight goes out of him, he feels like he’s thumbing through a yearbook, or a smudged, yellowed newspaper. They are extraneous threads, those two, fraying brails; Jacks in a card game long discarded in favour of the warmth of the hearthfire across the parlour.

So this is the swan song, he tells himself—the final pursuit, the terminating inquiry. The price of admission to the great awaiting Eden. Beyond, there is a land of sleepy Vineyard summers, of deck stain and manuscripts, scrubs in the washing machine, sourdough starter thriving in a repurposed jam jar in the fridge. Beyond, there is a new life of making and growing, their wartime days all laid to an uneasy rest in the vegetable garden out back.

He will pay this last toll. He owes this much to Scully, cancer-scarred and sisterless. He owes it to the brief memory of Emily, their first ill-starred child. To those two unlucky zygotes, and all the foolish and extravagant dreams he harboured for them.

This time, perhaps he can earn a different fate.

Dawn begins to lift the unquiet night. His travel bag is at the door, his hair is still damp from the shower. He sits down on the bed, traces the crook of her elbow, reaches out to move a stray wisp of hair from her face. She awakens softly into his palm, as if from an enchanted slumber.

“Hey,” he says softly. “My flight’s in an hour. Skinner’s outside.”

She gazes up at him from the shadows, her eyes shining with a love so plain that it knocks the breath right out of him. Through an ache of adoration, he bends to kiss her, and she receives him with desperation, latching onto him and making sweet sounds of protest when he reluctantly pulls away.

“Don’t go,” she pleads, sitting up. She is Venus in lavender satin, Onuava, a nymph arisen from the lake. She has pillow marks on her cheek. Sometimes, she looks like she does not belong to this world, but has slipped through from the transient dimensions beyond.

He finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “I won’t be long. And when I’m back...”

A moment passes. “When you’re back,” she says. “Will you marry me?”

The fae queen offers him a cup. He knows he will drink, and that he will gladly remain hidden in her realm forevermore.

“Ah, Scully,” he says. “Thought you’d never ask.”

#incrementum #txf fic

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friendandphoe · 3 years

Text

okay the formatting on this is gonna be a lil weird bUT!! have this figuring it out/something to last revamp that’s been sitting in my brain for the last few weeks @ahbonjour @museumlad @creativeskull95

There’s no way in hell she’s ever looking Professor Keelson in the eye again. “I’m sorry,” she croaks for the thousandth time, and finds a tissue being pressed into her hand.

“Quite alright, my dear,” Professor Keelson says soothingly, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his round belly. “Wipe your face, now, there you go. I’m — well.” And he rubs the bridge of his nose, just under his round wire glasses. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, unfortunately.”

She nods numbly, ice trickling down her spine.

You ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she tries again, because it’s all she can think to say, but the professor waves her off with a weathered hand and pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way to the mini fridge he keeps under the bookshelves.

“Now, now,” he says, almost scolding, and pulls out a clementine, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of water. “Don’t you start that with me, Ms. Ochoa. This is not the first time I’ve had students crying in my office, I daresay it won’t be the last.” And he sits heavily back down in his chair, setting the snacks in front of her. “Eat, drink. Now, I won’t press on what’s been troubling you, but you know, these tired old eyes of mine do still catch a few things here and there, and I have seen you — well. I don’t like to use the word struggling, but you know, perhaps it is a bit more apt than anything else I could think of.” And she knows he’s looking at her, knows those beady black eyes well, but just focuses on unwrapping the chocolate bar as quietly as she can.

What makes you think we want you around?

“You’ve had a rough time of it, this year.”

It’s not a question, but she still finds herself nodding confirmation. “I don’t know what happened.” She says hoarsely, and reaches for the water bottle.

Leave us alone.

“I’ve been wanting this for years, I worked so hard to get into this program, I just—” and she has to press her mouth shut to keep the lump in her throat from escaping.

Leave us alone!

“Some… stuff. Uh, came up, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a minute, then softly: “The human mind is a wonderful, confusing little thing.” Professor Keelson says. She dares a glance up at him, finds him — thank god — staring out his office window. “It tends to block out anything unpleasant we might not want to hear, and often that negativity will build and build and build until, one day, the weight becomes too much to bear.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his short white beard, messing the hairs out of their orderly style. “And then we must face the unfortunate truth that sometimes what we thought we wanted is, in actuality, not at all the path we should be taking."

She drops her gaze back down to her bouncing knee. “Is it stupid?” She blurts out, watching her leg blur under her rising tears. “I just — this is a good school, a good program, and I’ll have so many job opportunities when I graduate—”

A weathered hand stretches out across the desk, just reaching to where her pinky would've been. “And yet,” Professor Keelson murmurs. “It won’t make you happy.” He sits back in his chair, looking every inch the benevolent Santa Claus his students know him to be. “And given how miserable you’ve been this year, Ms. Ochoa, I daresay your ultimate happiness is worth far more than any graduating job offers.” His smile drops for a half-second. “Though I can’t say I won’t be sorry to see you go. You’re already one of my best students, you know.”

You're an embarrassment to my name and reputation.

A wet little giggle chokes out of her throat, and she wipes down her face one more time. “Don’t tempt me, I’m half-considering staying,” she admits. “Even with all of this.”

“Ah, but if you do, what sort of state will you be in once you graduate?” Professor Keelson says, raising a bushy brow. “All you young folk are the same. You’re young, you have that wonderful, limitless energy, but you must learn to take care of yourselves now, while you have the space to do so. Won’t do you any good to drive yourselves into the ground every night when you’re my age, you know!” He looks at her appraisingly, then smiles wide. “And you know, my dear, there’s great strength in being able to admit you were wrong. I’ve always admired people who are strong enough to chase their dreams instead of following the easy path. Do you have an idea where you’re going, yet?”

Don’t ever come back here, you little—

“There’s a performing and visual arts conservatory,” she says hesitantly. “River Park, downstate. They’ve got really good photography and filmmaking programs, and, um.” She pauses, unsure how to explain how right it had all felt when she’d been reading about it online. “Well, I have an interview on Wednesday, so.”

Professor Keelson’s smile widens. “River Park! My partner studied illustration there, years ago when we were both young. You’ll do wonderfully.”

She can’t help but feel like his faith is ever-so-slightly misplaced —

I didn't want you.

— maybe it’s just the existential crisis talking, who knows —

Do you understand me?

— but she can’t quite bring herself to argue against the sparkling excitement in the professor’s eyes. She lets him press another chocolate bar and tissue combo into her hand as he shuffles her out of his office, with strict, cheerful instructions to come see him before she leaves for her interview.

You were a mistake.

Tuesday night comes in the blink of an eye; she’d barely dumped her meager wardrobe back into the suitcase she’d kept under her bed and her sticky notes are still haphazardly slapped to the wall above her desk. She’s not exactly sure where the time went — it’s not like she went to any classes. Or ate much. Or was sleeping, really. Granted she did try, but the third time in the same night she woke up sobbing because her blankets had twisted around her leg, trapping her in an all-too-familiar heat vortex—

window won't break it's too hot it hurts to breathe window won't break it's so fucking hot she can't think window won't break but it'll slide get out of this goddamn heat get out get out crunch fuck ow hurts hurts ow fuck hurts her toes shouldn't be ow fuck fuck fuck pointing that way hurts hurts fucking hurts can't feel her knee fuck fuck where's papá—

— she kind of gave up. She doesn't even bother pulling out her shitty, half-broken headphones to try and watch something on Netflix to try and pass the time, she just lays in bed and listens to Rebecca softly snoring five feet away. The ceiling is infinitely more interesting than anything else she could’ve been focusing on, anyway.

Except maybe her portfolio. Which. She hasn’t really. Looked at.

She’s so fucked.

Still, she drags herself out of bed nice and early at 7 am Wednesday morning, beating her alarm by the customary 4 minutes, and actually manages to gather the energy to sift through her remaining clothes to dig out something — well. She doesn’t really have anything “nice,” per say, but she does have an oversized sweater that’ll pass as a dress once she puts on some makeup and a belt and ties her hair up, and that’ll have to be good enough.

You show up to my door looking like that?

River Park is going to laugh her right out the door.

Everything she might need is already shoved unceremoniously into her backpack — wallet, keys, wrist brace, student ID, laptop, flash drive (in its place of honor in the tiny pocket), knee brace, fruit snacks, water bottle — but her eye catches on her DLSR just as she’s finished tying the laces on her most comfortable boot, and she hesitates. She hasn’t really looked at her portfolio much recently — she knows she’s got some old pictures from Manhattan, and maybe some from various campus events that might be good, but it’s been a little hard to go out and take nice shots when she’s been drowning in depression soup for the past four months. Four years. Whatever. Either way, she doesn’t have much to show for herself, and inspiration hasn’t really hit lately.

But River Park is — well, she has no idea, really, she hasn’t seen it in person yet, but the photos online are gorgeous, all glass-and-brick buildings framed by forests and gardens. Very much a college town, from what she can tell, the campus map isn’t really a map so much as a general directory pointing out which buildings were associated with the conservatory, but there was something that felt weirdly homey about seeing those pictures. Maybe it was the layout of the buildings, maybe it was the way they described their classes and professors, maybe it was just the simple fact that everyone in those pictures was genuinely smiling, but she’d gotten this weird, longing ache just below her collarbone that had made her close down all her other college-related tabs and email River Park’s photography and filmmaking department.

Something feels good about that campus. And maybe, if she gets there a little early, she can—

You don't get to come into my life and — and ruin everything I have here.

It’s only seven forty-two. Her interview’s not until one, and the train ride downstate should only take an hour. She’s got time.

Which is how she finds herself knocking on Professor Keelson’s office door, DLSR hanging around her neck, about two hours earlier than she’d been intending to be there, praying to who and whatever might be listening that he’s actually in and she didn’t just horribly fuck this up like she’s been fucking up, oh, who’s to say, just about everything she touches these past few months.

You’re not a part of this family. You never will be.

“Come in, come in!” She hears just beyond the door, and she cautiously peeks in to find the wizened old professor crouching over his printer, staring at it suspiciously as it slowly spits out some document. “Hello, dear. Wasn’t expecting you this early!”

I think you should leave.

“Sorry,” she manages, hovering in the doorway. “I just — change of plans.”

Professor Keelson nods, collects his papers, and creaks over to his desk. “Yes, very good.” he agrees, shuffling the papers into two piles. “Take a seat, I promise I won’t keep you very long. You look nice, by the way.”

She sits, already relaxing in the warm familiarity of Professor Keelson’s overstuffed office. Maybe this is why he’d wanted her to visit before she went, just to make sure she wouldn’t vomit on the interviewers. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. Now,” he says, stuffing one pile of papers into a folder. “These are all your important documents: transcripts, transferable credits, disability accommodations, et cetera. Pardon my overstepping, but you did seem a little, ah, frazzled, shall we say? Last you came to speak with me and I was almost positive that you wouldn’t have thought of pulling the paperwork together.”

Which is absolutely true, she hadn’t, and she can’t even bring herself to feel insulted that he’d assumed she wouldn’t. “Thank you very much,” she says, trying desperately to seem calm and cool and collected and not crush her very expensive, very precious camera in her white-knuckle grip.

A mess. You're a mess.

Professor Keelson’s face crinkles into a smile. “You’re very welcome. You’ll be happy to know that, since you’ve already completed all your core classes and general requirements, all of those credits will easily transfer between the schools. There may be a class or two you’ll have to make up, but you should be able to jump right in with your major-specific classes. Now, this,” he says, folding the other papers into an envelope. “Is your letter of recommendation. I’ll put it in the folder with everything else, but I wanted you to know that you had it.”

Oh, fuck, she might start crying again. “Professor—” she starts, but he’s already slid the folder across the desk to her.

“Ms. Ochoa, if I may.” Her mouth snaps shut, and he continues: “Our time together has been short, yes, but you have been one of my favorite students to ever come through these doors. Barring your obvious intelligence, passion, and work ethic, you’re also relentlessly kind, despite everything you’ve gone through.” His gaze fixes on her cheek for the briefest of moments, tracing over the lumps and bumps of her scars, but his eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been. “I don’t presume to know your history, but I know bits of your present, and the person I’ve seen would make a valuable asset to any school she goes to. If you approach your new classes and projects with as much determination as you did mine, I’ve no doubt your new instructors will be as proud of you as I am. I let them know as much.”

...

She numbly takes the folder, desperately blinking back tears. “Th-thank you, sir.” She manages, thick in the back of her throat. “I-I’ll do my best.”

Professor Keelson takes up his customary position, hands laced neatly over his belly. “You will.” He agrees, smiling. “Now, you should be heading out soon. I’d hate to make you miss your train, especially if you want to get there early.”

“Yes — yes.” And she gets up on autopilot, sliding the folder into her backpack as carefully as she can manage. “Thank you. Thank you so much, professor, I can’t — I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

She’s halfway out the door when she hears him call: “Ms. Ochoa, one more thing?”

She turns.

The professor smiles benevolently at her from his chair. “Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started.”

And with that, she’s on her way.

Get out.

So, update: maybe deciding to take her portfolio pictures on her way to her college interview was a stupid idea, but to be fair, a lot of her stupid ideas have worked out pretty decently before, so. It’s fine.

Probably.

She definitely doesn’t almost miss the train by snapping shots of the mostly-empty station, but in her defense, the morning fog hadn't quite dissipated yet, and the spooky air of possibility that the tracks had been extending and disappearing into was just begging to be captured. And she absolutely doesn’t continually hop seats throughout the hour-long ride to get different angles of the seats, the blurry towns and roads whizzing past, or even a couple of self-portraits here and there. It’s not like there are people around for her to bother, anyway, so it’s fine. (Probably.) It’s a little hard getting a satisfyingly dramatic shot of her staring out the window, but she thinks the one where they’re passing through a tunnel and she’s locked eyes with her shadowy reflection might be a winner. She won’t really know until she opens them up on her computer, which will probably end up being just before the interview, with her luck, so. Who knows, she might just be wasting her time and battery life.

It’s the most fun she’s had in a while, though.

And. Fuck, maybe it makes no sense, but she's still got that feeling in her chest. It's creeping up to her ponytail, at this point, tugging on the ends of her curls, ordering her to pay attention.

Capture this.

It's important.

Last time she felt like that, she won an award, so. Y'know. Fuck her if she's going to ignore it.

She cuts herself off when there’s ten minutes left in the journey, just to be sure she’s not scrambling to put herself together as she’s pulling up to the station, but ten minutes, it turns out, is both much longer and much shorter than she thought it’d be. Just enough time to run down the list of all the possible ways this could (and would) go wrong, but not enough to steady her racing heart before the train’s slowing down.

You're delusional. This isn't one of your little fairy tales. This is — it's not going to happen.

Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started, she remembers, taking one last breath to steel herself, and swings herself up onto her feet and out the doors.

The station is nice enough, but not terribly different from the one she’d started in besides being a little cleaner, so she shoulders her backpack and makes her way down the stairs and into the town proper.

Which.

Wow.

Maybe it’s just a seasonal thing, maybe not, but all the buildings she can see are draped with hanging lights, and even the curving street lights have extra strands hanging over the sidewalks. She almost wishes she’d scheduled her interview later in the day, just to be able to get a shot of those lights against the dark sky, but contents herself with snapping pictures of the incredibly aesthetic sidewalk and shops. She spots an art supply store with a cheerful blue door sandwiched between a movie theater and an apartment complex that frames up nicely, and there’s a coffee shop with swirling, festive winter-y designs painted on the window with pots of poinsettias framing the corners that’s a — no pun intended — picture-perfect paragon of coziness. She stops maybe a little too long to zoom in on the red leaves and flawless paint, making sure to keep the actual inside of the shop out of focus, because as cute as the beanbags and mismatched armchairs are, she doesn’t really feel like going in to ask if it’s alright for her to take pictures of the small handful of people both in front of and behind the counter.

One last shot of the poinsettias and she moves on, turning her lens to the last few, dying flowers in their garden beds, then to the display window of a bookstore that proudly announces its support of the LGBT community with various painted flags, then to the churning river that cuts through the town and the elegant bridge that arcs proudly above it.

There’s not a lot of people walking around right now, but she can definitely see kids around her age up the street, chatting and laughing amongst themselves as their breath puffs out in front of them. A cute dog bounces over to say hello before its owner tugs it away with a sheepish smile, and even without their leaves, the trees interspersed along the sidewalk stand tall, proud, and lovely.

She’s got that weird ache in her chest again — stronger this time — that indiscernible pull that draws her to stay, and she puts her camera down, puffing out a shaky breath.

What made you think we want you here?

“It doesn’t matter.” She tells herself sternly, leaning up on the sides of the bridge. “It doesn’t matter unless you get in.”

Speaking of. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, fully intending to double check the email she’d been sent with instructions on where to go, but her eye catches on the time.

Twelve forty-six.

So. Maybe not the best idea to go gallivanting around a campus she doesn’t know, especially when she has an extremely important interview to get to, but even as she’s scolding herself, she knows the pink flush in her cheeks isn’t just from the cold, and she’s got more energy now than she’s had in months, so.

Worth it.

Thank god E.A. Archer Hall is straightforward enough to find; Google Maps tells her it’s a seven minute walk in a mostly straight line from where she is on the bridge now, which she just about manages even though it’s cold and her stump is starting to ache. The building is emblazoned with the name right on the side, so it’s impossible to miss, but she needs a keycard to get in, and somehow she thinks her current school ID isn’t exactly going to fly here.

But someone, somewhere, is smiling on her, because she’s only just gotten to oh, shit before a tall woman with vitiligo and long box braids strides towards the door, pushing it open.

“Alejandra Ochoa?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says as smoothly as she can behind her chattering teeth, and the woman smiles.

“You're right on time. Come on in, let's get started."

#I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW DIFFERENT FIO/STL WOULD GO NOW SO IM REWRITING IT #i dont wanna spoil things bc i am in fact working on the next bits but here are some minor thoughts:#1: alexa starts out as an architecture major then switches schools to go into photography/filmmaking spring semester 2nd year #((not to toot my own horn but the way her major reflects her emotional arc is actually very clever of me if i do say so myself))#2: alexa and jaimey are half siblings through their dad and there will in fact be more Jaimey/Juno development than ive ever done before #((i have a lot of thoughts about their relationship and how it would grow and develop over time so. lowkey Jaimey redemption arc))#3: alexa obviously nails this interview and she hangs out on campus for a lil while afterwards to take pictures #((3.5: she does end up going into the coffee shop and there is in fact a Very Cute Barista and she gets Nervous))#4: the little interjections are things that have been said to Alexa somewhat recently but not all by the same person #thats about it i think anything else would be spoiler-y #n e way i cant wait to loredump all my new thoughts on yall im so sorry in advance for all the notifications you're about to get #im workin on some AU stuff too but lately ive been wanting to write about Normal Kids doing Normal Kid Things so here we are #i hope you enjoyed #movie house #alejandra ochoa #alexa darmond #my writing #shut up phoenix

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duchesschameleon · 3 years

Text

what if - chapter 4

summary: a long lost letter leads to an adventure in Italy for three people who find love and healing along the way. a letters to juliet au

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader words: 1841 a/n: alright, getting into some of the meat of the story! this one is longer and the original chapter 4 was so long I broke it up so now there is a planned nine chapters for this fic. chapter 5 is written and will be queued up for sunday’s post, but as my parents are visiting, chapter 6 might be delayed. I’ll try my best not to but no promises. a huge thank you to @qvid-pro-qvo for the beta!

what if masterlist

The next day, there’s less tension between you and Aaron. He’s more amenable to talking to you and even smiles at you in the rearview mirror of the car. There’s a smile on your face as you write in your notebook, keeping track of the Carolyn’s you visit and adding to your story. The radio’s on and once Dave had found a station he liked, he forbade Aaron from changing it. Not that he’s listening to the music. He talks over the music, filling the car with stories from his summer spent with Carolyn, the afternoons they spent together in the fields and the nights spent walking through the trees in the moonlight.

You smile wistfully as you listen to the adventures - and troubles - Dave and Carolyn had gotten into. Aaron even quirks his lips in a ghost of a smile. It’s a small thing, something you would have missed a few days ago but now find yourself noticing it. Even catching his eyes a few times in the rearview mirror.

So far, the Carolyn’s are proving to be a bust, no one Dave recognizes. The map you’d marked up with all their locations is spread out on the hood of the car and you and Aaron are leaning over it, trying to agree on where to go next.

“That one’s isolated! If we go there, we’re done for the day,” you argue.

“Exactly. One more for the day and then back to the hotel,” Aaron says, crossing his arms over his chest. You shake your head at him, trying to avoid looking at his forearms. The bands of muscles spanning his forearms are flexed and on display in his polo shirt, they keep catching your eye and you just turn back to the map.

“It’s early afternoon. We cannot just visit one more Carolyn, even with driving time that’s leaving too much on the table.”

“We’ll get those two tomorrow morning, they head out towards some of the others,” Aaron points out. You scrunch your eyebrows, bending closer to the map.

Shit, he’s right. You sigh and stand up. “Fine, we’ll do one more today.” Aaron just quirks his lips into one of his smiles, and you huff out a breath and fold up the map. Dave chuckles as he watches the two of you, Aaron smirking as he puts his sunglasses back on and you grumbling.

Choosing to visit only one more Carolyn Bartolini turns out to be a smart idea for many reasons. The one on the way back to Siena takes a bit to find. Since it turns out to not be a simple house, but a whole estate. There’s a winding drive to the large house that is surrounded by land, hosting gardens and crops.

“Look at that, Dave,” Aaron says, looking around as he drives down towards the house, “you may have gone from a girl who worked in the fields to a woman who owns them. And you got to skip all the messy bits in the middle.”

“Life is the messy bits,” Dave scoffs, hitting Aaron on the shoulder. Aaron clears his throat, looking a little sheepish and you smile softly, silently agreeing with Dave. The messy bits, the adventures, they made life interesting. You look out the window, heart squeezing with the missing presence of your partner.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as the car turns off, shaking your head and taking a steadying breath. You and Aaron trail behind Dave, letting him do the talking. The person who answers the door beckons the three of you inside, leading you towards the garden and Carolyn. The garden is lush and gorgeous, filled with flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges. You walk along the hedges, letting Dave and Carolyn talk. You can overhear their conversation, talking about that summer Dave spent in Italy and Carolyn answering his questions, but you can tell that this isn’t the right Carolyn. Her answers aren’t right, not specific enough, and you can hear the disappointment seeping into Dave’s voice. But Carolyn keeps talking and responding, obviously trying to impress Dave.

You make your way back towards where Aaron is standing and cross your arms over your chest. Dave’s words from the car are still rattling around in your head and pulling your thoughts towards your partner, the messy bits of life you’d shared and the adventures you’d promised to share. You turn your attention to where Carolyn is fawning over a melancholy looking Dave, trying to impress him. It's not an unfamiliar scene at this point, Dave can apparently charm any woman, even if she’s not the one he’s looking for.

“I wish I was your Carolyn, I would have enjoyed a life with you,” she’s telling Dave as they walk over to you and Aaron, “but I also would not have let you go in the first place.” Dave smiles at her and you all say goodbye.

As you walk back to the car, step in step with Dave, you smile and ask, “What is it with you and Italian women? They just fall at your feet.” Dave chuckles and you catch Aaron’s quirk of a smile, happy you managed to make both men happy for a moment.

By the time you get back to the hotel, all three of you are exhausted. Aaron walks with Dave to his room, wanting to make sure he’s alright and bring him anything he might need. You head back to your room alone, already planning on spending the evening writing. There’s a good amount in your notebook and you want to start getting it into a document. You might even reach back out to your old boss, talk about coming back to work in a different capacity once you return to New York and feel ready.

You settle at the desk in your room, laptop out and booting up, and feel yourself get pulled into the rhythm of writing an article. The notes and thoughts in your notebook aren’t terrible, but polishing them into a more cohesive story fills your evening and you look up at one point for a break and realize it’s nearly dinner time. There’s a simple room service menu you order from before sitting back down in front of your laptop to continue working. The knock on the door announcing the arrival of your food pulls you from your trance. As the hotel employee wheels the cart out of your room, you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Aaron’s voice is calling your name and when you peak your head around the wall to the door, you see him holding the door open. “Oh, come in,” you tell him, standing up from the desk chair.

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to get dinner, but you seem to already have that figured out,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on the story and didn’t want to stop so-”

“Can I read it?”

You blink at him. “Uh. No, not yet. It’s not ready.”

Aaron takes a step towards you. “Come on, just a little bit. I want to make sure you’re telling the story right. That I’m being portrayed accurately.”

“Trust me, you’re being portrayed accurately. No worries there.”

Aaron huffs out a breath and shoves his hands into his pockets, raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” you laugh. You push off from the desk and grab Aaron by the shoulders, turning him towards the door. “Now leave me be so I can work in peace.”

He says your name, almost in a whine and you roll your eyes, opening the door. “Out. Goodnight Aaron.”

“Just one paragraph, please,” he protests as you shove him out of your room.

“Goodnight Aaron,” you say with a tone of finality.

“Goodnight,” he says, the door swinging shut in his face. You settle back in at the desk, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

The next morning, you search the patio for Aaron and Dave. They tend to beat you to breakfast and you figure today is no different. But you can’t find them anywhere so you simply grab yourself some food and sit at a table, facing the entrance to the breakfast area. You keep an eye out for them as you fix yourself a cup of coffee and pick at the pastry you’d gotten, pouring over your notebook.

“Ah, good morning.” You look up to see Aaron standing by the table. You smile, tapping your pen against your cheek.

“Morning,” you say as he sits down. There’s a comfortable silence as Aaron pours himself coffee and you concentrate on your notebook. It's still just the two of you at the table after a few minutes. “Where’s Dave?” you ask, eyes still scanning the pages of your notebook.

“He said he wanted to sleep in today.”

Your head snaps up and you look at Aaron. “Is he okay?” You can hear the slight panic in your voice, mind already racing with where the closest pharmacy is and what could possibly be wrong.

Aaron says your name, eyes locking on yours and cutting through your worry. “He’s fine, just tired,” he assures you. You let out a breath, nodding. “So he’s going to lie in for the morning. I was thinking about, uh, going into Siena and seeing the sights. Since we’re here you know.” He shrugs, glancing over to you.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.” You turn back to your notebook, plans for working on your story filling your thoughts. Aaron lets out a soft scoff and you look up at him, confused. “What, it is a good idea! You should go explore. I’ll stay here and work on my story.”

Aaron looks out towards the city, his thumb running over his other fingers, nerves coursing through him. “Right, work on your story,” he mutters. “Of course.”

You look up at him, taking in his pose, how tense he looks. Quickly, you glance at your notebook and think it over in your head. You’d gotten a lot of work done the night before, the story was coming together quite nicely. Taking time away from it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And the way Aaron’s holding himself, the way he was talking, it’s almost as if he wants you to come with him. You shake that thought, thinking of how callous and rude he’s been to you this entire trip, how dismissive he was of the entire plan to find Carolyn. But, you are here in Siena. Adventures in Italy, you hear your partner whisper, as if their voice had been carried by the breeze.

You sigh and place your pen in between the pages of your notebook, saving your place. “Since we’re here,” you say grabbing Aaron’s attention, “we might as well explore.” He flashes you one of his small smiles and you return it, before putting your notebook in your bag and standing up. “C’mon Aaron, show me the sights.”

taglist: @qvid-pro-qvo @averyhotchner @kelstark @hurricanejjareau @oreogutz @whentheautumnleavesfall

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #gender neutral reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #letters to juliet #letters to juliet au #my writing #fic stuff #what if tag #charlie rambles

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michaelarowrites · 3 years

Note

Hi hi!! Just finished reading Honor the Words yesterday - SOOOO GOOD! So much LORE! The plot is THICKENING!!! Im EXCITE!! :DDD thank you so much for this story and these characters theyre always so wonderful (genderqueer yumeko & asuka hello!! New godly powers whaaaaat?!! Literally everything with/about youji & that stuff with the characters taking on more power with their godly aspects?!!?!?!)

Im already looking forward to the next one XD how many books are you expecting there to be in the series? 6 for each divinity? (Also are you expecting to get the next book out next year?) Also also, do you have an approximate for how many words these books are? If not no worries ^_^ im just curious

Im rereading both of them now and oh my GOD i cant believe you mentioned the blood ash cult in book one! I COMPLETELY missed that! XD On that note, im looking forward to seeing Akane again! Maybe she'll become an ally oooo... And learning more about Shiori's childhood with the blue dragons.

YOU PLANT SO MANY SEEDS AND I LOVE THEM ALL! THE GARDEN THIS ALL TURNS OUT TO BE WILL BE AMAZING!!

(Akdgskf side note: i cant believe it took me this long to realize the sun moon and star nations are comparable to japan korea and china *facepalm* lol)

I have sooooooooo many thoughts about this world thats mostly just excited questioning about lore and future events XD but theres too many to say or even remember at one time so i hope i can convey it all when i say im LOVING! EVERYTHING youre doing here and i cant wait to watch the rest of it unfold <3333 thank you sooo much!!

Thank you so much, friend!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the book, and I'm very glad you asked all of these questions =D To be honest, one of the most difficult parts of the self-publishing process is that I don't get comments like I would when posting a story chapter by chapter online, so it sorta leaves me at a loss wondering if anyone is reading/enjoying the story. So thank you very much!

And I am always very happy to answer questions about these books! So here I go, in probably more detail than you ever wanted to have =D =D

- The original plan was to have at least 8 books, one for each divinity and then two that were going to be... something else. But I've been working on the third one and realized that it would just be easier if I don't try to confine the entire arc to one book, so now the series is just going to be however long it needs to be =D Although, knowing me, it's really going to depend on how much I enjoy writing these stories and how much people enjoy reading them =) I always write more when I know people want to read more.

- I am in the final stretch of finishing the first draft of the third novel! (it took me a loooong time to figure out how I wanted to end it, so writing this one took longer than it should have). After that it's the editing/beta reading process. My hope is that it would be out early next year, but definitely no later than the summer of 2022, since summers seem to be when I publish them =P

- And yes! I actually have a very deliberate word count that I shoot for-- I aim for each book to be about 60K words long, although I think Shine the Brightest was a little less than that and Honor the Words was a little longer. But my goal was to have these books be as cheap as possible, and the shorter the novels are, the cheaper they are to buy. (The longer the books are, the more the print costs are, so the higher the flat rate for minimum cost). But also, I figured I could finish writing them faster if they were only 60K words long.

- Hahaha, the Blood Ash cult was planted early in the first book because I knew they would be significant later, but it's definitely something you would miss except on a re-read. So thank you!

- Akane returns in the third book! And you find out a little bit more about Shiori's childhood =)

- And hahaha no a map/general layout doesn't exist yet, but I definitely need to make one, because I keep writing in terrain details and eventually I'm going to have to figure out where all the territories are in relation to one another. (In the third book, I mention that the Blue realms are near the ocean, and I had this mental note of "dang you better remember that and come up with a map later" but then I didn't.)

- Hahaha, no, Masaomi's safe sex practices only prevented the other grand dragons from privately assassinating him and making his kid the new Red Dragon. They probably would have killed him regardless. So there you have it, safe sex protects you from assassinations XD

Thank you so much for all your questions and for your enthusiasm, friend =D I'm very happy to answer more!! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy how it all turns out!

#mikki writes #I have asks! and I'm answering them!#honor the words #The Magpie Chronicles #writing update #thanks friend!!!#thanks for asking on this blog!#long post #htw spoilers

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 3 years

Text

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel Of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Eleven: Making the Most of a Weekend

I knowwwww I’m the worst author ever I’m sorry blah blah blah. But! This chapter is filthy so at least it’s a fun one, right? Also, the Airbnb they’re staying at can be viewed here. Now, onto the chapter!

You’ve been gone so long, I forgot what you feel like, but I’m not gonna think about that right now. I’m gonna keep getting underneath you, I’m gonna keep getting underneath you, and all our friends want us to fall in love.- Panic! at the Disco, The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty

Being separated from one’s soulmate was both emotionally and physically exhausting. It was also really, really depressing. It was just like, why bother? Why bother getting out of bed? Why bother going to school? What was the point? Dipper wouldn’t be there, and she wouldn’t get to see him again for awhile.

Whelp. At least her parents never monitored anything but her texts. She didn’t text Dipper, so, to their knowledge, she wasn’t in contact with him.

Not that they ever got a look at her phone, anyway. She was never home enough for them to see. The longest she’d spent at home at a time was one night. She never ate with her parents, and she still hadn’t spoken to them. She wasn’t planning on it, either. She didn’t have anything to say to them, and she certainly wasn’t interested in what they had to say.

Rolling over in Kristin’s bed (Kristin’s was the previous evening’s sleepover house of choice), Mabel grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

Dipper had messaged her. He usually did when he woke up.

Are you free this weekend?

It was a three day weekend starting the day after Valentine’s Day, which meant Mabel was feeling the separation hard, and therefore had a hot date with Ben & Jerry (both of whom were currently waiting eagerly for her in Kristin’s freezer). Okay, so it was more of a cold date, but, y’know. Semantics, right? Therapy was great, but eating several pints of Chocolate Therapy was cheaper and more fun.

So… technically she was free. But why was Dipper asking?

Yeah, why?

Okay, cool. Come to this address once you’re out of school. Go around back when you get there. Okay?

He typed out an address she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t too far from Kristin’s, but why would Dipper want her to go there? Regardless, she texted back a confused okay and left it at that. Sitting up in bed, she scratched her scalp lightly and looked over at Kristin, who was sleeping with her mouth wide open.

She poked her friend’s cheek. “Hey.”

Kristin stirred but didn’t wake. Naturally, Mabel poked her again, slightly harder. “Hey!” She raised her voice a bit that time.

“What?” Kristin grumbled blearily, blinking her eyes open. Her black hair was matted, and what had once been expertly applied eyeliner and mascara was giving her the usual racoon eyes. Not that Kristin minded, of course. Yesterday’s eyeliner can be made into today’s smokey eye, after all.

“Can you drive me somewhere after school?”

Kristin propped herself up on her arms and blinked up at Mabel. “Depends on where it is, I guess. Why, where you going?”

“I dunno, some-“ Mabel’s phone chimed, signaling another message from Dipper.

Oh, and bring enough stuff to last you through Sunday.

Mabel blinked and lifted her phone up to show Kristin the message. Kristin’s eyes narrowed against the brightness of the phone screen, then widened. She sat up abruptly, then snatched the phone from Mabel’s hand. She scrolled up a bit, reading their most recent messages, and handed Mabel’s phone back to her after a moment, a knowing smirk on her face.

“He’s taking you on a sex retreat,” Kristin said matter-of-factly.

“A- a what now?”

“A sex retreat,” her friend repeated. “Y’know, it’s a three day weekend right after Valentine’s Day so he’s whisking you away somewhere to fuck your brains out.”

“That is…” Mabel was going to say it was ridiculous, but then she thought about it for a moment. Dipper had a car. Neither of their Grunkles would take issue with him coming down to visit her; it was their parents that had an issue with them being soulmates. “A very real possibility, actually,” she finished.

“Oh, it’s totally what he’s doing. So, to answer your question,” Kristin got out of bed and walked towards her bathroom. “Yes, I will absolutely drive you to go on a sex retreat with your soulbro, no matter how far away it is.”

Checking Google Maps, Mabel said, “it’s fifteen minutes from school.”

Kristin grinned. “Badass! Pack up your shit, homegirl. I ain’t driving you back here before you go.” She glanced down at Mabel’s legs. “And maybe shave again before we head out. Don’t want any stubble the first time you see him after this long, right?”

Mabel blushed. “Right, guess not.”

Kristin patted her cheek with another smile. “Cheer up, buttercup. Today’s the day your va-jay-jay is back in business.”

Mabel grinned back. “Fingers crossed!”

“Exactly, now hit the showers!”

———————————————————————

When Mabel stepped out of Kristin’s car onto the sidewalk, she didn’t know what to make of the yellow Victorian house. She sent Dipper a quick here as she went around back, as he’d had told her to that morning, only to find a small rock garden in the backyard of the house, with a… a vardo? It sure looked like a vardo. The fanciest one she’d ever seen in her life. It was red and purple with a small porch, and it appeared to be quite long, too. There was a set of slender red double doors with round stained glass windows on either side, and the whole thing looked intricately carved and painted.

After a moment, the doors opened, and out stepped Dipper. He beamed at the sight of her, and she nearly dropped the duffel bag she had hoisted over her shoulder.

Scratch that, she actually did drop it, squealing and running over to him to jump into his arms. It was a bit difficult because the wagon-house-thingy was on top of a wooden platform that she had to almost trip over before reaching him, but in the span of a few seconds, she had her arms wrapped around him again and she buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent.

Mabel stood there for several seconds, trying to melt into his skin. A warmth had flooded her veins at the sight of him. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have him close, what he smelled like. She’d just decided she needed an oxygen tank full of Dipper-smell when he spoke, his lips against her scalp.

“I missed you.”

Mabel pulled back enough to look at him. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d seen him, and it was kind of hurting her face, but she didn’t care. He was looking at her adoringly, and she giggled. She was just so freakin’ happy to see him. Mabel couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that happy.

No, wait, yes she could. The last time she’d been that happy was right before her parents stormed into the hotel room like ruining everything was a contest with a billion dollar prize.

Well, whatever. They could suck it. Mabel was too busy to care about her parents and whatever lame-ass contests they’d entered.

“I missed you, too,” she finally told him. “But what’re you doing here?” She glanced around a bit. “Actually, what am I doing here?”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “It’s an Airbnb,” he said, taking her hand and pulling away from her. “After a fair amount of begging and no small amount of guilt tripping, Grunkle Stan agreed to pay for a three day weekend stay for us.”

He pushed open the intricate red doors and stepped inside, pulling her along after him. She followed after him, her shoes sinking into a plush rug, and her mouth dropped open.

Directly inside the doorway, there was what appeared to be a kitchen, albeit a small one; the cabinets were white with light brown countertops, a hammered copper kitchen sink, two actual stained glass windows (like, it looked like there were actual separate panes of glass for each change in color and shape), and several additional copper kitchen stuff throughout the tiny kitchen. It was more of a hallway than anything else.

Mabel rushed past Dipper excitedly, eager to see what lay beyond the kitchen-slash-hallway, and squealed again. “Eeeeeeee this place is crazy!”

“I knew you’d like it,” he laughed. “I’m gonna go grab your bag, be right back.”

“Kay!” she called over her shoulder, eager to get acquainted with her new favorite place ever.

Okay, so maybe it was her new favorite place ever primarily due to Dipper’s presence, but it was also really flippin’ cool. Directly across the narrow hallway, there was a door that, when opened, led to a very cramped bathroom. Cramped it may be, but it was also hella fancy. The walls were made of tiles fashioned from dark reflective glass, there was a tiny white sink sticking out directly below a window with a mirror fastened to the wood of the window frame, with a stained glass window directly beside the regular one. There was a toilet that had another stained glass window above it, as well as a regular window directly beside it, this one with a gold-colored curtain hanging over it. The shower had a black curtain in front of it but, when pulled aside, it revealed another stained glass window (yes, three for one tiny bathroom). The shower head was a waterfall-type situation, but it also had one of those handheld ones, which she knew from personal experience would be easier to rinse out her hair with.

“You all good in here, Mabes?” Dipper called, and she heard the thunk of her bag being dropped.

Fingers crossed her toiletries hadn’t made a mess all over her clothes.

She stuck her head out of the bathroom and looked over at him as he shut the doors behind him. “Uh, dude, I’ve only seen the kitchen and the bathroom and I’m pretty sure this whole thing is amazeballs.”

He grinned and stepped over to her. “I’m glad you like it, but was it really necessary for you to pack bricks?” He rubbed the shoulder he’d hoisted her bag over.

“Don’t be such a baby, Dippin Dots,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll and sashayed away to inspect the rest of the wagon-thingy.

Just beyond the countertops of the kitchen, there was a tall set of shelves that went to the ceiling, containing various kitchen-y items, including a microwave (which, good, because Mabel was seventeen and leftovers were her BFFs), and directly across from the shelves there was a fridge, which was also good, because as a living creature, Mabel required sustenance in order to survive.

The hallway ended, opening up into a more spacious area with a table outcropping from the wall directly beyond the set of tall kitchen shelves with two nice-looking folding chairs. There was also a set of white cabinets that started at the height of the fridge and descended almost like stairs. Against the back wall was a large wrap-around couch, and the cushions were purple (which was awesome, obvi), and there were hanging potted plants and more windows, too, including two more stained glass ones, and if she looked up…

Holy cheese puffs, was that a chandelier? Upon closer inspection, it turned out that yes, it was most definitely a chandelier, and a mighty fancy one at that, by the looks of things.

“Hoooooookay, brosephina, this is a pretty snazzy location we have found ourselves in,” Mabel said.

“Well,” Dipper began as he stepped up behind her, “I figured you deserved something nice.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and nuzzled her hair.

“Errrrr. Okay then. No issues with that here, lemme tell ya.” Then a thought occurred to her. This was a very nice house-wagon-whatsit, don’t get her wrong, but if they were gonna be there through Sunday, where were they supposed to sleep? Or… do anything else? Would he even want to do anything else? Never mind that. “Soooooo where are we supposed to, like…” she trailed off.

“Bed’s in a loft,” he said into her hair, his arms tightening around her waist. “Up those stairs.” He pointed a finger at the cabinets she’d noted earlier. Huh. So they really were stairs, then.

“Right, so, um…”

Ugh. Why was she so damn nervous? It was irritating. This was her twin, her soulmate, her boyfriend! He had literally been inside her! She had no reason to be nervous!

She was, though, and she didn’t really know how to voice what she wanted.

Kiss me. Touch me. Get your dick inside me, like, freakin’ yesterday, dude.

“W- would you like to see it?” His voice was awkward, and he sounded almost as nervous as she felt. “The bed, I mean.”

Mabel nodded and he pulled away from her, blushing furiously, and she tried not to giggle. Dipper rolled his eyes. “Shut up, just c’mon.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she insisted as he grabbed her hand.

“I could hear you thinking,” he countered, leading her up the cabinets-slash-stairs.

She was still giggling through her nervousness when they reached the top of the stairs. The bed was a mattress directly on the floor with a striped comforter.

Hesitantly, Mabel sat on the bed. Dipper knelt down in front of her. He was looking at her lips when he took her hand again.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” His voice was soft, like he was afraid he’d scare her away or something.

Mabel remembered what Kristin had said about sex retreats and being whisked away to have her brains fucked out.

And then she remembered that no, Dipper could not, in fact, read her mind.

“Why would you think I don’t wanna do anything?” Had. Had he never encountered a mirror? Seventeen years of existence and the boy had never encountered a mirror. What were the chances? He shrugged. “Have you even seen yourself, Dip?”

“Huh?”

She forced her nerves down. He wanted her. She knew he did. She just needed to reassure him that she wanted him just as much. “You’re really freakin’ sexy, bro.”

He smiled hesitantly. “So, is it okay if I…?”

“Look, man,” Mabel said, “if you try a thing and I’m not about it, I’ll let ya know, but otherwise, go for it.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Uh, I am absotively posolutely sure.”

Grinning, Dipper leaned in to kiss her, and she smiled against his lips when he did. “I missed you,” she murmured against him.

He moved closer to her, pressing his body into hers. “I missed you, too,” he told her. “Now, I gotta be honest with you here, Mabes.” He pulled back a bit to look at her very, very seriously.

“Oh… kay?”

“This outfit,” he glanced down at her shorts and shirt. It was too hot for a sweater, so her top was light and breezy. It also showed off a bit of boobage, so there was that. “It’s cute, I like it and all, but I’d like it a lot more if it were on the floor.”

“Hmm…” she said thoughtfully. “On one condition.” She held up a finger.

“What’s that?”

“I’m only taking my clothes off if you take yours off, too. All’s fair in love and war, buddy-o.”

He grinned cheekily at her. “Is that right? And which is this?”

She shrugged. “Both, prolly.”

“Fair enough,” Dipper said with a chuckle before he pulled back to strip out of his clothes as fast as he possibly could. She was so busy watching him pull his shirt off that she totally forgot she was supposed to take her own clothes off, too. He paused before dropping his shirt to the floor. “Mabellllllllll,” he whined. “You said you’d take your clothes off, c’mon!”

“Right!” She started, almost surprised. “Right, right, sorry, my b.” Pulling her shirt over her head while simultaneously kicking off her sneakers at the heels, Mabel lay back on the bed, unbuttoning her shorts and lifting her butt to shimmy out of them. She wasn’t paying much attention to Dipper at that exact moment, or the way his eyes were wide and glued to her newly exposed skin, but when she finally got the shorts over her hips and down her legs, flinging them away from her with a flick of her foot, she looked up at him, and he was…

Whelp. He was totally nekkid, wasn’t he? She’d seen plenty of pictures lately (had a whole app she kept them in on her phone, even), but pictures on a phone screen ain’t got nothin’ on seeing her bro-bro in person.

“Looks like somebody’s happy to see me,” she grinned nervously at him.

“Gee, I wonder why,” he said sarcastically. “It’s almost like my soulmate is laying on a bed mostly naked right in front of me.” His eyes focused on hers for a moment before drifting back over her body again. “Which, by the way, you should be totally naked.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed, sitting up and reaching around her back to unhook her bra. He watched her, wide-eyed, as she pulled her arms out of the straps and flung the bra away. He watched, too, as she pulled her panties off the same way she had her shorts.

As it turned out, actually seeing how badly he wanted her, like, seeing legit physical evidence of it, well. It was something of a self-esteem boost.

He stared at her for several seconds. She stared back. Then he dove at her, and suddenly he was kissing her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts- it was quite a lot, really, and he seemed to be going pretty fast, too.

“Dipper,” Mabel gasped out as he attacked her nipple. There was really no other word for it. It was most certainly an attack. He was alternating between sucking it harshly and nibbling on it with his teeth, and it stung in the most delicious way.

He pulled off her breast with a pop, then trailed kisses down her chest and stomach, looking at her intently all the while.

“Wh- what’re you doing?” she questioned when he reached his presumed destination, spreading her legs to examine her body. Which, by the way, was tremendously embarrassing.

He looked back up at her. “Well, I was planning on, y’know…” he gestured to her vagina.

Mabel thought for a moment. “On one condition.”

“Another condition? Really?”

Nodding, she said, “you can eat me out, but only if I get to suck your dick after.”

He grinned up at her. “Deal.”

At that, he gave a torturously slow lick to her slit that ended just below where she really wanted it. She whimpered, which prompted him to do it again. And again. By the third incredibly slow lick, she was just about ready to scream at him before he thrust a finger into her and flicked his tongue over her clit in the same second, eliciting a gasp from her.

He thrust his finger in and out of her, slowly moving his tongue over her clit, and before long Mabel was whimpering again. “Ah- another,” she forced out. “Another finger, please.”

He complied, and when her fingers clenched the comforter, he moved a little faster inside of her, flicking his tongue in the same rhythm he was thrusting his fingers at, and she lifted her hips. He reached his other hand up to hold her down, to hold her still, and continued. “Close,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

Dipper hastened the flicks of his tongue, the thrusts of his fingers, and then he did something incredible. He closed his lips around her clit and started to suck gently. Mabel’s hand shot down to his hair, holding him between her legs, and her toes curled, bunching the comforter up in a tight grip beneath the pads of her feet, and she found herself instinctively fighting against the firm hand on her hip bone, trying to raise her pelvis closer to him.

“Ah- fuck, Dip, I’m gonna-“ he kept sucking her clit, only he started to flick his tongue over it at the same time, too, and Mabel shattered with a short, abrupt scream.

Her grip on his hair loosened and her hand fell to her side. Mabel’s entire body was tingling.

She’d forgotten how much stronger Dipper-assisted orgasms were than Dipper-free orgasms. She didn’t know if it was a soulmate thing, a Dipper thing, or an I’m-in-love-with-this-guy thing, and her brain was too mushy to care.

“Holy shit,” she panted, and he pulled away from her still-pulsing heat, pressing a kiss to the top of her thigh as he went. The extra tingles his lips caused traveled throughout the rest of her body.

“Sooooo… good, then?”

She glared at him. “Shut up, man, you know it was tops. Where’d you learn to do that, anyway?”

He reddened and looked away. “I maaaaay have done some online research.”

“What, like, porn?”

“Well, not for that specific purpose, no.”

“Then…?” she trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay, so I read some accounts from lesbians,” he confessed in a rush. “Mostly blogs and whatnot, and then I also talked to a few female friends I have-“

“Whoa there, pal,” she cut in. “What female friends? I dunno how I feel about you getting all the dirty deets from another girl.”

He blinked. “Oh, I talked to this lesbian friend I have, and also her girlfriend. Just… comparing notes, y’know?”

She looked at him incredulously for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, that’s fine. For a second there, I was worried you were exchanging extremely graphic details of our sex life with, like, Pacifica or something.”

Dipper blanched. “Yeah, no, not her.”

“Okay, cool.” After several more seconds, she looked him up and down.

Her bro was still sporting a big ol’ broner.

“I believe I was promised the opportunity to suck your dick in exchange for you getting the pleasure of eating me out.”

He blushed again. Holy bejeezus, he was adorable.

“You… you don’t have to, y’know,” he offered quietly.

“Well, yeah,” she agreed. “Of course I don’t have to, but it’s, like my new favorite hobby, brosephina.”

He grinned. “You’re pretty good at it, too.”

“Hmm,” she said, reaching down to grasp him. He gasped at the feel of her palm, and she motioned for him to lay down. “Maybe I’ll put that in college applications.” Once he was horizontal, Mabel leaned down and took the entire length of him in her mouth (or as much of him as she could fit, anyway) with absolutely zero warning.

Dipper groaned and leaned back against the pillow. “Fuuuuuuck.”

Humming around him, she bobbed her head, letting her lips slide over him and sucking in her cheeks. He reached down to grip one of her breasts, tweaking her nipple, and she moaned, the vibrations from the sound causing him to buck slightly into her mouth. She gagged a bit but kept going, pleased that he was enjoying himself so much.

Each time she only had the head of him in her mouth, she swirled her tongue around the top, dipping slightly into his urethra. “Holy shit, Mabes,” he groaned, fisting a hand in her hair. He didn’t push her head, though, for which she was grateful. Bobbing faster, obscene slurping sounds filled the loft, saliva dribbling down his shaft. His moans got louder, and she sped up as much as she could.

“Mabel,” he gasped. “Mabel, I’m gonna- you should move-“

She ignored him, grasping his testicles gently and taking him as deep as she could manage. She was pretty sure her nose brushed against his pubic hair on more than one occasion, actually.

He came down her throat with a shout that sounded almost pained, and she nearly choked on it all, but managed to swallow the vast majority of it. It was not pleasant-tasting, nor was the texture particularly appetizing, but when she looked up at him, he was gazing down at her like she was some kind of goddess, so it was worth it, she decided.

She pulled her mouth off of him, and when she did, a small amount of his semen dripped out of the side of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“So, how was it?”

He looked at her incredulously. “You literally just swallowed my jizz and you’re asking me how it was?”

Mabel shrugged, grabbing his half-drunk water bottle that was off to the side of the bed. She sat up, taking a swig from it to wash that nasty-ass taste out of her mouth.

Eugh.

“It was awesome, Mabes,” he told her as she set the water bottle back down. She smiled happily at him, then lay down next to him and rested her head on his chest. “Downside, though, is I’ll need a bit before I can go again.”

“Eh, that’s fine.”

Turns out he only needed approximately ten minutes before he could go again.

She’d still been laying on his chest contentedly when he started running his fingertips over the side of one of her breasts, and when she looked up at him questioning it, he kissed her.

Dipper turned his body towards her, slipping his tongue into her mouth, and she felt his hardness press against her.

She pulled away with a laugh. “Already?”

“I’m seventeen, Mabel,” he pointed out.

She shrugged and went back to kissing him.

No objections from this girl, thank you.

He climbed on top of her before too much longer, his arousal pressing into her stomach, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, one of her hands at the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

He reached between them with one hand to grip one of her breasts again, squeezing it lightly. He kissed her neck, sucking a bruise into the skin, and she moaned softly. “Dip,” she murmured. “I need you.”

He reached between her legs to stroke her, finding her wet again. “I need you, too,” he groaned against her neck.

“Then take me,” she begged, lifting her hips to meet his fingers.

Positioning himself between her legs, he thrust into her with a groan, his head falling against her, his forehead resting between her breasts. “You okay?” he panted.

Nodding, Mabel wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs. “Keep going.”

Pushing himself up onto his hands, Dipper pulled out of her almost completely, and she whimpered at the loss, gasping when he thrust back into her. He kept up his slow, gentle pace, like he was worried he’d break her, and eyes were clenched shut with the effort to restrain himself.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Let go, Dipper,” she said softly. “Don’t hold back. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

When he pulled out and thrust back into her again, harder this time, like she’d wanted, she moaned and grasped his arms, her fingertips digging into his skin.

“Fuck, Mabel,” he groaned, his hips snapping against hers. “I missed this so much.”

“Me too,” she agreed, lifting her hips to meet each of his thrusts. “Please don’t stop.”

He leaned down to press his lips to hers desperately, hungrily, and she returned the kiss with just as much ferocity, her legs tightening around him.

“Harder,” she begged. She knew she was begging. She didn’t care. “Give it to me harder!”

Dipper complied, pulling back slightly to watch her breasts bounce in time with his thrusts. Mabel lifted one of her legs up to rest her ankle on his shoulder, and they both groaned at the new angle, the new depth.

“You feel so good,” he moaned, slamming into her again. “Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know how much longer I can-“

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” she gasped out. “Just fuck me, Dipper, please!”

Dipper rose up to his knees, lifting her hips to meet his and holding the leg she’d placed on his shoulder still as he pounded into her.

Clenching the fabric of the comforter in her hands so tightly her knuckles hurt, Mabel couldn’t seem to stop herself from screaming, begging him for more, not to stop.

Putting a hand on her hip to hold her pelvis against his, he gripped her hard enough to bruise, and all she could think was that she hoped it did bruise, she wanted to feel the remnants of this for weeks-

She looked up at him, his pained expression, the way he was staring between them, watching himself slide in and out of her harshly.

“Get me pregnant, Dipper,” she moaned. “I want it so badly, please, I need it-“ she cut herself off with a cry when he thrust into her again.

“I can’t,” he forced out. “You know I can’t.”

“Please,” she said again. “I need it, I need it so bad, fuck-“

He thrust again, moving his hand from her hip to her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Soon, Mabes, I promise,” he groaned, leaning against the leg she had on his shoulder.

“Now, dammit,” Mabel demanded. “I want you to fuck a baby into me now!”

“I want it, too,” he confessed, squeezing her breast roughly as he thrust into her. “But we can’t yet. I’ll give you one soon, I swear, just-“ he cut himself off. “Fuck, Mabel, I’m gonna- fuck-“

“Cum for me, cum inside me, Dip,” she begged, desperate for it, for him.

“I can’t,” he groaned miserably, then reached between them and rubbed her clit in quick, harsh circles.

“Ah!” Mabel cried out, her toes curling and her body freezing up as her orgasm ripped through her abruptly.

He didn’t stop pounding into her, not even for a second, only lifted his hand away from her clit to hold her hip again, his head falling back. “Mabes, I- I love you, fuck, I love you-“

She knew he was seconds away from orgasming; his thrusts were short and stunted, harsh and bruising. “Cum for me, Dipper,” she encouraged. “Fill me up.”

He groaned her name again, then, to her tremendous disappointment, yanked himself out of her abruptly, his release spurting onto her vulva. Her hips fell back onto the mattress, and he collapsed on top of her.

After several minutes, he lifted his head up to look at her. “Do you really want me to get you pregnant? Like, now?”

She thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I do.” He seemed startled by that. “But I also know it’s not really… feasible right now. I really, really want it, but I know it’s not a good idea.”

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her slowly, lovingly, nuzzling her nose with his when their lips disconnected. “I love you, Mabel.”

“I love you more,” she countered with a grin.

“I love you the most,” Dipper insisted.

“Oh yeah?” she challenged. “Think you got me there, don’t cha? Well guess what, buddy: I love you infinity times the most, so there.”

He blinked at her. “Uhhhh… that’s not how math works. There’s nothing more than the most.”

“I don’t give a rat tooth if it’s ‘not how math works’,” she said in her very best Dipper impression. “I dunno if you’ve met me before, but I’m Mabel Pines, and I’m redefining math.”

He snorted. “If you say so.”

“Damn right I say so!” After a moment, she noticed the stickiness between them. “Errr… can you get something for that? I’m feelin’ a bit jizztastic here, bro.”

“Right,” he agreed with a slight blush. “Lemme, uh… lemme get something for that.”

“Coolio, I’ll chill here.”

He nodded and went down the stairs.

Well, Mabel thought. This is gonna be one awesome weekend.

#aaaahhhhh I know I know I’m sorry #I’m the worst #but I love you #if that helps #probably not #because I’m the worst #this chapter was brought to you by interactions with my boyfriend #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #Pinecest #mabel pines #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #looks like someone picked a whole bushel of oopsie daisies #my writing

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