#I was browsing Ao3 yesterday evening and there are so little fics about her?? that center her I mean

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Thralls has the already pretty complicated objective of making Ganondorf's perspective a compelling (if very flawed) one, but the even taller order and my real agenda here is to convince people that Impa is a compelling character u_u

[waywardstation]

Smile For The Camera!

Akari is thrilled to be able to take photos with all her friends at Jubilife Village’s photo booth! Except for Ingo that is, too self conscious about his tattered clothes and disheveled look to come take photos. Akari helps him get his confidence back!

I wrote this off a prompt I gave myself, to utilize Jubilife’s photo booth, as well as two prompt request I got; Ingo getting a haircut, and Ingo getting his coat repaired.

I started writing this before Daybreak DLC, actually wishing we could take photos with characters but not thinking we’d ever get a feature like that. I was so happy we did though, and adjusted this fic to fit that! I also thought it was funny that people said it seems Ingo takes days to come around to the photo booth, so I thought I’d implement a reason why.

OR read it on AO3 here!

Enjoy!

————

Akari had already liked going to Jubilife Village’s Photo Booth when she was the only one regularly using it.

She loved going into the otherwise-vacant studio, dressing up in all sorts of outfits and posing with her Pokémon! Dagero didn’t mind that she would spend a few hours at a time in his photo booth - browsing through the backgrounds and props, bringing in multiple Pokémon from her pastures, and taking bundles of outfits in with her to switch between. It’s not like anyone else has ever seemed to use it, so Dagero was happy at least one person was getting enjoyment out of his booth!

Maybe the photo booth was just slow to catch on. But Akari couldn’t understand why! It was so fun to take photos with her Pokémon! Akari couldn’t help but feel like the photo booth was a little too vacant though, a little too empty, whenever she went into the studio after a day of survey work.

She wished she could take photos with her friends too!

“Rei!” The girl called one day, running to catch up to her friend as she spotted him returning from the fieldlands. “Do you have some time to take a photo with me?”

“A photo?” The boy echoed, putting materials he had gathered from his expedition into the supplies box near the gates. “Like, with Laventon’s camera? I don’t know where the professor is right now-“

“-No, at the photo booth!” Akari interrupted, pointing to the building closest to them.

The boy had been hesitant - he had never been in the building before, much less given it much thought. But with some convincing, Akari had dragged him into the building.

Rei had been camera shy at first, stiff and awkward, unsure how to present himself in the photos. But after several rounds of encouragement from Akari, she had loosened him up. By the end of the photoshoot, the two had taken multiple photos; Rei’s pikachu and Akari’s Quilava, Ember, had joined the fun, and all four of them were dressed up in props with big, genuine smiles on their faces!

Dagero had been having just as much fun as the two survey corps members, exclaiming how they seemed to be having so much fun in front of the camera, or saying “good one!” every time they pulled a new pose. This was exactly what he had set up the photo booth for!

In the end, Rei had greatly enjoyed the session, and thanked Akari for asking him to join her.

“If you hadn’t asked me, I wouldn’t have even really checked this place out!” The boy admitted, watching his pikachu playfully chase around Akari’s Ember as they exited the studio. “That was so fun! I’m going to have to do this again with you sometime!”

He kept staring back at all the photos of the two of them in his hands, a big smile crossing his face every time.

The next day, Akari had gone into the photobooth again, fully expecting it to be vacant as always. But to her surprise, Professor Laventon was already there! He was currently browsing through the collection of backgrounds, Oshawott and Rowlet at his side, when he noticed Akari come in.

“Ah, hello my girl!” The professor greeted Akari with a warm smile. “Rei had shown me the wonderful photos you took with him yesterday! It inspired me to come in and take some photos of my own with these two!”

Gesturing to Oshawott and Rowlet, the two Pokémon made sounds of excitement, ready to take some photos.

“Of course, this is my first time in here, and it’s a bit more complicated than just taking a quick snap with my camera for the Pokédex,” the professor explained, a little sheepish. “There are so many options! …would you mind helping me, my girl?”

Akari had started out just helping the professor, standing behind Dagero as he snapped photos, giving pointers for different poses he could try, and suggesting backgrounds and props. But before long, Akari ended up joining the professor in his photos! Ember had been more than happy to be included too, once again being with Oshawott and Rowlet.

“We need to get a good shot of the two of us to commemorate our meeting here like this!” The professor had insisted.

For the second day in a row, Akari walked out of the studio with someone who was awestruck at how they had passed over the studio until now.

“Marvelous!” Professor Laventon exclaimed as he thumbed through the photos, Oshawott and Rowlet on each of his shoulders to see them for themselves. “Simply wonderful, my girl. Thank you! I will have to show these to Cyllene later! We should have all the Galaxy Team members get photos!”

As Laventon left to return to the headquarters building, Akari laughed to herself at the thought of perhaps catching the captain at the booth and getting a chance to snap a photo with her.

————

Over the past week, the popularity of the photo booth grew exponentially; as more people saw photos that others had taken at the building, they had come in as well to do the same thing, only to share those photos with even more friends and draw a bigger crowd.

Dagero was absolutely delighted at how his business was catching on! But perhaps not as happy as Akari, who was ecstatic that she was finally able to get pictures with all of her friends!

Cyllene had indeed come in with her Abra, and had taken obliged to take a photo or two with Akari after she asked. Arezu had wandered in as well at one point, having come across the road from the hair stylists’ shop on one of her breaks. She took so many photos with Akari that she could barely hold all of the developed pictures! Pesselle, the Galaxy Team’s sweet but shy nurse who resided in the headquarter’s lower levels, had been drawn to the place as well! Of course, Akari snapped a photo with her too, the nurse asking for her to join her so she wouldn’t be alone in the photo.

Even Irida and Adaman had come in one day, looking to take a photo with each other to prove clan relations were improving. They had both swiftly asked Akari to join them after a few shots, and she was more than happy to!

But as time went on, and Akari noticed she had taken photos with almost all of her friends, it seemed there was one who had yet to come in. Had she been coincidentally missing him if he ever came in?

————

“Ingo!”

The warden, lost in thought, looked up as he noticed Akari approaching him from across the training grounds.

“Ah, hello Miss Akari!” Ingo turned to her as he greeted her with a small smile. “Looking to do some battling?”

“Not today!” she replied; the thought was tempting, but she wasn’t here for that. “I have a question actually; I was wondering…have you been to the photo booth by the end of the village yet?”

Ingo’s eyes brightened a little at the proposition, but dulled back after a moment.

“Ah, photographs. I appreciate having physical keepsakes - less ephemeral than memories.” He mused, readjusting his cap. “However, I have not yet visited the photo booth.”

So she hadn’t just been missing him coincidentally! But why hadn’t he come in yet?

“Why not?” Akari asked him, puzzled. “Almost everyone else has, both inside and outside the village! Zisu has too!”

Akari pointed to the tall woman a little ways away. She was busy moving containers of supplies into her building behind them, most likely a new order of items she used to help Pokémon learn new moves, but turned to them as she was included in the conversation.

“It was a lot of fun, you know!” She commented with a confident smile. “Went yesterday, Akari was there to join in on some photos with me! You should go at some point too, Ingo, and at least check it out! Your Pokémon would enjoy it!”

As Zisu went back into the building with another box, a look of trepidation crossed Ingo’s face. Akari could see something was holding him back, but was having a hard time outright saying no to her. But she could see a look in his eyes that expressed at the same time, he wanted to go.

What was keeping him from going?

“Well,” Ingo struggled to come up with an explanation, looking off to the side as he adjusted his hat again - not only a familiar habit, but one done out of nervousness as well.

Ingo glanced to the side to see if Zisu had come back out yet, before looking back at Akari and speaking in a voice that was a bit quieter than normal.

“I do not feel especially…photogenic right now.” He admitted to her, gesturing to his tattered clothes, full of frayed ends and small rips.

It took the survey corps member a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“Aww!” Akari gasped sympathetically (and loudly), startling Ingo a bit with her reaction. “It’s ok Ingo! I don’t think you’re-“

“Miss Akari-!” Ingo interrupted, trying to quiet her down with another glance at the doors of the building, checking to see if Zisu had come back out. He did not want the woman, his only work buddy here, overhearing this.

“Sorry!” Akari quieted down considerably to finish her sentence. “…I don’t think you’re… ‘not photogenic’. You look so cool!”

And indeed, Akari thought Ingo looked cool; his shredded clothes expressed how tough he was!

“Thank you,” Ingo accepted her words, though he didn’t quite feel the same way she did. “But perhaps, now might not be a favorable time for me to take a photo.”

He paused for a moment, wondering if this fifteen year old kid would understand the importance of photos to him; after all, she seemed to be taking countless photos just for fun, and seemed to view it as a fun activity. Especially after his amnesia, Ingo viewed photos as proof of a moment, something he could hold onto lest he forget…again.

“Photos hold snapshots of previous moments of importance,” Ingo explained his viewpoint to her, putting his hands behind his back. “Tangible memories you can look back on without having to try to recall them. I would like to look…hmm, more presentable than this for these moments.”

Akari mulled his words over for a second, before her face brightened with an idea.

“Well if you want to look presentable, I can help with that!” Akari told him excitedly. “If I help you, then would you take a photo with me?”

Ingo gave her a look of both curiosity and hesitance. He didn’t know what she was planning, but at this point he felt he could put his trust in her.

And, finally being able to take photos would be nice.

“Agreed,” the warden told her, earning a big grin from the girl. She made a noise of excitement and grasped Ingo’s sleeve, pulling him out of the training grounds and towards Jubilife’s shops.

“I’m borrowing Ingo for a bit Zisu!” Akari called out to the woman, who had just emerged from the building to see Ingo being pulled away.

————

“Are you sure you don’t just want to buy a new one?”

Anthe, the owner of Jubilife’s clothing shop, was currently inspecting Ingo and the sorry sight of his coat.

Akari had brought Ingo over to the clothing store to fix up his coat first. Many times, when she had ripped a seam in her clothes or sustained a tear, Akari had brought them to Anthe, and she quickly fixed it up, good as new! Surely she could do the same for Ingo’s coat.

Currently, she was sitting on a stool watching as Anthe surveyed the damaged on Ingo’s coat, holding it up. Ingo stood close to her, now just in his Pearl clan tunic and cap, carefully watching her look over his precious coat.

Akari thought he looked weird without it. It was all she had ever seen him in!

“I am sure,” Ingo verified, watching her as she folded the coat up and set it aside, before pulling out various measurement strips, until she found the one she needed. This coat was important to Ingo, he knew that much, but he couldn’t remember why. But it was enough to know he would never part with it if he had a choice.

“Well, alright; I can take care of most of the damage, but I won’t be able to fix every single tear,” the woman told the warden as she approached him with the measurement strip. “Now hold out your arms.”

Ingo stiffened, standing awkwardly as she took measurements of his arms and shoulders, as well as his chest and his waist. She didn’t want to end up messing up the measurements as she fixed up his coat for him, just for it to be fixed but no longer fit.

“Alright, come back at the end of the day, and this should be fixed up as best as I can do.” Anthe told Ingo and Akari as she scribbled down the warden’s measurements on a notebook.

“Thank you!” Ingo replied as Akari got off the stool she had been sitting on. “We will return shortly.”

As the two went to leave, Ingo made a movement to adjust his coat, but realized it wasn’t there - he was already missing it and the comfortable weight it put upon his shoulders. At least he still had his cap, he had thought, as he went to adjust that instead.

“You look different without your big coat on,” Akari commented as she existed the shop with Ingo.

“It feels different too,” he told her, now adjusting the fabric of his tunic. “I hope the repairs are executed swiftly.”

“Well while we’re waiting for that, we can do this!” Akari once again grabbed his sleeve and lead him over to the building next door. “After taking off that coat, I finally got to see the back of your hair; it’s so shaggy! I thought you might like to come here.”

Ingo looked up from under the brim of his hat to see Akari was heading for the hair stylist.

————

“What are you feeling today, warden?” Arezu asked Ingo as he sat down in one of the chairs, searching through all of her products and tools.

“Um,” Ingo fumbled for a moment. To be honest, getting a haircut had not been on his mind, and he was just as surprised to be lead into the shop, as Arezu was to see the Pearl Clan warden in the building.

But sitting in the chair, he took off his cap and ran a hand against the back of his head, noting Akari’s earlier observation (no matter how unintentionally rude she had been about it) about how shaggy his hair had gotten. Perhaps he did need a trim.

“Just a bit shorter,” Ingo told the Diamond clan hair stylist as he put his hat in his lap, holding onto the brim.

“Can do!” Arezu confirmed, pulling out a pair of scissors as Akari stood close over her shoulder, watching her get to work.

————

Ingo had to admit, getting a haircut had made him gain a better view on his self image almost instantly, once Arezu had showed the final results.

Looking in a mirror she held out to him, Ingo admired her handiwork. His longer, unkept hair was now cut back, cleaner and sharper. She had cleaned up his sides as well, just as even as the rest of his hair.

He couldn’t stop a small smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth - he actually thought he looked quite a bit nicer now. While Ingo had been dreading the idea of going to the photo booth ever since it seemed to be the popular thing to do, avoiding the place with a certain sadness, cleaning up his self image had left him thinking it wasn’t so bad now.

“Whatcha think?” Arezu asked him, scissors in hand. “Anything that needs to be shorter?”

“This is perfect, Miss Arezu,” Ingo handed her back her mirror from his chair. “Thank you very much for your services!”

Ingo felt a hand touch his hair before he could put his cap back on, to his surprise.

“It’s so short now!” Akari commented as ran her fingers though it. “But it looks really nice! You always do a good job, Arezu!”

The hair stylist smiled, beaming at the complement. “I do my best! Happy you’re satisfied!”

————

Ingo put his repaired coat back on, finally feeling complete as the familiar weight returned to his shoulders. Akari looked over it, amazed at the quick work Anthe had put into the coat.

After the haircut, Akari and Ingo had returned to Anthe’s clothing shop to see if she had finished repairing Ingo’s coat - indeed she had!

“I fixed what I could, but there’s still a few tears I couldn’t quite repair,” Anthe reiterated what she had told them earlier.

Ingo and Akari noted that his coat seemed to be in much better condition now; loose stitches were all tightened and cleaned up. Frayed ends had been smoothed down, and tears had been patched up with a very similar fabric when they couldn’t be sewn back together. Anthe had even cleaned out some scuffs and stains left from Pokémon attacks, leaving the fabric smooth and clean.

For a possession that held so much sentimental value to him, the wear and tear had been distressing to him. But with it repaired, it was more than Ingo could have ever asked for.

“This is more than enough! Thank you for your repairs, I am most grateful,” Ingo thanked her, his voice full of gratitude.

“Happy to help,” Anthe smiled at the two, packing her thread and fabric away. “If you ever need more repairs done, I’m always here!”

————

“You ready now?” Akari asked Ingo as the two left Anthe’s shop, Ingo still admiring the woman’s handiwork on repairing his coat. The sun was now setting, Jubilife Village and its residents being tinted in a warm orange.

“For?” Ingo pressed her to finish her sentence. Having gotten so caught up in his repaired coat and new haircut, he had forgotten.

“For photos!“ Akari finished, pointing at the photo booth, which was only a few buildings away.

His part of the promise he had made with Akari came back to him at the reminder, but this time he wasn’t dreading it so much.

“Oh yes! Apologies, Miss Akari. I am ready!” Ingo tipped his cap back, answering her with a sense of enthusiasm that had been previously unseen on this topic. “Let us depart!”

Akari followed after Ingo with a skip in her step as he headed for the booth, excited that she was finally getting to take photos with him.

————

“Oh oh, wait, wait!” Akari exclaimed as she pushed a hat off of her head that was much too large, before pulling off another hat she had put on Ingo. The warden placed his own cap back on his head as Akari put them both back with the other props in a hurry.

She and Ingo had been having a lot of fun taking photos! She lost track of how many they had taken, but they were not getting tired of it, and Ingo had been enjoying himself the whole time.

Despite Ingo holding photos at a standard of importance, now trusting them to hold onto his memories more than his own mind, Akari had convinced him to take some more informal, fun photos too; the hat she had put on his head earlier was proof enough that he had caved.

“Do your pose!” Akari asked Ingo with enthusiasm, wearing her emotions on her sleeve. “Your pointing pose!”

“Hmm…this one?” Ingo asked for confirmation as he straightened out his posture, falling into his signature pose perfectly.

“Yes, that one!” Akari beamed as she suddenly copied him, mirroring his pose as best she could.

She grinned wide as Dagero snapped photos of the two of them, but it wouldn’t be until she got a look at the developed photographs later, that she would notice the look of happiness in Ingo’s eyes as well, a genuine smile on his face.

The mirrored pose was deeply familiar to him, and in that familiarity, it was comforting.

[chierafied]

Uncharted Waters

For @jilychallenge​ August 2021.

Theme: Summer

Partner: The wonderful @adenei​ who was endlessly supportive and kind enough to beta and make the lovely graphic! You can find their fic here!

Prompt: “I just wanted to get my school supplies early, how have we ended up sharing an ice cream together? wait… am I actually enjoying your company??”

2,699 words. Also on AO3.

Lily got off the Knight Bus, clutching at her leather bag, her hand stuffed in the pocket of her denim jacket, fingers curled around her wand. It was early morning in late July and the foggy London air carried a bit of a chill. Lily found it welcome; she was looking forward to autumn. Besides, she was sure the day would yet warm up – after all, the sun had only been up for a little over an hour. 

Lily strode into the Leaky Cauldron and found it nearly empty at this time of the day. She nodded at the proprietor as she crossed the pub. Out in the walled courtyard, shivering in front of the dustbin, Lily pulled out her wand and muttered under her breath as she counted the right bricks.

Although at 17, and after six years at Hogwarts, she wasn’t a complete novice to navigating magic London, it was rare for her to do so unaccompanied. In fact, this was the very first time Lily had ventured to do her shopping for school on her own. It had taken her all day yesterday to get her parents to agree to let her go alone. She’d played the “seventeen is of age in the magical world” card and may have even slipped in a little white lie of having promised to meet up with friends. 

Thankfully, her parents had agreed to let her go shopping alone. 

With the shadows of the wizarding world stretching and deepening and with the tensions rising year after year, Lily wanted to keep her Muggle parents – who’d stick out like sore thumbs in a crowd of wizards and witches – as far from the magical world as she could. Not that the Death Eaters would have been so brazen as to launch an attack at Diagon Alley in broad daylight… but with every whispered rumour and every screaming headline, Lily worried.

She tapped the bricks with her wand and walked through the opening archway. For a brief moment, she paused to take in the familiar sight of Diagon Alley, then started up the cobbled street towards her very first stop. She took the steps at the end of the street and slipped in through the heavy double doors. The impressive tall entrance hall of Gringotts was hushed. Though there were only a few scattered witches and wizards about, the goblins were all busy at their desks. Lily waited until she was beckoned forward, then walked up to the desk, flashing a brief smile to the goblin.

“Good morning. I’d like to exchange this, please.”

She handed over the purse her parents had given her that morning and waited while the bank employee completed the exchange. She accepted the wizard money with a smile, nod and a quick thank you, and hastened out of the door. Gringotts always made her uneasy. It was too big and fancy and marble-y, too obviously built to impress. 

Now that she had her money sorted out, it was time to hit the shops. Lily grinned in anticipation.

She entered the Apotechary first, mainly because she happened to chance upon it before any other shop she needed to get supplies in. She lost forty minutes in the shop, staying in to inspect the shelves and chat with the proprietor long before she’d found all the things she needed to replenish her potion supplies. She shouldn’t need too much anyway since the Potions class in Hogwarts had its own storage for the students to use. 

Flourish and Blotts was where Lily’s feet took her to next, and she spent at least an hour wandering the stacks. Picking out all her textbooks, yes, but also browsing the new releases shelves and paying particular interest to several different sections of the shop – Potions, Charms, Healing and fiction, to name a few. Lily was a voracious reader and bookshops were her happy place. If not for the shopping list in her pocket, she would have stayed even longer. When she finally left the shop, Lily wondered if she might still have time to go back after she’d finished with her other shopping.

Back on the street, she stopped before the shop window of Madam Malkin's and dithered. Her current set of school robes had seen better days. But could she really justify the expense of a new set of school robes when she had only one year left at Hogwarts? She could probably still make do with her current set, only…

"Oi, Lily!"

Lily whipped around, startled, clutching her wand tight in her pocket, already subconsciously aiming it towards the voice. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she saw Sirius Black and James Potter saunter towards her across the cobbled stones.

“Oh, it’s you two. Hi.” 

“Spooked, Lily?” Sirius grinned.

“Maybe a little. I was very much lost in my thoughts just now.”

“I noticed. I had to call your name twice,” Sirius drawled.

“You should be spooked,” James cut in, looking at her with a most uncharacteristic frown. “Why are you here alone? Where are your parents? Your friends?”

“I wanted to do my shopping alone this time. I’m a big girl, Potter. Of age, and all.”

“Yes, but that’s not – “

“James, Lily here can take care of herself. You should have seen that one time the Slytherins tried to give her a jump last autumn.”

“I don’t see your parents here, either,” Lily added, raising a pointed eyebrow at James.

“Mum wasn’t feeling too well,” James shrugged. “So she told Sirius and me to go ahead. Besides, it’s different. Neither of us is a – erm…”

Lily crossed her arms, hid her shaking fingers from both her classmates’ gazes. 

“A Muggleborn,” she said, her voice dull.

Sirius shrugged.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” James said, his cheeks now tinting alarmingly pink. “It’s just… the news and all. I get worried.”

Lily met his stare, looked into his earnest hazel eyes and saw the same anxiety reflected there that churned in her own chest. The corner of her lip curled up in a wan smile.

“Yeah. I do, too.”

“Join us, Lily. The more the merrier. And we need to spare poor James’ delicate nerves, don’t we? He has been fretting enough as is since we got our letters yesterday. Poor bloke was inches away from full-on apoplexy.”

The wan smile blossomed into a grin. There was something about these boys, an innate quality they shared – an ability to instantly cheer someone up. And why not join them for the rest of the day? She knew she’d be in good company and hadn’t spent time with them for many long weeks since their last term had ended.

“We can’t have that, can we? The world needs James Potter,” Lily replied, sliding her arm through Sirius’.

He winked at him. “James seems to think so, at least.”

“You sod, I’m right here,” James retorted, rolling his eyes. But he was smiling now too, the shadows gone from his eyes.

“How far along are you in your shopping?” Lily asked.

“Haven’t really started. We only just came in and got stuck in the Quidditch supplies shop for quite a while.”

“You say that as if you hadn’t spent fifteen minutes staring at the Quidditch robes on display,” James muttered.

Lily bit her lip to stifle a smile. “I’ve got my textbooks and Potions supplies.”

“Potion supplies?” Sirius slanted her an incredulous look. “Why in the name of Morgan’s mouldy mantle are you buying potion supplies? Slughorn’s classroom storage isn’t big enough for you?”

“It never hurts to have a few of the more common – and rare – ingredients around.” Lily shrugged. “Besides, you never know when you might need to brew a little something outside the classroom.”

“Please. You have Slughorn wrapped around your little finger, I’m sure he’d let you use the classroom and his personal potion supply stocks if you asked.”

“Maybe. But I like being prepared.”

“That’s a foreign concept to Sirius,” James quipped. “So he probably won’t understand.”

“You know, I really don’t.” Sirius agreed. “What’re you after next then, Lily?”

She didn’t even have to consult her shopping list. “Ink, quills, parchment and all that.”

“Stationery shop it is,” Sirius decided.

“Did you want to get robes, though?” James asked. He nodded towards Madam Malkin’s. “You were looking at the shop window.” 

“Ahh, I was dithering,” Lily admitted, glancing back at the shop. “My school robes are getting a bit worn but then again getting a whole new set can get expensive. And we only have one year left.”

“Everyone deserves nice things, especially when they’re clothes,” Sirius decreed. And as Lily’s arm was still hooked with his, pulled her along with him into the shop. James’ warm chuckle accompanied Lily’s startled laughter as he followed after them.

Lily did order a full new set of school robes for herself – as did Sirius and James. James, especially, had a good reason to. Lily couldn’t help noticing he seemed a good inch or two taller than when she’d last seen him. 

After splurging on the new robes, they did go to the stationery shop and got all the supplies they needed. Then, Lily had her chance to return to Flourish and Blotts for some more browsing while the boys got their textbooks.

The sun was peeking out from behind the grey clouds when they returned to the street and started strolling down.

“Where to next?” James asked, rearranging all the shopping bags he was juggling – he’d refused to let Lily carry her own shopping.

“The joke shop!” Sirius cried as they passed the window.

“Actually, I could use a little break. Rest my feet.”

James turned to her. “Fancy an ice cream, Lily?”

“Who’d turn down ice cream?” 

“It’s too cold for ice cream,” Sirius argued, his nose crinkling in distaste.

“Then go on and explore the joke shop to your heart’s content. Lily and I will go sit down and have ourselves some ice cream.”

Sirius shrugged. “Works for me.”

He’d already gone into the shop before Lily had even agreed to the plan.

“Shall we?” James asked, studying her.

“Let’s go,” Lily told him, a smile touching her lips.

Soon enough, they were hunkered together at a corner table inside the small but cosy Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, shopping bags gathered around their feet. They were sitting side by side, so close to one another in the confined space that their arms were almost touching. It was most distracting, in Lily’s opinion, especially when James kept fidgeting.

She slanted him a long look. He was pushing a strawberry around his bowl of sundae. 

Lily stopped with the spoon in her mouth. James Potter, not eating? Something was definitely up. He was staring down at the tabletop, frowning. His leg danced restlessly beside her. The strawberry made its third circuit around the bowl.

Lily was at her limit, already drawing in a breath to ask him what was going on when James spoke up.

“So, the Hogwarts letters came yesterday, right?”

Lily’s eyebrow rose. “Yes. They did.”

“Anything special about your letter?” James asked.

Lily looked at him. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes, still pushing that infernal strawberry around, but there was something in the hazel depths that caught her attention. Expectation, perhaps. Hope. Something a little desperate bordering on a plea.

Oh. 

Immediately, warmth bloomed in Lily’s chest – a rushing flashback to the golden glow Lily had felt yesterday when she’d opened her letter. When the small pin had dropped onto her bedroom carpet and glimmered up at her. A buoyant, radiant warmth, as if she had swallowed the sun.

“There was, actually,” Lily said, unable to hold back her smile. “Yes.”

James’ posture relaxed. His restless leg quieted. He stopped playing around with the strawberry.

“Good. That’s brilliant. You made Head Girl, then?”

“I did, yeah.” 

“I was really hoping you would.” James ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up. Then he reached into his pocket, dug something out and thrust it at Lily.

Lily frowned but she put down the spoon and took the envelope. She opened it and peered in – and saw something glimmer up at her. 

She knew what it was, even when she picked up the small pin with numb fingers. She stared at the innocent letters carved into the metal. Head Boy.

And in that instant, her surprise melted away like James’ poor neglected sundae. 

Of course James was the Head Boy, who else would they pick? He had the leadership qualities, which he’d been aptly demonstrating on the Quidditch field. He was brilliant and always got top grades in his classes. He had an easy-going nature and a natural charisma that both endeared him to others and made other people look up to him. There was no one who suited the role better, who’d be more deserving than James. 

Lily brushed her thumb over the pin, then dropped it back into the envelope.

“Head Boy, huh?” Lily said, passing the envelope back to him. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. I still have a hard time believing it,” he told her, flashing a sheepish smile. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and ran his hand through his hair again.

Lily tilted her head, filled her spoon with delicious chocolate ice cream. “Why?”

“Well, I’m hardly Head Boy material, eh?” James shook his head.

The gesture was dismissive, and Lily’s eyes narrowed even as the smooth chocolate sweetness melted on her tongue. Her spoon hit the table with a clank as she slammed her hands down.

“Look at me, James.”

He turned his head, his hazel eyes hesitant as their gazes locked.

“You’ve earned this. You’re nothing but Head Boy material. Honestly, if it was up to me to choose the Head Boy for our final year, I’d choose you.”

There was a shift in the air between them. His eyes grew wide and then impossibly soft. Something new and potent shimmered to life between them and all of a sudden Lily’s chest ached. 

She was trapped in his gaze and it was all a bit too meaningful now. With much effort, Lily looked down, picked up her spoon, focused fully on scooping up another mouthful of chocolate ice cream.

“You should eat up before the rest of your sundae melts,” she told him. And even though she didn’t look up, she could feel the warmth of his smile. 

His spoon finally trapped the errant strawberry from earlier and it vanished from Lily’s line of vision.

A moment later, she braved a quick glance at him and bit back a groan. 

Strawberry juice glistened on James’ lips, staining them red. Lily’s breath caught and she was too aware of James’ thigh, less than an inch away from hers. 

“Lily? You OK? Did you get a brain freeze?”

“Huh?” Lily asked, managing to wrench her gaze up to meet his eyes.

“Ice cream get too cold for you? Your eyes were going a bit glazed there.”

Lily shook her head. “I’m good. Just spaced out.”

She gripped her spoon tight to stop her fingers from trembling. Gave the chocolate ice cream a leisurely lick. 

James shifted, his thigh now pressing against hers. Lily’s flushed skin tingled under the weight of his gaze.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together this year, aren’t we?” James asked, the words coming out a little strained. 

“Uh-huh.” Lily slanted him a glance from under her lashes, the corner of her lip quirking up. “It’s going to be an interesting year, isn’t it?”

James’ eyes hooded even as he grinned right back at her. “I certainly hope so.”

They shared the smile and the knowledge, that little bright spark that danced in both of their eyes. They went back to eating their ice cream and after a moment the stretching silence filled with talk of their summer holidays. 

And all the while they sat at their little corner table, sharing ice cream and laughter and lively conversation, James’ leg stayed pressed against Lily’s. A little secret of their very own.

[miraculous-ninjabird]

This is my half of a collaboration I did with @ezlikessharks as a gift for our mutual friend @enbyjaywalker

You can find their half here

the fic is also on Ao3 here

I hope you like it!

Title: An Acceptable Proposal

Words: 2209

Warnings: None. Just self-indulgent fluff

Samuraishipping + background Oppositeshipping

“Zane! I need your assistance!” Pixel bursts into the room. He lets out an undignified squawking sound, dropping the dish he had been holding. Feeling just the tiniest bit guilty about that, she picks it up and hands it back to him.

“Pixal! You startled me! What can I do for you?” He pauses putting away the dishes to look at her.

“I am planning to propose to Nya when we go out tonight, remember? I need you to help me make sure all the preparations are in place.”

“Is tonight the night? Pixal that’s wonderful! It completely slipped my mind. How can I help?”

“I have a number of things that need to be confirmed and some things that need to be collected while Kai and I go to pick up the ring, along with a few other things,” Pixal hands him a list. “It would be very beneficial if you could meet us at the park when you are finished to help set things up.”

Zane takes the list, scanning the contents.

“This seems reasonable. I will get started on it just as soon as I am finished here. When should I plan to meet you?”

“Thank you so much! We will be there around 5pm or so. Jay should be meeting us there also. I have to leave around 5:30 to get ready to meet her, so the three of you will have to finish setting up without me. Can you make sure it’s all ready by the time we come through at 7:30?”

Zane salutes her “Your wish is my command.”

Pixal thanks him profusely once again before rushing off. Not a single moment to waste! Tonight had to be perfect.

“So tell me again why you need me here?” Kai asks as he pulls open the door to the jewelry store. Pixal steps inside, clutching the pick up slip for the ring tight to her chest.

“You’re the only other person who knows Nya as well as I do. I want you to do the final check on the ring to make sure it is something she will like. And I haven’t forgotten you telling me you wanted to do something similar for Zane in the near future. We can’t have that double wedding you and Nya are so heartset on if you don’t get a ring yourself.” She gives him a pointed look, and his face flushes a deep red.

“Touche,”

Kai wanders off to browse the cases, and Pixal makes her way up to the counter.

“Good afternoon! How can I help you today?” The clerk greets cheerfully.

“I have a pick up for Pixal Borg, please,” She hands the slip over. The clerk takes it, reading it carefully.

“Your timing is perfect Miss Borg! This shipment just came in yesterday. Give me a moment to get it ready.” He takes the receipt and hurries away, leaving Pixal to join Kai in his browsing. She finds him staring hard at one of the cases.

“Find something you like?” She inquires.

“Actually, I think so,” He points to a specific ring. “Do you think Zane would like something like that?”

The ring in question has a twisted silver band set with two sapphires, one pink and one blue. It’s beautiful, and simplistic in a way Zane would like.

“That would be a good choice. Though I think Zane would be happy with just about anything you chose for him.” She offers. It was true. Zane loved him so much it wouldn’t take any real effort on Kai’s part to impress him. Kai could propose with a ring of paperclips and the nindroid would be overjoyed.

Pixal doesn’t get to hear Kai’s thoughts on things though, as the clerk calls her back over.

“Here you are! One custom engagement ring, ready to go!” He hands the box over to her. Hesitantly, Pixal opens it. This will be her first time seeing the final product in real life. Inside sits one of the most stunning pieces of jewelry she has ever seen. Nya’s phoenix symbol is carved into it, set with a sapphire eye. The carving is flanked on either side by two small diamonds. Without a word, she shows the contents to Kai. He lets out a low whistle.

“She’s gonna love that, Pix.”

The approval helps to relieve a little of the worried knot that was forming in her stomach. That was a relief. She turns back to the clerk, and Kai wanders back over to the ring from earlier.

“Can I set up a payment plan for the remainder that I still owe on it?”

“Sure thing! I’ll just need some information from you first…”

Once that is sorted out, she collects Kai and they head out. She doesn’t miss the fact that he is now clutching a little pick-up slip of his own. Seems Nya was going to get her double wedding afterall...

The jewelry store had taken longer than she was anticipating, so by the time she and Kai finished up with the rest of the things on their list they were running a little behind. When they finally reach the park, Pixal only has a few minutes before she has to leave. Zane is already there, and so is Jay.

“Pixal! Kai! Over here!” Zane calls out. Once they are a little closer, he continues. “I was able to complete everything on your list. The photographer is confirmed, I got the approval from the city to change the lights in the fountain and hang the lights in the trees, and I dropped your dress for tonight off at home for you. Did you get the ring?”

“Yes, and Kai has the rest of the lights. I appreciate your help in all of this. I wish I could stay, but I really have to be going if I want to be on time.”

“Yes. Go, go. I can handle directing these two here,” Zane makes a shooing motion with his hand. “You go have fun and I promise things will be ready for you when you return.”

Pixal shouts more thank-yous at them as she walks away. She would be eternally grateful, as this was not something she would have been able to do on her own. The only things left to do now were get herself ready, meet Nya, and then...ask her the big question. Simple enough. She could do this.

Maybe asking Nya to meet her at the restaurant was a bad idea. Originally Pixal was thinking it would give her extra time to compose herself, but honestly? It was just making things worse. It didn’t help that she had gotten there early, and that Nya was now running late. What if something had happened to her on the way here? What if there had been an emergency team summons and Pixal had somehow missed it? How long should she sit here by herself? Maybe she should call Nya? Just to make sure she was okay?

Just as that thought occurs to her, the door chimes. It wasn’t the first time it had happened since she’d gotten here, but she whips around to see who it is regardless. A visible weight lifts off her shoulders when she sees that this time, it is Nya. The host leads her over to the table, and Pixal is able to get a good look at her.

It’s a good thing Pixal doesn’t need to breathe.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! Cole took me to a painting workshop today and it ran over. I didn’t want to show up in paint clothes so I ran home first.” She gasps. She must have walked because she doesn’t have that windblown look that comes from riding her motorcycle. She has on a midnight blue tunic dress, paired with dark leggings and a sparkly belt. Instead of her usual ponytail, her hair is pulled into a low braid across her shoulders.

“Nya, you look positively radiant.”

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself. The butterfly clip is a nice touch,” She winks as she sits down. “This place is pretty fancy. What’s the special occasion?”

Pixal’s brain momentarily stutters, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. She reaches a hand into her dress pocket, clutching the ring box.

“Do I need a special occasion to be able to treat my partner to a night out?” She questions. Nya laughs.

“No, I guess not. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t forgotten something.”

“Well in that case, don’t worry. There is no special significance to tonight you should be aware of,” Pixal smiles softly. At least not any that Nya was aware of. “So tell me about your day. You mentioned Cole took you to an art class?”

“Yeah! I wasn’t expecting that at all but it was actually really fun…” Nya starts rambling about her day. Pixal listens intently, focusing all attention on Nya. The way her eyes light up when she gets excited was always enchanting. First Master, she was so in love.

The rest of their evening at the restaurant passes without incident. They talk about how busy they’ve been lately, about all the upgrades Pixal is planning to do to her samurai X mech, and about how nice it was to be able to finally have a night to themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary for them, other than the massive ball of nerves that was weighing heavily in her stomach.

It only got worse as they settled the bill and left.

“So do you have anything else fun planned for tonight?”

“I was hoping you would accompany me on a walk through the park?” Pixal offers an arm out to her. Nya takes it, linking them together.

“Of course! I would love too. Lead the way.” She gives Pixal a peck on the cheek for good measure.

Making their way to the park, she hopes against all hope that the three she had left behind had been successful in getting things ready. The park soon comes into view, and she breathes a miniscule sigh of relief when she can make out the lights glittering in the distance against the setting sun.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Nya asks, pointing.

“Would you like to go and take a look?” Nya nods, and Pixal leads her in that direction. Even though she had planned this whole thing out, she is taken by surprise at just how good things had turned out. Delicate lights are strung through the trees, warm and inviting. The fountain in the center of the plaza she’d picked was lit up with soft blues and purples. She can’t identify where it was coming from, but someone was playing soft music. That was a nice touch. She was forever going to be in Zane’s debt for making sure things went off without a hitch.

“This is beautiful!” Nya whispers, releasing Pixal’s arm. She steps forward, taking it all in. The way Nya looks around in wonder makes her think that all the work that went into planning was worth it. “But what’s it for?”

Taking a deep breath, Pixal fishes the ring out of her pocket. This was it.

“Well, my dear...this is all for you.”

“All for me? What do you mean by that-” she turns around in confusion. Pixal takes that moment to drop to one knee, and Nya’s eyes go wide.

“Nya, you are my everything. You’ve done so much for me. You helped build me a body, gave me freedom. You gave up your mantle as Samurai X to me when you didn’t even know who I was. You taught me what it really means to love, and I love you with every fiber of my being. Every moment I spend with you feels like an eternity. There isn’t a single other person I could imagine spending my life with. So, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

She opens the box, heart thundering in her chest. Nya’s mouth is open in a gasp. With one shaky hand, she reaches out and takes the ring. The sapphire eye of the phoenix symbol engraved on it glints in the light as she studies it.

“Oh Pixal…” Her eyes fill tears, and she launches herself at Pixal.

The heavy weight that had been following her all was lifted as she welcomed Nya with open arms. She had no words to describe the pure elation that was filling her. In one swift move, she bends down and catches Nya’s lips in a fierce kiss. Nya kisses back just as fiercely. When they part, they both collapse into a fit of giggles.

“I take it that you find my proposal acceptable then?” She whispers.

“Yes. Yes I do.” Nya whispers back, pressing their foreheads together. She is grinning wildly, and her eyes shone. Pixal imagines she looks much the same.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you so much.”

“However much you love me, I love you more.”

Pixal pulls her into another kiss, this one softer. As long as she had Nya by her side, the two of them would be unstoppable.

[bellmel]

An unknown magic

A little fic written for the Hinny Birthday Challenge, with the theme ‘television’.

In the centre of the back wall was a large black box, its dark glass front reflecting a distorted version of themselves and the cluttered space around them. “Ron and Hermione gave it to me yesterday,” Arthur said. “A bit of an early present. It was all Hermione’s doing of course, she figured it out.”

Arthur is given a television for his birthday, and Ginny and Harry discover a show with a unique idea of how magic works.

Read it on Ao3

---

“Mum?”

The front room was empty as they stepped inside the house, the only faint sound coming from behind the kitchen door, a muffled scraping of bowls and clanging of spoons.

Ginny continued through to the kitchen, swinging the door wide for Harry to follow behind her.

“Oh, hello dears,” her mum said, putting the spatula down. She wiped her hands on her paisley apron before making her way over, pulling them each into a hug. Behind her, the dishes carried on cooking without interruption, as a spoon continued to idly stir a simmering pot and a brush flicked its way over a tray of pastries, evenly coating each crescent with an egg wash.

The Burrow was oddly still otherwise, almost unnaturally so. The silence buzzed with an expectant hum, that almost eerie quiet that comes before an impending swarm of bodies and voices and activity.

“Where is everyone? Where’s Dad?

“You two are the first ones here,” her mum said, picking the spatula back up and resuming her task of spreading mint-coloured icing over a large square cake. “Your dad’s out the back. In his shed, of course.” She rolled her eyes, but the affectionate turn of her lips belied any hint of annoyance.

Ginny turned towards the back door, swiping her finger through the icing to taste it on her way past. Her mum ignored her, well accustomed to such things by now.

She didn’t bother knocking on the door of the shed - no one ever did. It took her dad a few moments to realise they were there. He was sitting on the low stool by the bench, hunched over a black handheld gadget. Around him, appliances and contraptions lay idle, save for the gentle flick of an alarm clock as it ticked over to a new minute.  

“Hi Dad.”  

“Oh!” he said, spinning around and jumping up off his stool. “Ginny! Harry! Come look.” He waved them over towards the back of the shed.

Ginny gave him a quick squeeze once she reached him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” He smiled at her briefly and quickly returned the hug before hurriedly ushering her again to the rear of the shed.

There in the centre of the back wall was a large black box, its dark glass front reflecting a distorted version of themselves and the cluttered space around them.

“Ron and Hermione gave it to me yesterday, a bit of an early present. It was all Hermione’s doing of course, she figured it out.” He spoke rapidly, a childish glee lighting up his face.

“Look!” he said, waving the black gadget she had seen him tinkering with when she walked in. He pointed it towards the screen and pressed a button. The screen instantly lit up and a second later red and golden beams were revolving and zooming out to reveal a globe, while a dramatic overture filled the shed. He looked over at both her and Harry, his eyes searching for their reactions as his grin grew impossibly wider.

“Merlin, Dad. This is incredible!”

“Safe to say Hermione wins best present,” Harry said, impressed.

“They even gave me a whole box of these disc things,” her dad said, pointing to a small wooden crate with what looked like a couple dozen little thin plastic cases neatly lined up inside.

“DVDs,” Harry said helpfully.

Her dad nodded giddily. “They said we can’t get normal tellovision here, the magic interferes too much with the beam, something like that. Hermione’s still working on it,” he said. “But we have these disc things - DVDs - for now, and there’s even a little machine that sucks the disc in, and then you can watch it on the tellovision.”

The image on the TV had continued to play out while he was talking, eventually stopping on a still image of two men laughing.

“So what have you got?” Ginny asked, making her way over to browse the contents of the crate.

“Plenty. Hermione and Ron picked out-”

“Arthur!” Her mum’s shrill voice sounded from outside the shed door. She refused to step foot inside Dad’s shed. ‘Sometimes I figure I’m better off not knowing what’s in there,’ her mum had told her once.  

“I need a little help getting things all set up. Would you mind, Arthur?”

Her dad smiled at her apologetically. “Best I go and help your mum. Help yourselves,” he said, gesturing to the selection of disc cases. “You know how to work it, Harry?”

“I should be able to figure it out.”

“Wonderful.” her dad grinned at them one more time before slipping out of the shed.

“What’s he got there?” Harry asked.

Ginny turned back to the crate and started riffling through it, picking out cases and looking at them quizzically before returning them to their spot and continuing on.

“Vicar of Dibley, Titanic...” Ginny read out, her back to Harry. “Something called ER, French and Saunders, Home Improvement - Merlin, this isn’t some show about how to build a house or something, is it? ’Cause Dad will do it, you know, and Mum’ll go spare-”

“No, it’s just a funny show. I reckon your Dad will like that one.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, already moving on to the next one. “Ooooh!” She spun around to face him, grinning widely as she held up a case for him to see.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “They gave your dad that?”

“Are you kidding? A Muggle show about a young witch? Dad will lose his mind over it!” She was surprised he wasn’t already watching it when they got there.

“Yeah, alright. I see what you mean.”

Ginny didn’t turn back to the crate this time. Instead, she stood there patiently, her smile fixed at him.

“We’re watching this one, aren’t we?”

She nodded unapologetically.

“Fine,” he sighed. He pushed off from the bench and took the disc from her as he rolled his eyes, any hint of ridicule negated by the amused smirk he failed to hide.

“The remote?” he called over his shoulder.

“The… what?”

“Oh, sorry,” he looked around, quickly spotting the black plastic stick on the stool and holding it up to her. “This thing.” He turned back to the smaller black machine, which was now slowly spitting out a shiny disc.

Ginny settled herself into the weathered tan recliner chair that her dad had repositioned to face the screen. She watched as Harry pushed the disc into the machine and scrutinised several of the buttons on the remote. Just a few moments later, the screen came back to life, an image of a young blonde girl appearing on the screen alongside a list of sorts.  

The black stick thingy still in his hand (she’d already forgotten what he had called it), Harry walked over to the recliner and sank into it, lifting Ginny’s legs and placing them back down to rest across his lap.

It wasn’t her first time seeing a television, of course. In the years since the war ended, she had increasingly ventured out into the Muggle world, and it was impossible to do so without being exposed to the large screens that Muggles seemed fixated on. The television had also been on a couple of times when she went to Hermione’s parents’ house, either the Muggle news or some kind of game show, Hermione had called it. And they had been to Muggle pubs that showed sports games on big screens fixed to the wall, never with any sound. But this, sitting down and watching a television show from beginning to end, was different. Familiar, in a way. But new.

She sank a little deeper into the chair and let her head fall back against Harry’s shoulder. He leaned into her a little more, his arms draped casually over her legs. Content, she returned her attention to the black whirring screen where the blonde girl was hovering, asleep, over her bed.

‘Her sixteenth birthday started five minutes ago,’ came an unseen woman’s voice. ‘Oh look, Hilda, she’s levitating, right on schedule.’

‘Let’s wake her up and tell her she’s a witch,’ another woman (presumably Hilda) said.  

“Sixteen!” Ginny said in disbelief. “How can she not know she’s a witch until she’s sixteen?”

Harry gave a short laugh. “It’s just a show, Ginny. If you want to watch it, you’re just gonna have to ignore these things.”

She huffed a little and returned her attention to the screen, trying to lose herself in the story. It didn’t take long. There was something captivating about the absurdness of it all, and the teenage struggles that seemed to transcend worlds.

When the shed door opened only a few minutes later, she ignored the interruption, but Harry turned around, looking back towards the door.

“Oh, hey.”

“Look at you two, spending Dad’s birthday holed up in the shed like a couple of unsociable gits,” Ron said.

“Well no one else was here yet, were they?” Ginny called back, distracted, gaze still fixed ahead.

“What are you two watch-” Hermione began to ask before she cut herself off. “Oh, I should have guessed.” Ginny didn’t have to look at her to know that she was smiling in that slight smuggish way that she often did.

“Did you used to watch this?”

“Not really,” Hermione said, leaning against the bench which Ron was now perched on top of. “I was already at Hogwarts when it began. But Mum and Dad were quite excited when it was first on TV, so I watched a couple of episodes with them. But I haven’t watched it since.”

“The talking cat freaked her out,” Ron said helpfully.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “The talking cat freaked you out?”

“Yes. Animals shouldn’t talk, Harry!”

“So after all the shit that you’ve seen and done, it’s a talking feline that scares you?”

Ron laughed and Hermione lightly slapped his chest with the back of her hand.

“It was a few years ago, to be fair,” she said pointedly. “But yes, talking animals give me the creeps. Mum read me a book about a young witch when I was little, and there was a talking cat in the story. It gave me nightmares.”

“Were you scared of normal cats?” Ginny asked, attention completely on Hermione now as the show continued unnoticed in the background.

“Of course not. But I kept thinking about it, that first week after I got my Hogwarts letter. I asked Professor McGonagal about it the night of the feast, actually. I asked her if there really were talking cats.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just laughed.”

“She would,” Ginny said, while Harry and Ron snorted.

“What about you, Harry?”

“What? Was I scared of talking cats?”

“No,” Hermione huffed. “I mean, have you seen Sabrina before?”

Ginny shifted in the chair to look up at Harry, curious.

“Sure, Hermione. My aunt gathered us all around the TV together to watch a show about a young witch living among Muggles. ‘Wholesome entertainment’, I believe she called it.”

“Ok,” Hermione muttered, looking just a little sheepish. “I get the point.”    

They eventually fell silent and continued to watch the screen, where the girl, Sabrina, was fumbling her way through a class in which they were supposed to be cutting up a dead frog. Ginny had at times wondered what Muggle students learnt at school, but this wasn’t exactly what she had imagined.

“If it isn’t the woman of the hour,” she heard George call out in greeting as the door of the shed slammed shut behind him. “You set an impossible standard you know, Hermione. I may as well just concede defeat and not bother with presents for Dad from now on.”

“You never do anyway,” Ron said.

George simply shrugged in agreeance and nudged Ginny’s elbow off the arm of the couch, perching himself on the only part of the couch that was now free.

The five of them sat there, watching curiously. The show held hints of the familiar, but Ginny found there was little she could relate to in the way the story exaggerated what she guessed was the novelties of magic. She’d never had to hide her magic, never had to come to terms with the reality of a new world. But navigating the awkwardness of school and teenagehood, and desperately guarding secrets from her peers - these were all things she knew too well.

“How come they have no wands? Seems like a bit of an oversight,” George said.

“Right?” Ginny interrupted. “It’s all bonkers George, they have no idea.”

“How would they?” Harry asked.

George ignored him, turning to Ginny instead. “So why are you watching it then?”

“Why are you?”

He paused for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right.” He stood up and turned away. “I’m done.”

They came and went over the next hour, a rotating door of brothers and girlfriends and her dad. But still Ginny and Harry sat there, content, squished together in the chair. Harry showed characteristic patience with her and her rhythm of questions and comments - “Is that what they really learn at school? What IS the deal with that cat? What the hell are those stupid things those dancer girls are throwing around?"

They tuned in and out of the show as it carried on playing, sometimes watching in silence with whoever was in the shed at any given minute, or all laughing as they picked apart the many, many holes in the show’s take on magic.

Bill was the last of her brothers to stop by the shed. Although the nearly empty bottle in his hand suggested he’d arrived at the Burrow some time ago.

“You two going to come out and see everyone?” he asked.

“Don’t need to,” Ginny said. “They’ve all been coming in here to see me.”

“You know they’re not actually coming to see you, right? That thing,” he tilted his head towards the screen, “is the real drawcard.”

“Lies,” Ginny whispered. “It’s all lies.”

Harry sniggered. Bill shook his head before asking her about the training camp she was heading to in a couple days’ time, successfully drawing her attention away from the screen.

Eventually, the last of their companions left and it was just the two of them, still curled together, still watching.

“It’s funny,” Harry said, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

“What is? This show?”

“No, the show’s kinda lame. I mean, it’s funny sitting here with you now, watching TV like this… I used to watch TV when I was a kid, when the Dursleys had it on. But I never watched it with anyone, if you get what I mean. Dudley would have mates over and they’d watch it together, but it’s obviously not something I ever did. It’s funny that it’s only now, now that I’m a wizard…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the sentence for Ginny to know what he meant. It’s only now that he’s a wizard that he’s able to do something so typically Muggle.

But Ginny didn’t think it was funny at all.

“Dudley never got to watch television with me though,” she said, wrapping her arms around him a little tighter, burying her head into his chest a little deeper. “So I’d say you got the better deal after all.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I did.”

And on the screen the story continued. A world somewhat like hers, with witches and wizards, but with a whole lot less magic.

[baegarrick]

Have you considered a Zukka soulmate AU where you feel the same pain as your soulmate does... I'm both very in love with and absolutely terrified of the concept [thinking emoji]

YES ok so there’s a post about it actually (i couldn't find it so its prob in my queue) that I’ve seen which was very funny (it involved katara going “sorry sokka we have to beat you up to slow down zuko” and advancing on him with a bat) + I think there’s actually a fic in the Zukka ao3 tag (that I haven’t actually read, I was just browsing it yesterday) 

I have some THOUGHTS that ended up being long bc im incapable of being succinct so here they are: 

I’m a little picky on soulmate aus bc so many of them just don’t follow common sense + take away the concept of free will (I like the idea of this person being your perfect match, but what you do about it is up to you, rather than the ones that are like “you’ll meet this person at this exact time which means that you WILL be in a place that you can meet them” which kinda takes away the concept of free will, you know??) 

+ soulmate aus are notoriously difficult to make long because the idea is that you’ll get along with them because they are meant to compliment you, so fics that have them argue for NO REASON don’t work bc... why??? if you want the soulmates to not get along at first, or NOT want to be soulmates, they have to have a pre-existing relationship that would make them not want to be soulmates..... like your soulmate being your ENEMY and the ENEMY OF YOUR PEOPLE and the PRINCE OF THE FIRE NATION or like...... u know, a water tribe peasant whos harboring the 112 year old avatar

ANYWAY-- I think this soulmate au concept has the potential to be a long fic IF you’re willing to do a show rewrite bc this is one of those ideas that would be difficult to figure out at first and also difficult to accept!! 

ok so, I'm thinking this would be from Sokka’s POV, bc we see him and Katara first and a majority of the show is centered on him and the Gaang. (alternatively, you could do switching POVs to also show Zuko)

you’d have to catalog every time Sokka gets hurt (+ severity) and also Zuko’s injuries (arguably more important from Sokka’s POV bc he feels them), but when Sokka gets hurt you have to throw in Zuko wincing from the injuries and subtly showing him reacting to the injuries in a way the reader notices but not Sokka (irony, anyone??)

[minor interruption: what are the rules for this universe? is it just pain you feel? is it as sharp as your soulmate’s real pain, or is it more of a phantom pain from the blow? does it fade, or does it linger? how severe does the pain have to be to feel it? feeling all their minor feelings would be incapacitating difficult, so im thinking it would have to just be actual pain, like if you were hit on the head and it throbs or if you get a paper cut, not just like minor friendly punch from a friend *cough* toph *cough*. also-- is it just pain or injuries too? if your soulmate is stabbed, do you bleed too?-- I’m thinking more the phantom pain bit. you feel the sharp sting of a paper cut, but when you look, nothing is there. did you imagine it? you suddenly feel a blow to your stomach and double over, but nothing touched you. your friends look at you weird, and you know your soulmate must be an asshole bc people punch them all the gd time!!]

ok so: sokka doesn't notice at first. the first fight he gets into with his soulmate is in the south pole, and he’s fighting a guy. he gets tossed into the snow, he can’t land a blow (and if the guy he's fighting feels anything he doesn’t show it, he’s a better soldier than that). but when he does!! the boomerang comes back and hits the guy on the back of the head, and he winces involuntarily. He thinks its a sympathy wince/pain bc he’s been hit by his own boomerang before. 

when zuko is covered in a shock of ice, sokka shivers. [ngl i don't remember all their injuries, its been like a month since my last rewatch]

(aang figures out real quick katara is his soulmate. he takes one look at this BEAUTIFUL OLDER WOMAN and has to pinch himself. she yelps and socks sokka, telling him to cut out pinching her. he does it three more times for posterity.)

it takes a couple of meetings of repeated exposure that Sokka finally gets it. he’s not stupid, he just never would have ever considered that his soulmate might be fire nation. he only realizes it after being paralyzed by june’s shirshu and seeing zuko wince in the same spot. he’s too paralyzed to react properly, but Zuko isn’t paralyzed, and he doesn’t seem to realize it (it takes him ages to figure it out, actually, bc he doesn’t pay any attention to Sokka at all, actually.)

he tells katara and aang, who laugh themselves silly. that is actually the funniest joke you have ever made, sokka, katara laughs. yeah, good one, sokka! aang says. sokka gets mad and asks if katara remembers when he was 12 and dad had just left and he stumbled into the snow screaming one day like he’d been burned, clutching his left eye, but there wasn’t a mark on him? how the phantom pain had faded quickly, but unlike all the other minor cuts and bruises he had felt his whole life, he remembered this viscerally. it hurts sometimes, for weeks after that. this sobers her up quickly. it had been hard to understand for her, because she had never felt a thing in her life from her soulmate before meeting aang. 

katara asks him to prove it, and sokka throws up his hands, because zuko isn't here, katara, can’t punch myself in the face to see if he reacts!!

but before he has a chance, zuko has an assassination attempt on his life. sokka wakes up screaming in the north pole, like the time when he was twelve, and the pain quickly fades, but like the burn on Zuko’s eye, this pain ebbs and flows and comes back. the healers can’t heal a phantom pain, and tell him that his soulmate has gotten into some serious trouble. (sokka tells them he wants to absolutely murder zuko which is difficult because someone else is trying to do it first!!!)

he doesn’t even have to punch zuko to show katara and aang that zuko’s his soulmate, the injuries that sokka had felt show that off pretty well, when he shows up at the pond with the moon and ocean spirits. but none of that even matters, because he kidnapped aang’s body, the moon is gone, and Sokka can’t even leave his stupid soulmate in the snow to die like he would very much like to!! after yue’s gone he doesn’t even want to think about zuko

ok im too lazy to go through the eps looking for a good place that zuko might realize sokka’s his soulmate, bc tbh he doesn’t pay too much attention to sokka (meanwhile, as their main enemy, zuko gets a lot of attention from sokka) 

its possible!! he doesn’t even notice until they’re at the western air temple. sokka gets a vote because zuko’s his soulmate. zuko’s just like. what. what? WHAT??????? and sokka’s like, oh good, he didn’t even notice!!! i’m taking back my vote!! I think we should throw him off the side of the temple!!!!!!

there's a lot of teasing from everyone. toph punches him a lot and says “its for zuko”. and then keeps doing it, loudly, when zuko’s at the air temple, embarrassed. (when toph is mad at sokka she punches zuko even when sokka’s right there. she wants them both to suffer.) 

katara struggles a lot during this whole thing with how often Aang gets into fights, but she grins and bears it because she’s strong!! she can handle it!! and she knows that aang likes her and would try to protect himself more (and therefore protect others less) if he knew how much it was hurting her. 

forgive me for this small essay i just have a lot of Thoughts all the time and not a lot of motivation to write real things

[klynn-stormz]

Fake Out

So yesterday pretty much sucked for me, I had a really bad anxiety attack that shut me down hard. Once I recovered a bit I started browsing tumblr for fluff to make me feel better (who doesn't love fluff??) and someone had reblogged this story on where a girl and her boyfriend started working at the same place, but didn't tell anyone that they were together. The people in the office starting shipping them and they just pretended they weren't dating, it was super cute. And someone asked for a Captain Swan fic, I wish I could find the post again, but it’s lost in my feed somewhere. Anyway I couldn't get this story out of my head so I wrote a Captain Swan Fake not-dating au. It’s not exactly like the story no office setting, but I hope it’s still good!

Summary:

Really Emma couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this. Afterall, she had been the one to insist that they keep things quiet till they knew where they were heading. The only issue now was how to tell her friends they were already dating.

AO3

Really Emma couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this. After all, she had been the one to insist that they keep things quiet till they knew where they were heading. Being that all her friends were a bunch of nosy know-it-alls, if they found out she was in a relationship they: would be all over her planning weddings (looking at you Mary Margaret), ask way to many details about her sex life (not that they already didn’t… Ruby), or threatening the man in question with a solid beating if he messed up (David hadn’t learned his lesson from the bruise she gave him after the last one). It could be considered an honest mistake, her friends would not see it that way, but it really could! She never intended to move in with the man after dating him for 6 months, but there she was kissing him and dragging him to the bedroom when he made the offer. And after 9 months she really should have told everyone because this was honestly the happiest she had ever been, and he told her he wanted to meet them too. But the thing is, she wanted the meeting to be special, she wanted to be able to introduce him to her friends as her significant other and have them not go for her throat for keeping if from them for so long! She was still working out the details when it happened.

She was at their usual bar, it was less crowed on a Tuesday night, but everyone seemed to need to blow off steam after stressful work days. Killian was working late anyway and Emma didn’t feel like being alone. She had a water in front of her, but it didn’t even take a drink for Mary Margaret to start talking about setting Emma up so she could have someone to cuddle with at night. All Emma could think about was cuddling up to Killian when she got home, maybe she’d be a little tipsy, she’d run her fingers through his hair and kiss him, maybe start kissing his throat where she could feel him swallow at her advances, he would definitely start to blush. Then her hand could move to those buttons, not enough buttoned yet to many at the same time, once his shirt was unbuttoned she could…

“Emma are you even paying attention?” Mary Margaret snapped her out of her fantasy with a pout. “I just want you to be happy! I know this really sweet guy at work that I think would be perfect for you, his name is Walsh and...”

“Really M’s I promise I am happy! There is nothing to worry about.” Emma was thinking about making an excuse so she could get home to her boyfriend (partner?), was he home from work yet?

“Oh, major hottie alert!” Ruby breathed. “Emma he is totally your type, I’ve seen him around a few times and he is definitely perfect for you.”

Even less in the mood for this nonsense than she was before, Emma was seconds from blurting that she didn’t need a guy because, she had the best one out there already. She wasn’t sure why she turned, but she certainly wasn’t expecting to see Killian there when she did. He had just sat down at a table with one of his friends, Robin she thought, and she couldn’t help but check him out. She’d had the early morning shift at her precinct, which meant leaving before him. He wore a blue button down, which those damn buttons, the top three of which were unbuttoned and showing his dark chest hair. She really wanted to walk over there and just lay one on him, maybe drag him out of the bar and home, hell he was so pretty.

“See, look how into him you are Emma!” Ruby cried, interrupting Emma’s ogling after noticing Emma’s flushed face. “We are totally going to make this happen for you.”

“No Ruby, wait!” Before Emma could get out much of a protest Ruby was up and across the room. She groaned and thumped her head onto the table, how was she going to explain this to them? She felt someone pat her head.

“Don’t worry Emma, we just want what’s best for you. And if it works out you can tell us all about it!” Mary Margaret had a dreamy look on her face, Emma would bet her salary that she was picturing a wedding.

“For the record, some of us don’t want to hear everything.” David interjected, her lieutenant at work and friend outside, he had taken on a brotherly role to Emma. She could always count on him to be there, it was nice to think about how she had made a little family out of these friends, then it only made her feel worse for keeping Killian a secret for so long.

“Emma, this is Killian and he wants to buy you a drink.” Ruby came back, dragging a grinning Killian behind her. “He owns a shipping company with his brother, he has not committed any crimes recently, loves blondes, and thinks you’re the most gorgeous women in the room. Be nice.”

“Pleasure to meet you Emma.” His smooth accent made it very hard for her to not just kiss him right there. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night.”

With that Ruby gathered up Mary Margaret and David, moving them to Killian’s former table with his friends. Luckily Killian’s friends knew about Emma, though she hadn’t officially met them yet, and they knew to keep it quiet for now. Emma was speechless, this was the first time they had been so bold in setting her up. Killian sat down across from her, still grinning like an adorable idiot. She knew her friends were watching them closely and she really wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“So love, that’s one way to introduce me to your friends. I have to admit, it is most definitely entertaining in the least.” Emma let out a small laugh at him before taking a quick drink.

“What do we do now? They’ve never actually thrown a guy at me before! And how am I supposed to introduce you to them now?” She was frustrated and amused, and having trouble focusing on much other than his stupid beautiful blue eyes.

“Well now, I suppose we have a few options, you could kiss me right here and now and make a statement. You could invite them over this weekend to our apartment that they still haven’t been to, and introduce me properly. Or, we could have a little fun.” He raised one eyebrow at her, was that a challenge? “That is if you aren’t scared.” Yep, that was a challenge.

“What do you mean have some fun?” She questioned, any prank or joke she played on her friends might make them less mad at her for keeping this from them for so long.

“Well, for the next few weeks we could still keep it a secret, but instead of never running into each other…” He paused and let her follow his train of thought. She smiled as she finished it.

“We could start running into each other everywhere, Ruby and Mary Margaret are more determined for me to ‘settle down’ than I thought. If they see us running into each other and flirting, they’ll try harder to get us together, and maybe, just maybe, they won’t kill me when I tell them we’ve been dating for 9 months?”

“Exactly Swan, though from what I’ve heard, I doubt your David will be as receptive to me anyway. We could have a small dinner, invite your friends and mine, and let them know we’re together? However, if you aren’t ready, Swan, that’s okay. We can wait however long you want.” Her heart had definitely melted into a puddle, she was with the sweetest man alive.

“Let’s do it.”

---

He had kissed her hand when he said goodbye at the bar, leaving her in the capable hands of David to get her back to their place, after all leaving the bar with a stranger when she was out with friends was not something Emma Swan would normally do. He was waiting for her when she did get home, at some point during everything she has been fantasizing about and falling asleep after, she realized that he was her person, her one. She was in this for the long haul, and so was he.

Shopping for girl’s night two days later was their second meet of this ridiculous game. Ruby was demanding they make homemade pizza rolls, and Mary Margaret insisting they needed every kind of chocolate in the candy aisle. Pushing her cart along the dairy aisle looking for the right cheese, she bumped someone hard enough to make them grunt and fall back a few steps.

“I’m so sorry,” She began to exclaim, only to look up and find her blue-eyed boyfriend smiling at her. “Oh you.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret chastised.

“It’s no problem love. Feel free to crash into me any time.” His wink sent flutters through her.

“Um, Killian right?” Emma fumbled, she was so not good at this acting thing, how had she gone so long without anyone figuring out she was secretly dating someone?

“Aye love, by the uniform I would deduce you are one of Boston’s finest?” Pointing out that she was still wearing her uniform. Luckily, she’d had a change of clothes in the car, but she’d gone straight from work to pick up M’s and Ruby.

“Yeah, I’ve been in it way to long today, polyester is not something I’d wear all day if I had the chance.” Oh hell she was an idiot, is she really talking about fabric materials with him. She’s lucky she already has him, because she cannot flirt worth a damn anymore. By the quirk up in his eyebrow and sparkle in his eye he was enjoying this way too much.

“I assure you love; your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear. You do but quite the figure in that uniform.” Why could he still flirt so well? It wasn’t fair that it still affected her so much.

“Sure buddy, well nice to see you. I better get back to shopping.” She rolled her eyes and moved her cart around him, his eyes tracking her all the way.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Ruby and Mary Margaret squealed. Talking about fate and soul mates and all sorts of things that Emma was certain were true with Killian, but she wasn’t about to tell them that yet. Girl’s night was a hit, as usual, they watched corny chick flicks and ate way too much junk food. By the end of the night Emma dragged herself home into bed, she was exhausted. Killian was mostly asleep when she returned, but as soon as she was in bed he turned and pulled her into his arms. Murmuring that he loved her and to get some rest. How was it possible she could be this happy, what were her reasons for keeping him from her friends? She did have to admit this not dating prank was pretty fun. In a few weeks everyone would know and she could hold his hand in public. She fell asleep with that happy thought in her head.

---

The next meeting surprised her, out of every possibility in the world, she would never have seen Killian have a drink with David as one of them. After running home to change, she’d made her way to the bar, a little grumpy that her Friday night date night with Killian had been put on hold, stupid paperwork that needed to be finished. Killian assured her that it would be fine, he had run into an acquaintance and they invited him out for a drink anyway. Nothing he said had prepared her for the sight of him talking and laughing at a table with David of all people. David caught her eye and waved her over.

“Emma! Fancy seeing you here, I believe you remember Killian. The man Ruby not so subtly threw at you the other night.” David was in a good mood, a slight rosy hue to his face tipping her off that he’d a few drinks.

“Right, hi Killian.” She glanced at him. “How did you to end up here?”

“Well Dave here happened to be searching for,” He winced and amended. “Out shopping, when I ran into him. We got to talking and he invited me for a beer.”

“Wow that’s some coincidence.” Killian knew what she was asking, did he purposely run into him.

“I assure you, I never expected I’d see Dave outside of the bar.” His voice was serious and truthful. So much so that she looked at David to make sure he hadn’t caught the tone. He was off in his own world, smiling proudly at nothing.

“Huh, so what were you shopping Killian?” Where could they have run into each other.

“I was looking for a gift for my little niece, she’s turning three soon.” Emma raised her brows at David questioningly now.

“And what were you shopping for David?” She was starting to put the pieces together, Mary Margaret not drinking, the constant need for chocolate.

“I’m gonna be a Dad!” David blurted, then immediately cringed. “Dang it, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, M&M is gonna be so sad.”

His little nickname for her made Emma grin, he only called her that was he was tipsy or drunk.

“Congrats LT,” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure M’s will be to excited that people know to be sad you told anyone; you know she can’t keep a secret anyway. I’m surprised she didn’t say anything at girl’s night.”

“Had to wait for the doctor’s appointment today, I was looking for a stuffed animal to give her as a present after.” He was so sweet; David was going to be a great dad.

“Thought we had to celebrate so Dave and I went out for drinks.” Killian smiled and clapped David on the back.

“He’s not so bad when he’s not being thrown at you.” David declared, finishing off his drink.

“High praise.” Emma commented.

“I should be getting you home to your loving wife David, I’m sure she’s done gushing to her parents and is missing you. I did promise I wouldn’t keep you out to late.” Killian helped David stand, while asking the waitress for a bottle of water for his new friend.

“Emma, you come to, he can take you home too.” David announced with a finality that had Emma snickering.

“Of course, your Majesty, how can I refuse such an offer.” Emma responded graciously.

Killian led David into a cab, Emma following close behind, got in after him then gestured for Emma to get in as well. After rambling off David’s address (it took him a few tries to remember it, but Emma was there to help), David settled back talking about how he was going to be a dad. Emma took a chance that David was not paying attention and leaned a little bit into Kilian’s side. His hand surreptitiously brushed her thigh. There was a tension in the cab Emma was sure David was oblivious too. When the dropped him off, David got out of the car and stared at Killian with narrowed eyes.

“I expect you to be a gentleman in getting her home.” He demanded, still slightly swaying from the drinks.

“I assure you Dave, I am always a gentleman.” Killian responded, crossing his heart with a finger.

The cab moved on, Emma having given the address, and the tension stayed until the end of the street. The moment they turned the corner Killian was pulling her onto his lap and kissing her soundly. They spent the next 10 minutes of the cab ride making out, as soon as the cab stopped, they paid and headed up to their home.

“Always a gentleman huh?” Emma commented. “I guess that means just sleeping tonight.”

“Love, a gentleman simply doesn’t kiss and tell, it doesn’t mean I don’t kiss at all.” He swept her into his arms and headed to the bedroom with her laughter ringing through the hall.

---

The next morning David had called a friend meeting at Granny’s to make the official announcement. Emma kissed Killian on her way out, telling him where she would be. As they ate breakfast and gushed over the news, David commented on how nice Killian was to get both of them home. Emma didn’t have the heart to point out that she hadn’t had a drink and could have easily gotten herself home, that would raise questions that couldn’t be answered by ‘I wanted to make out in a cab with my boyfriend’. Ruby and Mary Margaret were delighted that Emma had seen Killian again.

“He’s becoming a part of the group. It’s only a matter of time before you get together.” Ruby insisted at one point.

So when Killian walked into the diner, all of her friends insisted it was fate and David had even piped in.

“He did get us home Emma, it’s only fair to treat him to lunch to thank him.”

“Well go and ask him David, don’t be shy.” Emma snarked at him, trying to hide her smile. David rolled his eyes and insisted she go and talk to him.

“Hey you.” She walked up to him. He turned and gave her a brilliant grin; he was wearing her favorite leather jacket of his, it was the jacket he had been wearing when she had first kissed him. Grabbing it and hauling him to her lips. She wouldn’t mind a repeat right now, wait no, public, they were in public.

“Swan! Fancy meeting you here love.”

“Yeah listen, my friends figured it was only fair to ask you to lunch since you made sure I got home alright last night.” He raised his brow at that.

“Well don’t stand on ceremony love, no need to use your friends as an excuse when you want to get close to me.” She rolled her eyes.

“So lunch? I know a place by the docks that is great. Jacies Place?” It was a frequent lunch spot of theirs.

“I’ll see you there at 1 then?” At her affirmation, he grabbed his coffee order and kissed her hand before leaving.

Making her way back to her friends, they all demanded details. Once she confirmed lunch with him, Mary Margaret got all weepy eyed. She quickly changed the subject back to the baby, thoughts wandering to her lunch date with her boyfriend later that afternoon.

---

They had developed a habit of running into each other more often that they meant too. Now that they weren’t as concerned with trying not to be seen together, it was much easier to be out and about and simply run into the other. Her friends were now used to seeing him and still insisting he was the one for her, not that she disagreed. Killian flirted with her every chance he got and it only made her love him more. Finally, nearly three months after they started this game, she was ready to make the next step. Their anniversary was coming up in two weeks, and she really wanted to be able to celebrate that out in the open. When she brought up the idea of the dinner party Killian had picked her up and spun her around. He was ready to let the world know he loved Emma Swan, hopefully her friends would let her live long enough to have that happen. Broaching the idea of a dinner at her apartment had been surprisingly easy, they had been dying to see it since she moved in almost 6 months ago, but didn’t want to push her. The date was set for the next Saturday, and Emma went into full panic mode.

Killian had introduced her to his friends officially the week before at Robin’s birthday party. She had gotten along with everyone well, and was praying to any and every god out there that her dinner would go just as well. Of course, Killian hadn’t kept her a secret for a year just never formally introduced her, so they had that going for them at the party at least. Meeting his brother, Liam, had been terrifying, but he wasn’t as scary as Emma had thought. Maybe a bit put out and Killian was ‘her dirty little secret’ as he so eloquently put it, but not mean. Killian had been able to shut that down right away and after bonding with Liam’s wife, Elsa, it was hard for him not to like her anymore. Now she just needed this dinner to go well.

Killian was still in the bedroom getting ready when the doorbell rang. Emma’s heart may have stopped for a moment, but she answered the door and let all three of them in. The oo’d and ah’d over her apartment, set down the food they had brought and settled into the living room to chat while the chicken finished cooking.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you bought something so big.” Mary Margaret commented. “I would have thought with just you it would be a studio apartment.”

“It just seemed like the perfect place, but there is another reason.” Emma smiled and took a deep breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all something…”

Before she could say anything, the bedroom door opened in the hall and footsteps came towards them. She could see the confusion then speculation in her friend’s eye’s, then the shock (David) and excitement (Mary Margaret and Ruby) in their eye’s when Killian rounded the corner.

“I knew it!” Ruby cried, jumping up and down.

“Emma, you didn’t tell us you were together now!” Mary Margaret looked delighted.

“Wait how long has this been going on?” David tried to interrupt, but Ruby and M’s were on a roll.

“I bet it happened after girl’s night.” Ruby declared.

“No definitely after their lunch date!” Mary Margaret corrected.

Emma let them go on a little bit longer then cleared her throat. Killian sat down on the arm of the chair she was sitting in, putting one arm around her shoulders for support. Once she had everyone’s attention she continued.

“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, and honestly I didn’t mean for it to go on for so long without telling you. I just wanted to be sure there was something there before I said anything, but then I got caught up in everything and time just kept moving. I didn’t want another Neal fiasco, you know? I really wanted to take my time and make sure we worked well together, and I can’t believe I didn’t tell you and I want to apologize because…” She was rambling, she was definitely rambling. Killian squeezed her should to comfort her. Her friends were staring at her confused, though it seemed David was putting the pieces together faster than the other two, a suspicious gleam in his eye giving him away.

“Okay, how long have you two been together.” He asked.

“A Year, well almost a year. It will be a year in two weeks. I mean one week and 3 days really so there’s that. And we are living together, like my lease ended and his did and we moved in together. That happened six months ago, and I really didn’t expect that to happen. I mean I wasn’t going to move in with him after only six months! But then he asked, and how was I supposed to say no? I love him and wanted to be with him all the time, so I said yes. That’s also when I told him I love him, I’m pretty sure he knew way before I did that, I was in love with him. He told me at 3 months, I definitely was counting, and I couldn’t say it back, but then he asked me to move in with him and I said yes and that I loved him. So, we moved in together, and we’re thinking of getting a cat or a dog, still arguing on that. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just so nervous, though that’s no excuse. And I’m in love with him and pretty sure that I’m going to be for the rest of my life.” She took a deep breath after she finished, trying to catch her breath. Did she say that all in one breath? Might explain why she could hear her heart beat drumming in her ears. A glance up at Killian calmed her, he was smiling at her so tenderly, love clear in his eyes.

“And I’ll be in love with you for the rest of my live Emma.” He pressed a soft kiss to her head and she turned back to her friends. They all gaped at her, their eyes nearly bugging out. David was the first to recover.

“A year?” He asked slowly. “You’ve been dating a whole year?”

“Eleven months, two weeks and four days.” Killian confirmed.

“How?” Mary Margaret asked, still speechless.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL US?” Ruby practically screamed.

Emma winced, as she opened her mouth to explain she thought it might be better to give them a few more minutes. The oven timer sounded and she rushed up to check on it before Killian could. Dinner was ready. She called for them to eat, once they were seated, she asked what questions they had. They fired them at her as quickly as they could. Why wait so long to tell them? How did they meet? Why did they pretend they hadn’t met at the bar?

“It wasn’t really the plan,” Emma admitted. “I had been planning on sitting you down and telling you, but then you basically threw him at me and he played along, and it was fun. I really didn’t mean to keep it from you for so long.” Ruby stared at her hard.

“You were hoping we would find it funny and be less mad at you for keeping it from us.” She stated. Emma blinked in surprise.

“How did you know?” She questioned.

“Please, I’ve known you for years. I may have been oblivious to you being in a relationship, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see your reasoning.” Emma looked up hopefully.

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh no, we are going to hold this over your head for the rest of time. You can start by hosting girl’s night for the next year at least. We’ll see how it goes from there.” Ruby grinned, Mary Margaret nodded with her, then reached across the table for Emma’s hand.

“And we can admit that maybe we pushed a little bit harder than we should have on the whole relationship thing.” Mary Margaret acknowledged.

“We really are happy for you, Emma.”

Killian smiled at her, and she smiled back, everything was perfect now.

“I am too.”

[illwork4anime]

Excerpt from Done with Love Ch 4

Scene: Secret in the Flower Shop / Shogi with Shikamaru

Just sharing some of my favorite scenes from my In-Progress fic! Hope you guys enjoy!

Done With Love - Ch 4 [FF | AO3]

Ships: Hints of Shikasaku

Scene Summary: For Sakura’s genjutsu training, she must memorize details about the world around her in an artistic way rather than analytically. However, while at the flower shop, Ino spills a secret that has Sakura looking at Shikamaru in a new light.

Sakura is trying to see the world in a new light, with the eye of an artist rather than a scientist. It's going horribly.

She spent an hour yesterday browsing through flowers and journaling their details. How Violet petals transition from yellow to white to purple, how the textures of the petal were softer than smooth stems and the difference between the smell of a rose and a lily. Somehow the journal still came off more as a botanical case study than art.

It wasn't a total waste though. She'd got to spend some time with Ino at the Yamanaka flower shop.

"So, how's it going with Shika-ma-ru?" She asks, drawing out the last two syllables in his name. Sakura rolls her eyes, glancing up from the Violets.

"Fine, I guess. We haven't killed each other yet." She answers with a shrug.

"Sounds like sexual tension to me," Ino sings, and then adds, "If you guys just slept together, you'd get along so much better."

Sakura scoffs, "Gross, Ino-pig."

"Come on, you don't think Shikamaru's a little cute in a bookish kind of way?" Ino asks.

"We're just friends, Ino. I've never thought of him like that." Sakura answers, not looking up from her flowers this time.

"Yeah, right. I saw you guys at that restaurant, and you were way to cozy to just be friends." Ino argues, leaning over the counter.

"What's your deal with him, Ino?" Sakura says, frustrated. "Are you jealous or something? I feel like you're reading way too into this."

"Me? Jealous?" She scoffs, but Sakura narrows her eyes at her.

"Yeah, I think so." Sakura says. Ino shakes her head a few times. "I mean, what was with the whole 'Shikamaru prefers blondes' comment? Don't try telling me that wasn't referring to yourself."

Ino's mouth drops open. "Forehead! Why do you have to remember everything?" She pouts and answers, "So Shikamaru had a little crush on me when we were genin, but that was like so long ago. And we only kissed like one time and it doesn't even really count since he didn't use tongue."

"Wait, seriously?" Sakura abandons her flowerpot and strides over to the counter where Ino is leaning. "Why am I just hearing about this now?"

Ino waves a hand. "Because it was hardly a blip on the radar. Plus, it was when we were still fighting over Sasuke, so it's not like we talked ever."

"That's a huge blip! You kissed your teammate." Sakura presses. "Oh my god, Ino, was that you're first kiss?"

"So, what if it was?" Ino says defensively.

"Ino!" Sakura shrieks.

"There have been many more and many better since then. Trust me." Ino says.

"God, isn't it awkward working with him now?" She asks, imagining if she'd ever kissed Naruto and then had to face him every day for training or missions. She shudders.

"Not really. It was just a moment and we both know it. Sometimes it's better to get something like that out of your system. What can I say?" Ino shrugs. "It's not like we'd ever have something come out of it. The Yamanaka, Nara and Akimichi clans aren't allowed to have relationships anyway. Something about preserving the Kekkei Genkai."

She suddenly feels bad for Ino. No one should be able to tell you who to love. What if she had really loved Shikamaru and been forced apart?

"Don't give me that look, forehead," Ino says after glancing at the pity on Sakura's face. "I mean, sure, at the time it was a whole 'star-crossed lovers' feel, but I am like so over that. We never would have worked out anyway."

Sakura nods, feeling a little better. Until she remembers Choji, who seems to not be over it at all.

"I'd never date a teammate anyway, even if we were allowed. That's just too much overlap between work and play." Ino finishes with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

Poor, poor Choji.

"That reminds me," Ino recalls, "Did you really mean what you said about being done with Sasuke?" Giving her a probing look.

Sakura prickles, "Yes, is that really such a surprise?"

Ino looks at her like she's grown a second head, "Well, yeah! Your whole life was Sasuke and then out of nowhere you're 'over him'." Adding air quotes.

"Not just him. I'm done with relationships in general." Sakura responds.

"That I don't believe for a second." Ino states.

"Well it's true." Sakura insists, "I'm way too busy for a relationship anyway. I've got a lot riding on this training and I won't put myself on hold again for some guy who's probably just going to end up hurting me when it's all said and done."

"You're so cynical." Ino says judgmentally. "Not everyone has the same emotional baggage as Sasuke. You can't base your whole love life off him."

"It's not about him. It's about me, for once." Sakura counters, turning her nose up before saying, "I'm focusing on myself for a while."

"Boo," Ino heckles, "That's what they all say and its never true."

Sakura huffs, and returns to her journaling, knowing Ino was way too stubborn to quit. Why bother even trying to convince her otherwise?

***

Now, as she's sitting across from Shikamaru at the shogi board in Nara forest, the combination of Ino's confession and trying to catalog everything she looks at has her studying Shikamaru too closely. Distracting herself by observing the wood grain in the shogi board and the shine of the grass only goes so far. Before long she's back to memorizing the color of his cheeks in the sun or suppressing a mental picture him and Ino in a lip lock behind Training Ground 5.

She doesn't realize she'd been staring at him until he gruffly says, "You're move." His eyes are cast to the side, not meeting hers and his cheeks are a little pink.

"Sorry," She says, quickly returning to the game.

Compared to when she started playing, she was leaps ahead now. She hadn't won any games yet, but she'd come close, proof that she was learning. Although she'd never admit it to him, Shikamaru was right about this game being helpful. It made her think about everything more strategically and had really helped her out in her spars with Team Gai.

She selects her move quickly and sits back, chin resting in her hand again waiting for his turn.

She tries to focus on the board and plan, but her gaze gravitates to him again. His eyebrows are drawn together in the familiar way, and she knows his eyes are looking 20 moves into the future. His eyes are a clear, warm brown, just lighter than the boarder of the shogi board. Something about them is sharp despite the soft shade. Maybe the shape or the quickness in their movement?

Either way, she was starting to see what Ino described as 'bookishly cute'. If she'd seen his face on a stranger, she wouldn't look twice. Now after spending so much time with him, his features meld into something so familiar and so Shikamaru, she can't help but feel he's actually quite handsome. She'd never noticed before.

The conflicting sharp cheek bones and jaw line against the soft tones of his skin and eyes were balanced somehow. The way his lips are perpetually turned down at the corners was somehow endearing after a while. Even his chocolate colored ponytail she notices actually has streaks of chestnut that come out in the sunlight as the breeze blows it. Alone, each feature is plain, forgettable, but somehow together they come alive in a way that had her shoulders relaxing and her chest feeling light. Looking at him felt natural, like coming home after a long day. It felt safe.

"What?" He says softly, finally meeting her gaze. "You're staring,"

He's blushing again and looks down at the shogi board a moment later, eyes glued to a single piece.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just a little tired today. My mind keeps wandering." She lies, turning her attention back to the table. The truth about her assignment and Ino's confession are too embarrassing to share. Taking a few moments to refocus on the game, she remembers her strategy again, and makes her move. It's a good one.

Shikamaru makes a disapproving 'tsk', scowling in a way that's more of a pout for him. "I was hoping you wouldn't do that." He mumbles, crossing his arms.

She tries to suppress the smile rising to her face. One, she's insanely proud that she's getting good enough to be frustrating. Two, something about the unguarded expression on his face is just so cute.

She should feel horror at the thought, but her chest is just light. Now that she's seen it, she can't unsee it. Her eyes bounce between the board and him, guessing at what move he could be planning and reading each expression as they flit across his face.

'I could move that there,' one seems to say, 'but then…that won't work' another counters.

She lets out a quiet laugh through her nose, accidentally drawing his attention again.

"What?" He says a little more forcefully this time.

"Nothing, you're just so cute when you're concentrating." The truth is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and Shikamaru goes bright red, mouth wobbling between his pout and a smile and his eyes drop to the board again. Sakura grins.

"You're making fun of me," He huffs, mouth finally settling into to pout.

"Maybe," she says impishly. Shikamaru grumbles something sounding like 'troublesome' under his breath, and makes his move, cheeks still pink. He never really recovers, and for the first time its Sakura who wins.

He accuses her of cheating, but Sakura insists it still counts.

[staystrange]

a masterful melody

Schitt’s Creek • Patrick Brewer / David Rose Rating: T • ~2k words • ao3

"What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

Patrick looks appalled for a second before the smirk returns. “Are you kidding me? First of all, it’s been over a month since the last one, and didn’t you see that improv troupe? And Bob’s poetry? I should probably put them towards the beginning of the setlist next time, so that everyone is sober enough to really appreciate their impeccable performances.”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

-or-

Rose Apothecary hosts its second open mic night.

The song that Patrick sings to David is Out of My League by Stephen Speaks, which I would argue is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. The title of this fic, obviously, also comes from that song, though 2018 me really screwed 2020 me over by naming another fic for a completely different fandom after this song as well.

A week after David and Patrick say “I love you” to each other for the first time, Patrick brings up the idea of a second open mic night.

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday; the midday rush is behind them, and David and Patrick are alone in the store for the first time since they opened the doors that morning. Word of the limited restock of their most popular soap must have spread since they sold the first one to Jocelyn yesterday.

David’s automatic reaction is no, absolutely not. Heck, he barely knows how Patrick had managed to talk him into agreeing to the first open mic night, though he suspects it might have had something to do with that look that Patrick always got in his eyes when he looked at David, the one that David was absolutely powerless against. It also might have had something to do with the amount of kissing they did after David agreed, effectively preventing him from changing his mind. He had, of course, still been skeptical, especially when Patrick walked into the store with a license and everything was suddenly very official, but once Patrick stood onstage and opened his mouth and that came out, even David had to admit he saw the appeal of these things.

“Come on, David,” Patrick says now, smirking as if he knows that since the first open mic night went so well for both the store and their relationship, there’s no way David can say no.

David refuses to let him win that easily, though. “Hmm, I don’t know. What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

Patrick looks appalled for a second before the smirk returns. “Are you kidding me? First of all, it’s been over a month since the last one, and didn’t you see that improv troupe? And Bob’s poetry? I should probably put them towards the beginning of the setlist next time, so that everyone is sober enough to really appreciate their impeccable performances.”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

“Ooh, I know, I should give my time slot over to Alexis so she can sing that song from her reality show — what was it called again?”

“A Little Bit Alexis,” David mutters, rolling his eyes. “And no, don’t you dare, you were by far the best performer up there that night. In fact, I think we should just nix the open mic night idea and just have you perform solo instead.” David takes a step closer to Patrick and rests his hand on Patrick’s shoulder; Patrick’s smirk melts into a smile, and David knows he’s a goner. “Fine, I guess we can have another open mic night, but only if you sing to me again.”

David honestly can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.

“I don’t know, David, I can’t make any promises. What if two improv troupes show up this time? I might have to give up my time to them,” Patrick teases, and David just shakes his head with a soft smile, pulling Patrick in for a kiss.

They’re interrupted by the sound of the bell and the door opening, and David reluctantly pulls away, turning to greet the customer as Patrick returns to the counter and the spreadsheet he has open on the computer.

An hour or so later, David tells Patrick that he’s running across the street to the café for a caffeine boost, but he really goes to see Ronnie to get another license for the open mic night on Friday. He can’t help but feel a burst of nervous energy as Ronnie hands him the warm, freshly printed piece of paper, but the look of happy surprise on Patrick’s face when David returns to the store and slides it onto the counter makes it all worth it. And besides, he has a precedent now, something to prove to his anxious mind that he has no reason to fear and every reason to look forward to Friday night.

———

Friday evening arrives in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Patrick leaves right at five to get his guitar from Ray’s house, leaving David behind in the store to set out the wine and cheese and hang up the fairy lights that he only lets Patrick hang in their store for open mic night. When he’s finished and the first guests start arriving, David’s surprised to find that the nerves he anticipated, the ones that almost led him to ask his mother to pull the fire alarm as Patrick publicly dedicated his performance of Tina Turner’s The Best to him, are nowhere to be found. Patrick has yet to return with the acoustic guitar, so David allows himself a smile, hoping that Alexis, who has just walked in with Ted, won’t notice and tease him mercilessly for it.

By the time Patrick returns (turns out, he’d also showered, changed, and stopped at the bakery in Elmdale to pick up a few slices of David’s favorite pie for them to share later), Rose Apothecary is filled with Schitt’s Creek natives and even some people from neighboring towns. People chat excitedly as they fill up on wine and browse the products that David had triple-checked were perfectly organized before they reopened the store for the event. With the pie safely stored in the back room and out of sight, Patrick leans back against the counter next to David, handing him a glass of rosé. “Don’t drink more than this until I’m done singing,” Patrick says. “I want you to remember this.”

“I thought you were giving up your performance time to Alexis, or another improv troupe,” David teases, taking a sip. Patrick chuckles. “I’m kidding, of course. I won’t, I promise.” He takes another sip. “This is very good rosé, though.”

“Glad to hear you approve. I figured this was a good time to test run the rosé that we just got from that new vendor before we start selling it in the store next week.”

David hums in approval, setting the plastic wine glass down on the counter before nodding to the stage. “I think they’re ready for you,” he says quietly.

Patrick glances up toward the back of the store and nods in agreement. He leans in to kiss David quickly before walking up to the stage with his guitar on his back, tapping on the mic to get everyone’s attention. David cringes, but allows himself to relax as Patrick plugs in his guitar and strums out a chord.

“Hi everyone! Welcome to Rose Apothecary’s second open mic night!” The audience cheers, quieting down a few moments later as Patrick lowers the mic stand a little bit to fit his height. “I’m Patrick Brewer, and I will once again be your host for the evening.” He stops, glancing down to adjust the capo on his guitar. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, David Rose.” Unlike last time, David doesn’t feel the need to run to the back room; instead, he smiles sheepishly and waves to the crowd before looking back at Patrick, who catches his eye and mouths “I love you” before finger-picking the opening notes.

It’s your hair and your eyes today That just simply take me away And the feeling that I’m falling further in love Makes me shiver, but in a good way

David is so caught up in the lyrics and the fact that Patrick is singing them to him in public in front of the entire town that he barely registers the fact that he recognizes the melody, though he’s not sure where he knows it from.

All the times I have sat and stared As you thoughtfully thumb through your hair And you purse your lips, bat your eyes, and you play with me Sitting there, slack-jawed and nothing to say

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

David feels tears forming in his eyes and quickly looks away from Patrick, his eyes finding Alexis across the room. Her eyes are wide as she glances between Patrick and David and mouths “oh my God” to him when she notices that he’s looking at her. This only encourages the tears to start falling, so he quickly turns back to look at Patrick, blinking them away as best as he can as a crooked smile settles on his lips.

It’s a masterful melody When you call out my name to me As the world spins around you You laugh, roll your eyes And I feel like I’m falling but it’s no surprise

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause it’s frightening to be swimming in this strange sea But I’d rather be here than on land Yes, you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

He thinks that nothing could ever surpass The Best for him, but he’d be lying if he said this didn’t come close.

The roars from the crowd snap David back to reality (Stevie’s cheers are somehow the loudest; David can tell she’s had a little bit too much wine already and makes a mental note to bring her a glass of water) as the last notes ring out. Patrick takes a modest bow and mumbles “thank you” into the mic, his eyes never moving from David’s.

After introducing the next act (Ted, with an entire set of punny jokes prepared), Patrick unplugs the guitar and walks back over to David, resting his hands on David’s hips and tilting his head up to kiss him. When they break apart, Patrick leans his forehead against David’s for a moment before turning around to rest his back against the counter, his right arm in its usual place around David’s waist. They watch the rest of the show from there, and despite all of Ted’s puns being eyeroll-worthy, the smile never leaves David’s face.

———

David doesn’t figure out where he knows the song from until he hears Patrick humming it once everyone’s gone as they stack chairs and rearrange the store so it’s ready for the next day’s customers.

“Oh my gosh, you’ve been humming that song all week, haven’t you? That’s where I know it from, right?”

Patrick smiles, setting a stack of chairs against the wall. “I was wondering if you’d notice. I’ve wanted to play this song for you for weeks but I was saving it for another open mic night.”

“I’m so glad you did but I also kind of wish you didn’t because now that I’ve heard you sing it, the original singer will never be able to compare. I feel bad for him a little bit.”

Patrick laughs. “You know, every time the original lyrics said ‘she’ and ‘her,’ I had to change them to ‘you’ and ‘your’ so I could sing the song to you and about you.”

“Did you actually?” David asks.

“Yeah, wanna hear?” Patrick steps away from the stacked chairs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing play on the song and setting it down on the counter.

“Okay, first of all, it sounds so gorgeous on piano, but overall your version is so much better.” David says after a minute, pausing the song and handing the phone back to Patrick. “You’ll have to sing it again for me sometime.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Patrick not-so-subtly glances down at David’s lips, and David obliges, kissing Patrick more deeply than he has all night, now that they finally have the store to themselves again.

“Ready for pie?” Patrick asks after a moment, breathless from the kiss.

David grins. “Fuck yes.”

[whumpernickel]

witcher fic number two! also on ao3

still not super confident in my writing, but im a lot happier with this one than with the first.

so here, have some jaskier with the flu and geralt trying not to confront his own emotions.

It had been four hours since Jaskier had last spoken - or at least since he’d said anything more than “shit” for tripping over his own feet - and Geralt was beginning to worry.

Not worry. Geralt didn’t worry, and especially not about Jaskier who was a grown man and whose prolonged, uninterrupted silences were no one’s business but his own. But this was the first nice day after a miserable stretch of cold, dreary, drizzly ones, and Jaskier, hopeless romantic though he was, hadn’t said or sung a word about the frolicking birds or the dancing sunlight or whatever his personification of the hour was.

And Geralt was on edge – that's what he was. Anything out of the ordinary had him like this, because, more often than not, out-of-the-ordinary meant imminent peril. Silence was horribly out of the ordinary for his usually animated, usually singing, usually noisy shadow. The last full sentence he’d heard Jaskier say was, “She’s still mad at you for making us travel in the rain all day yesterday, and, frankly, I don’t blame her,” which Geralt had all but guffawed at him for, for presuming he knew Geralt’s mare better than he did.

So, when Roach headbutted Geralt once again, catching him off-guard and nearly tumbling him headlong into the rain-sodden road, Geralt eyed Jaskier expectantly, bracing for insufferable levels of I-told-you-so smugness and deepening his frown when none was forthcoming. He was surprised to find the tiniest itch of disappointment at this lack of banter, but more prevalent than that was his mounting concern. Something was obviously wrong, and there was a reason that Jaskier wasn’t telling him.

Jaskier flinched as if startled when he caught the sour look directed at him. He scowled to match it, clearly clueless as to why they were scowling at each other, but lending admirable commitment to the act, nonetheless.

"What?" he croaked.

"...You're quiet."

Somehow worse than a smug Jaskier was this halfheartedly-smug one that emerged as he responded:

"You sound disappointed-"

"I'm not."

Geralt cringed inwardly at how quickly the denial came out, but Jaskier barely glanced up at his response. He seemed more than content to take Geralt at his word, for once.

"Wonderful," he said, too cheerful, "then neither of us will mind if it remains that way."

It was an enthusiastic invitation to leave it the fuck alone, but Geralt was nothing if not contrary. He found his attention drawn to Jaskier and his unsettling Jaskier-less-ness even more, now that he knew Jaskier was avoiding it. Every little thing stole his focus: a stumble, there, when Jaskier normally would have been sure-footed on even ground; a shiver, here, when the midday sun ought to have been enough to banish any lingering morning chill.

For the thirtieth time in half-as-many minutes, Geralt's eyes darted back to his quiet travel-companion, and apparently this was just one glance too many.

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh and stopped in his tracks. He didn't say anything, but there was a clear and demanding What? in the hands-on-hips posture and dead-eyed annoyance he aimed at Geralt.

Geralt stopped, too. He frowned at Jaskier critically – appraisingly – and watched as Jaskier's attitude from moments before shrunk back within him, the bard’s arms folding over his chest in an attempt to maintain his image of stubborn petulance while also making himself a lesser target. It wasn't working.

Geralt hadn't been entirely oblivious to Jaskier's condition - he could never completely drown out his constant presence, however hard he tried - and so he'd been noticing (and disregarding) little things all throughout the day: the tired bowing of Jaskier's back and shoulders when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, the uncharacteristic irritability in his normally-playful jabs, the purposeful shallow breathing in an attempt to avoid coughs that occasionally slipped past anyway, the way the pallor to his skin had worsened whenever the trail steepened or whenever their unusually-minimalist conversation had shifted to food, the stagnant scent of cold-sweat and stress underlying Jaskier's usual familiar one whenever he stepped into Geralt's personal space and the slightly elevated heat radiating off of him along with it, the shudders intermittently jolting his shoulders in spite of the warmth of the day, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes that Geralt was sure hadn’t been so stark just a day ago.

He'd dismissed all of this in favor of basking in rare, blissful silence. But the details had continued compiling in some recess of his mind, building up into a great, nagging, restless-leg kind of feeling that he could no longer ignore.

"Are you ill?" Geralt finally asked.

"Pardon?"

Geralt waited sternly for his answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, then hiked his lute higher onto his shoulder and resumed their trek.

"I'm not ill," he said, the harsh crack in his voice on the word "ill" belying his stalwart conviction. "And since when would it matter?"

"It matters when we run into the beast, and I have to waste precious time and concentration saving your useless arse because you're delirious from fever."

It came out a little harsher than Geralt intended – well, no, it came out exactly as harsh as Geralt had intended, but much harsher than he wanted, and he found himself frustrated not for the first time at how often his intentions and desires so poorly aligned. Jaskier kept his attention forward, but Geralt still saw a strange look overtake his companion’s face for a brief moment, equal parts stung and calculating, before falling comfortably back on annoyance.

"Good thing I'm not feverish, then.”

"You're warm," Geralt prodded.

"It's a warm day."

"You're shivering."

"You're scary."

"You're not afraid of me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

And he did. From the moment the bard’s eyes had lit up with a giddy, “Oh, fun,” after first realizing Geralt was the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, it had been clear that Geralt didn’t scare him in the slightest. It was one of the many things about Jaskier that frustrated and confused him.

Also among these things were his seemingly boundless social energy, his unflappable confidence (no matter what gaudy outfit he wore or what godsawful thing he said), and his insistence on denying that he was sick when he very clearly wasn't well.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt," Jaskier grunted in a mockery of the witcher’s tone – a surprisingly decent one, to be true, but that was mostly owing to his illness-roughened throat.

"We're stopping here."

"Hm, then I guess we're not saving and-or slaying our beast tonight, yeah? You said we couldn't make any extra stops if we wanted to make it there before nightfall."

Geralt stifled a huff of frustration.

It was true. This particular curse reversal required that they find the animal at dusk, so they were pressed for time. Geralt had said so, earlier, when Jaskier was complaining he wanted to rest because he was tired. Geralt hadn't realized, however, that "tired" was apparently the new slang for "ill and grievously stupid,” and he'd been actively trying to ignore Jaskier for... well, for as long as he'd known the bard, really, so it had taken him longer than it should have to start taking the warning signs seriously.

He felt guilty for that, now.

"We can spare ten minutes," Geralt grumbled, leaving little room for objection as he followed Roach to a decent patch of shade off the path.

Jaskier shrugged and trailed behind them. "Well, I usually require a full eight hours’ beauty sleep, but... okay."

He sat himself and his lute down gingerly against a tree, while Geralt browsed Roach's packs for whatever he could scavenge in the way of a human-grade fever-reducer and similar herbs, and Roach snuffled at the ground and ignored the both of them. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a taut line. It was a worrisome thing to see the usually-so-expressive human with such an actively restrained look on his face.

Geralt considered this and added another small phial to his handful before walking over. He knelt in front of Jaskier.

"Jask."

Jaskier cracked an eye open. "Yesk?" he responded, then snorted tiredly at his own half-assed attempt at humor.

Geralt didn't laugh. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier's forehead, briefly noting the way Jaskier recoiled, first with surprise and then with a shiver, before becoming wholly preoccupied by the intense heat beneath Jaskier’s skin.

"Your hands are freezing, Geralt!” Jaskier complained. He shuddered and hugged himself, looking three shades more miserable than before. “Gods, I’m starting to wonder if that sylvan had a damned point about your dad being a snowman..."

"You have a fever."

"Hm," was all Jaskier had to say to that. The irony of this was not lost on either of them, nor was the annoyance it elicited from one witcher, who maybe understood a little bit, now, why others found his noncommittal grunts so damned frustrating.

"And a cough."

Jaskier at least had the decency to look guilty for hiding it. The slight edge of accusation to Geralt's voice may have helped, too.

"Pain?" Geralt continued his verbal checklist of Jaskier's symptoms.

"Just a bit of a headache," he half-admitted.

Geralt hummed. He placed a waterskin and a small pouch into Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose when he uncinched the pouch and realized it was food: dried berries and a little leftover bread from their last inn-stay. He started to push it away.

“I’m good, thanks-”

“Eat,” Geralt commanded, “You haven’t eaten. You need to eat something.”

Nausea colored Jaskier’s face a papery grey just at the idea, and the silent plea in his eyes was just pathetic enough that Geralt almost caved and took the bag away from him. But thirst and hunger were an added stress that the bard’s body didn’t need right now.

"Try," Geralt urged more gently.

Jaskier grimaced, but he tore off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly and reluctantly.

“Happy?” he spoke around the meager bite.

Geralt smiled encouragingly. This must have been the right response, as Jaskier seemed to yield to the approval, and his next bite was much less hesitant. Geralt made sure he’d drunk some water, as well, before standing to set about gathering what usable wood he could find in the immediate vicinity – not much, but he only needed enough to boil a cup of water.

It was quiet once again as Geralt worked, heating water and steeping herbs, but it was a little more comfortable and a little less foreboding this time around. Perhaps because Jaskier’s silence had a clear explanation, now, no longer the faceless monster lurking in the shadows that it had been before. He didn’t speak up again until Geralt walked back over, cup in hand.

“Oh, did you make me tea?” he quipped. “How domestic.”

“It’s an infusion.”

Jaskier traded Geralt the pouch and waterskin for the cup and stared into its steaming contents. “It looks like tea.”

Geralt gave a snort of impatience to put Roach to shame. “Drink it,” he said, before turning back around to clean up.

Behind him, Jaskier made an exaggerated gagging noise at the bitter herbs. "That is just... vile– Geralt what the devil have you given me? Are you trying to put me out of my misery? I mean, I appreciate the gesture..."

Geralt huffed out a sound that may have been amusement or may have been exasperation – even he wasn't sure.

"It's mostly catnip. Some ribleaf and melissa and a small amount of beggartick,” he answered truthfully, though he knew the plant names meant fuckall to the man.

"It's disgusting, is what it is..."

"Just drink it."

Jaskier all but pouted as he did what he was told, pulling an inordinate look of disgust for just how small of a sip he took.

Geralt sighed and mentally cursed himself for having become so soft as he went rummaging through his bags once again.

“You owe Roach,” he said, dropping a small cube of sugar into Jaskier’s cup.

Jaskier stared dumbly at the ripples in his cup while the words caught up to him. He blinked.

“Hey, I gifted those to her so she’d stop trying to chew my sleeves- I owe nothing,” he argued, but there was a warmth that had crept into his expression at the gesture, and it softened any bite his words might (but most likely wouldn’t) have had. Geralt had to pretend like he didn’t notice it for both of their sakes. Or so he told himself.

There really couldn’t have been much the small amount of sugar did for the bitter drink, but Jaskier seemed to have decided it fixed the problem just fine, and he drank the rest quickly without further complaint. By the time he was finished, Geralt had everything stowed away in Roach's saddlebags. Ten minutes had already turned into twenty, and Geralt was itching to get back on schedule.

He looked between his mare and his bard. Both seemed to have sensed Geralt’s antsiness, Roach scuffing at the dirt impatiently and Jaskier already halfway to his feet.

Part of Geralt told himself that he was only about to let Jaskier ride Roach so the ill man wouldn’t have the chance to slow them down any more than he already had, but another part of him was panicked when he saw Jaskier’s eyes widen and lose focus, and he rushed forward to grab the man as he tilted dangerously forward.

“Jaskier.”

“‘M alright,” Jaskier said, though he was clinging to Geralt’s forearms like he wasn’t so sure. “Jus’… Just stood up too fast. Just need a second...”

It was a strange contrast, the harsh heat that poured off of Jaskier and overwhelmed the space between them compared to the weak, clammy chill of his fingers on Geralt’s arms. Geralt silently willed the herbs to take effect and watched Jaskier’s eyes shift as they began registering his surroundings once again. He waited until his companion was able to support his own weight before moving, but he continued to hold onto Jaskier, anyway, as he steered him over to Roach’s flank. 

“Up.”

Jaskier frowned at him, and Geralt sighed.

“Do you doubt my horse, bard?”

“Never! Not Roach. I doubt you, no offense.”

The witcher huffed.

...Maybe just a little taken.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“Look, you were already wrong about her once today, need I remind,” Jaskier protested, even as he complied and climbed up into the saddle with Geralt’s help. “I just don’t want her mad at me next because of you.”

There it finally was, the I-told-you-so Geralt had expected from earlier. As much of a relief that it was to have that little bit of normalcy back, he still felt no small amount of irritation at being reminded that he’d managed to piss off his mare and also be wrong about it. He opened his mouth, a retort stinging at the tip of his tongue, but then he caught the softly murmured, “Thanks, old gal,” as Jaskier patted Roach’s neck, and Geralt wasn’t quite sure where that irritation fucked off to all of the sudden.

The remainder of their journey was a quiet affair. Neither of them spoke much, and Jaskier was still stifling his coughs, not for Geralt’s sake but for Roach’s, this time, as he spent most of the ride resting against her neck, drifting in and out of sleep.

It gave Geralt little room to ignore the question that had begun to itch at his temples. They were finally nearing civilization again, muddy-ash buildings cropping up gradually over the hill, and Jaskier was stirring awake from another fitful few minutes of rest, so Geralt decided to ask it.

"Why did you deny it?"

Jaskier turned his head to blink at Geralt, hair plastered against one side of his face.

"What?"

"You knew you were sick – Why lie?"

Jaskier sighed. He sat up in a wilted imitation of alertness.

"I dunno Geralt," he deadpanned, clearly knowing. "Supposing I had told you that I might be sick – Would you have let me come along, or would I still be in Dregsdon right now, while you get to have all the fun breaking curses and saving the fine folk of the kingdom and disappearing for weeks-stroke-months-stroke-years at a time?"

Jaskier’s voice sounded worse, now, despite the medicines, and there was a trembling weakness to his posture at the effort of just keeping himself upright. No, Geralt most definitely would not have let him come along.

"Hm."

“Right, that's what I thought."

The bard faced forward with an air of self-satisfaction. Under any other circumstances, it was an expression that would have grated on Geralt’s nerves like metal on stone, but the present context made it one of the most effective guilt-trips he’d ever been dragged along, and Geralt found himself floundering for something - an excuse, an explanation, a deflection.

What he came up with was:

"I would have come back.”

There was about a collective half-ounce of confidence behind these words, and they both knew it.

Jaskier rolled his eyes mightily.

“Oh, would you have?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, glanced away, shifted stiffly in his armor, readjusted his grip on Roach’s reins.

"...Most likely," he appended.

Jaskier’s laugh was a short and less-than-amused thing, and it caught on a coughing fit halfway out that made him see spots. He waved Geralt’s hand away when Geralt reached out to steady him, and continued to talk through the tail-end of the fit.

"Look,” he rasped, “not to go and play long-suffering wife to your sea-beguiled sailor, but there really is never knowing when you're going to leave or come back. It’s aggravating."

Geralt could read enough subtext to guess that “aggravating” really meant “disappointing and lonely,” and he couldn’t help but agree. He must have been looking as guilty as he felt, because Jaskier seemed to take pity on him, his expression lightening to something a little more reminiscent of his usual playfulness. Geralt found himself scowling preemptively at the bard’s smirk.

"The children are beginning to ask questions, Geralt."

Geralt glared.

"Think of the childr-"

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but not without a snicker.

They were lucky enough that there was a hamlet not far from where the possessed waterfowl was alleged to be stalking. Daylight was near-gone by the time they made it there; Geralt would have to move fast, but he reckoned he should be able to get everything settled here and still make it in time to apprehend the beast. The inn he’d found was hardly an inn - really just some person’s home with a sign tacked onto the door declaring it to be one, but Jaskier’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope, anyway, when Geralt woke him outside of a building instead of halfway back into the wilderness as he’d been expecting.

“So, do we get Roach put up and head out now, or are we waiting ‘til tomorrow evening?” he asked as he climbed down from the mare in question. His body-language screamed, Dear gods, please say ‘tomorrow.’

Geralt shook his head.

“You’re not coming with me. You’re staying behind to sleep this off.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off before he could get started.

“Keep an eye on Roach while I’m gone.”

It was as close as Geralt was about to get to saying, “I promise I won’t disappear this time,” and it was by no means a guarantee that the same could be said for any future excursions, but Jaskier seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but she and I are gonna talk about you while you’re gone.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have lost your voice by the time I get back.”

[charity-angel]

At the risk of tempting the universe/PTB to throw anything more at me, a brief summary of my weekend (with added background info that I bought my first house 2 months ago):

Saturday morning, arse o’clock: text from my mother saying she is sending my dad over and are there any jobs that need doing?

Yes, quite a few. Chief of which is I want to trace whatever fault means that half1 the spotlights in my kitchen aren’t working.2

Slightly later Saturday, more reasonable time: Dad arrives. Decides that since weather is nice, he's going to repair my back gate. Fair enough - it wasn't on my list, but it will mean I can actually open it whenever I need to rather than wrestling with it.

While helping him: Spot something that annoys me, and I have purchased the means to fix but not got around to actually doing it. The security light comes on no matter what time of day it is. It is currently broad daylight. Decide to amend this. Venture into basement, turn electricity off. Arm self with screwdrivers. Prepare to install switch rather than popping fuse out of wall all the time3.

Bit of swearing later: Fuse panel is off wall, but there is something going on outside. Venture out to find a guy out cold in the street running behind the terrace, with two teenage girls speaking to the 999 operator. As I kneel beside him to try and assess, he starts to come round - enough to say he doesn't want an ambulance. I try to get girls to not relay this to the operator, but they do and it's cancelled. He is CLEARLY still out of it. They hang up, go on their way, and he promptly passes out again.

Remind self of how to put someone into the recovery position. Lament that last time I did this it was a conscious, skinny PGCE student in her early twenties, and this is a grown-ass man who is not surreptitiously helping with the rolling over. I also can't get his hand under his head, so I hold his head up myself instead, while my dad finally decides I've been a while and rings 999 back4.

Takes them a while to get there. I think the call timer is over 20 mins. My back is in spasms, my left leg is going numb and pins & needles-y. The guy has vomited three times (thank fuck I rolled him). Paramedics manage to bring him round a bit - enough to get him to confess he's on methodone.

Ow, fucking ow: Have to go back to doing the electrical work, since the power is off and my dad now needs to charge the drill. Set about attaching the cables to the right bits. Discover that the cabling is too short to reach one of the terminals on the new switch. Fuck. Re-install fuse plate. Turn power back on. Thank whoever is listening that I don't seem to have screwed anything up.

Saturday, 2:45: Lunch. I have frozen bread, and a shit-load of eggs. Scrambled eggs on toast it is.

Maybe 3:15?: Dad sets about re-seating curtain pole in the spare room, with decent rawlplugs so that it will take the weight of the curtain my mum is making for it.

Not long later: That's done with minimal fuss5. Dad muses that could do with putting the rail back on the stairs6.

Couple of minutes later: Persuade him that could actually do with lifting the floor since I'd quite like to be able to see in the kitchen after nightfall, whereas the handrail is a minor inconvenience. We begin.

At this point, it is worth noting that I had tried this myself on Thursday evening only to discover the floor appears to be chipboard rather than floorboards. Also it is worth noting that the carpet was laid and then the skirting boards put down over it.

Half an hour later?: Free enough of the carpet to realise that the bed needs to be moved. And by moved, I mean effectively dismantled.

Another hour?: Bed semi-dismantled and on its side7, room totally rearranged. More skirting boards unscrewed, silicon sealant peeled from the walls, skirtings removed8, carpet screws removed, carpet rolled up as much as possible. We manage to prise one of the bits of chipboard up, only to realise that: a) the original floorboards are still mostly there underneath (although mostly not under this particular bit), and b) the majority of the fucking things have not only been screwed down over the floorboards, but also GLUED. I shit you not. Also that some of the boards extend underneath the plasterboard9 wall

We decide this is a bigger job than us and have to at least put the flooring back down and move things we had moved from there into my room back so I can at least get into bed. We decide not to do anything else as it will only need moving again.

Around 6pm: My poor dad heads home. I discover I have a stray text from my mum about half an hour earlier asking if he's still with me.

Not long later: Run bath. Pour self bowl of tesco's coco pops in lieu of meal I haven't got the spoons to cook.10

Ominous message from mother: She is coming over tomorrow to hang the curtain, and set the spare room right again.

Sunday, about 9am: Ow. Owowowowow. Break out the painkillers. Fuck. Browse AO3 for Rose/Ten fics since I have just binged their season and I have feels, okay?

11:30: Text from mother: she is heading over around 1: do I want anything picking up at the temperance bar since she is going?11

Around 12: Decide should get dressed. Painkillers doing their job. Get clean jeans since she is dragging me out for curtain hoops. I might not drive, but I at least know where I'm going.12

12:15: spot a big, ominous wet patch above my bedroom door that is just about to start dripping. FUCK!

Shove water cup under the impending drip, grab towel and slightly larger container, replace cup. Grab bigger container and head for loft access hatch.

Realise loft access is behind all this shit we moved around in the spare room yesterday. Double fuck. Set about moving it elsewhere so I can get in.

12:30:Ring Dad and ask if he can bring over his big set of stepladders as I suspect I probably could get myself into the attic space13, but would break my neck coming back down. Also I need a torch that is not my phone. He laments that Mum has taken the big car. I call her instead, get her to head home and stock up on essentials (ladders, torch, Dad). I decide to change into yesterday's scruffy jeans since this isn't likely to be a clean job.

About 1-1:15: They arrive, and my dad manoeuvres himself into the attic. This is impressive and just a lot of a dangerous move or two involved. It takes a second person (read: me), which means I have no chance of getting up there myself.

Issue is with the chimney stack and can't actually get a bucket under it. But by the light of my phone14 he can see multiple other issues. Although he does move a slate back into place so I can't see daylight between it and its next-door neighbour. Bless him.

2:15: decide to get some lunch and the curtain hoops. Head into town. Can't park15 Mum decides she isn't hungry, drops us at Costa (it's open, at least) and goes to get the hoops herself.

3-ish: Get back. Sort spare room so it is habitable. Because there is still a drip from my bedroom doorframe, so guess where I'm suddenly sleeping tonight. Hang curtain16.

4-ish: Decide to actually put the handrail back, so we can feel we've at least achieved something useful. This turns out to be a bigger job than anticipated because the fucking plaster keeps falling apart and the rawlplugs won't hold properly. And the ones that will, we don't have screws the right size for. I mean...

5:30-ish: Rail is up. They leave. I run bath as everything is ouch.

7-ish: Can no longer ignore fact that I can hear dripping in the bathroom. Get out while bath is still full to try and work out where the fuck it is coming from. Take side panel off bath17. Not obvious. The outlet pipe has drippy bits all along it. Can't get a container under it. Yay.

Shove microfibre cloth under just to try and contain dripping. Suspect the joint in the pipe where new plumbing has been connected to older is the issue, but seems to be from both bloody ends of the joint piece.

7:45-ish: Drain bath, turn shower on so can wash hair. Little later than anticipated - won't dry properly now18.

tl;dr: I hate my house and everything about it.

1. The half that are on the useful side of the kitchen. You know, where the sink and hob are. The ones that help me do things like cook and wash up after dark.

2. Spotlights embedded into ceilings are clearly one of Crowley's inventions.

3. I am not a qualified electrician, but I have studied electronics at school, been taught on the side by my engineer dad, and I know my limits. Do not do this yourself if you aren't absolutely sure of what you're looking at.

4. Can't do it myself as my battery is dead and, guess what - I've turned the electricity off so I can't charge it. And my landline is cordless, so that needs power too.

5. other than Dad not realising that my ceilings are a little lower than his and going 1 step too high on the ladder. Muppet.

6. I removed this about 2 days after I moved in because of the 4 brackets supposedly securing it to the wall, only 2 actually were. I was more liable to break my neck using it than not. It didn't take me long to realise that while removing it was a 1 woman job, putting it back required more hands. 4 more, as it transpires.

7. Dad manages to hit his head on one of the protruding legs of the bed. I swear...

8. Honestly. They were screwed to the wall and then silicon sealed along the top (and joining edges). The carpet was screwed to the floor under the boards.

9. Drywall, for anyone of an American disposition.

10. Ignore suspicious dripping sound. This turns out to be something of a mistake.

11. Fucking yes, I am almost out of all my cordials. Curse not living near it any more

12. Mostly. One-way systems are a touch tricky when you don't have to obey them. As are bus-only routes.

13. On later reflection, this is incredibly doubtful since I lack the upper body strength to haul myself several feet straight up.

14. Because they brought a curtain and cushions as well as the big stepladder, but not a torch.

15. Also not something I have to think about often.

16. Discover Mum and I have been talking cross-purposes as to which side of the window it is going on. Fortunately this is not a massive issue.

17. Inventory of the under-bath: 2 bags grout, 1 tub of paint, 1 jigsaw piece, 1 part of an old loo roll holder, about 50cm of 1cm diameter dowel, 1 electrical cable that is quite possibly live given that an attempt has been made to insulate it inside a plastic bag. What is not there is the wooden frame that should support the sides of the plastic bath.

18. There are many advantages to the care and maintenance of curly hair. Not being able to blow-dry it is NOT one of them. Not having to, otoh, is.

[rmg91]

The Woes and Antics of Living Together-13

This chapter has emotions and I'm gonna say sorry now for what happens. Also I cried while writing said emotions and it's really hard to write when you yourself emotionally compromised XD I still hope you enjoy this though! (And don't worry, I don't end it on a bad note ;3 )

ALSO Just another big Thank you to all the lovely reviews you all have given this fic. It's means a lot to me!

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter; Ao3/FF.net

@writerofberk-FEEEELS in this chapter but also fluff.

@hair-in-the-air-....There may be some more couch cuddles in this X3

                                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~

“Are you sure you don't want to come with me? It'll be fun~”

It was late one Thursday afternoon about two weeks post-Poppy tattoo and she was currently standing by her car having just tossed her bags inside. She was heading home to Trollington for the weekend to see her dad and to show off her tattoo in person, she might even go see a few of her other friends that stayed in town. She had a box of presents for her dad that she previously set in the car, alongside some new feather toys and treats for Fuzzbert. Branch honestly couldn't tell if she was more excited to see Peppy or her cat. However it really didn't matter at the moment as she was currently still trying to convince him to come with her.

Branch crossed his arms and shook his head, “Still no. I'm going to stay right here and you wanna know why?” He smirked at her, “Because with you gone it'll be quiet for once.”

Poppy gave him a look that was cross between a glare and a pout before sticking her tongue out at him, “Rude.”

Rolling his eyes, Branch crossed his arms, “Just make sure you have a full tank of gas on your out. I don't want to hear you got stuck on the side of the road. Do you know how dangerous that could be?!”

“It's a three hour drive, Branch. I'll be fine.” She hopped over and smiled up at him, “But I'll be sure to text you when I get there alongside everyone else. Try not to worry.”

Branch scoffed and turned his head away, he always worried it was practically his middle name.

Poppy giggled before suddenly springing a hug on him and squeezing him tightly, “Oooh~ I'll miss you! Try not to miss me too much!”

“Hey! Get off! Poppy!” He pushed her off with a glare, “What have I said about hugging?! And you'll be gone for like a day and a half, I'll hardly have time to appreciate you being gone let along do something crazy like miss you.”

“Sure, sure~” She sang before skipping back over to her car, “I'll text later and see you Sunday. Water the plant while I gone~!”

Branch rolled his eyes again and waved halfheartedly at her as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he started wandering back to the apartment wondering what he could do without the having the constant whirlwind there. Maybe he'd actually have time to finish a book since she wouldn't be around to ask what he was reading or what was happening or just plain distracting him with the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity and the way she'd clasp her hands together as she begged him to tell her-He groaned. She hadn't even been gone five minutes and somehow was still distracting him. This was possibly gonna be a long weekend.

                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~

Early Sunday morning came and found Branch nursing a hot cup of black coffee as he sleepily read through some new theories on how anyone could be a sociopath. Saturday had been uneventful, just as he thought, without his crazy roommate around to cause havoc. Although after sometime the peace and quiet he had been craving since moving in had gotten a little too much even for him and he blamed Poppy for that. He had gotten use to the noise she made, singing, humming, crashing in through the door with some newest scheme and he was loathed to admit it, even to himself, that he missed her. Even having some of his own music tastes playing hadn't been that same comfort as it once had been.

Sighing, the raven haired man switched apps on his phone, wondering if maybe there was something new from the woodcarver he liked to watch on Youtube, only to find a brand new vlog by Poppy uploaded only five minutes ago. He would never admit it, especially to Poppy, but he did follow her and he actually liked seeing some of the things she got up to, mostly for her gorgeous smile and her unbridled joy at whatever it was she was doing. However he was surprised to see this new one up, titled 'Adventures in Troll Town', so soon, he would've thought she'd upload later after she was home.

Selecting the video, Branch waited for it to load and a stupid ad to pass before seeing what she had done yesterday.

“Hey there, my cupcakes~!” Poppy greeted cheerfully as she always did, grinning bright as she held the camera up to capture both her and Peppy in the lens, “It's ya girl, Poppy, here and I'm back in my hometown for the weekend to spend some time with my dear old dad!” She gestured to him as he grinned.

“Hello there, Internet people!” Peppy greeted, amber eyes he shared with Poppy twinkling with mischievousness and silver tinged red-orange hair still wildly untamed as Branch remembered. His mustache hadn't seemed to change either, still full and long, “It's great to have my little girl home again.”

“Aww, Dad~” Poppy cooed, side hugging him, “I'm happy to be back. And you all-” She said to the camera, “Stay tuned for all the adventures we'll be taking you on. Okay?”

Suddenly there was a loud meow and Poppy turned the focus on the bright orange, fluffy cat sitting on the table, green collar contrasting brightly. Poppy reached out and started petting it, causing a loud purr to emit from her pet, “And Fuzzbert says hello too~”

The scene then changed and Branch unconsciously smiled as he watched Poppy play with her cat with a feather toy, her tinkling laughter filtering through the phone's speakers. Fuzzbert jumped and leaped after the toy as Poppy flicked it away before suddenly grabbing it. Poppy tugged gently, Peppy's own laugh coming from behind the camera, before she let it go and the feline ran off with it. Branch couldn't help the chuckle as he listened to Poppy playfully act offended to Fuzzbert for running away before she took the camera back from her dad and made to transition to another scene.

“Hey all!” Poppy said brightly as she walked down the street, Peppy beside her, “We're here in downtown Trollington and it hasn't changed a bit!” She panned the camera around, showing off the brightly colored shops of downtown. Branch remembered walking down the street Poppy showed and thinking everyone needed to tone down their siding colors. He still thought that, some were just way too bright for his taste but his thoughts on that were interrupted as his roommate starting talking again, “I can't tell you all how much I've missed this place and everyone but I suppose that's for most people who move away from home, huh?” It wasn't for Branch, not really, Trollington hadn't been home for a long time. “Dad and I are actually heading to see some shops before stopping by our favorite cafe for lunch. And here's one now!”

She turned the camera to show the store front of 'Sky Toronto's Party Supplies' before Peppy opened the door for her. Inside were shelves full of streamers, balloons, plates, cups, napkins, table clothes, candy and other various things one might need for a party. It was indeed a place Poppy loved, especially the confetti aisle. Branch watched as she toured around, exchanging comments with her dad and laughter at his jokes and as she was greeted happily by the few other people inside with hugs and smiles. There was even a brief interaction with the stores owner, Sky Toronto himself, the straight laced, stoic man saying it had been awfully quiet without Poppy coming in all the time and how wonderful it had been.

After that there was a montage of Poppy and Peppy playing around in various other stores. Dress-up in the local costume shop, some window shopping, there was even some browsing at one of the thrift shops and Poppy finding some things she deemed treasures. Next they were entering a little cafe, decorated with floral décor and tasteful pictures of scenery and the family that ran the business. A red head stood at the counter, which held lots of yummy looking sweets and snacks and smiled brightly as Poppy and Peppy entered.

“Poppy!” She greeted joyfully, “Long time no see!”

“Hey, Mandy!” Poppy called back, “I'm here for the weekend. You don't mind if I film here do you?”

Mandy smiled, “Nah, go ahead. You want your usual?”

Poppy laughed as she and her dad started toward a table, “Yes, please! And whatever the special is today too~”

“You got it! And for you, Mayor Peppy?”

Peppy chuckled, “Surprise me!”

The local woman giggled and gave a thumbs up before making to gather the ordered food. Meanwhile the father and daughter duo sat down and Poppy adjusted her camera to stand on the table. The pinkette talked to both her dad and the camera as they waited for their food. Soon enough Mandy arrived carrying a tray full of delicious looking food. Poppy got a large glass of what looked like raspberry sprite and a plate of chicken salad, full of chicken, tomatoes, cheese and dressing. Peppy got large mug of coffee and a plate with a large turkey and bacon sandwich. After thanking Mandy, the two dug in.

As they ate, Poppy gushed about how good the food was before recommending that anyone should come and try it. After a little more conversation with her dad, she announced she'd be back after they ate.

The next scene had Poppy standing in the park's gazebo as she explained her dad had an emergence call to take care of so she was going to do something she hadn't had the chance to since moving. Bringing her old ukulele out from behind her back, she giggled before taking a seat and starting to strum a known and famous tune.

“I can show you the world~ Shining, shimmering, splendid,” Poppy's vibrant voice began filling the apartment and since she wasn't here, Branch allowed himself to get lost in it. He didn't actually hate it when she sang, he adored it really, it was sweet and melodious and had a strange way of calming him, at least when she sang more softer and calmly like she was now.  But it was easier to tell her to stop than to let himself get pulled in and accidentally forgetting himself enough to let his true feelings for her show...or even worse, sing with her.

“A whole new world~” Poppy continued, “A new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us 'no', or where to go, or say we're only dreaming,” Branch could see she was starting to gain a small audience as she played, kids and adults alike stopping to listen to the mayor's daughter. A few kids even came to sit next to her, “That now I'm in a whole new with you~”

“Unbelievable sights! Indescribable feeling!” The kids started joining in. One of the little girls had her braided hair up in a ponytail, a gap in her teeth and headphones around her neck. The other had strawberry blonde hair in pigtails, glasses and was wearing a pair of lavender coveralls. The other kid, the only boy, had dark hair and purple shorts and was singing off key with everyone else.

“A whole new world! A hundred-thousand things to see~! I'm like a shooting start, I've come so far, can't go back to where I used to be~” The quartet sang, Poppy grinning at the kids before leaning over and rubbing noses with the headphone girl. That was when Branch realized that was probably the niece Suki was always gushing about. Soon enough the kids tapered off and let Poppy finish the song by herself.

“A world new world~ That's where we'll be~ A thrilling chase, a wondrous place~ For you and me~”

After she finished the last note, the kids promptly jumped on Poppy with happy cries, hugging her as she laughed and hugged them back, the rest of the audience chuckling and clapping at the scene. Poppy starting to talk to kids was the last thing heard before it was cut off and replaced with Poppy smiling at the camera, now in the kitchen at her childhood house.

“Dad and I are about to make some Meadows Family Specialty Chili and Cornbread. Mm-mmm~! I haven't had it forever and I can't wait!” She exclaimed, dancing in place as Peppy chuckled off camera.

“Well come help me so it'll get done sooner, since you're so eager,” He teased lightly, placing a pile of ingredients on the island counter, “You do remember the cornbread recipe, don't you?”

“Dad, please,” Poppy said, popping a hip out and waving her hand in the air, “I never forget a recipe. Especially one of Moms.”

Peppy chuckled again, “Just checking~”

The two started to work in tandem, Peppy starting to chop onions while Poppy began gathering together the things she needed. Taking a large bowl from the cupboard, she easily measured flour and cornmeal into the bowl before adding in a bit of sugar. She began to tell the story to the camera of how her mom had created the recipe to complement her dads chili since he had a tendency to make it a little spicy. Peppy laughed and replied he hadn't made it that spicy since he was first creating the recipe in the first place.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I came up with this?” He asked, going over to cook the ground beef at the stove.

“Yes, Dad.” Poppy replied, rolling her eyes at the camera because she knew he'd tell they story anyway.

“I was entering a chili cook-off, The Great Chili Cook-off of 85', and I was determined to win. Now by the twentieth batch my best friend was sick of trying my experiments. Told me I had to find someone else to try it and that he would never touch of another bowl of chili in his life because of me. And he never did.”

Peppy continued his story, Poppy smiling happily as she mixed the batter and before the climax of the story could be told the screen went blank. Branch tilted his head and was about to poke his phone to see if it had died but then a sleepy, hair down, Poppy appeared on screen. She giggled tiredly before a large yawn came out of her mouth.

“Sorry about that, Cupcakes,” She said, “Camera battery died during that I didn't notice till now. Suffice to say the ending of Dad's story is since he added too many habanero peppers into the chili, Mom, who he'd only just met a week before, offered to make cornbread to help cut the spice of it. It soon became a tradition between them and the two dishes were never made without the other.” Another tired giggle escaped, “Dad actually stopped adding so many peppers about the time I came along. He still makes it a little spicy for my taste though.”

She yawned again before flashing a smile, “Anyway, I've got the rest of the video edited and ready to upload so you're probably already seeing this. Any morning fun Dad and I have will posted on my other social media.” She giggled once more, “Night, My Cupcakes~ Stay sweet.”

Then the video closed and the screen showed recommended video's for Branch, mostly more of Poppy's blogs, and he sighed before a large yawn ripped it's way out of his mouth. He supposed he should start brainstorming some ideas for dinner as she'd most likely be home sometime that afternoon. Draining the last of his coffee, Branch turned off his phone and got up to rinse his mug, while he had sort of enjoyed having the apartment to himself there was a part of him that was almost...eager to have Poppy home. Which was a new and funny feeling for Branch to have as he never thought, as much as he loved her, that he'd be eager for her wild and crazy antics.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~

It was later in the afternoon than she'd thought she be home, that Poppy finally parked in her parking lot. She really hadn't wanted to leave but after her dad had reminded her college was important and that he was only a phone call away, she had hopped in the car. Well she hopped in after an extra long hug time with him and getting some extra cuddles from Fuzzbert. Then after a quick stop for some snacks, the pinkette had headed home to Bergenville.

Now back, Poppy stretched as she got out of her car before grabbing her bags and the thing she had for Branch. She had already texted the Pack, telling them she'd call once she was settled and that she'd see the tomorrow for coffee before school. Humming, she swayed in place as she waited for the elevator and wondered if her Branch had missed her at all. Although a part of her knew if she asked he just deny it, the grump. It wouldn't be that bad if he admitted he missed her, they were friends after all.

Then again, Poppy thought as she selected her floor number, maybe he'd show a little emotion besides sarcasm with what she was bringing him. It hadn't been a planned thing but maybe, just maybe, it would be something that he'd appreciate. And then he'd open up to her and they could be close like they used to be when they were kids! Poppy giggled at the thought as images of her and Branch singing together again entered her mind.

Skipping to her door at the end of the hallway, she opened it with a flourish, “Braaaaanch~! I'm hoooome~!”

“You don't have to yell,” He said as he came out of the bathroom, “I'm right here.”

Poppy stuck her tongue out at him, “Would it kill you to play along just once.”

“Yes.”

Rolling her eyes, she came around to the table, “My trip home was great and it was amazing, thanks for asking.” She grinned cheekily at him, “And I brought you something.” She then placed a medium-small box on the table.

Branch looked confusedly at it, not expecting her to bring something back for him, but more importantly it didn't look like some random snack or knick-nack one would bring for someone else. “What is it?” He asked wearily.

“Well...um..” Poppy fidgeted with a piece of her hair, “It's some stuff of your grandma's my dad had. Said he saved it after the accident and was keeping it safe so it didn't get lose in the shuffle of all the foster homes you went through.” She bit her lip when Branch didn't really respond besides now staring wide eyed at the box, “He would have given it to you sooner but I guess you never responded when he asked to see you?”

“I-” Branch didn't know how to feel. Here was supposedly a box of his grandmother's things, things he had be sure were gone forever and that he'd probably never see again, but had actually been kept by Peppy. Things he could've had sooner but never got as he always avoided the mayor, and Poppy when he could, as he just wanted to be left alone. “I...” He gulped, trying to fight the sudden lump in his throat, “I'm...going to my room.” He then grabbed the box and rushed to his room, closing the door firmly behind him and leaving a confused Poppy behind.

                                         ~*~*~*~*~*~

Branch wasn't sure how long he sat on his bed after running away, just staring at the box. Here was pieces of his dear grandmother, someone who had been a constant well of support and love, who he lost, sitting in front of him when he never thought he'd any sort of memento of her. He wanted to know what was in it, wanted to know what Peppy thought he should have of hers but he just couldn't bring himself to open the damn thing. There was too much guilt in his heart at having ignored the help of the mayor, over how he could have these things sooner, over how he never went to see her grave or leave flowers, over how he never allowed himself to think about her!

Closing his eyes in distress, Branch shot his hand out, intending to just push the offending box away but knocked the lid off instead. He stared at the now open box, still unsure if he could even look at the things inside before taking a shuddering breath and reaching blindly for the first thing he could grab. His hand found what felt like a picture frame and he brought it out, eyes still closed. He fingered it lightly, tracing the edge before, after what felt like ages, opening his eyes to find his grandmother's picture staring up at him through the glass. Her hair was done in her signature bun, she was wearing her favorite heart shawl and her smile was the same soft and loving one she always ready had for him.

Memories of his grandmother swirled in his mind then, bringing up those feelings of sadness and despair he tried to repressed with them. His eyes burned as he couldn't help but regress to the thoughts he had when he lost her as he looked at her picture, how he'd never have her home cooking again, never feel her hugs again, never hear her sweet singing voice or her gentle chiding ever again! Branch clenched his eyes closed, unable to look at it anymore but it didn't matter, his grandmother's face was always in his mind and he whimpered without realizing. He missed her so damn much!

A sudden knock on his door had him snapping out of his spiraling guilt and he glared as Poppy shyly poked her head in, “Branch? ...You okay?”

“Leave me alone.” He growled. He was in no mood for her and her nonsense right now.

Poppy frowned, it didn't feel right to her to just leave him alone when he was upset, “But-”

“I said-Go Away!” Branch yelled, curling up into himself as he clutched his grandmother's photo.

Poppy nodded, not that he saw, and started to close the door before stopping. No. She couldn't do that. Branch was clearly hurting and she couldn't leave knowing that. Pushing the door back open, she rushed over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, “No. You're upset and I can't let you go through this alone.” She missed Grandma Rosie too, she had always been like the grandmother Poppy never had and her death had been so sudden, “I miss her too.”

Branch growled and tried to push Poppy off of him, he didn't care, she didn't know what happened and what he gone through, “Get off! Leave me alone!”

“No!” The pinkette held tighter, “You need to talk about this! You can't bottle it up forever! I know you miss her but that's no reason to hide your feelings!”

“I don't care! Go away, Poppy!” Branch cried, why wouldn't she listen?! He wanted to be alone!

“Let me help!”

“No!”

“Why?! Why not?!”

“Because you don't understand!” Branch felt tears threatening to fall but he tried to fight them, not wanting to do this in front of Poppy.

“Understand what?!”

Branch hiccuped before suddenly years of pent up emotion broke free and he sobbed, “It's all my fault!!” He then doubled over his grandma's picture as Poppy's grip loosened and cried, “Now leave me alone...”

Poppy stared in shock as Branch broke down in front of her and felt her own tears prickle in the corner of her eyes but she blinked them back before slowly wrapping her arms around Branch once more. She sniffed, “That's not true, Branch. I-It was the drunk driver that ran into her....”

“It is! It is my fault!” Branch cried, shoulders convulsing as he bawled, “Had I only listened!”

Poppy slowly rubbed his back, trying to make sense of what he was talking about, “What-What do you mean?”

Branch tried, really tried, to rein himself in but that made him cry harder. It took a few false starts before he was finally able to choke out what happened. He and Rosie had been walking home one night from the store and he had been singing. Lost in song had been more like it as he had been dancing in and out of the street. His grandmother had told him multiple times to stay on the side-walk but he hadn't listened. Then when they had been about to reach the crosswalk, Branch had jumped back in the street, performing a spin and not seeing the weaving car approaching much too fast. The next thing he knew he was laying flat on his back with his grandmother's scream ringing in his ears and the smell of burnt rubber. When he had sat up, he saw the car, front smashed in from a light pole and his grandmother's motionless body a few feet away, groceries littered around her.

Poppy let a few tears escape as she continued to rub his back, she had never heard the full story story, just that a drunk driver had hit her, “Oh Branch...”

Branch heaved in, before more sobs racked his body, the years of repressed grief pouring out, “It should've been me...!”

As Branch's words registered with Poppy, she gasped, “Branch, No! Don't say that!”

“But it's true!” She just didn't understand, if it had been him then his grandma would still be here.

Poppy felt her own tears fall but tried to keep it together, “No! It is not!” She sniffled and hugged him again, burying her face in his hair, “Please.... Please don't say that! Ha-Had it been you then-” A sob of her own escaped then, “Then you wouldn't be here and I-I-” A whimper and gasp, “I can't imagine a life without you, Branch. You're my best friend.” She finally broke and started to cry.

Branch finally snapped out of his own sorrow at the sounds of Poppy sobs, “Poppy...”

“Please, Branch,” She pleaded, “Please don't say that again! You-you're so-so important to me and I-” She gasped, “I can't even think about you-you being gooooone!!”

It took a few seconds for Branch to respond, he...hadn't really thought about that. Of course he knew Poppy cared for all her friends, but for her to cry over the thought of him being gone when he certainly didn't feel worthy of that kind of privilege from her... He didn't know how to feel, “Hey...Hey, Poppy. It-It's okay...”

“No, it not!” She cried, tried to bury her face farther into his hair, “I-You-” She whined, unable to find the words she wanted, “You shouldn't talk like that! It's scary and-!”

“Hey, hey, come on...” Branch wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close in a one armed hug as he laid his forehead on her shoulder, “Don't cry, please? I'm sorry.” He was still trying to wrap his head around her being so torn about him being gone because he was just a pathetic piece of crap that didn't deserve this ray of sunshine caring about him like that but he wasn't about to let her cry over him.

She pulled away from him and held his face in her hands, “Please, Branch,” She sniffed, “Please don't talk like that! You're important and special and-and you-you” She choked back another sob, “You deserve to be happy. Not to-to wallow in guilt. Please. Please promise me, you'll never think or say it should've been you again. And talk me, please. We're friends, Branch, and I'd like to help however I can.”

“I-” He didn't if he could promise that to her, not when he still felt so guilty about it but...but the thought of Poppy crying about him again made his stomach turn, “I'll try.”

Poppy sniffed and stared at Branch before nodding, seeing in his eyes that he meant it and was satisfied that he'd at least try. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, “Good.”

It took another few moments for Branch to bring himself to hug her back but when he did, he buried his face in her shoulder again and took a shuddering breath, he had already made a fool of himself already with all the crying he'd done, so what was a little more? “I miss her so much...”

“I know,” Poppy squeezed him before rubbing his back, “It's okay.”

They stayed like that for a while, hugging on his bed, until Branch finally pulled away to wipe as his eyes. He kept one arm around Poppy and she didn't seem to mind as she rested her head on his shoulder, her own arms still wrapped around him. He picked up and held the picture of his grandma, feeling....feeling surprisingly lighter than he had.

“You okay?” Poppy asked quietly after a few silent moments of observing the photo.

“...Yeah...” He sighed, “Yeah, I think I am.” And he meant that.

She smiled and hummed lightly, “Good. I'm glad.”

They sat in silence again before Poppy shifted, “Mind if I peek at what else is in there?” She pointed to the box still sitting innocently at the end of his bed.

Branch took a deep breath, still feeling the effects of finally letting some of the guilt out and nodded, “Go ahead.” He'd eventually look, he told himself, but maybe having Poppy beside him would help the hurt still searing his soul.

Stretching over and reaching inside, Poppy pulled out a large photo album decorated with large roses. Settling back beside him, Poppy leaned against him as she started to flip through it. Pictures featuring a young Branch and Rosie were prominent at first. He held her arms as a baby, as a small child sitting on her lap with a huge grin as she told him a story and as a kid not too long before he lost her. Eventually a certain pinkette, then blonde with fake pink hair streaks started creeping into the pictures. Sleepovers and eating ice cream on the porch, swimming adventures and a copy of that science fair he'd won. Poppy giggled at some of the amusing ones, like his poor attempt as a dragon costume when he was eight and smiled at the memories of the two of them hanging out all the time. Branch laid his head on top of hers and commented here and there.

“Oh my gosh!” Poppy giggled, “Look! Isn't that talent show we entered?” She pointed to a picture featuring them on stage, dressed nicely, microphone's in hand and singing proudly.

Branch snorted, “Yeah.”

“Oh geez...What was the song we sang?”

“'September' and we were teased about it too.”

“Oh yeah~” She giggled again, “And it wasn't so bad. Plus, if I remember correctly, we came in second, right?”

Branch chuckled, “Yeah. Would've come in first but we lost to Moxie's ballet routine.”

“Right. Oh!” She pointed to another photo, this one featuring Branch with two stuffed animals, a walrus and a blue crocodile, “Look! It's Gary and Croco! Whatever happened to them?”

“Hmm,” Branch hummed taking the album and he looked at the picture, “Croco, I think got lost during all the shifting I did through foster homes. Gary...I'm not really sure.” He hadn't seen the walrus in years.

“Hmm...” Poppy sat back up and moved to look through the box again, thinking she may have seen an answer to the missing walrus as Branch continued to flip through the album, smiling softly at all the pictures of him and his grandmother. “Aha!” Poppy exclaimed, pulling out a faded and slightly dusty plush walrus, stuffing seeping out from a few seams, “Look who I found~”

Branch blinked before taking the old plush and gazing at it, he never thought he'd see Gary again, “Huh.”

Poppy smiled at Branch, happy he hadn't slipped back into his usual default mode and was allowing her to be here with him as they looked through these old things. She then glanced at the photo he had pulled out first and took it gently in her hands, “Hey...” She said, breaking him out of whatever thoughts were going through his head, “I have a place we could put this...if you don't mind that is?”

Branch looked at her for a moment before shrugging, “Go ahead.”

She grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him up and out of his room, “Come on.” She led him back out into the living room and over to her shelves of photos, or rather one particular shelf. One it sat only one photo alongside a few candles and fake flowers. Said photo was of a beautiful, blonde woman with a single streak of strawberry blonde, sparkling amber eyes and freckles across her cheeks, the same eyes and freckles her daughter had. Branch watched as Poppy shifted a few things and set his grandmother's photo next to her mom's.

“There.” She stepped back to gaze at them before turning to Branch, “That okay?”

Branch nodded after a moment, shocked but honored Poppy felt his grandmother special enough to be sat beside her mother, “Yeah.”

She grinned and bounced on her heels as she placed her hands behind her back, “What do ya say we order takeout for dinner? Maybe watch some movies? We've been on...one emotional roller coaster and I don't know about you but I'm starving.”

Branch chuckled, trust Poppy to try and smooth anything over with food, “Sure.”

                                       ~*~*~*~*~*~

Some hours later, long after eating and watching movies, Branch found himself gazing drowsily at Poppy, once again asleep on him as they laid on the couch. He smiled at her, now that he'd had time to process everything, he was actually sort of glad she hadn't left him alone. He didn't think he could fall even more on love with this woman than he already was but she proved him wrong. And he hadn't felt this light in years, the guilt that had plagued him for years finally had let up. Of course he knew there was still some there, one explosion of feelings couldn't fix years of telling himself he was responsible for what happened but for now, he was okay.

And it was all thanks to the beautiful woman in his arms.

“Thank you.” He whispered before leaning down and kissing her forehead.

Poppy merely sighed and snuggled deeper into his chest as Branch let himself fall asleep.

                                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~

Wow this chapter was a bit of a roller coaster huh? First off, yay! Character cameos of Sky, CJ, Priscilla, Keith and of course Peppy! Then of course there was the whole scene with Branch breaking down, which as I said may be a little off in places (to me at least) but it's hard to write when you make yourself cry with your own content XD

Hope you all enjoyed!

Song Credit:

'A Whole New World'-sung by Yuna on the 'We Love Disney' collection.

[serahsanguine]

Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 2

This is the second chapter of the second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

Book Two. - pt. 1, 

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0

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Notes; The book referenced is an actual book for myths and legends in Martin County and thanks to Amber and Ian giving me the reference to write from. Everything that is in the ‘book’ related is actually how it is written in the book.

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

Chapter Two; Day Two -  Spooky Stories & Marvelous Myths

The sky was dark outside and the waves could be heard crashing into the shore. The smell of their escapades was still hinted in the air and the simmering embers of the dying fire crackling and hissing in the background. 

Mulder rolled over to find Scully’s side of the bed cold he sat up and looked around the room. He found the small light under the door of the suite. There was a sound of water running and the light being turned off. He lay back down and soon felt her weight cocooned into his body. 

“Are you ok?” he whispered to the top of her head. 

“I’m fine just needed a bathroom break.”

He chuckled and they fell back to sleep. 

Several hours later. 

Both Mulder and Scully were sitting in the kitchen Mulder was making pancakes and Scully was sitting on the kitchen island. 

“What time are The Lone Gunman due?” 

“Not until early evening, they have a story to wrap up.”

She took a sip of her coffee and admired the view of him naked wearing nothing but an apron. And smiled when she thought of the little marathon escapade against the kitchen table. Both vowed they would still eat thereafter doing what they had just done. 

“Thinking about earlier?”

He sat down placing a stack of pancakes in front of both her and him and a slice of toast as well along with fresh orange juice and coffee.

“How could you tell?”

“You have a look about you, you only have it when you’re thinking about either me or sex.”

“Describe it to me.”

He leaned over to her and brought his finger to her face and slowly caressed near her eye and spoke in a low voice. 

“You have a glint in your eye and your eyes change a different shade of  blue”

He moved his finger to the corners of her lips.

“The corner of your mouth turns up a little and you get little creases right here, a hidden smile and the look of affection and adoration.”

He placed his lips on her kissing her softly. He leaned back and sat back into his spot.

“And those lips tell me your in love and the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.”

“I do love you,”

“I know and I love you too.” 

They carried on talking and finishing breakfast, Scully went off to start getting ready for the trip Mulder had planned and if she was being honest it actually sounded nice. Visiting an old book store and browsing their books. She used to do it when she was younger, it was more for comfort back then peace quiet, especially when moving around a lot. The first thing she would do is go into town and find the nearest bookstore and sit in a quiet corner and she would instantly feel safe no matter the place, no matter the time. 

Mulder was cleaning up the pots when it had occurred to him that the only thing Scully had eaten was a half slice of toast. He was dismayed at her not eating but thought nothing more of it. Maybe she was just feeling a little under the weather from there journey yesterday. 

Several hours later they had walked into town managing to dodge the heavy rainfall that unexpectedly came up. They stood outside a cleverly named bookstore called Turn the Page Mulder could not help but smile at the pun. The bookstore from the outside was beautiful with dark brown stained wood bay windows with clear glass windows flanking it. With a display with purple silk and a few spooky Halloween children's books standing upright on display. The top banner above the window in black with white letters setting off the whole place. The door was the same wood as the window with small panes of glass at the top each spelling out the book store name.   

Mulder went through the door first and like any good bookstore, there was a little bell letting the owner know they had a customer. Mulder being the man he is went straight to the Syfy and New Article's section. Scully went to novels first before working herself around to the Science/ Medical book section. 

The bookstore smelled of smoked almonds with a mixture of old and new books. Scully ran her finger over the shelves and each sequential book. Some covers feeling smooth and designed to barely touched or new, and others feeling rough, scratchy well worn and well-loved. There were first editions and third editions mixed together with the low lighting making it brilliant for reading and looking. She went through the sections one by one all the way to the back of the store where she found the quiet corner filled with soft table lamps emitting a yellow-orange glow. There was also a range of different chairs some hard and tall some soft and cushioned but each unique in their own way. 

She could spend hours at a bookstore reading through every book and when she looked over at Mulder he also looked in his element. No more than 5 minutes later he was trying to get her attention but without disturbing everyone else, she walked over to him and he looked like a kid in a candy store all excited.

“Look Scully!” he whispered.

“What is it?” she whispered back. 

“It's a book full of myths and legends.” 

“We, and I repeat WE, are not going looking for an X-File while were are on holiday,” she said a bit more loudly then she meant to and quickly looked around feeling like a schoolgirl that had been caught shouting in a library at school. 

“You wound me Scully, but I promise we are not going looking for an X-File on our vacation.”

“Good! So why are you all excited about this book?” 

“It just fits the theme of this week don’t you think?"

She looked at him sceptically before taking the book out of his hands and reading the title of the book. ‘Ghosts and Witches of Martin county’. She had to give it to him, this is actually what she had been looking for when she had mentioned it to him a mere few hours earlier. 

She thought back to when she asked. 

*****

“Mulder I want to go look for a book,” she said pulling the blue T-shirt over her head as he just turned on the shower.

“Well it’s a good thing we're going to the bookstore later than, isn't it?”

She rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it. She could hear the water splashing the tub and flowing down the drain and imagined his naked skin,  water dripping in slow motion from him. Her tongue following each trail of water down to the apex of his legs, where he was thick, hard and oh so swollen with a little clear liquid seeping from his tip. 

“For?” 

She was brought out of her thoughts as she heard the tail end of what he had been saying, 

“What was that Mulder, I didn't quite catch that?” she shouted a bit louder so he could hear her over the running water. 

“I said, what kind of book are you looking for?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Hum, try me,” he shouted back. 

“I will tell you when you're finished,” she replied.

No more than five minutes later he stepped out of the shower his hair wet and going in all different directions and a beige towel wrapped around his lower half. He walked through the suite and up behind Scully kissing her on the neck.

“What is this book you are looking for?” he said in between kisses and she melted at his touch. 

“A book of old myths and legends of different countries, Ahab and I used to do it every year near Halloween since then my mom and I  have done it unless we have been away with work.”

“That sound like something a family should do,” he said sadly. 

 She turned him around so now she could look him in the eye even with the height difference both knew this was an I'm telling the truth and mean everything I say and you'd better believe me. Look

“Mulder, if you haven't learned by now YOU ARE my family,” she kissed him on the lips and rested her head against his beating heart. 

 “I believe you, but why am I only hearing about it now?”

“It just never came up, unlike something else I know,” she said as she grabbed his standing erection and he gasped but soon disrobed her of her newly put on clothes before making their way into town.

***

He lead her by the hand over to the quiet reading corner their fingers interlocked the whole time and he began to read the first myth/legend to her. 

They sat down, Scully’s back against his stomach with the book in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her stomach. And he started to read. 

“The title reads, The Devil’s Pocosin,”

“Sound interesting do read on. ”

“The Devil’s Pocosin - a thick, dark, hazardous swampy area was the reputed heaven of ‘evil spirits’ as well as the wildcat, the panther and the bear during the colonial and ante-bellum days. Yet those wetlands produced such an abundance of huckleberries that groups of pickers would take a chance in its thickets even with the deadly cottonmouth moccasin that inhabited them. People generally believed that the pocosin provided haunts for the devil and the ‘witches’ from nearby communities.” 

Mulder read in slow whispers into her ear if people wandered past they wouldn’t have noticed. They were in their own bubble. 

“Here they were said to gather and plot wicked schemes against the good people of the area. Jack - o - lanterns or will -o- wisps were often seen around the borders of the pocosin, enticing men into the thickets where they often became lost and wandered around until daybreak. No hunter would dare to enter the pocosin alone.”

Scully turned her head so she could talk to his face.

“Will you read me another before we have to go home?”

“Of course Scully.”

“Title reads, Spell broken by old iron stake.”

Scully snuggled in deeper to him.

“The southern concept of ghosts and spirits were generally of English origin. African slaves delivered in both animate and inanimate belongs possessed of ‘spirits’ and both the slaves and the colonists believed in witches. Early settlers in the American colonies almost without exception believed in human ‘ghosts’ and the witches used their magic powers in various ways. Most of the slaves used bags of various witches' concoctions; and lacking material means, they used witchcraft as a means of revenge, sometimes even the master of the slaves turned to the witches for advice in seeking revenge on his enemies. Most people are afraid of the witches and did not relish the idea of being ‘conjured’ by them. 

They were broke out of their moment when the heard an elderly man speak to them. 

“Hello Sir, Madam, I’m closing soon.”

Scully stood up and looked at the elderly gentleman with his light brown trousers and checked red and brown shirt. 

“Oh, I'm sorry sir we will be getting out of your way. ”

“Oh no dear you’re not in the way. It's been a long while since two people came in here to read in our quiet corner and actually read if you get my meaning.” 

Scully helped Mulder stand and then blushed at what the old gentleman had said. 

“How long have you owned the shop?” Mulder asked.

“It’s been in the family for three generations now. ”

“It’s a lovely little store” Scully replied.

“Thank you, ma'am, you can have that book you’re holding for free as a thank you for talking to me and letting me enjoy your company for a little while.”

“It’s too much,” Scully said as she tried to hand the book back to the shop owner. 

“Nonsense my dear,” he said pushing the book back to Scully, “Just come visit me every once in a while.”

“We will, we promise,” Mulder said softly.

“Now you two love birds best be going before it gets too cold.”

Both Mulder and Scully put on their coats and slipped out the front door. What the shopkeeper didn't know is Mulder slipped 20 dollars just underneath a book near the till on their way out.

It was dark when they stepped outside, there were puddles of water along the cobblestone path and roads. The moon and stars creating shimmers of white in the reflections of passing windows. The sky was clear and not a cloud in sight, Scully moved into Mulder's warmth as they walked to the little house they called home while they were here. 

[lilibug--xx]

Awkward Encounters

this is part 1 of a 3-part fic i'm writing! it's bughead of course! i haven't written anything in a while, so i'm a little rusty. let me know your thoughts, if i should continue or abandon it. i'm going to post it to ao3 at some point as well. edit: here is the link for the work on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245094/chapters/27821961

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

“Welcome to Victoria's secret! Can I help you find something today?”

Jughead snorted, head rolling back to lean against the bench he was sitting on. The sounds of the fountain and people's foot steps passing through his ears. Why was he here sitting on a bench across from Victoria's fucking Secret? Oh yeah, Veronica.

He pulled his head up and took a slurp of his frozen lemonade he got earlier from the pretzel place in the food court. The 2 cheddar and jalapeno soft pretzels he had gotten were long gone. He slung his left arm up across the back of the bench and stretched his leg out in order to take up as much room as possible lest someone try and sit next to him.

He eyed the store that was literally bleeding pink with one eye.

Veronica had come to him yesterday while he was writing a paper for his literature class in Pop's. She plopped herself down in the booth across from him and just started talking without even a ‘hello’. Of course, he didn’t usually respond when she did but still.

“I really need someone to take a package back to the mall and exchange it for something else. I literally don’t have time to go tomorrow and I have to do it before this sale is over,” she pulled a french fry off his plate and started eating it. Jughead stared at his computer screen while continuing to type. He wasn’t taking her bait.

“I’ll give you my credit card and you can get that game you and Archie have been going on about for weeks.”

A eyebrow raised but he still didn’t bring his eyes up from the computer screen.

A sigh from Veronica escaped in a short huff. “You can get everything you want to eat at the food court.”

“Hmm,” he rubbed his chin at that, putting on looking pensive for a moment. “Why can’t Archie go?” He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the vinyl booth.

“Because, he is going to be with me tomorrow. We're going up to my parents for brunch.” Oh right, Jughead thought the redhead mentioned something about Ronnie's parents the other day. It did take a couple hours to get there and they were rich so it was one of those fancy dinners that turn into cocktails on the lanai and then tea in the sitting room blah blah blah.

“Whatever.” He went back to typing, ignoring Veronica's icy glare. She didn’t say anything else, just kept staring at him. Jughead ignored her.

…….

“Alright, fuck, I’ll go okay? Just leave me alone Ronnie.”

She clapped her hands together in front of herself, a giggle escaping her pearl-adorned throat. “Excellent! I’ll leave the package and receipt with Smithers for you to pick up tomorrow with instructions,”

Blue eyes rolled up into his head, he picked up a handful of fries and shoved them in his mouth. “I'm not a little kid.” He managed to say around the food. One perfectly arched brow rose in response. “Ok, really now, fuck off Ronnie.”

She didn’t say anything else just reached across the table and patted his signature crown beanie, looking at him like he was a bad little puppy that just needed to be taught some manners.

So, all things considered Jughead really should have questioned what it was that he was returning and what he would have to in turn pick up. The next day when Smithers handed him a large coffee and the little shopping bag he hadn’t batted an eye, distracted by the welcoming caffeine. He took a sip, black just like his soul.

Now, sitting at the mall he thought about Veronica's ‘instructions’ she had left him.

‘Juggie,

Take this back to Victoria’s Secret and exchange it for a size small, dream angels crushed velvet teddy in ensign. And pick up a satin kimono, your choice.

xoxo

Veronica’

Seriously, what the fuck? He deserved more than a video game and a day of eating at the mall for this. Not to mention he had to look up what ‘ensign’ was, which was apparently a navy blue, aptly named.

He'd been here for over an hour and still hadn’t worked up the courage to go into the store. It wasn’t that he was afraid, it was just awkward. Here he was in ripped jeans, blue flannel and his black leather Serpents jacket on. The carpet in the store was pink, the walls were pink, the mannequins displaying tiny little panties and bras were pink. He was going to look like a fish out of water, not to mention he was shopping for a girl that wasn’t even his.

Jughead tossed his now empty cup into the trash and plucked the little pink stripped bag up from bedside him and peeked inside to see a small scrap of lace before retreating quickly.

He signed long and hard before shuffling over to the doors that were propped open. The smell wafting from the store was practically sensual. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and stepped through like there was going to be some sort invisible barrier that would repel back. When he was inside and unharmed he looked around, trying not to focus too much on one thing in particular.

“Welcome to Victoria's Secret! Can I help you find something today?” He was prepared, he had been hearing them say that to everyone who walked in the store the half hour he was stalking the front entrance. What he wasn’t prepared for was the gorgeous blonde-haired blue-eyed angel in front of him.

He took his hands out of his jacket pockets, the hand that wasn’t holding the bag reaching up to rub the back of his neck where hair was peeking out the bottom of the grey beanie. He held out his other one, bag dangling from his index finger. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I've got instructions to exchange this for something else and obviously I have no idea what I'm looking for,” he let out in a huff, like he had been holding his breath prior to speaking.

His eyes glanced over her name tag, ‘Betty’, and then up to her face which held an amused smile. She took the bag from him, her fingers sliding against his as she slipped it off his finger tip. “Well, that seems easy enough. Ah, she even wrote out what she wanted, excellent,” she said, lips quirking into a smile as she pulled out Veronica’s notecard. She read it over and then peeked into the bag pulling the scrap of lace out and checking the tag against the receipt before heading off and leaving Jughead standing there at the front of the store.

He shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, not wanting to touch anything. He looked around briefly before the blonde, Betty, came back a few seconds later and touched his arm by his elbow gently. “Sir, you can fol-"

“Jughead.”

“…I'm sorry?” She paused, brows furrowing in confusion.

“My name is Jughead.” He paused for a second, frowning. “Sorry. Sir just.. makes me feel old,” he explained, resisting the urge to scratch at the back of his neck again.

“Oh! Okay, Jughead.” She smiled at him, the edges of her eyes crinkling up. “I’m Betty. You can follow me right over here and we can pick up your girlfriend’s requested item and you can browse the kimonos we have,” she said while leading him toward a section of the store further back, across from the perfumes.

“She's not my girlfriend.” He stated bluntly, he definitely didn’t want her to think he was attached. Especially to Veronica, gross.

Jughead swept his eyes over her as she looked through a pile of items, apparently trying to find this ridiculous teddy that Veronica needed in order to please her dear ‘Archiekins'. She was wearing a pink sleeveless blouse that tied above a keyhole cutout on her chest, he could see a hit of black lace peeking out as she bent forward to open a draw labeled with an ‘S'. Her tight jeans gave him a very pretty picture as she leant forward with a hand on her knee, digging through the drawer.

“Oh, I apologize. I just assumed, which was wrong of me. It's just that most men come in here shopping for girlfriends or wives,” she said with a small shrug of her shoulders, looking up to him briefly. Then with a small frown she started opening the other drawers around that one look through.

“Well I didn’t exactly realize what she had conned me into or I probably would have said no,” he reached out to touch her elbow as she was frantically digging through the drawers. “Looks like you don’t have it,” he said bringing her attention back to him. She looked up and sighed shutting the drawer, his arm falling from hers.

Betty ran a hand through her wavy hair, mussing it up a little before tucking some strands behind her ear and putting her hands on her hips aa she looked around. “Well, we don’t have her size. I could order it for you?” She offered with a tilt of her head, looking up to Jughead. He couldn’t help but stare at her lips, they were sinfully red.

“Uh yeah, that’s fine. She just said she wanted the sale price, so..”

“No problem!” she chirped before guiding him to an area of kimonos, robes, and slips. “Now let’s find something you think she would like,” her hand was still on his back and he swore he could feel the burn of her fingertips through the leather and flannel he was wearing. He didn’t make any movement, just stood still and let his eyes wander around. Slowly her hand drifted away and she stepped up bedside him, close enough that their arms were touching.

He glanced down at her, one hand poised on her hip while the other reached out to brush against the garments, her hand gliding through the satin and silk like water. “She’s kind of picky,” he mentioned with a shrug of his shoulders.

Betty seemed to take that as a challenge as she ‘hmm’d in response, pulling her lower lip between her bottom teeth. His eyes caught the action and he couldn't stop himself from imagining what it would be like to bite her lip like that, if she would release a breathy little sigh or slid her hand through his hair-

He closed his eyes for few seconds before reopening them. He almost groaned when he realized she was looking up at him with her lip still caught between her teeth. She was holding two options up and he glanced at them briefly before setting his eyes back on her face and dragging his eyes up to hers, away from her lips.

Why was he thinking like this? This is shit that happens to Archie, not him. All through high school he wasn’t that interested in any females, nor males. His freshman year of college he dabbled a little bit and managed to lose his virginity with a sassy blonde (wait, did he have a type after all?) but eventually they came to the mutual decision to stop seeing each other.

Her voice brought him back to the present, “What do you think of this?” She offered up a different choice, a black silk kimono riddled with red lace flowers and trimmed in the same color.

“Put it on.” It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Her eyebrows rose but she slipped it off the hanger and pulled it on. It looked good on her, black was definitely a good color on her and the red matched her lips perfectly. Of course she was wearing regular clothes underneath, but he could almost picture her without them, a bare shoulder peeking out and her blonde hair just barely brushing the skin there..

“What do you think?” She questioned, turning a little to let him see the back as she clinched the middle closed with a hand. “It looks fucking great on you,” he responded without conviction letting it be obvious as his eyes trailed her from head to toe. A pretty blush colored her cheeks at that and she smoothed a hand down the silk resting on her thigh, fingers scratching slightly. “But Ronnie has black hair, so she probably wants a little more contrast,” he said looking back to the rack and plucking a silvery one with nude accents. “This'll be fine, I’m sure.”

She slipped the one she was wearing off her shoulders and put it back on the rack before taking the one Jughead was holding out. She lingered for a second, eyes on his outstretched fingers. “Okay, well besides the online order, can I find you anything else today?”

Jughead looked around the store, thinking about how Christmas was coming up and he definitely didn’t want to come back here later. Or did he? There would be no guarantee that Betty would be working when he did, though. Would it be terrible of him to charge some perfume to Veronica's card for her Christmas present? ‘Yes' he thought, inwardly signing. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“I guess not, I don’t have anybody to buy something else for.” There you go Jughead, just casually keep dropping the hints.

“Oh, alright. Well then let’s go to the register and I’ll order her other item,” she said gesturing towards the counter. He stepped up behind her, following as they walked the short distance. His finger pressing into her lower back as he put his hand there, guiding her around a woman who had just rounded the corner of a display sharply.

She cleared her throat, edging around the counter while he leaned into both elbows, his hands practically dangling off the other end of the counter by her waist. “So, I can do ship to store if that’s alright? Otherwise it'll cost a little more.” Her fingers were clicking on the keys as she typed something in before glancing up at him and then back down to the computer, chewing on her damn lip again.

He knew Veronica wouldn’t care about the money. But.. “Yeah. I'm sure that’d be fine, she normally likes coming here.”

Her lips turned down slightly at his words, her shoulders dropping from the straight line they were set in. Was that disappointment flashing in her eyes?

“Oh, okay..” Betty nodded, going through with the order as he handed over Veronica’s credit card for the kimono she had folded into a neat square.

“Do you eat dinner?” he asked suddenly, not sure where he was going with this.

An amused look crossed her features before her lips turned up into a smile. “Yes, I eat dinner,” she wasn’t giving him anything else, intentionally, making him grapple for more words.

“Would you eat with me? Dinner, I mean.” He brought a hand up and pushed the lock of hair falling into his eyes away, tucking the end into his beanie.

“Can I have dessert?” the question surprised him, and he blinked. Her eyes were impossibly dark and gazed at them before flicking down to her cherry red lips again. “You can have whatever you want Betty,” He licked his own lower lip, accepting the credit card back from her and tucking it inside his wallet to give back to Veronica later.

She sighed happily as if that was the best news she’s ever heard.

“Pick me up at 6.”

[itslucyluna]

Fic Writers Week 2017 - Day 1

I know this started yesterday, but I only heard about it this morning as I was taking a browse around on Tumblr…

So without further ado, Day 1: Words Of Validation.

Fic Writers, share some of the comments that stuck with you the most.

I’ve given some thought how to do this. While there are certainly some reviews/comments that have stuck with me (and I’ll be sharing them in a moment), there are some particular reviewers/commenters I’d rather thank first.

Sunsethill on FF.net for her faithfulness as a reviewer of TDKWWS, it’s companion pieces, and sequels from nearly it’s beginning.

Kiger-neko on FF.net, who has not only given some very lovely reviews, but has also created some amazing fanart for TDKWWS.

AntiSocialBookWorm on AO3 who’s very thoughtful and fleshed-out comments on TDKWWS are always a pleasure to receive.

221b_ee, Nyx_Ro, Sue_Clover on AO3 who’s kind comments I look forward to reading when I update TDKWWS. 

And now, some of my favorite reviews/comments :)

Cross-Pollination on FF.net:

i read this earlier and i went through a horrible phase of being SO MAD at james like lmao i was totally on board with james/tuney when i thought snily was gonna be a thing (even tho i don't ship them go figure) but as soon as i realized it WASN'T i felt this unearthly rage overcome me like... i don't even know why. i was just so offended. i related a lot to harry's thoughts on the matter here.

but now i'm totally down for whatever happens in the future... i just can't think about james too long looool...

such a tuney move though, to prefer henry over harry. she would! she really would. you've got such a firm grasp on all of the characters, and i admire your ability to portray young characters realistically in tdkwws - so many people fail to grasp accurate childlike behavior and mannerisms and struggle to convey their age through their dialogue and small actions but you handle it all flawlessly without making anyone lose their core values and what makes them them.

i'm gonna be on the lookout for any guys with brown/blond hair and moms named francine now haha! i gotta figure out who lily's gonna marry! i have a sneaking suspicion that sev's gonna get with clara and that lewis is her and benjy's son, since he dies in canon and lewis has that cleft chin and stocky build your benjy's got... clara's also caught sev's eye in the most recent chap and she's been appearing a lot more recently! she's growing on me, so maybe i'm just looking for clues where there aren't any just cuz i really like her, but... :) here's to hoping!

i'm glad that "all was well" for everyone in both universes, anyway. of course sev would figure out a way to check on the other universe - lily probably desperately needed reassurance harry was okay after all that time. makes me wonder why she didn't come along. it was good for sev, too, i think, to hear that harry thought he did the right thing in the end.

AND HARRY DIED WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE GOD THAT GOT ME SO GOOD

AAggh i love this i love your writing i love this series i can't wait for more updates to tdkwws!

TDKWWS on FF.net:

And I've finally caught up to the latest chapter! I really enjoy how you're writing this. Even though Lily and Severus start from first year, there are mysteries/plots for each "year." I also appreciate your OCs, they each have their own motivations and personality. What I like most is that even if this is "just another time travel," you are very creative with plot and I'm usually guessing what happens next. I'm curious as to who the Hufflepuff could be.

Also, Gwendolyn Jones reminded me of the canon Gwenog Jones!

Famous Last Words on FF.net:

Ok, first of allMAJOR PLOT TWIST

your interpretation of Albus. S. Potter is ridiculously creative, although, I suppose it’s quite plausible (and also reminding me of some DarkLord! Harry fics)

this thing is quite short but so succinct at revealing years and years of Albus’ storyl honestly can’t fathom how you do it

but your take on this nextgen character (who I often see is the sarcastic Slytherin at Hogwarts, which is also who you made him out to be) and twisting the common interpretation of him is just amazing.

hopefully you write more about ‘controversial’ characters (IMO, like Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, Severus Snape, and just a sudden idea, maybe you can expand on Aunt Muriel’s character?) Cheers

TDKWWS on AO3:

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. I did not see Dimitri Prince coming back as the DADA professor. I especially enjoyed the goodbye scene with the Jones children at the Platform 9 3/4. It felt almost like a GIF in a way. I could see the scene very well in my mind from the details given, and it was a languid exploration of a fairly mundane (and HP traditional) scene. Adding the warning by Eileen Snape bothered my curiosity and made me pause, and set the tone for something-not-quite-right during the Sorting Ceremony. Thumbs up! I'm finding that your original characters fit very well into the world of Harry Potter. I think it is because you've explored some of the background characters like Narcissa Malfoy well enough for me to accept them easily. When I see a familiar name be humanized and fleshed out, the work you put into your original characters is more appreciated. I utterly accept Sage as belonging in the time period. Of course, dealing with a non-Harry-Potter time period necessitates some original characters but I felt it necessary to mention how well they fit in to the story. :)

TDKWWS on AO3:

Just spent the last three days or so reading through this story and the two related one shots, and what you did is just amazing.

You know, before this, I was opposed to time-travel HP fix-it fics on principle. I just didn't read them, didn't like the concept and couldn't see how one could work. You managed to prove me wrong with how well-drafted this is, though, and boy am I glad you did it.

I think what I like best about everything is the way you expanded and built upon what little we know about the Marauder era, especially in regard to Slytherin House, giving a taste of the wider world beyond. Your original characters are well-rounded and believable, and the changes you made to the canon ones are very interesting as well (I miss warm and caring Narcissa!). I believe a common pitfall, especially in the HP fandom, is to write off characters who are bigots as a bundle of negative tropes and go from there. It's easy to forget that they can be people like any other, with their own loves, hopes and fears, and not just "the villains". So, I really appreciate what you did, especially with Vesta and Boyd Montague and Demitri Prince. A pureblood who disowned his daughter for marrying a Muggle, on one side, but is horrified by and opposed to Voldemort, on the other... It's this kind of depth that I sometimes think is unfortunately lacking in the original work. So kudos!

I'll be waiting anxiously to see where it'll be taking you next :)

I Wish You Well (No More Bad Blood) on AO3:

He looked at her. His blacks eyes held an inscrutable emotion as he said, "Things are, and never were, black and white."

Lily didn't understand. It frustrated her. She'd gotten used to straightforward people like James, Sirius, and her mates in the Order over this crypticness Severus always liked. Taking back her arm, she flashed a quick smile at the sales associate behind the counter. "I'd like to buy these, please."

This is well stated, and I thought the rest of the story enhanced it artfully.

The Snape/Evans dynamic is one of the most intriguing in the HP universe, and I enjoyed reading your insights on it. Thank you so much for writing and sharing this.

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

Because I am nothing if not an entirely raging narcissist, the last headcanon I wrote inspired me to revisit my redheaded OC and expand Ignis’ portion of it into a longer fic. At roughly 6700 words, it might be a little on the lengthy side for readers who like their smut in shorter, more consumable quantities, but at the very least I can guarantee approximately 70% of it is high quality genital-mashing.

Also, because we’ve established that I am indeed a raging narcissist, I drew a picture that you might’ve seen floating around these parts as supplemental material to help my followers visualize the naughty scene I’ve set. I’ve copypasted the fic in its entirety below the cut, but you can follow the link I’ve included to my AO3 account if you prefer getting your rocks off over there. While comments and constructive criticism are not necessary, they are more than welcome and always appreciated. Happy reading!

Idiotically NSFW

They have a routine, the strategist and the redhead; she waits in the shadows of his apartment landing near midnight, listening for the audible click of his front door unlocking to signal that the coast is clear; he greets her with a chaste peck on the cheek and a steaming cup of Ebony when she finally tiptoes inside; they seat themselves around the living room and chat politely for thirty minutes or so, about this and that and all sorts of mundane things, until they both silently acknowledge the real reason why she is here and discard their clothes in the hall on their way to the bedroom.

It’s a comfortable routine, something she has to look forward to after a long day at the Citadel, something that hasn’t changed in the weeks and months since she’d involved herself with the strategist. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee always succeeds at putting her mind at ease, as does the deep vibrato of his voice when he mutters the latest complaint against his royal charge. Even the slight narrowing of his eyes indicating his desire for intimacy is customary, for Ignis Scientia is nothing if not entirely consistent in his mannerisms, and the redhead knows the only expectation either one of them will have for the evening is just how long it takes for her to cry out his name.

Which is why it’s decidedly unexpected when she sees him pushing a large rectangular box across the coffee table in her direction. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” he says, in the clipped accent they both share. “Of sorts.”

She peers down warily at the violet ribbon wrapped around the package before turning a dubious eye on him. “For me? I scarcely would’ve taken you for the charitable type.”

“More for me, actually. Although it would be an added bonus if it was to your liking.” He takes a sip from his Ebony, and then nods toward the box. “Go on—see if it suits your tastes.”

She hesitates, somewhat puzzled by this curious break in their habitualness, but concedes to his request and tugs on the end of the ribbon. Once she’s removed the lid, she is met with a plethora of tissue paper; it takes her a few moments to unearth what lies beneath, and she laughs aloud when she finally recognizes the shimmer of satin and lace textiles. “Really, Ignis? Unmentionables?”

“They can’t really be considered unmentionables once you’ve mentioned them, now can they?”

The way the corners of his lips turn upward into a faint smirk is both utterly endearing and entirely exacerbating, and she resists the urge to sigh. “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do with these?”

“Wear them, I would hope. Preferably for me, but I obviously can’t stop you from entertaining lesser fools.”

She pegs him with a tart glance before returning her attention to the contents of the package; a pair of sheer black stockings is nestled between a matching garter-and-panty set, and she catches a glimpse of indigo silk beneath the lacy undergarments.

She then withdraws the purple article from the box and holds it up teasingly. “Your fashion sensibilities are certainly predictable. Did you purchase this from the same tailor who designs your dress shirts?”

The boned corset in her hands is indeed crafted from a similar Coeurl-print pattern the strategist favors in his own wardrobe, although this evening he is sporting a dark button-up shirt and necktie, likely due to a late night council meeting. “Not quite,” he replies. “I picked it up from the department store yesterday when I was with Noctis.”

She is almost positive he delights in the look of horror that crosses her features. “With the prince? What in Astrals were you thinking?”

“Come now, I’m more discreet than that.” He crosses one knee over the other and swirls his mug around demurely. “Umbra showed up just as Noct was buying new tube socks, and he asked me to bugger off for a bit. I took the liberty to make my purchases and was back before he could finish dotting his I’s with little hearts.”

“And you weren’t the least bit worried about being caught browsing the ladies intimate apparel section? Not concerned with any… assumptions the cashier might’ve made about you?”

The strategist shrugs. “Not at all. Even if someone were to suspect I was buying lingerie for myself, the whole Citadel knows I have nicer legs than anyone.” He then tosses her a wink. “Your included.”

She has half a mind to swipe her foot across the sensitive part of his shins, but the sight of multiple zeroes printed on the label affixed to the corset derails her malevolent intentions. “Goodness,” she breathes, and draws the label closer to confirm her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, draining the last of his beverage before setting his empty cup aside. “I merely wanted to ensure durable enough construction that wouldn’t fall apart immediately after putting it on. And besides—if you’d rejected my offerings outright without the tags, I’d be a few hundred credits lighter and nothing but aching testicles to show for it.”

She drops the corset back into the box with the other items and replaces the lid. “You could’ve always worn them yourself. Or perhaps your legs aren’t as shapely as you think?”

It’s admittedly one of her favorite aspects of entertaining the strategist, this delightful battle of wits; she cocks a mischievous eyebrow in his direction, poised and ready to counter his incoming barb with a pointed one of her own. But his green orbs soften behind his spectacles, and he surprises her—just as he did when he set the package in front of her moments ago—by reaching across the table and taking her hand in his own.

“I’d rather like to see you wear them,” he says quietly. “Won’t you consider humoring this stuffy chamberlain just for one evening?”

For a split second, the walls guarding her mind draw up; it was rather unlike him, the stoic personality he most often was, to reveal any signs of weakness around her, and the details of their arrangement never explicitly addressed the specifics pertaining to unusual fetishes or lewd requests. But his proposal wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a lover—nor even particularly lewd, when the she really thought about it—and the earnestness in his eyes curbs her skepticism.

So she draws herself up from her seat without another word, the box of unmentionables tucked under one arm and her gaze trained on him as she strolls off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he’s out of her line of sight, she enters the on-suite bathroom and closes the door behind her; she then sets the package down on the marbled vanity beside the sink and removes the lid once more.

She hefts the bodice from the box and holds it against her torso, and her nose wrinkles as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. The redhead may have been the object of considerable desire within the walls of the royal palace, but she can’t even remember the last time she’d agreed to compress her organs for the sake of beauty. She wonders if perhaps the strategist is growing bored with her, dressing her up like a plaything in a final effort to coax the last remaining vestiges of attraction he still harbors for her, until she remembers that there are far more economical ways of getting one’s rocks off than dropping a few hundred Crown City credits on couture underwear.

She eventually discards the wardrobe she wore to his apartment and sets to work. The panties, stockings, and garter are straightforward enough, but the corset bindings are packaged separately from the bodice, and when she unravels them she finds herself tangled up in several meters of cording. She may be an expert at lacing a pair of combat boots, but ladies shape wear proves to be another beast entirely; it takes her ten minutes to thread the binding through the narrow grommets enough for her to squeeze herself into the overly complex garment.

When she moves to adjust it, however, she is left with an excessive amount of binding in both her hands; what the purpose was of having six feet of rope when she only needed two to hang herself with eludes her entirely, and she spends yet another ten minutes trying to figure out why only the bottom half of the bodice will tighten when she pulls on the end of the cords.

“Need a hand?”

She snaps her head around, and her eyes lock on to the lanky figure leaning against the threshold. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to recognize you haven’t the slightest clue how to lace a corset properly.” The strategist moves into the bathroom and stops behind her, gliding his fingers gently across her neck as he shifts her long tresses to one side. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

The tightening around her ribs eases abruptly, and her spine begins to tingle when she feels his warm breath on her shoulder. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people like that,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear you open the door.”

“I’ve made a career out of sneaking up on people. Are you really surprised?”

“Hm. I suppose not.”

His hands move quickly, tugging on the binding and rethreading them from the bottom up. When he reaches the grommets centered near her waist, he picks up the other end of the cording and begins lacing them through alternating holes from the top down. She studies his face in the reflection of the mirror while he works, his bespectacled features furrowed with the same razor-keen focus he would dedicate to any other task, imperative or otherwise; she has witnessed his awesome powers of concentration before, whether he is channeling the celestial magic of the crystal the sovereigns of Lucis have bestowed upon him, or taking notes in a boring council meeting, or even—nay, especially—when he is making love to her in the earliest hours of twilight.

“There’s a method behind lacing a corset,” he explains, tying off the ends of the cord at the two lowest grommets and tugging on the excess binding looped at her waist. “Pull on these ones”—he clutches at the bottom strands—“and it tightens the lower half. Pull on these ones”—his grip switches to the top strands—“and it tightens the upper half. Makes it easier to distribute the tension more evenly.”

As the compression surrounding her ribcage equalizes, the redhead surmises she learns something new about him every day; how he takes his coffee, what section of the newspaper he prefers to read first, how deep the rabbit hole of his perverted psyche actually goes. “You seem to be quite the authority on corsetry.”

He secures the loops of the binding into a snug knot; then he slips a hand around her waist, drawing her close and touching his lips to her ear. “I like my presents wrapped as much as anyone.”

Her eyelids flutter shut when she feels his arousal pressing against the small of her back. “Seems a shame to go through the trouble of putting everything on, only to take it all off again.”

“Who said anything about taking it off?”

Finally, she turns to face him. “You’re going to have to,” she says, gesturing to the panties that are trapped firmly between her stockings and garter belt. “Unless you plan on fucking me through my underwear somehow.”

Neither one of them was in the habit of employing vulgar language with any regularity; they both had reputations at the Citadel to uphold, and at times it seemed like they were the last two remaining consummate professionals amidst the likes of bawdier individuals like Gladiolus Amicitia and Libertus Ostium. Still, the occasional use of more… colorful vocabulary held a certain measure of gravity, and indeed her expletive has its desired effect; his cheek twitches as he takes a step toward her, and she can see the fire of lust flaring behind his emerald eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

It’s rather unbecoming of her to bait him like that, and she knows it; he may be The Strategist, but he’s still just a man, and it was hardly fair of her to tease his ardor without giving any serious thought of following through with her insinuation.

But then she’s reminded of all the times he’s held the upper hand and delayed her gratification to agonizing lengths, and there was something about wearing a corset and thigh-highs that is making her feel empowered besides; she meets his gaze with a wicked one of her own, and reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Since you managed to persuade me into donning this little outfit of yours,” she purrs, “I was wondering if I might make an inquiry of my own.”

His jaw clenches in visible restraint as she slips the tie out from under his collar. “But of course.”

“How much do you trust me?”

His gaze then drifts to the knot she is suddenly tightening around his right hand. “About as much as I trust anyone fettering my wrist with my own necktie, I suppose.”

When she is content with the strength of her makeshift shackle, she guides him to lean his lower back against the vanity countertop. “It’s just that you have a tendency to make sure my needs are met without ever giving any thought to your own. I find that rather troublesome.”

His face betrays the faintest hint of apprehension as she snakes the long end of the tie around the back of the sink faucet. “I’m certainly not feeling neglected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Be that as it may, there’s a notable disparity between my efforts and yours. I was hoping to rectify that particular oversight.”

Only when she attempts to seize his unfettered wrist does he finally interrupt her machinations. “While I wholly appreciate your concern,” he says, raising his left hand away from her and out of reach, “I’m not sure if this is the best solution to an imaginary problem.”

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching her leap futilely after her target, so she levels him with a steely gaze instead. “Afraid of turning the wheel over to someone else, for once?”

“No, but in my experience, bondage without the advantage of forethought rarely ever goes as planned.”

The hairs on the back of her neck tingle in mild irritation; she drops the end of the necktie on the vanity and lowers her voice to nearly a whisper. “I never ask you for anything, Ignis. You’re the one who leaves your front door unlocked every night, not me.”

The words left unspoken linger like a specter in the tiled room; she had no way of predicting from the start where exactly this dalliance of theirs would take her, but she’d done all she could to play by the rules, her rules, the ones that explicitly stated this was merely an agreement between two consenting individuals, where they could express themselves privately in ways they otherwise could not. She certainly would never have been able to envision herself clad in nylon and expensive silk with her buttocks on full display, at the behest of a man who had cooked for her and shared his bed and had even engaged with her in the occasional lover’s spat, and who for all of Eos felt like a loyal and doting husband in everything but name.

He adjusts his spectacles across the bridge of his nose, and she can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing her desire to please him against his need to always be in control. After a moment, he heaves a long-suffering sigh and extends his left wrist in her direction. “I suppose we ought to agree upon a safe word.”

She can’t quite conceal the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and moves to secure his outstretched hand with the remaining slack of the necktie. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. The worst that could happen is you uproot your faucet.”

“And send a geyser flooding through the apartment?” He shakes his head woefully. “My renter’s insurance would positively skyrocket.”

When she is finished tethering his wrists to the polished brass fixture behind his back, and is confident he won’t be able to immediately break loose the instant her mouth meets any sensitive flesh, she traces her fingers lightly across his smooth cheeks and draws him close. “I’ll try not to be the reason for any permanent water damage,” she says, as the distance between their lips vanishes, “but I can’t make any promises.”

It’s a wholly unique experience, kissing the strategist whilst his arms are bound; his hands are usually everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, caressing her breasts, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to massage her aching nub. But the tables have suddenly turned, the onus of his pleasure firmly in the palm of her own hands, and she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she isn’t having to clutch at the walls just to hold herself upright under his devilish ministrations.

Almost.

His shirt is still buttoned and, without the present use of his limbs, it might’ve remained that way for a while longer if her desire to undress him hadn’t been entirely innate. But since the instinct to strip the clothes right off his back was as involuntary as breathing, she doesn’t even need to break their kiss for her fingers to find and unfasten the top three closures; two more, and she’s drinking in the flavor of Ebony and spiced cologne as she explores his tongue; the final two, and she’s parting his tunic like the curtains of a window and pressing her body tightly against his warm chest.

His mouth drifts across her cheek and follows the outline of her jaw, but his lips stop just shy of her left earlobe when his restraints prevent him from leaning in any farther. “I hope you don’t intend to imprison me like this for too terribly long,” he says.

His shoulders flex under the hand she is gliding over his collarbone, presumably testing the durability of the tie against the strength of his own wrists. She then trails her fingers down his abdomen, encircling his navel once before untucking the hem of his shirt from his waistband. “I loathe to disappoint you, but I’m only just getting started.”

A curious noise bubbles out of his throat just then, scarcely audible enough for her to hear, but sounding halfway between a frustrated whine and a carnal growl. The expression settling in across his features conveys a more telling tale; his lips are parted and his jaw is set, and he lowers his chin to his chest when she presses the palm of her hand against the bulging in his trousers. Her other hand is snaked around his neck and gripping at the base of his scalp—just the way she knows he likes it, because of course she knows, because tugging on his tawny hair only served to urge his arousal onward in the past.

But he can’t do anything about it like he could before, since the tie fettering his wrists has held up remarkably well thus far; he conveys his annoyance at being shackled against his will by biting gently on her lower lip. The hand she has resting on his groin moves to tackle his belt buckle, and she releases the zipper of his trousers with deft fingers before pulling away from him and dropping to her knees. The strategist didn’t spend several hundred credits on intimate apparel just to view the evening’s entertainment from the nosebleed section, however, so the redhead makes sure her posture is such that the lacy undergarment dividing her backside is suitably conspicuous from his birds-eye perspective.

“I just had a thought,” he says suddenly. “The bathroom’s not exactly the most hygienic place for this kind of activity. Perhaps we should move into the bedroom?”

“And spoil my fun? I think not.” She glances up and cocks a teasing eyebrow at him. “Besides—knowing you, you probably sterilized every square inch of this apartment with industrial strength bleach before I arrived.”

“Regardless if that were true, the floor tiles can’t possibly be comfortable on your kneecaps.”

She then threads her fingers beneath the waistband of his fitted boxer briefs and tosses him a wink. “Itching for release, are we? I’m getting there.”

He doesn’t get the chance to counter her argument before she is tugging down on the garment and liberating him from the constricting fabric. For a brief moment, her pride swells at the sight of his warm and rigid flesh; any and all doubts she had about boring him are quickly forgotten upon seeing his erection standing at full attention. She wraps her fingers tentatively around the base of his shaft and slips the other hand beneath the hem of his shirt, tickling his hip; her eyes lock onto his for half a heartbeat, long enough to enjoy his expression of pleasure mingled with sheer torture when she finally takes him into her mouth.

“Be reasonable,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t expect me to remain upright in this position if you continue like this.”

She subdues his protests by drawing him in closer; a silent gasp escapes his lips when the head of his shaft meets the back of her throat, and she can feel his right leg quiver slightly through his trousers. She drops the hand she has at his waist and squeezes his thigh to ease his trembling, withdrawing from him briefly to focus her attention on the sensitive tip. As she traces circles around it with her tongue, she catches a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her peripheral vision; his eyes are closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration—or is it dread?—and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

She hears a soft clank when she returns him fully back into her mouth, and glances up to see his shoulders working against his restraints. “Please consider reneging on your proposal,” he whispers, his eyes still firmly shut. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take before I break something.”

But she doesn’t consider reneging on anything, not even for a nanosecond, because it’s not often she has the chance to witness the strategist at his most exposed, and the look of pure, naked vulnerability on his face has lit a fire in her belly that is quickly turning into a roaring blaze. Instead, she redoubles her efforts and encompasses him nearly to the point of choking herself on his flesh-and-blood sword; the trembling in his thigh has grown more pronounced, and the muscles of his bare abdomen twitch furiously with every flick of her tongue. His spectacles have shifted and are creeping down the bridge of his nose, so he throws his head back and grits his teeth to stifle the cry of ecstasy clawing its way up his throat.

She is employing every tool at her disposal to please him now—she’s appropriated the fingers of her right hand into a makeshift cock ring, trapping his member between her thumb and forefinger to prevent the flow of blood from exiting the tissue of his shaft, while the ones on her left gently massage the delicate part of his scrotum. Her slow oral ministrations have given way to a more rigorous pace, and the copious amount of saliva that is currently coating his loins provides a suitably slick lubricant with which to prime her throat. She takes him in deeper, but he doesn’t thrust against her; if anything, he appears to be yielding away from her, and for a moment she wonders whether his reticence is a result of her accidentally nicking him with her teeth.

But then she hears the sound of ragged gasps rattling around in his lungs, and is alerted to other signs of his imminent climax approaching; his flavor on her tongue has changed slightly and the temperature of his skin has risen, and the base of his shaft is pulsating as his body prepares to conclude its natural cycle. Maintaining a steady rhythm is key, she knows, so she reaches for the pockets of his trousers and clutches at his hips—partly to balance herself from her increasingly vigorous movements, and partly to ensure the strategist has no way of escaping the inevitable.

She would’ve patted herself on the back for her near-record time it took to bring him to orgasm, had her hands otherwise not been occupied; the sound of his breath catching in his throat is drowned out by the clank clank clank of his wrists wrenching violently against the gilded faucet. “Darling, I—I can’t—”

She has but a moment to decide which way the next few seconds will go. Hold fast, and her throat might reject his milky offerings; withdraw, and he’ll spill his seed all over her expensive corset. It’s his own damned fault for spending such a ludicrous amount of money on lingerie, she thinks, but she’s far too pragmatic to allow fine silk to be ruined over a few teaspoons of semen; in the end, she takes her chances and silently prays her body won’t betray her.

It’s not so much the flavor that catches her off guard, but the heat; for a man christened after fire incarnate, it ought not to have surprised her to discover his seed ran as hot as his libido. She presses her eyes shut out of fear for how her mouth will react to the intrusion, but—mercifully—her gag reflex remains dormant, so she relaxes into him and allows the warm fluid to pool on her tongue. He tastes slightly bitter, but not overly so, certainly no more than a slightly unripened apple, and when last of his pelvic convulsions finally slow to a standstill, she finds she has very little trouble containing the bounty of her efforts.

He is slumped against the vanity when she rises to her feet, his head angled forward and his spectacles displaced halfway down his nose. She isn’t sure if the way his nostrils are flaring is simply due to exhaustion, or whether it is a more foreboding sign; she takes a tentative step toward him and places a gentle hand on his chest. “Is everything… all right?”

“Please untie me.”

He doesn’t look up when he says it, and the redhead surmises it’s about the most animated reaction she can anticipate from a man who practically sharpens his teeth on his rookie lance pupils without even breaking a sweat. She reaches behind his back and fumbles with the end of the tie, half-expecting him to recover his dignity and march out of the bathroom the instant his left wrist is freed; he remains stagnant against the marbled countertop instead, moving only to return his spectacles to their proper place across his nose.

The heat of the moment is quickly dissipating with his ominously silent mood, and she frowns. “Are you angry with me?”

He finally glances up at her, his head tilted to one side, his eyes betraying nothing. “No.”

Her frown deepens. She’s seen the strategist grow aloof in the aftermath of their relations before, but there is something wholly distant in his expression she can’t quite put her finger on. “Then what is it?”

The necktie is still knotted around his right wrist, and it trails after him as he reaches out to caress her cheek. “Come here. I want to hold you.”

A queer sensation trickles down her spine; a few harmless pet names and bending the hours of their arrangement was one thing, but he was far too steeped in his devotion to the crown to show affection outside the confines of intimacy beyond the occasional peck on the cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

The corners of his mouth curve upward faintly, and his hand falls to her waist and draws her close. Her eyebrows are knitted at this unusual display of tenderness, but she nestles herself between his legs—his erection is still hard as a rock, she notes—and leans to rest her chin on his shoulder.

He then snakes his arms around the small of her back and buries his face in her red locks. “You look magnificent,” he says quietly.

Her throat tightens, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stifle the feelings that are threatening to manifest themselves into tears; she’ll never have him the way she wants him, not entirely, and not because of their duties to the kingdom of Lucis, but because she knows deep down that the Six did not breath life into a man of his talents without a having a greater calling for him in mind.

His hand glides up her spine and stops at her neck, brushing her hair away from her shoulders as he touches his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear. Her own hands tighten around his chest, and she leans into his embrace; there will be plenty of time to fret about divine destinies later, and the gentle nibbles he is trailing along her jawline are admittedly working wonders to take her mind off of the hypothetical.

So she nuzzles her nose against his feathery temple and breathes in his scent; her ministrations from earlier must have been more laborious on his resolve than she first realized, because she is only just now noticing the light sheen of perspiration that dots his forehead. He finally pushes away from the vanity and draws himself up to his full height, guiding her hips with strong hands to the bit of marble countertop he just vacated, and braces his arms on either side of her to corral her in place.

“Darling,” she whispers, as he rakes his teeth across her collarbone, “you don’t have to continue for my sake. You must be utterly exhausted.”

“What was it you said earlier?” His hand finds the waistband of her panties and slithers beneath them. “Ah, yes—‘I’m only just getting started.’”

She snorts softly against his neck, but her amusement at his cheeky turn of phrase is short lived when he presses his long fingers inside of her. Then her beguilement is all but forgotten, and replaced by the singular desire to feel his warmth fill her entirely; she locks one ankle around the back of his knee and grinds her pelvis against his hand, and her insistence is rewarded when he massages his thumb across her sensitive hood.

His mouth returns to her face and he brushes his lips lightly against her own; she has little time for his chaste and gentle probing, however, and chases hungrily after his tongue instead. She is unable to stop the whine of disapproval from bubbling out of her throat when his hand disappears from between her thighs, but the strategist has a plan—just like he always does—and it requires the use of both hands to grip at her hips in order to lift her onto the edge of the vanity.

At the back of her mind, she can’t quite help chuckling quietly to herself at how ludicrous they must look in that moment; his necktie is dangling off of his right wrist like a wet noodle, his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned, his trousers and briefs halfway down his buttocks as he claws at the infinitesimally small strip of fabric separating his cock infuriatingly from her cunt. In truth, though, the redhead lives for moments like this, when their guards are down and their humanity is on full display, because even though he addresses her with cool and cordial formality at the Citadel, she knows the strategist has the same needs and desires of any other hot-blooded man that has fire coursing through his veins.

He shifts her weight in an attempt to displace the lacy accouterment, but it remains firmly wedged in her backside. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you had just let me take off my stockings,” she laughs.

“Remove my favorite accessory?” His spectacles lurch as his face crumples into a scowl. “Not on your life.”

Finally, he manages to push the stretchy fabric aside adequately enough to gain access to her warm folds. Her hand is already between his legs and gripping his shaft, her urgency to end this lustful torment as great as his; he clutches at her thigh to steady himself before he is plunging his searing heat inside of her like a pike impaling a fleshy target.

The air in her lungs all but evaporates, and her fingernails dig into the thickest part of his shoulders. His reaction is more subtle—not even the faintest cry of rapture escapes his lips—but she can feel his body shudder slightly when the full circumference of his girth meets the edge of her resistance. For a long moment, neither one of them moves, and the only discernible noise coming from the bathroom is the sound of their hearts beating furiously inside both their ribcages; then he is withdrawing from her, slowly, gently, agonizingly, returning his lips to the crook of her neck and nibbling at the baby soft skin there, before driving his hips forward again and resuming his occupancy fully inside of her.

How he is still so hard is beyond her, but she doesn’t protest or complain; if anything, the way the elastic of her wayward panties is capturing her nub between the base of his shaft is a miraculous serendipity that sends chills firing down her spine. The strategist notices this little development as well, she realizes, which really shouldn’t have surprised her in the least—it was his job to extract knowledge from the most trivial pieces of evidence, after all—but her eyes widen just the same when she feels him angle himself against the garment for a snugger fit.

Is he competing with me? she wonders. Was this all just a wanton race to see who could bring the other one to climax the fastest? She would’ve admonish him if she’d had authority over her own voice, but the only thing she is able to utter in that moment is an unintelligible moan of pleasure. And it doesn’t really matter anyway, because the familiar pressure spreading throughout her lower belly is growing stronger with each passing thrust of his hips; her hands glide down the back of his dress shirt, unconsciously and autonomously, and clutch at his buttocks as her resolve frays like a quickly unraveling thread.

She can no longer see his face, because he is resting his chin on her shoulder now—bracing it, really—as he moves between her legs with methodical precision. But she can hear his breath shortening, his exhales breaking in time with the heart she feels thumping inside his chest. Her own pulse is screaming in her ears, but she ignores it in favor of focusing her attention solely on the sensation of his warmth grinding against the most tender part of her sex. When she closes her eyes, she can almost visualize her climax hovering on the edge of her consciousness; her nub throbs every time he eases away from her, only to glow like a star on the cusp of going supernova when the pressure resumes.

Two more thrusts and her vision begins to swim; another three, and the scales are tipping rapidly out of her favor; one final push, and she’s reached the point of no return. “Ignis,” she whispers, the thread disintegrating, the star finally exploding. “Ignis—”

He tightens his grip on her thigh, although whether it’s to balance himself or merely to calm the violent tremors ripping through her body, she isn’t sure. Each wave of her orgasm takes with it a piece of her voice, until her loud cries of ecstasy finally fall silent and she is gasping desperately for air like a dying Lucian carp. Her fingers are suctioned to his lower back like barnacles, as are her legs that have captured his slender waist in a vice grip, and she holds him close for what seems like an eternity as the spots of light dancing across her vision slowly fade.

“Drat.”

The strategist’s benign obscenity returns her to the here and now, and she finally loosens her grip over him. She then glances up at his face, only to see him staring down between her legs; when she follows his gaze, she sees the fabric of her undergarment clutched in his hand, tattered and ripped at the side seam.

“So much for quality,” he mutters. “I’d have thought for the money I paid, it would’ve held up at least a little better than that.”

A small smile touches her lips, and she traces her fingers lightly over his cheek. “I’m not quite sure lace is rated for this kind of strenuous activity.”

“Indeed.” He releases the scrap of fabric and readjusts his spectacles once more. “I suppose I’ll just have to take my business elsewhere next time.”

He then withdraws from her and helps her down off the vanity. She has to hold the two torn sides of her panties at her hip just to preserve her dignity, although considering he had himself buried to the testicles in her sex moments before, she supposes there isn’t much modesty left to be lost between them. He returns his own equipment to his briefs and zips up his trousers, but he leaves his shirt unbuttoned, and his necktie is still wrapped around his wrist; she is tempted to make a wry quip about his unusual lack of fastidiousness, but she knows his persnickety side will eventually spur him to cover himself, so she simply enjoys the sight of his taut abdominals on display for her viewing pleasure for as long as she can.

She then reaches for the binding of her corset to ease the tension in her compressed organs, until another thought suddenly occurs to her and stays her hand. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” she asks.

He is already at the threshold of the doorway, no doubt longing to excuse himself and his mild germaphopbia from lingering in the bathroom any longer. “Not at all. Don’t feel compelled to stay in that outfit, though—I’m sure your spleen is begging for mercy.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get use to it.” She releases the torn ends of her ruined underwear and lets them fall to the floor. “Besides—for what you paid, you ought to get a bit more of your money’s worth out of it.”

One quizzical eyebrow rises above his spectacles. “What precisely did you have in mind?”

They won’t always have this routine, the strategist and the redhead; the Empire was building garrisons across Lucis at that very instant, and the Astrals would undoubtedly intervene in her happiness once they finally revealed the celestial plans they had in store for the prince’s most loyal advisor. There were times when the reality of their fragile agreement cut through her heart like a cold dagger, its icy tendrils suffocating her with the same lethal proficiency Ignis Scientia reserved only for enemies of the crown.

But this was not one of those times, and their illusion of normalcy remains intact if only for a brief moment longer. “I don’t believe our arrangement forbids any party from brewing a pot of Ebony without wearing appropriate undergarments,” she says, as she struts past him and out of the bathroom. “How about another cuppa?”